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marvelfilth · 10 months ago

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The Witches Trap

Part 2

Pairing: dark!Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Warnings: ghosts, description of death, paranormal activity, gore, blood, a bit of horror ig, typical ghost hunting stuff, nothing too scary tho

Words: 5.5k

Summary: you go ghost hunting with Peter, Yelena and Kate. What could go wrong?

A/n: first time trying out some spooky stuff, so bear with me. Heavily inspired by Sam and Coby on YT.

Masterlist

The way Yelena drives is far from smooth and sound, but she vehemently refuses to let Peter behind the wheel, so here you are, yelping and griping the sides of the driver's seat headrest like your life depends on it. You hiss when your head meets the roof, and Kate sends you another toothy smile from the front seat, her eyes flickering to look at Yelena every few minutes. You look to your right to check on Peter, but he is busy fumbling with equipment, his camera carefully stored away in a bag as he keeps checking the microphone.

You sigh and relax against the seat when the road finally smoothes out, and think about why you even agreed to this. Peter asked you to tag along for a new video for his YouTube channel, and by asked you mean begged you with his best puppy eyes and a bag of goodies in his hands. Apparently, if you agreed to go, Kate will go too. And if Kate goes, he won't even have to ask Yelena.

He was right.

So now the four of you are on the way to one of the most haunted places of America - Westview hotel.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Yelena asks, turning her head left and right.

"Yes," Peter answers, glancing up for a second.

"Honestly, this is too creepy already," Kate mumbles, her eyes locked on the numerous dolls pinned to the trees surrounding the road.

"The owner probably made someone do that. No way they had this type of dolls back in the eighteenth century." You try to reassure Kate as much as yourself.

"Actually, the first doll like that was made-" Peter finally looks up with an excited glint in his eyes, and you immediately press your palm against his mouth, "No. I don't need to know that."

"Ha! Little Y/n is scared," Yelena laughs, but her laughter is cut short when a twig hits the side window, making her shriek like a maniac.

"This never happened," she grumbles when the laughter finally dies out.

Relaxing against the seat you try to remember everything Peter told you about this hotel.

It got notoriously famous in the late eighties, when a high schooler got possessed by a demon and later died in a psych ward. The room the girl stayed in was closed off for twenty years after that. You wonder if Peter managed to book it.

Another thing you remember is numerous sightings of a dark, cloaked figure appearing in most random places, whether it's a supply closet or a presidential suite. It always managed to scare the shit out of anyone who was unfortunate enough to catch its interest. You shudder at the mere thought of encountering that particular entity.

"We're here," Yelena cuts off the ignition, and leans against the wheel to take a look at the building.

Your breath catches in your throat the second your eyes land on the magnificent hotel. At seven stories high it stands proudly on a hill, overlooking the vast grounds. The facade is noticeably worn, but no less majestic - a blend of dark wood and stone, a balcony stretching along its entire length. A dark figure on the corner of the rooftop makes you squint, and you gasp when you realize it's a gargoyle, albeit a very rickety one. You make a note to yourself not to walk under it.

Yelena ushers you along, shuddering as she notices the stone figures. “The air here is kinda thick,” she mutters.

You nod, feeling your chest tighten. She's right - the air grows heavier with each step you take. You hope the hotel itself is ventilated enough.

When you finally step inside you take a deep breath, looking around the foyer and spotting who you presume is the owner.

"Welcome to Westview Hotel! My name's Agatha, I'm the owner of this happy little place and your guide for today. Hope you have the worst time of your life here!" Her voice is too cheerful for the late hours, and you cringe at the full on villainous laugh she lets out.

Peter goes to speak with the woman while the rest of you look around. Yelena plops on the loveseat, her backpack thrown on the carpeted floor near her feet, and Kate just stands beside you with her mouth hanging open - you're sure you're wearing a similar expression.

While the outside of the hotel looked somewhat old and weathered, the inside completely blows you away with its beauty. It's elegant, if a bit eerie, with a grand chandelier and high arches that make the space feel even bigger.

You frown, sensing someone's eyes on you, and notice Peter glancing in your direction every so often. You send him a questioning look, but he only shakes his head, his lips pressed together and his cheeks puffed.

"Do you think he's going to sacrifice one of us to that witch? Scarlet Witch, right?" Yelena muses.

"Yeah, but I don't think you're her type." Kate winks at the blonde.

You snicker at her annoyed expression, and stumble back, accidentally bumping into someone. You turn around, an apology on your tongue, only to choke on your words when you are met with an empty lobby.

Your friends stare at you quizzically, but Agatha seems to be lost in thought, her eyes trained on the space right above your shoulder, then she slightly shakes her head, her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry. I thought I bumped into someone…" You trail off, your back burning, an eerie feeling settling in your stomach.

"Sure thing, buttercup." Agatha winks at you, her mood changed back to normal in an instant.

You shudder, looking back at your friends. Yelena whispers something in Kate's ear that causes the younger one to chuckle, and Peter has his camera pointed at you.

"We already got some paranoid activity ten minutes into the night," he blabbers behind the camera, motioning for you to explain what happened.

"Um... It felt like I bumped into someone?" Talking to a camera is weird, but you manage to explain what you felt. "... I think it was nothing though, just my nerves acting up." You force a chuckle, your eyes moving to meet Agatha's stare.

She moves closer to be in the frame, and tells everyone about how much the Scarlet Witch loves to mess with younger women, her favorite pastime in this hotel seems to be entertaining the ladies. However, her idea of entertainment slightly differs from yours, and you gulp when Agatha mentions her choking sleeping guests and locking them in elevators.

"This is going to be incredible, guys," Peter says to the camera, his excitement too contagious for you to worry about your safety.

×××

The next two hours are spent walking behind Agatha and listening to her stories about various tragic deaths that occured in this hotel over the past hundreds of years. She stops every ten minutes or so in front of different rooms, each story worse than the previous one, and you shudder when she tells you a story of a woman buried alive in one of the walls, Agatha's hand casually resting on said wall.

She is telling you another story about a guy that danced on a ledge to impress a girl and fell on one of the spikes in the lobby, when you suddenly feel a tug in your chest. You stop, checking to see if anyone else felt that. Kate is staring at the ledge with her mouth wide open, Peter's busy filming Agatha and butting in with commentary (much to Agatha's displeasure), and Yelena grips Kate's hand so hard, you are sure she couldn't possibly see anything other than the wall in front of her.

You exhale and look around, trying to spot anything interesting, even though you've been looking at the same set of stairs for the past ten minutes. Strangely enough, you notice a door that surely wasn't there before, because you would've noticed it right away if it was.

While every part of this hotel was renovated, this door looks like it belongs in the past, with heavy iron hinges and a weird looking handle. There are no signs on the door, nor any numbers or words, and when something tugs on your hand, you follow the feeling.

You walk almost in haze, your friends' voices blurred in the background, unfamiliar warmth surrounding you, your chest lighter than it ever was and your mind in a euphoric state. You turn the knob and it gives in, the door rattling loudly as you tug it open, but before you could even glimpse inside, a hand slaps harshly on the wood, the door closing with a loud creak.

You blink owlishly, warmth gone and your head suddenly clear, as you take in Agatha's furious expression.

"It says 'Employees only'," she hisses through gritted teeth, and you step away from the woman.

"No, it doesn't, there's noth-" you choke on your words when you look back at the door, because now it looks like every other door in the room, 'Employees only' written in bold.

You look back at Agatha and apologize, but it seems like she doesn't hear you, her brows furrowed and her eyes flickering between you and the door.

"Okay that's hella creepy," Kate breaks the silence, her unoccupied hand digging in a pocket of her jeans to present a cross. "God will protect us." She puts it around her neck, and nods to herself.

"You don't even believe in God." Yelena jams her in the ribs, not letting go of the brunette's hand.

"You really should," Agatha casually advises, tugging at your elbow to move you further away from the door, "follow me, I'm going to tell you the story of the Scarlet Witch."

You cast one last look at the door and follow her down the hall to the very last room, something warm pressing at the low of your back to lead you. Shuddering at the feeling, you wonder why it is only you who feels something weird. Kate keeps sending you worried looks, but, other than that, she seems okay with Yelena's hand pressed firmly into her side. Peter isn't fazed at all, excitingly recording everything in sight.

Exhaling, you try to relax. If something here wants to harm you it wouldn't use such a gentle approach.

Or maybe it's just luring you in.

When you finally stop in front of room number 208 you feel a poke in your ribs, Yelena nods her head for you to look at Agatha, and you confusedly look up. Apparently, she wants you to open the door. Gulping, you move forward, your hand reaching on its own accord. You turn the doorknob with some hesitation, your hand trembling slightly. When you're met with a sight of a regular hotel room, you let out a quiet breath.

The walls are painted an unassuming beige, with green and brown accents, the earth tones bringing a feeling of calm. The four poster bed is pushed against the farthest wall, with nightstands on either side, and you could already imagine how soft it would feel to sleep in it. But the only thing that truly gets your attention is a floor to ceiling window and a french door, which hopefully leads to a balcony you spotted from the outside.

Agatha walks past you into the room, resting her weight against the foot of the bed. "It was locked," her eyes seem to be glued to yours as she speaks, "second locked door you opened today. I find that… interesting."

You are aware of Peter's camera being shoved right in your face, you're aware of Kate's hand reassuringly clasping your own, aware of Yelena's calming presence, but you are focused on something else entirely. There is this feeling again, now familiar warmth taking root in your chest, almost singing to you. You briefly close your eyes, savoring the sensation, wishing you could feel more.

"This is our most active room," Agatha says, "last year some teenagers decided to use a Ouija board in here and it got even worse. So you're in for a wild ride."

"This is nuts," Kate says from the other side of the room, trailing her hand over the painting of a burning witch.

"Oh, this actually happened here," Agatha drawls, taking note of your surprised faces, "almost a hundred young alleged witches were burnt at the stake here, on these grounds…" Agatha continues on with the story, but your eyes are stuck on Kate, on the other side of the room, your body frozen in shock. You can still feel what you thought was Kate's hand on your own, but with her standing on the other side of the room, and Yelena looking at you like you've grown two heads, you decide it's enough.

"Can you tell them to stop?" you shriek, stepping further into the room.

The warm feeling in your chest intensifies, the ghost of a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your cheek, turning your head to look at the painting. It's so gentle, so soft, it makes you lean your head in search of more.

"Them?" Agatha's voice grounds you. "I believe there's only one witch who is interested in you."

"What's going on?" Kate asks, moving away from the painting. Panic starts to rise in your chest, making you struggle to breathe. "Y/n, are you okay?" Kate's by your side in an instant, hands rubbing your sides, and you lay your head on her shoulder, silently reminding yourself that no ghost can hurt you.

"I thought you were standing beside me, I felt you take my hand, but you were on the other side of the room," you whisper against her shoulder.

"No. We're going back home." Yelena pales and tugs at your elbow, smacking the back of Peter's head with her other arm. "Your idiotic idea is going to give her a heart attack," she hisses and leads you to the door, hurriedly turning the knob.

It doesn't turn.

"What the fuck." She tries to open it again, and again, and again, until Agatha gets pissed and yells at her for trying to break the door.

"If she wants you to stay, you'll stay." She places her palm on the wooden door, and gives everyone a stern look.

"Say the word and I'll break that door open." Peter reappears by your side, looking guilty as ever, his camera now hidden away.

You take a deep breath and look around, now feeling much safer with all of your friends (and Agatha) by your side. The room looks like no one has touched it in years, and the warm, calming feeling in your chest only intensified after your little break down.

Maybe the witch just wants some company.

You meet Peter's eyes and manage a smile. "I survived Yelena's driving, I'm sure I'll be fine after this."

"Are you sure?" Yelena and Peter ask you at the same time.

"Yes, guys, I'm fine. I'm just not used to it like you are," you smile at Peter, and he nods in understanding.

He spent his college years filming in haunted places, a little hobby turned into a full time job as his channel grew bigger and bigger. Usually he invites his friend Wade to film together, but this time he really wanted you to come.

"Glad we settled that. Now sit," Agatha commands.

You take a seat on the bed, Yelena and Kate immediately placing their arms around you. Peter settles in a comfortable looking chair by the window, and Agatha stays standing, clearing her throat before venturing into the story of the Scarlet Witch.

"I'm sure you know that being a redhead, green-eyed, and exceptionally smart young woman in the 17th century meant one thing."

"Barbecue," Yelena mumbles, earning a scathing glare from the older woman.

"Yes. But here's the thing - the Scarlet Witch was never burned at the stake, and not because she was so good at staying hidden, but because she has never had a physical presence in this world, at least one that we know of. There's no proof of her existence, no paintings and no pictures, no sightings either."

Yelena shifts beside you. "Then how do you even know-"

Agatha cuts her off with another scathing glare, before continuing on. "We know because every single one of these poor women cried out her name before their inevitable death. They begged her to save them, but she never did."

"That still doesn't-"

"For the love of god, just shut up and let me finish!" The older woman shrieks, throwing her hands in the air. Momentarily closing her eyes, she clenches her jaw. "She never saved any of these poor girls, feeding on their fear, anger and desperation. She enjoyed what was happening. Hell, she spurged it on, manipulating minds, changing people until they became unrecognizable, and after this hotel was built she took charge, driving owners and residents away, leading people to their inevitable death, and lately possessing unsuspecting women. All of those poor people had one thing to say - 'it was the Scarlet Witch'." She shifts on her feet, turning to look out the window. "Hundreds of years of terror, but there was one good thing she's done. There was a particularly nasty witch trial, the poor girl was accused of seducing a priest's daughter. Imagine the horrors she was bound to be faced with if they got their hands on her. They never did, she escaped their clutches, and every single man involved in the hunt on the girl was brutally murdered. The girl died of old age in the safety of her own home, forever protected by the magic of the Scarlet Witch." Suddenly, her eyes lock on yours. "There's no trace of the Scarlet Witch, but there's a painting of the woman she saved. I'd show it to you, but for you it'll be the same as looking in a mirror, so I'll save myself the trouble."

Peter suddenly sits up straighter, nodding along to Agatha's words.

Kate slides her hand away from your shoulders. "Don't want to make her jealous or anything," she whispers, looking around.

"Do you say this to everyone or..?" You hesitantly speak up.

Her eyes turn serious, causing a chill to run down your spine. "Oh no, buttercup, you're a spitting image of the only woman she deemed worthy enough to save."

"She's not lying," Peter says, "that's actually the reason why I asked you to come." He sends you a sheepish smile, and shows you a picture on his phone. It's an old painting, weathered by time, but undoubtedly beautiful.

The woman looks just like you.

You gulp, your heart hammering in your chest. "Well, I'm not her."

"Maybe not. It's not like it matters." Agatha mumbles, standing up, a faraway look in her eyes. "She must've had her reasons to save the poor girl, and I suspect they were far from noble. Be careful." She looks at you one last time before turning to Peter. "Well, it's been fun entertaining you, but it's nearing midnight, so I'll leave you to your ghost hunting, or whatever it is that you're doing." Her lips purse at the numerous cameras Peter's unloaded from his bag.

"Wait!" You jump up, stalling Agatha. "How do you even know about what happened at the trials? Is there some kind of document?" You're aware of the absurdity of your questions, after all you are the one who experienced all of the activity so far, and while some of it could be blamed on your nerves or your brain playing tricks on you, the door accident still burns at the back of your mind.

"You don't believe me?" Agatha smirks, making you shift uncomfortably. "Don't worry, you'll see, you have a long night ahead." She sends you one last look, and easily opens the door before disappearing behind it.

You fall back on the duvet, pressing your palms against your face. The past hour puts an uncomfortable weight on your chest, and you struggle to wrap your mind around the fact that you're probably going to be targeted even more as the night goes on, either by your terrified, overly anxious mind, or the Scarlet Witch.

The warm feeling you felt when you first stepped into the room slowly disappeared, leaving you to wonder if it's done its job in luring you in.

"Okay, it's time to-"

"We're not using a Ouija board."

"- light up some candles." Peter says, looking quizzically at Yelena. "I'm not stupid, you know." He huffs, rolling his eyes.

You snort, shaking your head at your friends' antics. "Why do we need candles?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "To communicate with ghosts."

"Don't you have some fancy tech for that?"

"I prefer to keep it simple," he shrugs.

You share a look with Yelena. "And we'll be left talking to the AC," you mumble loud enough for Peter to hear and send you a middle finger.

"There's no AC in this room. Some people use flashlights, but I prefer candles. We'll also use a spirit box."

"We're not catching any spirits in a box, right?" You sit up, eyes darting between your friends.

Peter sighs and goes on a rant about his tools, explaining how everything works. To your great relief, you won't have to catch anyone, just put on a blindfold, some noise canceling headphones, and let some spirit talk though one of you.

"Sounds fun," Kate gulps.

"I'm not doing that." You shake your head, crossing your arms.

Peter looks up from the floor, where he adjusts the rem pod, the piece of equipment going off when he touches it with a tip of his finger, calibrating the sensitivity. "Yelena will do that."

It's almost comical how far Yelena's jaw falls. "And why is that, Parker? Why don't you let some spirit use you as a radio?"

"Um… my tarot reader told me you'll do best out of all of us."

Kate starts cackling like a maniac, clutching her stomach and bending over. You can't help laughing either, burrowing your face into the pillow to keep quiet.

Yelena continues arguing with Peter, and you decide to leave them to it and satisfy your curiosity. You smile at the questioning smile Kate sends you, and gesture to the balcony door.

You were right, it is the balcony you saw from the outside, stretching all the way to the other side of the hotel. You sigh and lean against the railing, taking in the view. If you thought it looked terrifying on the way here, it looks even worse from high up. Moonlight shines on crooked trees surrounding the land around the hotel, dark and menacing, broken branches hanging on the last threads. There is a well within walking distance, not too far away from where you parked the car. You swear to yourself you won't let Peter drag you over there, it looks way too creepy.

You finally relax, letting your eyes fall shut for a second, but a blurry movement to your left forced them open. You grip the railing, squinting.

Nothing.

"What the fuck." Kate's voice sounds from the inside, and you rush back just in time to see her exit the adjoined bathroom, snapping the door shut with a terrified look on her face. "No. Oh fuck no. Oh no, no, no."

Peter sits up, alarmed. "What is it?"

"There's blood on the mirror," she whispers, her hands shaking violently, "and in the tub, and on the floor."

Peter immediately gets up, taking the only camera that's been filming the whole time with him. You follow your friend, not paying attention to your shaking hands and your hammering heart.

When the door opens you see a pristine bathroom, so clean it's almost mocking. He inspects every corner from every possible angle, only to come up short.

"Guys?" Kate calls out from behind the door. "Are you good?"

"There's nothing he-" you freeze mid sentence when your eyes land on the mirror.

It's fogged up, one word clearly written.

Your name.

You reach out - not of your own violation, your hand guided by some unseen force - and touch the reflective glass right where your name is. You're hit with a vision, bits and pieces of what feels like distant memory escaping the prison your mind put them in.

You see a wrinkled face of an old man, his expression pure disgust as he spews something right in your face. The scene changes abruptly, and now you're in a dark cell, with only the moon to keep you company. Your heart clenches at the pure anguish you're hit with, the desperation drowning you, leaving you no room to breathe. There's a sudden blur, and everything turns blinding white, and then… you feel that warmth again. A woman stands in front of you, reaching out, her eyes glinting red. She looks ethereal, her skin pale, almost sheer, her unruly hair pushed back by a red tiara. You gulp, feeling the power radiating from her, chest aching with the need to submit to it.

You stumble away from the mirror. There's no warmth in your chest now, only pure, unconcealed dread. You lean against the door, palms pressed to your face. Peter doesn't dare breathe, his hands only shaking slightly as he makes sure to get it in the frame.

"Where did you just go?" He whispers, not daring to speak any louder.

You shake your head, blinking back tears. "Tell me you did this. Tell me it's a prank."

He looks at you, eyes full of fear. He bites on his lower lip, eyes wide. "I did this. I totally did this." He nods rapidly, ushering you out of the room.

Kate and Yelena wait on the other side, each holding a candelabra. You don't even bother to ask where they found them, heading straight to the balcony for a breath of fresh air while Peter explains what happened.

You look at the full moon, rubbing your chest in tight circles.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Again, and again.

The floorboards of the balcony creak, along with the railing, and you wonder if it's all gonna fall to the ground, and bury you in a mess of wood and cement. Maybe that's what the witch wants - for you to stay here forever.

You feel the remains of that need, that hunger for the witch. You long to see her again, even if it's just a glimpse, a whiff of her presence.

When you come back, the lights are off, and Peter is already asking questions, Yelena's terrified expression telling you everything you need to know about the answers they've been provided with.

The candle on the nightstand goes out, and Peter blinks, looking at you. "Weird."

"What?" You ask, looking around, hair on the nape of your neck standing up.

"He asked the ghosts if they wanted us to leave." Kate answers.

"That means they do." Yelena points at the candle.

You shiver, a breeze from the balcony making you curl in on yourself, eyes flickering to every dark corner of the room, flinching whenever you see shadows from the moonlight that look a little too ominous.

Someone is watching you, you're sure. A part of you hopes it's her.

"And why is that weird?" You ask Peter, watching as he collects the candles. You sigh in relief, glad to have missed the conversation.

"I thought they liked us - you - at least," he mumbles.

"Maybe they want us gone so the witch can have some alone time with Y/n." Yelena's brows jump up and down suggestively, and you can't help, but laugh, some of the tension finally seeping away.

That is, until the last candle on the nightstand lights up again, completely on its own.

Peter staggers back, dropping the stack in his hands. "No fucking way," he whispers, "that never happened before."

He pulls back to check the camera, making sure it's still recording.

"That's a yes, right?" Kate gulps, looking at you with wide eyes. "She wants you wants you. It's not a coincidence."

You take a seat on the rocking chair in the corner and close your eyes, reminding yourself that nothing here could ever hurt you. It doesn't really work when you still feel eyes on you. Your hands tremble, and your legs feel too heavy to stand on. Every sound is amplified, your senses going into overdrive, so when a clock stops ticking, you immediately notice.

The clock reads 12:08, the hands still for a moment, before resuming their course.

You're slowly starting to wish you never agreed to come to this place.

Agatha's words ring in your head. What if the witch thinks you're that poor girl? That'll explain the witches' interest in you. Maybe she made you see those visions to help you remember.

But… What if it's not even her that's been following you? What if it's one of the dark entities Agatha told you about? The thought makes you even more uncomfortable - you'd prefer the Scarlet Witch to haunt you instead of some dark, trapped soul, no matter how absurd it sounds.

"Hey," Kate approaches you.

You blink, and offer her a hesitant smile. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" She bites on her lip, her hands on your knees.

You nod, and take her hands in yours. "I'm fine. Just a bit shaken up."

She sighs heavily, head falling to rest on your lap. "Same," she mumbles, "I feel like a prey."

You rub her shoulders, hoping to ease some of her tension. "We'll be out of here in the morning."

She looks up, smiling. "Actually, we're not sleeping here. Peter said we'll try to talk to them one last time and then go."

You hum, wondering why the information makes you feel worse. Shouldn't you be relieved to leave earlier?

"Okay, come here," Peter calls, putting noise canceling headphones on Yelena's head.

Kate jumps up, her eyes lightening up at the sight of Yelena sitting rigidly on the chair, a blindfold and headphones in place. "Oh, this is gonna be good," she smiles, settling in front of the blonde.

Peter looks at you. "I think you should ask the questions."

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. You think of something appropriate to ask - something that would reveal information without offending any of the spirits here.

"Are we here alone?" You ask, and everyone turns to look at Yelena, awaiting an answer.

Yelena's head bobs up and down, like she's listening to her favorite song, but you know for sure it's just white noise.

"Hello," Yelena says, smiling slightly.

Not alone, then.

You nod, and Peter gestures for you to continue.

"My name is Y/n, what is your name?"

It's quiet for a little while, occasional squeaks from the balcony making you jump up and look around.

When Yelena doesn't answer, Peter decides to speak up. "Did you follow us here from the lobby? Was it you-"

"Shut up," Yelena barks.

Kate stumbles back on the floor, and settles against the foot of the bed. "Oh fuck."

Peter takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Sorry." He nods at you, urging you to continue.

"Do you not like him?" You ask.

"In… in the way…" her voice is unsure as she trails off.

"Peter's in the way? In the way of what?" Kate speaks up, looking at you.

"Deal," the blonde whispers, "owe."

Peter frowns. "You made a deal and you owe someone?"

Yelena purses her lips, tilting her head to the side like she can't quite figure out what is being said.

The bathroom door slowly creaks open.

"Are you in the bathroom?" Kate's voice shakes, and you take her hand, shuffling closer to the girl.

"Blood."

You exhale, looking at the open doorway with wide eyes.

Kate nods rapidly, her hand trembling. "There was a lot of blood. You scared the shit out of me."

Yelena chuckles, "Feed."

So whatever is here has been feeding on your fear.

"Who are you?" You ask again.

"You know," Yelena replies. "You all do."

"What's behind that door?" You have the strongest urge to go back there.

Yelena chuckles, shaking her head. “Go see for yourself.”

Light starts flickering, tears spring to your eyes, and you fight the urge to curl into a ball and cry. Yelena turns her head and sits up, leanings towards you.

"You forgot."

"Forgot about what?" You shudder, eyes darting between the door and Yelena.

"Our deal."

Peter darts to the other side of the room and snaps the door to the bathroom shut, his mouth set in a flat line. "We're leaving."

"She can't," Yelena singsongs.

"There's no deal. You're mistaken," Peter snaps, collecting the equipment.

"What deal?" You hesitantly ask.

Lightning strikes outside, a loud boom of thunder following. The painting of the burning witch falls.

"I own y-"

Peter tugs off the headphones, Yelena's mouth snaps shut. She tugs off the blindfold and blinks, brows set in confusion. "Are we gonna start any time soon?"

Kate groans, falling face first to the floor. "Fuck my life."

_______________________

Before you yell at me - yes, there will be a part two

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x y/n #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch x female reader

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magicalbats · 2 months ago

Text

Kinktober 2024 Day 1: Neuvillette x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5670

Warnings: Afab!reader, boss/employee relationship, orgasm denial, cock finger warming, accidental/ruined orgasm, dacryphilia, punishment in the form of finger cleaning/cum eating, mentioned chastity

A/N: Welcome to October and this year's super freaky nasty spooky kinky extravaganza! 👻 Let me give a quick but massive shoutout to @frozenfauna for being kind enough to beta read these for me, I've so greatly appreciated having your eyes on standby! I was also going to credit the user who made the list I'm using but when I try to pull it up it looks like they may have deleted the post ...? So out of respect for them I'll just say thank you random stranger on the internet!

And without further ado ... please enjoy day one!

⭐

Fidgeting and nervous, you rock forward onto the tips of your toes with your arm raised up to deliver a curt knock to the stately door in front of you only to think better of it at the last second. You quickly settle back on the heels of your buckled shoes again and let your hand drop down to your side. Far be it that you wanted to give up so easily but … oh dear, this wasn’t an ideal situation at all.

Forlornly, you glance over at the little tea tray you’d just carted halfway across the Palais Mermonia while the faint sound of indistinct voices continues to filter through the meticulously polished wood. One was recognizably that of monsieur Neuvillette, which certainly made sense given that this was his personal office space and it would have been far more strange not to find him here. But the other you do not know, nor is Sedene in her usual spot behind the front receptionist desk to give you any indication whether you should stay or leave. It was a conundrum, and one without a clear cut solution.

You needed to make a choice quickly though. If you didn’t and your crippling indecision left you floundering out in the hall for much longer, monsieur Neuvillette’s afternoon coffee was going to get cold which would leave you with no choice but to go back and remake it. Although the Iudex was usually such an exhaustively kind, understanding individual he’d been so strict with you recently ever since …

A sensitive shudder races down your spine when your pussy clamps down hard around nothing, pulsing in high strung need as much as remembered agony. You feel dizzy with the hot rush of arousal that crashes into you all at once, and you sway unsteadily there on your feet before you manage to reorient yourself.

He expected you to be punctual and obedient, this you knew well, and no excuses or negligence of your duties would be tolerated. If the honorable Chief Justice was too preoccupied to take his coffee then he would tell you so, but you couldn’t just make those kinds of decisions on your own. He’d made it perfectly clear at the onset of this arrangement that you were not well equipped for such matters and you trusted him implicitly despite all that you knew was wrong about having this sort of relation with him.

So you decisively lift your hand once again and start to bring your knuckles down on the solid wood of the door — only to miss it entirely when it suddenly swings open. Squeaking in surprise, you widen your eyes up at the handsome woman standing just inside the office with your loosely curled fist stopped just short of smacking into her chest.

Glancing from your hand up to your face, she quirks a single, sardonic brow at you. “Is it time for afternoon tea and snacks already? Hmm. Actually … judging by the rich aroma, the Iudex must prefer coffee.”

Your mouth works but nothing comes out, so startled by her sudden appearance and the curious yet delicate way she sniffs at the air that you simply don’t know what to say to that.

Luckily monsieur Neuvillette appears just behind her, sending you a brief, unreadable look before focusing his attention on the unknown woman. “Indeed, I must admit to having a fondness for good brew in the afternoons. Would you like to stay and enjoy some refreshments with me, Lady Arlecchino? I’ll send for another place setting immediately.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She drawls in her monotone, soft spoken voice with the whole of her gaze focused singularly on you. The eerie intensity in that stare unnerves you more than just a little bit, and you numbly shift to the side to allow her through when she takes a step closer. But she pauses there, peering down at you as if in further consideration. “This little one looks quite skittish, doesn’t she? The working conditions at the Palais must be even more challenging than I thought.”

“Please do not jest in that manner, Lady Arlecchino.” Neuvillette quietly scoffs behind her. “I can assure you that everyone employed here is treated with the utmost respect and consideration due to them.”

“I see.”

Giving you one last, lingering glance, the tall woman steps fully out into the hallway and brushes past you without saying another word. The sharp click of her heels on the marble floor sounds somehow ominous in your ringing ears as you hesitantly tip your face up, looking to monsieur Neuvillette for instruction.

A distant note of relief curls through you, dispersing some of the fog from your mind, when he offers you a brief smile. This time it is he who steps aside, nudging the door further open with one hand while he gestures into the office with a sweep of the other. “Come in, mademoiselle. Apologies for the delay.”

“There isn’t anything to apologize for, monsieur. Thank you.” Bobbing a quick curtsy, you retrieve the tea tray so you can wheel it past him into the room. He gently closes the door and you don’t miss the sound of the lock discreetly turning in place as you get to work setting everything up for his break from all the endless paperwork and case files that flood into the Palais on a daily basis.

“If you don’t mind I think I’ll take my coffee at my desk today.” He says behind you, causing your heart rate to immediately start picking up again. The expectation of how this session was going to play out had now been set with just the simple utterance of a few, seemingly unassuming words.

Your fast mounting excitement is nearly palpable now as your hands begin to subtly shake around the fine china you’re handling. “Yes, monsieur. I’ll have it ready for you right away.”

Humming a soft sound of acknowledgment, he steps around you to make his way over to the ceremonious desk situated on the opposite side of the richly furnished office.

You keep your head down and focus on the task of pouring his coffee into a pristine cup while you listen to him get settled in with a quiet rustle of his robes against the high backed chair. This room and all that was in it had quickly become something you were now intimately familiar with over the last few weeks, as had this routine you’d settled into with him. It was strange and unorthodox, you couldn’t deny that, but there was also something deeply gratifying about carrying on with him in this manner.

You don’t exactly know what to call it but, you idly muse as you take up the smaller hand tray and carry it over to the desk, perhaps it didn’t actually need an official label. Monsieur Neuvillette made you feel safe and secure in a way that very few others ever had, even when you were outright sobbing and begging him for the release he never granted you. Even when it took what seemed to you like hours to come down from the shuddering ledge of oblivion, curled up in his lap while he dotingly petted you back to calmness, there was something about it all that you found unexpectedly fulfilling. As if in the process of punishing your body for some long forgotten transgression that you couldn’t quite recall anymore, he was making you whole again.

It’s egregiously backwards in many ways but you find that you really don’t care about any of that as you place his coffee and the side plate of carefully selected finger foods in front of him, earning yourself another small smile for your efforts. You can feel your cunt already starting to weep excitable slick when you straighten up to wait for his next command with nothing short of eager, quick thrumming anticipation.

Nodding his approval, Neuvillette reaches out to take up the cup which he brings close to his face for a slow, savory inhale of the wafting steam. “It smells delicious. Thank you, mon petite. I’m afraid you spoil me terribly.”

“I’m flattered to hear that, monsieur.” You murmur, flushing even warmer at the praise. “But it is the same coffee that anyone else can make. I don’t think mine is particularly special.”

“Well, that just isn’t true at all. Everyone seems to have their own unique methods when it comes to preparation. Some end up with a far weaker consistency while others produce little more than black sludge. In fact, there was a housekeeper some years back who was so woefully ill equipped when it came to the matter of brewing coffee that it almost soured me away from the concept all together.”

Slowly, you bring your head up to look at him. “Is that really true?”

“It is.” Nodding once, monsieur Neuvillette takes a polite sip from the delicate cup before breathing out a content sigh of satisfaction. Setting it back down with a soft clink against the matching saucer, he lifts his gaze to regard you with a fond look. “And how are you today, my dear? Have you been behaving yourself since our last session?”

Never mind the fact that it was only just yesterday when you’d stood before him in his office exactly like this, waiting impatiently for the Chief Justice to direct you in the matter of debauchery as he alone seemed apt to do, and your answer since then hasn’t changed. It still makes you fidget though, particularly when you could feel slick arousal slowly seeping into the gusset of your panties to make the soft cotton start to cling. So many days had gone by without being permitted to find your release on his fingers or anywhere else for that matter that you were finding yourself flooding at the slightest suggestion.

You’d thought it was bad before, at the onset of all this when he’d so expertly turned your own body against you with very little effort to show for it, but the prolonged effects of this treatment were so much worse than you could have ever imagined them to be. It was as if you were slowly going mad, driven by the insistent throbbing deep inside your cunt to keep coming back for more punishment.

The notion that you were perhaps a masochist of the highest order had never occurred to you before, but now that there was ample evidence to support it you couldn’t exactly write the idea off entirely.

“Yes, monsieur.” You murmur, anxiously clenching and unclenching your fingers around the hand tray you were still holding. “I’ve been good. I followed your orders precisely as you instructed.”

Encouragingly, Neuvillette tips his head ever so slightly to the side. “You haven’t been touching yourself when I’m not there to keep an eye on you?”

“N - no, sir. I haven’t.”

“Good.” He seems pleased to hear that as he nudges his chair back from the desk at an angle that would allow enough room for you to join him on the other side, holding up a hand for you to come around and take. “Come here then, mon petite. Let’s check that you are telling me the truth.”

Such an intense surge of heat rushes to your face that you feel well and truly lightheaded with it even as you skitter forward to accept his offered palm. Gloved fingers gently curl around yours in what would have otherwise been a gentlemanly, chivalrous gesture had the opposite hand not promptly lifted from his lap to snake under the flouncy material of your skirt with an unfalteringly casual motion.

Your eyes seem to vibrate in their sockets from how intensely your pulse pounds, almost making you go cross eyed as he reaches up between your legs. The tips of his fingers find your cunt easily enough and he presses into the center seam, pulling a sticky click from the excess of arousal as pudgy lips squish under the pressure. The sound rushes straight to your pulsing loins to feed into the never fully realized excitement of being touched and doted upon, encouraging yet more copious slick out of you. It was a truly vicious cycle with no end in sight.

“Goodness, you’re already this excited?” Ever so slightly frowning at this discovery, Neuvillette gives his head a brief shake with an accompanying click of his tongue. “What am I to do with you, little love? Such an insatiable thing.”

“I’m sorry,” You mewl even as your hips subconsciously nudge forward to grind against his fingers, asking for more.

You were so desperate for release on such a bone deep level that you would have happily gotten on the ground and groveled at his feet if he’d requested it of you. Lesser men probably would have. It wasn’t hard to imagine others taking advantage of someone so naive and trusting, and someone who was as delirious with unfettered lust as you were, but that is not the sort of person monsieur Neuvillette is.

Instead, he primly removes his hand from underneath your skirt so he can pluck the tray from your stiff fingers. You’d almost forgotten you were still holding it at all, and you numbly watch him set it aside on top of his desk before then reaching up to palm over the curve of your waist.

“Sit in my lap, mon chou. I believe that you are telling me the truth and you have not disobeyed my orders when you are outside of the Palais, which pleases me a great deal. It demonstrates not only an ability to listen but to also learn from your past mistakes. The fact that you still cannot control this libidinous behavior of yours concerns me though. I suspect it might be time to reinforce the cautionary precept I’ve already established for you once before.”

You almost hesitate to bid his command but under monsieur Neuvillette’s infinitely steady guidance you allow yourself to be coaxed into climbing into the chair with him.

With a placid, unhurried motion, he reclines against the backrest to accommodate you and ensure you have enough room while you work to get settled in on top of him. It’s a somewhat awkward thing, straddling the Iudex of Fontaine in such a shameful manner, but you at last manage to find a comfortable position with your thighs bracketing his narrow hips. The urge to squirm and fidget nearly overpowers your common sense but you forcibly stamp it down as you look to him for his next instruction.

Offering you another one of his unfalteringly kind smiles, Neuvillette brings both of his hands around to give your sides an encouraging squeeze before then dragging higher up your body. That he intentionally avoids touching you in any of the spots you would like to have him touch you brings a certain disappointment with it, but you bite down on your tongue to silence those thoughts. And when he firmly hooks his fingers into the space under your arms so he can tug you forward, you happily let him pull you in against him without complaint.

The motion makes your cunt lift up from his lap, taking some of that delicious pressure off your soaked core, and you breathe out a terse, shaky exhale as your tits press into his chest. Your next inhale brings with it an overpowering rush of his scent straight into your buzzing head and further clouds your senses. Numbly, you lift your hands to clutch at his shoulders in a loose hold as you nuzzle your face into his soft, silken excess of hair. He smelled divine as usual.

“Good girl.” Murmuring softly, Neuvillette dotingly pets over your head with one of his hands while the other curls down to slip under your skirt again. The brush of his finely made glove against your inner thigh makes you shudder something fierce, while the sensation of him hooking a finger into your panties so he can pull them aside positively steals the oxygen from your lungs.

Stiff and halting, you kneel there over his lap as if you were a frozen, petrified statue, just waiting for the pin to drop. You’re so punchdrunk and feverish with need that you aren’t quite sure what to expect next but the nudge of fingertips just at your entrance quickly clues you in.

Still showing you an infinite amount of care and gentle consideration, Neuvillette tenderly parts the seam of your body so he can dip one of those long digits into the sticky mess you’ve made. A small push, a tiny amount of carefully applied pressure, is all it takes to have that gloved finger sinuously sliding up into your cunt. Your mouth drops open as if to let out a dire scream of ecstasy yet all that materializes is a wounded little animal sound as you bask in the friction as much as the stretch. Your pussy doesn’t even try to fight it, so wet and puffy after only a short few weeks of endless edging that it now welcomes the intrusion with nothing short of delight.

That alone would have likely been enough to satisfy you for the foreseeable future but after giving his digit a perfunctory wiggle to test the give of your inner sleeve, Neuvillette slowly slides a second finger in to join the first. The internal pressure instantly swells to new dizzying heights that leave you groaning a gutted sound into the elegant bend of his neck, gasping for breath.

“Ooohhh! Monsieur …!”

Shushing you, the Chief Justice turns his face to place a lingering kiss to the side of your head before speaking in the solemn tone he usually reserved for meting out judgements in the court. “Quiet now, little one. You don’t want to alert anyone who might be outside my door of the punishment you’re being made to endure, do you?”

“N - … no, sir. I don’t.”

“As I thought.” Nodding once, he slowly trails the hand resting across your back further down to nudge at your hip. “Sit down on my fingers then, and do not even think to indulge yourself in grinding on them. That’s it now, slowly. Just like that.”

Shuddering, you gingerly settle into place with his digits wedged deep inside your body. The motion forces your cunt to stretch around them and take him in even further until it feels like he’s just short of tickling your cervix. The already blinding pressure seems to double and then triple, and you sway unsteadily there on his lap with a low, gutted moan of wanting.

“There.” He coos, rewarding you for your compliance with a brief squeeze around the waist. “Such a good girl you are. And are you comfortable? Ah, I suppose that might be a silly question to ask, isn’t it? No matter. All you need to do is quietly sit there while I enjoy my coffee and read over a few documents, and then you’ll be free to go about your day. Simple, isn’t it?”

That was certainly easy for him to say but you couldn’t claim to be in agreement with the sentiment. In fact, you couldn’t say much of anything at all.

You were so overwhelmed by the blinding sensation of being impaled on his fingers that it was a struggle just to think straight, let alone speak, and that was to say nothing of the intense pulse making your cunt spasm around the intrusion. It’s as if your body was trying to instinctively milk him of every last drop and you couldn’t make it stop. You were going to cum.

Archons help you, you were going to cum and there wasn’t a single thing you could do to prevent it from happening.

“Nnnghn, m - monsieur Neuvillette, I - I —“

“This is only a friendly word of advice, mon petite, but I suggest you learn to control yourself quickly.” He warns in an idle tone as he reaches across the desk for his cup. “I don’t think you’ll be very happy with the next manner of discipline I have to enforce if even this is not enough to make you understand.”

Screwing your eyes shut, you gnash your teeth and desperately try to will your body to relax around his fingers instead of tensing up around them. It’s an effort in futility and one you don’t think you’ll win after weeks of denial, but with a dull, hollow throb your body reluctantly starts to cooperate. It’s an incredibly difficult thing to do when you were already teetering so close to the edge that you could all but taste release on your tongue, but you somehow manage to reach a purgatorial state wherein you find yourself simply hanging in the balance.

It doesn’t come without a cost though.

Feeling simultaneously drained and incredibly euphoric at the same time, you bonelessly sag against the front of him. Your cheek finds his shoulder, staring off into the far distance without actually seeing anything at all, and he noises a soft sound of approval when you go still again. The vibration seems to rattle through his chest and right into you where you’re pressed up against him, the resulting vibration making you whimper in high strung distress. This was somehow even more harrowingly tortuous than your usual sessions with the Iudex.

After only a few clandestine meetings in his office he’d become so familiar with your body and its tells that he could easily recognize when you were getting close and remove the source of your pleasure before you tipped over into the awaiting abyss on the other side. The current situation was ten times more precarious though, because it put the responsibility of stopping yourself from cumming squarely on your own shoulders and there was no escaping the constant pressure pushing in on your guts. It felt like you were going to devolve into a wild fit of spasms at any second if you let your mind focus back in on your body and what it was feeling for even a moment.

What manages to register as being even worse is the inherent humiliation that comes with being made to warm his fingers like this. Not only were you forced to deny the natural urge to grind and rut onto them, which was degrading enough on its own, but the fact that you weren’t even permitted to suffer this indignity on his cock further highlights your position here. Monsieur Neuvillette wasn’t doing this for his own gain or satisfaction, nor was he even really doing it for yours. He remains as nonchalant and even disinterested about what’s happening as he seemed to expect you to be, and you wonder how he as a man can be so unaffected by this even as your aching cunt continues to gush around him.

You’re so wet it seems to border on obscene. Even through the barrier of his glove you’re certain he must be able to feel it too, but he maintains his implacable facade as he drinks from his coffee as if it were any other afternoon at the Palais. And for him it likely was, your presence on his lap not nearly enough to distract the always composed and collected Chief Justice from his duties. A lesser man would have broken by now, given into carnal urges and the chance opportunity you presented to lay you out on top of his desk and have his way with you. At this point you weren’t so sure you would have even feigned to protest it.

You wanted him. Wanted to cum screaming his name while he laid claim to your perfectly willing body with his cock stuffed deep inside your —

A violent shudder suddenly assaults you in a rush, and you whimper low in your throat as you deliriously try to reign your control back in. The involuntary throbbing deep within your cunt starts up again, mirroring the frantic pounding of your heart while your hips weakly twitch with the onset of an orgasm you hopelessly try to stop.

It’s no use though. You’re wound too tight, stretched too thin over weeks of denial, and your pussy clenches so tight it actually hurts. Sucking in a sharp, horrified gasp, you desperately fist your shaking hands into his robes and clutch at him as you’re wracked by an abrupt onslaught of spasms that seem to rock you straight down to your very soul. The only thing that stops you from relishing in it and crying out your pleasure for the whole Palais to hear is the sinking, suffocating dread that comes with the knowledge that you’ve gone against monsieur Neuvillette’s wishes and disobeyed him.

You were going to be punished for it, of that you were sure.

Even that knowledge is not enough to cut your orgasm short though, and you tremble wildly through the roiling waves of ecstasy that just keep crashing into you, again and again. You’d been so pent up that it stretches well past the point of discomfort until you finally collapse against him an eternity later, your hips still bucking in a weak attempt to drain his fingers of something they simply didn’t have to give. But it’s an instinctual drive that makes you try, and it isn’t until his free hand comes down to take bruising hold of your waist and physically stop you from moving do you finally give up with a frazzled sound of defeat.

Slumped against him while you take stuttering mouthfuls of wet, gasping breaths, you dazedly try to reorient yourself to no avail. It felt like the room was spinning, everything impermanent and intangible save the unyielding man underneath you. Truly, monsieur Neuvillette was the only thing that seemed at all real anymore and you blindly cling to him when he brings his hand up to lift your face from his shoulder.

“Oh, mon petite,” He sighs, sounding disappointed and rueful in equal measure. “You didn’t even last ten whole minutes. I’ve really no idea what to do with you.”

“I - I - I’m ss - sorry, monsieur.”

Softly clicking his tongue, he nudges your chin a little higher with the finger he’s got curled underneath. You feel him lean in close then, and your lower lip sadly warbles at the thoughts of punishments and scoldings that dance through your cotton stuffed head, supplying an endless list of possible retributions you might be made to endure next.

But all you feel is the sudden, damp swipe of his tongue across your cheek and you blearily crack your eyes open to glance at him. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying, though you know not how when your face was so hot and wet with tears. It was glaringly obvious now, and you shamefully try to turn your head from him but he holds fast even as his tongue flicks out to once again lap at the salty tracks coating your skin.

This was the only thing that ever seemed to pierce through his mask of carefully held stoicism and you still didn’t understand it any more than you did at the start of all this. But the change that comes over him is undeniable, from the mere act of licking up the tears from your face in such an ungentlemanly manner to the way he covetously seems to curl himself around you, like a snake winding around its captured prey. Or … perhaps a dragon of long forgotten myth claiming it’s pilfered treasure would be more accurate.

You’re not sure why such a strange notion should come to you but it’s an intrusive thought you haven’t been able to shake for weeks now, and you mewl softly when Neuvillette turns your face so he can get at the other cheek now. It was almost as humiliatingly dehumanizing as having his fingers still stuffed inside your cunt as if to stopper some great leak.

That analogy was perhaps not as inaccurate as you’d prefer it to be but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“Monsieur please,” You beg, vainly squirming in his too tight grasp. “I didn’t mean to do it, I - I swear I did not.”

Rumbling a faint sound that is eerily reminiscent of a growl, Neuvillette takes one last lick at your tear stained skin before straightening up to look at you again.

“You may not have intentionally disobeyed me, little one, but that does not change the fact that you did. Your behavior must be corrected or I would be remiss for not enforcing the rules I’ve set for you.” Pausing, he issues a quiet breath through his nose as he intently studies your face. The unexpectedly hungry glint in those lilac irises, obvious even when his dark lashes were drooping down in attractive half mast, inspires a hopeful throb low in your gut.

Surely he wasn’t going to … he wouldn’t actually —

“Such a lovely flower you are, even now when you’ve displeased me so. There is no need for you to tremble though, mon petite. Your punishment will not be a physical one. Mmmm … and I do believe I have something in mind that should sufficiently correct this insatiable appetite you harbor but it will take me a few days to make the necessary arrangements. Have you ever heard of the term chastity before, sweet girl?”

Your brows draw inward to knit while you ponder through that question. “Do you mean … my virginity, monsieur?”

“Not quite.” Chuckling, Neuvillette shifts slightly underneath you with an accompanying soft creak from the chair. “No matter. All will be explained to you in due course, when the time comes. But for right now I must think of some other way to mete out your penalty for this transgression. I’m very disappointed in you, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” You murmur as you abashedly drop his gaze, too sheepish and embarrassed to meet his eye any longer.

A quiet beat passes over the still office before he offers up a brief hum as if to signal his conclusion has been reached. “Let’s start with having you kneel for me. On the floor, carefully now. Do not fall.”

Gathering all of your shuddering strength, you hesitantly manage to pry yourself away from where you were all but plastered to the front of him but he assists you every step of the way with a steady hand. Lifting your cunt up off his fingers is the most difficult part and you grimace slightly at the sticky wet slurp that results when you do, leaving behind a deep ache that begs to be filled with something much more substantial.

You know that’s not going to happen any time soon though as you shimmy down off the chair and gratefully sink onto your knees between the spread of his feet. Keeping your hands loosely braced on the Iudex’s legs, you obediently look up to him for your next command.

All you wanted was to be good for him and you think he must recognize that on some level because he fixes you with another kind, indulgent smile that makes your heart skip a beat. But then he offers out his hand to you, the one you’d been sitting on for the last some odd minutes, and a gasp promptly rattles in your chest when you look to find the dark leather coated in a sticky film of arousal. There was something of a thicker consistency clinging to his fingers as well, white and creamy, which you innately recognize as being the end result of your unearned orgasm.

Deeply ashamed to have the evidence of your failure shown to you, your gaze nervously travels back up towards his face again. ”Monsieur?”

“Do not look so sad, little one. It is your mess so it’s only right to make you clean it up, no?” Tipping his head to one side, Neuvillette coaxingly nudges his soiled fingers towards you. “Go on. Lick them clean for me and taste yourself on my glove, pet.”

Jittery uncertainty grabs you in a chokehold as you snap your attention back to his hand. You weren’t quite sure about this when the very notion of doing such a thing was so foreign to you. Of course you’d heard whispers of people talking about putting their mouths on their lover or vice versa, but you hadn’t thought you’d ever be presented with an opportunity to find out what your own arousal tastes like. You'd certainly never thought to do it yourself.

Even more disconcerting though is the hard note of command in monsieur Neuvillette’s voice when he’d issued the order. You were unaccustomed to him speaking to you like that but, you try to reason, this was supposed to be a punishment. And you certainly didn’t want to displease him any further than you already had …

So you timidly lean forward, bending your head over his lap in a way that makes you feel hot and bothered again, your pussy distantly clenching around nothing. Your mouth opens just enough to allow your tongue to slip out and you take a shy little kitten lick at the tip of his longest middle digit. The faintly salty, bitter taste of your own cunt instantly swarms your tastebuds, unfamiliar to you yet not entirely disagreeable. It’s a unique flavor, particularly when paired with the leather of his glove, and you issue a quiet, faltering mewl as you somewhat reluctantly close your lips around his finger down to the first joint. “That’s it, little love.” He breathes out from somewhere seemingly far above you, an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice now. “Make sure you get them nice and clean for me. In just a few days time I’m going to take away your freedom to even think about touching yourself so savor it while you still can. I will have you under control soon enough, sweet girl. That I can promise you.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #self insert bullshit

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cybiirz · 1 year ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ DOCUMENTS

Wriothesley x Gn!Reader

Sypnosis : Seems like a certain Warden had tired himself out. Being the kind person you were, you chose to help, but you forgot how deceiving an inmate can be. He was no different…But at least he pays?

WC : 829

“Wriothesleyyy! I brought you something from Sigewinne. She says it’s for like, helping you stay awake or whatever,” You groaned out as you treaded up the stairs. Currently, you were holding a large box of medicine that you were supposed to be delivering to other inmates.

That was your punishment for getting involved in a little experiment that was supposedly forbidden in the fortress…Either way, it was tiring and you just wanted it to be done with.

Your footsteps echoed against the walls as you stomped onto the metal stairwell. Finally, you reached the top, and with a lack of breath might you add. Who the hell needed so much medicine anyway? Nevertheless, you kept your head low as you observed the different bottles inside.

“There’s a lot here, let me just find yours and…got it. Huh, this thing has way too many side effects! How the hell do you even—” You lifted up your head to look at Wriothesley, only to find him practically passed out on his desk. You paused and cocked your head to the side.

Suddenly, you had an idea and with a smile and a slight skip in your step, you closed in on the desk. Outstretching your arms, you held the box over the table before dropping the heavy equipment, creating a loud slam against the wood.

No reaction.

“Huh? So he’s really knocked out then,” You murmured quietly to yourself. You opted to walk around the table and slowly approached his unconscious form. You began poking his head, and to no surprise, no reaction.

“Jeez. You overwork yourself too much you idiot,” You whispered next to him. Glancing at all of his papers, it took less than a second to see how messed up everything was. You sighed deeply and decided to help out this son of a gun.

It had been about an hour or so, with you going over the different documents and having to dig deep into his shelves to pair up each page to its designated folder. Covering your mouth, you let out a loud yawn before looking back over at the warden. Still fast asleep.

A small chuckle left your lips as you walked back over to him. Resting yourself against the table, you lifted your left hand and gently stroked his head.

“Well I organised each and every document for you. And since I went over each word written, I've seen you’re doing a good job for this prison. Even for inmates like me, you treat us well…But you are definitely paying me back one way or another once you’re awake,” After partially scolding him but mainly complimenting him, you began to get lost in a daze as you stared softly at the man in front of you.

Once you finished speaking, his head turned slightly, eyes opening with a small smirk splayed on his lips. You swiftly retracted your hand and looked away, trying to avoid his stare.

“Thanks for that (name). I appreciate you doing that but, you know I could’ve done all of it that whole time. I wasn’t actually asleep you know?,” He replied, his voice slightly condescending.

“Yeah well I expect payment back and—” Your arms crossed over your chest before you paused. What did he just say? “Hang on, you were pretending?! You little liar! You’re so lazy that you had to fake sleeping to get someone else to do your work for you?! Now I better get that payment before I rip your—”

You were quickly cut off as a pair of lips landed directly onto yours. Your eyes instantly widened in shock as Wriothesley lifted his hand and cupped your face. Slowly but surely, you melted into the kiss and held your arm up before resting your hand onto his shoulder.

After parting, the light sounds of heavy breathing could be heard from you. You tried to look everywhere apart from him, but he moved his hand to grip your chin, causing you to face him.

“That was, unnecessary warden,” You mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“That was your payment,” He responded smugly. Looking at him with your blood rushing to your cheeks, you noticed the slight crease in the corners of his eyes. He was smiling at you, and not one of mockery or a fake smile, it was genuine.

“Well then…I have to get going and deliver these to the other inmates. Thank you for paying me back,” You cleared your throat before moving away from him and picking up the box. You left his medicine on the table as you made sure to secure the lid of the box. He crossed his arms over his torso as you began to descend down the stairs.

“(Name). Come back again and I'll be sure to repay you for whatever documents you organise for me,” Wriothesley’s voice had a somewhat teasing lilt to it, but it was evident he was serious. You rolled your eyes and simply scoffed at him before taking your leave.

But who were you to deny such a special treat?

A/N : Love me a little overworked man. But anyway, it’s finally my half term so i’ll hopefully be posting small drabbles that appear my head. Series work is becoming boring so oneshots and drabbles will probs be my thing. I might finish off the Gepard series but we’ll see. Also i’m thinking of doing a revamp to this blog buttt idk. Anyways, hope you enjoyed, feel free to leave requests!

#genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagines #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley fluff #i love wriothesley

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existentialgaybirdnerd · 5 months ago

Text

Medical Attention

Note: this is 2009 Ghoap inspired by a conversation with @spottlessspectre. I think it’s fitting I listened to El Tango De Roxanne during the angsty bits :3

It was supposed to be easy. The mission was meant to be easy.

Captain Mactavish and Lieutenant Riley were meant to get in, get information, maybe plant a bomb or two, and get out.

They got in perfectly fine but found that their intel on the base they were infiltrating may be a slight bit wrong when presented with the tens of guards and plenty of weapons that the base had. Something they severely underestimated.

They made a mistake going in there.

They were in a snowy climate, dressed as heavily as possible yet still able to comfortably wear their tac vests and necessary equipment and be able to move around, thermals helping wonderfully with that.

Getting in was easy, getting to the main room of the warehouse and seeing approximately 50 more people than they were expecting nearly gave Captain Mactavish an aneurysm right then and there.

In the act of trying to leave and calling the mission a bust, the two got discovered and a shout was given before bullets were flying.

Riley and Mactavish tried to give themselves an opportunity to retreat, killing those behind and to the sides, making a break for it at every chance they can, hiding behind crates of unknown materials.

They’re almost at the door to the hallway out before it goes tits up.

Mactavish runs towards the door as Riley covers him, then takes shelter to cover Riley’s retreat.

They don’t notice the grenade thrown before it goes off.

It pushes Riley closer to the doorway, taking his breath but seemingly not touching him as he bounces up from where he was thrown and hightails it, grabbing Mactavish and pushing him in front of him.

The corridor is filled with footsteps cutting off their escape route, around a bend they need to pass to get out the door and to the RV site.

With a quick breath and a whispered “in here” Mactavish drags a heaving Riley into a small supply closet barely big enough to fit them.

Hushing Riley and purposefully calming his own heavy breaths, Mactavish listens as those that were chasing them and those that had been coming towards them meet in the middle and debate where he and his lieutenant went. One suggests their supply closet only to be berated by at least five others who tell him it’s stupid to go into a supply closet barely fit to handle the brooms and mops they had shoved in there.

To his relief, none of them choose to check the closet and instead split off to check the warehouse top to bottom, debating who goes where long enough for his adrenaline to lower itself and his breath to calm remarkably.

Once those outside of the closet retreat to go check, Mactavish turns around to tell Riley they should leave only to be met with a pale, shaking, and still heavily breathing lieutenant.

“Mate, are you ok?” His concern rises when Riley meets his eyes and gasps “I’m sorry” only to collapse forward into his captain’s arms, shaking and gasping out repetitive “I didn’t realize”s.

”Riley? What’s wrong? Lieutenant?” His panic rises as he maneuvers them to sitting in the stuffed closet against the door, pulling the string for the light as he pulls Riley onto his lap.

“My back” is all that’s muttered between gasps as Riley lets himself collapse into his captain, trusting him to help.

Losing his words and getting Riley to bring his arms around his neck, Mactavish looks over Riley’s shoulder to what of his back he can see. He’s confronted with a slowly spreading red spot on Riley’s jacket and a rather large piece of wood from the blown up crates from earlier on his lower back, thankfully missing the spine.

“We have to take off your vest, I can’t see well past it. Your jacket too, there’s a rather large piece of wood. Can you do that for me? Help me take your vest and jacket off?”

His words are met with a couple of gasps of pain and a nod against his shoulder.

He gets Riley up, helping him position his hands on Mactavish’s shoulders for stability. Looking at him up close, Mactavish concludes that he’s far too pale, but not enough for significant blood loss yet.

Unclipping the tac vest and taking it off is the easy part, it doesn’t take much moving on Riley’s part. The jacket becomes a problem as soon as Mactavish unzips it and tries to get it off of his lieutenant’s shoulders.

Trying to be as helpful as possible, Riley tries to move his shoulders downwards to make it easier to relieve him of his jacket, only to be met with pain flooding through his already tired body from the movement.

With a whimper of pain, Riley collapses against Mactavish’s shoulder and nearly blacks out, tiny whimpers joining the now heavy gasps as his captain cradles his head and shushes him, apologizing for the pain.

After Riley catches his breath and stops making such painful noises, Mactavish tells him not to move and just let him do it. Getting the jacket off his shoulders is hard to do without him moving, but they get through it without tweaking the injury again until it comes to getting the jacket off from around the shrapnel.

Mactavish grabs the small but packed first aid kit Riley stores in his vest and grabs scissors, apologizing for ruining the jacket before he cuts around the shrapnel.

Once the jacket is away from Riley, Mactavish gets him to put his arms around his neck again by pulling them up towards where they were earlier. Riley goes with no complaint or comment, to the concern of Mactavish who also notes his shakes turning into shivers of cold quickly due to the lack of his jacket.

“I’m going to feel it, see if it’s safe to pull out so we can patch it up, yeah?”

It’s a simple whisper and said right next to Riley’s ear. It causes him to bury his head between his own arm and Mactavish’s neck, nodding.

Prodding the wound and seeing what he can of it from his position while cursing the size of the closet, he determines it to be safe to pull. Relief pulses through Mactavish at this because a wound like this would have been hell to try to get Riley out with. And he would be getting him out no matter what.

Mactavish tells Riley what he’s doing as he prepares to pull the wood and prepares gauze to pack the wound until they can get out far enough for what stitches may be necessary.

Giving his last warning, Mactavish pulls the wood as quickly but softly as he can, making sure it doesn’t tug too painfully. Easy enough with the blood soaking it to his chagrin.

As he pulls, Riley buries gasps and whimpers of pain into his neck, instinctively pushing his body closer to Mactavish’s to try to escape the pain, only to find nowhere to go.

Once the shrapnel is cleared, Mactavish takes what smaller pieces out that he can see from his position with sterilized tweezers, ignoring the tears sliding down his neck and tickling his chest and back as they pool under his shirt from Riley’s position buried deep to keep himself quiet.

He shushes him every once in a while with assurances that it’ll be ok.

After getting what he could see, Mactavish packs the wound, cleaning up what blood he can see around the wound and packing more gauze above the skin to keep a thick layer between the wound and the air, Mactavish grabs bandages. He has Riley put his hands on his shoulders again and starts wrapping them around Riley’s torso to keep the gauze in place, ignoring how badly he’s shaking and the redness of his eyes beyond the mask.

Once he’s done with that, Mactavish packs up and lets Riley pull himself together, helping him put his torn jacket and tac vest back on. Mactavish pulls a stim out of his own vest and holds it up for Riley to see. At a nod from the now composed man, he injects it into his right thigh and drags them both into a standing position to wait for it to kick in fully.

Hearing nothing right outside the door and determining it to be safe to move, Riley back to his old self with his gun in his hands, ready to go as the stim hits him, Mactavish gestures for them to leave, turning off the closet light right before they exit it.

To their relief, they make it to the RV point with no more sightings of those from the warehouse and get a medic to take a look at Riley. The medic chooses to pack the wound again and fix it properly at the hospital back on base.

They get their information two weeks later when they take more people in and demolish the forces within the warehouse, taking the information freely then blowing up the place to cover their tracks.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty ghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #soapghost #call of duty #09 ghost #09 soapghost #captain mactavish #09 soap #injury #ghost angst #whump #snippet #birdnerd ideas

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wizzdot · 4 months ago

Text

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch20

Description: action heavy chapter - mainly from the guys’ POV - laika is held by Graves… next chapter is gonna be JUICY!!!!

*Ghost's POV*

Johnny had fallen asleep briefly on our drive over. He wakes up when I pull the car up to a halt. It's early morning, the rain has finally stopped..

"Where are we?" Johnny asks - "Alejandro's safe house. Gave me the location just in case" I reply - "Why didn't he tell me?" - "It was need to know" - "What if I needed to know..?"

I roll my eyes - "Shhh, Johnny.." stepping out of the car..

As we approach the building, I sharply come to a halt, stopping Johnny in his tracks too. "Booby trap... Stop Johnny.."

"It's a pressure plate LT.." - "Alejandro rigged it" - "Smart bastard.."

I look up at the building and spot a window that will get us inside. "There, Johnny - look" I nod my head in the direction of the window. Johnny jumps through first and I climb through just behind him. I see a red laser point from the darkness - pointing right at Johnny.. "Don't move".

I remove my knife and throw it towards the shadows, roughly where I think the laser is pointing from. I hear it hit wood - missed.. FUCK. Johnny raises his rifle and takes aim at the dark shadow..

¿Quien esta ahi? a voice calls out. Fucked if I know what that means.. "Rodolfo!!!" Johnny shouts. "Soap, Ghost.. You're alive!!

"Affirmative" I reply

Rudy pulls my knife from the wooden beam and walks towards us. "Good to see you, amigos" - "Igual, amigo" Johnny replies in dodgy Spanish. My knife is handed back to me, I nod in thanks.

"Nice throw. Where were you guys?" Rudy asks in his accented voice. He is brave for an Omega..

"On the run" I reply.

"I was on the run. Ghost waited for me" Johnny cuts in.

"Of course, no?" Rudy asks as if it should be obvious - it was obvious...

"No" Johnny says at the same time I say "Yes-"

Johnny looks at me, surprised.

"We're pack... This happened on my watch and I'll need help to fix it. No one fights alone. We need to find the others.." I say, trying not to worry too much about Laika or Alejandro. I should never have ordered to stay in the room. The Shadows knew exactly where she would have been. I hope she is safe - otherwise it's my fault.. my mistake..

Johnny nods.

"Why did Graves turn?" Rudy asks

"We don't know" - "Las Almas can corrupt anyone" - "Not us"

"For now, General Shepherd, Laswell, and anyone else outside this room is considered a hostile. With one exception"

"Alejandro...?" - "We need him back"

Rudy nods in agreement and turns to a map on a table. "Graves is holding Alejo here - my team are there too"

"And Laika..?" Johnny asks. "Most likely - I couldn't find her when they started detaining us though.. she had already gone"..

My stomach drops and a growl escapes my throat. "What do you mean, 'GONE'?!" I bark. I feel a little guilty when Rudy steps back. It slipped my mind that he is an Omega.. I need to keep my cool..

"That doesn't matter right now, LT - How do we get 'em all back, Rudy?" Johnny steps in, somehow staying calmer than me - he was usually the hotheaded one...

"By breaking in" I grumble, head screwed back on.

"And that's why I love the Ghost" Johnny teases.

Rodolfo walks over to a huge door and slides it open, revealing an armory full of weapons and gear.

"It's well-stocked" Rudy explains, nodding to the vast array of weapons and equipment..

Johnny laughs, amazed by the selection. He always gets excited by this sort of thing.. like a kid at a sweetie shop.."My man- We're gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armored" he says to Rudy.

At that, Rudy tosses me a set of keys and turns on the lights to the building. We had been standing in the darkness this whole time. As the lights flash on, it reveals an armored vehicle. That'll do!

"Alejandro thought of everything" I say, respecting the Alpha's preparation.

"Yeah, he did. Let's go get them"..

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

"Sweetheart?" I wish he would just leave me alone..

"C'mon sweetcheeks, I'm gettin' bored of this now.. we have almost arrived - tell me..? You wanna share a cell with your buddy Alejandro..? Or do you wanna stay with me.. I'll keep you safe, you can be my little attack dog, huh - so good at following orders..?

I stay silent. "Maybe we should call the Russians, ask them how to re-wire you a little bit.. what buttons to press.."

I gulp. He chuckles at my reaction.

"Alejandro doesn't like me.. thinks I'm a rat.." I whimper, trying to manipulate Graves, by telling him little truths, sprinkled by a little white lie here and there..

"Does he now, Princess..? S'that why he made you leave the meeting on the roof..? Stupid sonovabitch played right into my hands there!" he chuckles "Oz led you back like a lamb to slaughter.. pity you'd already pissed off when we came back for you.. smart, by the way - probably wouldn't have caught you if you didn't have such an obsession with helping civvies.. your file says you've always been disobedient in that way.." he laughs. “Look at the bigger picture, princess - acceptable losses are - necessary.."

Bastard. Fucking Bastard!!!!

"Yes, commander.. it's a vice I'm unable to shake" - "Well, if you're gonna be useful to us, you better start fuckin' shaking it, asset"

WHAT?!

Graves turns his attention to the soldier driving the car. "Fuck this, Shadow - take us back to HQ, buddy. I don't want her at the prison with the others. She stays with us.. Understood?"

"Yup yup"- the car makes a sharp turn and speeds in a different direction. "Your buddies will not be able to find you, you're on a one way trip to America, sweetcheeks.. you look good in Shadow gear, I could get used to it"

Creep. Fucking slimy, pervy fucking creep!

*Ghost's POV*

We pull up outside the old prison facility. Rudy grabs a huge rucksake, filled with guns and weapons for his men once we'd freed them.

Rudy speaks up once he has hauled the rucksack onto his back "Graves'll have this place locked down".

"Let's hope they're alive" Johnny says with a hint of anxiety..

"Count on it, amigo"

Johnny starts asking Rudy questions - he does this when he is nervous, I have noticed. A distraction, or coping mechanism..

"Rudy, how long've ya known Alejandro?" he asks

"20 years. Signed up together. Toughest dude in the regiment. Turns out we weren't just friends, he claimed me five years ago now"..

"I wouldn't wanna mess with him..." Johnny says, seriously.

Rudy laughs "We used to say 'el unico que puede matar a Alejandro es Alejandro...'"

I furrow my brow, not understanding "What's it mean?" I grunt.

"The only thing that can kill Alejandro is Alejandro..."

"Glad he's on our side, then, amigo" Johnny replies.

"Two snipers, first tower. Soap- you take one, I'll get the other" I bark orders. The Shadows are shot down quietly.

The sound of a helicopter roars from above. "Looks like a supply drop!" Rudy shouts over the noise..

We move quickly through the facility, using CCTV to guide us. The place is crawling with Shadow soldiers, we deal with them quickly and quietly.

I go off on my own with guidance from Johnny and Rudy. I plant a few bombs and settle behind a barrel for temporary cover. I speak over the comms "We're all set here, Johnny. Have we located Alejandro?"

Rudy's voice cuts through the radio "Perfect timing. I found him on CCTV".

"Where?" Johnny asks, studying the screen in front of him.

"He's in solitary. Two Shadows on the door" Rudy points.

"I see 'em. Ghost, we got him. He's alone, no sign of Laika. Two Shadows on guard"

"Vamos!" Rudy shouts - I know that word. Lets fuckin' Vamos then!!

"Ghost, what's your status?" Johnny asks

I stand from my hiding spot and make a move to start towards them "Comin' your way".

The sound of another helo comes from above. They must be onto us by now..

"It's locked!" Johnny shouts - having reached the cell block door.

"We'll need to breach it" Rudy replies

"No, Rudy- Knock.." I suggest, finally having caught up with them.

"On me..." Rudy says, as he stands and bangs the door in the same way a returning guard would. Stupid fuckin' Shadow opens it immediately That was too easy..

We ambush the guard as soon as the door cracks open. Bullets rain from above, balconies lining the upper floor of the cell block.

"Light 'em up-!" I bark

We make it through all of the Shadow's for now.

"There's Alejandro's cell... Open it up, I'll cover you" Rudy shouts.

I remove the bolt cutters from my belt and cut open the lock.

Johnny enters the cell immediately. Suddenly, Alejandro grabs Soap from behind and shoves him against the wall, ready to punch him. Rodolfo steps in and stops Alejandro.

"Al- It's me, hermano" - Johnny says, shocked by the sudden attack.

"Alpha! Calm, tranquilo - it's us.. we came for you" Rudy speaks softly

Alejandro calms down, happy to see his Omega, they have a fast hug and Alejandro grumbles happily before speaking..

Soap!! Rudy, Ghost...!" he sounds surprised..

"Didn't think we'd leave you, did you...?" Johnny jokes, shaking hands with a grateful Alejandro.

"What the fuck took you so long, pendejos?" he jokes back..

I roll my eyes at his joke before replying "place is crawling with Shadows. There'll be hell ahead. Let's get Laika and then make a move. Rudy, go get your Cowboys.. Alejandro - where is she?"

Alejandro looks confused, then. I feel anger rising to the surface.. "Alejandro..? Where are they keeping her..?" trying to keep a lid on my anger..

"Amigo, I don't think she is here.. And I don't think she is on our side. Be careful who you trust.."

I growl, "What the fuck do you mean by that" I bark at him, grabbing the neckline of his jacket and shoving him backwards.

"She has been here before. I recognised her as soon as she arrived. Almost killed me a few months back - missed her shot. She's a sniper, amigo. A spy.. A rat..?" he explains.

Johnny looks utterly betrayed.

"Alejan.." - "NOT NOW RUDY! I KNOW WHAT I SAW" he shouts at his Omega.

I take a step back, lifting my lips angrily, like a growling dog. FUCK!

"We find her - I don't care. Find her first, ask questions after. That's a fuckin' order. We came for you Alejandro, now you fuckin' help us find her" I bark.

Alejandro shrugs "Fine, if that's your call. I wouldn't be shocked if she isn't in league with the Shadows, amigo. They've proven that they are not to be trusted.. but I will help you find her if that's what you want.."

I nod, mulling his words over in my head "It is what I want.."

"Let's go then - we've wasted enough time" Alejandro shouts.

Rodolfo hands Alejandro a BAS-P submachine gun.

"Let's fight fire with fire" Alejandro laughs as he storms towards the cells his men are being held in.

We make good progress in freeing the soldiers,

Johnny speaks up and asks Alejandro "You seen Graves here?"

"No, but I plan to pay that cabron a special visit" he replies - "Aye, Me too...he might have our girl.." - "Don't get too attached, amigo - she cannot be trusted..."

We move outside into the open yard of the facility. There are several Shadow soldiers ahead. FUCK -

"Riot shields-!" Alejandro shouts in warning.

"Soap, throw whatever you got at them!" I shout, knowing that Johnny loves his flashbangs and grenades.

After a series of bangs and crashes, Johnny laughs "Think we're clear, LT."

The freed Vaqueros rally around Alejandro and Rudy, collecting weapons and readying themselves to help us fight our way out of here.

The front courtyard is saturated with Shadows. We are massively outnumbered, even with the addition of the cowboys..

Alejandro speaks to his men "Weapons hot, hermanos. Stairwell leads down and out... We'll link up with the other and exfil the fuck out of here"

"Exfil vehicles are set. Ghost planted charges to help us get out" Rudy explains.

"With Johnny's help.." I add, I didn't plant all the bombs on my own, after all..

Alejandro laughs "I can't call Soap "Johnny"..."

"Don't" Johnny smiles "Only pack can pull that off".. I nod and give him a quick pat on the head before moving off.

"We'll have to cross the yard to get everyone out" Rudy shouts.

We reach the doors leading out into the prison exterior, but come under fire from the Shadows.

"Sniper on the roof"

"Sniper down" Johnny shouts.

"Good shot, hermano!"

Soap, and Alejandro lead Los Vaqueros down the road, but a pickup truck arrives and offloads more Shadows.

"Johnny- That truck's got one of our charges on it. Detonate it" I bellow

" With pleasure, LT - Here it comes"

BANG

"Ka-freakin-boom, baby-!" I roll my eyes at Johnny's happiness. He always has loved explosives..

Shadows start to organise their position. They're surrounding us!

FUCK

We keep trying to get closer to the exfil point but the Shadows have us held. The sound of an approaching helicopter catches my attention. If that is more Shadows, we are fucked..

"You hear that?" Johnny asks

"Helicopter-- Searching for us! - Take cover, amigos!" Alejandro shouts.

The enemy helo opens fire on the first group of Los Vaqueros. We stand no fuckin' chance now!!

Our comms growl to life simultaneously.

"All stations, this is Bravo-6- Get down!" - I could cry - but I won't - It's Price.

I glance up to the perimeter wall and see Price fire a rocket at the helicopter. It hits and plummets to the ground with a huge explosion.

"Hell fucking yeah!" Johnny shouts, elated.

"All Bravo and Vaqueros... Top o' the wall. Get here and I'll get you out. How copy?" I hear through my earpiece.

"Loud and clear, Alpha. Comin' to ya...!" I reply

"Who is he?!" Rudy asks, anxiously

"Our Alpha..." Johnny replies - Rudy raises an eyebrow. "You're a pack of all Alphas.. unusual, no?"

"We make it work.." Johnny answers.

"I like him already" Alejandro laughs.

We all hurry to the wall where Price lowers ropes for us to climb.

*Johnny's POV*

As I reach the top of the wall, two arms reach to help me. "Gaz" I laugh, climbing into his arms, hugging him and stuffing my nose into his neck.

He laughs along with me, re-scenting me as well.. "Well, what happened to your arm, Soap..?" he teases "Fuckin' Graves is what happened".

Gaz steps to the edge of the wall and scans all of the soldiers climbing up. He turns sharply, the smile wiped from his face.

"Where is she, Johnny...?." He growls.. I pause - not able to think of how to tell them.. that we didn't exactly know, and that Alejandro has reason to believe she is a traitor. I can't bring myself to believe it though. Not Laika, not our girl..

"Sergeant MacTavish..." Price warns from behind me. "Kyle asked you a question.. where is she..?" he warns..

"I - We don't know exactly.. we thought she'd have been brought here when HQ was taken.. but we haven't found her.."

"We need to find her. Laswell thinks she is in danger... Soon as Shepherd and Graves went dark, she called us" John explains as we load up into the exfil vehicle.

"Laswell, still solid as a rock - we weren't sure who to trust.." Simon grumbles "You trust pack, Simon.." John growls back, angrily.

Alejandro appears at the top of the wall then, he quickly makes his way towards us.

"Colonel Vargas, meet Captain Price and Sergeant Garrick" I introduce - "Thanks for the assist" the Alphas shake hands - "You need to help us find our girl" John growls.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, hermanos" Alejandro orders his men

"Down the wall... WE ARE LEAVING!" Price barks, too.

We start getting in the vehicles - "Captain, follow me" Alejandro speaks, jumping into the drivers seat of the first jeep.

"Copy. Gaz, drive!"

Gaz starts up the vehicle and drives away from the prison.

"Shepherd burned us" Ghost says as we follow Alejandro's vehicle.

"He sent Graves and his Shadows to kill us and round up Los Vaqueros" I explain

Price growls and nods his head.. "We know why"

I raise my eyebrows, surprised.. "Why..?" I ask.

Gaz answers from the drivers seat. "Laswell did a bit of digging..."

"What did she find?" Simon grunts

"The truth...The truth about the missiles. And - the truth about Laika.. we need to find her.." he growls, absolutely livid.

Alejandro leads us back to his safehouse.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Graves has been pacing up and down in front of me for the past hour. I'd been cuffed and my head covered with a sack. He has been on a video call with General Shepherd. The computer starts making a ringing noise and a familiar voice joins the conversation. Before Shepherd answers, he tells Graves to stay silent so he doesn't pick up that he is on the call. Graves walks over to me and roughly puts his hand over my mouth so I can't make a noise.

"You hid this- Why...?" a rough growl comes through, angrily - "We all keep secrets, Captain Price.. some more than others.." he laughs. I whimper from within the darkness of the sack. Graves shakes me roughly to shut me up.

"Why the hell wasn't I informed?" - "Consider yourself well-informed now, John"

John laughs in a terrifying tone "Oh, that's really fuckin' helpful, General. Thank you. But, you're a day late and a missile short. There's three of them- we only found two. And, you've taken something of ours. I want her back.."

"Then, point yourself in that direction and fix it" The General snaps back.

"And who fixes you, eh?" John says, threateningly. "I don't need fixing. I'm a patriot protecting my country".

I hear the scuff of a chair sliding sharply. Price must have stood up in anger.

"You're protecting your own ass" he growls. I'd never heard him so angry. He was radiating pack Alpha energy.

"I do what needs to be done, Captain, and no one holds me down with a roll of red tape. I know what's best for the cause"

"You've lost your fuckin' mind, General"

"And you've forgotten what you're fighting for, John. To do good, you gotta do some bad. When we shit, we bury it, that's how it works"..

"Yeah... But we don't bury each other with it, do we? Where is she..?" he growls again.

"You need to turn off that side o' your head and face down the real enemy" - "she ain't our enemy.." John interrupts.

"You need to call off your Shadow, NOW"

"You mean Graves...?" - "Yes!" - Shepherd laughs "Now, Captain.. He's a dog with a bone, and I highly recommend you don't try and take it"..

"This is your last chance to change your mind" John warns..

"Then what?" Shepherd taunts..

"Then after I kill him... I'm coming for you" the laptop slams shut.

*Captain Price's POV*

I slam the laptop, shutting off the uplink. I nod to the other four soldiers in the room. "Graves has her" I growl, angrily.

"Hey- Vaqueros, pay attention" Alejandro shouts into the large safe house.

All of Los Vaqueros gather around Alejandro us at the table.

"Alright, listen - We are taking back your HQ. We are getting our girl. We are killing Commander Graves" I order.

"When?" Rudy speaks up

"Now" Ghost grunts

"We are not 141 and Los Vaqueros on this. We're a team...understood..?" I growl

Ghost empties a bag full of skull masks onto the table.

"...Ghost Team" I nod, clenching my fists. The Alpha in me was desperate to get loose and rampage the HQ with little regard. But as Captain, I needed to keep my head.. No being a hero. Get in, get our girl, kill Graves, get out.

Ghost removes his mask in front of everyone. I nod and smile at Ghost.

"Good to see you again, Simon" I laugh, he rarely took it off in public. I hadn't seen his face since we had taken Laika, come to think of it..

I remove my boonie hat in solidarity and notice that Kyle takes off his 'lucky cap' too.

"If you're in, take a mask... If you're not... Don't" I order.

Everyone around the table takes a skull mask.

"My troops know the Fuerzas Especiales facility better than the Shadows. So, we'll have the advantage - Be advised, they'll be on high alert because of the prison break. We'll infiltrate the base with two Ghost Teams....Team-1 is Captain Price, Gaz, me, and one pilot.. Team-2 is Ghost, Soap, Rudy, and Los Vaqueros.. Team-1 will use the tunnels to get to the tarmac and commandeer a helo. My pilot will take the Captain up. Team-2 will stand by outside until Price fires on the entry gate and lets them in to fight their way to Graves, and the girl... I suspect he'll be in my HQ defended by his best shooters" Alejandro describes. I nod along in agreement. This has to work...

"we will see how this plan goes and once the place is clear, Gaz and I will locate and secure Valeria... The rest of you will look for the girl and Graves... and Kill him.." he growls.

"Lets fuckin' go" Johnny shouts, marching towards the vehicles.

Lets go get our girl..

#abo dynamics #john mctavish x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle garrick x reader #omega reader #poly 141 #simon riley x reader #task force x reader #kyle gaz garrick

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

Text

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

pairing: dieter bravo x ghost hunter!female reader word count: 4.9k rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

The producers of your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, have picked your next celebrity guest. Dieter Bravo. You’re not looking forward to being locked in a reportedly haunted mansion with one of Hollywood’s biggest divas.

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

the first of my october spooky specials is here! ghost image in title art is from TO LIFE, TO DEATH by Jean-Marie GITARD. if you enjoy this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment and thank you for reading!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), drug use - weed, smoking, dub con - sex following drug use, vaginal fingering, handjob, dry humping, getting locked in a haunted house together, misunderstandings. let me know if any tags are missing!

It’s not often you get called into an actual meeting with your producers. You’re on the road a lot filming for your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, so they usually spare you from attendance and send you an itemized e-mail recap.

Not today, though. Today, all five producers were CC’d on the e-mail that requested a meeting to go over your next episode, which is set to start filming in two days. You tap your fingers against the shiny wood conference table, staring out at the Los Angeles cityscape through the panoramic windows as you wait for the suits to join you.

They all arrive at once, three men filing through the doorway with veneered smiles and abnormally smooth foreheads. They shake your hand one by one before taking their seats.

It’s Alec, a paunchy man with grey hair and round glasses, that speaks first, starting with a mumble of your name followed with, “I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got a celebrity guest for the McCallister mansion episode that you’ll need to work into your production this week.”

“This is pretty late notice,” you reply, mind already running through what you’ll need to do to adjust for the format of a guest special. “Who is it?”

The three men exchange wary glances and you sit up straighter, bracing yourself for the response.

“Dieter Bravo,” Alec finally says, smoothing his tie with his hand.

“You’re shitting me.” If there’s one person you can’t stand, it’s Dieter fucking Bravo. “Is this how I find out Ashton is filming Punk’d again?”

The joke doesn’t land. Alec clears his throat before saying, “This isn’t a joke. And it’s an excellent opportunity to—”

“To what? Pander my show to a diva who’s just going to make my job difficult?”

“He has a very strong fan base that could bring in a large number of new viewers. Your show is popular, but only to a limited demographic,” Alec says. “We’re doing this for you. Spirit Seekers has a lot of potential but if you’re going to remain at the top and have a chance for another Emmy nomination, maybe even an award, you need to be willing to work with the guests that will bring in views.”

You sigh heavily. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know. But I always am.” He slides a folder across the table to you. “Here are his requirements.”

“Requirements? He does know this isn’t a blockbuster production set, right?”

“This is the modified list,” the man to Alec’s right, Stephen, says. “Trust me, this is significantly better than it once was.”

You open the folder, scanning the document. “Alkaline water, glass bottle. Absolutely no plastic,” you read. “Organic, non-GMO, dye free, gluten free crackers. Did he just pick every Whole Foods buzzword and stick them together?”

“We will make this as easy for you as we can. We just need you to focus on the episode. Okay?”

“Fine,” you mumble, shutting the folder. “He breaks any of my equipment, I’m billing you.”

“Deal.”

Two days later you’re sitting in your makeshift command center with your crew mates, Andrew and Mike, making sure that all the monitors are displaying the feeds from the static cameras set up inside the mansion. You’ve already filmed solo interview segments with the owner, an elderly man who inherited the house over thirty years ago but left it untouched because of what he believes is a ghostly presence.

The sun is low behind the gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian home, orange sky haloing the steep roofed mansion. The historic building sits on six acres of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence that the owner, Paul, had to unlock for you to set up for the night filming session you would be doing this evening. He stands behind you now with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you connect your equipment.

“So you’ll be in there all night?” He asks, voice wary.

“Most of it. We’ll get three hours of footage with Andrew following us through the house and then a few more hours of single camera action, coupled with the static night vision feeds that will roll all night. We’ll be inside until 3 a.m. and then work out here for a bit before packing up,” you reply. “Thank you so much for letting us come in and do an investigation.”

“I’ve got a bet going with a buddy of mine,” Paul says, puffing his chest out. “If you find something, he owes me a hundred bucks.”

You laugh. “I can’t guarantee anything. My goal isn’t to make a ghost where there isn’t one.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you, this place has always been weird.” He glances up at the house, his frame shivering despite the California warmth. “Doors always opening and shutting on their own, footsteps, voices. Whole nine yards. S’why I never moved in.”

You knew all of this, of course. You’d done a walk through of the property with one of your camera guys, letting Paul tell you his first hand experiences in the old house. You’re about to reply when the sound of a car barreling up the gravel driveway pulls your attention away from the conversation.

A black Escalade approaches, coming to a stop in a cloud of dirt that makes you cough. Paul pats your back as the back door opens and designer boots drop onto the gravel.

Dieter Bravo stands with one hand gripping the door of the car while he uses his other hand to tilt his sunglasses down his nose to squint at you. He’s wearing black joggers and a faded gray t-shirt with a hole near the collar, his hair a fluffy mess of dark curls.

“Hey,” you say in greeting. You hold a hand out and give him your name, forcing a smile on your face. “Welcome to the command center.”

“Command center? This some kind of secret army operation or something?” He asks, shutting the door and walking past you, leaving you with your hand out stretched for an unreciprocated handshake.

“Michael keeps an eye on the static cameras in case one needs to be fixed,” you explain, gesturing to the man sat in front of the wall of screens with a headset on. “Now that you’re here only,” — you check your watch — “an hour late, we can get started. Andrew, could you get him mic’d?”

Andrew approaches with a wireless microphone and the actor steps back and holds his hands up. “Hold up, I gotta make sure you got everything.”

“Got everything?” You ask.

“Yeah. My snacks and water?” He looks around expectantly.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes, they got your snacks. They’re in the cooler. Can you please let Andrew get your mic on? We have to start the guest filming before the light is gone.”

Andrew approaches Dieter again, who lets him get close enough to hook the mic to the waist of his pants. Dieter smirks as he says, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

You groan, grabbing your own mic. “Let’s get started.”

“The mansion itself was built in the late 1800s and has only been home to two families since it was finished. It’s been in Paul’s possession for thirty years,” you say, walking backwards towards the house as the camera man follows. Dieter stands off to the side of the wraparound porch, waiting for his cue. “And tonight, we’ve got the exclusive opportunity to explore this gorgeous home with a special guest. Tonight’s Spirit Seeker is none other than Emmy Award winning actor, Dieter Bravo!”

Dieter steps into frame and gives a smile to the camera, clapping his hands together. “Let’s catch some ghosts!”

“Now, Dieter, we’re not the Ghostbusters,” you say, your voice deadpan. Dieter raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” He asks. Your brows pinch together.

“Excuse me?”

“‘We’re not the Ghostbusters’? Really?” He waves his hands to the camera. “Come on, sweetheart, give it a little more energy.”

Your teeth are clenched so hard your jaw aches. “I had energy over an hour ago. You know, when you were supposed to get here?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can we just get inside?”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to enter in front of him. Having toured the mansion already, you signal to Andrew to focus the camera on your guest for his reaction.

Dieter looks around the foyer, grand staircase and marble floors the centerpieces of the large space. “It’s a damn shame they don’t make them like this anymore. Look at the carvings! This has gotta be all original, right?”

“Yep. They’ve only upgraded the internal stuff, like plumbing and electrical,” you confirm. “The owner, Paul, inherited the house after his grandfather passed thirty years ago. He used to spend his summers here when he was a child and vividly remembers experiencing some…unexplained events that have left an impression on him.” You approach a table that’s been set up with your usually line up of equipment. “Tonight, we’re going to see if we can find an explanation for the inexplicable.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Dieter laughs. “You’ve got the cutest serious face, though.”

He thinks I’m cute? Your treacherous brain says, your face heating in response to the compliment. You quickly look at your equipment.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go through the equipment.”

You start with the basics. A digital recorder for capturing electronic voice phenomenon, night vision cameras, and dowsing rods. Further down the table you have thermal cameras, electromagnetic field meters, REM pods, and spirit boxes. Dieter listens attentively, to your surprise, and even asks a thoughtful question about the spirit boxes.

“How about we divvy up the gear? I can take the recorder and thermal camera, you can take the EMF reader—“

“No can do,” he interrupts, holding his hands up. “I don’t fuck with EMF.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“That shit is toxic. It’ll warp your DNA.”

“Dieter,” you say incredulously, “The entire planet is comprised of EMF.”

“No, that’s the geomagnetic field,” he argues.

“It’s the same thing!” You take a deep breath. “You know what? I’ll take the EMF detector. You can have the thermal camera,” you compromise, shoving the camera into his hands. You hastily gather the rest of the devices.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

It’s the last hour of the main filming session where Andrew films you and Dieter using the equipment. So far, there haven’t been many notable experiences. You’ve captured a few creaking floorboards and the EMF meter has gone off a few times, but nothing that you can undoubtedly point to as proof of the paranormal, which is par for the course. What people don’t realize when watching your heavily edited show is that you cut out hours of silence and empty footage.

“Alright, Andrew, you’re welcome to head out. We’ll do a bit more upstairs,” you tell the camera man. “Thanks for you help.”

“‘Night, boss,” he replies with a little salute. Dieter watches him as he leaves.

“So, it’s just us now, huh?” He says, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “All alone in a haunted house…pretty hot.”

“Oh, please,” you say nervously, fiddling with your thermal camera, “We haven’t gotten any evidence that this place is haunted.”

“Maybe the ghosts are just shy,” he suggests.

You grab the REM pod and turn on the device, the LED lights flashing. “Let’s do a REM pod session. Here, hold the camera.”

Dieter holds the expensive equipment delicately, staring at the night vision screen to keep you in frame. “Not often I get put behind the camera,” he comments.

You spend the next twenty minutes asking a series of questions in the quiet room, your digital recorder running in your hand. Dieter remains focused on the screen.

“Why don’t you playback the recording?” He suggests. You glance at him, his face illuminated in the dark by the lights of the camera and the faint moonlight that filters through a window.

“Good idea,” you admit, hitting the stop button and running the tape back. There’s some static feedback before your voice announces the date and time of the recording.

“Is there anyone here with us?” Your recorded voice asks. There’s a beat of silence and you fully expect your voice to be the next thing you hear but instead there’s a garbled, “Yes.”

“Holy shit!” Dieter shouts. “That was a fucking ghost!”

“Shhh!” You hiss, flapping your hand at him. You play it back and sure enough, the same disembodied voice echoes through the room, clear as day. “Holy shit!”

“Play the rest, play the rest,” Dieter demands. He steps closer with the camera trained on the recorder.

Together, you listen to the rest of the recording. There’s another moment where you think you might have gotten a response, but it’s not as clear as the first one. You play it back again and again, and finally Dieter takes the recorder from you.

“Alright, enough, if I hear you ask, ‘Do you mean any harm?’, one more time, I’m going to have to tattoo it across my ass,” he says with a laugh. “Actually, that would be kind of cool, right? Very…provocative.”

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but laugh and the man’s face lights up with a cute smile, the corners of his brown eyes creasing with the force of it. “Let’s go check out the study.”

“How does this one work?” Dieter asks as you turn on the spirit box, the staticky feedback noise filling the room.

“It sweeps through different radio stations rapidly and, theoretically, a paranormal entity can manipulate it and use it to speak. Just ask question.” You fix the camera on him. “Ready when you are.”

“So…do any of the ghosts think I’m hot?” He asks, glancing around the room. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh as the static continues. “Tough crowd.”

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Uh…did anything like…bad….happen to you?” No response. “Do you…like having guests?”

“No.”

Dieter jumps, eyes wide as he looks at the spirit box. “No fucking way,” he says excitedly. “Okay, uh, why don’t you want guests?”

“Loud.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Keep going!”

“Do you want to hurt us?” Dieter asks. The device is silent, no responses coming through. His shoulders drop in disappointment. “Damn. Some confirmation that we’re dealing with Casper and not that fucking thing from Insidious would have been nice.”

“Try one more question? I’m going to get the thermal cam,” you tell him, rushing to the desk in the center of the room for your equipment. You hastily power it on and point both cameras at him. “Ok, go.”

“You’re supposed to say action,” Dieter says, making you roll your eyes. “But I’ll let it slide. Hmm…ghost, is there a room we should explore next?”

It’s silent for a beat, and you think maybe the session may be over, but suddenly the device spits out the word, “Attic.”

Dieter stares at you with wide eyes. “Guess we’ve gotta go higher.”

“Let’s do it.”

You open the door to the attic, revealing a dark, narrow staircase that looks particularly haunting. The man stands at your back, looking up into the inky black darkness. He audibly swallows.

“Uh…how about you go first? You’re the professional,” he suggests.

“You scared?” You tease, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s just a little attic.”

“In a very haunted house!” He hisses. “What if it’s luring us here to kill us?”

“Then you would have had to film for this ‘stupid show’ with nothing to show for it. Tragic,” you reply sarcastically, placing quotes around the words stupid show.

Because that’s what you’ve heard him call it. Your show was up for a Primetime Emmy award last year for your Halloween special and it was your first time attending an award show. Dieter was there to present an award and was seated only a few seats down from you, talking to another actor you vaguely recognized, when you overheard his feelings for your show.

“I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category,” he said, loudly. “It doesn’t even belong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Dieter asks as you reach the open attic. There’s a circular window that looks out over the grounds, caked with dust and only allowing a tiny amount of light into the room. You turn to face him.

“At the Emmy Awards last year. I was sitting two seats down from you and you said — and I quote — ‘I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category’,” you snap.

He stares at you incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I love your show. I’ve been begging my agent to get me on as a guest since your first episode!”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s true! Just ask him!” He steps closer, eyes wide and pleading, looking like a puppy who’s just been reprimanded. “I was talking about that stupid potato documentary. It was boring as hell and had no reason being nominated!”

“Wait…so...you like my show?”

“I love your show. It’s, like, the closest thing to being in an episode of Scooby-Doo.”

You laugh and Dieter’s face brightens, like he knows he’s in the clear. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming has you both screaming and Dieter launches forward, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leaps into the air.

It catches you by surprise, all of his weight leaning into you and sending you crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and an echo of groans.

“What the fuck was that?!” You ask. “Dieter, get off, I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rolling off of you with a thump and another pained noise. “You were supposed to catch me.”

“Catch you?” You wheeze, flat on your back.

“Yeah, like in the shows. Scooby always caught Shaggy.”

“Why am I Scooby?!”

“I don’t know,” he shouts. “Listen, let me go check what that was.”

“You’re not leaving me up here,” you hiss. “We go together.”

The two of you make it to the bottom of the stairs, only to discover that the door to the attic has slammed shut. Not only that, but the damn thing won’t open. Dieter slams his shoulder into it as he twists the knob, cursing up a storm as he tries to shove it open with no luck.

“Remember what I said about the ghosts trying to murder us?” He asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a radio. I’ll tell Michael he needs to come try to open the door.” You tug the radio free from the waist of your jeans, pressing the button and asking, “Mike? You there?”

Silence fills the room. You try again.

“Mike?”

More silence.

“Fucking Mike,” Dieter grumbles. He heads back upstairs to the attic and you trail after him. He makes a beeline for the small window, feeling around the edges of it. “Maybe we can get the window open and call out to him.”

“Good idea,” you tell him, coming up beside him and pulling a flashlight from your back pocket, shining the light on the windowsill to help him find the latch.

There’s a rusted crank that he starts turning, the hinges squeaking loudly enough to make you wince. The window opens the slightest bit, fresh air flowing into the stale room.

“Can you get it open a little more?” You ask. With a grunt, he forces the crank around, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt.

Not that you’re watching his biceps. Or the muscles of his back as he moves. Definitely not.

“That’s as far as it’ll go,” he says. “See if you can see your little tent down there.”

“Command center,” you grumble, doing as suggested. You can can’t see much except a corner of the white tent fabric, but you call out anyways, “Michael! Mike! Hey!”

There’s no movement from below, no responding shout. You call out for him again and again, but it’s no use. He’s clearly not answering.

“I don’t have my phone during investigations. Do you have yours?” You ask. Dieter pulls his phone from his front pocket.

“Fuck, it’s dead,” he groans, tapping the black screen. You sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” You check your watch and find it’s 1:30 a.m. You have no idea where the fuck Mike went, but hopefully he’ll be back by 3 a.m. for debrief and a very stern lecture about abandoning his post. Dieter grins at you.

“Wanna get high?”

“The episode you did at the asylum in Kentucky is my favorite. It’s so fucking scary. The gurney moving? The shadows? Fuck, I was hiding in a blanket the whole time,” Dieter says.

You’re sitting beside each other with your legs out in front of you, your backs leaning against the wall beneath the small window. You’re pleasantly buzzed, your head a little fuzzy and your limbs loose from the joint you’ve passed back and forth for the last half hour and you’ve been talking about your favorite episodes, yours to film and his to watch, the conversation flowing surprisingly well.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you,” you say when there’s a lull in conversation. Dieter looks at you, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know. I thought you were this high maintenance asshole, I guess. But you’re kinda cool.”

Dieter laughs. “Oh, baby, I’m definitely high maintenance. You weren’t wrong about that.”

Something about Dieter calling you baby makes you feel warm and gooey. You’d like to blame it on the weed but if you’re honest with yourself for once, it’s because of him. You tried not to like him, you really did, but he’s funny and nice and doesn’t think your whole ghost hunting gig is a waste of time like a lot of men you’ve dealt with in the past. Not to mention he’s so hot, with his messy hair and pretty brown eyes and warm tan skin. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but you’re realizing now that it’s actually part of his charm.

You must be quiet for too long or fidget too much because he’s smirking at you now, plush lips tilted up mischievously. “You liked that, huh?” He asks.

“Liked what?” You whisper. He’s scooches closer, his thigh pressing against yours and your shoulders brushing.

“Me calling you baaaaby,” he says, drawing out the word teasingly. “You got all quiet about it.”

“N-no I didn’t.”

“Riiiight,” he teases. He twists his body, reaching an arm across to grip your thigh. “C’mere.”

You go willingly, maneuvering your clumsy limbs until your legs are spread over his lap. He looks up at you with glassy eyes and a syrupy smile, sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans.

“You wanna try that again, baby?” He buries his face against your chest and you laugh, squirming in his grip. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“Maybe…maybe I kinda like it,” you mumble. His hands drift up your waist.

“Like what?”

“When you call me baby.”

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, the touch electrifying. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, trying to pull away from him. He holds you tightly.

“Nooooo,” Dieter whines, peppering kisses along all the skin exposed by your tank top that he can reach.”’M sorry, I’ll be good for you, baby.”

Your eyes flutter as you sink into his hold. His light kisses turn into teasing nips of his teeth that make you gasp and grind yourself over his lap. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, the length of his cock pressing deliciously against the seam of your jeans to give you the friction you’re craving.

Dieter’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you forward to press his lips to yours. It’s awkward at first, just a lingering peck, but then he licks at your bottom lip and you open up for him, his tongue hot against yours as you explore each other. Your mouths are a little dry from the weed but the kiss quickly grows hot and wet, a little desperate and messy as you move together.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans when he pulls back for a breath. “Keep moving, just like that.”

You have a better idea, though. You move down a little bit until you can get your hands on the fly of his pants, popping the button and pulling the zipper. He helps you out a bit, lifting his hips to shove his pants down just enough for you to reach into his boxers and wrap a hand around his thick cock. His eyes are dark and his mouth goes slack as you slowly bring your fist up, palming the slick head and smearing the bead of precum around the sensitive tip.

You withdraw your hand, bringing it to your face to lick your palm, getting it nice and wet as you keep your gaze fixed on him. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort and he gasps when you take him back in your hand.

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” he groans, tipping his head back against the wall with a thump. “Tighter, baby, squeeze it tighter. Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

His words have your clit aching with need and you reach down with your other hand to unbutton your jeans, trying to keeping your motions coordinated as you do. Dieter looks up and notices what you’re trying to do.

“You need a lil something, baby?” He asks. When you nod, his hand smacks yours away, successfully undoing the button and zipper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

His hand slides beneath your jeans and panties, thick fingers quickly zeroing in on your needy clit with tight circles that have your hand stilling around his cock as you moan. His other wraps around yours, encouraging your movements as he plays with your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, fingers dipping lower until they’re pressing against your slick entrance. “Keep moving your hand, baby.”

You hadn’t even noticed that you stopped, too focused on how good his touch felt. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dieter murmurs, one finger pressing slowly inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You try to focus on his cock, sliding your tight fist over his length, twisting your wrist around the flushed head, smearing the wetness at the tip around with your thumb. He pumps one finger, then two inside of you in a matching rhythm, the heel of his hand brushing your clit and making you moan.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby, I’m right there with you,” Dieter replies, his own hips chasing your hand. “Come on, come on, all over my hand, baby.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your muscles tightening before releasing all at once as you cum, clenching around his fingers and moaning his name. Warmth spreads over your hand and when you finally open your eyes you see that Dieter has cum as well.

“Uh,” you say awkwardly, “What…what do I do?”

“Huh?” Dieter mumbles, withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“With the” — you nod towards your cum covered hand — “mess?”

“Oh, right. Uh…just kinda…wipe it into my boxers?” He says. You do as he suggests, wiping the sticky mess into the fabric. “I’ll just deal with it later.”

“Boss? You there?” Mike’s voice calls out over the radio, which sits discarded to the side. You scramble off of Dieter’s lap to grab the device.

“Mike! We’ve been locked in the attic for over an hour!” You hiss. “Come get us right now and maybe I’ll let you keep your job.”

Mike responds that he’ll be right up and you fix your pants, hooking the radio back onto your jeans. Dieter stands, pulling his pants up and gathering some of the equipment. You stand together, waiting for Mike in what you would consider an awkward silence until Dieter bumps your shoulder with his.

“We should do that again sometime,” he says. “Maybe without the audience.”

“Audience?” You ask.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear and making your shiver as he whispers, “The ghosts.” You shove him away, both of you dissolving into giggles. His face grows serious once more. “No, really. You wanna like…get breakfast or something? I know this good farm-to-table place that opens super early.” You smile at him.

“I’d like that.”

Dieter sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of gluten free crackers in his lap. “Hurry up! It’s starting!”

“Your fancy microwave burned my popcorn,” you whine as you rush back into the living room. Dieter sneaks a hand into your bowl, shoving popcorn hastily into his mouth. “Hey!”

“Boyfriend tax,” he explains. “Now, hush, or I won’t invite you over to watch anymore.”

“It’s my show!”

The opening theme music starts, some eerie instrumental that plays over a montage of scenes from earlier episodes. As the music fades, shots of the house and your recorded voiceover explain the location for the episode right before it cuts to you and Dieter.

“…And this, is Spirit Seekers,” you and Dieter say along with your recorded self, matching grins on your faces.

Dieter Bravo masterlist

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thisisnotthenerd · 2 months ago

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got inspired by a conversation with a friend

bells hells as instrumentalists. this ranges from old to new, acoustic to electronic, across the world.

we have two in the group already, with dorian playing the mandolin & flute, and fearne playing the pan flute and dulcimer iirc.

for dorian: the mandolin is present in both classical and folk music. it's something he'd have learned in childhood, but picked up different stylings in his time as a bard. the flute is the classic wind instrument, sometimes ethereal, sometimes piercing, not always heard but present all the same.

fearne: pan flute is another folk instrument, old, known for its association with satyrs (pan flute). simple to play, difficult to play well. dulcimer? that depends on the type. hammered dulcimer is percussive, while a standard dulcimer is stringed and a member of the zither family. also an old instrument. speaks to being out of time. neither are jazz instruments per se, but i'd love to see what she could do with it.

for the others?

orym: oboe. cuts through the chaos with timbre, brings the group in tune, associated with melancholy tone. wind instrument that takes a lot of air and practice to play effectively. can be obstinate if he wants to. not everyone likes it and that's okay.

fcg: it's so funny to me to imagine them as a synthesizer, but in truth? bells. simple instrument made of metal, but making and understanding them in truth takes a lot more work. there's a lot of variation in the types of bells that exist, and playing one softly sounds very different than a violent strike. also associated with prayer, the passage of time, calm and restoration.

laudna: pipe organ. an old instrument, associated with the supernatural and death, deeply tied to the places that they are built into. it fits right into her whole aesthetic. carries the history of the many who lived to play it before.

chetney: he has the harp of valor right now, but tbh i'd see him playing the fiddle or a diff folk instrument. not "classical", but having a long history with the common people. also? wood. alternatively? concertina. i could see him as a multi-instrumentalist, as long as they're all wood. like only a wood flute or something.

ashton: the most annoying percussionist you'll ever meet. i don't think i need to justify this anymore, but loud at inappropriate times, waves around a big hammer / mallet, chronic pain, probably some hearing issues. the person carrying around the most equipment via the hole. sometimes the backbone, sometimes an accent over top of everything. i think they would like to go bang bang on a bass drum. things breaking in your hands is a hazard of the job.

imogen: honestly she's difficult for me to place, but just for the vibes of it? theremin. an instrument you play without contact. telekinesis, anyone? often associated with the eerie and the alien, much like imogen. on the other end of the horror movie instrument spectrum from the pipe organ.

braius: cowbell.

#critical role #bell's hells #bells hells as instrumentalists #dorian storm #fearne calloway #orym of the air ashari #fresh cut grass #laudna #chetney pock o'pea #ashton greymoore #imogen temult #braius doomseed

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iamsherlocked1479 · 1 year ago

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Kinktober: Day Three hate fuck

A little longer today: 1.6K words. i like this one alot and hope you do too.

Kinktober masterlist

“Seriously?! Him?” you over exaggerate

“Calm down, it's just for three days.” Natasha sighed

“Are you joking, three days with a condescending sarcastic dick.” you could almost hear the sound of Stephens eye roll from your words

“You’re not the most pleasant cup of tea sweetheart.” he said sitting down at the table

“Look, all you have to do is hide out in a cottage for three nights to get a good idea of the patrol route and we’ll pick you up in three days so we can get Bucky back.

“Fine, but only because i owe Bucky,” you sigh “ but i don’t see why i can’t just do this on my own

“Because this is too high risk and last time you had a solo mission it all-

“Went to shit.” Stephen finished Steve's sentence.

“That's not how i was going to say it but, yeah” you groaned and pushed your head into your arms “listen your new at this, you’ll get used to it, going from being a solo act to a team player can be hard.”

“I’m not in the mood for a team building speech right now cap.” you get up and purposely knock stephens shoulder as you walk past him causing his coffee to spill slightly.

Packing was easy picking comfortable yet appropriate clothing for the event of having to make a quick escape. You then pondered at the thought of bringing the useful tool that was tucked away in your drawer. You argued with yourself before throwing it in just in case it was needed. You jumped as there was a knock at the door

“Are you ready to go?” Stephen walked in “what's wrong packing your dildo?” He smirked

“What? No. Yeah, ready whenever you are.” You walked him and into the hall surprised that he didn’t follow. “Are you coming? It's a five hour drive, we gotta get moving.”

“You’re forgetting that i have a sling ring.” He popped his head around the corner and you went back into your room to see the opened portal. You huffed and stepped through the portal and carried your stuff to the room.

The rest of the evening was fine, you set up the equipment listening for any communications happening between the cabin and the base in the woods ahead of you. And as you figured, nothing, you were no closer to finding your friend.

“You know, if you keep staring at the speaker like that it might float.” Stephen said, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. “Why do you care so much anyway?”

“Because he got me out of the lab. He set me free.” You twiddling your thumbs around

“You mean from the mutant home?” He chuckled to himself

“Prison, prison is probably a better word to use.” An awkward silence spread through the room. He put his glass down on the table letting a loud bang cut through the silence

“I’m going for a walk, don’t get into any trouble.” He sighed and shut the door as he left. God you hated him, the sudden realisation that you were alone brought an excitement to your core. You remembered your toy that you had pushed into your bag, you headed to the room not realising the old wooden door hadn’t fully latched when you closed it behind you.

When Stephen got back you were gone, the room was quiet and the desk you had been sitting at was lifeless. He figured you had gone to bed and began to do the same until he heard that noise. The muffled moan coming from your room with a low buzzing sound. He smiled to himself as he peered through the door, he couldn’t help it, something else he could tease you with. But the noises you were making where not of pleasure, but frustration. He didn’t know what drove him into the room but he opened the door with the same cocky attitude he always treated you with.

“What's wrong can’t get off?”

“What the fuck, the door was closed!” You threw you covers over your lower half

“That door was not closed, what were you doing? trying to entice me?” He leant against the frame

“No i uh, why are you here?” You say frustratedly sitting up in your bed.

“Well from what it looked, and sounded like, is that you couldn’t get off.” He shuffled slightly “so what if i propose an offer?”

“What are you talking about?” You ask as he crosses his arms

“What if, just this once, I help you get off.” His brow raises

“What? Why, why would you do that.”

“Because it's better than you not being able to and me having to deal with the sulking. But hey it's just an offer.” He shrugs and walks away

“Wait” you call out “no strings attached?”

“None” he replies “just this once”

“Just this once?” You think for a moment “fine, okay”

“Okay?” He enters your room, closing the door behind you and sits on the bed “so uh”

You sigh and lean forward, pressing your lips to his, he quickly kisses back, and you lay down with him on top of you. You couldn’t lie he was a damn good kisser, he trailed them down your neck and his hand went up your tank top where he could play with your nipple. You flinch slightly,

“Easy, it’s okay, I won’t bite. Unless you want me to?” He joked and you rolled your eyes, you were going to say something but then his hand found itself under your shorts and sliding through your folds.

“Shit.” You called out as he circled your clit. He chuckled and pulled down your shorts

“No panties you dirty girl.” He watched as your eyes rolled back at the feeling of his tongue beginning to fuck you. He was good, so good you were trying not to enjoy it too much, you hated how good it was.

“Fuck don’t stop.” You were close, you were so pitifully close already. You needed this so bad and he was delivering, he spread your legs as far apart as he could giving him full access. You came so hard, over his face and he made sure to clean up every drop, your body was sweating, it was becoming hooked on him like he was a drug. And he laughed at you, he laughed at how quickly you had come.

“If you needed it so bad you could’ve told me.” He began to get up and you stopped him, grabbing his arms. “What?” His brow raised, waiting for your answer, god you hated that stupid face, you hated it so bad you kissed it, you could taste yourself on his tongue and you like it. You pushed him onto the bed, massaging the bulge growing in his crotch. He moaned at the sensation and didn’t fuss when you pulled down his trousers and boxers allowing him to be free. He didn’t complain when you took him into his mouth and began sucking like you need it. “Shit- what are you… god that's good.” He leaned back on the bed and took your hair and wrapped it around your head. You gagged as he shallowly thrusted into your mouth only causing you to swallow him down even more. You pulled him from your mouth with a pop and climbed on top of him. His hand flew to your waist as you sat just above his cock.

“Just this once?” You asked, he nodded and you aligned yourself with his cock and slowly sank down. It was good, it was so fucking good, you bounced like a needy teen and his hands pawed at you tits as he rejoyced at the way the bounced infront of him.

“God you’re so tight.” His hands shook your body up and down him picking the pace.

“God i need this” you cried out

“You like this honey? Don’t enjoy it too much'' he panted “just this once remember?” He did that stupid smirk again.

“Shut up” you pressed your lips to his again and he kissed you as you rode him so desperately. You could feel the way he scraped your insides away, his curve hitting that spot so perfectly over and over again. You hated how good it felt, you hated how you gripped his shoulders as you screamed his name. Your pace slowed and he flipped you over so that he pinned you between his arms.

“My turn” he whispered into your ears

“Oh god” you cried out as he pounded into you, he flung one of your legs over his shoulder and rattled the bed.

“God bet you’ve been thinking about this for so long huh, was that why you're so rude? Jealous that you don’t get to fuck me ever-shit, every night?” He gripped your leg and closed his eyes, his head dropping backwards, “go on tell em you wanted.” He panted

“Fuck stephen i- want it bad. Afraid i’ll get addicted, wanna see you cum, fill me up, i'm on the pill do it. Make me a mess.” You cried out gripping the bed sheets so tight they came off the corners.

“Gonna fill you up, you want that, bet you do” he dropped your leg and picked you up hitting you back against the bed frame pinning you between him and the wall. He fucked up into you, his pace becoming inconsistant and then he came, he came hard shooting his loads of thick white ropes into you and then he collapsed. You both laid there falling asleep, maybe even hating each other slightly less.

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

Taglist: @rmoonstoner @mary-johnlocked

Lmk if you want to be tagged! <3

#benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x female!reader #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange sorcerer supreme #doctor strange #dr stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #dr strange x fem!reader #dr strange smut #dr strange x reader #dr strange x you #marvel smut #marvel #october #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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ghostofthesoul · 2 years ago

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Relax for me

Captain Price x fem.reader

Warnings: soft NSFW(mentions of grinding, kisses, touching)

English isn’t my first language so please keep that in mind> there might be grammar errors> corrections are appreciated just don’t be rude♡︎

Sorry for the wait..life happened

᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽

You walked to his office with a whiskey in hand. Concentrating on the brownish liquid in the short glass, making sure not to spill it on your way. It became a routine at this point, whenever a mission gone south or someone got hurt, John was mad and closed himself between the four walls of his bland office, not wanting to hear a word from anyone. Today was one of those days, the minute 141 stepped back in the base, Price stormed off in the direction off his office not even letting you check him for wounds, but at that moment you had bigger problems than running after your captain, even if that was what you wanted to do, you needed to sort out the rest of the members. Starting with Ghost who had a bullet buried deep in his shoulder from jumping in front of you on the field risking his own life, you took a mental note to thank him and scold him for being reckless after you stitched him up.

Now hours later you stood in front of the mean looking, tall door that separated you and Price. Lifting your hands, knocking and waiting for some kind of response to see if he was still there. After a few seconds came his booming voice, raspy from all the cigars he must have had in the span of the last hours. “Who is that?” his rather bored question sounded through the thick wood of the door.

“It’s me..” you started, founding your voice after not talking for some time, before coming here. When you heard no sign of him coming to open the door, you continued “and i have a drink for you” you waited patiently for a few minutes then, heard him shuffling, getting out of his office chair and coming closer to where you were. He let out a long, deep sigh before unlocking the door and letting it swing open. Before you could even look at him, to take in the damage that he might have had, he turned around letting you only get a view of his board back as he made his way back to his chair. You looked at him as he slumped back into the chair, making it creak under his weight. John put his elbows on the surface of the desk, shoulders coming forward making it look like they would fall off of him any minute. His big hands holding his head, trying to relive it from the ache he got from thinking back of the events that happened today, trying to come up with something he could have done differently, any small detail that could have prevented what happened to his men, something, so he didn’t have to feel like a failure of a captain. You were still standing in the doorway just looking at him, taking in his usually happy form, now sad and broken. You knew him enough to know he blamed himself for everything, all the cuts and bullet holes, thinking he needed to protect all of you. He moved his head up from his palms and stared at the glass in your hand and said

“You know, you don’t have to do this every time” than looked at you with his beautiful eyes that held all the emotions he was feeling right now. Tearing away your eyes from his piercing gaze, feeling your hand tremble around the cold cup of alcohol.

“Yeah I know, but i want to” was what you responded, with a sad smile on your lips. You went closer to the desk, placing the glass in front of him, nodding at him to take a sip.

You noticed he was still wearing his gear, it must be really uncomfortable, you know how heavy it can be and judging from all his equipment, it must weigh a lot. He sipped on his drink, not saying a word, which was quite odd coming from him, he usually would have cracked some bad dad jokes trying to lift the mood, taking your and his mind off the day’s events. But today was different, it was worse than other days, Ghost and Gaz got shot, they were thankful you could stitched them up after coming back, but Soap wasn’t this lucky, his leg was broken due to him being cornered into jumping off of a rooftop. He was fine now after you gave him some strong painkillers and put him into his bed, ordering him to rest until the doctor from the base comes and puts a cast on his leg, but that didn’t matter to Price, in this moment his mind was constantly telling him, he fucked up.

You stalked towards to him, one step at a time, slowly, like you were trying not to anger a wild animal. You went behind his back, placing your hands on Price’s firm shoulders, you felt him tensing under your touch, even though you two were close this was something that never happened. You never touched him other than fixing up his wounds from time to time, this was something else. He always watched when you gave Mactavish a massage, after he whined about the hard day he had, he seen how you two joked, laughed during this and he felt something tightening his chest, but he was proud to say it was jealously. He found himself fantasizing about how the touch of your soft fingers would feel on his hard skin, but too strict on himself to actually ask for a back rub.

His shoulders dropped after a minute, finally getting used to your hands invading his space. “Your west is in the way.” you announced casually as you dragged your fingers from his neck to the start of his biceps.

“Can i take it off of you?” your question was quiet, Price would have missed it, if he wasn’t focusing on you only. John gave you a firm nod as an answer, making your hands travel to the buckles that sit on the sides of his bulletproof west, undoing them and lifting it off from around his head made you realize you were right and his gear was uncomfortably heavy. The loss of weight made him aware of the pain in his whole body, he managed to not get shot, but all his muscles were on fire, screaming at him for being careless. Your hands found there way back to his shoulders, now making the massage easier with only his tank top in the way.

“You know they are going to be okay”

“I know they are though guys..I’m just disappointed in myself, thats all” he said, his form visibly relaxing after he got to say that out loud. Your hands felt like they were on auto drive as they started to explore more than just the area you were supposed to massage, sliding down, feeling the hardness of his chest, feeling his hearth beat starting to pick up, hearing his breath hitch, it made an idea come to your mind, something you always longed for when you looked at Price, the need to relive him from his stress. You spun his chair around making him face you, his blue eyes holding a puzzled look as if trying to figure out your next move. While you held the eye contact you made your way into his lap, straddling his big thighs, eyes looking out for any signs of uneasiness.

“I couldn’t reach here” you said as you started touching his bicep, massaging them too. Price saw through your little lie but he just hummed in response clearly not unwelcoming the idea, of you on his lap.

“Thank you for looking out for me kitten”the praise went straight to your core, this was the first time he used a pet name for you.

“Never knew I was this important to you” he said as his hand cupped your sides, pulling you closer to his front. This made you pull your hands away from his bicep, now more interested in what he had to say. Price leaned lower, putting his plump lips next to your ear, making his baritone voice even deeper to whisper

“Making me feel special, i like it”

With that you hung your arms around his neck, looking at his lips than at his eyes, challenging him to make the first move. And he did, his lips crashed on yours, the rough texture of them meeting yours soft, pillowy ones in a desperate attempt to ease the build up tension in the room. The kiss became sloppier by the minute, his tongue asking for entrance at your lower lip, which you happily gave him, just as desperate as him, wanting to give him anything he asks for. You felt his excitement growing under you, you smiled into the kiss enjoying the effect you had on him, the cockiness encouraging you to grind your hips on him, making his breath stuck in his throat at the contact, he stopped the kiss to take a deep breath in to compose himself.

“Bloody hell what are you doing to me” he asked, more himself than you. The question hung in the air as you made your hips swing back and fort, back and fort to feel him become harder. But to Prices dismay you abdurtly stopped, admiring the thick veins running up from his shirt to his thrown back head. His head come forward as he asked

“Why’d you stop darling? You were making me feel good” he looked at you with hooded eyes, almost desperate for you to continue.

“Can i try something, Sir?” the name you called him stirred something deep inside him, a name so simple but so effective. His eyes flickering into a darker shade of blue that reminded you of the midnight sky you always enjoyed, the way your voice sounded so innocent and velvety made his right mind cloudy and his answer was clear to him.

“Do whatever you want with me Doll”

᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽

If you would like this to have a pt.2 (most likely NSFW) please tell me

#ghostofthesoulwrites #call of duty mwii #captain john price #john price #john price x you #mwii #simon riley #price x reader #ghost #soap #john price x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader

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meetinginsamarra · 7 months ago

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mayprompts2024 #16, experiment

Read parts 1-11 on AO3 here

Part 12 only on tumblr so far

++++++

The Perfect Place - Part Thirteen

John put the skull back on its place on the mantelpiece and pointed at the dagger Sherlock had stuck into the wood to keep several letters in place. He frowned and gave Sherlock a disapproving look.

“You shouldn’t keep such a sharp dagger in the wood.” John chided.

Oh dear, here come the admonishments, Sherlock thought.

He braced himself against what John was likely about to say. “It’s dangerous to keep a sharp object here. People could get hurt.” Or “You’re destroying the wood, it’s difficult to repair damage like this.”

John continued. “It’s really bad for the blade, it’ll get dull, you know? Also, the tip might break and get stuck in the mantelpiece. It would be a shame to ruin such a fine dagger.”

“Erm, okay?” Sherlock stuttered, surprised, “Yes, will do.” Not what I expected.

When John peeked under the sofa, he pulled out the Turkish scimitar that Sherlock had already missed.

“Oh, great, you found it! I’ll be needing it tomorrow.” Sherlock called out happily.

“What for?” John brandished the scimitar and made some thrusts into Sherlock’s direction. “You going to waylay guileless travellers?”

“No, of course not.” Sherlock decided to test John’s sense of humour. “I’ll need it to chop the remains from the latest flatmate-candidate. He insulted Billy and therefore he had to die.”

John looked Sherlock straight into the face, utterly deadpan. “Good then that I didn’t. Also, you’d better use this letter-holding dagger for precision cuts through the corpse’s joints.”

They stared at each other for three long seconds before they exploded into raucous laughter.

For the next ten minutes, Sherlock watched John hopping excitedly around the sitting-room, ogling things, pawing bits and fondling bobs.

It was an amazing sight of utter joy.

Sherlock was reminded of a toddler experiencing their first Easter egg hunt in a magical wonderland. He suppressed the urge of handing a basket to John so that he could put the found treasures inside for later perusal.

(Others might have been reminded of a squirrel suffering from dementia, getting excited over and over again about finding the same nuts it had hidden juts several minutes ago, thinking they were new.)

(And yet others would have thought of a cuddly hedgehog searching for windfall like apples and pears to gain weight for the next winter.)

John commented on every mysterious, unusual, weird or quirky object that he picked up, showing it to Sherlock and silently asking for more information, data that Sherlock was more than happy to provide.

“Are you needing a cup of tea as bad as I?” John asked after a lot of talking, “I’m parched.”

(Also, his throat was terribly dry from all the dust he had inhaled while scrutinizing Sherlock’s things.)

“Let’s make some,” Sherlock offered, “and you could have a look at the kitchen.”

Sherlock put the kettle on while John first commented on the lovely choice of green tiles on the kitchen wall and then asked about the array of chemistry equipment on the kitchen table.

“I’m doing a lot of experiments here,” Sherlock explained, “to gather data and evaluate clues in order to solve the crimes that I consult on.”

(This was true, of course. Also, it sounded much better than the whole truth. Namely, that Sherlock followed mostly some whims he had when he was bored and just experimented with whatever was available to him. He had produced mountains of laboratory journals with millions of spreadsheets of data that nobody would ever use. Like one of his latest obsessions when he had tested the durability of mummified Guinea pig embryos after being exposed to various kinds of acids and then thrown against a bed of nails.)

“What is it you’re currently experimenting on?”

“I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.” Sherlock replied and poured the hot water over a teabag.

“Interesting.” John said. “I’ll get us some milk.” He reached for the handle of the fridge.

Sherlock suddenly remembered where the saliva had come from and an electric shock of terror struck him.

“No, don’t open…” he began to shout.

But it was already too late.

“… the fridge.” Sherlock whispered.

John’s shriek reverberated in the deadly silence that followed.

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #number 16 experiment #my sherlock fanfics #the perfect place #no beta we die like (wo)men

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papersnakepress · 2 months ago

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I had a message the other day asking (among other things) what kind of tools and equipment I use in making books, and as it's something I like to go into detail on, I realized I couldn't fit everything I had to say in a message so it's getting its own post. With photos!

Disclaimer that I'm not a professional bookbinder, I'm entirely self-taught and probably have habits and practices that would drive a pro nuts. I'm no authority, but these are the things that have worked for me, and maybe you can adapt them to work for you too.

This post will not cover: storage options, materials like board and glue, or equipment specific to one narrower aspect of the hobby like embossing or gilding. It is also not a tutorial on how to make a book, though I am covering things in more-or-less the order I use them in during the book-making process.

This post will cover: What I've found useful, what I've regretted buying, and some things you can co-opt from other, more common hobbies. A lot of it you may already have in your house. Some of it is for beginners, some is nicer equipment you might want as you get further into making books. They are not separated, it's just a list and some description.

Keep reading below the cut; this is gonna be a very long one and there are a lot of photos of everything.

If you want to make books you will need access to a printer. I'm not going to go into detail on this part and I didn't take a photo of my HP (not the best brand, but that's a long discussion in and of itself). Once you've got your pages printed and it's time to fold it into signatures, it helps to have a folding tool like these:

Folding tools can be anything as long as they're smooth and flat. The one on the left here is an actual bone folder from an art supply shop, but the center one is a plastic leatherworking tool that I got at Hobby Lobby, and the one on the right is an agate burnisher that I got from Amazon. None of these cost more than $10, and you can also use the edge of a pen (as long as it has no rubber grip or cap/clip) or the back of a spoon. Or your fingers, but the tools make it faster and the folds are more precise. I once worked a job where I had to fold maps, and all my coworkers were wondering how I did them so much faster and why mine were flatter than everyone else's, and it was because I'd grabbed a sharpie and started using the back end like a bone folder.

Once it's folded, you'll need to poke holes for sewing. I use one of these:

Left is, again, an actual bookbinding awl from an art supply store, while the center one is a paper quilling tool and the right one is a beadwork awl, both of which came from a big chain craft store. The bead one is my favorite; it's a good size and very stable. The quilling thing has too long and thin of a blade and it's wobbly, and I don't like the tapering on the bookbinding awl. It tends to make the holes in the middle page too big, and the outer ones too small. Again, these were cheap, about $10 each, but you can also use a sewing needle stuck in a cork, or a thumbtack or pushpin. If it's pointy and rigid, it'll work.

This isn't a requirement by any means, but I've found I like having a punching cradle for the hole-poking step. I got this 3d printed one from a fellow bookbinder, who was designing their own and made this one as a prototype. There are a lot of tutorials on how to make a punching cradle, or you can buy them online from several different vendors. They don's all look like this, and you can make them from wood or cardboard (though those don't usually have guide holes). If you're just starting out or this doesn't appeal, you can just use a paper template like the one on the far right. The cradle helps get the holes lined up and evenly spaced, and I've never liked this step so anything that makes it faster and less fussy is a win. If you use this kind, check that your hole-poking tool fits in the guide holes--the binding awl pictured above doesn't, but the other two do.

We've made holes, so let's stitch them up. These are just regular sewing needles and beeswax, to make your thread less prone to tangling. You can get both of them in any store that has a sewing department. There are dedicated bookbinding needles, like curved needles, and some binders like them, but I've never gotten the hang of the curved ones and they aren't necessary, especially when you're just starting out. If it fits through the holes you made, it will work.

Once it's sewn, you probably want to squish your new text block so it's flat. I've got a laying press that I bought a couple of years ago when I was first getting started. It was marketed as a book and flower press, and it's honestly not the best. I would probably not have bought it if I had known that it wasn't essential to the process, and I mainly use it now when I'm squishing a text block and still want to use my work space, because once it's tight I can move it somewhere else. You can really use almost anything for squishing as long as it's heavy and flat and rigid on one side, like the stack of books in the right-hand photo. Textbooks, encyclopedias, art and photo books, and comic book omnibuses are all great. I've seen people use all kinds of things, like paper-wrapped bricks and doorstops, and there are tutorials out there to make your own press out of cutting boards if you do want one.

If you like your books to have smooth, flat page edges you're going to have to trim them. This is a book plow from Affordable Binding Equipment, and it was the first piece of actual expensive equipment that I bought. Not all plows look like this; I think the design is unique to ABE, but I've never used the traditional kind. In the interest of full disclosure, you can also trim edges with a sharpened chisel, which is much cheaper and can be bought at any hardware store, and some binders love this method. I do not love this method and have had zero regrets about caving and getting the plow. Very easy to use but does require some grip strength. Not pictured: the setup for sharpening the blade, which isn't hard but requires a bit of space and a small sheet of plate glass that you have to source yourself. Even with that, I still prefer it to the chisel. That said, this is not an essential step and you can leave your books with a "sawtooth" or deckled edge. Most of my early books have them, and some people just like them better than the flat ones and never learn to trim them. As another side note, some tutorials will say that you can trim your edges flat with a knife. You can't. Maybe on a pamphlet you can, but if it's more than 10 or 20 pages you just can't. It will look terrible.

If you're going to use a plow, you've got to have the right kind of press. The one I talked about further up the thread is the wrong kind (full disclosure: I did use it with that press turned on its side, before I bought this one. But it's harder, more time-consuming, less comfortable, and less safe. Don't be like me). So here's a photo of my finishing press (also from Affordable Binding Equipment). I bought it so I could make backed books, but I use it for trimming too. The top part here has a narrow tapered section for backing, but if you flip it over it's totally flat, which is what you need for trimming. Not pictured: the stand that it came with for backing, or the c-clamps that I use to attach it to the desk for trimming. Again, though--this isn't a requirement for bookbinding. This is a later stage that's entirely optional. On the subject of backing, though:

You don't need special equipment to round the spines of your books, but you do for backing. Left image is the set of backing boards I got from, once again, Affordable Binding Equipment, and on the right is a backing hammer from Hollander's. Neither of these are essential. Even if you get the boards (which have to be used in a press with a tapered edge, like the one directly above) you can actually use a regular hammer as long as the front part has no scratches or gouges. This one is a backing hammer, the primary difference being that it has a wider, convex head than a regular household hammer, to make the kind of glancing blows needed for backing a little easier. Honestly, I'm still learning how to use these and I'm not very good with them yet. Comes of being self-taught, probably. I don't think youtube is the best vehicle for learning this part, but it's what I have and I'm making do. Not every book is going to benefit from backing, either; it's primarily for helping mitigate spine swell.

Okay, time for my favorite repurposed equipment hack.

It's bookends. Regular bookends that I've had for ages and that probably came from Ross or some other place that doesn't even sell craft supplies.

Want to keep the text block upright while you glue it? Bookends. Want to sew some custom end bands but your text block keeps falling over? Bookends. They won't provide pressure for squishing, but if you just need to hold something upright while you work on it, bookends are the answer. They hold up books, it's right there in the name. Having said that, you want some with a little weight to them, like these agate slices, so they won't slide around. And you want something with a smooth finished edge like these, so they won't scratch up your text block or leave dents. I have other sets but these are the only ones I use for this purpose, and they're better for it than anything else I've got.

Moving on from making the text block, let's look at what I use to make covers.

It's appeared in the background of most of the other photos, but here's a photo of just the desk surface covered in cutting mats. I really recommend a mat to protect the surface of your furniture and keep your knives from going immediately dull. I've got a big one that covers almost the full surface, and a small one for when I want to be more mobile. I started with just the small one and it was good until I started working with larger sheets of paper. The big one was bought largely for convenience but I have no regrets about it. They're self-healing, non-slip, and you can get them in the sewing section of any big craft store.

I'll be honest, I am not big on knives. I've got a regular box cutter for trimming board, and a razor knife for paper and cloth, and that's it. There are a lot of kinds and really all you need is one sharp blade for board. Paper and cloth can be cut with scissors if you want, though I find I get more consistently straight lines with the knives. Also pictured: Metal rulers and a T-square. You want a metal ruler for this. Plastic will flex and wood won't lay flat. Ideally you want one without a cork backing (my 18" one has this problem) and with the tick marks etched in rather than printed (my 12" one has this problem). For larger sheets of paper and cloth, the 18" one is great, but you can get by with the smaller one. The T-square is for making right angles; mine is plastic and only 12", and I really wish I had a longer one that was metal. These are drafting tools and you'll find them in the section of the craft store that has easels and sketch pads and they're usually pretty cheap.

This is an adjustable compass. You can probably get these at craft stores but I got mine on Amazon. It's for measuring hinge gaps and the width of spines, both essential for making sure your cover fits your text block and your hinges open the way they should. Both of those are incredibly frustrating situations, and this thing makes it so much easier to avoid them.

Things to spread glue with! Any old paintbrush will do, though I like to have a few different sizes and textures on hand to choose from. I like the big one for cover boards and casing in, the mid-size ones for doing turn-ins, and the little fellow for details and touch-ups. I don't care for foam brushes because I find them hard to clean when glue is involved, but if you like you can use those. The metal thing on the left is a micro-spatula, and I did have to special order it from an art supply place but it was cheap and it's very helpful to have on hand for when the brushes are too thick, for doing turn-ins on rounded spines, and for separating pages if you decide to learn edge foiling. Not essential, but recommended.

One thing I neglected to take a photo of is my crepe eraser. Despite the best intentions, no matter how careful you are, you will at some point get glue where you don't want it, where it will be visible on the finished book. This is where the crepe eraser comes in; you can use it to remove dried glue from cloth or (to a lesser extent) paper. Very annoyingly, none of the craft or art supply places I went to had even heard of these and I had to get mine from Amazon. It was cheap (under $10) and I strongly recommend getting one.

Once your cover is made, you have some options. You can leave it blank, hand-letter or draw an image, stamp it with ink or embossing powder, use a stencil, or do what I usually do these days and make a cover graphic from HTV. I've got a cricut for this (though they're not the only kind of cutting machine; it pays to research other brands) and a mini heat press (I want a bigger one, but I got this one cheap because the box is messed up). A lot of libraries have cricuts you can use, and you can use a regular iron to apply the HTV. Getting it to stick is a bit tricky, but that's true no matter which tools you use. Not pictured: a cutting mat, different than the kind shown above, necessary with most materials you can cut (mine came with one, they're about $20 at most craft stores, and they're lightly sticky to keep your materials in place while it's being cut). I don't know if other brands require them, but cricut does unless you're using their Smart Materials (I have never used these). If your library has a cutting machine, they will also have the appropriate cutting mats. Also not pictured: weeding tools. Weeding is when you remove the bits of HTV that you don't want in the final image, usually the spaces between letters and such. The negative space, if you want to get artsy. The special tools cricut sells aren't necessary, you can use an awl or needle and the dull edge of your knife blade, but I have a set of theirs and I like mine.

I didn't take a photo of it, but sometimes I use embossing inks and powder to make cover designs and text. You only need a heat gun for embossing powder, it takes up way less space than the cricut does, and it's cheaper. I got mine free from a family member so I don't know what it cost initially, but cutting machines are a really big expense; the cricut is my third most expensive piece of equipment, after the finishing press and the plow.

Good god I think that's everything. It sounds intimidating, I know. And it sounds like it takes up tons of space in your home, and to be honest it can, but it doesn't have to. The first dozen or so books I made, I made completely to my satisfaction with tools and materials that fit in one 12x16" moving box. If you love the hobby and can make the space, the bulkier items might be worth it down the line, but especially when you're first getting started it's smart to keep things low-cost and compact. Most of the basics are simple and your fellow bookbinders are delighted to share their shortcuts and substitutions if you ask.

The end! I hope it was helpful, @cardassianexpats! I did warn you it would be wordy, lol.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #long post #like ridiculously long post omg #my own verbosity will be my downfall #if anything is unclear please tell me #i can't always tell when i'm over-explaining #or when i think i've given enough info but my audience thinks i haven't #snek makes books #but sometimes she just talks about them

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space-mermaid-writing · 1 year ago

Text

What about a Supreme Family camping trip?

- Okay, so growing up rich Tony has never been camping before. Yes, outraging! Stephen, who grew up on a farm in Nebraska stares at him. Then he takes matters in his own hands

- They take Peter with them, because he is a big city boy whose dad figures died before they had the chance to go on some good ol’ father and son camping trip

- it’s safe to say the boy is EXCITED!

- fast forward to the actual trip. They are in a forest in the middle of nowhere on a Saturday. They made sure to have no other campers nearby who could possible recognize THE Tony Stark™

- "Do you want to pitch the tent or would you rather gather firewood?" Stephen asks his boyfriend. The way he says it, it's clear which is the easier task.

Tony huffs. “I’m an engineer who build the world’s first portable Arc Reactor using a box of scraps. I think I can manage to put up a simple tent.”

Stephen just shrugs and wanders off into the woods while Tony and Peter load everything out of the trunk.

Peter got his own little tent, because when Tony did the (online) shopping for this trip, Peter found this rather cute Spider-Man themed tent he had to get. Tony doesn’t mind. In his mind a camping trip could be rather romantic, sitting together at the campfire watching fireflies… yes, some quality time with his boyfriend would be appreciated. He did some research before buying the best reviewed pro camping equipment for northern America. It can't be that hard to set up, right? Right??

- Cue half an hour later when Stephen returns with enough firewood for the night. (He also put up some anti-bear wards to keep his family safe, but they don’t need to know that)

Stephen returns to what should be a camp but is actually utter chaos. Tony’s tent is a mess of fabric and poles (some of which are bent in ways they shouldn’t bent). The engineer is arguing with his watch (Friday), who keeps telling him that she got weak signal.

“What do you mean weak signal?” Tony asks exasperated. “What’s the point of owning a satellite in space when I still don’t have full signal in a fucking forest?”

- So Tony is forced to read the manual to put up the tent. Like the offline paper version of it.

- Cut to Peter who sits in front of his perfectly made Spider-Man tent. He’s just happy to be here.

- (Tony finally lets Peter help to build the second tent)

- Stephen makes a fire with the help of magic and while in Tony books this is clearly cheating, it’s also hot, so he lets it slide.

- Later they roast marshmallows and make S'mores.

„You put the hot marshmallow between the chocolate sides of the cookies,” Stephen explains, but also warns them, “Don’t eat more than two of them or you will get sick from the sugar.”

Tony and Peter exchange a glance. The challenge is set!

- Tony eats four S’mores, Peter seven. Both agree it’s the best dessert they ever had. Both of them feel sick afterwards. It was worth it!

- In the night someone (Tony) forgets to close the mosquito mesh and they wake up severely bitten

#IronStrange #Supreme Family #Tony Stark #Stephen Strange #Peter Parker #Doctor Strange #spacemermaid writing #camping trip #I was camping with a friend when we had this idea #city boy Tony in the woods is hilarious

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ainyan · 3 months ago

Text

FFXIV Write - Day 9: Lend An Ear

“This is the place. The door, just like Cid described.” Biggs, fourteenth of that name, held up the battered old journal, comparing the rough sketch on the page to the grand doors that rose before him. They were mostly gold - plated, he thought as he studied them. That much gold would be ridiculously heavy, and too soft to do more than look decorative. The crystal plates and columns inlaid within the elaborate carvings matched the great towers spearing up into the sky of Mor Dhona, and glowed with the same internal illumination.

Beside Biggs, Wedge, most recent descendant of the first, frowned at the doors. “Well then, those are a bit bigger than I imagined, even given my unfamiliarity with being tall. I’m not sure we can get the equipment we’d need to pry them open down here.”

Biggs winced. “Seems a travesty t’ even consider it,” he grunted. “Doors ‘re a bleeding work of art, one of the few left in this twisted hellscape of a world.” Reaching out, he ran his hand across the deeply etched carvings in the door’s face. He’d expected the metal to feel cool, much like the air around them, but to his surprise, it was warm to the touch. “Lotta power here.”

Ever more practical, Wedge motioned for several of their companions to come forward, each bearing a heavy ceruleum torch. “Just means we’ll have to be careful where we cut,” he said, just a bit ruthlessly. As Biggs winced again, he gave an impatient sigh. “We need to get in there. It’s the only power source big enough to do what we want to do. If even half of what Cid said is correct about what’s in there, it’ll be more than enough to run the machinery we got from Alexander.”

“If we can even make it work,” Biggs said with a frown. “Cid said you couldn’t even get in the tower without ‘royal blood’, whatever that means. We got good blood, but it ain’t royal.”

Wedge tugged on the Roegadyn’s pants and led him to the side as the engineers approached with their cutting torches. “And that’s why we use a key,” he said with a grin. “Go for it!”

The engineers ignited the torches and laid them against the seam where the doors met. They laid in a steady burn for several minutes, then turned off the tanks and stepped back to study their work.

The gold wasn’t even hot. As Biggs gingerly touched his fingers to the spot where they had attempted to cut through, he found it was no warmer than the rest of the door. “Gods,” he whispered. “What is it made of?”

Wedge gaped at it. “Can’t cut it, doubt we could pry it, don’t see any kind of console or pad or anything. How in the hells are we supposed t’ get in there, Biggs?”

Hopelessness swamped the Roegadyn and he pressed his hand against the door, then leaned his forehead against it. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “All our hopes were pinned on this.”

Distressed, Wedge patted the big man’s thigh. “Come on, man, don’t give up. We’ll think of something. There’s gotta be a way. We have to be able to fix this.” A dull, hollow thud rolled up the passageway as somewhere a shell from one of the war machines slammed against the tower. “Gods. All our hopes…”

Beneath Biggs’ hand, the metal began to warm. Startled, he shoved away, then gaped open-mouthed as lines of blue began to run through the carving, tracing the outline of the hands embossed within the gold. With a loud rumble, the doors began to move ponderously apart.

Panicked now, Wedge and Biggs continued to back away as a blue and silver mist rolled out of the open doorway. From within the cloud emerged a figure clad in archaic hunting gear, red hair tousled and scarlet eyes sleepy. He peered anxiously at all of the faces as he leaned against a thick staff of wood. “Biggs? Wedge? Why have you awakened me already?” Another booming from outside made the air shiver. “What is happening?”

Biggs and Wedge exchanged a look. “You’re G’raha Tia,” the big man said with awe, taking one stuttering step forward. “I read about you.” He lifted the battered old journal. “Cid Garlond talked of you. You’re real. You’re… you’re here.”

“When is here?” The question was so outre that neither man could quite comprehend what was being asked. Impatiently, G’raha Tia rephrased the question. “What year is it?”

Wedge blinked and frowned. “It’s… what, like two-hundred something?”

G’raha Tia blanched. “In the Seventh Astral Era?” he croaked out.

Biggs and Wedge exchanged another look, this one sober. “No, sir,” Biggs replied. “In the Eighth Umbral Era.”

“Two hundred years into a calamity?” came G’raha Tia’s strangled yelp. “But, where is the Warrior of Light? Where is Kal’istae?” Their strained silence had him stumbling backwards. “No.” Abruptly he lurched forward, grabbing at Biggs’ jacket. “Tell me! Tell me everything that happened!”

Biggs and Wedge exchanged yet another glance, then swallowed. “Very well, G’raha Tia,” said the Roegadyn, catching at the hands on his jacket and gently pulling himself free. “Let’s have a sit down, and you can lend me an ear…”

FFXIV Write 2024 (Daily Prompt List)

Day 9 - Lend An Ear

NPCs: Biggs, Wedge, G'raha Tia

AU: Memoir

#ffxivwrite2024 #g'raha tia #biggs #wedge #au: memoir

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writingforfishes · 2 months ago

Note

(context:

*sees silly pictures of a lil bird on my dash*

braincell one: aw

braincell two: that face radiates otto energy

braincell one: wut)

atty doesn't seem the type to willingly go into nature (and, like, same) but like. silly birds. literary inspiration. etc

ottocus birdwatching just feels right for some reason. whether this is the most random concept or another accidental prediction. thought i should let u know. like as the seasons are changing and migration patterns are patterning, atty takes notice & after using birds n leaves n shi as a muse they drag their husband out to look at how pretty the scenery is. obligatory otto hiccuping n scaring the birds away lol

-🪱

Ask circa September 16.

Little ficlet (aka "hiclet")

A month after Atticus moved in, they were watching a bird nature film and got a sudden burst of inspiration.

"Hey, are there any good places for birdwatching around here that you know of?" they asked loudly to catch the ear of their partner who was hunched over a watch, eye loupe pulled down over one lens of his reading glasses.

"Uh..." Otto uttered, head poking up with a faraway look on his face while thinking. "I think there's a look out on a hiking trail that's fairly close by. Why?"

"You wanna go hiking? I want to see some birds," Atticus said matter-of-factly.

Otto considered it and shrugged, "Sure! I can dig out my grandma's picnic basket. Maybe we can have lunch there, too?"

"Cool," Atticus said. "Also...which grandma?"

"Oh, dad's side," Otto said with a meaningful nod.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Atticus said.

The maternal side of Otto's family were uptight prudes who wouldn't be caught dead on a patch of grass that wasn't imported and trimmed on a golf course.

Otto's dad's family, on the other hand, was from "the old country". Germany. At least part of them. That's where the whole clock thing came from. That was an abbreviated version of what Otto had told Atticus, at least.

The next day Otto, Atticus, a picnic basket full of vintage cutlery and food, and a backpack full of whatever Atty thought one would need on a hike made their way up the winding trail to the look out that promised a view of birds.

Atticus had hiked a few times. They enjoyed it for the most part. Despite their natural inclination to be inside and sedentary while writing, they did have a soft spot for brief jaunts in nature.

Otto had been a pretty physical person his entire life. It was only in the last few years that he'd settled down with his sobriety and settling into his profession of clock repair more.

But neither one of them were quite prepared for the "hard" rated trail that wound up and through the wooded mountain side over tree roots and rocks.

"Why...is this...so hard?!" Atticus exclaimed as they shifted the backpack of water, bug spray, first aid equipment, and medicines on their back. They panted a little as they stretched their legs to hoist over yet another upwards path of tree branches cut around to serve as natural stairsteps.

"I dunno," Otto said with a sniff. He realized now that he should've taken allergy medication before they started. He'd been sniffing for the last few miles, and he could feel the itchiness in his throat and eyes. He rubbed his nose aggressively with the back of his wrist.

"Do you want me to take the backpack for a little bit?" he asked.

"No!" Atticus said stubbornly. "I got this. I'm good. Just a little further. Point five miles. That's what the last little...little wooden sign said...right?"

"Yeah..." Otto said and then coughed a little. "Hey...what meds did you bring again?"

"Pretty much everything in the cabinet, why?"

"Did you get the...the Allegra and Flonase?" he asked, hopefully.

"Oh yeah. Totally did. Cause I'm awesome! The outside starting to try and murder you?" Atticus asked.

"Vehemently," he said and paused to grab a tree as he let loose three powerful sneezes into the crook of his arm.

Atticus watched as they wiped a sheen of oily sweat from their forehead.

"These birds better be the best birds ever," they lamented watching their boyfriend pull out a handkerchief and clear his sinuses into it before tucking it into his pants.

Otto laughed lightly, exhaustedly, in their direction.

If the birds weren't worth it, the clearing certainly was. It was more a field with picnic tables with the edge overlooking the mountain's edge than a traditional look out with a single location to stand and hope to see birds from.

Huffing and puffing the couple put their supplies down on one of the tables and sat heavily next to each other for a moment.

Atticus wordlessly slid the bottle of Allegra and spray bottle of Flonase over to Otto with the reusable water bottle they'd kept in the backpack. Otto took them gratefully.

When the clock maker started to spray the Flonase though Atticus grabbed his arm and pointed to a particularly pretty bird that had landed on the wooden rail beside them.

"Ooh look! It's a-a-a bird!" Atticus finished a little lamely. They suddenly realized that despite having watched an entire documentary about birds they had no idea how to identify the birds they were seeking out.

Otto sniffed the Flonase a little too powerfully and some ended up in his throat as he turned to look, suppressing coughs from the bitter fluid hitting the back of his throat.

His gift for the effort of looking was a...well it was a bird. And for all of the random facts, trivia, and history Otto had stashed in his noggin over the years he suddenly realized that, aside from a few clock specific birds (namely the Cuckoo), he possessed very little knowledge on taxonomy and identification of birds.

"Oh *koff* yeah it's *kuf kuf* pretty..." Otto said emitting more soft coughs as Atticus rubbed his back until, "HUP!-HUCK! Oh! HU'UCK!-HMK! Uh!"

The bird, which had been lingering for them to ogle a little while, flustered and took off at the sudden sounds.

Atticus would've been more flustered themselves if they hadn't already been treated by Otto's hiccups that morning. But they still felt the buzz of excitement at the loud interruptions and feelings of his body jolting next to them.

"Well, so much for the birds," Atticus teased as they widened their eyes at Otto pointedly.

Otto had his hand over his mouth in response, his body jumping with the barely muffled spasms, the bottom of his throat pulling in sharply as the hiccups kept volleying through him.

"I'm MMK'M! so-HMP!-sorry! I didn't HM'MMP!-didn't know I HMP!MK! waUHs gonna get HIMP! get them again to--today!" he said.

Atticus laughed giving him another rub to his back at his endearing apology.

"It's okay!" they assured him. "I'd rather have you and your diaphragm's loud opinions than birds any day!"

Otto gave his partner a soft smile, still muffling the hiccups as his body jerked dramatically every second or two. Hopefully they wouldn't last too long. However, he had started to be much more patient with them after learning of Atticus' reaction.

In the past, Otto felt anywhere from mildly annoyed with his hiccups to begrudging patience to apathy depending on the situation and how bad the case was. This new emotion, excitement and warmth, was something he'd never felt for the occasionally inconvenient bodily function he was prone to having. It was oddly comforting, in some ways, to know someone was not only patient with them but also appreciative of them.

Being this was before either of them had discovered a way to cure Otto's hiccups effectively, they both resolved to wait them out as Atticus started to unpack the basket.

"Shit, this thing is heavy! What...are these actual plates?" Atticus exclaimed as they slid the basket over from where Otto had put it.

They weren't able to keep their eyes off of Otto for long. They could see the side of his abdomen from beside them and feel the spasms if they leaned in a bit. The shirt he'd unbuttoned lower as they'd both continued to exert more energy in climbing showed his chest's movements in addition to the reflexive pooch that pushed out his stomach and expanded his ribs.

"Yeah the--they're part of HMP!HMK! the-HUP! the set!" he said and patted his chest a couple of times. "Ugh. HU'UCK! It was--It was very he-HIP!-heavy. Not exactly HM'MP! meant for h--hiking I don't think. HULMP'K!"

That last hiccup caught his throat, and he set off a chain of coughing and hiccuping, one right after the other, until he downed some water from his bottle to quell the coughing at least.

Atticus watched him in sympathy, hand becoming a constant present on his shoulder or back as the hiccups continued to jolt his body roughly even after the coughing fit.

"Those things are kinda owning your ass right now. You okay?" Atticus asked.

Otto nodded with a smile.

"Yeah, they HUCK! they'll go awa--y eventually. H'MUCK!-uh," he said rubbing his chest again. "You--you okay? HOCK! You're not HNK! not over sti-HUCK'NK! stimulated are UCK! are you?"

Atticus chuckled shyly ducking their head as they pushed their mustache up a little from their top lip in both preparation to eat as well as from nervousness.

"No, I--"

"CAAAW!"

"The fuck?!" Atticus exclaimed, that noise definitely not having come from Otto.

Otto startled as well and looked to the side of the table to see a large, black-feathered bird. In the sun the bird's inky black body sheened with purples, greens, and blues.

"HU'OCK!" Otto let slip in his shock.

"CAAAAAW!" said the bird.

Atticus and Otto exchanged wide-eyed looks to each other and back to the bird who was slowly stepping close, head bobbing with each step of its feet.

"What is HUUUCK! happening?" Otto asked, nervousness strengthening his hiccups a little.

"CAAAAW!!" the crow answered excitedly, its head turned a little to inspect the area and the source of the sound.

"I think you're communicating with it?" Atty hazarded a guess which seemed to be confirmed with the next double-hiccup from Otto followed by two caws from the crow.

The picnic became all the more amusing when Atty decided to throw the bird a little ham from one of the sandwiches. The crow gladly took it and within five minutes two more crows had arrived. All three of them chorused Otto when he hiccuped loudly.

The couple couldn't help but laugh. The distraction of the crows' antics was enough to keep Atticus' arousal from overwhelming them and also to ease Otto from feeling like he had to suppress his hiccups in order to not frighten away birds.

Much more ham was dispersed to the growing murder, a thought which still seemed wholly ridiculous despite it being an accurate word to define a collection of crows.

Atticus noticed and questioned why Otto had only eaten the inside of his sandwich, discarding the bread back into the basket.

"Bread makes the-NRK! them worse. They're already HUP!-uh, already kind of hu--URting a little! HOCK! HUCK!" he said.

His crow chorus echoed the hiccups discordantly. He chuckled.

"That is wi--ild!" he said, grinning around his bite of food.

Atticus looked out into the field which was now littered with the black birds.

"What're you gonna do with your new army?" Atticus asked with a grin as they popped a grape in their mouth.

"Well crows are pre-H'ULP! pretty good with tools. HMK! I think I cou--could teach them HMLK! how to wind cl-HUP'K! clocks!" he said.

"Well...I guess that would save you...time," Atticus said with a waggle of their eyebrows.

"Mmm. I see hmp!hmk! I see what you di-hip! did there!" Otto said waggling his finger at them.

"They finally calming down, now?" Atty asked, gesturing toward Otto.

"I thingk! so," he said. He splayed his hand chest and rode out another silent hiccup, chin tucking and shoulders jolting back. He sighed. "Didn't know Flo--Flonase could be s-hup! so dangerous."

"Never use while distracted, apparently," Atticus said.

Otto laughed silently with a shake of is head.

"Appare-hip!-ntly! Sorry about the hup! the other bird," Otto said.

"Are you kidding? This is so much better," Atticus said, grinning. "You, um, you want me to give you a chest and belly massage when we get home?"

The habit was still new, but Otto had warmed up to the physical touch and when they brought it up he smiled.

"Yeah that'd ngk---uh! That'd be nice, actual--ly!" he said.

Atty kissed him on the temple.

"Love you, Crow Mother," Atticus cooed.

This caused Otto and laugh out loud causing a "HUCK'A!" to echo out and a refrain of caws from his admirers.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, kissing Atticus' head in return as another hiccup shook him into their body.

"Me too," they replied and fed him a grape which he took with a smile as they leaned into his chest.

#hiccups kink #hiccup kink #minors dni #non kink blogs do not reblog #hiccups #18+ mdni #otto and atticus #hic fic #hicfic #ottocus #it's definitely not almost 3am #but i'm off tomorrow anyway #bringing up a vintage ask #probably some grammar stuff i got wrong #this was fun to write though

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