#the soap pout (TM)

[wispscribbles]

WISP WWIISSPP your retired ghost art is making me lose my minnnddd 😭😭😭😭 that man NEEDS TO BE SMOOCHED!!! but also do u think you will ever do a close up one day of retired Soap?? 🥺🥺🥺 it's just when I look at ur designs of retired ghoap it makes my heart feel like it's wrapped up in a soft, warm blanket but no pressure to draw him obvi 💖💖 hope u have a good day :3

aaAA thank you friend !!!! You're always too kind <333 and I actually tried doing a matching Soap for retired Ghost originally, but my art just didn't want to art for that one - so you're getting more of a doodly scene of the oldies

[normanbateswife]

head trauma

Phillip Graves x fem!reader

warnings: heavy insinuations to smut, couple dirty jokes (i couldn't help myself im sorry), canon level violence, graves is an asshole^tm but he comes back around i promise, reader gets knocked out and has to go to the hospital. i think thats it lemme know if i missed anything!

7.5k words

“Are you coming drinking with us?” Gaz questioned. He was slowly but surely starting to take off his layers of protection so that he was in street clothes once more. You were doing the same. You stretched your arms out as you shook your head gently. 

“No, I’ve gotta get to bed,” you said, half yawning. It had been a long one today. It was always a long one. You were so used to not returning for days on end that you were never quite sure what day it was. Price had a good way of making it seem not as bad as it was. 

“One drink?” Gaz pleaded. You shook your head. You ran your hand through your hair. You couldn’t remember the last time you had washed it. You were eager to scrub the dirt off of you. You hadn’t felt clean in so long. 

“Rain check. I’ll see you guys again soon.” 

“You’re missin out!” Soap called from behind the row of lockers you were standing between. You scoffed, shoving your things into your bag. He walked around the corner and leaned against the rusty row. “Gaz promised a karaoke show.” You scoffed, a hearty laugh escaping your lips. 

“You gonna sing Mr. Brightside for the guys?” you questioned. Gaz was uniting his boots so you leaned down to eye level. “I would hate to miss that.”

“Well you aren’t missing out on anything,” he promised. “I’m going home before anyone reaches the karaoke machine.” 

“Bummer,” you pouted. “I’ll catch you guys next time, I promise.” You slung your bag over your shoulder and gave Soap a pat on the back as you walked past him. When you turned the corner to leave the room you almost rammed into Price who was standing and waiting with his own things. He looked weird after a mission. Without the hat you swore you wouldn’t be able to recognize him in the streets. 

“Who is he?” Price questioned. You rolled your eyes defensively. 

“Who is who?” 

“The guy you’re seeing.” 

“Well currently I’m looking at you Captain.” 

“Don’t play coy. We know it’s someone!” Soap called. You smiled slyly and pushed past Price. It smelled like boys in here. You had almost gotten used to the odor. You were so used to being one of the only girls in the room. But honestly, when you were with this group you hardly could tell that you were technically the odd one out. You trusted these men. That was saying a lot. 

But if they found out who you were going to see they might not be as happy as you were. 

“I don’t question you guys about your love lives, I expect the same treatment,” you said, putting your hand on Price’s shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“I like worrying. It keeps me young,” he said, tilting his head down to look at you. “You be safe. I know you can handle a gun and I expect you will if you need to.”

“No worries Captain. I’m going to go home now okay? Have fun tonight. Don’t stay out too late!” 

“Yes ma’am!” Gaz called jokingly. You rolled your eyes as you left the room and then left the building. 

The night was chilly and you regretted not grabbing one of your jackets. There was a light dampness in the air, caused by the rain from earlier in the day. A black car was humming by the curb. You tightened the grip on your backpack and approached it. 

You came around the corner and opened up the passenger door. 

Phillip Graves leaned over the center console. 

“What took you so long?” he grumbled. Despite his tone you could see the anticipation in his eyes. It was easy to think that he had the upper hand in the relationship you were sharing. But the look in his eyes gave him away. He was so used to making decisions for his team, life changing decisions, that when you held him in your hands he gave you the power. 

So despite his tone, you smiled at him as you sat down. He didn’t move and waited between the seats as you turned to him. You kissed him, the small grin remaining on your face as you remembered the feeling of his lips again. They were a comfort for you now. They were familiar. 

“Had to escape the guys,” you said against his lips. 

“Mhm,” he hummed deeply. “Always surrounded by so many guys. You know, I have this great group you might like.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah I heard the Commander’s an asshole.” 

“Sweet as candy though,” he promised. You could still feel his breath against your face. You squinted, teasingly. 

“Tastes like cologne, I don’t know how sweet that is.” You kissed him again briefly then backed away, much to his demise. He put the car in drive with a low rumble. Graves put his hand on your knee. You could feel a soft warmth in your chest. 

You never expected to have something to come home to. Someone you adored, someone you needed. 

“I need an intelligence officer,” he said, voice suggestive. 

“What happened to your current intelligence officer?” you asked. He glanced at you, eyes remaining on the road but catching your emotions. 

“He walked onto a bomb.”

“Why was he in the fi-”

“Good question.” There was a gloom in his voice. 

“Shepherd still making decisions over there?” 

“I have a feeling he’s going to for a little while longer.” He glanced at you again. “Not everyone can have John Price.” You scoffed at his insinuation that you had it easy. Regardless, you pushed on his problem and not him deflecting onto you. 

“What’d he do?” 

He was quiet for a minute. 

“Just made some shit decisions. Doesn’t matter. I still need an intelligence officer. You could see me more.” 

“Just so I can get caught sleeping with my superior?” 

“We can still save the fucking for home,” he promised making you laugh gently. “Though you’d look amazing at my desk. I’ve got a whole office you know.”

“Windows?”

“Blinds.” You smiled slyly. You were about to open your mouth to counter with something coy when your bag started to buzz. You reached in it, digging out your phone. It was your work phone with no Caller ID. “Who’s that?”

“The other guy I fuck when I’m in town,” you said absentmindedly. He rolled his eyes but you missed it. You put the phone to your ear. “Hello?” 

“You forgot your jacket.” It was Gaz. You pursed your lips suspiciously. 

“What is it Kyle?” 

“You forgot it. You’ve gotta come back and get it.” 

“I’m already halfway home.”

“Did you call a cab?” 

“Gaz, back off. I’m fine.” There was some commotion on the other line. Philip was not so secretly trying to figure out what was being said so you put the phone on speaker. You reached your other hand up and put it over his mouth. He glanced over at you, a suggestive look in his eyes but didn’t spit your hand away. 

“Soap is gonna steal your jacket.”

“I have others. Are you guys already at the bar? I just left.” 

“Still here. You missed out on a stellar Price pep talk.” 

“It wasn’t a pep talk!” you could hear Price call. You rolled your eyes.

“Be safe bye bye Gaz.” You hung up the phone and removed your hand from Philip’s mouth. 

“You never do the mouth covering. Maybe you should try it,” he suggested. 

He pulled up to his place. Graves lived in a small house. It was in a nice neighborhood. There wasn’t a hint of crime around the property and not a hint of children. This was a place for old people who retired and couldn’t go up two story stairs. You weren’t sure if Graves had picked it for the lack of families or if he just wanted somewhere no one would look for him. Despite that, you enjoyed being there. You felt sort of … special. How many coworkers and hookups had been to his house? 

Graves liked it because when he watched you go inside he could almost imagine a life where he wasn’t being threatened every other day. The idea of a home and a wife…maybe a couple kids. That was appealing to him. He could picture Christmas and mornings before school and your smile in bed. 

Well, he didn’t need to exactly imagine your smile in bed. 

He followed you inside, locking his car and shutting the door behind him. You had used the spare key on top of his door frame. 

“You do need an intelligence person. Key on top of the door? Phillip. That isn’t very intelligent.” 

“Oh you’re very smart.” 

You tossed the spares onto the couch and slipped off your shoes. You were going to speak again when you turned around but were quickly cut off by Philips lips against yours. You hummed, relaxing. He gripped your thighs, touching you like you were his lifeline. He hiked up your shirt so that he was touching your skin. You molded into him. His lips tasted like beer permanently. The bitter taste had started to grow on you. 

“You taste so good,” he breathed. He was eager, quiet, stumbling around. You could walk backwards into his room blindfolded. You knew the feel of his bed frame against the back of your thighs. You knew the air change and the fan that was permanently turned on in the corner. He was kissing you and you were leading him and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this good. 

How long could you do this? How long could the two of you last, sleeping together in his home when you were both around. How long could you exist in the home that isn’t yours with a man that wasn’t yours either? How long could he last knowing you were always out there with guys who wanted you? 

The kisses were always empty promises. 

I’ll be here when you wake up. 

I’ll tell you if I have to leave. 

We’ll eat breakfast together. I’ll make your coffee. You can kiss me before I leave. 

We’ll be back together at the end of the day. 

As you started to drift off that night he put his hand on your side and pulled you closer to him. He didn’t know if he would live to see next week with Shepherd calling his shots but he could have you right now. You unconsciously nuzzled against his back. His arm slung over your waist and kissed your bare shoulder. 

He was half awake. Drifting between the inbetween, not quite sure if your skin was even real. His eyes had been shut for five long minutes and they would remain shut throughout the night. His judgment was impaired. He was drunk on your sticky skin. You still smelled of him. 

“‘M love you,” he whispered. 

You opened your eyes but he didn’t flinch. He must not have recognized what he said. 

“I love you too Phillip,” you told him back. If he heard it or not you couldn’t tell. You fell asleep with the words in the air, hanging around like large bolded letters that were painted on the walls. 

-

The phone was ringing. Graves could hear it faintly. It was muffled by sleep, like it was in another room. He picked up his hand lazily, surprised to land on skin. He raised his head, squinting in the darkness. His eyes landed on your sleeping face. He allowed for a brief smile to pass his face as he remembered the feeling of your lips and the words leaving them. 

Then he picked up the phone, not even looking at who it was. 

“Graves,” he mumbled groggily. He laid his head back down on the pillow. 

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment but he could hear breathing. His senses were keen even when he was half awake. 

“Hello?” he grumbled. You turned around which caused him to groan in annoyance. He pulled the phone away from his ear and wrapped an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. You didn’t complain. “Go back to sleep,” he grumbled. 

“Who is it?” you whispered against his chest. 

“Dunno.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Hello?” he asked again. 

“I dunno it’s some fuckin guy!” the voice over the phone complained. There was some clanging, mixed with loud music. Footsteps approached the phone. 

“Who the fuck is this?” a deep, british voice asked. In his state Graves had no idea who was speaking. He genuinely thought he had picked up his own phone. 

“Graves,” he repeated. He opened his eyes wider and let out a sigh. “Who is this?” 

“It’s fuckin Graves,” the british voice said. There were even louder voices. Phil was about ready to hang up. 

“Shadows Graves?” another British voice asked. That voice he recognized. A certain Captain of a certain girl in his arms. He moved the phone away from his face and looked at the name on the screen of your personal phone. MacTavish. 

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Phil mumbled. 

“Hmm?” You tilted your head up to look at him. 

“She’s sleeping with fuckin Phillip fuckin Graves?!” a scottish accent called in the background. The phone was snatched away. “Y/L/N.” 

“Is that Price?” you asked quietly. “Why are you on the phone with Price?”

“Unintentional.” You grabbed the phone away from him. 

“Captain?” You sat up, holding yourself up by your elbow. Philip grumbled sleepily and buried his head in the pillow beside you. 

“Where are you?” 

“Where are you? Why are you calling?”

“MacTavish called for you but you didn’t answer,” he grumbled. “Where are you?” 

“Price-” Someone else grabbed the phone. 

“Phillip Graves huh?” Soap asked into the phone. “Did you get him tested? The man is a walkin douchebag.” You scoffed. 

“Not to mention your superior!” Price said beside him. 

“He’s jealous it wasn’t him,” you grumbled jokingly. Soap laughed. He was drunk, you could tell from the giggle. “What do you need Johnny?” 

“I need a drinking partner but I see you’re all tied up.” 

“Not anymore,” Phillip promised beside you. You nudged him. 

“Johnny,” you muttered. “I’m going to bed. I’ve had a long day-”

“Long night from the sound of it.” 

“Goodnight.” You hung up the phone and tossed it aside. You fell back onto the pillow. Phil’s face was smooshed against the comforter. You brushed his hair aside and rested your hand over his waist. 

“You mean what you said earlier?” he grumbled against the fabric. 

“Didn think you heard that.” You paused. “Yes.” 

There was a long silence. 

“Me too.” 

-

You were surprised to find Phil still sleeping when your alarm went off. You pressed snooze and sat up, forcing yourself to open your eyes. There were a couple of sleepy moments where you looked around in the dark, rubbing your eyes in confusion. You knew the comforter. You knew the hand resting on your lap. Usually Phil woke up leagues before you did and was gone by the time you rose. You reached over and grabbed his phone. Maybe it had died. He had a shitty habit of forgetting to charge it. It was on. He just didn’t set a time to get up. 

In the uncomfortable morning air, you smiled. 

He had said he loved you. 

You looked down at his sleeping figure. It was cliche but it hit you like a truck. He looked so calm. He was usually so riled up. It was odd to see him silent, not mouthing off, no gun powder smeared on his face. 

You felt a swell of gratification. How many people saw him like this? How many people did he allow to see him with his guard down? Vulnerable? 

You leaned down and kissed his forehead because you could. You gently moved his hand off of your lap so you could get up. Phil groaned when your body heat left the bed. 

“Baby?” he grumbled, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. 

“Still here,” you promised. 

“Stay home.” Home. Was this home for you? Could it be? 

“I don’t have clothes here, I need to go grab some.” 

“Stay here,” he demanded. His voice was reminiscent of his Commander voice, formidable and strong. He lifted his head. His hair was sticking up at odd ends, face smushed into a sleepy gaze. He blinked a couple times in the darkness. 

“I have to go to work, Phil.” His head fell back again with a loud groan. You laughed, looking up at the ceiling. Good God what have you gotten yourself into? “I have to explain last night’s midnight phone call to my team.” 

He picked his head back up to look at you. He rested on his elbow, squinting. He looked so pretty you sat back down beside him.  

“You gotta go in too.” You brushed his hair out of his face. “Hm?” In the moment of silence you appreciated being there. You appreciated him wanting you to stay. 

God you were screwed. 

He closed his eyes tightly and then opened them quickly, blinking away his sleep. He half rose propping himself up onto his palms. 

“I’m comin.” 

“We gonna carpool?” you asked, laughing gently. He grumbled something you couldn’t comprehend and you stood up again. “I still need clothes.” He climbed out of bed, footsteps heavy as they slid on the ground. He opened up his dresser drawers and threw some clothes at you. You scoffed, just barely being able to catch them. Still an asshole. He grabbed clothes for himself and as he walked past you he kissed your forehead. Your asshole. 

-

“I can’t believe you drink black coffee,” you muttered, sipping your coffee. You were wearing a shirt with his last name across your chest. You didn’t ask if he did it on purpose but you wore it with pride. You knew what you were going into when you saw your team again. You may as well own up to it. Graves was driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his caffeine. “Actually I can.” 

“You callin me bitter?” he questioned. You paused, pursing your lips. He glanced at you through the corner of his eye. “You’re supposed to say no.” 

“You’re strong!” You nodded to yourself, laughing a bit. “Like black coffee.” He scoffed, shaking his head. He put his drink down and pointed at you. 

“You’ve got like half a carton of cream in there. That isn’t even coffee.” 

“I’m sorry I’m not a 50 year old man drinking black coffee.” He rolled his eyes. 

“You’re not getting any boost from that drink. I could’ve warmed up milk for you in the microwave.” 

There was a blissful kind of air in the car. A quiet, domestic ambience, something you had never expected from Phil. You wondered briefly if you were giving him too much trust. How much could you expect from him? 

“You’re gonna be comfortably late,” he hummed. “Let those boys know where you were.” You scoffed softly. 

“I’ll just point at the shirt,” you promised. He rested his hand on your thigh. 

“You do that. Shows who you belong to.” You raised an eyebrow, playing with his fingers. His skin was rough and calloused from years of being in the field. This hand has ended people's lives and it’s the same hand holding yours. 

“People don’t belong to people,” you argued gently, despite the fact that you only half believed it. “I’m not a cow. You can’t brand me.” 

He lifted his hand and aimlessly reached for your collarbone. You looked at him confused until he landed on a new forming purple bruise, caused by him. 

“You’re not a cow. You’re a girl who’s got a hickey I gave her.” 

“You have some too. You aren’t unmarked,” you joked. He remembered the ones on his stomach, the ones you had given him as you slowly made your way down his body. He remembered it fondly.  

“And I wouldn’t wanna be.” He glanced at you, an uncharacteristic look in his eyes. You couldn’t read it at first. There was a gentle confusion, a considerate vulnerability. It was silent but you read it in his eyes. He was yours. 

Right now at least. 

He pulled into the parking lot. 

“What’re you doin today?” you questioned. The vulnerability immediately escaped his face when you asked. 

“Hopefully nothin too bad,” he muttered. “You’re out in the field?” 

“Kinda. I’m just going with Gaz and Price to scope a place out not too far away. I’ll be back tonight if things go well.”

“I’ll wait for you.” 

You smiled shyly to yourself as the car turned off. He reached over the middle console and kissed you briefly like you had known each other for years. As he left the car you were met with the harsh winds of the morning. 

You got out after him, a beep indicating that he locked it. 

“Be safe,” he said absentmindedly. 

“I will. You too.” 

You started to part in a quick way, walking away from each other. You were halted by his footsteps coming to a slow stop. You glanced back at him. 

“I love you,” he called. You started to walk backwards, a cheeky look on your face. 

“I love you too Graves.” 

You turned back around and kept walking, keenly listening as he remained. He watched you until he couldn’t see you anymore. The smile he gave you remained. You would go home with him tonight. You could go home with him every night if you wanted to. You walked without thinking much. 

“There she is,” Gaz called, tossing your jacket at you. You caught it, barely, “Was going straight to sleep huh?” 

“I did go to sleep, eventually.” 

“You’re lucky Soap isn’t here. He wanted to know details.” 

“You don’t? I’m hurt.” 

“I have no interest in knowing how the Shadows Commander is in bed.” He pat you on the back. You opened up your locker and started to shift through things. 

“Nice shirt,” Price said, coming around the corner. You glanced at him.

“Thanks Cap.” 

“You told Shepherd?” 

“No sir. I wasn’t even gonna tell you,” you admitted. Gaz hissed a bit, causing a look from both you and Price. 

“Harsh is all!” Gaz pleaded.

“He’s your superior.” 

“We’re not even in the same team. It’s not like I slept with you sir.” You shut your locker gently and leaned against it. 

“Wheels up in twenty. We’re not finished talking about this.” You nodded once. 

“I figured not.” You were about to walk away but paused. “Did you tell Shepherd?” He was already walking away. Gaz shook his head. 

“He didn’t say anything. We had a whole conversation about it last night, some of us more drunk than others,” he promised. You threw your jacket back at him.

“What were the highlights?” 

“Lots of em are protective of you. And lots of em don’t like Graves for you.” 

“I’m a grown woman.” 

“Well he’s a grown man with a shitty reputation.” You rolled your eyes. 

“What’re we doing again today?” you questioned, keenly awning to change the subject. Gaz was shrugging on his boots, sitting on one of the benches between the lockers. 

“Shepherd’s orders. There’s a supposed Hassan sighting.” 

“Here?” 

“Near here. Did you not get the briefing?” 

“I’m sure I did but I figured I had you to fill me in. Hassan near here. He’s just sending in the three of us huh?” You shoved the morning and the eventual night out of your head to make room for the day.

“Well I’m sure we’ll have air support if we need it but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.” You hummed under your breath. 

“It won’t.” 

-

The confusion burned. Where had you left Price? Why couldn’t you hear him in your ear, telling you where he was, promising that it was going to be okay? There was smoke in your eyes. What had gone wrong? 

You retraced your steps in your head. You followed Price and Gaz trailed behind you into a large field with a single building. It was aside from most civilization and though it was foregin, it wasn’t exactly unfamiliar. This was the kind of situation the three of you had walked into countless times before. You knew the jokes that Price would make and you knew the way Gaz would counter. You would have a close call in the narrow hallway. You would be home in time for dinner. 

Not this.

You take right, let’s clear the building and search it, Price had said. Words you were used to. You nodded once, answering with a quick Yes Cap before moving along. Gaz took left and you went to the back window. You eyed the windows. It was a worn down place, windows smashed, lights half on. But someone had clearly been there. You pushed the back door open with the tip of your gun. 

And then impact. Smoke. A ringing in your ear. Pain shooting in your legs. You had been near a bomb that went off before. But never this close. 

As your hearing came back you could hear the gunshots echoing in the high pitched ring but no Price. Nothing in your earpiece. You blinked heavily, attempting to make your sight return to you. Having lost your senses you were now sitting on the ground, one hand loosely on your gun, unable to comprehend new information. 

“Price?” you whispered aloud, hoping he could hear you. “Gaz?” 

Nothing. Just more ringing. Even your own voice sounded far away. You backed into a wall and stayed there. They had taught you what to do in this situation. They had taught you to stand back up, to gain your bearings, to get out of the way. Let your soldiers finish what you couldn’t. 

You stood up, wobbly. 

“Price?!” you called. You raised your gun and couldn’t see anything in the smoke. There was no one, no hostiles in front of you. They must have been in the house. No response. You grabbed the corner of the door frame and used it to stand up all the way. You could catch your breath even if your brain wasn’t with you. Your thoughts weren’t needed but your muscle memory was. 

Finally, a voice spoke in your ear. 

“Actual we’re getting gunned down out here!” Price’s voice. 

“Do not pull back soldier, clear the house for Hassan!” Shepherd's voice. 

“John?” you muttered weakly. No response. They couldn’t hear you. Or maybe you just weren’t speaking loud enough. 

“General there’s no way-” Gaz said deeply. He was struggling too. You had to help them. You had to. 

You propelled yourself forward. 

“Remain the-” Shepherd’s voice started but you didn’t get to hear the end because someone hit you on the side of the head, causing you to crumble back down to the ground. Out cold. 

-

Phillip had a skip in his step as he walked into work that morning. A night well spent and a morning well received. What he had done with Shepherd seemed like a blip in his mind. Maybe it was finally swept under the rug. Maybe it could finally be gone. He could find the missiles on his own, with his team, and this could go away. He could have a wife. A family. A home he could come back to after a hard days work. 

A pleasant aura followed him until he got the call from Shepherd. 

He choked on his glass of water. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You’re needed on air support Graves.”

“When?”

“What time is it now?” 

“For what?” 

“Why are you still asking me questions? Get in the air.” 

-

“Alpha this is Shadow Actual do you read me?” Graves said aloud, grip tightening on the bar above him as he leaned down. He looked between the men and down at the screens that should him the ground below. They were circling the building. He could see smoke and fire but no people. “Infrared,” he muttered to the man beside him. “Alpha, do you read me?” 

“Shadow Actual, this is Alpha 0-8 I read you. We’re glad to see you,” Price’s voice echoed. “We’re stuck inside, do not fire on the building.” 

“Copy that.” Graves was twisting his hard grip on the overhead bar. He could see bodies huddled up in the middle, dead ones littered around. “I’m going down there.”

“Commander?” 

“Drop the ladder. Keep talking to me.” 

“Graves stay in the air,” Shepherd said evenly. 

“Shadows in the air. I’m going down.” 

He wanted to stay clear. He wanted his head to be empty of clouds, of feelings, of worry. He could only do that on the ground. He could only do that if he was down there, with you, making sure you were alright. He had been in a haze all day. An emotion guided haze and he can’t say that he enjoyed it. No matter the pleasantness that rooted in his cloudy state, he wanted it gone. 

Or he wanted it safe. 

The fact that he hadn’t heard your voice in his ear was enough for him to lower himself to the ground. He could see himself shooting through the waves of terrorists but it felt outside of his body. He could hear himself speaking into the coms, assuring Price he was nearby, even able to give directions to his men in the air. But it was all muscle memory. He wasn’t there. 

What if you were hurt? What if you were dead? What if he had finally found a home and lost it just as quickly? He set his jaw and pushed the door open with the tip of his gun. 

He shot at a man coming around the corner and let out an easy breath. 

The soldier fell. Behind him emerged a familiar face with an even more familiar hat. Graves didn’t put his gun down. He took a moment to gaze around the room, eyes landing on Kyle Garrick. He scanned the room quickly, eyes on the bleeding, unmoving but still warm bodies. No familiar faces. 

Graves ripped the comm out of his ear. 

“Where is she?” 

“She went around the back,” Gaz said, admittedly as distressed about your loss. “We got ambushed-” Graves pushed between the two of them. 

“The building isn’t clear,” he said, using his Commander voice. 

“Alpha 0-9 how copy?” Graves could hear Price ask. “Y/N how copy?” 

Graves broke in a locked door with a kick. 

“Y/L/N!” he yelled into the void. He could hear the scattered searching from the other two men but his heartbeat was increasing in his ears, starting to drown it out. He anxiously scanned the dead bodies. He had lost men before. He knew he could handle it. “Answer me goddamit.” 

“Upstairs clear!” Gaz called but there was a distress in his voice. 

His breathing had started to become uneven. He was kicking bodies now, losing his cool. “C’mon baby. C’mon.” Suddenly Price’s voice broke through his mania. 

“Here!” 

Graves tore through the rooms. He could hear the echo of the voices he wasn’t listening to in his comm. 

You were lying on the ground, eyes shut. Graves skid onto the ground, practically shoving Price aside. 

“Need the bird for medic,” Price said. “Come on girl,” he grumbled, allowing Graves to grab your body and hold it. His hands were shaking. He had tossed his gun aside. He found your neck and pressed his fingers against it to find your pulse. It was there but it was faint. Your head was bleeding a deep red but there was no gun shot. No evidence of a stabbing. That didn’t mean a head wound couldn’t kill you. 

“She wasn’t shot,” Gaz observed. 

“I’m taking her in the Shadows heli. We’ll get her help faster.” He put his comm back into his ear. “Land outside the-”

“There’s already a medic bird coming,” Price argued. 

“She could be internally bleeding and you wanna wait?” 

“They’ll have what’s needed-” 

“I’m not waiting,” he demanded. “Land on the southside of the building.” 

He wrapped his hand under you and picked you up. The nooks and crannies of your body were familiar to him. Price didn’t see the need to argue with someone so set. Gaz followed suit as they left the building.

-

“How could you let this happen?!” 

“She’s on my team. She can handle herself.” 

“Clearly not!’ 

Your head was pounding. The voices in the room sounded far away but you could still make out what they were saying. You recognized the voices too. The accent honed by your Captain. The clear anger of your Phil Graves. 

“If she serves any permanent damage from this, I’m coming for your head Price. I’ll have your mantel and the goddamn hat.” You groaned, an intentional diversion from the conversation. A scamper of heavy footed boots made their way closer to you. 

“I’ll get a nurse,” Price said. His voice was controlled and even again. You doubted he feared any actual outcome of Phil’s words. You looked around at the bright lights, a gasp escaping your lips as the wave of pain hit you harder. 

“Hey,” Phillip muttered, grabbing your hand. You looked over at him. “Don’t sit up. Price is getting someone.” 

“Whatever pain meds they’re giving me, it isn’t enough,” you muttered weakly. “What happened?” 

“Don’t worry about that,” he grumbled. “I’m sorting it.” You forced yourself to stare back at him. His brows were furrowed into a thick worry. His face was turned down, looking down at you with thought. 

“Good morning!” Price exclaimed as he walked back into the room. “I told you she was a tough one,” he muttered to Phil. He walked to the other side of the bed and looked down at you. 

“What happened Cap?” you asked quietly. 

“Stunned and hit. They were trying to take you for information and didn’t quite get that far. Nurse’ll be here soon.”  

“How’re you feeling?” Graves asked. 

“Like shit. How long was I out?”

“Couple hours,” Price told you deeply. “Gave us quite a scare.” 

The heavy silence finally caught up to you. You hadn’t caught it before but did then. The worry radiating off of the men around you. The fear you had caused. It wasn’t every day Price lost a member of his team and he clearly wasn’t taking the possibility as well as he would’ve liked. And Graves…

It was clear he had run his hands through his hair countless times with the way it was sticking up now. He had taken off his bullet proof jacket but the rest of his field clothes remained. His fear manifested as anger. 

You raised your hand lazily, almost missing him. You gripped the back of his head carefully, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. You hummed and he froze. There hadn’t been a serious display of emotion between the two of you in public. You weren’t all there anyway. 

Price observed, quietly. He may not have been Graves’ biggest fan but he knew emotion when he saw it. He knew vulnerability when he saw it. 

“What is taking the nurse so goddamn long?” he breathed. He turned on his toes and left the room heavily. You were alone again. 

“When do I get to go home?” you questioned. “I hate hospitals.” 

“Whenever they cleared you.” You paused. 

“What are you doing here? Did they call you from work?”

“They called Shadows for air support.” 

“You found me?” 

“Price did. But I was on the ground.” You nodded slowly. The air was stagnant. It reeked of antiseptic and you were sure you still smelled of blood. You stared at the ceiling. Your hand fell slowly off of Graves’ neck. “I can’t do this.” Your eyes flashed back to him. He was staring at your hands, intertwined sweatily. 

“Huh?” The whiplash made your head pound. 

“I can’t live in constant fear that you’ve been hurt. If you can’t…if you can’t protect yourself out here then this needs to end.” You lifted your head and he didn't tell you to stop. 

“Phil I-”

“This was a simple mission-”

“We were ambushed!” Your voice was strained as you said it. You couldn’t argue right now, you weren’t in your right mind to. But he wanted to have this argument right now so you were gonna have it. “This is the job. This is my job and it’s your job.” 

He stood up, letting go of your hand.  “You’re scared of the emotions you’re feeling, that’s fine. But you’ll feel this any day. Could be anyone.” He turned away from you. He was going to speak again but then you weren’t alone anymore. 

“Good Lord lass,” Soap said as he walked into the room. “You had Ghost and I about ready to head out there ourselves!” 

“Thanks Soap,” you murmured. He sat down beside you and he was followed closely by Gaz. You watched as Graves left as they entered, unable to do anything to stop it. 

-

They let you out after two days of observation. Price wanted you in for a whole week but you left the second you were allowed to. You had been visited by all of your team, even Ghost. Graves hadn’t come back. 

Which is why, when you left the hospital you got in your car and drove to his apartment instead of yours. You stood outside of his door for a moment before knocking. How could you realistically allow this to bring you down? You had thought about it before, how much power you were giving someone that might not deserve it. 

You still knocked. 

You were here, after all. 

He shuffled over to the door and your feet remained planted, despite your very being yelling for you to let it be. Phil opened the door wearing a shirt that was too tight and gray sweatpants. He didn’t say anything when he opened the door. No ‘hello’, no ‘what are you doing here?’

“You didn’t come back.” 

“I heard you were fine.” 

“Can I come in?” He thought about it for too long and then moved aside. You slithered in. He shut the door behind you. “Now that I have a bit of my brain power back, I’m ready to argue.”

“Huh?”

“That’s clearly what you wanted right? You wanted to argue with me about us. I’m here to argue.” 

“I don’t wanna argue-”

“I love you Phil.” It was a leap. A shitty one maybe but you had to take it, just so you knew where you stood with him. He shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“I thought you were gonna die,” he said. Chest puffed, jaw set. You knew that look. That was his look that meant he was gonna let you in. He was on his last barrier. You had no idea what the last couple of days had been like for him. The pacing, the reeling. How could he love someone like this? How could he not? “And I don’t like feeling like that.” 

“Me neither.” He scoffed. 

There was a heavy silence. You could hear the walls settling, the wind moving the building, the clock on the wall ticking. You watched as his chest rose and fell. 

“I can’t…I won’t sit here and let you die on my watch. I can’t.” 

“You won’t.” Your eyes wandered around the room in avoidance. “Why didn’t you come and see me again?”

“Shepherd and I accidentally gave three American missiles to the enemy.”

Your mouth fell open. You closed it quickly, clearing your throat. That was absolutely not what you were expecting him to say. 

“You…what?” 

“She-”

“No, I heard you. What does that have to do with-”

“He called me in because I was the only one he could call. You’re looking for missiles that I lost. He wasn’t even going to send me but it was Price out there.” You sat down on the couch. “Shepherd will keep putting you and I under the hot water until those missiles are detonated or found. Your team doesn’t know and they won’t know.” He felt like the weight had just left his shoulders. There was no protecting you now. But now you knew and he didn’t have to keep it to his chest. He could play all of his cards with you again. 

“You covered up a federal crime.” 

“Yeah.” 

He sat down beside you. He could still have this, he promised himself. He could still have you. 

“Well? Still love me now?” You looked back up at him. He was close again. You liked when he was close. His face was even. He was out of his comfort zone now. He wasn’t in the field and he wasn’t in front of his men. He was just here, eyes open, with you. 

“Mhm.” 

“What was that?”

“Yeah. I still love you.” 

His face before kissing you was always full of confidence. There was never anything he could second guess about himself when he leaned in. You always let him kiss you first. Then you leaned into him. You put your hand on his chest and you pushed him down onto the couch and you felt safe again. You felt like you were home again. He brushed your head with his hand, gripping you with his entire palm and you winced.

“Oh Jesus,” he muttered, pulling away. “How the fuck is your head anyway?” 

“Don’t hear you complaining,” you muttered against his lips. He chuckled cockily, forehead falling onto your shoulder. 

“You’re gonna pass out mid thrust,” he grumbled. “It can wait.” 

“If I can’t?”

“You can.” He grabbed the side of your head that hadn’t been hurt and kissed your forehead, a term of endearment you were learning to adore. 

“You must love me. I’ve never heard you turn down head before Graves.” 

“What would your Captain ask me if I sent you back to the hospital half naked hmm?” Giggles escaped your lips. 

“He’d kill you.”

“Mm he’d try.” He wrapped his arms firmly around you, putting his chin on your head. “You can’t tell him about the missiles.”

“That sounds like a problem for when I get back to work,” you grumbled against his chest. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We?”

“You and me. That’s what ‘we’ means, Phil.” He chuckled, that charm oozing through his laughter. 

The night felt long with him. It felt like eternity. You eventually were forced to the bed for rest and had a short phone call with Johnny before drifting off. He made you promise that you were gonna be okay. You didn’t think about the impending war or the chunk missing from your head. You just watched as Graves brought you a glass of water without having been asked and sat beside you as he got ready for bed. You told Johnny you were home. 

You would be fine. 

-

“Don’t you have to go to work?” you asked quietly. The morning air was still fresh. You weren’t quite used to your eyes being open. You were ready to slip back into sleep at a moment's notice. You were rubbing Phillip’s arm as he stared at you. He looked out of it in the morning. Never quite there. 

“Takin the day,” he said. He spoke it almost silently, like there was an air bubble he might break if he spoke too loudly. “Stayin with you.” You smiled gently and nuzzled into the pillow, breathing out slowly. 

“I gotta call Price. He said he wanted to talk about my ‘personal problem today’.” 

“Your personal problem being me?”

“Yes sir.” He smiled weakly. 

“I like it when you call me sir.” You giggled softly. “What’re you gonna tell him?”

“You saved my life. I’m allowed to sleep in your bed.” He nodded lazily. 

“That sounds like a fantastic plan.” You sat up, reaching for your bottle of painkillers. The head trauma wouldn’t leave you as quickly as you wanted to forget about it. He placed a hand on our thigh and squeezed. “How’s your head?” 

“Fine. Tender.” He snorted. You leaned down and buried your head in the crook of his neck, giggling. 

“Go back to bed,” he said, chuckling, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You were still shaking with silent laughter when he got you in his arms again. “You know I’m gonna get you back for this when you have all your wits about you yeah?” he asked, lips against your hair. You nodded. 

“Looking forward to it, Commander.”

He let out a moan of annoyance mixed with desire that left you with even more giggles. You would call Price when you got up later. He would understand. He will probably give you some shit but you knew Price. He wanted what was best for you. 

This morning was what was best for you.

[asweetprologue]

Words: 2618, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Fluff, geralt has a fixation on jaskier's hands, Pining, Confessions, it's about the hands tm

Inspired directly by this post by @valdomarx​

“I didn’t even ask you to come this time, witcher. I don’t know why you’re acting so dour,” Jaskier pouted. He was standing in front of a small mirror that he’d propped up against the table, the only thing with a reflection in the small inn. His shirt was untucked over his tight pants, which were a startling peacock blue this time around. It was a fetching color, nearly matching the bard’s eyes, though Geralt would never voice such a thought aloud. He was fiddling with the ties at the front of the cream shirt, trying to decide on a complicated pattern of lacing that was well beyond Geralt’s understanding. The smell of wisteria and honeysuckle filled the room, overwhelming in its recent application. Jaskier rarely used scents beyond soaps while they were traveling, and Geralt preferred when he could more easily smell the distinct musk of the bard himself, rather than cloying perfumes. 

He grunted in response to Jaskier’s comment, leaning against the bedpost. The inn was nice, actually, even though it was small. The sheets smelled fresh, the mattress was free of holes, and there was even a full bath off of the main room. Jaskier had sunk more funds into their accommodations than usual, expecting a big payout from the ball he’d been hired to perform at for the next several nights. “I’m not being ‘dour’,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier tug his shirt closed. His fingers played over the laces, easily working them into a tight series of delicate knots. Geralt wasn’t lying, truthfully. He wasn’t so much dour as… distracted. His eyes followed Jaskier’s hands as they tucked in his shirt, revealing his slim hips. The bard tugged here and there on the fabric, his fingers fluttering about as he searched for just the right amount of artful dishevelment. 

Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands. 

He wasn’t sure if this was a universal experience or not. Over the past few months, he’d overcome the initial shock of realizing he was interested in the bard. He’d known Jaskier for years - closer to decades - and it certainly was a notion that took some adjusting to. One day Geralt had just looked up and realized that the gangly limbed youth he’d met in Posada had turned into an extremely attractive man, a man Geralt very much wanted to put his hands on. The thought had been startling, and he’d spent full weeks telling himself that it was a fluke. And yet he was captivated by Jaskier’s broad shoulders, his strong thighs, his infuriatingly dexterous fingers. It was embarrassing really. 

But, he reasoned, he was in good company; literally half the Continent wanted to fuck Jaskier. Geralt was particularly unique in that regard. It was honestly more spectacular that he was a person who wanted to sleep with Jaskier who hadn’t. It was a bitter draught to swallow, but Geralt accepted it. Few people wanted a witcher in their bed for more than an hour, and he knew that it could never be a simple one time roll in the hay between himself and Jaskier. Geralt was already spending much of his time reminding himself that he was not and could not be infatuated with Jaskier, the famous bard, womanizer and, above all, his best friend. He was at least self aware enough to know that Jaskier’s rejection would be painful, and that losing him as a companion was unacceptable. 

Still, this left him with a predicament. While he assumed Jaskier had caught on to his developing feelings quickly enough, Geralt didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable with his attentions. He tried not to let anything change between them. He didn’t reach out to pull Jaskier closer when they shared a bed at night, he didn’t give him the best cuts of meat during meals, he didn’t buy small, intricate rings or beautiful leather bound journals for him when they went to the market. He would think about it and then turn away, and keep things how they’d always been. Jaskier was bright and loud and annoying, and Geralt was quiet and snappish. If the bard had wanted anything more, he would have made it clear long before now. Geralt was doing a pretty good job of keeping things platonic, he thought. He probably would have been totally successful if Jaskier hadn’t chosen a lute, of all the cursed instruments, as his primary tool of the trade. 

The issue was that Geralt had something of a preoccupation with Jaskier’s hands, which may be a common experience but might be unique to Geralt himself, much to his dismay. They were just exceedingly nice to look at. They had long and elegant fingers with wide, reassuring palms that had spent hours cleaning, patching up and comforting the witcher. They were unscared except for a thin white line under his right ring finger, where Jaskier said he’d been punctured by a nail as a child. Though that wasn’t to say that they were totally unblemished. Years of playing had worn deep calluses onto the tips of his fingers, rougher skin that made Geralt shiver when they played over his scalp as they so often did. 

They were nice hands, but it wasn’t just that. They were expressive, an extension of whatever Jaskier felt at the moment. Geralt never knew what to do with his hands if he wasn’t in a fight, but Jaskier’s moved constantly. When he was angry they curled into fists and pointed fingers, elbows tights against his body as he raged at some perceived slight. When he was happy or excited, they darted about him in wide, sweeping gestures, an unspoken language that Geralt thought he might be able to read now without words. When he was tired they dragged, lingering on Geralt’s shoulders or pulling at the seams of his armor as he bullied the witcher into bed. Those moments were almost the worst, picking away at Geralt’s already frayed control, but he found it got to him the most when Jaskier was playing. 

To say that Jaskier transformed when he played was not quite accurate. It was closer to say that he became. Jaskier was always intense, bright and focused and vibrant, but when he picked up his lute and stepped onto a stage he was resplendent. When Geralt had first met him, he’d thought maybe Jaskier was a siren, or some kind of incubus, luring men in with his honeyed words and saccharine melodies. He’d quickly realized that no, Jaskier was as human as they came, but it didn’t stop others from acting like they’d been bewitched when he was around. Jaskier performing was Jaskier at both his least and most genuine, distilled into whatever the crowd needed him to be most at that moment. It was enthralling, to say the least, and Geralt wasn’t immune to the draw. 

At first watching the lute had been a defense mechanism, of a sort. Watching Jaskier himself was almost too intense, and Geralt felt exposed anytime their eyes met across a crowded room. So he’d taken to watching Jaskier’s hands, flying across the strings of the lute and dancing up the neck. Initially it had been only intriguing, and he’d found himself impressed by the bard’s skill. He was faster and more precise than any other player Geralt had come across, while remaining gentle in his ministrations. Jaskier touched the strings of his lute with such tenderness, as if he were caressing a lover.

One night while watching the bard, Geralt had though, Sometimes he touches me like that. And after that he was well and truly lost. 

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt sharply back to the present, “while I would never begrudge your presence, I don’t think the response to Toss a Coin will be as enthusiastic if the titular witcher is off glowering in a corner.” He reached for his doublet, a green jacket picked out with yellow thread that looked like gold in the right light. It was beside Geralt on the bed, and he nearly flinched away from Jaskier’s grasping hands. He thanked every god above that he no longer had the ability to blush the same way a human did, knowing that he would be pink in the face after watching Jaskier lace up his shirt sleeves. The man was actively putting clothes on and Geralt was nearly sweating from it. 

“I’m not going to glower in a corner,” he grumbled. 

Jaskier gave him a look that displayed an insulting lack of faith in Geralt’s word. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re dressed appropriately.” He’d managed to wrestle Geralt into a black jacket and a pair of dress trousers, though Geralt had won the fight to keep his boots and his swords. It was better, Jaskier allowed, that the people be able to see the tools of the trade. The bard reached out to adjust the collar of Geralt’s shirt. The witcher forced himself to still as Jaskier’s knuckles grazed his Adam’s apple. His skin hummed where they’d made contact. 

Jaskier gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned away. “Well, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, giving himself one last glance in the tiny mirror. With a grin, he turned to Geralt and said, “If you’re very good I’ll buy you one of those tarts from the market for breakfast tomorrow.”

The words if you’re good rolled over Geralt in a disconcerting way, curling up at the base of his spine and settling like they intended to live there. Shit. He made a slightly strangled sound of agreement that he hoped just sounded annoyed. 

As Jaskier reached for the door, Geralt noticed that the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt had gotten twisted around one of the buttons of his doublet. He must have accidentally pushed the clasp through a loop in the laces while he was doing them up. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed unless he was watching Jaskier’s hands, but it seemed like he was always watching Jaskier’s hands nowadays. Watching, anticipating, hoping for the next touch. Geralt reached out and snagged the bard’s wrist before he even really knew what he was doing.

“Um,” Jaskier said, eloquent as ever. Geralt turned his hand over - in for a penny, in for a crown - and started undoing the buttons on the doublet. Jaskier hummed in realization, seeing where the laces had twisted into a knot. Focusing on his task, Geralt bent his head slightly, pulling the thin string loose from its tangle. As he did so, pale, unmarked skin was revealed through the parted fabric, a spider web of delicate blue lines branching out before Jaskier’s warm palm. Geralt’s thumb brushed briefly over the veins, Jaskier’s skin as smooth and soft as fresh rose petals under his rough fingers. He was seized suddenly by an overpowering urge to put his mouth there, to breathe in the scent and find Jaskier hidden under all the oils and the smell of crisp linen. Without thinking too much of it, Geralt bent down and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s wrist, just below the swell of his thumb.

Jaskier gasped. 

It was like taking a mouthful of Thunderbolt - the world coming sharply into focus, his mind keenly aware of his surroundings. Geralt nearly jumped back, flinching away from the sound. Fuck. Why had he done that? He’d been helping with a fucking sleeve, it hadn’t required his mouth. Jaskier was going to be pissed. He was going to demand that Geralt stay here while he went to the banquet and then he would find someone to bed for the night and he wouldn't try to find Geralt in the morning, and Geralt would have to set back out on the Path alone all because he couldn’t control himself enough to lace up one sleeve - 

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice cracked slightly. The witcher clenched his jaw, wincing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze. “That was… inappropriate. Have fun at the ball.”

“You’re not coming?” Jaskier asked, sounding distressed now. His scent was still free of the sour stench of fear and anger, but Geralt could hear his heart beating faster. “Geralt, look at me. Just - Are you alright?” Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Geralt was startled enough at the contact that he raised his eyes to meet Jaskier’s. 

The bard looked nervous, but there was something else in his face too. Something softer. Geralt swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said. His face tingled with the phantom of a shameful flush. 

Jaskeir smoothed his hands gently down Geralt’s arms. A comfort the witcher certainly didn’t deserve. “I don’t mind,” Jaskier said, impossibly. He bit his lip, his tongue darting out to sooth the spot. Geralt couldn’t help but follow the motion even as Jaskier gave him a wry smile. “I wish you’d do it more, if I’m being entirely honest. After all these years, I assumed you weren’t interested.” He took a breath, as if he was about to launch into a very demanding ballad, or perhaps jump from a cliff. “But I very much am. Interested.” 

Geralt stared at him for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Jaskier was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. His infuriating fingers played anxiously over Geralt’s, not quite holding on. Unsure of what else he could reasonably do, Geralt kissed him. 

Jaskier’s hands flew away from his own, and Geralt had a singular crystalline moment of panic before he felt them threading through his hair. Jaskier twisted closer, throwing himself into the kiss with little of the finesse he was so renowned for. It was too hard and too fast, but Geralt drank it anyway, inviting Jaskier in with his tongue and trying to convince him to stay. His fingers tangled in the loose ties of the shirt sleeve, and he could feel Jaskier’s pulse against them. It was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. Jaskier’s heart beat quick and steady under his hand, a rapid tempo just for him. 

Finally Geralt pulled away, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the bard’s. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he said. 

Jaskier jerked back a bit to glare at him. “How so? Counterpoint: I think it’s a singularly marvelous idea, actually.”

Geralt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I can’t… I don’t want to ruin this. You. What we have.”

“We could have more,” Jaskier said, uncharacteristically fragile. Geralt wanted so badly not to break him. “Anything. If you just want a fuck, that’s fine. We can do that. If you want more than that, I… That’s okay too. Or not. Whatever it is, whatever you want.” His fingers smoothed down the back of Geralt’s hair, just at the base of his skull. A caress, as soft as if he were playing his favorite instrument. Maybe he was. 

“I’m going to want you,” Geralt said, like a warning. “Longer than you want me.”

Jaskier looked indignant. It was one of Geralt’s favorite expressions, when it wasn’t directed at him. Maybe even then. “I doubt that very much,” Jaskier bit out. The fingers in Geralt’s hair tightened, and the witcher let out a shaky breath. “I have loved you for almost my entire adult life. I doubt I’m going to stop anytime soon.” Jaskier still looked nervous, but there was more anticipation in it than before. Something closer to hope. “So I’ll say it again: Whatever you want. What do you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, leaning in again. He pressed the words against Jaskier’s lips. “Always you.”

“Then you have me,” Jaskier said, and he did. 

[softbbyg0rl]

when you're sick

yeonjun

at first he's all

no dont get me sick

but then you pout and all his resolve crumbles

FLYS into bed with you

rubs your tummy

brushes your hair for you

soobin

make you soup

soupbin tm

he literally feeds it to you

"I can do it myself binnie"

"that's a lot coming from the person who acted like they were dying"

kisses your forehead a lot

he says hes just feeling your temperature

but we know hes lying

beomgyu

personal space? never heard of her

cuddles you until you feel better ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ

even if you're over heating

runs you a bath and washes your hair for you

will literally pick up your snotty tissues

hes the best boyfriend (⌒∇⌒)

taehyun

prepared boi

hes got every type of medicine ready

tissues, soap, homemade soup, fluffy blankets

and of course his cuddles

puts on your favourite movies

runs you a bath and sings for you

huening kai

hes! so! sad!

he hates that you feel like junk and just wants those nasty germs to take a hike (＞△＜Uu

belly rubs

makes you eat some soup

but then gives you ice cream (๑>ᴗ<๑)

makes a nest out of his stuffies for maximum comfort

[3laxx]

Wind update 13

The new boy tries his best TM

Yo suckers

I'm back out of the blue with a chapter because canon material is pissing me off and I got inspired I guess lol Also it's been a year hahah Anyway I doubt anyone is still reading this story but whateverrrrr Imma just post wheneverrrr Also it's like 2am here don't judge me and I haven't written in actual freaking months so Oh well Let's pretend I can still write, someone is still reading this, and we're in the happy times of 2016 before the US elections and ML season 2 weeeeeeeeeeee

Ao3 / FF.net

As Carapace closed in on the fight he gulped heavily, his heart beating hard and strong against his ribcage. He was alive, he was fighting and he was well armored. He should be fine.

Right?

Suddenly he felt Alya’s fingers on his chest again, her gentle caress on the tiny scar that stayed from Hawkmoth’s sword. A wave of confidence and fear washed over him, a powerful mixture when running in battle, he realized.

Suddenly, in front of him him he felt the warmth of the fire that Flamethrower spread across the street, and just a second later he was greeted by the flickering hell in white, yellow, orange and red that expected him. He sucked in a sharp breath and jumped before his courage would leave him, spreading his arms to keep his balance in the air while he fell.

If he had stopped at the edge of the rooftop, he knew he wouldn’t have jumped in.

He came down behind the Akuma, silently and with a clenched jaw as he eyed their back. Ladybug spotted him quickly, nodding at him just enough for him to see, then he made eye contact with Chat Noir. His teammate gestured for him to stay on the side, he would probably lure the Akuma towards him.

Immediately, the fear was back. Carapace felt his throat blocking up but with a forced breath, he was back in the game. A stinging feeling spread through his lungs but he couldn’t let that stop him now.

The Akuma would stumble right into him, okay. He’d have to get ready for acting now.

With a precise hit, Chat forced the Akuma’s flamethrower up, so they’d lose aim and stumble back, then he shot the newest team member a look and Carapace knew that was gonna be his sign.

Holding his breath, he jumped and grabbed the flamethrower, kicking into the Akuma’s back.

With the surprise as an advantage, the Akuma lost their footing for a second, but the villain quickly caught himself, then they turned to Carapace, successfully twisting their weapon out of his hold and snarling with a grin as the violet outline of a butterfly mask appeared on their face.

“Ooooh…”, they smugly drawled as they closed in on Carapace, making him gulp and walk backwards, “Well, who do we have here? You’re new, apparently. Hawkmoth heard about a new team member, but I gotta say-”

With a broad grin, they listened while Hawkmoth talked.

“Yes, Hawkmoth didn’t expect a slightly overweight teenager. What, you think you can fight against me, coward?”

Carapace protectively hugged his sides, pouting, not knowing where the hell he suddenly took the ability to bite back at that.

“Hey! I’m not overweight, that’s just a little chub.”

A huge relief washed over him as he heard Chat laugh shortly before Ladybug cast her Lucky Charm, then his friend pounced on the Akuma and forced them down on the floor.

“Don’t let them talk shit about you, Cara!”

That really tickled out a smile as Carapace moved again, taking a run up and joining Chat since the Akuma jumped up again, imitating the heroes fighting style of trying to land a few fast hits.

Well, he really tried.

Since he didn’t have any experience in close combat, he more or less just relied on his superhero reflexes to not get hit in return, then he finally remembered he had a shield.

As soon as he felt the familiar weight of the heavy shield on his arm, he felt way more natural with his role, fighting suddenly appearing a little easier to him as he started using the shield as an extension of his arm.

“Thanks, Chat! I’ll just ignore they don’t have a model body like yours, either.”, that made his friend pause for just a moment, and Carapace realized he maybe shouldn’t have compared his physique to his actual job, but it was already too late then, “Well I mean, look at yourself. I really do look like a teenager next to you!”

Chat seemed a little more at ease now, since Carapace had smartly insinuated that he couldn’t be a teenager anymore, but the Akuma still got a small opening in combat to punch him so hard, Chat tumbled down the road, giving them a chance to make another move on Ladybug.

Faster than Carapace could react, they stormed at Ladybug and began using their flamethrower again since they had the chance again, and interrupted her thinking up a plan to defeat them.

Immediately, she was forced to fight them, Chat was still trying to get up, and Carapace once again felt his palms getting cold and sweaty.

No, no, not again. Not right now.

One panic attack today was enough.

Shit, what to do, what to do…

At that moment, Wayzz nudged him, making him take another step.

“Wa-wait, I-… I don’t even know what to do right now!”

His Kwami didn’t seem to care as he nudged him again, a feeling telling him he should be running already, fighting alongside Ladybug, or at least helping up Chat Noir.

Something told him he should be out and about, but for some reason, his legs felt like concrete and his heart was beating way too fast.

Until he heard Ladybug calling out to him.

“Carapace, get a move on!!”, she shouted at him, busy with holding off the Akuma, “Go help Chat!”

With a start, Carapace snapped out of it and finally sprinted down the road, past the fight, and helped up his friend who needed another moment to get back to himself.

“Need to get to the sidelines for a bit, Chat?”

The blonde in his arms groaned, his knees shaking and his claws digging into Carapace’s suit while he tried to desperately stay upright.

“N-No, I-…”, the more experienced hero tried but Carapace fell right into his words.

“I take that as a yes. Come on, man, I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

He hooked Chat’s arm around his shoulders and jumped away, a few streets down, where he ran into Alya, much to his surprise.

“Hey, you! Civilians shouldn’t be that close to the fight!”, he called out, not realizing that she didn’t exactly know him yet. Her widened eyes, and then her smile, made him gulp immediately as he remembered.

“You’re the new one! Good to meet you, actually, I-”

With a firm shake of his head, Carapace lowered the still dazed Chat to the ground and cut off her words.

“Look after him for a moment, he hit his head. He’ll be fine in a bit again.”

Alya was about to say something else, but as quickly as she kneeled down by Chat, Carapace was already off again, now finally feeling more confident in fighting the Akuma.

Having seen Alya, and most of all, having no choice but to help now since Chat was gonna be out of commission for a little, made him forget overthinking and rely on his instincts.

Upon arriving at the battlefield, where he noted a few more burned houses, he saw Ladybug visibly deflating in relief because she saw him returning without Chat.

“That stupid cat always gets himself distracted easily.”, she shouted over to him and Carapace laughed, shrugging and joining her side.

“I gotta admit, it was kinda my fault.”, he confessed but she didn’t scold him more than sending him a short glare.

“Well then you keep your head in the fight, at least. I’m not in the mood to fight alone.”

Just as she said that, she kicked the Akuma and sent them flying back a few feet, enabling them to pull out their flamethrower again.

“Shi-”

“I WILL DESTROY YOU NOW, LADYBUG!!”, the Akuma laughed maniacally as Ladybug lifted her arms to protect herself, but the heat never reached her. In confusion, she opened her eyes again and saw Carapace standing in front of her, holding up his shield to protect them.

“… I think now would be a good time to think up a plan?”, he prodded, nodding at the Lucky Charm, a small hard soap, that she held in her hand.

“Well, I roughly know what to do, but I don’t know if we can pull it off without Chat!”

Carapace groaned and pushed against the flames before the Akuma stopped firing and allowed him to front flip towards them, to land one of two hits with his shield.

“… So we have to hold them off for a bit longer?”

Ladybug shrugged, running to the side to attack the Akuma with her yo-yo from a wider range, allowing her to do harder hits with her weapon.

“Seems so! I need Chat’s cataclysm!”

As the fight continued on, Carapace slowly began to get the hang of fighting with a shield and having a rhythm with Ladybug, seeing opportunities where to cut in and get a hit and where to protect her instead. Shortly into the fight, Chat joined them again as well, still a little dizzy but overall seeming okay again.

“Are you okay, kitty?”, Ladybug still asked, wanting to get reassurance that he was feeling up for fighting, yet Carapace already knew Alya would never let Adrien go up against an Akuma again if he wasn’t at least standing on his own two feet.

“I’m fine, my lady, just a little shaken up. Now, where were we?”

Carapace chuckled as he watched Ladybug restraining herself from giving her boyfriend a short clap on the back of his head for suggesting a conversation during fighting again, not to worsen his situation, then he noticed something else.

A flash of orange and brown snuck past the edge of his vision, way too close to the fight to be save, and as he turned, he definitely recognized Alya cowering behind some garbage bins, holding out her phone to record but not caring about any safety distance.

Rolling his eyes, he turned back to his teammates, but they were too caught up in the fight to give him any attention and apparently, they hadn’t noticed Alya yet.

With a sigh he turned, already wanting to evacuate her, as he felt a wave of heat hit his back, then he saw the flames lashing out on his side, closing in to him quickly.

It was hot, yes, but what worried him more was Alya being in the line of fire, suddenly. Especially, as the Akuma closed in on him.

Thinking quickly, he leapt forward, pulling up his shield to do a roll, then he turned and landed inn front of Alya in a three pointer, yelling before Ladybug and Chat even realized what was happening.

“Shellter!”

Immediately, a green force field built up around them and engulfed them completely, forming a sphere of protection around him and Alya. The flames hit the shield and licked up the walls of his superpower, but they couldn’t reach them anymore.

Slowly, he inched back to Alya and shot a glance over his shoulder, seeing her lowering her phone, hopefully to stop recording. With wide eyes, she watched the flames raging around them, then her gaze slowly found his as he turned to her a little more now, curiosity flaring up in her brown eyes.

“Who-… Are you?”, she asked, and he knew she didn’t mean his secret identity. She was too smart to be asking about that, especially with what happened to Adrien and Marinette half a year ago.

“… I got a Miraculous recently.”, he responded, trying to stay vague.

“I know Chat Noir and Ladybug personally.”, she clarified and he was once again reminded that she had no idea who he was. On the other hand, she just reassured him that she had definitely stopped recording, “… And Master Fu. Why did he give you the Miraculous now?”

Steeling his eyes up front again he furrowed his eyebrows, giving her a stiff shrug before readying himself to pounce into the fight again, since the Akuma stopped attacking the shield.

“We don’t know.”, he gave the short answer, then standing up, “When I tell you, you will run down the street as fast as you can. I don’t want you hesitating or looking back, and in no way recording. Is that clear?”

She huffed at that, not liking being ordered around, but she did at least recognize the seriousness of the situation so she stood up as well, waiting for an opening where the Akuma would lose interest or be pushed away by Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Just a few seconds later, that opening was granted. Chat distracted the Akuma while Ladybug finally figured out her plan, then Carapace dropped the shield and urged Alya to run before charging at the Akuma again.

His girlfriend at least decided to listen this time, and really ran down the streets and to a safer place, but as soon as Carapace leant back to prepare for a hit with his shield, the Akuma whirled around and planted a big fat blow to the jaw on him.

For a moment, everything became black and he felt his body being tossed against a house wall. Chat screamed something that sounded an awful lot like Cataclysm, then Carapace heard an explosion and felt his ears ringing, before he was somehow scooped up and brought away, while Ladybug purified the Akuma and used her cleansing light to repair all the burns and damage.

The one carrying him, most likely Chat, mumbled something about the Miraculous cure not being able to cure superheroes, but at least he would be cared for.

The head of the green clad boy rolled around, against Chat’s chest and his arm, in a desperate attempt to stay conscious, then he finally fell into a deep slumber.

When Nino woke up again, he immediately felt every single bone of his body ache.

Was this normal?

If this was normal, he’d seriously like to quit. If he’d have to go through this every single time an Akuma was attacking he would not be up for this job.

Ouch.

With a groan he opened his eyes, his eyelids fluttering to adjust to the light, then he groaned again and tried blinking through it. Finally, he could look around, realizing he wasn’t transformed anymore, and recognized Master Fu’s shop, the relief washing over him like a wave.

The old Master had his back turned to him, working on something that made Nino immediately relax again since it smelled so good. As he knew his Master, he was probably brewing tea at the moment.

“I was wondering when you would wake up, young Nino.”, the man finally raised his voice, his soft words only slowly getting through his humming headache, then Master Fu turned to him and smiled.

Nino had never seen such an interesting mixture of smugness, sympathy and humor in a grin, and honestly, he hadn’t thought it to be possible, but as Master Fu looked down at him with a cup of tea in his hand, Wayzz sitting on his shoulder, he saw exactly that in the expression of the old man.

“Chat told me you got quite the hit. I can see that. He brought you here unconscious, and that is not something that happens often with the suit. But do not worry, he left before you detransformed. And we’ll set your jaw right again.”, the humored twinkle in the old man’s eyes was everything to Nino.

But also, when he mentioned it, Nino realized he couldn’t talk.

His jaw was probably broken, Master Fu then continued on, and started rambling about what to do about that and that it would only take a few hours with the ancient techniques of magic. But still, Nino would have to wait that one out.

Oh well.

He could imagine worse than having a tea with an old man and sleeping for a few hours.

Especially after such an experience.

ANOTHER YEAR ANOTHER CHAP

[wispscribbles]

They’re watching Gaz beat Soap’s record (again)