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soft-lilith · 1 year ago

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Spilling my woes into your whisky

Word count 2.7k | Angst and Fluff

Soooo @writersdrug encouraged me to post my brain farts and I will do so from now on. If any of you have complains, got to her. /s

I hope you like it.

AO3 Mirror

The golden liquid in your glass looked so tempting even with the knowledge that you hated its taste. Small drops of water ran down the pretty looking glass, forming a small puddle underneath. Faint music entered your ears, but you couldn't hear a thing.

Your arms rested on the bar like heavy bags of meat. Between them were three beautiful rings.

One of them was way too expensive and was the reason you literally kicked his ass. Who spends 12 grand on a stupid engagement ring? He did. Idiot. Big, loving, caring idiot. You hate him so much, hate him for leaving you alone in this hell called life.

A tear fell on the gold ring with a beautiful design inspired by nature. Inside was a simple inscription.

Eternally yours.

Liar.

He is such a liar. How dare he ever give you hope of a life of bliss, a life by his side, a life away from this suffocating pain?

With trembling hands, you raised the glass to your chapped lips and gulped it down in one fell swoop.

Disgusting. You would never understand why he liked the taste of this shit so much.

As the woody note spread through your mouth, an image entered your brain.

It was one of those nights, the nights after an extremely hard mission. No words were spoken. Moonshine was the only source of light with the lit end of your cigarette.

Your head rested on his hard chest, listening to his heartbeat, while his nose rested in your hair. It was a ritual that was incorporated shortly after you first landed between his sheets.

It was all fun and games back then. But even on your first night, you couldn't shake the feeling that could best be described as weird. A mixture of fear and hope, lust and love.

On nights like that, the two of you became each other's world, and everything outside the door of your dorm was nonexistent. Leaving behind the cruel world you just fought in. He poured himself his favorite whiskey and you lit a cigarette. Both habits you tried your best to get rid of. But in moments like this, it was a treat, a reward for increasing your kill count. Something that was necessary, but the worst part of your job.

At the end of the day, you are human, and taking another's life leaves you with scars. Some of them are hidden and some of them show through a cigarette or a glass of whisky.

The bartender didn't need a word from you to know you needed another. Another drink to get closer to numbing your pain. You were used to pain. In fact, pain had been your longest friend. It was there when you grew up and the days you started basic training. The day you joined the team and the day you tasted him for the first time.

How it could find you anything but repulsive is beyond you. But he did. He kissed every scar life gave you, kissed the still-healing wounds of your past.

Your tears began to mingle with the snot running from your nose. It must look so hideous, a woman who doesn't move an inch, her eyes looking somewhere that wasn't in this bar, dressed in all black, her husband's uniform jacket draped over her shoulders.

"Stop stealin' me clothes, bonnie!", he complained to you. With innocence in your eyes, you look at him, in his shirt and nothing but his shirt.

"It's not my fault I look so much better in them."

He crossed his big arms over his chest as he looked down at you. Smiling, you rolled onto your back and locked eyes with him, placing your hand on your exposed thigh.

"If you want them back, you have to take them off first," you cooed and his eyes narrowed.

"Ye're a ratchet woman."

Before you could pout, he picked you up with ease and threw you over his broad shoulders. Your laughter echoed down the hallway leading to your shared bedroom.

"No, wait, I-!"

A slap on your butt cut short your pleading and his grip on your waist tightened.

"Ye'll see what ye get for playin' games, bonnie."

And you did. You walked funny for three days.

You put the empty glass back on the bar. The alcohol burned in your throat, but the pain wasn't strong enough to conceal your pain.

"My condolences."

You almost jumped at the male voice that ripped you out of your trance. How hard did you dissociate to not even notice that someone had sat down next to you?

"Thank you."

Nothing more, but enough. Hastily you wiped away some of the endless tears. With the nearby napkins the bartender had placed down with a sympathetic smile the moment the first tear left your eyes, you blew your nose and removed some of the ruined makeup under your eyes.

The man got a shot in front of him, which was quickly emptied and set down for a refill.

You felt your pulse in your head as you tried to pull yourself together. Should you try to talk to him? After all, the two of you were nothing more than strangers sitting in a bar in the middle of the day, getting drunk.

"What... What makes you drink at 14?"

A deep chuckle escaped his lips. As if you had asked the most unnecessary question. From his point of view, you probably did. You blinked a few times before playing nervously with your refilled whisky glass.

"It's 19."

Your head turned towards the man. His dark blond hair looked unkempt, and there were dark circles under his piercing blue eyes. There was no way you had sat in that bar for 5 hours bathing in grief.

"He's right, darling," the bartender explained, giving you a gentle look. "Would you like me to call you a cab?"

Slowly your eyes returned to the rings in front of you, as if they could speak for you.

You have been looking at wedding bands for a while. None of them seem to be 100% up to scratch, and with an increasingly annoyed fiancé by your side, you were even more unsure. But how could he not get anxious when this was the 4th store you went to look for rings?

"Come on, bonnie, just pick yin that ye like."

You looked at him with a slight pout.

"I don't vibe with any of them... maybe we should look somewhere else?"

He looked at you with his smile that still made your knees weak. Gently, he placed his hand on your cheek and you automatically nuzzled into it.

"If that's whit ye want, we can look somewhere else."

There it was again, his endless understanding when it comes to everything that concerns you. You will never fully comprehend how he was able to put up with your bullshit. And while he showed that he would rather have it done, he never once lashed out at you. Never.

"I just want them to be as beautiful as the ring you gave me," you explained as you moved closer to him, resting your forehead on his chest.

"I ken, bonnie, but if ye want something like that, ye'd need tae rob a bank wi' me."

A laugh escaped your lips and you pulled him into a hug. He kissed the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

"So which bank are we going to hit, Clyde?"

His laughter made you feel warm and fuzzy, and his hand moved up your back to your head, kissing you longingly.

"I love ye," he whispered against your lips.

"No need. I have nowhere else to go," you simply said, emptying another glass.

And you spoke the truth. There was no way you could go back to your house, back to the base, back to all the places that made you think of him.

Silence fell over the man and the bartender, who continued their work. And it stayed that way for a while. Endless tears soaked the bar as you just sat there staring at those stupid rings.

All the broken promises were catching up to you. The promises of sitting on the porch, gray hair and grandchildren playing in the front yard. The promises of traveling the world, making new memories. The promises of always being by your side.

But here you sat, broken, alone, and with the fire that once burned within you extinguished.

"My mother died of cancer."

It took you a moment to register what the man was saying. You turned your head to look at him. There was no sparkle in his blue eyes, and you could see that his inner turmoil was more than a simple storm. Your caretaker overcame his grief and raised your hand to place it over his.

For the first time since he sat down, he looked at you. There it was, a glimpse of what you would call familiarity. His eyes were different than his, but they had seen the same horrors.

"It's not quite the same as losing the love of your life, but I think I'm close to understanding how you feel," he continued, after downing another shot of clear alcohol. How he could drink without making a face was beyond you.

You let out a broken chuckle and your eyes went back to the rings you had picked up from the bar.

"Thank you for opening up, even though I'm just a stranger."

"You're not a stranger."

Confused, you tilted your head. The gears in your head couldn't turn fast enough to put together if you'd ever met this man before.

"We both fight on the same battlefield. We both buried our friends. We both made other people bury their friends."

Your mouth opened slightly before it formed a small smile. Tears streamed down your face again. He was right. While the two of you were talking to each other for the first time, he was not a stranger. He was a comrade, a team member who fought on the same front line. The same battle scars tainted your mind and body.

He couldn't hold your gaze any longer, looking almost shy as he turned his eyes back to his shot glass. Your hand still rested on his as another comfortable silence fell over the two of you.

So many unspoken things were fighting their way to the front of the war that was going on inside your head. You hated yourself so much for every fight you ever had with him. Especially because they all seemed so petty looking back on them now.

"Stop telling me what to do, Soap! I may be your girlfriend, but I'm not your property!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, bonnie, I'm just worried aboot ye!"

A bitter laugh came over your lips as you glared at him.

"Sure, tell you that yourself. Maybe one day I will believe it myself."

You were expecting a slap, and if you were honest, you really deserved one for saying all those things to him. How could you ever have faith that anyone would ever be in love with you? Look at you, a disgrace to your family, hiding the fact that you were a murderer behind the cloak of your uniform, a little whore who fucked all those men in the hope that they could see you, the crying girl inside of you, still waiting for her prince to fight his way through the darkness surrounding her.

But it wasn't a slap in the face, in fact, there was never a raising of his hand. No, he just grabbed your arm and pulled you into a forced embrace. At first you struggled, but eventually you gave in, embracing his warmth as you cried your eyes out.

"Stop thinkin' that ye're no worth my worry, bonnie. It hurts tae see ye like this."

Endless apologies and tears left your body as you continued to cry in his strong arms.

You flinched as the man's phone went off. Gently, you removed your hand so he could answer the call.

"Yes? Yes, I'm at the bar. No, I'm fine. I can text you the address. Later."

He typed something into the device before sliding it back into his pocket. It was only now that you noticed his accent, which your foggy brain had a hard time pinpointing.

"Sorry for the startle."

You couldn't help but chuckle.

"Please, I'm sorry for being so jumpy."

There was something close to a smile on the man's lips. After putting on your rings on your left hand and his on your right, you reached into your jacket pocket. A crumpled pack of cigarettes was placed on the bar. You pulled the ashtray toward you before lighting the cancer stick with a lighter.

"Old habits die hard," he said almost with a teasing undertone, and you sucked your teeth.

"Old habits die hard," you repeated before taking a long drag on your cigarette.

It had something comforting about it, sitting in that chair, at the bar, ignoring the glaring horror waiting outside that front door. And as you sat next to the stranger, you felt yourself starting to calm down, at least a little.

"Are you thinking about revenge, if that's an option?"

Good question. But you already knew the answer.

"Will killing the freak who took his life bring him back into my arms?"

You could see your counter question sinking in as he was about to speak when the front door of the bar opened and a group of young soldiers stumbled into the bar. Great, just what you needed. Some of them were holding a girl close, displaying her like some kind of trophy.

It seemed that you weren't the only one who was more than disdainful at the arrival of the group of people. But once again, your new acquaintance was too slow or too wrapped up in his own thoughts to react faster than one of the men who ordered a round of drinks. The boy stood a little too close to you and his smell made your nose wrinkle.

His eyes lingered, checking you out, before he began to speak.

"He's not worth it."

Your eyes widened and your trembling hand clenched into a fist. But he didn't stop. All those words slowly turned to white noise as you froze. You wanted to stand up and beat the shit out of this asshole who thought it was appropriate to go up to a grieving widow and hit on her. You couldn't, though, which made you hurt even more.

The alcohol kicked in as a dizzy spell washed over you.

Not only that, but endless memories were being dumped on you. The feeling of his 5 o'clock shadow under your fingers, the feeling of his rough hands on your thighs, the feeling of being whole for the first time in your life as you lay in his arms.

A loud sob escaped your lips.

I loved you so. I loved you so and yet

Traitor that you are get a bullet through your heart

Join me right in here, and take a look at my insides

I loved you so. I loved you so and yet

Strangely, the white noise had stopped and you heard someone calling your name. Still not quite back in the present, you turned your head toward the voice calling for you. Slowly, your eyes moved up to meet those of your teammate.

Ghost's brown eyes looked slightly red and unusually emotional. Or as emotional as someone like him could be. You had trouble processing how he found you in this bar in the middle of nowhere.

"Come on, darling, let me take you home. The others are worried."

The words caught in your throat as you tried to answer him. All that happened was another tear falling onto your jacket. Ghost held out his hand to support you. As your stitches were pulled, you put your half-finished cigarette into the glass ashtray. It took you a moment to see the blood on his hand. Ah, that's why the white noise stopped, you thought as you carefully stepped down from the barstool. Ghost put his arm around your shoulders to help you out of the bar.

And as you stumbled along, you turned to the man at the bar who had a genuine smile on his lips as he looked at you. Your lips said, "Thank you," but your vocal cords didn't obey. The new acquaintance gave you only a nod before turning back to his drink.

#lili writes #cod #x reader #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod soap #reader x soap #tw grief #tw angst #tw death of a loved one #tw described blood

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