#they had to add another fuckin kitchen

[neverforpickles]

I looked at my bank statement activity and I am kinda pissed too early in the morning because my family has this weird obsession of constantly building another houses and I have to pay for the fuckin labourers. They costs money and I cannot save money. In my own opinion we do not need more than four houses. and additional useless two kitchens on top of the other four houses. god dammit. We do not even use that other two extra kitchens and they have like big spaces that already can serve as a house for an entire family. Ahhhh i wanna scream

[xxknockoutxx]

Izuku

(this is just something to put out for fun but I take heavy inspiration from Glitched they're freaking amazing! I hope they are doing well ❤️‍🩹🥦)

It was another day of sitting at home without a care in the world. Waiting for your husband to come home, this was the one day where you weren't working or out doing chores. The giant house that you and your pro hero husband inhabited was so intimidatingly big, that seeing the house so quiet and empty kinda scared you but in a good way. Like a really secured way.

It wasn't all that lonely I suppose with your husband texting you every once and in a while with memes or compliments or how much he misses you. He's gotten the hang of One for All and is the number 1 hero. All this sounds pretty good for you guys but it's not...

The stronger your hunk of a husband gets, the longer he'll be working and that means less time for you too. This was probably the 3rd day he'd been vacant from the house this week so you were tired of it. I mean who wouldn't be?

I'm just gonna have to make him forget work when he comes back. you thought. Sure it was a lot easier said than done but you are Y/-fuckin-N! Ain't nobody or nothing gonna stop you from getting what you want✨

*Bzzz* Your phone buzzes and you find out it's your husband.

🥦My hero🥦: Hey baby I got some good news! 😁

I'll be home either tonight or next morning! I can't wait to see my precious little Bunny💚

Your heart swelled as you read the text you eagerly texted him back showing your excitement before going back to brainstorming. Shit.... Now you're on a time limit. With little time you began thinking about a dinner; one with a huge table full of different foods and of course dessert but will that be enough for your busy husband to stay home?

Annoyed and stressed, you just focus on that one thing, preparing food. You walked into the kitchen and searched the full fridge for things to cook. thankfully you had the ingredients to try some viral recipe you saw on Pinterest.

After cooking and laying everything out on the table you decided to change into something more anticipating you changed into some tiny pajamas and black lingerie under it. Surely it would do something to him to see those thin, black and green panties.

"Bun! I'm home!" Your heart froze up before running to the front door and hugging and kissing the breath out of Izuku.

"baby! Hiii" "Hey bun... You look so....- He takes in the way that the shirt you were wearing hugs your curves. The way that it just barely shows the outline of your hardening nipples. —Good..."

"I made you a little sumthin-" You help him put his stuff down and drag him towards the kitchen. This food is gonna be so fucking good that he's gonna eat this and then eat me- wait.

As Izuku takes a seat and looks in awe at all the food on the table. After working 22 hour shifts for 3 days straight you get kinda hungry. He waited for you to be seated as you walked to the table with his plate of healthy servings.

"thank you so much, Bunny. I love you."

You smile and join him at the table, in your rightful chair or throne rather; Izuku's lap.

He begins to chow down on all of his food rather quickly, while spouting his compliments about you and the food. "Wow this is so good, Bun" and "You look so pretty today" and "Did you get all dolled up for me?"

At the end of the meal you carefully bring him upstairs and take off his hero gear. Making sure to be slow and to add a sway to your movements. At this point Izuku's eyes were lidded and he still had that same smile of adoration but it seemed almost suspecting.

You pushed him back on the bed and slowly took off the pajamas. (Deku merch obviously) Under it you had your dark green and black lingerie.

"wow.. you were ready for me, weren't you bun?"

He cups your cheek and pulls you onto his lap. You feel his warm, calloused hand touch your face as a familiar sensation of Izuku's bulge rubbing against your sweet spot.

You lean in for a kiss and start playing with the zipper on his hero suit pants. As you do he slips a hand on your waist and deepens the kiss while helping you loosen his pants and takes off his suit.

"lemme help you with that bun..."

✩.･*:｡≻─────────── ⋆♡⋆ ───────────.•*:｡✩

"F-fuck! Wait! Izu...." Of course after working for so long and so hard your husband is gonna be a little pent up. Not being able to come home to see his pretty, loyal wife. The only way to solve that? A fucking mating press. Nothing can compare to the satisfaction of a good fucking. Especially passionate, rough and deep sex.

I mean if you aren't screaming his name at the end is it even considered a good fucking? Clearly he isn't putting in enough effort if you give him a reaction that's anything less than a moan of his name, unintelligible mumbles, or praises. So he'll go for a couple hours. Maybe he'll be satisfied after a few positions, some breeding, and marking. Just to make sure you know you're his.

And right after he would take a shower with you cuddle with you and make sure you were at 100 percent and then only then would he go to sleep with you in his arms. An unbreakable grasp.

Then he'll do the same thing next week.

⏤͟͟͞͞☆𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐱.

[thebearer]

the milestone menu: roasted red pepper and tomato soup for sad days

prompt: the death of mikey's anniversary is near. you make a comfort meal for carmen.

contains: mentions of death. angty with a side of fluff (at the end). anxious!carmen (i mean ofc).

INGREDIENTS

3 red bell peppers. 4 large tomatoes, peeled, seeded, chopped. An onion, chopped. 2 garlic cloves, minced

1 1/2 tsp thyme. 2 tsp paprika. A pinch of sugar. Salt & pepper. Cayenne

1/2 cup Chicken broth. 2 tbsp butter. 1 1/2 tbsp flour.

DIRECTIONS

Cover peppers in oil, broil until black, turn to get all sides. Put them in a paper bag to rest, the skin & seeds should come off easily. Chop. Heat oil on med heat in a large pot, cook garlic & onions until soft. Add tomatoes, peppers, thyme, paprika, and sugar. Cook on med-low, until most of the liquid has evaporated, about 20 minutes. Stir in 6 cups of chicken stock, salt & pepper. Bring to boil & simmer for 20 mins, until the vegetables are tender. Strain soup. Use a food processor or blender, and blend solids to your desired consistency. In your large pot, melt butter & add flour. Add soup/purée and stir, simmer for a few minutes.

“Hey, baby,” Carmen’s voice came to you before he did. A heavy sigh, tired and heavy from the day, from the looming anniversary approaching. 

Mikey’s death date was creeping closer and closer, the days darker and colder as did Carmen’s demeanor. Longer days at work, distant even when he was home with you. You worried about him, though everyone told you not to. 

“He just… he gets like this when it gets closer to the date, you know?” Richie muttered when you’d confided in him at family dinner. “We all get kinda fucked up, but Carm… That’s just how he is, y’know? Just give’im some time.” 

Anchovy purred, rubbing against Carmen’s leg. It was almost like he knew. Carmen would swear he did, that he could sense his owner’s upset, that he was trying to make it better. He’s like you, Carmen would say, giving you a half grin that always had you swooning. 

Carmen frowned when he didn’t see you lingering about. Not in the doorway smiling at them, leaning in for a kiss, wrapping him in a hug. “Babe?” Carmen called again, looking down the hall. The lights were on in the kitchen, a small clinking of bowls and silverware. 

Carmen found you in front of the stove, trying to keep quiet, stirring a pan on the burner gently. “Hey,” He frowned when you jumped, turning around with a wide eyed gaze, like you’d been caught. 

“Carm,” You chirped, body shimmying in front of the stove, too close to the flame in a too loose shirt. Carmen fought the urge to tell you to move or tuck your shirt in. 

“You’re-You weren’t supposed to be home early.” You turned to the clock blinking on the microwave. “I-I thought you weren’t going to be home for another hour.” 

“Richie told me to leave.” Carmen frowned, trying to peer around you. 

“Why?” You blocked his view with your body, a side step in front of him. 

“‘Cause he’s a fuckin’ jaggoff lately. What’re you doin’?” Carmen huffed lightly, grabbing your waist gently, holding you in place so he could see around you. A large pot on the stove, bubbling to life, steam clouding the clear lid that covered it. 

“I’m cooking.” You huffed, shoulders deflating lightly. “I-I was going to surprise you. I had this whole thing planned, and I got candles and I was going to change out of this.” You threw your hands down on your sweatshirt- Carmen’s sweatshirt. One from Copenhagen he’d picked up when it was especially cold. You’d stolen in, not that he minded, he liked you better in it anyways. 

“Was going to at least try to look a little nice.” You mutter, wiping off a small stain, a glob of tomato that had flung when the processor lid wouldn’t come off earlier. 

“You look beautiful, c’mon.” Carmen shook his head at you. “What’re you- Why’re you doin’ all this?” His heart skipped for a moment, looking at the calendar pinned on the fridge. “Did I- We didn’t have plans?” Fuck, he’d been so busy he’d forgotten. Head everywhere but where it needed to be. First he was fuckin’ up dishes left and right at work, and now he couldn’t even remember a fuckin’ date. 

“No,” You shook your head, stilling Carmen’s racing mind. “I just… I wanted to do something nice.” You looked up at him, hands grabbing him sweetly, holding them in your own. “For you.”

“For me?” Carmen whispered, swallowing around the tightness in his throat, in his chest. “What’re you talkin’ about for me? What-Why would you wanna-” 

“Because,” You shrugged lightly, hands swinging between the two of you gently. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Carmen saw the hesitation on your face, knew what was coming before you said it. He tensed in your hold. “I just… With everything-” 

“-Don’t.” Carmen shook his head, the burn in his throat strangling his voice. “You don’t have to, baby.” 

“I do.” Your eyes met his, rounding in his gaze. “I want to. I-I don’t really think it will help, but… I don’t know. Whenever I was sad my mom would make this for me.” You nod back towards the pot on the stove. “It always made me feel better.” 

Carmen thought he might cry. He willed himself, squeezing your hands, pulling you into his chest to hold you. He just needed to hold you, to feel you, pressing his nose to your scalp, inhaling your scent. 

All the emotions he’d repressed, swallowed down and tried to power through. Anytime he’d turn the corner, see Mikey’s smiling face on the fall and he’d feel like breaking down. Screaming, crying, punching the walls, pulling his hair out, ears ringing and heart hammering; instead, he’d go to the walk-in to breathe through collapsing lungs.

You felt Carmen’s shaky breath, rattle out of his chest and shake into yours. Your hand rubbed gently against his back, up his spine in a soothing way you hoped would calm him. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, cheeks pressed against his chest. His heart raced in your ear, a pounding thud that made your own heart squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Carm.” 

“It’s alright.” Carmen gritted, jaw clenching, willing his tears back. “It’s-it’s just a lot. I don’t even fuckin’ know why. Why-Why I even get like this when-when it’s been so long.” 

“Don’t do that.” You shook your head, frowning at him lightly. 

“No, no it’s true. I- fuck, I shouldn’t be-” 

“-Carmen,” You held his gaze firmly. His red rimmed blue eyes met yours, a little wary, vulnerable. You softened, fingers brushing through his hair. “It’s ok.” 

The finality in your voice, soft but certain, it made Carmen’s jaw shake, emotions bubbling over. He held you, rocking side by side in the kitchen, cries muffled into your shoulder. You held him back, just as tight, cooing shushes over the hums of the appliances, his tears wet on his sweatshirt- your sweatshirt. 

“Don’t expect a lot.” You gave a small, teasing smile over your shoulder. 

Carmen had settled into his usual seat at the small kitchen table. He’d sheepishly wiped his tears, letting you dote on him sweetly. Kiss his tears away, soft lips pressing to his wet cheeks, his nose, pulling him in so his lips were on yours, arms still tangled around the other. 

“It’s not, like, gourmet or anything.” You shook your head, ladling out the hot liquid into a bowl. “It is my Nana’s recipe though.” 

“Better than gourmet then?” Carmen’s voice was raspy with dried tears, though he smiled lightly. Bright enough to warm your heart, leave you smiling, plating the grilled cheese. 

“She’d love that you said that.” You grin, setting the steaming bowl and sandwich in front of him. You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, a hand running down the back of his neck lovingly. 

He burned at the simplicity, the sweetness of it all. So loving and affectionate freely, without any strings attached. Mikey would’ve loved you, Carmen was so sure of it. 

“This is good.” Carmen nodded, swallowing his spoonful. 

“Yeah?” You grinned proudly, positively beaming. 

Of course it was good, the best fuckin’ thing he’s ever had. It came from you, so it only made sense it was. Carmen didn’t say that. Instead, he smiled, reaching over for your hand, squeezing it across the table. “Yeah. Amazing. Just what I needed.” He swallowed another wave of tears, happier this time. “Thank you for, uh, for doin’ this.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” You propped your head in your free hand, a lopsided, lovey smile that warmed Carmen from the inside out. He knew his cheeks were blushing, tingling pink under your affectionate gaze. 

“It’s really good.” Carmen took another spoonful, the warmth spilling down his throat, soothing his chest. “Sorry I came home early and didn’t call. I just… I’ve been out of my mind, y’know? I’m sorry about that too, it’s-it’s not fair to you, and-” 

“-Carm,” You squeezed his hand lightly, fingers intertwining with his. “I’m glad you like it.” You smile sweetly. 

Carmen nodded, leg still shaking under the table. He didn’t let go of your hand, held it in an iron grip like a lifeline and you let him, thumb sweeping over his inked knuckles calmly. 

If Mikey could see him now, he’d be howling in laughter, cackling at Carmen at how “whipped” he was. Mercilessly tease him for being “soft” in a way that only a big brother could. But he knew Mikey would be so proud, so fuckin’ happy that Carmen found you- that Carmen had someone like you.

[elliesonlyhoe]

Loser!ellie headcannons .ᐟ ⭐

A/N .ᐟ First set of hcs..😭 lmk if y'all want a pt. 2

Loser! Ellie who lowkey has a collection of plushies that all have names, ages, and probably birthdays (specifically dinosaur ones)

Loser! Ellie Who could not flirt for shit the first few months you guys were dating.. But you on the other hand? Always trying to mess with the poor girl until she's a flustered mess.

Loser! Ellie Who had been too much of a pussy to ask you out for the longest time, just for you to already know she liked you.

Loser! Ellie Who still can't look you in the eyes without getting nervous.

You were sitting in the living room beside Ellie talking to her about how one of your coworkers had pissed you off today while Ellie was looking anywhere but you. “Els? Are you listening?..” You said, tapping your preoccupied girlfriend on the shoulder in order to get her attention.

 “I- I am…” Ellie mumbled, still looking away, the tips of her ears a bright shade of scarlet. You looked at Ellie noticing what was going on, you chuckled to yourself quietly “That's unfortunate.. My own girlfriend, the love of my life, doesn't even want to look at me? How upsetting..” You tease, as Ellie turns to look over at you, her cheeks a bright shade of red “I never said that!” She replies quickly before looking away once again “You're just.. so fuckin’ perfect..” Her own words cause her to be even more embarrassed prior to how much she was before. You try to hold in your giggles as you pull your girlfriend closer to you “I love you s'much, you know that?” you say in between your uncontrollable giggles “ I love you too..” she mutters back “And don't be a dick. Stop fuckin’ laughing at me” She adds before resting her head on your shoulder. You continue to giggle, which makes Ellie start giggling too. 

After a few moments of you two continuously laughing your asses off, you pressed a soft kiss on Ellies forehead. “Now, Tell me about your day, love.” You smile as Ellie begins to give you a rundown about everything she had done that day.

Loser! Ellie who has a separate sketchbook to fill with small doodles of dinosaurs, planets, and occasionally drawings of you.

Loser! Ellie who never fucking sleeps, like this girl will be up til’ late at night doing lord knows what.

Loser! Ellie who hates when you beat her at any game, girl will start making up the most random excuses as to why she lost, sometimes if you tease her about losing she even goes to the extent of giving you the silent treatment

Loser! Ellie who loves spooning (defo calls big spoon before you guys are even ready to head to bed, yet still ends up being little spoon sometimes.)

Loser! Ellie who acts like it's the end of the world when she accidentally interrupts you while you're speaking. Like I'm talking non-stop apologizing and always arguing with you on whether she should continue what she was saying or if you should finish speaking (you always find a way to win the argument nonetheless)

Loser! Ellie who has the humor of a middle school boy.

Loser! Ellie who probably eats lunchables 4/7 days of the week.

“Els, there's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry!” you callout before walking into the kitchen to see your girlfriend standing there like she got caught red handed, holding a half eaten pizza lunchable in her hand

“I'm not even surprised.” You say arms crossed, shaking your head slightly  

“What?! They're good!” Your girlfriend argues back, taking another bite of her mini pizza 

“Okay Els.” you chuckle, rolling your eyes playfully

“Hey! Don't roll your eyes at me..” Ellie scoffs “Don't knock it til' you try it.”

Loser! Ellie who has a backpack filled with space and dinosaur themed pins (also probably pins with corny ass memes on them.)

Loser! Ellie who either can't accept a compliment, or gets abnormally flustered by your compliments. (It all depends on the day tbh😭🙏)

Loser! Ellie who ADORES taking walks with you near lakes, creeks, and ponds. 

A/N .ᐟ I love Loser!ellie so much omdysss🙏❤

[princessbrunette]

rafe definitely would be the type to get his fwb pregnant, ghost her for a while, and then come back with his stupid shaved head and his hands in his pockets like ‘when’s the next appointment’. he has to take a little panic time to come around to the idea and remember that it takes two to make said child, and then the fear of being like his dad and neglecting his firstborn kicks in and he pops back up ready to sort shit out and attempt to be there to the best of his ability in his own way cause it’s still rafe and he’s not perfect ykwim. definitely could heal him though 🙏. Waddle around in those flowly little dresses cause they’re all that fit in the late stages but cause of the belly it makes them shorter than they already were and he’s a man starved.

GODDDDD this makes me go crazy😀

you’re by no means a pogue but your place is still just small enough to make rafe turn his nose up at it if you remember correctly, proving his disapproval of it when he shows up after a few months, a few shades tanner, buffer, with a buzzed head. he looked older, more mature— but the way he stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, staring unabashedly at the bump that had only just broken into vision, it was clear he was the same old rafe.

“so uh, y’know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” he wanders, slowly pacing your kitchen whilst you brew him a coffee.

“no, rafe. i’m keeping it as a surprise.” your voice is quiet, untrusting. it makes him resist a sigh, scratching at his cheek with a look of discomfort. he just wants his girl back. he wants his family.

“right, right.” he nods, watching you for a moment. he supposes its true what they say about ‘pregnancy glow’ because you look fucking stunning. “baby, i’m really sorry.” he drawls and you flinch a little at the nickname. it’s been a while since you heard that. you turn to him, giving him a chance to explain himself.

“i freaked. i’m— i’m a fuckin’ coward and if you hate me, cool— alright i get it. but whether you like it or not, that’s my baby in there. and, and i’m gonna be apart of it’s life. just… let me take you out of here. we’ll start again. tanny hill’s all mine now, can set up a nice little baby room, paint it any colour you want, n’you can stay there too, with me—” he pauses, watching your unsure expression, not quite knowing how you feel about sharing the bed with rafe cameron once more. “…or sarah’s old room. up to you.” he adds reluctantly but gives you the option anyway. he does seem to really want this, and whilst you were mad he just up and left, leaving you to deal with the start of your pregnancy alone you could never resist him. you didn’t want your baby to grow up without a dad, not one bit.

“what’s wrong with my place?” you frown at your shabby little apartment your parents had set you up with.

“this place… tanny hill.” he holds his hands out mimicking a tipping scale, a cheeky smile growing on his face, voice still being gentle with you. that was the rafe you liked.

with his baby inside you, and the two of you spending all that time together, you didn’t stand a chance. you’d wondered how the two of you had ever commit to just being friends with benefits when it’s clear you had great deals of love for one another. he constantly doted on you, spoiling you and buying you whatever, if anything annoyed him he’d remove himself from the situation instead of getting mad like he used to, didn’t let you even walk anywhere alone despite telling rafe it was fine, jumping up to guide you with an arm around your waist once you got more swollen. he was treating you like you were made of glass, even showing reluctance to fucking you when you’d begged him, telling him how the pregnancy hormones were driving you mad and you missed his dick, the blue eyed man furrowing his brows in concern asking whether this could hurt the baby.

once he was passed the concern though, rafe couldn’t help sate his arousal almost every time you’d walk around in stretched out little nighties, swollen tits practically falling out of the top. he’d still be real gentle, don’t get it twisted— opting to grind his cock into you instead of thrusting like a madman remanent of your past with him. he’d stroke your clit with his thumb, your legs spread with his cock burrowed inside you, panting. “its true what they say, pregnant pussy is wetter. didn’t think you could get any better, baby.” he groans, your walls clamping down around him, crying out at his vulgarity.

“get used to this life, sweetheart, ‘cos i don’t think i’m ever gonna be able to stop fucking babies into you.”

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

do you think you could write something where ben/soldier boy is jealous of how butcher looks at reader and maybe add some smut so he makes her understand that she’s only his

Jealous

masterlist

pairing: soldier boy x female supe!reader (pyrokinesis - ability to control fire)

rating: R for language, smut

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, horror movie discussion/spoilers (chucky/child’s play, halloween, it), ends with smut so 18+ only please (not like heavy smut only 231 words), the boys spoilers

timeline: set in an au after season 3

author’s note: thank you for the request, anon! i usually don’t write smut mainly cause i’m bad at it but i hope you like this fic <3

music: all i could think about was jealous by nick jonas while writing this so…

gif source

“Horror movies aren’t really scary! You’re just a fuckin’ wimp!” Butcher shook his head.

“Obviously not all horror movies are scary, but Annabelle is fucking terrifying!” You exclaimed.

“Annabelle scares you?” Ben laughed. “C’mon, sweetheart demonic dolls aren’t real! Demons aren’t even real!”

“Why can’t we just watch something else?” You asked. “If it’s killer dolls you want, let’s watch Child’s Play!”

“Yeah, I’m with Y/n on this one,” Hughie chipped in. “I vote we watch Chucky.”

“Thank you!” You smiled. “Either we watch Chucky or I won’t tell you guys where I keep the Jiffy Pop.”

“Fine, you win,” Butcher rolled his eyes. “Nice to know your weakness is possessed dolls though, now I know how to scare the shit outta you next Halloween.”

“If you bring an Annabelle doll anywhere near me I will burn it to ash before it touches me,” You laughed.

You stood up and made your way over to the kitchen. Butcher watched as you reached to grab the popcorn from an upper cabinet. He watched as your shirt rode up and he could see your lower back. He watched as you bent down to get something from a lower cabinet, and as you placed a large bowl on the table.

“Where’s the remote?” Hughie asked, seeing Ben eyeing Butcher like he wanted to strangle him.

“Should be in the top left drawer by the TV,” You called out from the kitchen. “Ben, could you show him?”

“It’s in there,” Ben grumbled, pointing to the drawer.

“Thanks,” Hughie replied quietly.

Butcher watched as you continued in the kitchen; biting your bottom lip a little as you pressed the buttons on the microwave after tossing in a bag of popcorn. Ben was slowly getting more and more angry.

He suddenly stood up and made his way over to you.

“Every-” Before you could finish he crashed his lips onto yours. You continued when he pulled away, “-thing okay?”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you again. He brought one hand to cup your cheek and the other to slide down your back and rest on your butt. You pulled away when the popcorn sounded done.

“Could you put another one in while I pour this in the bowl, please?” You asked as you shook the bag to distribute the butter evenly.

“Sure thing,” He said, grabbing another bag out of the box. “How long?”

“Uh, four minutes, but you have to listen for when the popping stops.”

He nodded a little before doing as you instructed.

“Hey, so uh…you and Butcher…is there anything I should worry about?” He asked quietly.

“What?” You laughed a little, but then realized he was serious. “Ben you know I only have eyes for you?”

“Well now you do, what about all that time everyone thought I was dead? You’ve worked with Butcher for years, right?”

“Well that’s not fair!” You scoffed. “You slept with a ton of people before you met me!” He furrowed his brows a little.

“So you slept with Butcher?” He exclaimed.

“Shh!” Your eyes widened, glancing over your shoulder to be sure Hughie and Butcher weren’t listening. “I- I may have had a one night thing with Butcher like four years ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before we invited him over to our fucking home?” He gritted his teeth a little.

“Please don’t be mad,” You sighed. “It really didn’t mean anything, Ben. He hates Supe’s and I’m pretty sure he regretted it instantly afterwards.” You took his hand in yours and looked up at him. “I only have eyes for you, Ben. I love you!”

“I don’t think he regrets it, he’s been mentally undressing you non-stop.”

“He can mentally undress me all he wants, you’re the one that gets to undress me for real,” You smirked a little.

“Yeah, I still wanna tear his spine out,” He mumbled and started walking away.

“Ben,” You gripped his upper arm and stopped him. He turned to look at you and you pulled him down into a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you,” He smiled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Butcher before, does it really bother you?”

“Not really, what’s bothering me is how he’s looking at you,” He sighed a little. “They’re sleeping here tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” You nodded.

“Who’s sleeping where?”

“Hughie in the guest room, Butcher on the upstairs couch.”

“The pullout couch?” He smirked. “In the room next to ours?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ at all,” He replied and kissed you again.

**

You didn’t notice, but throughout the movie Butcher was eyeing you incrementally. When you’d reach over Ben to grab some popcorn and he could see your cleavage nicely his eyes were glued. It happened quite a few times until Ben moved the popcorn closer to you so you wouldn’t have to reach for it.

Every scary scene you’d reach for Ben’s hand and snuggle into his side for a sense of security. (Not that you were really scared, but you wanted an excuse to be even closer to Ben.) He’d respond by holding you tighter and whispering sweet nothings into your ear about how he’ll never let a killer doll hurt you.

Dinner was a little awkward between Ben and Butcher; Solder Boy caught him eyeing you over and over. You and Hughie, however, were having a lovely conversation about horror movies.

“Pennywise and Micheal Myers aren’t even comparable, Hughie! What kind of question is that?” You scoffed, laughing.

“Okay but overall, Micheal Myers is better,” He replied.

“No! Micheal Myers is just a run-of-the-mill serial killer, Pennywise is a supernatural shape shifting killer clown!” You exclaimed. “Ben, back me up here.” You turned to look at him and gained his attention by tapping his upper arm.

“What was the question sweetheart?” He asked.

“Micheal Myers from the Halloween movies, or Pennywise from Stephen King’s It?”

“Oh Myers definitely,” He nodded.

“No, you’re supposed to say Pennywise,” You whispered.

“I love you but Pennywise is fuckin’ horrific!” He whispered back, smiling.

“I win,” Hughie grinned widely.

“Wait so Annabelle doesn’t scare you but Pennywise does?” You asked Ben, purposefully annoying Hughie by ignoring him.

“All they had to do to stop Annabelle is set her on fire, Pennywise basically can’t die,” He shrugged.

“Okay one, burning the doll would just free the demon, and two, Pennywise dies at the end of the second movie.”

“Does he though, Y/n? Does he?” Ben teased, you rolled your eyes.

“Butcher, you agree with me, right?” You said.

“Pennywise is creepier but is much easier to beat in a fight,” Butcher replied. “All you gotta do is close your eyes, tell yourself he ain’t real, and the cunt disappears. Myers on the other hand has died several times but it never seems to stick. Myers is better.”

“I hate you all so much right now!” You groaned.

“Ooh how about what horror movie villain could you beat in a fight?” Hughie offered, understanding the Myers vs Pennywise topic had been settled.

“All of them,” Ben stated seriously.

**

You stepped out of the bathroom after your shower, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Ben’s.

“On the bed, now.” He said sternly. You smiled widely, you loved when he got all authoritative in the bedroom. You hurried to the bed and he quickly followed, freeing himself of his own clothes.

He knelt down between your bent legs, spreading them wider with his hands. With almost no preparation, he slid himself all the way in, making you cry out with pleasure and pain.

“Oh, god, Ben!” You exclaimed, squeezing your eyes shut. He stayed there and watched you writhe under him. “B-Ben, move,” You squeaked, urging him to create some friction.

“Nuh uh,” He held your hips down when you tried to thrust upward. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Ben, I’m all yours,” You breathed.

“Louder, I want Butcher to fuckin’ hear you. I want him to know who fuckin’ owns you.”

“Ben! I’m all yours oh god!” You exclaimed. “Please- Just-”

He bent down and kissed you.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t even walk tomorrow,” He whispered. “You’re all mine, Y/n.”

“I’m all yours Ben, fuck!” You screamed.

That was enough for him to pull almost all the way out and thrust back in, repeating over and over. With every thrust he had you screaming his name and proving you truly were all his.

[farmerlarrry]

This Time It's Over | Joel Miller One Shot

Inspired by the song: This Time It’s Over by Crybaby

Pairing: Joel Miller x afab!reader | WC: 3.5k

Summary: You and Joel have another argument. When you try to leave, Joel stops you, making up for his faults the only way he can think of. However, is it really over this time?

A/N: If this is bad, just know this is my first attempt at writing smut (and, in general, my first one shot), so please be kind lol. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, just be nice about it!! ♡

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, toxic relationship (mainly alluding to it, but there is some arguing in the beginning), post-outbreak, age gap (Joel is early 50’s/reader is early to mid 20’s but that’s not really mentioned so…), softdom!Joel, angry!Joel, soft!Joel makes an appearance too, praise kink, pet name (sweetheart), oral sex (male receiving), unprotected PiV sex, (kind of) fingering, light ass slapping, ass touching, encouraged begging, light hair pulling, nipple play/sucking (if I missed anything, I sincerely apologize, just let me know if I need to/should add anything)

“How many times have I asked you to put up the curtains?” You greet Joel with hostility as he enters through the front door. His face immediately goes sour. 

“Well, hello to you too,” His tone is dry. You turn away from the barren windows to face him; he’s setting down an assortment of flowers on the kitchen table, pulling out one of the chairs aggressively and taking a seat. “Got these for you, by the way.”

“Thanks,” You instantly shoot back sarcastically. “But I’d really like it if you would hang the fucking curtains up like I’ve been asking you for the past year and a half, Joel.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman,” His voice getting louder as he speaks. “I’m out there all fucking day doin’ patrol, ‘n when I get home all you do it bitch and complain about what I’m not doin’. I’ll get around to it.”

“I’ll get around to it,” You mock what he said and narrow your eyes at him, causing him to turn away from you, crossing his arms. “Maybe if you actually followed through with anything you’ve promised me, every fucking thing you said you’d get around to doing, I wouldn’t have to be on your ass all the time.” 

“If you want it done that fuckin’ bad, do it yo–” He snares at you, not finishing his sentence. Not that it matters because you know exactly what he was going to say.

You and Joel have always had a sort of on again, off again relationship. No matter how much the two of you tried, no matter how much you communicated, talked things through; there was always something that left the two of you clawing at each other’s necks. The real issue, though, is you’d always come back together again, things would be sweet and good for a month or two, and then it would all go to shit again, like clockwork. It’s happened time and time again, but there’s something about Joel that no one else could give you in Jackson. And because he keeps coming back to you as well, you assume it’s the same for him. 

Lately, things have become much more intense; the fights are louder, they last longer. You’re sick of it. This time it’s over. Really over.

All you can think to do at the moment is roll your eyes and scoff— loudly. He was right, you could do it yourself, but you were already committed to being annoyed over the fact he didn’t do it when you originally asked. The noise causes Joel to crank his head toward you. You can see the anger building up inside him, his neck becoming splotchy and red; something that only happens when he is seriously pissed off. Throwing down the tea towel you had been using to dry the dishes, you rush past the table, past Joel and head toward the front door. I’m not living like this anymore, you think to yourself, a tightness in your chest is quickly forming. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Joel slaps his hand against the table, sending a chill down your spine as your hand hovers the door knob. There’s a hitch in your breathing, before you slowly turn on your heel and face him. He’s never hit anything before in his fits of rage and him doing it now shocked you.

“I’m done, Joel,” Your voice sounds weak and you’re barely able to get your words out, a burning sensation starts to form in your throat. Joel rises from his chair, there’s a darkness in his eyes. He’s walking toward you slowly, like you’re some sort of prey, and you're unable to move; the only thing you can do is watch him as he gets closer and closer. He has a smirk on his face, not even attempting to hide it.

“You’re done?” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, as he hovers over you. You cower under his touch, looking up at him with wide, doe-eyes. “You know that’s not true, sweetheart.” 

You pull yourself out of your daze and roll your eyes in annoyance, starting to turn away from him. Joel grabs you by your wrists, pushing your back up against the door. The intense smell of aftershave, cigarettes, and coffee fills your senses, your stomach begins to flutter, a fire burning deep inside of you.

“Let go of me,” You say softly, not convincing anyone that you truly want him to. Your eyes are stuck on his slightly parted lips, his bottom one still healing from the last run in he had with someone at The Tipsy Bison. He begins to grab at your ankle length dress, a smirk still plastered on his face, he begins to walk his fingers up your thigh and hiking up the bottom of the dress as quickly as he can. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath when your panties come into view, running his fingers along the hem where your thigh and womanhood meet. 

“I don’t think so,” He barely gets his words out before crashing his lip into yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth which you gladly welcome. You let out a small moan as Joel presses his growing bulge against your leg, and pulls your panties to the side, running his index finger over your pulsing clit. The sensation causes your hips to roll, pushing into his touch. As he pulls away, you grab onto his lip with your teeth, tugging on it. Joel moans, following up with a small, dark chuckle. Joel, you breathily let out, screwing your eyes shut as he teases your hole with two of his fingers.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that?” Joel grunts, pulling his hand out of your panties, knowing that he won’t be able to push through teasing you. He needs you right now.

Before you know it, he’s pulling you by your wrist over to the kitchen table— the one the two of you were arguing at only moments prior. But right now, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is what you want from Joel, and what he wants from you. He flattens his hand against the middle of your back, pushing you down and bending you over the table. Your chest slams against the surface, you let out a small, devilish giggle. ‘M sorry, Joel mutters, you can hear him struggling with his belt buckle, and then it hitting the wood flooring. Your pussy throbs at the thought of Joel fucking you. Without thinking, you grab the edges of the table, wrapping your fingers around the sides until your knuckles go white.

As he comes up behind you, you can feel the warmth of his presence on the back of your thighs, causing the hair to stand up on the back of your neck. You arch your back towards him, begging him to fill you up, to ease the aching feeling between your legs. Your breathing becomes shallow and an intense feeling of irritation comes over you. 

Joel suddenly runs his hand down your back, causing goosebumps to appear across your arms and legs, before lightly slapping your ass. Mhmm, he softly hums. As he comes closer, you can feel his manhood wiggling itself in the slit between your legs. As the tip brushes against your clit, you become impatient, cranking your neck back toward Joel. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s enjoying seeing you like this. 

“Joel—“ You practically cry out.

“Tell me sweetheart, tell me how bad you want me,” His voice is dark, but smooth. 

“So— so fucking bad, please,” You whimper, laying the side of your head down at the table, preparing yourself for when Joel decides to enter your dripping hole.

“You look so fucking good from this angle,” He moans quietly, more for himself than for you to hear.

He reaches between him and you with his hand, and you can feel him slowly drag his cock between your lips, positioning his tip ever so slightly at the entrance of your hole. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying to scoot yourself back toward him. 

“Please,” You practically shout out to him, and he returns a seductive laugh before slowly pushing himself deeper, and deeper inside you. You let out a loud moan as you feel your tight hole stretch around him; both pain and pleasure fills you, the feeling spreading down to your legs.

“Tell me how good I feel inside of you,” Joel grunts, gripping onto your hips, pressing his fingers into the dips of your hips, and slamming them back toward him. Your eyes roll back at the force, and you can feel your legs begin to go numb. When you don’t respond fast enough for him, he pushes himself into you more aggressively. “I said, tell me—“

You cut him off before he can complete his sentence. 

“So…fucking…good,” You pause, saying each would on each thrust. The table is moving underneath you, scraping against the flooring. Joel draws himself slowly out of you before thrusting back in, you can feel something warm begin to run down your legs. 

“Shit,” Joel says in a serious tone, pulling out of you without any warning. A feeling of emptiness overcomes you and you begin to whimper, cranking your neck back to him. You lock eyes with him, giving him pleading eyes, he glances back and forth between you and the window.

“Wha— what are you doing?” You can feel yourself dripping, pulsing at your undying desire for him to be back inside of you.

“Head on upstairs,” Joel says, grabbing his jeans off the floor and covering his lower half. You look over to the window, the family who lives next door is approaching from the side street. There’s no way they won’t see the two of you once they get closer. 

“I should’ve put those curtains up.” Joel sounds slightly embarrassed admitting that. You turn back to him about halfway up the steps, I told you so, you think to yourself, giving him a telling look. He just shakes his head, slapping your ass to get you moving. “C’mon, we got some business to finish.”

As soon as the two of you are in the main bedroom, Joel is already all over you again. The sun is now setting, casting a dim, warm glow over the bedroom. As he begins to tug at the straps of your dress, you start to thumb at the hem of his worn, faded blue t-shirt. The one you told him to throw out. Your subtle frustration at the realization he failed to listen to you again turns to lust and firmly plant your hands on his chest, forcibly pushing him back on the bed. Your aggressiveness comes to him as a surprise, turning him on even more at the same time. He’s now watching you with begging eyes as you slip the other strap over your arm, your dress falling into a messy pile on the floor. Joel runs his eyes all over you, his throat bobbing when the two of you lock eyes. You walk over to him slowly, positioning yourself between his legs. Joel runs his hands across your lower back, rubbing your ass and squeezing occasionally. 

You drop to your knees, still keeping intense eye contact with Joel. His eyes are wide and his breathing is slow. Sweat is beginning to form on his forehead and is clinging onto his chest hairs. You grab your hair with one of your hands, moving it to one side and then drop your eyes to his cock, the tip is swollen, begging to be touched. As you begin to rub your thumb over the dripping head, Joel lets out a guttural moan. A moan that clearly conveys finally. The sounds he’s making turns you on ever more than before, you can feel your breasts begin to swell. 

“Look at me,” You whisper to Joel who has his head tilted back, looking towards the ceiling. You bring your free hand up to the back of his head, lightly wrapping your fingers around his hair and pulling it upright. He hazily looks at you, his tongue poking out from between his swollen lips. “Watch me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes as you take just the head of his cock between your lips, sucking on it ever so slightly. You watch as his eyelids flutter, and his eyes roll back; you watch as he struggles to keep his eyes open to watch you. The warmth of his precum caresses your cold tongues as you begin to swirl it, feeling the liquid steadily come from the slit of his cock. 

“Do– fuck– take i–in more,” Joel begins to plead, bring one of his hands up to the back of your head, entangling his fingers in your hair, encouraging you to take in more of him by pushing the back of your head into him. You immediately obliged, slowly and messily bobbing your head, taking in more of him each time. When you can feel the tip reach the farthest point your body will allow it to go, you take your hand, pumping and twisting the remainder of his girth. “That’s i–it sweetheart, you know h– oh my fucking God– you know how to make me fe–el good. Keep going, you–re doing s–so good.”

He’s guiding your head, pushing and pulling at his desired pace. His cock is covered in your saliva, pooling around the base. When the muscles in his thighs begin to tense up, he pulls you off of him, more aggressively than intended. You fall back on your hands on the floor, looking up at him with furrowed brows.

“Don’t think I’m not gonna pleasure you, do ya?” He says begin his heavy breaths, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Get up here.” 

Joel stands up, slightly pumping his cock and points at the bed. You oblige, bringing yourself up to your feet and centering yourself on the bed. Joel joins you without hesitation, positioning himself between your legs and hovering over you. He starts to nip at your neck, following down to collarbones, before taking one of your hard nipples into his mouth, gently sucking and biting at it. A wave of pleasure shoots through your limbs, causing you to let out a moan. Joel snickers.

“You like that, huh?” His tone is dark. As he nips at it again, you can feel his cock hit against your clit, sending a whole new sensation through your body. He swirls his tongue around the bud, moving on down your stomach, planting small kisses along the way.

Getting impatient, once again, you reach between the two of you grabbing his cock and scooting your body down. Joel begins to thrust in your hand, his eyes rolling back. He lets small, soft moans escape past his lips, to which you respond with whimpers. You want him so damn bad. 

“Just– fuck me Joel,” You are finally able to get the words out. Joel nods in response, obviously over teasing you, and he spreads your legs wider. 

As soon as you feel the tip connect with your hole, you buckle your hips and wrap your legs around his torso. In harmony, Joel thrusts deep inside of you, the two of you let out a loud moan. The bed creaks as he draws in and out, you can feel the sheets starting to become damp with sweat and other bodily fluids. 

“Tell me you're done,” Joel suddenly says in a clear voice. “You’re done with me, with u–us.”

His request throws you off. His breathing becomes heavier as he starts to thrust faster and harder into you, your mind goes blank, the only thing you can focus on is how sexy Joel looks hovering over you and how fucking good it feels to be fucked by him. You don’t think anyone else would be able to make you feel this good.

“I– I’m– duh–” You try to get the words out but the building chaos in your stomach becomes overwhelming and nearly debilitating. You can feel your legs start to tense up, your toes becoming numb.

“You… can’t… even…say…it…,” Joel drags out between his heavy breaths. Sweat is running down his cheeks and chest, dropping in splotches on your stomach. 

“Joel, I– I can’t– I’m about to–” You screw your eyes shut as you twitch under Joel’s weight, for a moment all you can see are bright splotches of colors; the tension in your stomach coming to an explosive end. Joel slows his thrusting, but continues, riding you out of your orgasm. You have your hands grasped around his forearms, squeezing as tight as you can.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” He says in a soothing tone. You can feel yourself pulsing around him. “You’re so fucking good.” 

On his last thrust, he doesnt pull out right away, his breathing hitches and he lets out a moan of relief. You can feel his girth twitch inside of you, and your pussy responds with a few more pulses. As he pulls out, the warmth of him remains, running down your slit and pooling on the bed. Joel drops down next to you, half limp with his arm strewn across your chest.

–

“Where are you going?” Joel props himself up on the bed with one elbow, sweat glistening off his chest and forehead as the moonlight shines in through the open window.

“Home,” You respond, almost confused. Where else would you be going?

You see his face drop in return, slightly pouting his bottom lip. For a moment, you wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, you go back to wrangling with your mess of a dress; nearly falling over in the dark room when your foot doesn’t slide through the top opening with ease. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Joel slowly pull himself out of bed, slipping on his gray boxers without any struggle. The floorboards creak quietly as he makes his way across the room toward you. You let out a deep sigh, a sense of relief lingers as you exhale. As you pull the last strap over your shoulder and adjust the bust, Joel loosely wraps his still damp arms around you and you crumble under his touch. You can hear his heartbeat as you nuzzle your head against his chest. Strong and deep. You close your eyes. This is the last time, you think.

“It’s cold out,” His voice is quiet and hoarse. He has his arms fully wrapped around you, not letting you escape, even if you tried— even if you wanted to. A somber smile appears on your face and you tilt your head back to look up at him. He doesn’t return your gaze, staring out the window as the two of you begin to sway from side to side. “Just stay for the night.”

His voice is even smaller than it was before, the sound coming out like a breeze. Joel runs his hands smoothly along the sides of your arms, barely brushing past your hips, before letting his arms fall at his side. He deeply inhales, locking his intense eyes on you, anticipating for you to say something— anything— at this point. You know exactly what he wants to hear.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating your choices and their potential consequences. If I don’t leave now, it will just be a never ending cycle, you think, your breathing becoming slow and deep. As you’re thinking, Joel brings his hand up to the back of your neck, running his fingers along your hairline, then tracing your jawline with the tips. 

Even though you know what you should do— the right thing to do— Joel is your weakness. And you are his. That’s why breaking up has never worked in the past. The community is too small, and your relationship is too intense.

“Sweetheart,” His tone has a hint of anxiousness to it.

You give him a slight nod, a bit of hesitation behind the gesture. He grabs your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckles, pulling you back toward the messy bed. You crawl from his designation side over to yours, laying on your side to face him. With your hand tucked under your head, cupping your ear, you watch him take a smooth draw at his whiskey, the muscles in his chest twitch as he moves his arm.

He slips into the bed, pulling the blanket over the two of you, and scooting closer to you. Your eyelashes are fluttering at him, your heart full; the infatuation that comes after an intense break up, you think, self-aware of what you’re feeling. A small part of you feels guilty. Joel is looking at you with hungry eyes, although a softness exudes from them. He leans in, planting a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. 

“This time it’s over,” He says as he pulls away, brushing a few pieces of stray hair out of your face. You smile at him, following up with a bittersweet nod.

[riverbutghost]

All Alone (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley xGN!Reader)

Summary: After an unsuccessful mission and you getting scolded by your lieutenant, you’re left all alone by yourself feeling depressed for the first time.

A/N: This is my first post ever on Tumblr lol I’m excited.

Categories: this is Angst / Hurt Comfort and the ending isn’t sad but isn’t happy either.

Warnings: graphic language, wound, blood, getting shot but nothing fatal, slight sexual themes, also the readers nickname is Scout.

You were exhausted.

The mission had gone wrong, making all of you to take a step back. And it was probably your fault.

“I’m going after that guy!” You yelled through your comm. Then Ghost’s voice was heard.

“Don’t do something stupid, Scout.”

But you had already done the stupid something.

You didn’t see it. You didn’t see the guy who was holding a gun to you from behind. It was Soap who saw it and informed you but it was too late.

You turned around quickly while pointing your gun, but the guy shot you in the arm. You gasped loudly at the sudden pain. You could’ve shot the man too, but a stupid little mistake was made. You couldn’t shoot him, you couldn’t move your arm. He ran and called for reinforcements.

And boom, the mission failed because of you.

On other circumstances, you wouldn’t mind being yelled at, but you weren’t feeling yourself. You weren’t Scout who would tell everyone to fuck off.

Even before the mission, you weren’t yourself. You didn’t know what was wrong with you, but you weren’t there. You didn’t mind it, but it costed you a whole mission.

You didn’t see your lieutenant after the incident, only seeing his back where he was sitting in the front of the truck. He didn’t say a word and it was painful. You were scared because that happened before too.

_

You had done something reckless again, almost getting shot at the head.

But you were lucky.

“You’re so fucking reckless, Scout.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m not sorry Ghost.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He hissed through clenched teeth.

“But I did, and I take the blame. So fuck off-“

In two steps, he was in front of you. He pushed you against the wall. Your breath hitched.

“When will you shut that stupid mouth of yours?”

Your lips parted involuntarily. Ghost’s eyes flicked down to your lips.

You closed your mouth and swallowed everything down. Every little witty remark.

Your eyes went back and forth between his eyes and his mouth.

He looked at your eyes again and his gaze softened.

You licked your lips. He took a breath.

“Don’t tempt me, Scout.” You gulped again. His voice was hoarse, his chest rumbled. Your skin was suddenly burning.

“I’m not trying to, Ghost.”

Your breaths were shallow, unorganized. You wanted to see his face, see his mind. What was he thinking?

You looked deep in his eyes. Suddenly, you found another emotion, sadness. Then there was guilt maybe. He swallowed whatever he was going to say.

You kept quiet. He was quiet too. You were just staring at each other, not feeling any discomfort even though you weren’t in a comfortable position.

“You could’ve fuckin’ died.” His voice came out as a whisper. His gaze dropped for a second. You shivered.

“Ghost, Price is calling for you!”

A sudden call from Gaz was the interruption you didn’t want.

“Comin’” He called to Gaz, still looking at your eyes. He cleared his throat. He took a step back and turned around, leaving you in the kitchen. Breathlessly, you cleared your throat too.

You felt something down on your abdomen, tensing slightly. You thought it was something sexual.

And that night, you had your first wet dream about your lieutenant.

_

Right now, you were sitting on the bed the medic told you to, and waiting for her to start patching your arm up. She had already took the bullet out, which was a really painful experience you might add, and she told you to wait for her to patch you up.

She was washing her hands and talking to you at the same time, not knowing her words were entering one ear and leaving from the other.

Suddenly the door swung open, Ghost came in.

“Get out, Stevens.”

The medic, Stevens, gulped and got out immediately, leaving you alone with him. You were screwed.

No need to be scared, you told yourself. He is my lieutenant, my friend-

“What the fuck was that?”

He snarled, looking at you with disappointment. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Not now, simon. Not after I fucking blowed up a mission by myself.

“Ghost I-“ He cut you off with a growl. You shivered.

“Didn’t know you were that, stupid.”

You licked your lips, trying so hard to come up with something witty. But no, you felt something else coming up.

You didn’t say anything, only looking at the floor. You were hoping for him to leave now, but no. Simon fucking Riley didn’t know when to shut up or speak.

“I can’t fucking believe you. You’re a fuckin’ failure..”

Ouch

You looked up.

He was still wearing his gear. He didn’t even wait to change, because scolding you was more important.

He took a deep breath, averting his eyes from yours.

“Are you done?” You asked with no emotion behind your words. You were exhausted, and your arm was still bleeding. You tightened your hand over it.

“No, I’m not fuckin’ done, Sergeant.”

You gulped when your eyes met. He was waiting, waiting for you to say something, anything that would set him off. He wasn’t looking at you though, you knew it. He was just here to scold you. He wasn’t seeing the bigger picture.

“My arm needs stitching.” He closed his eyes for a second.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He grumbled, the noise would make you feel things in other circumstances.

He looked at you one last time before getting out.

You got up and left the room after waiting for your doctor who didn’t show up.

.

.

.

You were out of the shower, still drying your hair with the towel.

You had stitched your arm by yourself, but it looked terrible as before. At least there was a gauze on your wound. You hoped it wouldn’t open.

You took a deep breath. You were going to bed after a long and hard day. Finally, you thought. You really wanted, no, needed to cry.

You could’ve literally cried after your lieutenants scolding, but you didn’t want to seem even more stupid and childish .

You’re a fucking failure , he’d said.

It was so hard, so hard not to cry and you were proud of yourself in that moment. Because if you cried in front of him, you would’ve showed him a vulnerable side and that was something you didn’t want.

Because you knew he didn’t like you.

You thought about your feelings towards your fucking lieutenant. He was your lieutenant, your superior. It wasn’t ethical, and you knew he wouldn’t look at you like that. It was almost painful to watch him interact with rookies like it’s nothing, but when it came to you he would shut off. He would scold you in a second if you did something wrong.

But you couldn’t forget about the little moment you had together in the kitchen too.

You wanted to take a breath, but you broke down instead.

You let the tears fall freely, not wiping them or anything. You knew you needed this. From the start of the day, you were waiting for that moment. And you finally had it.

And there was a knock on your door.

You sat down on your cold bathroom floor, not even suppressing your whimpers. You put your hands on your face, breaking down bad.

I need this, I need this, I’m worth it, I’m not a failure -

Then your door swung opened. You didn’t get up, you couldn’t. You couldn’t clear your vision. There was a nonstop battle between your eyes and your heart.

“Scout, hey.”

Then you heard him. You cried harder. You knew you were humiliating yourself , but you didn’t care for now.

“Scout, you’re okay-“

You harshly pulled your hands from your face and pushed him hard.

“Fuck you, Ghost. I’m not a-a failure and you know it. I’ll shoe you one day.” You were hiccuping between words and Simon cursed himself.

“Stop crying.”

You stood up, using both of your hands. The movement causing your arm to ache, and you whimpered.

Simon got up, looking stressed and angry at the same time.

“Let me look at your wound.”

“No, just leave me alone.” You answered him while rubbing your hands over your face. You didn’t sound angry for a second and that made him concerned.

“I don’t want you to fuckin’ bleed out and die, sergeant.”

Your face scrunched up, and you felt nauseous.

“Funny, lieutenant. I’m sure you want me to fucking die instead. Don’t need to be nice, we’re all alone.”

He was looking at you so confused. You wanted so hard to yell, to scream. But you were tired.

You closed your eyes and leaned on your bathroom door. You

“Listen to me fucking carefully, Scout.” He spoke harshly. You didn’t open your eyes, not ready yet to hear more scolding from him.

He took a deep breath.

“Please, Scout. “

You nodded your head, still wanting him to leave. He took a step towards you. His voice suddenly softened.

“Open those pretty eyes first, yeah?”

Your breath hitched a little and you mentally cursed yourself. You opened your eyes, finally meeting his’.

“I don’t know how to do…this.” He swallowed.

Simon took a careful step toward you again, and you let him. Your crying had already stopped, but you were looking like ghost now.

“To do what? Be nice to people?” You asked him harshly.

“Yeah, I don’t know how to be nice to people who I care about.”

You were startled by the sudden comment. He continued.

“I don’t know how to open up to people who could just die in an instant. Because If anything happens to them, I would be a real Ghost.”

You pressed your lips tighter now. You were shocked to hear those from him. But he still needed to work on his language.

He lifted his hand and put it just above your cheekbone, wiping under your eye. The sudden touch making your insides scream. you

“I don’t know what to do, to say, Scout.”

He leaned towards you, your breaths mixing with each other’s. You wanted to take off his mask now. Instead, you leaned your forehead in his forehead.

He leaned in, hand still stroking your cheek.

“Let’s figure out what to do, hm? Together .”

Your lieutenant closed his eyes and hummed. His other hand sneaked behind you to rest on your hip.

“I’m scared.” He confessed in a whisper. You licked your lips.

“Me too, Ghost.”

“Simon.” He interrupted you. You couldn’t even be happy that he told you his name.

He pulled back, his hands still resting on you.

“But that doesn’t mean you can talk shit to me, Simon.”

He swallowed the lump, nodding his head. It was hard for him, hard for him to suddenly feel an emotion. It was the worst fucking pain when you almost got shot in the head, but he couldn’t do anything other than yell at you, then fucking it up by almost kissing you. He couldn’t sleep after that night, seeing you on top of him was a sight worth dreaming but he couldn’t risk it.

He couldn’t fall in love with you. But he did. He wasn’t ready, for whatever feeling he had for you.

“I don’t think we should,” He called your real name at the end of the sentence. Your eyes suddenly shot open.

“Why? Simon fucking Riley is suddenly scared of some feelings?” You asked him harshly .

“Yes, he is.”

He was staring right at you, and you were starting to feel sleepy.

“You should probably go now.”

You said while looking anywhere but him. He sighed, looked at you one last time before grabbing the door handle to open the door wider for his massive form.

“I,” He sighed. “You’re not a failure, Scout. You’ll never be a failure.”

He got out of your bathroom, leaving you all alone once again.

“I’m not a failure.” You whispered to yourself, knowing fully the actual meaning behind his words.

He cared. He cared for you.

I hate this, this was rushed and also my first so please bear with me lol.

[storeecbrcod]

In light of recent events (watch your back, Activision), I’d like to share a domestic Ghoap thought, or add to an existing one.

Soap and Ghost, living together. Whether it’s on leave, or after their time in the military, whatever. Usually, they take turns cooking; Soap is a good cook, whipping up delicious and hearty meals like his hands were guided by God himself (even if it looked closer to a failing juggling act despite the results, much to Ghost’s amusement). Ghost likes cooking, even if his food isn’t as good as Soap’s, because he likes doing things for Soap to help him. He likes taking some pressure off of his partner if he’s had a bad or tiring day (acts of service, amiright?).

Soap loves cooking. It occupies his mind, it’s something he’s got a natural knack for, and the end result is always worth the effort. While he’s never been one for instructions, he’s always shadowed his mam in the kitchen, which has compounded over the years despite not really having a space to cook since he was 18 unless he was on leave. All in all, it’s cathartic and helps him overcome his pestering perfectionism with small accidents that have no effect on the heavenly result, most of the time.

One day, Johnny tried baking. Unlike cooking, it’s not quite as smooth. Whether it’s baking paper that won’t rip right and won’t sit in the tray, or accidentally messing up the measurements, or having to go out to the store again because he forgot something, or trying his hardest to stir every little lump out of the batter, it just isn’t working right. He’s frustrated, struggling to understand why nothing was working as the recipe says it should, and he’s about ready to throw the batch of still lumpy batter at the wall.

Ghost, having been out on some errands, walks into the apartment to complete silence. There was always some sort of noise; music, tv, Soap’s own humming or playful singing or laughter. Now, though, it was eerily quiet, and Ghost couldn’t help but revert to creeping around silently, trying to find Soap.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees a scene. Flour spilled onto the counter and ground, a batter-covered spatula lying on the counter surrounded by opened containers of ingredients, and a metal bowl of batter sitting amongst it all, alone. As Ghost rounded the island, he found Soap sitting on the ground, legs out in front of him and his back against the corner of the cabinets.

If it wasn’t for the pure defeat on Soap’s face, Ghost would have laughed. Instead, he sighed, his concern melting to calm. He placed his wallet, keys, and handful of mail on an empty space of counter, then sat next to Soap on the floor in silence for a few minutes. He could practically feel the frustration rolling off of the other man, Soap’s jaw clenching and unclenching in silent irritation.

“What do you call a baker holding sugar in both his hands?”

Silence.

“Ambidextrous.”

A reluctant snicker later, Soap’s burying his face against Ghost’s shoulder, groaning.

“Ye’r fuckin’ insufferable, Lt.”

“And you’re a useless baker.”

“Aye.”

“C’mon, I’ll help.”

Ghost helps Soap finish up, fixing the batter as much as he could and setting it in the baking tray. They cleaned up as it baked, though somehow Ghost ended up with a face full of flour, and Soap ended up with his shit-eating grin being wiped off his face in surprise when a white handprint ended up on his ass with an accompanying chuckle.

When the offending brownies were finally done, they tried them.

“Steamin’ Jesus, these are incredible.”

“Not bad.”

“What d’ye mean? They’re beautiful, Simon!”

“Needed salt. And batter was over beaten, but yeah. Not bad.”

For Soap, it was yet another surprising thing he’s learnt about Simon in his time of knowing him. He was a damn good baker, a talent he’ll be looking to take advantage of in the future.

For Ghost, it was the first time in a long time where the memories of his childhood weren’t exclusively bad. Right now, with Johnny, he could almost feel his mother’s hands on his shoulders, a whispered “Good job, baby,” breathed against his ear like she used to in their own kitchen, with their own batch of brownies.

[drjholtzmann]

going thru the drafts. this one was originally a fluffbruary prompt (whoops) but i chickened out

shower | blessed | layer

Dream is already in the kitchen when Hob gets home. Clattering through the door in a flurry of muffled curses and rustling fabric. He shucks off his coat and violently jabs it onto the coat hook, continuing to curse his way out of his shoes before standing upright again, flicking soaking wet hair back off his face. 

“Hello, stranger.” He says, aiming for casual but falling a little closer to perfunctory, unable to fully hide his frustration. 

“You’re –” Dream’s deep voice begins softly as Hob rushes to add, “I know – I’m late, I know.”

Dream, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders square, resting in one of Hob’s kitchen chairs, does not move to finish his sentence. 

“‘Light morning showers’, my eye,” Hob mutters murderously as he passes Dream and the kitchen table and continues to clatter on into the kitchen. “Fucking pissing down all afternoon! Shoes are soaked. Thought my jacket would be enough for light showers so I didn’t take a sodding umbrella, like a fucking bellend. The tube was disgusting – full of everyone trying to get out of the rain. So it was full of rainwater and the water-soaked public which, let me tell you, is a particular bouquet I don’t need to experience again in a hurry. Not at the end of a work day. I mean – you want some of this?” He pauses, wine bottle in one hand, glass in another, gesturing with the bottle towards Dream. Dream inclines his head. “I mean say what you will about the past,” Hob continues, placing the first glass down and grabbing out a second, “plenty of smells of all kinds. But at least we didn’t have fuckin’ Lynx Africa. A tube full of B.O., soaked woollen suits, stale air, muddy rainwater, all coated with the chemical tang of Lynx fucking Africa?” He gags and pours a generous, sloshing glass of red. “Adding insult to injury. Didn’t know how good we had it.” He spins the cap back onto the bottle with a metallic little hiss. “Anyway,” he places the second glass down in front of Dream. “How was your day?”  

At this Dream stands, eyes passing over Hob’s hair, falling to his shoulders, then down to his feet. “You are wet.”

“Yeah. Did you not hear the whole vitriolic spiel just now?” 

Dream looks at him like he’s stupid. “You are still in your wet clothes.” He clarifies, emphasising each word even more than usual, his eyes glinting with mockery.

Hob swallows his mouthful of wine. “Yeah, well.”

“Your socks, at least.” Dream suggests. And Hob makes a show of rolling his eyes, putting his wineglass down, and slouching back to the door.

He bends to pull off his sodden socks, and they hit the floor with a wet and heavy splat. “Meugh,” his lip curls. His eyes slide back to Dream and he resists rolling them. “Happy?” He crows, arms wide.

“Are you?”

He wiggles his damp toes against the floorboards, head tilting to the side. “Better. At least.” He concedes. 

“You ought to get out of your wet layers.” 

“When did you become mother hen?” But by now Hob is struggling to keep up the fever pitch of his frustration, a smile starting to tug at his words. 

“If you do not want my help…” Dream turns his back on him, picking up his wineglass.

“No! No. Of course I do.” He’s still playing along with the teasing, but it’s true. Always. And Dream knows it. He turns towards Hob again, a smug little smile hiding behind the rim of his glass. Hob holds his hands out to his sides, letting them fall back against his thighs. “Help me?” 

Dream scoffs, but the smirk is still in place as he sets his glass down and walks over to Hob in the entryway. “How you survived centuries between our meetings I will never know,” he tuts, plucking at Hob’s unbuttoned overshirt, slipping it down off his shoulders, then free from each wrist. 

“Made a deal with a lady.” Hob parries back, but it sounds distant even to him, far too hypnotised by watching Dream’s movements to commit to continuing their banter.

“Mm. Quite.” Dream draws the neck of Hob’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger and, assessing that it, too, is insufficiently dry, pulls it upwards. Hob is pliant, and increasingly calm in his grip. 

Hob is shirtless for barely a second before there is a soft warmth sliding up his arms. Something that looks a little like a smoking jacket but feels more like a soft fleecy dressing gown has been conjured within Dream’s palm and his being fitted neatly across his shoulders. It feels like sinking into a warm bath. The warmth between sleep and wakefulness. The heavy-muscled heat of laying close to a fire for long night hours. And Hob can’t help the full-body contented sigh that comes out of him. He feels his shoulders relax down an entire inch. His head almost falls forward, eyes closed, ready to drop right off to sleep. 

“Is that not better?”

“Mm,” Hob shuffles closer. “Better,” he agrees, curling his hands into the sweeping lapels of Dream’s coat and, allowing his eyes to finally close, drops his head against Dream’s shoulder. 

“We are only half done.” Dream says after several seconds of silence and stillness from Hob. 

Hob huffs against his neck. “You just wanna see me in my pants. Cheeky.” 

“You’re impossible.” Hob can hear the smile in Dream’s words. Smiles in return, hidden against his neck, as Dream’s hands snake around his back and hold him in a warm, impossibly fond embrace. And Hob melts against him a little further. 

“S’me. Impossible. Wearing a robe my love just conjured from the ether. Which is very normal.”

“I only wish for you to be comfortable.”

“I am, love,” he promises, voice soft, all fight and frustration drained from him. “So comfy. 'n I promise I’ll take off the trousers in a minute.” He sighs, deep and cleansing. “Can we just go to bed? I know it’s still early but fuck I’d love this day to be over.”

Dream’s hands press tighter against him, soothing up and down his back. “You will hear no complaints from me,” he murmurs against Hob’s temple, pressing a featherlight kiss into his hair.

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter three: thursday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide

word count: 3.4k

summary: you and carmy finally find some time to catch up and carmy begins to realize that you're more similar than he thinks.

a/n: thank you to all who are reading, reblogging, and commenting omg. i'm so grateful that someone wanted to read this story. i wrote it in a week because i couldn't get these two out of my head. they were begging to be put on the page. i also have a companion playlist that i'll release when the story is done because i don't want to spoil anything! comment below if you'd like to be added to this story's taglist. i did presumptuously add a few of you i've interacted with, so please let me know if you'd also like to be taken off of it.

read: part two | masterlist

Thursday

You’re grateful that by day three, you’d been able to smooth over some of the tension between you and Carmy. You even looked forward to catching up with him, if the two of you can swing it. Instead of going home early, you had jumped on the line this evening. Ebra was out for the night and Marcus had asked to fly solo on prep so that you could give him some feedback before lunch service tomorrow morning. 

It was an easy decision, to fill in and jump on the line. After all, you had checked your bag on the plane so that you could bring your knife roll with you, just in case. There was something about this kitchen – the energy and the people – that you wanted to stick around for. And it didn’t hurt that you got to spend a little extra time with Carmy. When he was in his element, expediting and leading this kitchen… he was… breathtaking. 

“Damn, nice knife, Jeff” Tina comments, checking out the santoku you’re running through some parsley. She can hear the crisp, clean cuts you're making, which is what caught her attention in the first place.

“Jeff?” you question, shooting her a look. 

“Long story, but trust me. It’s a term of endearment,” Sydney interjects, from her side of the prep station. 

You chuckle, “She’s a beauty alright. My first fully Japanese knife. Though the steel is a bitch to take care of. That’s for sure.”

“What do you mean?” Tina questions further. 

“Well, it’s just a kind of metal alloy that’s super prone to-,” you start, completing your sentence at the same time as Sydney chimes in.

“Rusting,” you both say in unison, sharing a look. 

“Huh,” Tina sounds, suddenly losing interest. “I don’t get it. It’s more work to take care of? Our shit’s part-plastic and does the job just fine.”

“Oh but she’s so smooth,” you playfully swoon, referring to how beautifully the knife performs for you. 

“It’s all about the performance, T,” Sydney adds. 

Tina hums in response, still unconvinced by you and Sydney’s admiration for the fancy tools. 

“So you and Carmy. How’d you meet Jeff?” Tina inquires further geturing her knife towards Carmy’s expediting station, and eliciting another laugh from you and Sydney.

“Uhhhh… we both worked at the same restaurant in New York. I came in to stage and the competitive jerk tried to smoke me. Thought he could show me it was his territory.”

“Like a little bitch,” Tina teases, the shade evident in her voice.

“And you kicked his ass obviously,” Sydney suggests, hopefully. 

“Mhm,” Tina adds in agreement.

“Oh absolutely,” you answer, deviously. “I walked out with a job that night. Carmy and I are the classic kitchen staff case of… enemies turned good friends.” 

You look up from your station, noticing an exchanged look between Sydney and Tina. 

It’s the kind of look that says, Just friends, huh?

“Alright, alright. Enough with the girl talk, gossip girls. News flash: no one gives a shit about fuckin’ Tom Colicchio and Padma Whatserface over here,” Richie interrupts, referring to the you and Carmy, as he passes by with a few empty storage containers on the way to the dishwashing station. 

“Asshole / Fuck off, Richie,” Sydney and Tina shout back at the same time. 

“Hey! Listen up, everyone! Fire two spaghettis, two short ribs, one chicken,” Carmy calls out to the kitchen. You listen attentively, hearing the chorus of the entire kitchen repeat the order back to him, punctuating the order with a ‘heard.’ 

You smile to yourself, as you enjoy the feeling of falling into such a familiar rhythm. 

You’ve missed working in the kitchen, and you’ve missed working in the kitchen with Carmy. This was so different than any of the bullshit you’ve been through together – even when he is arguing or yelling at someone. It’s not some sterile environment that looks more like a science lab or an operation room than it does a kitchen.

No, this place has soul. 

Between the crass kitchen banter, the less than flattering nicknames, and its wild cast of characters, it’s only day three and you feel right at home. Dinner service flies by and you’re eager to check in with Marcus by the end of the shift. Before taking your apron off, you head over to his corner of the kitchen. 

“Hey, how’s everything going, chef?” you ask, curiously. 

“Good, chef,” he answers proudly. “I got the brioche covered and ready to rise overnight and I prepped the cake donuts so we’re ready to roll tomorrow morning. I went with a blueberry cake donut this time around.” 

“Sounds great. I can’t wait to try it, chef,” you reply. “Need anything from me before I head out for the night?”

“Oh no, uh, I’m almost done here,” Marcus answers, inspiring confidence in his ability. “Just workin’ on a curd for the filling, chef. Just like you taught me.”

“Alright,” you chuckle, tickled by how excited he is. “Have a good night, chef.” You pause, wondering if your words will be totally lost on him. “And make sure you get some rest tonight, okay?” 

He responds with a nod, as you leave his station.

You make your way to the locker area, hanging your apron up, and slipping off your kitchen sneakers, before taking a seat on the bench. It looks like most of the kitchen staff got a head start on you and have already left, or are out of their kitchen clothes and ready to head home. There’s a strange feeling in your heart. You haven’t felt this kind of… community… in a professional kitchen in a long time and you try your best to name what it is you’ve felt was missing. 

“Hey,” you hear a voice say, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Hey,” you say to Carmy. 

He removes his apron, folding it over his forearm. It sits further down his arm, right near his tattooed hand, you notice, as he leans his side against the lockers. 

“Thanks for jumpin’ in… you know… on the line tonight,” he starts his gaze practically piercing through your soul. 

“Yeah, it’s uh, no problem,” you reply, placing your knife roll and kitchen shoes back into your locker. “I had fun.”

“You uh, you still want to go for that drink?” he asks, shyly. 

You smile. 

“Yeah.”

*

“It’s fucked up,” Carmy shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Oh please. What?” you groan, shooting him a look.

“You’ve been in my city for… what three days now and you already have a hookup at one of the hardest to get into bars here,” Carmy replies, eliciting a laugh from you. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh with a playful eye roll. “I’m a New Yorker, asshole. You know that’s how we do it.” 

He shakes his head again, before locking eyes with you, “You were always better at it than me.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you, Carmen Berzatto, finally admitting that I’m better at something than you? Can you say it again, and I’m just going to-.” you tease, playfully, pulling out your phone as if you’re going to film him saying it. 

“Oh shut up…” he shoots back, gently pushing your phone away from his face. 

“I mean, you could always make friends with anyone. The bodega guy downstairs. The fuckin’ bodega cat. Our favorite butcher? ‘S why we always got the good cuts of meat when we cooked together on our days off.” 

“Which is exactly why I do it,” you point out. 

You had always been so magnetic to him. It’s something that he’s always admired about you – something that always reminded him of Mikey. 

“No, I-, I used to be a regular at this bar when I was working at Gramercy Tavern – actually, I think it closed right before you came to New York. Anyways, found out my favorite bartender moved to Chicago and I sent him a message letting him know I’d be in town. Said he’d get us in even if they were booked up, and,” you gesture towards where the two of you are sitting together, “Et voila!” 

Carmy takes a look around. He hasn’t been in a fine dining establishment since he left New York. It’s as if all the fancy awards and all the dues he’s paid cooking in the best restaurants in the entire world don’t matter anymore. He feels so out of place: the people, the over-the-top cocktails, the overpriced bowls of food called something fancy to justify the high price point. 

“From the kitchen” your bartender had said curtly, a mere few minutes ago. He had placed a few plates in front of the two of you to share that you most certainly didn’t order.

You both had thanked the bartender, before digging into the large bowl of soup, stracciatella, and focaccia bread on the plate. You rip off pieces of bread, dipping them into the salty broth, popping them into your mouth. Carmy’s much more of a gentleman about it, using his spoon to try the soup first. You had only planned on drinking here, but your friend at The Aviary had really come through. You’re sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re here with Carmy, and that these guys definitely know who Carmy is. 

“So…” you start, taking a sip of whatever fizzy strawberry gin thing you’d ordered earlier. “I feel like there are a lot of long stories I’d like to hear.” 

Carmy makes a sound in agreement before taking a sip of his drink. It’s just bourbon on the rocks, and you wonder when he started drinking bourbon like this.

“I mean… we could start here. How the hell are ya?” you ask. 

“I…” he starts, before trailing off. He buries his face in his hands, dragging his fingertips across his forehead. “It’s uh, it’s been a long couple of months. Christ. The restaurant was a goddamn mess, everyone hated my fuckin’ guts. And then Syd showed up and, well, she’s been a big help.” 

You wait a beat before saying, “As much as I want to hear about the restaurant, Carm, I mean how are you doing?”

Your words stop him, and he looks up at you with those baby blue eyes. He takes his time thinking about it, shrugging before muttering something along the lines of, “I’m okay, I guess.”

He’s searching for the right words to explain how the hell he’s even supposed to answer that question.

“I don’t know. Guess I thought if I fixed the restaurant, if I could fix it-. Maybe I could fix him,” he drags out. 

He waits a few beats before finally admitting:

“I miss him. Mikey. And I found out all kinds of shit about him that I-, well, shit I didn’t know. I think-, I think it’s why he kept me away. Why he shut me out.”

You listen as he begins to fill you in: about Mikey, the drugs, the debt he inherited that he now owes to Cicero, how hard it was to win over the kitchen staff that, come hell or high water, weren’t interested in changing their ways. And then he tells you about the meetings he's been going to -- the al-anon meetings. And you begin to understand. While he’s the same old Carmy, this isn’t the exact same Carmy that you knew in New York. The Carmy you knew in New York never would’ve gone to those meetings. He would’ve brushed it off and pretended there wasn’t a problem and taken as much punishment as he could in the kitchen instead of dealing with what he was feeling.

Mikey’s death, and coming home, and this restaurant, it’s all changed him. 

And maybe, just maybe, it’s part of the reason why, after months of no contact, he reached out to you now, but he’s not sure if he should tell you that yet.

You’ve got to give it to him. If anything, he’s exceptionally talented at cutting people out of his life. It’s his M.O – the only thing that’s been consistent in his life – even when those people didn’t deserve it. It’s what he knows to do. It’s something he’s learned… from Mikey, from his dad… 

But this… what he’s telling you, these are stories of connection and community. 

“And Syd’s really helped me pull this shit together. She's kinda like... the glue, y'know? I- I don’t know where we’d be without her,” Carmy concludes.

You agree. Syd is brilliant. You can see just from having been in that kitchen that she’s been the biggest catalyst for the changes — even his.

“I know you only asked me to come for pastry but I’m glad you let me jump in on the line tonight,” you say. “It’s cool to see what you’re doing now and… I don’t know. I know it was a rocky start, but you’ve got something here. Something that could be really, really good, Carm. You’re making real fucking food. Like your mom’s chicken. I haven’t forgotten about that.” 

“How can you remember that?” Carmy asks, a little surprised, his eyes lighting up. He’d almost forgotten that he’d once made it for you while you were both still in New York.

You nod, “Best chicken piccata I’ve had in my life.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Hands down.”

“You know,” you start, a mischievous tone in your voice. “If I recall correctly, you made me some pretty bomb meals back in New York. And didn’t I say something along the lines of you really shining when-?”

“Oh no,” he groans. “Not this again.”

“I’m just saying!” you justify, innocently. “When you cook the food you grew up with, Carm, you’re at your very best. And don’t get me wrong. You’re an exceptional chef, regardless of what you do but-.”

“So what? You’re gonna say ‘I told you so?’” he questions, shooting you a look. 

You shrug, playfully, “I can’t help it if I’m right all the time,” earning an eye roll from him. 

“Especially when it comes to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, because you do know him. You’ve seen sides of him he’s barely let anyone else see. It feels good and terrifying all at once to be seen this clearly.

“Yeah, well, you always were a little more Mozza than French Laundry, huh?” he shoots back, referencing your difference in preference. While Mozza was more family style, The French Laundry, a restaurant Carmy had worked at once upon a time, was anything but. 

“Yeah. Who knew one day we’d switch places?” you reply, a sadness in your voice. Were you… envious of what Carmy had? Was this what you were looking for?

“So uh, you gonna tell me what the hell happened with the restaurant?” Carmy asked, changing the subject – changing the subject to you. 

You sigh, you raise your drink to your lips, finishing the rest of what’s in the glass in one go. 

“That bad, huh?”

“No!” you’re quick to reply. “Well, yes. But no. But yeah….” 

Carmy flags the bartender down, ordering another round for the two of you. 

You’re not even sure where to begin in regards to the existential crisis of sorts that you’ve been having, so you just tell him what happened. 

“I was juicing blood oranges one day. And-, you know we were going to take the juice and do all that fancy gastronomy shit with it… turn it into like, the same consistency of ‘dew in the early morning’…” you began to explain, quoting what your head pastry chef had said that day.  

“And I’m sitting there thinking… what the hell am I doing? I mean, who eats food like this?! Who wants to eat a drop of blood orange juice that’s been turned into the consistency of dew in the early mornings? Like, why the fuck can’t I just make the best blood orange olive oil cake anyone’s ever had, and that be enough, you know?”

“And. I don’t know. It got me thinking a lot about the kind of food I want to make, and what that would mean, and what does any of this shit even mean? Fast forward to a week later, and I don’t feel like I have a fuckin’ clue about what I want to do with my life and I’m quitting the restaurant.”

You pause, noticing that he’s just been listening attentively this whole time.

“I’m tired, Carm,” you admit. “I mean. I’m burnt the hell out. I just. I don’t want to work this hard for something that- something that I’m not even sure I believe in anymore.”

Another beat. 

“I know it sounds totally insane but-.”

“No! No, it doesn’t,” Carmy interrupts, quick to reassure you, as he reaches for your hand. Your eyes flicker from his hand on yours, the small tattoo above his wrist, then back to him, feeling the loss of body heat as he pulls his hand back only a moment later. 

“I feel like I’ve been thinkin’ about a lot of the same shit,” he admits, empathizing with you. 

“I just feel… kind of lost,” you say, and it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. “I do. I-, I’ve been feeling really lost lately.”

In all the time he’s known you, never could he have expected you to feel lost. He wondered if he’d just put you on a pedestal. You had always been this stunningly charismatic, charming person that could walk into any room and in minutes, have everyone wrapped around your finger. For so long he denied any feelings for you because he knew you were unattainable – that someone like you could ever want someone like him felt impossible. Wouldn’t you be better off with one of those Wall Street assholes that came into the restaurant all the time – wining and dining their clients with their expensive wristwatches and fancy town cars?

But hearing you say it – that you feel lost – it reminds him that you’re only human too. 

He waits another beat, guilt filling up his throat, before he speaks again. 

“I should’ve been there for you. I’m sorry.”

There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes you want to trust him. Sure, it seems like he’s been apologizing to you for three days straight, but you want to listen. 

You take another sip of your drink. 

“I started volunteering at a Brooklyn community garden so I could like, pull my head out of my ass,” you share with him. 

“Did it help?”

You shrug, “Yeah, a little bit.”

It helped, but it hadn’t fixed anything. You feel like you can confide in him, especially since he told you that he was going to meetings.

“My therapist actually encouraged me to come here,” you confess, gauging his reaction as the words flow from your mouth. “Get out of dodge. Get a change of scenery… give myself some time to think.”

“We both know you do a little too much of that,” he teases gently, and you chuckle. 

Between Carmy’s avoidance, and your neuroses, you’re quite the pairing. 

“Yeah.”

Carmy pauses, not sure if he has the words to give you the explanation you deserve, but he’s going to try. 

“I had… a lot goin’ on. When I got back. And I didn’t know….” He pauses before continuing. “I didn’t know how to do it all at once. How to handle, you know… everything at the same time.”

And it’s just easier to avoid everything – to avoid you, to avoid the way I feel about you, he thinks to himself.

And it’s exactly what he did, he pushed you away, and pushed any and all feelings or thoughts about you into a dark hole, never to be acknowledged ever again. 

Until you quit your job. Until his phone call with Tim. Until his phone call with you. 

“I know, Carm. I know you’re sorry and I appreciate the apology,” you start, taking a breath. “It’s just that-.  I need you to know...” 

You pause, suddenly feeling like you’re in the middle of an anxiety dream where you realize you’re not wearing any pants.

“I need you to know that it hurt. It… it really hurt. Not hearing from you. Being cut out like that.”

“I know,” he admits, remorsefully. “I’m gonna be better. At least I’m trying to be.” 

“I really want to believe that,” you say, softly. 

But I don’t want to get hurt again, you think to yourself.

He looks at you, a soft, shy smile on his face, and it makes you want to take a chance on him. 

Who are you kidding? You’d jump off of a bridge with him if he asked, even if it meant getting hurt all over again.

“Okay?” he asks, hopefully. 

You’re not sure if he’s asking if it’s okay, if you’re okay, if everything is okay between the two of you, and you wonder if he means all three.

“Okay,” you answer, quietly. 

“Okay.”

read: part four

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether

[lvlyghost]

In the Midst of War: II

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 2.0k

TW: nightmares, angst, hurt, description of wounds, anxiety (? Not much it's all building up! Mind the english!👻🌛

A/N: sorry that this is way too short. promise next chapter will be longer. already working on it, this time it won't take as long to get out🤞🏻

Masterlist✨Masterpost

"𝒃𝒐𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏."

"Steamin' Jesus!" Soap's eyes widen at the folder he holds in his hands. Kyle is trying to take a peek into it only for Johnny to further snatch it away from his prying eyes. "You seein' these records?" He asks.

"Come on mate! How am I supposed to see if you won't let me?" he follows him around yet again.

"Fuckin' hell." Ghost mutters under his breath. It's only been a few days since Las Almas. Shepherd and Graves' betrayal. He can't find it in him to deal with two toddlers now. He was one of the first to read the girl's file. Impressive. Yeah, certainly. Not that he would say it out loud let alone to those two. Ghost needed to know her. Know what she was capable of. As a Shadow he was certain she'd be remarkable, the extent of her abilities... that was another thing. He could see why she was Graves' favorite shadow.

"Can't believe she was almost dead when we found her. Would've been a waste of a soldier, don't you think Lt.?"

Ghost stares with a blank face and a quirked eyebrow.

"A mercenary." He gruffly answered.

Soap whistles at his Lieutenant's harsh remark.

"Someone's not happy. She looks like a nice lass, don't you think?" Soap is enjoying this too much for Ghost's liking.

"Not so different from us, Sir." Kyle adds, nodding in agreement.

"They were killing innocents." Ghost crosses his arms over his broad chest. A headache starting to form behind his eyes.

"Yeah, and Laswell said she was not there. Colonel Vargas told Price there was a girl who seemed to be against Graves." Soap is quick to add, sending mischievous glances to both of them.

Sighing, Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose.

"A deserter. How honorable." Another gruff response as he scoffs.

In reality he didn't care about the shadow girl, he was given orders and he'd complied that's it. Or at least until Price sent him to the safe house they were keeping her in to look after her.

"I think any of us would've done the same Lt. given her position... at least I believe it takes courage to leave the side of those whom you once thought were family."

-

"Sit down." Ghost orders, and you oblige.

Slowly lowering your body despite your injuries, you don't dare to look him in the eye. Sight fixed on the wooden floor as if it held the answers to all of your questions. As if the reasons why everything that was wrong in your life would be found right there. You don't notice but he's keeping an eye on you, just in case you'd need help. "I lied." He comments, his voice is dead serious as he opens one of the kitchen's shelves handing you over a bottle of pills followed by a glass of water. "When I said I didn't know your name." He explains leaning against the countertop, strong hands rest on the surface of white marble, prominent veins adorned his massive hands, arms and for what you could make out with the long sleeved shirt he wore, he had tattoos.

"Let me guess. Kate." You utter, hands opening the bottle he gave you and swallowing down two pills.

"Gave us your file." You freeze. Going still as a statue as your eyes find his, Ghost seems taciturn. "Don't worry. She made sure personal stuff was blacked up." He states almost immediately, noticing the way your body went rigid.

Blinking rapidly you feel slightly relieved, there was no need for a bunch of strangers —reading— about your private life. That was your story to tell if you ever decided to even speak about it.

"What happened with the missiles?"

"They were taken care of."

A curt nod is all you give him. Silence falls again when he hands you the supper he had previously told you about. Grilled chicken with pasta.

"Graves?" The question is quiet, and swiftly asked. It feels wrong to ask such things considering what your former Captain had done. But after years of knowing him, to look up to him. To call him your friend... a man that knew about your past. It felt traitorous not to at least worry for his wellbeing, despite his wrongdoing.

"KIA."

Inhaling sharply one of your stitches pulls at the sudden movement. Wincing you bend over, one hand resting on the countertop to steady yourself. Ghost is quick. Too quick for someone his size.

He holds you, big hands resting on your shoulders in assistance, the warmth of his skin can be felt even over your shirt.

"Easy there." He warns although his voice is still gruff there's a softer tone to it than before. "Nurse's gone and I'm not nearly as good as her stitching people back, yeah?"

"I'm fine." holding back the tears becomes a challenge but you do it nonetheless. The loud thump of your heart echoes throughout your body, mind going dizzy as a tiny graze of his thumb caressing the flesh of your shoulders brings you back from wherever your mind had started to wander. "Thank you, Ghost."

He simply nods and then he lets go. Skin feeling colder at the loss of his touch.

"Eat. You need it to recover." He's back to his serious demeanor.

You do as he says. Surprisingly the food isn't bad, it's warm and has the right amount of condiments.

"Where are we?" You ask, eyes drifting back to his face. Ghost's brown orbs squint, thinking if he should tell you or not.

"Someplace safe."

Inevitably you scoff rolling your eyes.

"I'm not going to escape if that's what you're worried about. I don't have anywhere to go."

"Can't risk it. Laswell said you're clever."

"She just thinks so high of me. I'm not what she says I am, you know. Or else I wouldn't be here."

He shrugged. And you stare at each other for a long time. You almost want to know what's under that mask, what's he look like? Is he handsome? Ugly? Does he have scars? Big or small lips? All you can make out is how blond his eyelashes are. Like sand. Gold sand. Or the yellowish reflection of the moon at night. Or the color of the sunrise.

"Ghost?" You call him.

"Yeah?"

"If Kate hadn't told the 141 about me, would you have killed me?"

Unfazed by your question Ghost stares back at you, jaw clenching ever so slightly behind the mask.

"Most likely."

-

As the days pass by your body recovers. It's slow but you start to notice by the third week. The stitches gone by the start of the day. The bullet wound didn't hurt as much as before, it was a distant memory when you tried to breathe. Even then Ghost was still taking care of you. As much as a cold and distant man he was, he seemed to worry, at least enough to check on you regularly when he heard you grunt or whimper in pain.

Your friendship or whatever this was... seemed strange. He never, talked about him. He loathed small talk, he was blunt, straightforward and just so damn hard to read. Aside from his brown eyes that were two beautiful windows to his soul were so expressive and you found yourself learning to assess his mood by just looking at them. It was odd to say the least but you were always good at watching, observing...and so you did.

Ghost's eyes would crinkle when he was feeling at ease, which happened a lot during breakfast or whenever you ate together. Wide eyes meant he was worried, or taken aback; that one night when he saw you bending over to grab the shirt you had discarded from the floor. Half lidded eyes meant he was mad or at least something was bothering him.

Still you wished you could see him. See his face. Know what he was thinking; he never said anything not even regarding your future. The man was a tomb. Closed off and sealed.

Unreachable for you.

There was one particular night, nearing the fourth week when you had finally heard him chuckle or something akin to that. It was so low that you thought you had imagined it. The sound was so rare coming out of him so unlike the Ghost people used to murmur about during your time in the Shadow Company. And you smiled brightly upon hearing him, something that didn't go unnoticed by Ghost as he sat down across from you in the porch, where the wind swiftly moved your hair and made your skin erupt with goosebumps; having not brought a sweater he had stood up and went inside only to bring back one of his black hoodies. He offered it out to you grumbling something about not wanting you to catch a cold. Part of you suspected it was mainly because he didn't want to bother with you being sick and in reality you too didn't want to get sick, not in your condition.

But it was this night something had truly changed. Something had taken a turn in this weird situation and dynamics of the two of you. You had jolted awake, sweating and panting from a nightmare. The anxiety in your body was paralyzing, making you shudder, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

"You alright there, Vesper?" His voice is deep and raspy. Sitting against the rocking chair next to your bed. His form could hardly be seen in the darkness but soon your eyes grow accustomed to the lack of lighting. Wincing you come to a sitting position on the mattress.

"Why are you here?" You ask, taken aback. "Worried about me?" teasing him has become another part of your routine. Something he finds himself enjoying.

"Don't care what happens to you, sweetheart. But you were having a nightmare and wouldn't let me sleep." He bites back.

And you know he doesn't truly mean it. That's just who he is. A cold-hearted man, rough around the edges, but deep down there was a person. Maybe scared to let someone in, to let himself trust, feel. If he didn't care his eyes would be hard on you but as he levels you down with a soft stare you know he's lying.

"Then stay with me tonight. Maybe that way our nightmares won't come for us." Because you had heard him too. You had heard his tossing and turning in his room. Heard him pacing back and forth on the worse nights. "We're not so different you know?"

Ghost is deadly silent on his spot. Eyes raking you up and down as the pit on your stomach grows.

"You don't want me here." He states, and you don't notice the way his fist clench.

"How do you know what I want?"

"Just do." Ghost's tone goes cold as he stands up. You second him in an instant, hissing when the wound stretches once again. He darts forward, reprimanding you in the process for being so carelessly. "You'll never heal if you don't stop that." His hands are set around both of your arms, holding you still.

'Why are you always hurting yourself like that?' He angrily thinks, lips pulling into a thin line.

"I'm healing just fine, Lieutenant. Relax." Although you're fine he doesn't let go, noticing the warmth of his hands on your skin. Sucking in a sharp breath you come to the realization that he's not wearing the black gloves. His hands are massive swallowing your arms entirely. Hard callouses and scars can be felt on his exposed skin.

In the dead of the night, the two feel the air vibrate. Shifting as a wave of electricity runs through your veins with something unnamed, something neither are willing to mention nor acknowledge after weeks of spending hours together. Ghost pulls away leaving nothing but coldness where you once felt warmth.

"Be ready for tomorrow." He simply adds. His voice is stern as he turns to walk out.

"What happens tomorrow?" You can't help the hint of hope in your voice, clutching your hands to your chest.

But he leaves you without a word and closes the door behind him.

Part 3

[mariamakeslemons]

Kinktober 2024: Day 22 Deepthroating/ Choking

Warning: Reader is gender neutral, Competitive dick sucking, jokes about cheating at a competition

You, Soap, and Gaz are all kneeling before Ghost, bumping into each other and silently arguing. Price watches in amusement as the three of you glare at each other while Ghost has mentally left this situation.

“Alright, behave,” he scolds, “I already told you the order, so do it.”

“Told you,” Gaz preens, shuffling forward. Soap pouts as you roll your eyes while Gaz fishes Ghost’s cock from his pants. A few pumps get Ghost to half-mast before Gaz leans forward and licks at the filling erection.

Originally, this bet was going to be preformed on Price, until he pointed out that Ghost is the owner of the biggest overall cock of the men. After all, it would be more accurate to see who can take the most dick down their throat by using the biggest cock.

“I should hate this,” Ghost groans as his cock finally reaches full mast.

“It’s free blowjobs,” Price points out, lighting his cigar for a puff. Ghost gives him a glare before groaning as Gaz goes down on him. Gaz goes down enough that he only has to wrap a few fingers around the base to cover his whole cock. Pulling back, Gaz smirks at you and Soap, wiggling his eyebrows in challenge. You scoff as Soap shimmies up to take Ghost’s cock next.

The Scot takes Ghost in his mouth and slides only about halfway down before he starts making a choking noise. You and Gaz yank him off, the competitive looks gone from your faces to be replaced with concern.

“Ah’m fine!” Soap insists, “Ah can dae better than tha’!” You sigh in relief, obviously taking his insistence as him being okay, while Gaz rolls his eyes.

“Y’ sounded like y’ were goin’ t’ spew,” Gaz pointed out. Soap sputters before smacking at him. Of course, Price had watched Ghost nearly fuck into Soap’s mouth at the choke. Of course his Lieutenant wants to be a little sadistic to the masochistic Sargeant. You sigh and sidle up to Ghost, looking up at him curiously. Ghost sighs, but nods. You beam up at him before going down on his cock.

You go about halfway down, pull back a few centimeters, then slide down to press your nose in Ghost’s pubes. Price nearly drops his cigar at the sight as Ghost throws his head back.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” Ghost roars as Gaz and Soap gape at you. You manage to keep Ghost down your throat for a few moments, before drawing off his cock with a lick to your lips. Price grits his teeth as his cock fills in his pants, thrown off by you just taking Ghost down your tight throat.

“How? How?! HOW?!” Soap howls, pouting.

“Some people are just better,” you tease, yelping when Soap leaps at you. Gaz rolls his eyes before turning to Ghost.

“I know I didn’t win, but can I suck you off?” he asks.

“Please,” Ghost pleads.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Cheatin’ Bastart!” Johnny howls two mornings later, startling you and making you drop your fork on your plate. He slides into the kitchen with your large dildo, pointing at you angrily, “Yeh feckin’ cheated!”

“There’s no rule on practicing,” you immediately point out while Simon and Price looks at the thick, long dildo flopping in Johnny’s hand.

“Yeah, bruv,” Kyle pipes up, “Jus’ because you didn’ think of it doesn’ mean it’s not allowed.” Johnny groans and drops the dildo on the table, away from the food luckily.

“…Why d’y’ have a dildo th’ size o’ m’ cock?” Simon asks.

“Simon,” you intone, “Who doesn’t have a job on your taskforce? Who’s stuck at home with no one around?” He turns his gaze back to his breakfast, his face turning a cute shade of pink.

“I, f’r one, want t’ watch you ride that while suckin’ Simon off,” John pipes in, making you add another thing to try to the mental list.

[jj-5656]

Sneaking Suspicions With; Tangerine (Bullet Train)

A/n: Are we proud? Two uploads in two days. This is how I procrastinate doing any homework. Could not get this idea out of my head so here we are. This is my first for Tangerine, but I just recently rewatched Bullet Train and couldn’t resist. Had to add Lemon too because it’s simply not complete without him. Also, the bit about Thomas is all true, I was obsessed with that show when I was young. Enjoy!

Summary: The one where your boyfriend attempts to build a kitchen table, and nearly slaughters your neighbor...

T/W: A LOT of cursing, some suggestive humor, mentions of violence...duh

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” You wince as tools clatter in the kitchen. Discarding your current task of rummaging through boxes with Tangerine’s scribbled writing marked ‘bathroom’.

You’ve finally moved in to the new place after months of preparation. Having been together for 8 months, it was about time you moved in together. Tan practically lived at your old place anyway, though taking this step was intimidating for both of you. His brother had egged you on for months, desperately wanting their shared apartment as his own.

Hence why Tangerine is sat on the floor, muttering curses as he attempts to assemble your dining table.

“Tan, why won’t you let me help you?”

“I told you, I’ve got it, love. Fucking bastards,” his shoulders tense with anger as he speaks. “Can’t even make a buildable fuckin’ table. I’ll show them ‘quick and easy’ right up their fuckin’-”

“Did you even look at the directions, baby?” He furrows his brows, turning to you like you’ve grown another head. 

“Directions are for morons.” 

“Or for people with zero table assembling experience.” You mutter, fighting a grin under his tense stare. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, only sporting a wife pleaser and trousers in the summer heat. You internally cringe at the reminder your stubborn boyfriend intends to install the air conditioner on his own as well.

“Maybe we could ask Brian across the hall, he said he does construction for his dad part time.”

“You chopping it up with that lad already? Right git, he is.”

“He’s nice, Tan.”

“He’s a flirt, and a shit one at that.” It forces a laugh from you, Tangerine frustrated that the sound still manages to ease the tension from his muscles. 

“I’ll ring Lemon, then.” 

“I swear to Christ, if you call my muppet of a brother-” 

And that’s how Lemon ends up knocking at your door, takeout in hand and a bright smile on his face at the sight of you. 

“Hello, lovely. Call for reinforcements already?” 

There’s a distant “fuck off” from the kitchen, but you nod nonetheless, thanking him for the food and much needed company. Lemon’s rooted for your relationship even before his brother. Insisting he get your number that fateful night in that shitty club all those months ago. 

***************

You’d been sharing drinks with a group of friends when a man bumped into you, nearly knocking you over with the size of him. He’d caught you by the shoulders before you could fall, sending the drunken, clumsy patron an icy glare before surveying you for any injury. He’d clasped both his hands around one of yours, profusely muttering overly-posh, accented apologies. You were ready to cuss out whoever had been so careless before you laid eyes on him, overwhelmed with the British charm and piercing eyes. 

“Can I buy you and your friends a drink? I’ll be out of your hair after, promise.” His sincerity makes you want to request he sticks around the rest of the evening, though you shake your head. Polite commonalities ingrained in your nature. 

“Not necessary, I appreciate it.” You assure with a kind smile, ignoring your friends gawking at the pin-stripe clad gentleman. He nods, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable as he gives your elbow a gentle squeeze in one last apology. Heading back the way he came, sitting beside another well-dressed man at the bar. What looks like a round of chastising from the raven-haired man, and the handsome stranger is waving him off, glancing over at you and taking a generous sip of his drink. 

“You did not seriously just turn Poseiden-incarnate down.” Your girlfriend finally manages to close her slacked jaw, frustrated with your shyness. 

“He was just being polite, Brooke. I didn’t want to have him buy for the whole table in obliga-” A waitress approaches before you can finish, smiling brightly at the lot of you as she sets down a round of espresso martinis. 

“The gentlemen across the bar insisted. On him, of course.” The older woman shoots you a wink, a chorus of cheers from your friends in salute to the man across the way. He sends a kind smile, tilting his own glass and looking like he hates the sudden attention. He meets your eyes for only a moment, starting up conversation with the man beside him in a silent obedience to his promise of leaving you be. 

It’s hours before you see him again, headed outside for some fresh air after spending too much time on the dance floor. You’re sober enough to hold your own, comforted in the array of bouncers nearby if needed. You’re sat on a bench just in front of the club, craving some relief from your heels. There’s a flick of a lighter beside you, a curse when it doesn’t ignite any flame. You’re searching through your clutch instantly, offering up your own light without a second thought. 

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.” You perk at the accent, trailing the extended arm to meet the man’s gaze for the third time that evening. 

“Don’t. Not cigarettes, anyway.” He smiles through the now ignited stick, quirking his head in quiet contemplation. His eyes study you, and surprisingly, it’s almost endearing. There’s no suggestive indications to his observations, like most men you’d encounter. It’s contemplative, as if he’s trying to figure out. 

“You always stare at strangers?” Your wit pleasantly surprises him, and his grin grows despite himself. 

“Apologies, love. Just taking it all in. Mind if I sit?” You nod, thanking the cold for the constant flush of your cheeks that’ll hopefully conceal the blood that rushes to them at his words. “Never got your name.” 

“Y/n, nice to meet you.” You take his extended hand for a shake, wincing at the formality of your words. 

“Tangerine, pleasure’s all mine.” He awaits the usual ‘like the fruit’ with sudden irritation, but it never comes, so he relaxes.

“That a nickname?”

“Of sorts.” You don’t pry, not interested in scaring him off just yet. If he wanted to tell, you, he would. In his mind, Tangerine thanks you profusely. Pleased to have met someone uninterested in forcing information out of him. 

“Whose your friend?” You mean the other good-looking guy beside him the entire night, who must still be inside. 

“Brother,” he corrects, not unkind. “Hoping he won’t be trollied on the way home.” Your eyes narrow, unaccustomed to the slang. Tangerine exhales a stream of smoke away from you, wetting his lips with a twinge of amusement. 

“Drunk, love. Or wasted, as you’d put it.” A laugh escapes you, thoroughly entertained with his dramatic mock of an American accent. 

“That is not how we sound.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, defensive and patriotic for likely the first time in your life. “You guys are still salty we won.” He bellows a laugh this time, and the warm sound erupts butterflies in the stomach. 

“Blokes chucked boxes of tea in the ocean in retaliation. The fuck kind of war crime is that?” 

“One that proper fucked your economy.” You attempt your own dramatic accent, curious as to why he tries so hard to fight smiling. You assume he’s usually much more stoic without the aid of alcohol and new company. 

“Bloody hell, that was awful.” He teases with no real ill-will, stubbing out his cigarette when his brother stumbles out of the building. You hear him mutter something about ‘shit timing’ as the taller man approaches, kind smile adorning his handsome features. 

“You’ve found your Edwards!” He clasps his hands together, absolutely delighted before he sits himself in between the two of you. Tangerine looks absolutely pissed, astonished when you beam brightly at his intoxicated brother. 

“Edwards?” You question despite Tangerine’s shaking head of warning. 

“Edwards.” He assures, adjusting his suit jacket as he gets comfortable. “Wise, kind...We’ve only just met, I know. But, you see, I’m great at reading people.” 

“Christ, here we fucking go again.”

“Everything I learned about people, I learned from Thomas the-” 

“Tank engine!” You finish for him, the pair shocked at your enthusiasm. “That was my favorite show when I was little!”

“You don’t say?” The man beams, looking over at his brother with an undoubted stamp of approval. 

“Swear it. Had the stuffy for years, an entire train table set too.”

“The one with the wooden tracks you could build yourself?” 

“And the magnetic crane to lift up the figurines!” The two of you are absolutely enamored, enthralled in the conversation whilst Tangerine broods opposite you. Making a mental note to shoot his beloved brother in the foot the second he gets him alone. 

“Bloody hell, I loved that set. What a coincidence!” He turns to his brother, shaking with anger. 

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.” Is all he manages, messing with the rings on his fingers to calm himself from the outright cockblock. Fuckin’ muppet. 

“Names’ Lemon. Pleasure to meet you doll, truly. A real Edward, you are.” 

“You really think so?” The alcohol ends any fight to conceal your pleased expression, glancing over at Tangerine who forces a smile at your grant of attention. 

“Know so. Brother over here’s a Gordon, don’t you think?”

“I could see that.” This time you’re the one to study said man, lip quirking when he shifts under your gaze. 

“Alright, we should get you home.” Tan rises with a roll of his shoulders, ready to head back with his head hanging low in a failed feat. Lemon frowns, pushing away the strong arm that’s pulling at him so he can dig through the inner pocket of his expensive jacket. Pulling out a folded and well-worn sheet of paper. 

“Here comes the fucking sticker book. Of course.” 

“You know I bring it everywhere. Here, love.” Lemon peels the Edward sticker from the sheet. Sticking it onto your finger with a soft ‘boop’. You gasp, delighted. 

“The lady’s real chuffed, Lemon. Let her get back to her friends for Christ’s sake.” He pulls the man to a standing position, waving down an approaching taxi with an ear-piercing whistle. “You got a friend getting you home safe, sweetheart?” You nod, pressing the new sticker to the back of your phone and pressing your case back on it. Aiming to keep it safe indefinitely. Tan suppresses a smile, finding it absolutely adorable. He buttons his jacket, straightening in self-discipline to push away the love-sick thoughts. 

“Have a good night, you two. It was nice meeting you.” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, the farewell and the unlikeliness of running into them again tugging at your heart strings. Weird, considering you just met the two men and you already want to get to know them more. Especially the handsome fuck with the unrelenting charm. 

“Like-wise, love.” Tangerine ushers his brother into the backseat of the car, muttering something to the driver before turning on his heel to face you again. Brows taught in consideration. He battles with himself, weighing if he’s selfish enough to try and get to know someone as seemingly kind-hearted as you. You’d deserve better. He surveys you a final time, every nerve-ending in his body begging for more. You’re about to head back inside when he clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“Any chance you’d be willing to give me your number, sweetheart? Just to make sure you get home safe?” He prays it doesn’t sound too hopeful, as desperate as he is for you to comply. You cock your head incredulously, and he swears his heart skips a beat. 

“Just to make sure I get home?”  

“And maybe to ask you to dinner. Or, you say no and I fuck off.” You chew on the inside of your cheek to suppress the excited grin. Hoping you appear nonchalant despite yourself. Taking a few steps forward, you extend your hand. Brows raising in expectation as he stares at you. He snaps out of it, digging into his pocket with a muttered ‘oh, right.’ 

“All right mate! Thought you’d never get the balls to ask her. Been going on and on about her since you nearly tackled ‘er”

“Fuck off, Lemon.” Tan seethes, eyes averting to you when you giggle through your rushed typing into his phone. “He’s drunk, pay no mind.” 

“Trollied, right?” There’s teasing heavy on your tongue, and it takes everything in him not to pull you in for a kiss right there. On the curb of some mangy club whilst the impatient driver honks in warning. 

“Right. Goodnight, love. Careful getting home, yeah?” You nod, mindlessly standing up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Night.” 

And with that, you’re headed back inside. Feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Only looking back when the door closes behind you. Ensuring he can’t see you spying. He has his head down, biting a smirk from his lips before gaining composure, tossing himself into the cab beside his brother. 

***********

“You’re not needed, I have this handled.” 

“You don’t actually. I’ve seen corpses more capable of brain activity than this, mate.” 

“Piss off.” 

“I would, but I like your girlfriend more than you, and therefore don’t want to leave her with this,” he motions to the mess of tools and table parts, “all alone.” 

The two of you sit opposite him, Lemon unfolds the discarded instruction sheet with a deep sigh. 

“You’ve got the wrong bolt on that one.”

“No I don’t.” 

“You do, mate. Considering I’m the one with the fucking instructions.” 

“See, if I was a fuckin’ mug like you, I’d need the directions. But I’m not, so I don’t.” 

“Well, you must be. Considering that’s the wrong fucking bolt.” 

You rub your temples, fighting an oncoming migraine. Taking the drill from the floor and setting it counter-clockwise to remove the damned bolt. Tan takes it from you, setting his hand on your stomach to push your criss-crossed form backward. 

“Hey!”

“What did I say? I didn’t want you doing this, Dove. You’ve just gotten those nails done. I-” He stops himself, taking a breath. “We got this covered.” 

“This seems patronizing and sexist.” 

“Quite the opposite. I respect you so much I’d rather not have you sit on the floor and do this.” 

You huff, arms crossed as you glare at him. Too worn out to argue, and figuring there’s an array of boxes to be unpacked, you scramble to your feet. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Maybe later, love. I’m quite busy at the moment.” The cheeky response gets a laugh out of even Lemon, who straightens as soon as your heated gaze snaps to him. You flip them both off, no real anger to it as you head back toward the bathroom. 

**********

Another couple hours pass and you’ve finished both bathrooms and are working on the master bedroom. Airpods in to block out the onslaught of arguments. You hum to your music, unaware of the eyes on you.

Tangerine leans against the doorway, finding comfort in watching you in your shared home. It’s weird, new, to share just about everything now. Scary, no doubt. Tan had walls around him so high it took months for you to even shake them. But you’ve done it, somehow. A little minx, he regards you, because you’ve managed to get through to him sometimes without him even realizing. He’s eternally grateful whatever scraps of good karma he had left accumulated to bring you into his life. Terrified it might one day be ripped away. Every time the thought passes his mind, his throat tightens, and he gets the overwhelming urge to hold you and never let go. 

Your startled gasp snaps him out of it, a hand clasping over your heart in shock. “Christ, Tan. Give a girl a warning.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He swallows, a beat before continuing. “I love you.” Your eyes narrow at his sweet tone, trying to uncover the mischief in his sultry voice. 

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing, honest. I can’t say I love you?” 

“You can.” You turn your head from him, suppressing a smirk as you busy yourself with folding clothes. “Just...Not in the hall, okay?” 

“What? Why?”

“It’s just,” you’re holding in a laugh now, a death wish for sure. “I don’t want Brian to hear, that’s all.” He crosses his arms, hiding his clenching fists at your teasing. 

“You think that’s funny? Taking the piss like that?”  You muffle a laugh with your sleeve, morphing it into a cough. “Tread lightly, my love.” 

“You know, I bet Brian builds loads of tables. Must be real fast at it, considering he works in construction and all. Lot’s of strong men in that field of work.”

“Y/n.” Your name is rare on his lips, singed with irritation. You’re clearly well-past having him worked up, You press on, keen on getting him back for his suggestive comment from before. 

“I always wanted to get to know a blue-collar type. So hardworking, great with their hands-” You’re in the air and flopped onto the mattress yet to have a bed frame before you can even process it. He cages you in, an arm on either side of your head to support himself as his eyes bore daggers into yours. Curls unruly and dampened with sweat. 

“Stop it. Or beloved Brian’s in a body bag by tomorrow morning, yeah?” You know he’s not entirely serious, but also entirely capable, so you nod. You press your lips together, thoroughly amused. He takes your jaw in his hand and uses his thumb to pull your lips free. Tugging you into a kiss, he’s only satisfied when you gasp after your bottom lip is bit. Not too hard, he’d never hurt you, but it’s enough warning to shut you up. He gets up, hands on his hips and breathing heavy as he watches you get to your feet. Wordlessly, he sweeps a leg under yours, chuckling when you’re collapsing back into the mattress with an umph. 

“You really are a fucking Gordon, you know that?” There’s no time to scramble away from his lunging form as he tugs you by the ankle toward him. One hand grabbing your arm and the other on your leg as he hoists you over his shoulder, cheekily reminding you of the power imbalance as he carries your squirming form down the corridor and into the kitchen. Where Lemon lays sprawled out on the now standing table. The air conditioner hums across the room, and the faux argument is ripped from your mind as you survey the accomplished tasks. 

“Nothing a little teamwork and drive can’t do,” Lemon boasts. “You know where I learned that, Tangerine?”

“If you mention the fucking trains, It’ll be the last thing you fuckin’ do.”

*************

“Tan, could you pass the lo mein?” Your boyfriend chews thoughtfully, considering it for a moment before extending it to you. Your eyes narrow when he pulls away as soon as you reach. 

“Maybe you should ask Brian.” 

“My god, we’re still on this?” 

“Should have known better than to tease him with another man, love. Gordons are prone to jealousy.”

“Fuckin’ pipe it, Lems.”

“It was a joke, baby. Are you gonna hold this over my head forever?” You find it endearing, hard to believe Tangerine could think there’s even a hint of honesty to your teasing. 

“Until I’m sure you’re proper guilty, yeah.” There’s a hint of play in his tone, and you know he only wants to hear you repeat your devotion. 

“Tan, love, baby, sweetheart, love of my life, will you please pass the lo mein to your dutifully devoted girlfriend?”

“Sure thing, love. Could have just said so.” The playful banter is stuttered to a halt when Tan sets the box beside you, the legs of the newly built table creaking as they give out. With their instinctive reflexes, Lemon and Tangerine keep the entire thing from collapsing. You’re slack-jawed, in utter shock at the absurdity and slight victory of being right, as god damn usual. 

“Dove,” your boyfriend’s voice strains under the exertion, meeting your eyes “be a doll and take everything off here?” You’re up in an instant, quickly snatching the array of food and plates off the surface. Lemon begins to laugh despite himself, and Tangerine seethes with frustration. 

“Maybe we should-”

“Don’t. Don’t even think about saying that fuckin’ muppets name.” Tan stares daggers into his brothers eyes, paying no mind to your stifled giggles. When they finally set the table on the ground, you approach him. Tugging at his arms so you can wrap yours around his waist. You press your chin into his chest, running a hand through his unruly curls. 

“Baby.” You’re soft, tone so sweet and eyes big and pleading. 

“Lose the puppy eyes, doll. It’s a no.” 

“I personally would like to finish dinner not on the floor. But that’s just me.” Lemon purses his lips, brows raised expectantly at his brother.

Tan releases a deep, shaky sigh, dark gaze softening when he meets yours. He tries to tug his head away when your hands hold it, but you’re insistent, making him face you again. 

“I’m all yours, alright? I promise.” You kiss both his cheeks and then his neck, some tension leaving him. He tilts his head in faux irritation when you stick out your pinky to him, grinning when he finally gives in and wraps his much bigger one around yours. 

**********

“It’s already so nicely decorated in here.” Brian surveys the room with a polite smile, turning to you. “All this is your eye, y/n?” You straighten, hoping the man won’t notice your boyfriend’s homicidal stare. 

“Tan has more taste, admittedly.” You’re not just trying to take the attention off you, it’s the truth. 

“Well that should be obvious, he got you.” Lemon coughs, setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder with tight, grounding grip. The slightly shorter man boils beside him, eyes boring into yours in an enraged ‘I told you so’. 

Your neighbor places his work bag on the floor, cringing at the sight of the flattened table. He approaches the brothers, clueless, patting their arms with sympathy. 

“Should have gotten me earlier, guys. You know you can call me over any time for some help. Handiwork isn’t for everyone, some things are just left for the professionals. 

“No kidding.” Tan mutters, letting Lemon pry his fingers from the biggest kitchen knife you own when the man’s back is turned to them. 

“We’ll have to grab brunch sometime, y/n.” He’s blissfully unaware as he talks between rounds of the drill. Unscrewing mistakes and penciling out where they should actually go. “I’ll fill you in on the rest of the neighbors. Some of the ones to avoid and all.” Lemon’s practically wrapped around his brother, praying to a god he doesn’t believe that the clueless fuck will shut up. You cross the room while he drills away, placing your hands on Tan’s chest and pressing into him. He can’t even see you, can’t even feel you as his blood burns his own skin. Considering the fasted method of kill and cleanup over and over again in a final stitch to calm himself. 

“You’ll have meet Cody first, of course. I’ve already told him there’s finally another young couple in the building. Thank god.” 

“S-Sorry, mate?” Lemon loosens his grip in realization, fighting a bellowing laugh. 

“My bad, I tend to drill when I’m talking. Cody gets on me for that, too, This is what I mean, sweetheart. We need to escape the doting boyfriends for a little. Enough to drive anyone nuts.” He shoots you another smile, pleased to see you nodding profusely. 

“Absolutely.” You turn to Tan, whose brows are taught in utter confusion. “They can be a real pain sometimes.”

“But, alas.” The drill whirs, he stops talking for a beat and then releases the trigger to finish. “We love them.”

“To bits and pieces.” 

Tan collapses against the counter, right exhausted from the strain of keeping his composure. Pure relief washes over him, and you let him pull you into an embrace.

“Boys, would you mind helping me turn this right side up? i think I’m all finished here.” They comply, Tan reluctantly pulling away and kissing your temple in silent apology. Together, they set it upright and each give it a good shake to ensure it’s stability. 

“Thanks, mate. I owe you.” Your boyfriend gives the now beloved neighbor a firm shake, a hint of guilt in his eyes. 

“British and handsome, you two are truly a killer pair.” Brian gathers his things and checks a notification ding on his phone. Sighing fondly. “Speak of the devil.” He waves his phone to you with a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “See you all soon.” Giving you a quick hug, he exits as soon as he came.

“Most definitely not a diesel, that bloke.” 

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART][AO3 LINK]

Two chapters in the same day? It's more likely than you think.

I was on a roll, so I just wrote another one, hope you enjoy haha. Some real fun characters get introduced! I'm very excited. Also reading your tags is very fun ty all <3

The very day after their long chat, Ghost’s ears pick up Soap’s laughter when he enters mess. He and Gaz are sitting together, being menaces to society as they used to. The Scottish Sergeant spots him a few moments later, and practically beams at him.

Ghost doesn’t know enough good words to express his relief at the sight.

The two Sergeants wave him over obnoxiously, so he takes his morning tea and sits himself beside Gaz, filling his vision with Soap.

He and Garrick often drink tea together at the early mornings, and Soap notices the two mugs of identical beverage and mutters, “fuckin’ Brits…” while taking a sip of his own disgustingly black coffee.

Ghost kicks him lightly under the table and lets Gaz get blamed for it.

The three of them get summoned to Price’s office soon enough, and now they’re all expectantly standing at attention in front of the Captain.

Ghost distantly thinks of the amount of direct orders the lot of them disobeyed in the last week or so and internally cringes. Well, the good part of the day is certainly over.

“The amount of headaches you muppets give me will make me die before age 40, Reapers give me strength…” The man rubs at his eyes.

Ghost steps forward, “as their commending officer, I take full blame for the Sergeants’ misbehaving-”

“Oh I’m not punishing you will you stop with the formal tone Lieutenant” Price lets out a small chuckle, “but you all better be on your best behavior from here on out, that clear?”

“Yes sir!” they all chirp as one. Ghost thanks Price more privately in his thoughts.

“Now… I’m afraid I got bad news and good news.” 

“The good news is that MacTavish is no longer under any other command beside mine.” The meaning of the words trickle through each soldier.

Soap looks the most grateful, eyes shining at Price with unwavering loyalty, “Thank you Captain”.

“Don’t thank me yet, son. I had to make some sacrifices for this transfer.” Price becomes annoyed, “we got a job to do.”

“What’s the catch?” Gaz raises an eyebrow.

“We’re under General Shepherd for this one, boys.”

Ghost’s fists curl like his stomach. His old CO. One of the bastards that signed on his original misuse of Limbo. If the residents of that empty void had enough soul left in them to understand the bigger picture, many of them would curse the General instead of him.

As it stands, he takes on all the burden of the General’s past sins. As always.

Price echoes in his head, “they wouldn’t let me take Soap otherwise. I’m sorry Simon.”

Ghost calms at that. If he has to do one last job for Shepherd to have Soap permanently join them, he’s willing to behave.

He knows Soap is worth it, somehow.

Turns out, Shepherd was just the gates to the hell that was this mission. International human trafficking ring, several soldiers missing along dozens of civilians, the suspected collaboration of ultranationalists from a handful of countries and one drug lord that only goes by “El Sin Nombre”.

The taskforce spends the week combing through the intel they have along with Laswell, trying again and again to make sense of this shitshow. The data doesn’t add up - there’s no reason for people all over the globe to be interested in the human trafficking. The majority of them are arms dealers and warmongers. If it was only military personnel, it would’ve made more sense, but what do civilians from Las Almas have in common with SAS soldiers?

Ghost was sitting at the 141 common room on one night, eyes burning and brain mushy from the amount of information he’s been trying to cram into it.

He takes a moment to survey the room. “Common room” isn’t really the right term for it; it was a small spot near their barracks, containing a tiny kitchen, a table and a couple old sofas. He was sitting at the table, where the lighting was the best, and reading through documents related to the PMC they spotted dealing with smugglers back in Switzerland.

Soap and Gaz were doing the same, but at some point have fallen asleep, now leaning against each other and snoring lightly. Gaz, as he often does, started floating in his sleep, leaving Soap barely hanging onto his legs.

Finding the view comical, he went over and pushed Garrick lightly. Like dominoes, they fell on top of each other, startling awake.

They both sputtered and blurringly looked up at Ghost. He dead panned and ordered, “go to sleep in your own beds, Sergeants.”

Soap was about to open his mouth to complain when Gaz yawned and took hold of the back of his shirt, dragging them both in the direction of their rooms. Not before Soap let out a small “g’night LT”.

Ghost would stay up a few more hours before he could reunite with his own bed.

They had a little more time left until the transport to Mexico, so Price decided to let them loose on the revenant training grounds. 

Unsurprisingly, Ghost got authorization to use Limbo. Now that Shepherd is in charge, he expects it to happen quite often. He should’ve been at least a little glad about it, with Limbo potentially being calmer.

He can’t be.

His brain supplies him with ample nightmare fuel, mostly starring his taskforce teammates screaming at him from Limbo, calling him a monster.

Price’s eyes burn a permanent spot at the back of his head, taking in all those thoughts. The Captain does his best to distract him from that line of thinking, but Price isn’t always there to fill his mind with the calming smell of tea and the warming sun on a rainy day.

His attention returns to the junkyard, where Soap now stands. He looks as apprehensive as he did the last time they were there, but he looks up at Ghost, and they nod at each other.

Since what happened at his room, they became… closer. Soap trails after him often, chatting about everything and nothing. It helps with the incessant screaming in his head.

Soap punches a truck, blowing it with enough force that the soundwave shakes the watchtower. He has to admit, watching Soap at his element, destruction surrounding him, fire catching on his arms without burning him, a glint in his eyes that would make grown men piss themselves…

Ghost feels something bubbling inside him. It’s warm and strange, and he pushes it back down.

Soap tries the ‘rocket technique’ Gaz has been begging him to give a chance to. He drops to the ground, and blows the earth underneath him.

Ghost doesn’t know if to laugh or shout when the Sergeant actually launches up, flailing and screaming for dear life, before being caught by a giggling Gaz. The poor Scot hangs onto Gaz like a kitten stuck on a thin branch, and they both float safely to the ground.

They stop laughing quickly enough, when Price’s voice booms through all of their brains to howl at the Sergeants’ dangerous tricks.

Soap’s range goes far enough by now that he’s not spared.

The night before they’re to be transported to Mexico, Ghost observes Gaz sitting on the roof of their barracks, alone and staring up to the skies.

He spots a ladder nearby and quietly makes his way up, eventually sitting down next to Garrick. The Sergeant wasn’t surprised by his arrival, instead turning his head in acknowledgment.

“Price’s thought leaked the other day.” Gaz airs.

Ghost hums for him to go on.

He turns to look at him, “if it comes to you using Limbo when we’re nearby-”

“It won’t” Ghost grounds. He doesn’t need someone to affirm his fears.

“If it does,” Gaz bulldozes on, “I’ll make sure to get everyone out safe.”

He sharply turns to study Garrick. They have a small staring contest before Ghost rises up with a sigh, “make sure you’re out safe first, Gaz.”

The Sergeant doesn’t respond, but is taken by surprise when Ghost offers him a hand, “we have a long day tomorrow, best to get to sleepin’ Garrick.”

The other soldier frowns before huffing a small laugh, taking the offered hand and getting up as well, “thought the Ghost doesn’t need sleep.”

Ghost sighs miserably, “one of many myths I wish were true.”

The flight to Mexico is a boring 11-hour ordeal. Evidently none of the Sergeants got enough sleep last night and are now snoring away, this time with Gaz safely secured by seatbelts.

Ghost and Price remain vigilant, exchanging words in their minds from time to time, but mostly leaving Ghost to sink into his own memories.

Last time he was in Mexico was… his own Reaping.

He remembers the dirt caking his lungs, the squelch of decaying flesh under his fingertips. The constricting feeling in his chest, as if his body knew, it doesn’t have long to live.

And the jarring shift when he appeared above ground, turning around to see his own unmarked grave.

Ghost now sees those ladder-like patterns, swirling around the plane interior. Price and the Sergeants fade away, and he sees his Reaper forming, a being of multicolored flesh and six unsettling eyes, molten light leaking from where its mouth should’ve been.

“SIMON RILEY”

“Reaper.” He suspiciously answers. His Reaper doesn’t appear when times are well.

“YOU KNOW OF THE REVENANT OF DESTRUCTION?”

Ghost frowns, “Usually goes by Soap.” 

“HE IS A DANGER. BRINGER OF DEMISE. STAY FAR FROM HIM IF YOU WANT TO GO ON LIVING.”

The Reaper fades away, ignoring his shouting.

“Simon? You solid?” Price’s voice floods his mind, a stark difference to the sharp, overwhelming scream of his Reaper.

Ghost takes control of his frantic, erratic breathing to something closer to normal. He sharply nods before warning Price away from his brain for the next while. He needs to maul it over, alone.

Soap is going to kill him, according to his Reaper. Or ‘bring his demise’, whatever the cryptic fuck meant. 

He’s almost mad at his Reaper for even suggesting Soap could do something like that. Soap, who decided he rather blow himself up again and again to atone for his sins, instead of using his extremely powerful abilities. Soap, who looked at him with no fear from the moment they met each other. The person he spent months thinking about, a single mission with him turning his world upside down.

‘Bringer of demise’? Fuck that.

If he’s destined to die, this time for good, by the hands of Soap, so be it. He looks over at him now, face slack in his sleep.

If there’s someone he’d be content with killing him, it would be Soap. He just hopes it won’t weigh on his conscience too much after he dies.

Reapers know it won’t be his fault.

They land after far too many hours, Ghost left with an empty feeling after the meeting with his Reaper. After hours of thinking about its words, he’s no closer to figuring out exactly what it meant.

The feeling fades a tad when he eyes Soap waking up, blinking into consciousness, and when he notices Ghost watching him, gives him a lopsided tired smile that Ghost wants to see every morning for the rest of his life.

The force walk down the ramp with their duffel bags, towards two men expecting them on the tarmac.

“Captain Price! It’s good to finally meet you face to face”, The taller man grins and approaches Price to shake hands. The one behind him smiles slightly at Soap and Gaz, but when he looks at Ghost his face pales.

Looks like he hasn’t lost his old charm just yet.

The men introduce themselves as Alejandro Vargas, Commander of the Los Vaqueros, and Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra. They and the 141 will cooperate on this upcoming mission, and the taskforce will be residing at their base.

Ghost stays by the sidelines as the two parties converse, overlooking the surrounding scenery. The ladder-like patterns still swirl around the edges of his vision, as he listens to Soap talk with Vargas.

Soap says “I’ve never been to Mexico…” when Alejandro responds

“This isn’t Mexico…

This is Las Almas.”

ohohoho love using one (1) line from the campaign. Anyway I should really go to sleep now no more chapters for today!

[disniq]

WIP game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Tagged by @flower-sniffing-friend, thinks for thanking of me <3

word: TITAN

T -

There are other people in his life.

Between Bruce and Babs and Molly, he’s been rebuilding a lot of bridges in the aftermath of the Scarecrow attacks.

Except maybe that’s the problem, because wading through the wreckage of those relationships is exhausting. The dust might have settled, but the foundations are shaky. The bricks don’t fit quite the same way anymore. Every step is slow and measured and painfully careful.

It’s hasn’t been like that with Tim. (Titans!JayTim, Groomer Bernard)

I -

It’s been a long time since Jason sold himself as a commodity, and the setup is very different to how he remembers it. For one, the venue is a lot nicer. And he’s wearing significantly more clothes. (Brujay, post-utrh Bruce memory loss)

T -

There are house rules to living at the Dawkins Centre.

Not that there weren’t rules to crashing at Wayne Manor. Or surviving on the streets. Or getting through juvie. Or anywhere else, either, Jason guesses. But this feels different.

Mostly because this is... not a second chance, exactly – he thought he’d had that with Bruce, he thought he’d had it again with the Titans.

No, this time it’s different because it feels like maybe it’s a last chance. (Titans fix it, chapter 14)

A -

“And you’re just bitter that I’m better at this game than you,” Gar sniffs, but he loads up the Grannies level Jason wanted anyway.

“I’m not the one that keeps fuckin’ dying!”

“You just did, you lying bastard!” (Titans demi-JayGar)

N-

“Not looking so hot yourself,” Jason jokes, unbothered.

He slithers into the kitchen and fixes their cups of coffee. Adds milk to both, sugar to one, and then casually slides that second mug across the counter. 

Dick is irrationally annoyed that Jason apparently remembers how he takes his coffee, but doesn’t remember it’s gauche to steal another cape’s identity and fucking kill people in it. (JayDick BiB fic)

no pressure tags for @azol-otl @thenaphorism @bonerot19 @paprikadotmp4 aaaaaaaand @deepwithintheabyss

And keeping on theme, your word is CAPE