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aphelionwrotes11 · 6 months ago

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(MDNI, dubcon) (not edited)

Thinking about stalker!john price who retired early and can’t stand spending his time in his big ol’ house all by himself :(

Wanders across a pretty little dear like you, working retail in one of the little stores in the small town you live in. Can’t help falling in love with those tentative eyes that look up at him through your lashes, all shy and soft.

He just can’t control the way he feels like he has to keep you safe, your his now, doll. Follows you home every night, just to make sure you’re safe. Puts a few cameras around your house, only to make sure no unwanted visitors are hanging around, of course!

But he can’t help himself when he finds himself in your room when you’re sleeping, gazing at your relaxed figure. Oh, so peaceful and gorgeous.

You start getting a bit paranoid when you begin noticing a few things out of place. A door closed that you could’ve swore you left open when you left, a few missing shirts, a few missing panties, and now you come home to an apartment just a bit cleaner than you left it. Your bed made a little neater, no dirty laundry hung from a chair or lying on the edge of your bed.

At first you think you’re losing it. This shitty job must be taking too much out of you. But, on a night when an especially shitty shift happens, everything comes crashing down. Some rando decided to take out their frustration on you which then led to you bursting into tears and running off to the back room, frustrated and humiliated. A few minutes later your manager comes to tell you that you can go home, that bloke was dragged off by some guy into the night, she’s certain he won’t be a bother again.

So, you make your way down your usual path. Sniffling every now and then, pausing only to wipe your puffy eyes. When you get to your front door, you find that it’s already unlocked. Blinding hot fear lodges itself into your throat. Did that guy follow you home? (No lol)

You push the door open to be hit with the smell of your favorite take out. You take a few cautious steps in, scanning the kitchen and living room. It’s empty, but spotless. Dishes are put away, the counters looked like they’ve been scrubbed clean, the floors are swept. On the table rests a bag from your favorite restaurant, a note lies beside it reading, eat up little dear :)

John watches you from the crack in the door of your small hallway closet. Watches you walk through your house, kitchen knife in hand, looking for any potential threats. You look everywhere, besides the closet in the hallway. Oh honey, what would you do without him? What if there had been a real intruder and you had just missed him? Gosh. But, John’s upset is quickly replaced with joy as you settle into a seat and eat your still hot dinner. He can’t help but shiver as a relaxed look comes across your face, more relaxed than you’ve looked in ages. That must mean that you accept him now right?

Well, he takes it that way. Starts getting more bold. Leaves gifts on your counter for you to come home to, your favorite foods, books you like, items from stores you looked at just a bit too long. Keeps your apartment tidy, clothes washed, dishes laid to dry. At first, fear grabs you by the heart each time you come home from work to find another gift and a clean apartment. But after a week or so you decide that whoever it is that’s been watching you has been more of a help than a nuisance, and if they wanted to hurt you they would’ve by now, right? So you stupidly allow yourself to relax into this routine. Had to decide not to call the cops when you came home to find a few pairs of lacy panties laid out on your bed, matching bralettes resting beside them. In your size of course.

So, on one of your worst nights of the year, a shitty shift, shitty day, shitty week. You find yourself sobbing into a pillow in the darkness of your room. Sleep just couldn’t find you. You gasp when you feel the other side of the bed sink. Lying there, frozen. You feel a big, warm hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly. John sucks in a breath just at the feel of you. You start to cry more, “no- no please-“ you sob, terrified.

And John just coos at you.

“Shh, shh, don’t worry honey. M’not gonna do anythin. Just wanna hold’ya, make you feel better.”

He lays down behind you, warm arms encircling your waist, pulling you closer to his broad chest. And despite better logic, you allow him too. Find yourself relaxing in his warm grip, melting from his low coos. This is bad, very bad. Extremely dangerous. But at this point you just don’t care.

John holds you like that for a while, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, pressing his nose into your hair.

“What’s got you all worked up, honey? Hard day? Could make you feel a lot better. Could make that all go away.”

He whispers into the soft skin of your neck, and you whimper. Starts squeezing the fat of your hips, placing little kisses along the length of your throat. Your hands find his hair and tug, he takes that as a sign to keep going.

S’not long before he’s spearing you with his hot, heavy cock. Thrusting into you at a languid pace from behind. His calloused fingers rub your clit. Your whining and moaning, melting from his touch.

“Would do anything for ya honey, promise’ya I would, so perfect..” he groans into your ear, a hand coming up to roll your nipple between his fingers.

He’s moving so perfectly, his thrusts hitting a spot inside of you that sends ripples of pleasure up your spine. When you finally come, shuddering and clenching on his cock, he whimpers.

He doesn’t stop there, flips you onto your back and starts thrusting into you like a battering ram, no more soft love making. That’s when you see his face, that ruggedly handsome regular that you’ve had the biggest crush on, who just so happened to also be your stalker.

Your too fucked out too care, and he’s too pussy drunk to think. Fucking himself into you like an animal.

“Been waiting to touch you like this sweetheart, waitin so long- fuuuck-“ he sounds drunk, his voice thick. His eyes are glassy as he stares down at you.

“Need ya, I love ya..” he mumbles deliriously, getting closer to filling your tight cunt by the second.

“Cum in me..” you whisper. And that’s what throws him over the edge.

He cums, hard. Thrusting his seed into you, milking his cock with your clenching cunt. He’s crying, a few tears dripping down his cheeks. :((

“Love you, love you, love you, love you-“ he repeats like a mantra, fucking himself into you still despite the overstimulation. Looks utterly wrecked.

Takes a few weeks, but eventually he manages to coax his little sweetheart into living with him. It’s a lot easier, isn’t it? I mean he’s always with you regardless, been following you around for a while. Now he gets to see you constantly. Has you quit that shitty job, promises to take care of you. Deposits money into your bank account each week to ease your nervousness, just so you don’t feel too trapped, not that he’d ever let you go.

Follows you around like a lost puppy, always an arms length away. Eventually you mind less and less.

Months pass by in a blur and it’s not long till your stomach is fat and swollen with a little baby, and he’s on one knee in front of you with a ring. Doesn’t matter what you say though :( you’re his girl, forever.

(Gaaahhhhh I love him so much. NEEEEEED HIM.)

#john price #stalker John price #cod #smut #john price smut #cod smut #fanfic #cod fanfic #stalker bf #fluff

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random-thot-generator · 4 months ago

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Reverse trope prompt: Fake amnesia

Full prompt list here by @out-of-jams

Soap x reader

Maybe? NSFW - Soap gets a wee bit handsy with reader, nothing sexually explicit, profanity, soap is a sneaky lil shit

dividers by: @saradika-graphics

"Where's me bonnie lass?"

"She's comin', lad," Price murmurs, giving Soap's shoulder a gentle pat. He squats down beside his wheelchair to peer into his sergeant's eyes. "Ya feelin' alright? Head hurtin' ya?"

Soap squints at his captain, suspicious. "Oi! Yer no' another one o' them doctors, are ye? Feckin' numpties willnae leave me alone."

Price sighs, shakes his head and stands. "No, lad. I'm— just visitin'."

Soap's face splits into a grin. "Oh. Well, tha's a'right, then. Dinnae mind visitors. Do ye ken tha' big bloke tha' wears a skelly mask? 'E comes t'visit meh, too." Soap leans in, voice dipping low. " Bit of an odd duck, tha' one. Tol' meh 'e was a ghost." His eyebrows arch high on his forehead. "An' the docs say I'm th'one wit' brain damage."

Price huffs a short laugh despite himself. "That's his callsign, lad. Do ya remember yours?"

"Callsign?" Soap repeats, looking confused.

"Never mind. 'S not important right now."

Soap nods, his eyes trailing back to the door. "'Ave ye seen the gas man about? Mehbeh he kens where me lass is."

"Gas man?" Price mutters, frowning, then understanding dawns. "Ah. Ya mean Gaz. He's uh— at work. Won't be around for a few days, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Tha's too bad. 'E's good at findin' m'lass fer meh." He raises a hand to scratch at the scar tissue on the side of his head. "Doan s'pose ye'd be willin' t'ave a look 'round fer 'er, would ye? Ah miss 'er." His blue eyes shine bright and luminous with hope.

Price nods, chuckling. "A'course, lad. I'll see if I can find her f'ya."

Price turns on the telly for him before he leaves, flipping it to a cartoon channel. Soap's loud guffaw follows him out into the hallway. Passing the nurses' station, he gives a nod to a couple of the nurses as he heads towards the cafeteria, where he last saw you. He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots you sitting with Ghost, a cup of tea in your hands.

You watch the captain's approach, taking in his expression, then grimace. His look is apologetic when he murmurs, "He's askin' f'ya, again, lass."

"Bloody hell," you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

Ghost grunts, eyes narrowing. "Funny, tha'. Johnny can't remember any'a us, but he's got no problem remembering 'er?" He tilts his head. "Bit strange, innit?"

Price shrugs. "Hard t'say, with an injury like that. Docs say he might regain some of his memory, he might not. No way t'tell."

You sigh, turning your weary gaze on Ghost. "His memory of me isn't perfect, either, ya know? You remember how he used to give me hell all the time. Now he thinks I'm his bloody girlfriend, for Chrissakes! He told Gaz we were engaged yesterday. It's bloody mental."

Ghost hums but says no more.

Blowing out a tired breath, you push yourself up from your chair. "Guess I better get back up there before he comes looking for me again. Thought that head nurse was going to string those other poor nurses up by their heels when Johnny gave 'em the slip."

Price laughs lowly. "And in a wheelchair, no less. Made it all the way to the exit before they caught up with him."

Ghost grunts as he stands, shuffling away from the table to join you. "I'll go wiff ya. Johnny might behave himself better if I'm there."

You snort at that. "Yeah, right. Might as well restrain him, because he won't keep his hands to himself, I can promise ya that."

As soon as you enter Soap's room, he beams a huge smile, his arms up, grabby hands reaching for you. "There ye are! C'mere, bonnie. Gie us a hug."

You point at him, a stern expression on your face. "Promise you'll behave, first. No feeling me up this time."

He gazes up at you, looking like a whipped pup. "Ayre ye mad at me, bon? Did I do somethin' bad? Ah'm sorry."

His pitiful pout melts your resolve instantly. "I'm not mad at you, Johnny. Don't get upset. Everything's alright," you soothe, voice soft as you step close to smooth your hand over his shaggy mohawk.

Ghost doesn't miss the mischievous little flash in Soap's eyes before he grins and grabs you by the hips, pulling you into his lap. You yelp, trying to be careful of his head as you try to push his face from between your breasts. The man doesn't let up, wallowing you like a fussy toddler, his big hands holding you in place. You give another yelp when he gets hold of your ass cheek and squeezes.

"Oi, ya cheeky git," Ghost barks. "Yer bein' too rough!"

Soap cuts a sly glance his way before settling his chin on your chest, smiling sweetly up at you. "Ah dinnae hurt ye, did I, bon?"

You sigh, flustered, trying to be patient. "No, Johnny. You just— startled me." You puff out a breath, prying his hand off your ass.

Soap gives Ghost a smug little smirk, hugging you so tight, you squeak. "See, LT? Ah wasnae bein' too rough. Ah jus' startled 'er."

You lay a hand on his cheek to get his attention back, melting a little more at the open adoration in his gaze. "You should still be more careful, Johnny," you chide him gently. "You get excited and grab my bum too hard sometimes. You leave bruises."

He perks up at that. "Aye? Bruises, ye say? Can ye show me? Ah promise t'kiss 'em all better."

You can't help but laugh. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

Soap nuzzles your chest and grins. "Aye, but ye love meh anyway, doan ye, bon?"

You only manage to escape when one of the nurses finally comes in to give Soap his medication and check his vitals. You scurry out the door, looking a right mess, disheveled and breathing heavy, mumbling something about getting some water.

Ghost stands by quietly as the nurse takes Johnny's vitals, eyeing him intently the whole time. Once she exits the room, Soap turns a guileless expression to his lieutenant. "Somethin' the matter, Mr. Ghost?"

Ghost huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "Give it up, Johnny. Ya fucked up, mate. She didn't catch it, but I did." He comes closer, leaning down to whisper at Soap's ear, "Or did ya jus' suddenly remember I'm yer LT?"

He chuckles lowly when Soap sucks in a sharp breath. He straightens back to his full height, looming over the now worried looking Scot.

"I'll keep m'mouth shut, so long as ya come clean wiff the captain. Poor sod's been worryin' 'imself sick over ya."

"A'right," Soap grumbles, bottom lip poking out.

You return moments later, a bottle of water in one hand, a pudding cup and spoon in the other.

"Look what I nicked for ya, Johnny. Butterscotch pudding. Your favorite."

He gives you a hangdog look. "Can we lay in bed while ye feed it t'meh? Ah'm feelin' a wee bit tired."

"Sure, love. Ghost, will ya help me get him in the bed?"

Ghost helps put him to bed without comment, but pins the sergeant with a knowing look while you're climbing into bed with him.

Soap slants a mischievous look up at his lieutenant, teeth flashing in a quick grin, and winks.

#john soap mactavish #cod soap #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #@out-of-jams prompts #writing prompts #reverse trope prompts

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n0tamused · 5 months ago

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Hello!! Can I request some hcs for Jiyan, Calcharo,Aalto and Scar with blind s/o?

A/n: Sorry for making you wait for so long, but I hope you like this! Did this as a bit of a warm up, hopefully I'll have more writing done soon <3

Contents: Jiyan/Calcharo/Aalto/Scar x gn reader (separate), fluff, Aalto and Scar are up to shenanigans

Ko-fi

Blind s/o headcanons

Jiyan:

-As an absent lover, seeing how he is always at the front lines, he does think of you a lot. Even with the knowledge and memory that he has made your shared home a easily manageable environment for you, and with his mother not too far off paying you visits every now and then, he still worries. What if something breaks and you step on shattered pieces? What if you twist your ankle in some hole he forgot to patch up? What if something happens to you and no one is around?

-Jiyan has worked alongside you in making the home environment easy to remember and easy to maneuver, and he rarely ever changes the order of things so you don’t accidentally hurt yourself. He does notify you if he does something like move the couch or some chair or a vase.

-All the pots and jars and bottles are labeled in braille, so you can never miss one ingredient or liquid for another. Although when he is around he does try to do everything for you, no matter how small the act is.

-He has plenty on his mind as it is but he can never get his thoughts away from you. He looks forward to seeing you again, all the time

-When he is back home he is always nearby, you can practically feel him before you hear him coming close, his arms wrapping around your waist and his chest pressing against your back as he softly greets you, asking how you’re feeling

-At night, it has become a routine of sorts for you to just map his face with your fingers. The soft pads of your fingers finding the arch of his brows, sliding down his nose and over his soft cheeks, slowly finding their way down to his lips, his breath tickling your knuckles but he remains still and remains patient. He lets you do as you please, all while taking the same time to admire you and the way the lines of your face pull and tug as you take in his features

-Sometimes you scratch lightly at the scales on his cheek and he only tilts his head away, chuckling at you

Calcharo:

-Similarly to Jiyan, Caclharo isn’t often at home or around you, and even less so considering he is the individual he is. He’d not ever risk your safety just to squeeze in some “lovey dovey” time. He loves you, but not that much to disregard everything else

-With so many of his spies working for him that have made the one shell credit deal with him, he does take some aside and gives them the task to keep an eye on you. These people know better than to disobey this, not that they would in the first place considering Calcharo has helped them for the price most would consider cheap in this field of work.

-So you’d often get visitors introducing themselves as friends of your partner, or colleagues, or simply just as a mailman, bringing you food or gifts. You have come to befriend a particular food stall lady that lives only a few minutes of walking from your home. She brings you your favorite snack without a fail, always, no matter the weather or time. She tells you of the people she meets and serves, the children and even the birds and dogs that come sniffing around her stall

-She makes it a task to clean up too, so there’s not a lot of times where you have to do much

-This leaves for a lot of boredom, and however sweet this notion of being protected by these people was, you did not crave them, you felt like you didn’t need them either - you wanted your beloved.

-One night when he did return to visit you, he found all lights off, which wasn’t unusual but he had believed you went to sleep only to nearly go into fight mode when he found you only now preparing for bed. Light was not of significance to you, so you were just wandering in the darkness. That could be the only time you gave Calcharo a real fright

-He is very quiet himself, and for a man of his size and stature that can come off as quite the surprise when he suddenly appears at your side, asking you in that soft rasp of his to take the plate from you so he can scoop some food into it for you.

-To make up for his soft footing, he does try to talk more to you, or just make some more sound in general. Often you’ll hear soft grunts or huffs when you’re about to bump into something or when he’s around you when you’re walking about the home.

-However odd it is, you found that his hand was always close by when you needed him. You only need to move your hand out in front of you, and almost instantly you’ll feel his warm fingers twinning between yours or taking your hand by the fingers gently to lead you to him.

-It took some time for him to get used to have his face touched by you, and a lot of times he only allows it for a short amount of time as he gets uncomfortable if it stretches on, but slowly he began to melt into it.

-He’d sit on the couch beside you and watch how you feel around with your hand, climbing into his lap to greet him as you take his face into your palms. And slowly you’d kiss his forehead and cheeks, having missed him far too much for your heart to handle another moment without him

-He sighs softly, and you don’t have to see to know how exhausted he is too. He is closing his eyes, tilting his head into one of your palms and nuzzling against it, his breath fanning across your skin as he sinks further into the couch

Aalto:

-He’s a tease. Aalto is a tease in most of his endeavors, but he is specific when it comes to you. Depending on how you lost your vision, be it natural or through some illness or even a freak accident, he does crack a few jokes to make light of it. He puts himself in your shoes, imagining he’s blind and he just can’t see anything good about it, so he does what he knows will make you smile

-He speaks a lot more softly to you and he is very descriptive when explaining anything. He loves the times when the two of you just sit down, your legs in his lap as he talks away about whatever interests you. He’d be massaging your legs or feet, finding that motion relaxing for himself as well, while being relaxing for you too. He also does try to make conversations engaging as well if he sees you have the energy for it, since he doesn’t like making your conversations just mere monologue on his end

-For a dangerous individual as himself, honestly he makes a lot of time for you. At one point you had to question whether he was ditching his job for you, but he assures you he is not neglecting his duty. On that topic, while he does often visit you, from time to time he is sent on longer missions that have him absent from your company for a week or two at most, depending on where they send him.

-During this time, you find your side occupied by someone else. Aalto, however easy going he may seem, is just as worries as the other two on this list, and he does not come to trust people easy. His charming demeanor can often be a simple front put up to give strangers wrong impressions, which he can later use to his advantage. With that said, he does leave the same person he trusts to be with you while he is away.

-Little Encore often visits too, sometimes alone and sometimes with this caregiver or Aalto. She brings Aalto’s letters and gifts to you, and reads the letters out. You are unsure why Aalto bothers so much with letters considering he can record and send a message to you, or even call you, but you guess it’s some technicality while he’s on the field, or he just wants to woo you again in this traditional style

-Either way, you don’t mind, it is always heartwarming to feel someone’s love in different ways

-Sometimes he does change the order in your home just to get your reaction though and then asks you “How could you have not seen it?”

-.......

-Don’t worry though, it’s never something that would pose a health risk of any kind. Although he did once switch your sugar and salt-

-He took a sip of your drink to show his greatest sympathies for you, and you had to chuckle when you heard him sputter and curse the drink

-Doesn’t shut up when you trace his face or figure. He is a bit sensitive, so it is a shocker to him when you do put your hands on his waist or on his cheeks, but he doesn’t let it affect his tongue. He yaps okay.

-Loves it a lot though. If you happen to do it late into the night when he’s tired and there’s nothing else but the two of you, he’d become sappy as well, one warm palm settled on the side of your face as he describes what he sees and how lovely you are, how beautiful, how much you mean to him.

-Sometimes he claims these never happened just to poke fun at you “for dreaming about him”

Scar:

-If you think Aalto was bad in any regard, you haven’t seen this goat-

-For one he is a yapper. He does not shut up, so at the very least you will not have any trouble finding him around , unless he goes quiet on purpose just so you can’t find him. Two - he loves to tease and poke fun at you here and there, but in his own way, this is how he shows he cares. He really doesn’t pay much attention to people he doesn’t care for or doesn’t know, he only gives his attention to people and things he does want and care for

-So the fact he is at your side a lot, does speak of his own priorities

-He’d often come back to you, throwing his arms around you from behind and resting his had on your shoulder as he starts to talk about one thing or the other, his weight weighing on you as well, but it is the comfort of it that keeps you from shrugging it off

-Scar does love to watch you simply do things. As he is not blind, he can’t really relate to your struggle, he just knows he’d hate it if he lost his own sight. To him, it is some miracle how you are still going about as anyone else would, well.. as best as you can without seeing things.

-You’d often ask him about ingredients in jars that you found a little too suspicious to taste yourself, and when it comes to that he is pretty honest. He replies too fast for a jab to make itself known in his mind.

-If you’re out walking, Scar makes it a point to have his hand on your somehow, either holding your hand or keeping his hand on your shoulder or arm or back. If he lets go and goes quiet, you know he’s being playful and wants you to search for him

-However annoying he can be at times with jokes and games such as these, he still wouldn’t set you in the midst of danger. He doesn’t play where it is not safe. So you can rest assured you won’t be finding any tacet discords while looking for him.

-Lets you hold onto his clothes or those dangling bits on his outfit, and you can joke around that you’re walking him like a dog and he’d scoff, laugh or bark. He finds it just as amusing as you do

-When he is tired he comes to you on his own and pulls your hands onto his face. He lays in your lap, reveling in the soft feel of your fingers over his face, feeling the subtle change in skin textures in places he has scars. You take it all in, and it doesn’t matter if it’s the first or the hundredth time you do this, you take it slowly all the time, feeling his head grow heavy in your lap.

-Sometimes, during the day or when he’s simply awake and full of energy, he’d take your hand or tell you to touch his face just so he can nip at your fingers

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ddreamywitch · 5 months ago

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Chapter One - Dinner and Diatribes

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: benji is (hot and) bothered, probably inaccurate depiction of knighting ceremonies

song: Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier

a/n: I only fleetingly proofread this, please excuse any mistakes <3

prologue

It is a swelteringly hot day.

Humid, stale air presses down upon the kingdom, torturing anyone who dared to venture to so much as lift a finger.

Weather like this is not made for exciting endeavours.

In fact it is made for remaining in a shaded area, or within the castle walls or in the cool waters of the sea, but you are not granted any such indulgences today.

Your handmaiden, Marion, winces at your gasp for air. “I am sorry, princess. Would that I could spare you this, but a lady of your status simply cannot leave her chambers without a corset.”

You smile at her reflection in the mirror. “It is not your fault, dear. I shall suffer the confines of a corset, just as the common folk suffer their afflictions. ‘Tis but a small price to pay for a lavish dinner.”

Marion returns your smile but it does not look at all convinced, rather than dread-filled.

She does know her princess well, after spending many years in your service and loyally devoted. She knows when you are happy and she knows you as you are now, which is decidedly unhappy and yet determined to convince your surroundings of the opposite.

Marion does not understand why you always are so insistent upon these matters, she figured you might be a little less ashamed to be honest with your handmaiden, who had seen you bare after all.

But Marion also does not understand how hard it is to be outwardly emotional after being taught over and over, for years and years, that you may do nothing but smile tepidly and sit prettily.

You let her finish the lacing of your corset and briefly you clutch the back of your vanity chair. “God be good, that I might survive in this merciless warmth,” you mutter through a haphazard giggle.

Your handmaiden directs your gaze at your dresses. “I have picked out your simplest gowns, princess, should you think them fit for the occasion?”

A knighting ceremony has never happened in the time she had worked for you.

Or they have, but you were simply not the one to be doing the knighting, so the question of the wardrobe did feel rather overwhelming, with nothing to go off of.

Your head tilts slightly to the side as you take them all in and though you can feel your heart, in your now uncomfortably squashed ribcage, scream out for a thin and modest dress, you know deep down that it would be much better to wear something more precious.

To your knowledge, a fair share of the nobles were to attend this little festivity.

A sigh escapes you and you shake your head. “Might you fetch me the gown with the flowers embroidered? I do believe the king would like me to make a good impression upon our visitors tonight, it would be about due time that he attempted to convince me of marriage once again.”

This time Marion’s smile seems genuine, at the light ridicule of your father. “I shall see to it, princess. In the meantime, I think Ser Rodrick would like to bid you his goodbyes.”

You cannot help the pain this causes you. The notion of having to part ways with your former knight did not sit well with you at all.

Your robe drapes around you and the door creaks open.

Marion is always impossibly quick and quiet. She flits through the castle not much unlike a little mouse and you do not even know in which moment she leaves.

Whereas Ser Rodrick with his ever imposing silhouette was not ever subtle.

Your gaze meets his in your mirror and you think that you could weep right then. He seems to share this idea.

“I wish I were but a few years younger, princess, so that I could remain by your side a little longer.”

There is a thick clot in your throat, so thick that you may choke on it. “You’ve performed your duties beautifully,” you say, fighting tooth and nail against the tears threatening to spill.

Slowly you turn to face your sworn protector.

A man like Ser Rodrick, you found, is hard to come by. His kindness and honour seeks its match and after the many years together, he had long transcended his position and become more of a confidant, dare I say, friend instead.

He had known you from a sticky, wild childhood, through the years of your growth until now.

Long gone is the babe he was sworn to protect, with its clumsy movements and relentless howling, replaced by what you are now; the realm’s delight, a fair young woman, grown into the shape of a dedicated princess.

He bows his head down. “I shall miss you dearly, princess.”

Your laugh is a watery, wet thing. “Oh, you shall not. I will write you many letters. Your retirement shall not be as peaceful as you think, my good Ser.”

The setting sun reflects in the shine of his armour, a chest plate painted hues of gold and orange in this light. It bears the sigil of your father’s house and it heaves now with his heavy breathing.

“Your brother has asked me for guidance on who to pick and I put forward the youngest Lord Mormont. A northerner with a northerner’s honour.”

You nod, fingers fiddling with the belt of your robe, fiddling to find the right words now but they do not come to you and so you remain silent.

There could not be a good replacement for your knight, how could anyone ever understand you again, the way that Ser Rodrick had.

“Child, do not fret. I am away from court, not from the world,” he says. “And I shall reply to your letters with great pleasure.”

“How come you are not to be at the ceremony? Should my old protector not be there to see me off to my new one?”

Rodrick shrugs. “It is the way of tradition. I will be dismissed by your father and leave the court in mere moments.”

It is unfair really, it is almost embarrassing to you, to insult Rodrick and have him retire, like an old horse, as though he is no longer a capable fighter.

It had come as a bit of a surprise to you as well, not much of a warning of any kind had been given to you, before your father informed you not even a week ago of this rather drastic change.

The thought that you were to share every waking moment with a stranger bothered you relentlessly.

You cross the room quickly, manners and protocol thrown to the wind as you throw your arms around your knight’s neck.

It is awkward and tense, his iron and steel exterior boring into your soft flesh, but nonetheless he does not pull away, offering you comfort the best he can.

You are the third born child of the king, and though it was undeniable how popular you were at court and with the smallfolk, your father did not care much.

You were not an heir or a spare, you simply were there and as you bent and broke yourself to garner his attention, it was Ser Rodrick who would look down at the flushed cheeks you so often donned as a child and impose his gentleness on you.

As you grew you found yourself wondering how much the blood in your veins meant, what it mattered that the king had put you into your mother’s womb, when it was somebody else who you found yourself in the care of.

“Oh dearest, your mother would be so overcome with delight at the sight of you today,” he whispers when you finally pull back, one large rough hand on your shoulder. “What a marvellous person you’ve become.”

The hurt and love in your heart intermingle and threaten to burst through its seams. The gripping force in your neck does not fade and so, to the best of your abilities, you inhale a deep breath.

“You must visit soon, Ser Rodrick. Whenever you’ve grown sick of spending your days lazing about,” you attempt at a jest.

He shoves at you a little bit. “And you must remain out of trouble. At least for a few weeks.”

You huff. “I am nothing short of a saint.”

“You are,” he says. “You truly are.”

You dare not let the tears spill from your eyes and you dare not look into his, where you are sure you will find the same sheen as in yours.

“I must go, but rest assured a piece of me remains with you.“

In the most royal demeanour and grace you can muster, you curtsy to him. “I am indebted to you forever, Ser Rodrick.”

He kisses the back of your hand, unmarred and soft against his, not a speck of dirt beneath your well-kempt nails. “Farewell for now.”

You do not wish to say farewell and so you do not. You would see him again after all, at least on your birthday, you would certainly see to it.

Silently you watch him leave you behind and though you know that you are not truly without protection, you do wonder who else at court would ever be so honest and gracious with you again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You regret not having given into your desires, the moment you put on this wretched ball gown.

Though the sun is almost entirely gone now, its force still lingers in the air and you think you may be strangled by it.

With great urgency you cling to your wine chalice, about the third pour deep in hopes of ridding yourself of your sweaty discomfort.

It was a wonderful gown, a pale green shade, its bodice and hems embroidered with rosy flowers. The king always liked you in these distinctly girlish dresses, the perfect picture of an obedient and compliant daughter.

He sits to your right, drunk and distracted by his latest mistress next to him.

Lady Cathcart, a notorious sinner, as many liked to say.

Marion had once told you that Lady Cathcart was an expert at fellatio. You do not know what that means, but you assume it could only be of immoral nature.

Bile rises at the sight of them, unapologetic and public shame brought to your mother’s memory.

You avert your eyes and redirect them to your brother next to you.

His attire clashes with yours, a dark purple, not at all youthful and much more suitable for the heir to the throne. He looks just as annoyed as you feel, though you’ve gone to great lengths to hide it.

“Tristan?” You tap your chalice against his.

He breaks out of his reverie with wide eyes. “Sister.”

“When is the ceremony to begin?”

With nervous eyes he scans the room. It bustles with gowns and nobles and servants. “Not much longer,” he somehow ascertained through the sight of this. “Why do you ask?”

“I would like to be excused for a few moments,” you explain and your brother does not question why.

He was often a very crass and forward young man, but he did harbour a certain softness to his younger sister. With the wave of a hand he gives you permission and you do not wait any longer, your chair screeching across the floor immediately.

Fingers curled around your skirt layers, you make haste for the gardens, lest you fall unconscious before you get there.

It was too late to change your dress now, so the sweet solace of the royal gardens would have to serve you as an opportunity for a breath of air.

Air that wasn’t stained with the ladies’ expensive perfumes or the intense spices of dinner.

Air that wasn’t tainted with your father’s misbehaviour.

Your breathing had become quite laboured and you cursed the extravagance of your family, especially now, as your gown had become your body’s prison.

Guards open the doors and the moment you are out of prying eyes you drop into the grass beneath you.

It is no longer soft and ticklish, the way it had been a few short weeks ago, in the wakes of spring. The harshness of summer had turned it coarse and mean against your exposed arms.

It is not very suitable to lay around on the ground like this, but the stars above are spinning and you feel you could have died if you spent a moment longer upright.

Lord Mormont, you think to yourself. A very quiet man, your senior by a few years. You had only spoken with him fleetingly and never about anything of great interest, to either of you, you assumed.

It leaves you wondering whether he would become this constant distanced force in her life. Not only a protector but also somebody who would keep her in line.

In your many years with Ser Rodrick, you had worked out a rhythm with him. You had gotten used to one another and therefore, after so many hours spent together, a strong foundation of trust rests beneath your friendship. He had never chastised you for your shortcomings as princess, he had let you venture outside the castle walls with Marion and had not uttered a single word to your family.

You’re not sure that Lord Mormont would be so tolerant. Northerners were notoriously serious about their duties, he does not seem like the type to take lightly to things like this.

With your face turned upward to the moon and your mind racing, you do not hear the approaching footsteps until it is too late.

A face leans above you.

The young man has a crooked sort of look to him, not as princely as the faces you are accustomed to.

A scar graces his lip, accompanied by a bend in the slope of his nose.

Princes and noblemen rarely carried traits like this, he looks rather common.

Right now he also looks at you, rather confused.

“Looking for anything down there,” he teases as heat shoots into your cheeks, more than the high temperatures had already caused.

You sit up, fumbling to straighten your appearance at least a little bit, the rash movement sending you back into your previous state of low-level vertigo.

The man does not think to offer you a hand and you are once again taken aback by his…commonness.

“What is a lady like you doing, tumbling around in the gardens at night?”

His hands land on his hips.

Maybe he was the stable boy of one of the Lords that were visiting.

His clothing reveals no sigils to you, a simple black attire with a red cape.

No, he could not be highborn.

“What, cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes widen at the realisation that you are simply sitting there, not speaking.

“I felt a bit faint,” you explain. “Would you offer me a hand, young man?”

His brow raises a little but he extends one to you anyways.

Like Rodrick's, his hand is witness to hard labour, again a stark contrast to yours.

Unlike Rodrick though, he grips you with more force, all but yanking you upwards. Nausea brews in you.

“I thank you,” you mumble. What a queer young man.

He is more brave than a servant, to address you so haphazardly.

He grunts in lieu of a real answer.

“Tell me, what’s this place like? Seems like a fucking shitshow so far.”

It clicks then. He does not know that you are the princess. He thinks you to be of a lower house. It would make sense, with the position he found you in but your appearance surely does not speak to that of a lower house.

Men are always so indifferent to these details, they do not realise their worth.

You clear your throat. “Well, the royal family is rather kind. And there are many feasts and festivities held here. It can be quite interesting,” you say.

He shakes his head. “´Course you’d say that,” he mutters just beneath his breath.

You cross your arms. “What do you imply?”

“You capital people are all the fucking same. Insufferable flatterers.”

It is not often that people speak so frankly to you. You are not sure whether that might be why his words offend you or because he is simply wrong.

“I am no flatterer.”

His nose scrunches. “Yeah? You’ve never seen the princess and doused her in compliments? Never made eyes at her boring brother?”

“I would have you know that her brother is not boring and the princess is a very humble person. She does not care much for feigned niceties.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, birdy.” He lets the name roll over his tongue like it is a term of endearment, delicious and something to relish in.

Now you take a step back. “Watch who you are speaking to, you fool.”

He does not seem troubled by your reaction, lets one hand run through his wild dark hair. “And who is that?”

“A lady. You would do good in learning the pillars of chivalry.”

He laughs, bitterly and full of sarcasm. “Oh trust me I know chivalry and I know it well.”

The garden feels different now, charged with an energy you could not quite put your fingers on. He seems an iresome lad and you decide that you needn’t handle such treacherous behaviour displayed in front of you.

What a fool he is, to speak so lewdly of your family in the very heart of your father’s kingdom.

“Well then, you should learn to mind your tongue. This is no place for words as yours,” you spit and once more grip the skirts of your dress. “I shall bid you goodnight.”

He does not do the same, you think you even see him roll his eyes before you turn your back to him.

It is the curse of manhood to always think they have a right to something. It is what leads them into violence and wars and their own demise.

Women are not troubled with such foolery, women are taught to keep their mouths shut and they hold the wisdom of listening in high regard. It is why they always know the secrets of the castle before any of the Lords hear of it.

You cannot help but shake off your head at this rude intrusion of your peace, this imbecilic attitude.

He would learn his lesson soon enough, he would not make the same mistake unscathed with any other courtiers.

Before you enter again you reach into your hair, checking to see whether it had fallen apart in your short time on the ground, but Marion is too good at her job. Despite hours of dancing or riding or windy weather, it seems that no hair falls amiss no matter how intricate or complicated the style.

A blind man could have picked you out as the princess, you are sure of it.

Huffing and puffing with anger, you drop back into your seat next to your brother, willing this god-forsaken day to finally come to its end.

Your brother ushers a servant to refill your cup. “Are you quite alright?”

“I think my corset is laced too tight and my closest friend has left the city but other than that, I am splendid,” you reply, a misdirected hit of venom toward your innocent brother.

He nudges you with shoulder. “Are you not excited about meeting your new knight? I’ve heard great tales of him.”

You shake your head no and gulp down the sweet wine in a hurry. “I cannot imagine.”

“What? He’s more a myth than a man.”

Liquid goes down the wrong pipe and you nearly choke. “Mormont? In what world?” You ask, entirely incredulous.

Tristan’s eyes widen. “Father has not told you?”

Your eyes tell him to be honest with himself. When has their father ever given you the graciousness of staying informed? He hadn’t even told you of your mother’s death, leaving it to your oldest sister to do so. It does not come as a surprise that once again you are left in the dark about matters that directly concern you.

“It is not Lord Mormont. Father attempted to create peace in the Riverlands,” Tristan begins to explain.

An odd feeling of dread creeps into your bones. “And?”, you inquire, voice taunt but before your brother manages to get out an answer, your father rises.

He is drunk, he sways softly from side to side and you can see his Lady Cathcart’s fingers curl around his leg in an attempt to keep him steady. The room falls quiet, eager to hear their monarch speak.

Insufferable flatterers, the young man pierces your thoughts again.

Some bit of skin is pinched, right beneath your breast and it sends a sharp pain down your side when you straighten your back once more, harsh enough to leave you distracted.

It is odd, you cannot seem to find clarity today, your thoughts distant and flimsy, like water in your hands.

“A special honour shall be bestowed on one of you young lads. The honour of protecting the sanctity of our kingdom's delight, my beloved daughter,” King Alexander boomed, the slightest hint of slur to his words.

Polite claps follow suit and beneath the table you begin to twist the rings on your fingers.

“Now, our council has given great thought to our choice and we are certain that we have picked the most suitable man in the kingdom, for his reputation exceeds him.”

Whispers flood the room and it takes much of your self-constraint to not take your brother’s hand like a little child.

“Benjicot Blackwood, shall be sworn in, in our midst, tonight.”

Bloody Ben.

Tristan is right. There’s many tales to be told of the heir of Raventree, none of which have anything to do with knighthood and to you, all of them are terrifying. A man like that to watch over you with hawkeyes.

You would have much preferred the stoic Lord Mormont.

You swallow thickly.

“My dearest shall knight him herself.”

Your father has not looked at you yet, perhaps he does know that he will face nothing but contempt. He is a drunkard but he is a king and perhaps even a good one and it does take at least somewhat of a brain to be one.

You blinked, once, twice and then you smiled—a practised smile, not much alike to a real one—and got up.

The lightness in your head leaves your periphery blinded, but you have learned after many years of life under the watchful eyes of the nobility, to not stumble, no matter your state and with graceful steps you walk around the table reserved for the highest ranks.

Well, and Lady Cathcart.

Your knees bend very deeply before your father as his sword slices the air.

Nobody thinks to keep you up to date, but nobody needs to tell you about things like this. The manners and the conduct of behaviour at court are ingrained into your brain.

You do not have to be told when to bow or when to rise.

The sword is heavier than expected, it quivers a bit in your hold when your father passes it across the table to you.

It’s gorgeous, with engravings along its blade, flowery gardens, lush hills, stormy seas, it shines in the candlelit hall.

The grand doors creak upon and you cannot bear it any longer, you whirl around, all dizziness ignored, impatient to see the legendary bloody Ben.

At the end of the path he stands, simple black clothes, dark red cape and crooked nose.

Your jaw drops, only by a little.

From the distance parting you, you can’t be certain but Benjicot Blackwood looks about as surprised as you.

He shouldn’t be surprised, you think, he should be worried.

The sword is still awkward in the gip of both of your hands, but the face you make is practised.

Marion had once compared it to Rodrick’s steel armour.

It takes the man a torturously long time to finally reach you, each step dragged as though something was pulling him the other way.

He looks at you, like he wishes to challenge you, but he kneels, not with poise, moreso dropping before you like a sack of potatoes.

Through strands of hair he peaks up at you and it is a funny little turn, you wonder what you must have looked like looking up at him in the garden

Solemnly you clear your throat.

“ Wilt thou, upon this day, pledge thy fealty to the House Aprikate, and stand as a Knight of the Crown?” Your voice drips with an authority that feels strange on your tongue, an unfamiliar power vested in you.

“Yes, your grace.”

You almost feel bad for him, it does not seem so honourable to be kneeling like this, head firmly directed down, so clearly beneath you for everyone to see.

“Doth thou wish to abandon thy self, and be sword and shield for the sake of the greater good?”

This time he pauses a little longer. “Yes, your grace.”

You lift the sword from where you hold it against your mid, slowly and pray to god and all his saints that the tremble of your hand is not too noticeable.

With much tenderness you touch upon each of his shoulders.

“I do hereby dub thee, Benjicot Blackwood, knight of honour. May your courage and devotion become a shining example throughout all the land.”

And so it is done, your chest constricting and heart writhing within. You cannot say what it is that pushes you over the edge, but you see the way he looks at you, as though you have damned him to hell on earth.

Something jolts down your spine and finally your arduous work of remaining composed unravels, darkness cloaking your sight.

A gasp reverberates, mayhaps yours, but you are unconscious before your body tumbles to the ground.

#benjicot blackwood imagine #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot x reader #davos blackwood #asoiaf #hotd #benjicot blackwood #house of the dragon

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mockerycrow · 1 year ago

Note

super big congratulations on 4k!! you deserve it <3

i was wondering if you could write a gn! reader x price with the prompt "Hey, it's okay, I got you. You're alright, you're okay." it doesn't matter if it's platonic or romantic; whatever feels best for you!!

Thank you so much and congratulations!

YOU’RE ALIVE (Price x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; Car accident, implied situationship w/ Price, moderate injuries, flashbacks, near panic attack, open ending.]

YOU DON’T REMEMBER the events that lead up to you in a hospital bed, a cast fitted around your arm, a brace on your knee, a bandage around your skull, and only God knows how many stitches and bandages in random assortments. You can’t forget the numeral wires and tubes attached to you, too. Oh, and the ear-bleeding beeping. John sits next to you in a chair—he’s your… friend, of sorts. You aren’t really sure what to call what you two have going on.

You look at him, slumped in the visitors chair he’s pulled up beside your bed, his arms crossed and his legs spread; his neck is bent at an awkward angle and you know it’s going to ache whenever he awakens. John looks quite tired—he’s looked tired and stressed the entire time he’s been in the hospital room with you. Stressing over you, like a worried hu—…. you shouldn’t think about that. Suddenly the ceiling looks far more appealing to stare at, rather than the beautiful gentleman who is willingly staying at your bedside, despite your exhausted attempts to have him get some proper rest.

You glance over at him—envious of how he’s able to sleep right now. Hm. Honestly, you know John would be awake with you if he had the energy. The only reason why you’re awake is your stitches itch, and the only reason why he’s asleep is because you did not wake up for four days after you passed out at the scene of a car accident you were apparently in; an accident you don’t remember too well. You barely even remember what you had for breakfast that morning; cereal of some kind, maybe? Eggs? You don’t know.

“You were on the way to work, love.” You remember John telling you. You remember the tense expression, the firmness of his eyebrows. The frown of his lip, the way he amusingly resembled a quokka in the moment. You were also apparently on the phone with John at the same time, so whatever happened, he heard all of it. The details from your own memory are fuzzy—your doctors concluded your amnesia is temporary, so they gave you the choice of remembering it yourself or having them tell you. You opted in for the first option.

It was coming back to you in bits and pieces. Small moments where you feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, you think you hear glass shattering in the distance; your heart begins to race at different moments. You aren’t sure what to make of it—until now.

“I’m not excited for this meeting.” You whined, your eyes were glued to the road. Your phone is bluetooth connected to your car’s system so you can talk with John and have both of your hands on the wheel. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, honey. Surely it’s just about budgets like last month.” John hums through the speakers of your car. You sigh, turning on your windshield wipers as it’s pouring out, obscuring your vision a bit.

“It’s raining pretty hard, how do the roads look?” He asks, a bit of rustling coming from John’s end. He’s probably reading a book or looking out from the curtains. “I’m driving slower than normal, visibility isn’t the greatest..” You admit, letting out a breath, slowing the car down once again. “..I was sliding a bit, thinking it’s time I get some new wheels.” John hums in agreement. “Definitely. Please be safe, love.” You chuckled glancing around the road, furrowing your eyebrows when the double yellow line seems to fade. “I’m trying my best, Jo—“

You’re suddenly being jostled around violently after a big impact from your front, your seatbelt digging into your skin as something launches your car off to the side. “SHIT—“ You scream, attempting to stop the car, but the rain causes you to slide across the road. Something hits you from the back and you feel you physically feel yourself lift in your seat—and then you’re fading in and out. You wake up with wetness against your face, pain in your ribs, your arm, your skull—

You let out a choked sob as there’s ringing in your ears and your eyes refuse to focus—but you can tell you’re upside down. You see a pair of legs sprinting towards you through your broken side window, and you aren’t really register what’s happening. You blink and the person is try to pry the door open frantically. You still don’t hear them; it’s almost like a silent movie.

The door gives, the flipped car jostling from the force used to pry it open. You blink and fuck—It’s John. His eyes are wide and his jaw is tense, shaky hands. He’s grabbing the sides of your head, forcing you to keep your head still—his lips are moving but you can’t hear him. You sob and you try to reach up to touch him, and he lets you. Your eyes look at your own hand as it’s caked in your own blood, causing you to inhale shakily. This isn’t happening. The pain starts sitting you harder, a pulsing in the side of your head.

“Hey—“ John’s voice suddenly cuts through and you blink, and you’re back in the hospital room. You’re breathing hard and fast, causing your chest to ache more than it already does. His hands are cupping your cheeks like he was in the flipped car, and you let out a panicked sob; your machines make loud beeping noises in retaliation. “Hey, it’s okay, I got you. You’re alright, you’re okay..” John quickly murmurs, his thumbs gently wiping your tears away. “Focus on my voice, okay? You’re alright. You’re in the hospital, love.”

You sniffle and nod, shakily inhaling once again as you try to calm your panicked lungs and struggling heart, your good hand coming up and gently grasping his wrist. “I-I was flipped over—“ You choke out, which John quickly meets with soft shushing and a kiss between your eyebrows. “I know, honey. I know. I got you, you’re safe now.” You nod, choking out another whimper as you lean into his touch—because John’s right. He has you; you’re safe, he’s the one who got to you first. You’re sure you’ll want to ask him how he found you so fast later, but all you want to do right now and feel him and hear him. Because you’re alive.

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cod-dump · 9 months ago

Text

Visitor (teen!Ghost au)

———

*a sunny weekend day at the Price house*

Price: *reading at the kitchen table*

Teen!Ghost from outside the kitchen window: Daaad! There’s a weird cat outside!

Price: What?

Teen!Ghost: OH THAT’S NOT A CAT-

Price, running outside: What’s going on- Oh!

Kid!Roach: *hiding in a bush in the back of the garden*

Price: Uh-

Teen!Ghost: Dad, he’s been sitting there the whole time I’ve been out here

Price: I’ll call Phillip

Kid!Roach: *runs out of the bush and towards teen!Ghost*

Teen!Ghost: *shrieks*

Price: SIMON-

(Later)

Teen!Gaz: We’re home!

Nik, walking in behind him: Who’s car is that in the drive- Oh… hello

Phillip, sitting in his chair in the living room: Gary found his way back over here

Nik: … okay

Teen!Gaz: That little bug kid??

Price: Kyle! That’s rude

Teen!Ghost, from the bathroom: DOES HE HAVE HIS SHOTS?? HE BIT ME

Teen!Farah: Stay still and let me clean it!

Price: Let me see- When did this happen?!

Nik: … what happened when we were gone?

#how simon became a were roach jk #teen!ghost au #simon ghost riley #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod nikolai #gary roach sanderson #phillip graves #farah karim #incorrect quotes #drabble #call of duty #modern warfare #dad price #dad john price #dad graves #dad phillip graves #adopted au

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ghostybaby000 · 7 months ago

Text

Never Yours | Part 3

Part 1 part 4

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Summary: He had seen blood hundreds of times before, but never from you. He didn't know what to expect while listening to your cry's on the phone praying you wouldn't loose consciousness. Part one posted above to start this read!

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+, violent theme, weaponry use, blood, symptoms of panic

Tag List: @yyiikes @talooolaaloolla

(not fully edited, apologies for any inconsistencies!)

As quietly as his large build would let him, he crossed the room just to the foot of your bed. He looked to all the machines around you and buttons that were beeping or flashing, it all made him feel more anxious. His eyes landed on your heart monitor where they rested for quite some time, he watched the small screen and lines and noticed his own heart begin to resume a normal rate. A smile came over your face as you saw him and tried to reach an arm out to him as he swiftly moved to the side of the bed. He gently grabbed your hand and placed it down on your stomach, he didn’t want you moving one bit.

You put your other hand over the top of his and stared into his eyes, without words trying to tell him that you were okay. Looking at him you adjust to sit up as you tried to clear your throat.

From behind him, he pulled a visitor’s chair as close as it could be to the bed and sat down intent on staying every second he was allowed. As soon as you had awoken you had asked to see Simon, not giving yourself any time to take in the injuries you had acquired or to think back to what had happened.

Tears began to flood your eyes as you remembered the events that had unfolded and left you starting to shaking. Immediately Simons eyes grew wide as he stood from the chair and cupped your face with his large hand.

‘Dove what is it? Are you in pain?’ The nervousness in his voice told you that he too was scared, confirmed by him calling for a nurse from the bedside- never letting go of your hand. Clearing your throat again you take in a shaky breath and touch Simons arm to get his focus back to you.

A nurse had made their way into the room with a haste but you and Simon both assured her as she made her way back out of the room that everything was okay. He looked back to you and leaned over so you wouldn’t strain your voice.

‘It’s not the pain Simon, I-I just haven’t processed it all yet.’ He let out a small breath and sat down again in the small chair. He brushed his thumb gently over your hand and looked at you with his brows furrowed.

‘So much happened so fast, I don’t think I’m remembering all of the details right.’ He pushed a tear off your cheek with a smile.

‘All that matters is that you’re alright. Whoever did this-‘ He took a pause to again to inhale and then continue.

‘Whoever did this will answer to me, the only thing you need to worry about is getting better.’ Your eyes began to feel heavy with the sedatives you had been given as your muscles relaxed, Simon continued to gently thumb over your hand.

Hours passed as you slept, Simon watching you and every person who entered the room ensuring that nobody was taking you again from him. He listened to the shoes shuffling by in the hallway and watched your chest fall and rise with each breath, grateful that you were able to rest.

His phone pocket began to buzz, he used his unoccupied hand to retrieve it.

‘Price’

He looked to you and slowly began to rise, being as quiet as possible, kissing your hand and gently resting it on your stomach he made his way into the hall to answer the call.

‘What do you have?’ His voice was stern as he spoke, silent to hear any information after he had asked.

‘Well we went back to the neighborhood and found that the neighbors have cameras installed on their doorbells. We were able to see when the attack happened, and we think we know who’s done it as well.’

‘The attack, was this more than one person?’

‘Not that we know of yet, just one made their way into the home. Faking as a inspector of some kind, we can’t see the trucks logo. Y/N opened the door to greet them, and then tried to close it but they…they made their way inside.’ A pause caught in Simons throat thinking again of how small you were, his anger rising.

‘Thank you. Tell me when you have anything else.’

‘Will do.’

As he hung up the phone and made his way back into the room, you stirred slightly. He quickened his pace to be back at your side again pushing your stray hair strands from your face. You drifted back to sleep as he resumed his position in the chair.

He began to think over what Price had said and the details that he could use to his advantage. He thought to you as well, how you must have been so afraid. SO afraid to of being alone and the pain that ensued would surely leave you scarred. He thought for another hour or so, taking a water when the nurse offered it still refusing to leave the room.

You spoke out then to him, the first time he didn’t really understand what you had said, and asked you to repeat.

‘I knew you...’

‘What...Dove do you need something?’ he whispered with his low voice, trying to not startle you if you were still sleeping.

Your eyes slowly opened as you reached this time to cover his hand. You cleared your dry throat as you spoke again, this time more clearly.

‘I knew to call you.’ A smile started over your face as Simon patted your hand assuming the pain medication was talking.

‘What do you mean lovie?’ He grinned back to you, his eyes never loosing track of yours.

You opened your eyes more fully this time, now staring at him. Again the prickle of tears began to sting.

‘I knew that you would be there faster than an ambulance… I knew you would get to me first.’

He stared to you for another moment before allowing his head to fall to the floor. He was feeling his own eyes begin to sting, for he didn’t agree. He should have been the one to take it, he should be the one recovering, he should have never left, or he should have taken you with him in the least.

He looked back up to you and instead pushed the thoughts out of his mind, standing to plant a kiss on your forehead. Your eyes slowly began to close again as he whispered to you,

‘Always.’

Hours passed as the night progressed, Simon now letting his own eyes close but never succumbing to sleep.

Nurses came in and out to check your vitals throughout the evening, eventually the doctor came in and asked to discuss the surgery and the aftercare. You sat a little higher in the bed, wincing as you did so. Simon pushed himself out of his chair to help sit you up properly, being soft with every movement. Once you both had gotten situated, the doctor went over the procedure.

You noticed that as the doctor went on, Simons knee only bounced harder, his hands becoming more sweaty as he wiped them on his pants. He would look over to you and smile, although you could tell it pained him to see you hurting. The doctor finished talking over the surgery and explained that a nurse would be by to check the dressings. Before leaving he pulled Simon into the hallway and gave him more specifications on taking care of you when you returned home, along with some paperwork. He listened very closely, intent on helping you recover as best he could. He shook the doctors hand as he began to leave, but the doctor didn’t let go entirely-looking to Simon.

‘She is very lucky to have you, there’s no telling if she would have made it had you not gotten her here.’

He felt a lump in his throat as he again thanked the doctor and made his way back into your room. A nurse came in not to long afterwards and asked if you’d like to be alone for the dressing change. You told her that you wanted Simon to stay so long as he wanted to, looking over to Simon who gave a small nod of approval.

You see his jaw clench as she slowly pulled down the cover to see your wrapping, he hated himself for not being the one to take the blow. He took your hand in his as she began to undo your dressing, and when she had gotten it entirely off Simon had gone ridged in his chair. The nurse asked if he was alright before moving on and showing Simon how to care for her wound. He watched her very closely, at one point staring her down when she made you groan out. She completed the changing process and Simon was confident he was capable of treating it from home, where he wished to be.

He thought of the scene again that he walked into, remembering that the house had been left like that- and he didn’t want you to go back to see the mess. He watched over your face as you fell again into a sleep, taking the time to notice how delicate your hand was in his.

You awoke again a few hours later to Simon watching something on the small TV, the sound muted. He heard you stir and turned his attention to you seeing that you were awake, and asked if you were alright. You confirmed that you were okay before Simon pondered over the events. He didn’t want to ask you to retell one of the worst moments of your life but felt it would be better him asking than an officer. Food is sent out to the rooms, as Simon sat by watching you slowly eat. Knowing you were safe allowed more room for anger to take hold in his mind, feeling a rage that burned like fire. He wanted so badly to get his hands on whoever had done this to you. He knew that asking you questions would feel horrible, asking you to recreate the moments that had caused you so much pain, but knew that you would have important information that he needed to find the monster.

You sat up fully now and looked at Simon, he was very focused on his thoughts. You run your hand over his arm that was resting on the chair, getting him to look at you with a smile. You take a sip of water to clear your throat as you speak to him.

‘I didn’t know what to do, Simon.’ His brows furrowed and his grip around your hand intensified.

‘I know. You shouldn’t ever have to prepare for something like this...’ His voice getting more broken as he continued to speak, looking to you tears begin to form in his eyes.

‘And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.’ He looked to you like you had never seen him before. He was speaking words he didn’t want to be true and it pained him to see you in such a state. You took the time now to cut him off before his mind could get to him any further.

‘Simon you were. You got me out of there and are the reason I am able to sit here and talk with you now.’ His head fell to the floor, the thought of you not making it scared him even when you were here in front of him, quite alive. You pulled his head to look at you, tears forming in your own eyes as you went on.

‘Thank you, Simon. Thank you for getting to me.’ It took no more than a few seconds for Simon to be over you, hugging you as lightly as he could without hurting you. His warm lips kissed your forehead for longer than necessary as he pulled back just enough to see your face. The rage in him now was boiling over the edge, he would find whoever did this, and they would pay. He tried to be as patient as possible when speaking to you over the events, he didn’t want to make you feel any pressure or panic when talking to him.

‘I know it may be hard, but do you think you could try and tell me about…what happened?’ He felt the room get colder and your hand stiffen in his. He searched your face for any clue to what you were thinking.

‘I…’ The thoughts played over in your mind going far to quickly to understand them individually. You knew that Simon would do anything and everything to avenge your pains, looking down to your bandaged abdomen, he wouldn’t stop until they had been found.

‘I can try.’ You smiled up to him slowly as he took in a breath and nodded.

Where were you going to begin?

#ghost x reader #books #call of duty fanart #cod fanfic #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley

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gaycragula · 8 months ago

Note

Can I ask a request if you are taking so, like poly! Soap and ghost with male reader where male reader is a another team leader, male reader's rank is higher than them being a Colonel.

So, it has been month where soap and ghost saw male reader because they were in mission after coming back they saw male reader wearing major uniform like male reader is promoted. so soap and ghost decide to give male reader a award. Smut please.

Congratulations, General

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Male Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish Warning: NSFW/18+ content under cut

Warning(s): Higher rank reader, double blow job, biting, poly relationship, semi-public sex in a conference room, overstimulation, safeword, multiple orgasms, threesome, old man knees, boot grinding brrrr, use of sir/general multiple times, Soap is the one in control Word Count: 3686 Account Navigation AO3 Link

Soap slapped your back as he passed behind you, laughing at the sound you made as he stopped at your side. Ghost came up on your other side, rubbing your lower back as they settled in their spots.

“You guys getting ready to go?” You ask, glancing up at Soap.

“You jus’ can’t wait to get rid o’ us, can ya, Colonel?” Soap groans, leaning into you with a huff.

“Oh shut it,” you smile with a roll of your eyes as you pushed Soap off of you. “I wanted to say goodbye to you before you both left for however long.”

“At least a month,” Ghost chimes in, chuckling at the disappointed look you gave him.

“We’ll be back before yah know it,” Soap reassures, pressing a short kiss to your temple. “You’ve got your own team to watch out for.”

You sighed quietly as you nodded. “I’ll be waiting for you to come back. I know I’m planned to be here awhile.”

“See? That’s the spirit,” Soap grins, pulling you into a hug. You heard Ghost let out a quiet laugh before he was hugging you as well, pressing the mouth of his mask against the top of your head.

You’d seen them off plenty of times before. It wasn’t rare that your team was paired with the 141 for missions or what not. You watched as they took off and lingered in the hangar until their helicopter was out of sigh before you returned to the base.

Ghost and Soap were in for a treat when they got back.

—---

It had been just over a month when they returned from their recon mission. Just about the average time it took. You normally would’ve been in the hangar to meet them but you’d gotten stuck in a meeting with a few captains of teams you were now ‘in charge’ of. You’d been spreading these teams where they were needed and it was taking longer than you would’ve preferred.

You’d thought everyone agreed on where to go and today would be the final discussion, but people were bringing up sudden worries. Frustration racked through you as you repeated yourself for the sixth time in that hour. One of the captains began speaking against you, again, and you rubbed the bridge of your nose as you sat back in your chair. Your uniform suddenly felt too stuffy and you were ready to explode right then.

You didn’t miss the look of disdain the captain shot you as he spoke and you were quick to wave him away. “We’ll come back to this tomorrow. Tensions are high. We won’t get anywhere like this,” you sigh, capping the pen you’d been using. You stood up, your colleagues following suit. They saluted you before you dismissed them and soon it was just you in the meeting room.

You grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge in the room and held it against your head for a moment before sighing in relief. You sat back down in your chair and kicked your feet up, leaning as far back in the chair as you could without falling out of it. What a fucking shit show.

A knock at the door of the meeting room interrupted your thoughts as you glanced towards the door. “Price,” you hum, readjusting in your chair so you were facing the captain. “What brings you here?”

“You’ve got visitors, General,” Price answers, stepping inside to let Soap and Ghost in. You huffed at the use of your new title before standing up.

“General?” Soap mumbles, glancing over at you. You assumed he was looking for the medal that came with a rank up.

“Major General,” you nod with a small smile.

“What? When?” Soap laughs, walking over to you and running the broad side of his finger over the medal once he found it.

“Just after you guys left,” you answer. Ghost appeared next to Soap, eyeing the medal for a moment.

Price had left the room a while ago. You’d heard the door click close behind him and you’re sure no one would be back in anytime soon. It seems Ghost has noticed as well.

“I think this is call for celebration,” he hums.

Soap hums in agreement and they both looked at you for permission. You let out a short laugh as you nodded. “Whatever you two see fit.”

—--

Both of them were on their knees in front of you. Your jacket had been laid over the back of one of the chairs leaving you in your white undershirt. Ghost had pushed your pants and boxers halfway down your thighs.

Whatever you had in mind was certainly not what they had in mind. Your face felt hot as Soap jerked you off to get you hard. You were pressed against the conference room table, your hands flat on the table behind you. supporting you. “You okay?” Ghost asks, jerking you from your thoughts.

You nod, letting out a breath as Ghost pressed a kiss to your thigh, his mask pushed up to sit on the bridge of his nose. “I’m okay,” you confirm. “Jus’ caught off guard.”

“Safeword?” Ghost asks.

You nod. “Pickles?”

Soap chuckles, pressing a kiss to your thigh as he nods. “Pickles it is.”

Ghost hummed against your thigh, his hands running over your flesh. Your hips jerked when he bit the inside of your thigh and you choked on a moan. You felt Soap press a kiss to the head of your cock, then Ghost’s mouth was at the base of your cock.

If it weren’t for the fact that the two men were holding your legs, you’re sure your legs would’ve given out on you. Soap took you into his mouth, whatever he didn’t have in his mouth was being kissed, licked, rubbed, and sucked by Ghost. And by god was it good.

Your hand tangled in Soap’s mohawk and he moaned around you. The vibrations it caused made you shiver, your back arching away from the table. A whine tore through your throat as Ghost pressed a firm hand against your waist, pushing you back against the table.

Soap’s tongue worked magic against you, swirling that sinful thing around your tip. It was then that you’d realized you’d gone the whole time they were gone without getting off. You warned them as such. If anything, it made them move faster, more intentional.

You were so close already, your breaths coming out as gasps as their mouths moved along your length. Your hips were held in place by Ghost, preventing you from rutting into the warmth of either of their mouths. “Please, please please please,” you pant, begging as you try to overpower the hand.

Soap gave an amused hum and the vibrations sent you over the edge.

“Coming,” you gasp. Ghost backed off enough for Soap to force you down his throat, audibly swallowing your spend with a moan. He pulled off of you and you could see the surprise in both of their eyes. You were still achingly hard.

Ghost nudged Soap, the Scotsman standing up and pulling you into a kiss. He swallows the sinful moan you let out as Ghost takes you fully into his mouth. You feel yourself slip down his throat and you curse as he swallows around it.

The overstimulation made you tear up as you pulled away from Soap. Your teeth gritted together, your chest heaving as you watch Ghost suck you off. Soap littered light kisses along your jaw before he was nosing your head to the side to get access to your neck. You allow him to do so though you lose sight of Ghost in the process.

Ghost pulls off of your cock with a pop, a whine escaping you. “Move your foot,” Ghost says, lifting a leg enough for you to slide one of your boots under him. He lowers himself onto it, giving an experimental roll of his hips. “Thank you, sir,” he breathes, pulling you back into his mouth as he sets a slow pace for his hips.

You're shaking above him, sweat beading at your forehead as you try to keep yourself quiet, still aware of your very much public conference room. Soap’s nipping at your neck, one hand laced with yours on the table behind you, the other resting on your tummy just above your pelvis.

“Can I bite you, sir?” Soap whispers, voice low and husky in your ear. It has your breath catching in your throat and your hips twitch against Ghost’s hand. The Brit growled as he pushed you harder against the table.

“Y’know the rules, Johnny,” you whisper back. They weren’t allowed to leave marks in noticeable places. You preferred they only marked up your legs. Somewhere you could easily cover.

He whined in response, pouting against you. “Jus’ this once?” He begs. You find it in you to roll your eyes.

“Jus’ this once,” you huff. They got away with marking your neck and chest more often than not. Teeth sank into your neck and you curse louder than you’d wanted to. Soap licks around the bite apologetically before grabbing your face and pulling you into a kiss that’s more tongue than anything.

He licks over your lips, no hesitation to push his tongue into your mouth the moment you part them. His hips pressed into your side to alleviate some of the pressure on his cock. “Feel what you do t’me?” Soap growls against your lips. “General?”

Your knee gives out and you fall forward into Ghost who grunts in surprise. Soap presses a hand against your chest, using it to push you back upright. You manage an apology to Ghost who pats your thigh in response.

Soap has that cocky little smile adorning his face as you regain your footing. “Like it when I call ya that?” He whispers, low and sultry, his lips ghosting over your cheek. He pushes his luck. “Like it when I call ya General?”

You can only nod, eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself getting close to your second orgasm. A shaky hand finds its way to the top of Ghost’s mask, simply resting on it for now. Ghost was rocking down on your boot hard. You could feel the outline of his cock even through your boot.

You could hear Ghost letting out quiet moans around you and it drove you wild. “Si, I’m close,” you whisper, your head lolling forward for a moment before Soap was pulling it back up.

“Keep yer eyes on Si,” Soap grins, holding your head still as the both of you watch Ghost rut against your boot, your dick disappearing in his mouth. “Takes you s’well doesn’t he?”

Ghost looks up at you through his lashes, his eyes glossed over. “So well,” you nod. Soap’s hand joined yours on Ghost’s head and, much to your surprise, pushed Ghost all the way down your cock with a chuckle.

Ghost swallowed around you and you didn’t even have time to warn him as you folded over, coming down his throat. Your foot raised against his cock in the process and the extra pressure it gave him sent him over the edge. He came with a low growl against you before letting your cock slip from his mouth.

Your cock was slick with saliva, a mix of it and precum dripping down onto the floor in front of you. “I’m soaked,” you sigh, melting against the table behind you as Ghost stands up. He wipes at the corner of his mouth where drool had gathered before he leans in to press a soft kiss against your lips, then turning to give Soap one as well.

For a moment, you think it’s done. Too soon. Soap presses against your hip again, a quiet whine slipping from his lips. “Let me fuck you, sir,” he begs, subtly grinding into your hip. You give an overexaggerated sigh before nodding.

“Go ‘head, Sergeant.”

Ghost chuckles, nudging you forward enough so he can jump up on the table behind you before pulling you up with him. Soap undoes one of your boots, letting it slip off your foot before pushing your pant leg down with it. You readjust yourself, giving Soap better access to your lower half.

Soap gets back on his knees, pulling you closer to the edge before his tongue lathed over your hole. You tensed at the feeling, cursing lowly as Soap started nipping at your thighs. One of Ghost’s hands intertwined with yours across your abdomen, the other rubbing circles into your waist in an attempt to help you relax.

Lips ghosted over your neck and you let out a sigh, baring the sensitive skin to the man behind you. Teeth nipped at your neck before they were sinking into the flesh. You arched away from him with a groan and you felt Ghost smile against you. “Always so good for us, General,” he whispers and you choke on your breath, your dick jumping in interest against your abdomen.

Soap chuckles from his spot between your legs. “You don’t react this way when everyone calls you general, right?” He teases.

You huff, “If you want to fuck me, I say you best watch your mouth, Sergeant.”

You pick up the faintest whimper from Soap before he’s lapping at your hole again. You jerk again at the feeling before Ghost is whispering sweet nothings to you, your body relaxing back against him.

His tongue works magic around your cock and it’s no different when he pushes the muscle into you. Your thighs twitch as you let out a low groan, letting your head fall back against Ghost’s shoulder. The Brit busied himself kissing down your jaw, pulling you into short kisses every few moments.

Soap’s tongue worked you open expertly, his hands digging into the flesh of your thigh to keep your legs from squeezing shut around his head. He added a finger to the mess, bringing a hiss from you at the feeling. Your boot gently connected with his head, a warning. “Warning next time, please.”

His apology is muffled. He didn’t even bother to take his tongue out of you. It brings a quiet chuckle from Ghost, muffled against your neck. Soap’s finger moved at a steady pace, opening you up for a second

A second finger presses against you before it was dipping in with the first. You thanked him, rolling your hips down to grind against his fingers and, subsequently, his face. His fingers went back and forth between crooking into that bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars and scissoring you open.

You sucked in a breath as a third finger was added. The stretch was unpleasant to say the least. Soap pulled his tongue out, standing up to lean over you. His fingers stilled in you, waiting for you to adjust to them and give him to go ahead to move.

You took a shaky breath in, shifting your hips to test the waters. Even with his spit practically drenching your hole, it took a while for your breathing to return to normal and the pain of the stretch dull.

“Go ahead,” you nod, moaning as Soap crooks his fingers, just barely missing your prostate. “Prick.”

Soap quirked his eyebrow at you before he pressed himself right against you, his lips just barely brushing over yours. You felt your lip quiver as you kept eye contact with him. A moment of weakness maybe, “Your eyes are gorgeous,” you whisper.

The smirk he had on his face turned to confusion before a blush formed on his face and he buried his face into your neck. Ghost laughed above you, nudging you up to pull you into a kiss while Soap tried to busy himself stretching you open. He pressed his fingers against your prostate, massaging it until you were clenching down on him with another warning.

His fingers left you empty and you whined against Ghost at the loss. You heard Soap rummaging through his pockets before he pulled a small packet of lube out. “Bastard, you had some the whole time,” you growl, pressing the heel of your boot into his thigh.

“Forgot?” Soap smiles as he pulls your leg back over his hip before undoing his pants enough to pull his cock out.

“As if,” Ghost huffs behind you and you chuckle quietly in response. You lean into him, watching as Soap tears open the lube packet and spreads the contents over his cock.

Soap lines himself up, one hand pressed against your thigh while the other held his cock steady. He looks up at you and you nod, squeezing Ghost’s hand to brace yourself.

His tip breached your rim and you keened, legs trying to close around Soap’s waist. Soap cursed, low and gravelly as he slowly inched his way inside of you, stopping whenever you tensed or showed any signs of discomfort.

You almost sobbed in relief as he bottomed out. Your thighs were twitching almost non-stop and you were having to let breaths out through your mouth. “Ya weren’t lyin’ when ya said ya’d not gotten off,” Soap pants. “Yer tight as all hell.”

You scoff in response, shifting your hips in an attempt to find a comfortable position. A moan racked through your body as Soap’s cock reangled and brushed against your sweet spot. “Oh shit. Right there, Johnny,” you whisper. He simply nods in response, pulling out slowly until just his tip was in before pushing back in at the same pace.

Moans left both of you at the feeling, your eyes fluttering shut. Soap kept that slow pace longer than you appreciated, keeping it going long after you were begging for him to speed up. You clawed at his shoulder with your free hand, guaranteed to leave pretty red marks that you’re positive someone is going to ask about.

Soap pulls you into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth as he picks up the pace, his balls slapping your ass with every thrust in. There’s a strand of saliva connecting the two of you as he pulls back but he’s quick to reach over your shoulder and pull Ghost into a similar kiss.

You busy yourself kissing over Soap’s neck, smiling to yourself before biting just below his jawline. You hear the muffled moan he lets out into Ghost’s mouth and then you’re sucking a mark into the bite. You lean back to admire the mark as Ghost and Soap separate, both panting right next to your ear.

The sound has you reeling, your dick leaking a sizable glob of precum on the fabric of your shirt. Soap’s hips stutter and you know what’s coming. You move to jerk yourself off but Ghost beats you to it. His hand wraps around the base of your dick and it has you arching away from him with a low moan.

He jerks you in time with Soap’s thrusts, whispering in your ear the whole time. You’re not able to make much through your pleasurable haze except for the occasional ‘General’ and ‘sir’ he throws in there. It has your heart pumping out of your chest, your inside twitching every time.

“Can I cum in ya? Ohhh please, sir, please lemme cum in ya,” Soap babbles, leaning in to press his forehead against your neck, his sweat mixing with yours as it drips down your neck. It’s always amazed you how he’s able to switch like that when he’s inside either one of you.

You run your hand through his mohawk, grabbing a handful of his hair to pull him back so you can make eye contact with him. “Do you deserve it, Sergeant?” You growl and you see his pupils blow out even more, if that was even possible at that moment.

“I deserve it. Been good, right LT?” He’s rutting into you like a dog, trying to put off his orgasm as long as he can.

Ghost hums like he’s thinking before he’s pulling you into a slow kiss, the hand on your dick slowing to the same pace. One that goes on for a beat too long with Soap’s whining and begging. “I think he’s earned it.”

You can almost see Soap light up as you give him the go ahead and he gives you a few more hard thrusts before he’s burying himself in you with a whine as he comes. You can feel him fill you up and you’re sure when he pulls out, you’ll be dripping. Ghost brings you to your third release not long after.

You pant as you practically melt into Ghost, using his body to fully support yours. Soap rests his head on your chest as he comes down from his high, hissing as he pulls himself free from you. “Congratulations, General,” he whispers.

You hum, pulling him up to give him a short kiss. “You jus’ wanted an excuse to fuck me.”

Soap chuckles at the accusation, looking at you with those damned puppy eyes. You groan playfully, pushing Soap away from you. “You and those damned eyes.”

Ghost cups your face, pulling you into another kiss before he’s nudging you forward and off the table. You almost stumble forward, Soap catching you as your legs give out below you. Your legs were still shaking and you realized you wouldn’t be getting far without help. “Si, can you carry me to my room?” You groan as Soap redresses you. “Needa shower.”

“Mind if we join you?” Ghost asks, pulling your arm over his shoulder to support your weight.

“Not at all. I know you need to change for sure,” you tease, nodding down to the dark spot on the front of his pants. You hear him let out a huff of amusement before he was hobbling with you to the doorway. “C’mon Johnny. You comin’ with?”

Soap grabs your jacket off the chair it was draped over before joining the two of you. “Course I am. I’ll never turn down a shower with you two.”

#soap x male reader #ghost x male reader #ghost x male reader x soap #x reader #x male reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #ghoap #poly relationship #ghostsoap x reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap x male reader #ghostsoap x male reader #smut #bottom reader

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sky-kiss · 1 year ago

Text

Doll

A/N: I don’t know how to tag this one. It’s not technically dubcon or noncon. I’d describe it a “fuck around and find out.” Loving doll ending, basically. We’ve had so much soft-Raphael lately.

I wanted some horrible fiends.

Raphael x Haarlep x GN! Tav/Reader: Tonight is Consequential 18+

Ah, but what an ignominious end to the tale. The hero finds neither hellfire nor glory, no salvation or damnation; there's nothing at all in the end. Raphael returns to his House of Hope to see the threads of his tapestry severed and the story cut short. The brief wash of pleasure he'd experienced earlier is buried beneath immediate delight and then secondary repulsion.

You're waiting for him, you see. Pretty as a picture, stretched out amidst a sea of dark silks, sweat-slick and spent. You stare at him, through him. Motionless as Haarlep tracks their fingers across your shoulders, down your sternum, over the soft skin of your belly.

"We had a visitor, Raphael," Haarlep says, laughing, gesturing with their free arm, fingers spit-slick. They press two into your open mouth, delighting at the way you instinctively move to suck, so pliant to their wishes. "Less…spirited than before, pity, pity. But just as useful!" They hum, pretty features turning downward. Haarlep pulls their fingers free, wiping the saliva across your neck. "Perhaps more, considering their prior showing."

"What have you done?"

Haarlep frowns, features turning in genuine confusion. They sit up against the headboard, letting you roll away. "Only what they asked, princeling! I am nothing if not a good sport. 'Body and soul,' requested, and 'body and soul' they gave. And for such a low price." They chuckle, "Mmm. Raphael. Raw and undiluted."

Raphael stares at you: eternally bound to him, to the House, a prize fit for a king, a hero's soul. He sees fool's gold sullying his sheets.

Haarlep's arms weave around him, nails scratching over his cock. They fold around this human force, nosing his cheek, licking to the corner of his mouth. "Don't you like your gift? Call me generous, little brat."

Raphael sneers. The comment will cost them later, but it will only satisfy Haarlep, carnal pleasure paling in the face of the inconveniences they've caused. The incubus smiles, eyes hooded and dark. They push, breathing in the words in his ear, plastering themselves against his back. The hard line of their cock presses against him. An artlessness in the little jerks of their hips, betraying genuine pleasure rather than their usual disinterest.

"So silent. Are we displeased?"

"No," Raphael flicks his fingers. He is himself again: cambion and king. "A moment of surprise." You've not moved at all—a lump of flesh, a still-warm corpse: all for their pleasure.

And you do please him. You've cost him a Crown, but he claws some of its price back. Foolish mouse, caught, batted too many times by too many paws. Raphael turns your face into the pillow, fucking you hard. Tight and wet and tedious.

He reflects on the latter point most frequently in the coming years. The devil sips his wine, watching Haarlep have their way with you. Your mouth slackened with pleasure, eyes glassy and vacant. He's hard, yes, a natural response to the pleasure licking through Haarlep and visual stimuli.

You are still lovely, mouse, and Haarlep moves with a liquid grace he will never tire of watching. The incubus tosses their head back, fangs barred, jerking you back against them. Splotches of purples and greens, yellows, paint your skin, a mottled canvas he'd admire under less reflective circumstances.

Raphael is hard but not aroused, and the disparity between those two states sticks like a splinter in his mind. He cannot fathom the…

(Haarlep flips you onto your back, takes and takes, and you are still as eager now as you were then).

…why of the matter.

(You manage a shout of dumb pleasure).

"Keep it quiet, won't you?" Raphael snaps, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. Haarlep laughs, one hand covering your mouth. The cambion's eyes drift over the bruises again, and it comes to him: understanding, clarified in Avernus' heat.

Oh, but you.

The ruin of you. So many words, so many languages, dozens upon dozens known to him, but Raphael can think of only one word for you. Not love or promise. Not hope or savior. No, darling, you are so simply summarized:

Disappointment.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #haarlep x tav #haarlep x raphael #bg3 smut #tw dubcon #my writing #needed some dark devil

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globalrebrand · 2 months ago

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The Marriage of Music and Alchemy: Chapter Three

Warnings: None!

A/N: Posting from AO3.

~Cater helps out his underclassmen, and you receive an unlikely visitor.

3.8K words

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV

Cater never had reason to visit Octavinelle, and he quite liked it that way. Honestly, any sophomore ambitious enough to take the house warden position after their first year was generally a nightmare to deal with, Riddle included, so Cater just opted to mind his business and stick to his leisurely hobbies of skateboarding, music, and gossip. He loved it even more when gossip evolved into (harmless) meddling.

In the short few weeks of the semester, it seemed his underclassmen had come to know him quite well. A harebrained scheme to get two professors together was exactly the distraction he wanted to over-invest copious amounts of time into.

While he was kind of upset, it was you…the absolutely smoking new music teacher, he could be the bigger person just this once and let Crewel have you. Admittedly, Cater had many fantasies about being seduced by and or seducing you during one of his cello music lessons, but even after so many of his smooth attempts at flirting, it seemed you weren't taking the hint or maybe just insisting on a professional boundary. Lame. It's a total bummer but also a sign to move on.

And besides, if you and Crewel did hit it off and he knocked you up, seeing you as a milf would be more than enough of a reward for his efforts. Cater keeps all of this in mind as he heads to the Monstro lounge after class to make a pact with Azul. Ugh, boo…

The lounge doesn't open for dinner service until 5:00, so hopefully, Octavinelle isn't bustling with students, and the tweels are preoccupied with prepping for the evening rush.

But as Cater strolls into the purple watery depths of Azul's office, he finds no such luck. It's obvious he and Floyd are engaged in some futile argument. Yet, ever the businessman, Azul's formerly irritated expression morphs into something much more disingenuous but, at the very least, more pleasant.

"Cater! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Azul opens his arms in welcome, standing from his seat at his oversized leather desk chair.

Cater offers a bright smile and casual wave, preparing for the performance of a lifetime and momentarily questioning again why he agreed to help out his underclassmen. Maybe he was too much of a shameless gossip if it led him to Azul's desk, and perhaps it was time to seek help. But Cater supposes in for a penny in for a pound.

"I have a bit of a tough ask." Cater demurrs.

"I assure my dear senior nothing is too challenging…with the right price." Azul can't help but add the last point.

"You're too shameless," Floyd rolls his eyes.

"I need you to figure out Crewel's weekly schedule."

Azul scoffs with an incredulous raised brow as if to say, 'Is that it?'

"Easy. Consider it done~" Azul says without hesitation before being promptly interrupted by Cater's groan.

"Not finished….I need Crewel's schedule about his goings-on on Sage's Isle when he's not on campus." Cater winces at how insane of an ask that is, but Azul is nothing if not boundariless for the right exchange.

Azul pauses, unsure if he heard correctly. Cater can see the gears in his head turning as he processes before eloquently barking:

" What ?!"

"Why are you trying to figure out Professor Beakfish's schedule? Kinda weird." Floyd interjects.

" Classified . Can you do it or not?" Cater could see Azul running over the feasibility of this request while staring off into a distant corner and running the numbers. Seconds later, after a 'tsk' and shrug of his shoulders, Azul presents the deal.

"Fine. Sign away your signature spell for two months."

"Two months?!!? Two weeks!" Cater rebuts. "I don't care about it that much-"

"You're essentially asking to stalk our Professor, which I have no problems with, of course." Azul raises his hands in a placating gesture before adding, "Your business is my business, and you know I keep things confidential. However, let's be clear: this is a crime."

Cater rolls his eyes. "I would say light surveillance and certainly not malicious."

"We're taking on a serious risk by doing this for you. There needs to be meaningful collateral." Azul insists.

"Oh man, could you imagine Prof. Beakfish's face if he found out what we're doing? He'd probably be lividdddd." Cater sighs. He knows this tag teaming is a part of Azul's brand of dealmaking and is largely just an act. He can walk away…but he came all this way. He might as well finish what he started.

"One month." Cater relents.

"Deal ." Azul smiles sinisterly.

"Whatever, you need to get the full schedule by this time next week.

"Of course! It will be done."

Cater reluctantly shakes on the agreement, and with a flourish, Azul presents his notorious golden contract.

"The froshes owe me big time." He mutters under his breath. Cater will probably just get Acedeuce to do whatever work he has to do around the dorm for a month. And the Prefect has it hard enough managing Grim. He'll let them be.

Cater promptly leaves the office and will share the good news with the freshman at their weekly check-in tonight. He just hopes Azul will come through.

As he watches Cater retreat from his office, Azul is only slightly worried he's bitten off more than he can chew. He begins formulating a cadre of plans while drumming his fingers anxiously on the desk. The tweels are certainly expert sneaks, but Professor Crewel is incredibly keen. Deceiving him might actually be a nigh impossible task. Floyd was right. If they were to get caught, it would be a severe offense.

"I'm kind of excited. What if we find out some horrible secret about Prof. Beakfish?"

"Ugh…well? No. Crewel seems like a poor choice of target for blackmail." Azul says mindlessly.

"Wow, no one said anything about blackmailing Azul. You're one twisted guy, you know?" Floyd flashes a toothy grin and is obviously teasing, but the task ahead of them has him a bit more unsettled than he'd like to admit. Azul waves a dismissive hand.

"Just go get Jade." Azul barks before adding, "We don't have a second to spare."

Floyd leisurely saunters out of the room. "Whatever you say~"

* * *

You must have been doing something right as a Professor because (not to toot your own horn too much, but…) your students seemed to be obsessed with you if it wasn't the ramshackle Prefect coming in nearly every morning to sit next to you at the Piano bench, asking about your daily habits and weekend plans. It was Deuce Spade helping you put away the music stands after class ended and before club activities started. Sometimes, the Prefect and Deuce would come together after class, energizing the music room, much like today. Between those two and how your homeroom students absolutely dote on you, you didn't have to guess that you'd already become a fan favorite.

As you sat at your desk, reviewing music theory quizzes, you and your students chatted casually about all manner of subjects, but their topics always turned rather personal. Not that you minded and not that their lines of inquiry were ever inappropriate. You found their interest in you rather sweet, if at times odd.

"Professor, how long have you been living in Foothill Town?" The Prefect poses the question nonchalantly, continuing to sort books on the carpet near your desk.

"Since July," You answer casually, "us teachers have to return to school early to prepare for your arrival. I moved in over the summer."

So you haven't been here much longer than us Professor." Deuce observes.

"I certainly haven't," You concede.

"Vil would call you a spudling, too." Deuce adds, and you let out a laugh.

"I'd like to see him try." You scoff, but the sound is light and airy.

"Foothill town is really beautiful, but it's so small. Have you had a hard time making friends on the island?" The Prefect changes the topic.

You consider the question thoughtfully. It has been a change since moving from Fairest City, which was home to millions of people. The place you had largely grown up since you started your music education after moving from the Land of Dawning when you were eight. You left all of your friends behind to get a new start; of course, they were a phone call away and, most conveniently, a weekend mirror trip, but that didn't mean that you shouldn't start building community on this little island. There were a few hundred thousand people living on Sages Isle, and while it was certainly still early days, you had a few potential connections you could see crystalizing into friendship.

"Not really, I'm friends with a few women in my yoga and pilates classes, and the other faculty members are quite kind to me."

"Oooh? Which faculty members do you get along with?" The Prefect inquiries coyly/

"Or not get along with?" Deuce amends.

"Oh, I won't answer any leading questions; I like all my co-workers just fine." You demur.

Deuce and the Prefect pouted at your answer as if it wasn't quite the one they wanted to hear.

"Which area do you live in? I haven't gotten off campus much, but it's a really beautiful island."

"Oh, it certainly is. I have a little house by the coast with a little yard. I've recently renovated it; when I first purchased it, it was nothing short of a hovel."

"You like to garden?" Deuce chimes in, crossing the room with two collapsed stands in each hand.

"Oh, I have no natural talent for it, but I would love to start one. I am an avid cook, so homegrown produce would be amazing. Though my dogs might try to eat the vegetables before I can get to them?"

"You should ask Professor Crewel for help! He manages the gardens here on campus and he always help me with planting and cultivating." Deuce offers.

"Yes!" the Prefect seconds enthusiastically. "And he loves dogs. I think he has some."

"Oh, he definitely does. Two, Apollo and Achilles." You correct without hesitation.

"Those are exactly the types of names Professor Crewel would pick for his dogs." Deuce crinkles his nose in distaste.

"Aren't they? I've only known him a short time, but he's horribly predictable sometimes." You chuckle to yourself, and despite the sharpness of the words, there is not a hint of malice in your tone, if anything, perhaps a bit of appreciation.

"Do you two get along? You seem like you would have a lot in common." You pause at Deuce's question. Your smile doesn't leave your face, but your eyes narrow skeptically.

"What makes you say that?" You question, curious about such a supposition.

"Nothing, you two just have the same type of humor when you teach." The Prefect is quick to clarify, not without throwing a disapproving glare in Deuce's direction.

"Really?" you ask, raising a thoughtful finger to your chin, adding, "I suppose Crewel is quite humorous-" but your words are interrupted by a man who stumbles noisily into your classroom, pushing the door so hard that the knob clangs raucously against the wooden paneling.

A lush bouquet of flowers obscures his face and most of his torso, only leaving a pair of unsteady legs with crisply pressed slacks visible. You don't know who this man is or what he could want, but his outburst has clearly startled your students. The Prefect stops tidying the choral books on the carpet in front of your desk and leaps to their feet defensively, holding a book, while Deuce holds a music stand with both hands, raising it over his shoulder much akin to a batting stance. You had no idea where the children learned such attuned fighting reactions, but you move to stand between them and the approaching stranger.

"A little help," he calls. The man doesn't look to be much of a threat, so you immediately rush to pick up his flowers, and your eyes meet warm hazel ones, widened and struck they look at you with soft admiration.

"Uh, excuse my manners, these are for you." He hoists the flowers into your hands, now leaving you engulfed in foliage. You sense the Prefect come to your side as they guide you by the elbow to your desk.

"Oh, whatever for?" You call behind the blooms, you're not sure you have any admirers at present who would gift you such a lush bouquet for no particular reason.

"I should introduce myself. My name is Clifford. I'm the musicology Professor at RSA."

"Nice to meet you," You throw your name over your shoulder as you place the flowers on your desk. "That still doesn't quite explain the florals." The Prefect stands close to your side and casts a nasty glance towards Mr. Rogerson. You get a better look at him, too, but you can't quite understand the seeming contempt your students have developed for him.

He seems like a normal man, quite tall and rather gangly. His tan trousers don't quite meet his ankles, and expose garishly bright socks.

"Ah well, I was on notoriously bad terms with the former musicology instructor here, and admittedly, I am a bit of a fan of your work." Oh? That was a bit of a surprise. Of course, you were a well-known musician in the classical music world, but outside of major metropoles, it wasn't common for you to be recognized. People didn't tend to be very fanatical about classical musicians.

"When I heard you were hired, I knew I needed to do whatever it took to get in your good graces," Rogerson says earnestly, gesturing to the flowers.

"Well then, you're off to a perfect start." You smile, stroking soft petals. "I love dahlias. I perfect the black ones, though." You thumb the cloying pink petals with appreciation, but the Prefect is convinced there's an almost imperceptible disgust in your eyes at the saccharine color.

"Noted for next time." The young man grins at your seeming appreciation for his gift.

You point to Deuce and the Prefect, introducing them.

"These are my students. They were just helping me tidy my room after class. As you can see, I'm already quite a popular instructor." You tease, walking back over to Rogerson and clasping your hands in front of you.

"I completely understand. If you were my teacher, I'd never even want to graduate, erm so sorry, that was a bit much." Rogerson has managed to fluster himself and you truly take in his appearance, his has dark blond hair and pale complexion, his accent is like Crewels, meaning he is more than likely from the Queendom of Roses.

You chuckle coyly, more than used to these types of confessions but seldom from people who weren't old enough to be your parents. You spare a glance at your students, both of whom are glowering at the new face in the room, Deuce in particular, trying to look as intimidating as possible.

"Darlings, why don't you run along to your club activities so Mr. Rogerson and I can have a chat?" At that, Deuce and the Prefect exchange concerned glances and very, very slowly begin to back up their belongings. You scoff at their petulance but carry on with your conversation.

This is bad. The Prefect thinks, is this just how you are, or are you actually flirting? Well, whatever it is, it has Rogerson all in a tizzy.

"I'm truly honored that you would make time for me, but afraid I can't stay and chat. I only came to deliver these flowers, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow evening. I know this cafe in town stays open late, so could I meet you after classes?" Rogerson proposes, a slight bit of apprehension in his tone. Fear of rejection, it seems. You are inclined to accept his invitation, but as you go to nod an acceptance, the Prefect is quick to interject.

"Professor, isn't there a meeting tomorrow for cultural fair planning that you'll have to attend after classes? "

"Ah, you're right! I'm sorry. I'll have to decline the invitation. Perhaps another-"

"Well, not to be too insistent," Rogerson interrupts, "but if you're not opposed to an even later meeting, we could go for a drink. You're new in town, right? I'd be happy to show you the best spots.”

"How indecent!" The Prefect remarks, aghast, and hand on their chest. They were nearly out the door, but Rogerson's invitation has caused them and Deuce to dart back through the door.

"Are you propositioning our Professor!" They accuse, feigning indignity.

"Excuse me? I would never, I just think-" The RSA professor is already stumbling over his words in embarrassment, but Deuce and the Prefect don't let up.

"Yeah!" Deuce adds. "That's totally out of line! You came all this way to ask our teacher on a date?"

Rogerson starts to stammer when your students so confidently accuse him of indecency, but you quickly come to his rescue.

"I will see you two tomorrow. Rest well, darlings." You dismiss your students for the second time as warmly as possible and wait for them to filter out of the room at the most leisurely pace you'd only thought Leona capable of. "Thank you for your help today." You call once they've finally departed.

"Sorry about them." You gently place a hand on Rogerson's forearm in consolation, but another presence enters the room.

"I didn't take you for this much of cad. Rogerson, it doesn't suit you." As if on cue, Crewel steps onto the scene. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Prefect's shoulders droop with a sigh as they depart the room.

But more importantly, you swear you feel the temperature in the room drop, the tension between the two men recalling a decade of animosity.

"Ah, quite. That was always your game if I recall from our school days." Rogerson replies without skipping a beat. His focus is now entirely on Crewel and his apparent former classmate, if context clues are anything to go by. Your fellow colleague steps further into the room and takes up a place at your side.

"I don't," Crewel replies coolly. "I take it you were just about to head out? The door is that way." Divus is always so shameless, but there is no excuse for blatant discourtesy…even if there's a history you're not quite privy to, Rogerson has been nothing but kind, and as a frequent recipient of extravagant bouquets, this one certainly had to cost 30,000 thurmarks at least.

"Professor Crewel, that is hardly a way to treat guests." You chastise lightly, with a disapproving frown.

"I'll walk you out, Mr. Rogerson." You insist, linking your arm with Rogerson's as you attempt to guide him to the door. You spare your colleague a glance, and while the reaction is ever so minimal, you swear that Crewel deflates a bit at your gesture.' That won't do,' you think to yourself.

"You don't have to." Rogerson weakly protests, eyes flicking between your arm in his and your warm, pretty smile in apparent disbelief, but it's apparent that he's delighted by the prospect of taking a long private walk to the school's distant entrance.

"It's the least I could do after the flowers." You reply as you head out of the music room, but not before turning to address Crewel who came and awfully long way to visit you from the alchemy room.

"Professor Crewel, I'll meet you in your room once I'm finished."

Crewel instantly perks up, his brow slightly raised. You only reply with a playfully nonchalant look. As you two share a cheeky glance—an unspoken understanding passes between you.

"Of course, Professor." Crewel smiles before departing, passing his old peer and only offering a much less warm acknowledgment, "Rogerson."

You turn back to the man who most certainly got more than he bargained for when he came all the way to hand-deliver these flowers if you can tell anything from flushed cheeks.

* * *

Crewel has only three ancient rivals. One, of course, is Professor Trein he and that stuffy old man have never gotten along, the other is…going to be a bit complicated if he wants a future with you, but the third is most certainly that stuck-up prick Clifford Rogerson.

Rogerson was a student at RSA, perhaps a year older than Divus, although Crewel would have to say he's aged quite poorly in comparison.

And while the optics of their contempt for each other might not cast Crewel in the best light, he was almost certainly the instigator of past conflicts, Divus thought that they had come to an tacit agreement to stay in their respective territories on Sage's Isle, but for whatever reason, namely you, Rogerson has decided to break this treaty.

But perhaps Rogerson's greatest offense is the mere thought that a woman as urbane, beautiful, and talented as you would ever have anything to do with a pallid husk like him. Certainly, you recognized Rogerson's attentions to what they were. Just the obsequious obsession of a musician, not with not even a tenth of your talent. Perhaps the way mortals bow to gods might be an apt metaphor for the leagues that Rogerson is beneath you. Crewel sits with his feet on his desk, eyes scanning passively over the courtyard as he drums his twirls his pen in contemplation.

You knock at the door before entering.

"Professor Crewel?" You call softly.

"Professor Bellamy, as expected, you are a woman of your word." Crewel, takes his feet off his desk, leaning forward to greet you with a small grin.

"Of course. My apologies for not coming sooner; I was occupied with you, dear old classmate." Your tone is dripping with sarcasm as you lean against the doorway.

"Ah, yes, he didn't speak of me, did he?"

"No, not really." You assure Crewel.

"Coward." He hisses.

The vigor of your laugh takes you by surprise.

"Never mind him." You encourage walking closer to Crewel's desk. "I thought, well hoped, maybe you came because you wanted to give me another ride home."

Crewel scans your smile and finds the corners of his lips rising to match.

"There isn't any rain, dear Professor."

"I know, but it is awfully chilly."

"A bit presumptuous, but I can be accommodating. We'll have to hurry before that meddling Professor Trein catches us."

"I can keep a secret." You wink at him, and for the first time in quite a while, Crewel feels himself blush.

"In truth, I came because I was looking for Spade. He needed to make up a failed exam."

"Oops. I'm sorry to have kept him." You apologize sheepishly.

"He'll just have to do it tomorrow." Crewel isn't too bothered about it, Spade will simply have to make it up later.

"Can I trust you won't hold him hostage, tidying away music stands?"

"Hostage! I'll have you know the students come to me."

"Ah yes, you're already quite the favorite, aren't you?"

"Your words, not mine..." You shrug. "Now, are you going to give me a ride home or not?" You quip sassily.

"You know," Crewel begins, "not many people who talk to me like that have lived to tell the tale."

"Well, I'm not 'many people' am I?" You smile, now at the door, with your jacket in hand.

No, he supposes you're not.

Series Masterlist

#twst divus crewel #crewel x reader #divus crewel x reader #twisted wonderland divus crewel #divus crewel #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst crewel #twisted wonderland crewel #cater diamond #deuce spade #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech

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cadotoast · 6 months ago

Note

In regard to your post (this), I humbly propose:

John Price x Reader, Soulmate AU of sort, fluffy but toxic.

John is no way in hell anything but an emotionally unavailable gentleman that makes his FWB love him. (IMO)

Ohhhh I like this prompt

Here you go! I hope it's good 😅

Civilian Female Reader x Emotionally Unavailable Soulmate Price.

Content warnings: toxic Price, allusions to sex but no actual smut, allusions to potential murder, slightly manipulative price

But Your Heart Got Teeth

The knock on your door is simultaneously expected and startling. You've been expecting this particular visitor since he'd signed the lease you'd emailed him a few days ago: John Price, a Captain in the SAS, and your new roommate.

"The door is open! Come on in!" You look around your living room one last time, the monochrome view mocking you for the barest of seconds before you turn towards the front door.

It swings open, and for the barest of seconds, you catch a glimpse of a mountain of a man, broad shoulders, well-groomed facial hair, and wearing a startled expression, before your world bursts into color.

~~~

"Hang on, hang on, hang on." Miriam waves her hands erratically in front of herself, stopping your rant. "Your hunk of a new roomie is your soulmate?"

You sigh into your cappuccino, the light brown color mesmerizing you.

"It was like some stupid romcom," you admit with a sigh. "Our eyes locked, he's standing in the doorway like some kind of Greek god, and then I have the most disorienting experience of my life."

"Did you pass out? I've heard some people pass out." Miriam stage-whispers to you across the cafe table.

While the burst of color has certainly been trippy to say the least, you and John had both gathered yourselves enough to shake hands, and you had assisted John in bringing his boxes in before you'd locked yourself into your bedroom and texted your best friend immediately.

Since then, you've googled a color chart, which before had been various shades of a color called "grey", and have been adjusting to such a vibrant world.

"No, I didn't pass out..." Your voice trails off. "but this whole 'soulmate thing' seems a bit anticlimactic."

Miriam chuckles at your use of air-quotes, stirring her tea. "Just because the universe has tied you two together by your souls doesn't mean you don't have to get to know the guy first." Her smirk grins. "What, did you expect him to drop everything and ravage you over the nearest surface?"

Your cheeks and ears warm with a blush. With a muttered "no, fuck you", you drain your cup and get to your feet to return it to the barista. Miriam is watching you like a hawk, and the minute your butt touches the soft green cushion of your chair, she pounces on you.

"Where's he from? What does he do? Does he have a girlfriend? What color are his eyes? Is he packing?"

Her enthusiasm is drawing some looks, and you rush to appease and quiet her shrill excitement.

"I don't know, he's military, I don't know, blue, and wouldn't you like to know?" You rattle off the answers to her rapid fire questions. "And why would the color matter to you? You can't tell the difference!"

"It matters to you, and therefore it matters to me." She reaches forward, her warm hand settling on your forearm. "So, how are you gonna jump his bones?"

~~~

Life with John as a roommate is... interesting. He sets up an auto draft to you each month for rent and his half of the utilities, even though he isn't at the place 80% of the time. You barely have time to learn that he was an only child, and to find a new brand of tea in your pantry, before he is shipped off for something work-based, and you're once again alone.

A week later, he is sneaking into the apartment at three in the morning, while you're having a midnight snack of cheesecake. Needless to say, you were both surprised to see each other.

~~~

A knocking on your bedroom door stirs you from sleep. Blearily, you roll over, glancing at the clock. 8 AM.

"Sorry to wake you," John's voice is muffled through the door. "But I was going to make breakfast. How do you like your eggs?"

You pause for a minute while your brain processes the information. "Um... Over easy, please." You rub your hands over your face tiredly. "Thank you, John."

"o'course." And then his heavy steps are recording once more.

When you exit your bedroom, clad in a long band T-shirt and leggings, you're greeted with the smell of bacon, eggs, and toast.

"Tea or coffee?" John looks over his shoulder to glance at you.

"Tea, preferably." For the first time, John cracks a smile at you, and you can't help but chuckle, walking around him to get to the electric kettle. "Though on occasion a coffee is nice."

John is wearing some comfortable-looking sweatpants and a worn T-shirt, similar to yours. The same band, actually, just a different tour.

The conversation between the two of you gets easier, less stilted and awkward. The two of you grow close over the following months. Perhaps too close. The first time you wake up in his bed, you know something has shifted.

"I'm not ready for a relationship." You tell him that afternoon. "Whatever is between us... I'm not ready for a boyfriend."

"Of course, love, whatever you want."

That should have been your sign.

You see other people. Or try to, anyways. They always fall through. So far, four dates in a row have bailed on you last minute, and you're starting to lose hope.

John always seemed to be home on the nights those dates fell through. Always there to pull you into his lap, listen to your tearful sniffles that another date has fallen through, and you're starting to question your worth.

He hugs you close to his chest and lets you bury your face, your makeup streaming down your cheeks. He lets you blubber and sob, silent as he strokes your hair and back. Once your tears have stopped, he scoops you into his arms and cuddles you, large hands rubbing in soothing circles.

Little do you know, the same man who is scooping you up into his arms to take you to bed is the same man who has stalked your last five date prospects and warned them away. The same man who lays you out on his bed and worships your body is the one who released Ghost, Gaz, and Soap on some poor sod in town who looked at you the wrong way.

And when you're cuddled in his arms, sweaty from your copious lovemaking, he whispers something in your ear. And when you don't pull away, but instead snuggle closer, he knows that he's won.

#he falls first #soulmates #john price #writing #john price x reader

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screamingatanemptyroom · 10 months ago

Text

An Unlikely Visitor

It was a quiet night at home when:

Knock! Knock! Knock!

I jumped to my feet and I glanced at the clock.

“Who could it be at this late time?

Whoever it is, they’re no friend of mine!”

I sat back down and planned to ignore,

The very rude sound of knocking at the door.

But it just doesn’t cease, this mad knocking game.

Despite no reaction, they knocked all the same.

I walked to the door and got ready to see

Who could this mysterious visitor be?

I opened the door and I froze up with fright!

It was a walrus who sat on my porch that night!

“How rude,” said the walrus. “It’s not nice to stare.”

“I’m sorry.” I responded, “I’ve received quite the scare!

I wasn’t expecting a walrus, you see,

But if you like you can come in and join me for tea.”

The mammal waddled in without further delay

And began to complain in a very walrus-like way.

“Your home is too small, your chair is too high!

Where are the fish?” He demanded with a cry.

I offered him tea but it was knocked to the ground

As he began to break things with a terrible sound!

With a CRASH!

And a Smash!

And a smack, crush, and Clash!

The walrus soon turned my belongings to trash.

And with a wave of his fin and a snort of his snout,

“What a poor host, I’ll see myself out!”

As quick as he came, just as quickly was gone.

Leaving a mess and walrus-tracks on my lawn.

And as I looked at the pile the walrus had made

I was taken aback by the price I had paid.

And from this one bad night there’s a lesson to learn.

In case there’s a knock and you find it’s your turn

Never host a walrus, keep them out of your home!

If you want to protect the things that you own.

You can offer them fish but never give tea

They won’t like it one bit, you can take it from me.

And if you think to yourself “This story’s not right!

A walrus can’t come to my house in the night!”

I admit it’s unlikely, i thought so before…

But still it’s more likely than a fairy at the door.

#writing #poem #walrus #fairy #walrus fairy poll #silliness #tired and silly and needing to sleep #instead I’m writing poems #don’t mind me

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monsterfloofs · 17 days ago

Text

Thomas (Male Vampire) x Anonymous Reader (sfw)

A cozy writing for @ladyofparchments , thank you so much for being so supportive and sweet, I hope you like it! ;0; )

There is something that is so comforting about a snug coffee shop tucked away inside of a bookstore. Bookstores already have an air of a different kind of patronage to begin with. Many give their visitors more time to dally within the shop. Supplying comfy chairs to sit in, small alcoves to read in. Pages to Doors was a shop that clearly built itself to be a place where it wanted its customers to settle. From the large fireplace beside the cafe, to the big circular table where different clubs would gather. Truely, it was a very smart tactical move on the bookshops' part. Instead of a peruser leaving and possibly cutting their shopping time short to get food, one can simply step inside the little cafe. Get something to eat and drink, and once again wander back into the labyrinth of aisles after their break. The shop can make potentially twice as much money.

I, however, come for a slightly different reason. I come to sit in the presence of books, and the writers that have come before me. I buy something to eat at the cafe, so that I can freely perch at a table and chair. I ask for a cup of hot water so that I can fix my own drink. Not to say that the drinks at the shop aren’t tantalizingly, mouthwateringly, tempting. That kind of premium drink comes with a premium price tag, and I need to cut corners where I can. If I buy the whole tasty package every time I settle in, that money would add up quickly. I settle at a secluded table at the cafe, relieved to set down my juggling act of plate, mug and laptop. It’s the weirdest feeling, but one that has held true for myself for a while now. The more I look around the shelves, instead of being excited to read, the more it makes me want to write. Being in the presence of all these books inspires me to continue to strive ahead. These were all made by writers who had gotten their works published. So many have made it through the process, and all that hard work finally made it onto a shelf for others to read. Perhaps, just perhaps, I can follow in their footsteps.

Fingers flying over keys with a rhythmic clatter, a steady flow of words from mind to page, with pauses to sit, reread, correct and begin again. I hunch further over the keypad, eyebrows knitting together as I mouth the words silently to myself. Looking for that lyrical quality, words that roll off the tongue just as well as they do within the mind. Revise, rewrite, rework, reread.

“Hey,”

A voice causes me to jump, eyes round as I readjust to my surroundings. Eyelids flutter, pressing a hand to my heart.

”Oh stars above, it’s just you.”

Thomas was an acquaintance that I met during my writing sessions at Pages. He worked at the cafe, he had a build on the softer side that lent to giving wonderful hugs. A round heart shaped face, with a slightly hooked nose, and dark eyes that often held a spark of mirth. Some joke that was all of his own to revel in. We became friends quickly, a few days from when we first met. He was easy to talk to, and it was almost mind blowing how many things we had in common when comparing interests.

”Just me?” He teased, “What? You’re not happy to see me then?”

”You know what I mean Thomas,” I huffed with feigned indignation. “I am happy to see you, you just ruined my groove.”

He snorts in amusement. “You’re groove.” Repeating the words before his head titled curiously to the side, “So… what are you working on?”

I shuffle my computer nervously, pulling it closer to myself, “Oh nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow, “It looked very intense for a bit of nothing.”

”Yeahhh, when I am working, I tend to get tunnel vision.” I scratch my head embarrassedly, casting my gaze around in hopes to change the subject. I spotted the apron tucked under his arm.

”Are you heading off to work?”

He grinned, “Actually, I just ended my shift at the cafe, and wouldn’t you know it, I saw this cute person sitting alone. I just had to come over and bother them.”

I gesture cheerfully to the chair at the other side of the table, “Come sit down then! I didn’t see you, otherwise I would have said hi!”

Thomas pulled out the second chair and settled into the seat with an appreciative sigh, “Eh, that’s alright, I was working in the back today.” He glanced at my cup, “Bring in anything good? Have any more tasty teas to recommend?”

"It’s just dirt coffee."

"I– I beg your pardon?"

I blink, realizing I had called it by a personal name of endearment instead of the drink's actual name.

"Oh! Just this dandelion coffee substitute tea stuff!" I watched his blank expression before adding, "what?"

"Well I certainly wasn't expecting that mouthful of words," He laughs, "It's not just tea, or coffee?"

"I mean," I smiled, "It's kind of like a horrible amalgamation of both, by horrible I really awesome, because honestly this is the only way my stomach allows me to drink a coffee like beverage."

He was looking at me with a smile that made his eyes seem to twinkle in the light. He also had learned forward. I watched how his fingers steepled neatly in front of him, patiently waiting for the explanation.

Oh no, oh no, I could feel those too many words at the back of my throat clawing to get out. Those overexplaining, long winded stories, that only got longer the more nervous I was. It was like my brain believed wholeheartedly that if I could just explain myself well enough, I could skirt disaster.

"And?" He asked, it must have been a little too obvious that I suddenly clammed up.

"And?" I replied innocently,

"You are going to deprive me of my knowledge of this, 'dirt coffee' ?" he teased, I bit my lip and took a sip for courage.

"Okay, so back when my nose used to work, I claimed this stuff smelled like dirt and tasted like coffee. So from then on I have always called it 'Dirt Coffee'. Chicory was used as a coffee substitute a long time ago when folks weren't able to get their hands on coffee beans. Apparently this one also uses dandelion in its blend. Wanna sniff?"

To break the tension I cheerfully extended the hand holding my cup forward.

"Ah. No." He politely pushed the cup with the tips or their fingers. "I can smell its concerning aroma from here, thank you very much."

I tossed my head back and grinned shamelessly, as if those worlds held some kind of physical kick back.

"Concerning~" I said in a sing-song voice, "Con-cer-ning?~ Why would it be concerning?"

"I think you just like to say that word," He leaned in closer, I mimicked him, scooting in my chair.

I gasped, "Is that con. cer. ning?" I whispered, and he laughed,

"You're adorable,"

It was such an outspoken phrase, it just hung in the air for a moment.

“…Uh, nah, I'm a clown!" I tried to recover myself, “I warned you of that from the very first time we met! I am simply living up to my archetype.”

”Sure you are,” He rolls his eyes grinning, seeing those curiously sharp of his flash. “Of course, my mistake.”

”You are forgibben,” I joked back, I hesitated before closing the lid of my laptop.

”You know, I would be happy to grab you a drink from the back,” He offered, dark eyes flickering from the cup to my face.

”And deprive me of my lovely dirt?” I asked, before realizing he had started to get up, “Oh— No, no, no seriously it’s okay! If anything this is a push for me to get better at making drinks and stuff.”

”You like barista work?”

“To be honest, I have worked in a coffee shop before. It was not my cup of tea. I liked learning how to make new drinks, but the customers could be feral.”

He winces, sucking air through his teeth. “Sss, yeah. We get our fair share of caffeine deprived coffee addicts, they can be a handful.”

”Just a handful? Gee, I wish I could‘ve seen it like that.”

”I mean the bright side is, now you get to have all the drinks you make right?”

”That’s true!” I beamed.

“So I was wondering,”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,”

We both paused as our words crashed into a jumble.

“Yeah?” I said,

”You go first,”

I clasped my hands together underneath the table. My thumb rubs soothing circles on top of my other hand. “Well uh, we keep meeting like this, so I was thinking…”

”Would you like to meet like this sometime, actually on purpose?” He finished, a subtle hopefulness in his tone.

I pressed my lips together and peered at him.

He glanced away, shrugging one shoulder, ”I mean, sounds fun right?”

I smile, “That’s what I was going to ask, yeah.”

He sighs in relief, “Oh good, same actually.”

We laughed together, a musical blend of relief and nerves.

“Waooow we actually made it through this conversation?” I joked, trying to diffuse and uneasy butterflies that were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

”Gold star for us.” He waggled his eyebrows making me laugh.

Unable to hold back the large grin on my face I looked away, watching the people milling about. It took me a moment before I admitted, ”I would really like that. That sounds lovely, what time are you free?” I kept my eyes elsewhere, feeling my heart beat pick up. The fingers of my hands laced together and squeezed tightly.

”Ah- here.” He pauses to fish a pen and pad of paper out of his back pocket, tearing out a page and scribbling. “This is my number, text me whenever so we can work out the details.”

He slides the paper over to me and I pick up the paper, gingerly folding it in half.

”Okay! That sounds good! I’ll uh, see you later then.”

He nods and stands, pushing his chair in. “I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t until I was sure he was gone before I let myself take a huge breath and blow it out in a rush.

Oh. Well. Okay.

I expected to do a little writing, have a snack, maybe peruse the shelves. All those thoughts are sidelined now. I scurried to pack up, then dawdled around the door for a while pretending to look at books. If we met up again in the parking lot that would make me look too eager right? Right?? I wobbled out the door, and into the chilly weather outside. Snow was falling gently, in the deep sapphire sky. My breath coming out in visible smokey plumes. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, fumbling with the closing bottoms on the front as I trotted to my car.

I carefully set my laptop into the passenger side, then dumped myself into the driver’s seat. I put the key into the ignition and turned. The metal monster sputters to life, before settling into a content purr. With the car on, and slowly warming up I grabbed my phone. Hitting the numbers on the dial pad multiple times because of my cold fingers.

”Hey sis,”

”Heya, what’s up?”

I started bouncing up and down in my seat. “You know that guy-“

”That cute coffee guy?” She interrupted, “Did he ask you out yet?”

I freeze, pulling my hand back looking at my phone incredulously before slowly putting it back to my ear. “How did you know… that…”

”Oh finally!

“I didn’t even know he liked me?”

”Really?” My sister’s voice flat in dry amusement, “All those times he gives you that look and laughs at your jokes?”

”Wha- My jokes are funny!” I look around, hoping no one bears witness to this. “What do you mean, that look?”

”The l o o k,” The voice on the phone emphasises. “The love struck puppy look, that look.”

I scrunch up my face. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen him do that.”

”I have! The one time we went to Pages together. We ordered lunch and you had to run off to use the bathroom. I watched his face fall. He had such a forlorn look on his face, the kinda face one makes when you just dropped a premium cup of coffee.” a pause, “So when’s the date?”

“Um, um, I-I don’t know yet, he gave me his phone number to talk about it.” I said, fidgeting with my snow coat.

”He gave his phone number to you? Did he ask for yours in return?”

I made another face. “… No?”

”Good, good. He’s letting you pick when you feel comfortable enough to text him back, that gets him extra points in my book.”

”Wha… What does that mean?”

”Don’t worry about it.” I can practically hear her voice dripping with glee.

“Okay… I… guess?”

”Good job sissy! Good luck on your date! I’ll chat with you later ta-ta~”

”Sure, okay,” I stare at my phone in utter bewilderment as the call ends.

I know I haven’t had much romantic experience, but that conversation was the icing on the cake. I let my head fall and rest against the steering wheel. Just how far out of my depth was I? Oh boy… this will be interesting.

I put off texting Thomas until tomorrow morning, another cup of dirt coffee in hand. I wrote something, then exuberantly hammered my thumb against the delete key. That sounded too… I dunno. Too something, retry. I started typing again, and looked at what I was saying, “And that’s too wordy, nope.” I popped the last syllable of nope and hammered away at the delete key again. I grumbled, I was treating this one message like I did my writing, I didn’t remember texting ever being this involved. I reread it through and my thumb hovered over the send key. “Oh for goodness sake, just send the darn thing already!” With a harrumph I pressed send and set my phone face down on the table.

It was dark, pitch dark, when a little square of light flickered on with a ding. One new incoming text message, it was like a beckon in the dark. A hand patted around to grab the phone, fingers curling over the bright screen. Thomas squinted at the bright retina blasting light. Half blind but determined to lower the brightness to be able to read the text.

“Hey Thomas, what does your weekend schedule look like? I was thinking we could meet up sometime around eight at Pages to Doors? It could be a good launching point since the plaza has some other places there as well?”

“Yes!” There was a loud rattling thud that came from small dark space, as Thomas moved a little too far forward, hitting his head against the top of something hard and solid.

“Ouch! Dammit!” With one hand rubbing his throbbing forehead, he types back one handedly, “Sounds perfect! I’ll meet you at eight.” He closes his eyes and leans his head back, his phone resting on his stomach. “I just have to wait… twelve hours. I can do that.” Easier said than done, for once he was awake, it was very hard to go back to sleep.

Enjoy what I write? I have a tip jar! I also take writing and art commissions on kofi! ヽ(*ᵔ▿ᵔ)ﾉ

#monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #vampire x reader #vampire x human

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annaphoenix1994 · 23 days ago

Text

Uncle Johnny

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»»-------¤-------««

"Kiera? Are you feeling up for a visitor?" Eva smiled as she entered Kiera's room with her lunch while Simon stayed behind to help her feed the twins, obsessed with how amazing Kiera's body adapted to nurturing their children, although Kiera was slightly embarrassed for Simon to see her breastfeeding.

"Is it dad?" She asked, a gleam of hope in her hazel eyes.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Eva flashed a smile. "He'll be here this afternoon. He and Frankie had to take some calves to the expo center for a cattle sorting. He said he'll be here after he's done."

"Who's the visitor if it's not dad, then?" She furrowed her brows.

"Bloody hell," Simon grumbled from the chair next to her bed, rubbing his brows with his index finger and thumb as he slowly realized that he had vaguely mentioned to Soap that visiting hours were between noon and four o'clock. "I'll go get him."

"He and Teeter are at the door, honey," Eva assured him. "I'll get it. I'm right here."

Simon nodded, glancing over at Evie splayed on Kiera's chest as Jacob was swaddled in the nearby bassinet, his belly full from his morning feeding.

"Look what I brought!" Johnny smiled, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he held up two boxes of kid's meals from McDonald's. "Figured they'd want some lunch!"

"I hate to inform you that they won't eat actual food until nearly a year old," Simon grumbled, shaking his head, immediately feeling regret at the sight of Johnny's disappointment. "But thanks for the humor."

"They really don't eat until they're six months?"

"I tried to tell ye, baby," Teeter shook her head, smiling at Kiera as she approached her bedside, leaning over to gently try to hug her. "Look at ye, K. You look so beautiful and I ain't sayin' that in a lesbian way. Jus' a compliment."

Kiera giggled, "I know what you mean. Thank you."

"I ain't tryna cuss already. Don't want her to learn a bad word before she starts talkin' on her own," Teeter whispered, reaching up to rub the pad of her thumb against the band of Evie's newborn hat. "What's her name?"

"Evie Victoria."

"Surprised she didn't tell you already," Soap chimed in. "Simon told me first."

"Technically, it was Price," Simon grumbled. "He said he was planning on coming to visit around Thanksgiving."

Soap nodded, "So, Mr. Helicopter Dad, I'd like to see my nephew." He poked, taking a seat at the sofa that was in the room next to the window.

Simon scoffed at Soap's title, irritated that he'd have to hand off his son to curious eyes, but he knew he could trust him to hold the infant at least. Besides, I do trust him with my life, wouldn't be any harm in trusting him with my son's, too. He slowly scooped Jacob into his chest, grinning at how he opened his eyes once he was settled in Simon's arms before he made his way to Soap on the sofa. "Keep him close to your chest." He ordered.

"Copy that, L.T." Soap nodded, opening his arms as Simon slowly and carefully set Jacob into Soap's embrace.

"Don't you dare drop him."

"Not a chance."

Soap's heartrate increased in nervousness as he held the infant close to his chest, admiring how Jacob's eyes fluttered open and closed, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, forming a nearly perfect O. "He looks just like you, L.T."

"Who else was he going to look like?" He scoffed, standing over Johnny and watching his every move, making the environment tense between them - like a dog standing off at another, waiting for one threatening move to provoke an attack.

"Simon," Kiera said to him, breaking the tension. He looked back at her, knowing what she was going to say before she even said it, judging by the arch of her brow and worried expression. "He's not going to drop him, babe, you don't have to stand over top of him."

"I'm not-"

"You look like you're ready to snatch him up the second you feel like he's not holding him right."

He sighed, stepping back to make his way back to the chair that was next to Kiera's bed, ignoring the triumphant chuckles that left Soap's mouth, hating how obsessed Soap looked at the infant in his arms, as if he was able to claim Jacob as his own if given the chance. Kiera giggled at Simon's glare, admiring how protective he was over his children. I already know Soap won't have a chance to hold our daughter, she mused. "Looks like L.T. did a copy and paste with you, huh lad? What he doesn't know is that you're going to be sporting a mohawk just like your old uncle Johnny," He spoke to the infant, curling his index finger against his button nose. "I'm sorry you can't enjoy the chicken nuggets I brought you yet, but you will. Your mum got me hooked on 'em."

"Baby, he ain't gonna talk back to you," Teeter poked as she took a seat next to Soap, leaning against him as she looked at the infant in his arms. "He looks just like you, Simon, 'cept he's awful pretty. No offense-"

"None taken." Simon shook his head, impatiently shaking his right leg from the chair, tapping his foot rapidly against the floor, instantly stopping once Kiera's left hand rested on the top of his thigh, calming him down as she took notice of his anxious tremble. He looked down at the diamond ring on her finger, smirking as he grasped her hand with his, bringing her knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there, rubbing the top of her fingers with his thumb - just like he always did.

He looked over to Evie, sleeping soundly against Kiera's chest, unable to take his eyes from the perfection of their daughter as well as the natural glow that radiated from Kiera's skin. I don't think I'll ever grow out of this obsession for you, love.

"Sleepin' like a rock, yeah?" He chuckled, nodding his head towards Evie.

"About time," She nodded, her tone low. "She was restless all night and barely didn't latch this morning. I was worried."

"I know, love. How're you feeling?"

"Sore. My boobs hurt more than anything," She sighed. "Takes away the pain from my incision, at least."

"I wish there was something I could say that will help you with that, but I can't relate to it," He frowned. "But I'm sure I can ask about ways to help?"

"Mom gave me some advice," She giggled. "But I know you'll do your research just like you always did since I was pregnant."

He chuckled, placing another kiss to her knuckles before his gaze flickered back over to Soap, seeing that he had switched the primary arm that nestled under Jacob to the other, keeping his gaze - glare - on the Sergeant, waiting for him to give Simon a reason to take Jacob back from Soap's grasp. "Stop glaring at him, babe, he's fine." Kiera reassured him, squeezing his hand gently as she again took notice of his anxiousness.

"I'm not glaring-"

"I know that look. Seen it many times and I'm sure Johnny has, too. Jacob is perfectly fine. He's not crying and he's not restless. He's sleeping."

"Yeah, looking at me like I was one of those Shadows, L.T."

"You wouldn't have been in this room if I look at you like one of them."

"I know," He chuckled. "I think he likes me."

"He doesn't know who you are."

"He will. He's already peered up at me with those little grey eyes. He's getting a glimpse of his uncle so he'll be able to pick me out of a crowd."

"Fuckin' hell," Simon whispered, shaking his head, hating how Soap knew exactly how to push his buttons. "How long are you wanting to hold him?"

"Shh, he's sleeping, L.T. Wouldn't want to wake him with your banter."

Simon subtly pursed his lips, sighing as he sat back against the chair, refraining from another harsh comment towards his former comrade. He's your brother, you stupid bloke. Stop being so mean.

Kiera giggled at Simon's protective behavior, admiring how protective he was naturally, but also frowning at how he always went by the code of be careful who you trust, people you know can hurt you the most, afraid to let go of the past as he was terrified of losing the ones he cared about.

Including Johnny.

As much as he hated to admit it, he loved how Johnny stood by him even though Simon would desperately try to push him away - to keep a fine line between friends and teammates, knowing it would hurt twice as much to lose Johnny on the battlefield as a friend, knowing he'd grieve the loss as something more than losing another comrade.

Suddenly, Kiera's hand left Simon's grasp to trace her fingers over Evie's head, startled at how she began to make soft noises and curl her small hand against her cheek, her little nostrils flaring before a weak sneeze could be heard, making both Kiera and Simon chuckle. "Sounds like she's got a strong pair of lungs." Soap commented from across the room, he too chuckling at the sound. Absolutely adorable, little lass.

"She's definitely wide awake now," Kiera smiled, pressing her lips against Evie's forehead as the newborn's eyes fluttered open, holding a blank stare with Simon as he looked at her in awe. She's so beautiful. I don't want her to grow up. "I just hope she doesn't fuss like she did last night."

"I don't think she will, love," He assured her. "Want me to hold her while you eat your lunch?"

"You don't have to-"

"I want to. You need to eat something."

She nodded, smiling as Simon stood to his feet to gently grasp the baby and bring her to his chest, sitting back down in the chair slowly as Kiera's mom approached Kiera's bedside to place the lunch she had brought on the table, using the remote on the bed to bring her to an incline. "Is that okay, sweetheart?" Eva asked with a smile.

"Just fine," She smiled. "What's on the menu for today?"

"A surprise. I brought you a sandwich from your favorite cafe. Figured you were tired of the hospital food by now."

"Let me guess: the cafe of mom?" She giggled, hoping that her guess was accurate.

"That's right!" Eva giggled, opening the sandwich wrap to reveal the homemade egg salad Kiera had loved, especially during her pregnancy. "And I brought you some Doritos to go along with it. Figured you'd like the touch."

"Thank you, momma," She smiled, accepting the loving kiss Eva had pressed to her forehead. "And of course your lunch wouldn't be complete without your favorite drink."

"Mom of the year," Kiera sighed with a giggle, accepting the can of Dr. Pepper. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Simon? Do you want to eat the lunch I made for you?"

"Not yet but thank you."

"Just let me know when you're hungry and I'll warm it up for you."

He furrowed his brows, "Warm it up?"

"I made you some French Onion Soup, honey. I heard through the grapevine that you weren't a fan of egg salad, so I figured I'd make something you liked." She smiled.

I can see where Kiera gets her observations skills from, Simon thought. "I hope you don't think I don't like your egg salad, I've just never had it before-"

"Sweetheart, it's okay if you don't like it," She giggled. "You're human and have every right to not like things, especially food. Just like I'm not too keen on your preferred tea." She poked.

"You're not the only one..." Soap commented, his finger now clutched with Jacob's little hand as he had finally fallen back to sleep in Soap's warm embrace. "The bloke drinks it sizzling hot. No wonder is voice is so deep."

"Just like what grown man drinks his coffee cold?" Simon retorted, unable to admit his jealousy towards Soap as he was the first one Jacob had latched his fingers around, Simon wishing that he was the first one to experience his son's first grasp.

"Nothing wrong with drinking cold coffee, mate."

"Just like there ain't nothing wrong with a little bit of sugar in tea to make it sweet." Eva poked, amused at Simon's embarrassment for his preference in tea.

"Babe, just know that if they don't pick on you, it means they don't like you." Kiera giggled.

"American welcome, yeah? Can't beat it."

"When can I hold the other one?" Soap asked, rolling his shoulders back.

"Not a chance, mate." Simon scolded.

"Why not?"

"I'm being too lenient with you holding him, but my daughter is where I draw the line."

Soap scoffed playfully, "Why not? Afraid she'll prefer Uncle Johnny over her own da?"

"No," He huffed. "Be lucky considering I even let you hold him."

"You would've anyway," Soap smirked. "Because I would've annoyed you until you let me."

"I'm quite good at ignoring you, Johnny."

"But I know when Kiera would've told you to let me hold him, you would've done it," He continued to poke, knowing he was right judging by the lack of Simon's response. "But hey, I'm quite good at this, eh, L.T.? I look like a pro at this father thing."

"I've seen better."

"Who?"

"Me."

"Do they always bicker like this?" Eva whispered to Kiera, watching her nod in agreement.

"All the time."

"If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed they were a couple." Eva giggled.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," Simon grumbled, hating how they were always being playfully accused of being a couple. "I'd have to lower my standards."

"Harsh," Soap laughed. "Always so harsh towards your battle buddy, L.T."

"You deserve it."

"I'll take that as in an I love you. It's alright, Simon, just say you like me. You've said it before."

"No I haven't."

"When I was stranded in Las Almas, you said you liked me alive."

"Yeah, would hate for Teeter to have welcomed you home in a box."

"I didn't know Teeter then, L.T."

Simon didn't have a response, unaware that his lack of an answer was more fuel to the fire of Soap's love of aggravating him. "That's what I thought."

#simonghostriley #simonriley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #callofduty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod mw2 ghost #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod

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nrdmssgs · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Could you do some headcannons or some characters reacting to this scenario?

So I was sitting on the floor with my bff and we are playing a game of sorts right? He's hella competitive so I look up and i see the hottest smirk on his face. Like his eyes are half litted and just foxlike as he smirked down at me.

Now the cod characters are obvi gonna be in different situations but for example like we are training and they get their ass handed to and they just look up to see the most cockyest hottest smirk possible on our face.

You can change things if you'd like! Thank you! - JAY

TF 141 + Nikolai reacting on (different) readers, having hot smug smirk

Masterlist This is pure fluff and comfort. Sometimes with romance, sometimes platonic. AN: Jay!! Thank you for being so patient with me) I really hope, I got your request right. But if I failed - feel free to paraphrase and resend it to me, so we can figure this out. Also: I loved working on this. So much fun!!

Captain John Price

"Come on, now you are just making up words!" Price lets out a cloud of cigar smoke in the air.

But you insist, it is a real word, since you were pretty proud, it was about to win you a game of scrabble against a native English speaker.

"Somebody, look this up, I have this feeling, there's a cheater in our ranks." Captain stretches his back and shoulders, while waiting for anyones confirmation.

"Ehm, it's actually a word." Gaz leans over the table where you and Price play and shows him something on the smartphone screen. Then he looks at the letters Price has left and whistles.

"Looks like you won, congratulations," Kyle pats you on the shoulder with that.

You clapped your hands loudly and jumped up from the table. "Yes! An hour and a half in that horrible chair, my back won't thank me, but it was worth it!"

The others turn at the sound of your voice and come over to congratulate you.

Price does not stand up, but takes another puff, watching your widening cocky grin.

When you finally approach him, holding out your hand for a friendly handshake, he gathers a few letter chips into his palm.

"Sir, it was a pleasure to ruin you on this fine evening!" You wait for a handshake, but he takes your wrist, flips your hand and gives you a few of his letters.

"Go on, professor, figure yourself, where you've made a mistake." He chuckles darkly, amused by your expression getting puzzled and lost.

You look at the letters in your hand, then at the playing field... And you don't understand what word can be formed from what John gave you.

"Need a hand?" Price squints. You nod, and he takes letters one by one from your hand and places them in the field.

"What... what does that mean?" As you ask, others, for some mysterious reason, diverge to the far corners of the room.

"Someone needs a lesson, I see," Price purrs "C`mere, this is a nasty one."

As you lean closer, he brushes hair off your ear and whispers, what does the word he has just laid out on the field, mean. And with every next his word, your face becomes more red.

"Now be a darling and do the math, so that your Captain knows with what score exactly did he beat you." Price stand up, cracks his back and leaves you alone at the table.

(Of course, he will return with tea and something sweet to cheer you up. He just wanted to teach you to never celebrate too soon.)

Kyle Gaz Garrick

He was always your biggest fan. From that time, you showed him your very first painting to this very moment, your local gallery declared your private selling exhibition open.

"I bet, I don't understand even one third of the meaning behind this one, but I'm in love. Just want to look at it every day," he confesses when you get closer to him.

"And you have a trained eye for a soldier. This painting is one of the most pricey ones." You fan yourself with a price list printed out for visitors. Kyle catches it in flight, quickly finds the picture in front of which you met in the list, and looks up at you.

"Jeez, after I retire - I'll ask you to teach me how to paint!" He finally lets go of the price list in your hand and gives you a warm and soft embrace. 'Famous Garrick signature hug' as you two used to call it always. The best hug, you could ever get.

"Congratulations," He huffs in your hair, not wanting to let go. "Can I already flex, that my best friend is a famous artist?"

"Oh, yes, famous artist, that has sold zero paintings yet." You chuckle, leaning back.

"You just wait, till I become a Captain, your works will all be sold, before they are even ready." Kyle is the only man able to illuminate any space with just his laugh. You wish, you could tell that to him, but it sounds banal and vulgar even in your head.

Later that evening, when someone approaches you and asks if that painting is still available, you shake your head in excuse.

Six months later, you celebrate Kyle's birthday. His colleagues gathered in a small and cozy local pub.

You all have known each other for a long time, so they all greet you warmly when you approach their table.

Kyle jumps up and hugs you with such a speed that you almost drop the present you were hiding behind your back.

"Happy birthday!" You smile and hand him a big flat box.

Suspecting nothing, Kyle opens it and freezes in shock.

"What, what is it? Gaz, what you've got?" Johnny MacTavish was agitated as usual.

"You can't..." Kyle looks from the painting to you. "You can`t give it to me..."

"Just did it, Garrick," a wide smile spreads across your face. The more times he looks from you to the painting and back, the more smug your grin gets.

He can't thank you enough. The whole evening, he keeps repeating, "You are crazy. Freaking psycho, I tell you... I promise, I'm gonna come up with the best present on your birthday."

As the others start heading home, Price calls Kyle over. "If this is not screaming to you, you have a chance with that girl, Gaz, I'll have to send you for your hearing screening before your next deployment."

Simon Ghost Riley

You hated weekly performance reviews. Others may find it terrifying, since the Lieutenant wasn't very generous with praise, but you just couldn't stand this infinite cycle. Because every week it was the same.

"Y/N, you already know what I have to say." "Yes sir. More confidence brings better results."

You two kept going over this exact dialogue for the last month. Week after week. "More confidence, Y/N".

This review went on as usual. You reacted on your name automatically. "Yes, sir."

When others started leaving his office, you too stood up and headed to the door.

"I asked you to stay, soldier." Ghosts low voice rumbles behind your back, making you frown. Yes, maybe you should have paid more attention to what was he saying.

You turn around and land on the first chair, you see. It was useless to try to come with excuse, why you almost sneak out of his office instead of following his command, so you prepare to obediently accept his condemnation.

But he instead takes a small box sealed in plastic from his desk and throws it on the table in front of you. "Open it. And read the rules out loud. I don't have a single idea, how to play this one."

"Sir? You want us... to play a card game? Am I missing something?" Instead of an answer, he gives a long look, that could make anyone frightened. Yes, when it came to the Lt, you never knew if this man just looking at you without any particular purpose or actually was plotting to end you.

So you unpack a deck of cards and read the rules. The game wasn't too complicated, but required strategic thinking and some understanding of behavioral patterns of the opponent.

You two play a pair of rounds, and then Ghost says 'enough with training, you win this time - you get a reward'.

"Wait, how? I don't think, I'm ready..." "Observe, memorize, analyze, react, don't forget to count the cards and believe in yourself." He looks you in the eyes and nods at the deck.

At first, you panic. Does he really expect you to beat him in a game where you have to manipulate your opponent? This is not a gullible and naive colleague - this is Simon 'Ghost' Riley - someone, whom you can't just read like an open book!

But at some point you notice a particular pattern in a way, he plays. And that leads you to an idea worth of the risk.

So you start carefully tinkering circumstances to make him do just what you want. And he follows to your surprise!

In a few minutes you understand, you got him trapped. There are only a pair of moves left to defeat Ghost.

"That's what I wanted to see," Ghost leans back in his chair a bit, not even looking at his hand.

You tense up a little, wondering why he's looking at your face instead of his cards, and then you realize you're smiling broadly, enjoying the approach of victory.

"Excuse me, sir." "No, keep that smile. Remember it. Never forget the smile, with which you beat 'the Ghost' you were so afraid of. And next time you feel insecure - put on that smile for a minute, ok? Now get on with it and win this round finally."

Johnny Soap MacTavish

"But Johnny! I'm in the mood for crimes!!" you whined, as he pulled you away from the garden fence.

"Na-a-ah, no crimes for you today, lassie. I'd hate it if you end up in prison." Soaps grip around your wrist was iron.

"One berry! I won't end up in jail for eating one berry, that I've found, by the way, outside this fence, because the bush overgrown through it!" You keep protesting.

"We'll, go on a farmers market and ill buy you a flippin` ton of those berries, you little rascal!" Johnny catches you by the waist and lifts you up in his arms with such ease, as if you weigh nothing. The longed-for berries, so affably peeking out from behind the neighbor's fence, turn out to be farther and farther away.

You see them off with a sad sigh. "But the stolen ones are always sweeter!"

Soap grumbles about how childhood hit you at the wrong time, but can't help but smile. He loves coming back from deployments and hanging out with you, just the same as when you two were kids.

Today you decided to go for a picknick on the nearest lake and on the way you decided that you just need to pick a few berries from the neighbors. The fact that the neighbors were not at home at that moment did not bother you, because 'CRIMES' as you happily shrieked.

As you reached the lake, Soap went for a quick swim, and you stayed to enjoy some rare for your region sun. You never understood, how he could swim in this ice-cold water.

When he came back and didn't find you anywhere near your picnic blanket, he grew suspicious.

His suspicions grew stronger when you emerged from behind the hill, grinning contentedly.

"Well, where have you been?" Johnny folded his arms across his chest.

"First, dry yourself, you will drip water all over our blanket!" You got close enough not to scream. Too close. Because he noticed your purple tongue.

"Show me your tongue." You froze at those words.

You took a few steps back, and he cocked his head to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out in his mind.

"I was gone for 10-15 minutes... Did you manage to run to that garden and back?"

Instead of answering, you jumped up and rushed away from him. But Johnny's reaction was lightning fast: he caught up with you in a couple of swift motions and put you on his shoulders.

"I'm getting half of my dress wet because of you!" you screamed, trying to escape.

"Not half," he answered with a mischievous voice.

You followed Soap's gaze and realized that he was carrying you towards the water.

"Johnny no..."

"Johnny, yes!" he grinned ominously.

Nikolai

"You're going down, MacTavish!" You swing with such force that you almost lose your balance. A snowball flies towards Soap and you hear a soft pop as it hits his face and spills over his jacket.

"Yes!! Still the champion! Still have it!!" With a wild grin, you twirl around in a tiny victory dance. Soap could be better than you on a firing range and at training fields, but when it came to snowball fights - you were invincible.

You've secretly waited for winter and prayed for a snowfall every year just to show Johnny, you are a force to be reckoned with.

So you really deserve this little moment of triumph.

You still smile when you hear Soap calling your name.

A satisfied sneer blooming on your face as you turn around... and freeze.

Johnny stands there as if nothing had happened, the smirk on his face almost as wide as yours. And a few meters behind him is Nik, shaking the snow from behind the collar of his jacket.

"You ducked?! That's not fair, Soap!" "Since when using my knees is not fair?" Johnny moves aside little by little.

You meet Niks unamused gaze and shrug. "I am so terribly sorry, Nikolai. I swear, this was an accident!"

"Accident, yeah? I see, you like playing with snow so much..." He finishes brushing off the snow and holds out his hand to you. "Come closer, I can teach you a thing or two about snow. Where I come from, we've had a lot of it."

You shake your head. "You can't, you are not my Captain." This should have sounded like a reasoning, but comes out more as a plea.

"Captain?" Nikolai shouts, "I need to teach one of your soldiers a lesson, is it ok with you?" "Is it Gaz?" Price's voice reaches you. "No." "No objections then! Take your time!"

You quietly curse as Nik turns to you once again. He points an index finger to you, then to the ground right before him, and forms an inaudible command. "You. Here."

The last part of his order is spoken out loud in a manner that doesn't leave you any choice. "Now."

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