#anyways time to get off my soap box

[atopvisenyashill]

Bran The Time Traveling Toddler

Yes that IS a reference to the Tyrion the time traveling fetus theory. The thing about MY insane theories is that they actually make sense and I’m right. Follow me please down the worm hole!!

There’s very clearly Someone Influencing things when it comes to the Starklings and even the overreaching plot in general - there’s enough weird magic surrounding them, whispering in the wind, that it’s a no brainer they’re being watched over. The question is WHO and WHEN. For me, personally, I think it’s Bran, and I think it’s an older Bran from the future (whether it be Bran In TWOW and ADOS or Bran post canon) trying to lead his siblings to safety.

Now, like my Harrenhal meta, I don’t think I’m saying anything new so much as compiling what people have said scattered across the interwebs. There’s a lot of theories about whether Bran can time travel, time travel in general in the series, how george has dealt with time travel before, and about the three eyed crow’s identity and I agree with bits and pieces of what other people have said - preston jacobs is a more famous example of this theory for example. But I don't want to get caught up on things like time travel paradoxes because, like, i don’t care about that, and george has talked about how time travel is more fantasy than scifi bc it’s just not really scientifically possible. do you know what that means? it means there’s no weird physical paradoxes because it’s ✨magic✨ and Bran isn't literally going through space and time. It's as Jojen says-

With two eyes you see my face. With three you could see my heart. With two you can see that oak tree there. With three you could see the acorn the oak grew from and the stump that it will one day become. With two you see no farther than your walls. With three you would gaze south to the Summer Sea and north beyond the Wall

Through his greenseeing abilities, Bran can see the whole of a lifespan, from conception to burial, and can pop out at any point in that lifespan, because a span of 100, 1000, or 1,000,000 years is all the same to the weirwood. So I don't think it's in the realm of Crazy Ass Theories to say that Bran is capable of a more magic based form of time travel. That he can whisper in people's dreams, on the wind, taking on the voice of the old gods themselves and doing his best to nudge things the way he needs them to be in order to keep the people he loves safe.

I also don't think Bloodraven is Three Eyed Crow (though I do think he also uses this metaphor of "flying" wrt magic, and that's why Euron also has a comment about flying in his dreams - I just don't believe that metaphor originates with Brynden himself. Rather, I think he picked it up from somewhere else), but instead, it's Bran, using the weirwood network to get all the pieces on the board he needs where he needs them to be for the endgame. Notice that Brynden doesn't seem to know what Bran is talking about when he mentions the Three Eyed Crow-

"Are you the three-eyed crow?" Bran heard himself say. A three-eyed crow should have three eyes. He has only one, and that one red. Bran could feel the eye staring at him, shining like a pool of blood in the torchlight. Where his other eye should have been, a thin white root grew from an empty socket, down his cheek, and into his neck. "A … crow?" The pale lord's voice was dry. His lips moved slowly, as if they had forgotten how to form words. "Once, aye. Black of garb and black of blood." 

Brynden mentions the watch, but doesn't mention the three eyed crow. Everyone simply refers to Brynden as the greenseer, not the three eyed crow, except for Bran himself, who simply assumes Brynden is the three eyed crow (and we know magical assumptions in this series are generally wrong!).

What’s double interesting to me about this “bloodraven is the three eyed crow” assumption is brynden himself makes his “a thousand eyes and one” comment - but doesn’t mention a third eye. Meanwhile, Bran’s narrative is obviously filled with bird references and the opening of his third eye from Bran feeding the crows on the towers before he falls then longing to go back to the crows afterwards, of a crow sending Jojen to “the winged wolf,” of his dreams of living as a bird in maester luwin’s rookery with his siblings - Jon Snow even compares him to a bird in their final scene face to face when he thinks bran has “fingers like the bones of birds.”

And notable that though both Rickon and Bran have a greendream where they talk to Ned in the crypts of Winterfell just before Ned is executed, Rickon makes no mention of a three eyed crow, but Bran explicitly sees him-

The mention of dreams reminded him. "I dreamed about the crow again last night. The one with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I did. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad."

"Shaggy," a small voice called. When Bran looked up, his little brother was standing in the mouth of Father's tomb. With one final snap at Summer's face, Shaggydog broke off and bounded to Rickon's side. "You let my father be," Rickon warned Luwin. "You let him be." "Rickon," Bran said softly. "Father's not here." "Yes he is. I saw him." Tears glistened on Rickon's face. "I saw him last night."

What that says to me is that the Three Eyed Crow has the ability to speak directly to only Bran and can only otherwise appear in a more ephemeral way to others. With the established rules about not being able to communicate properly with the past, I think this makes sense - being able to use the weirwood hivemind/greenseeing powers to appear in a different form to yourself but unable to appear in a concrete form to anyone else.

I think it's even likely we'll see Bran doing some of this nudging and whispering on page in ADOS or maybe as early as TWOW, but it won't be the exact same sort of "Bran can literally reach out and touch someone in a weirwood dream" that they had in the show with the later scenes. It'll be more like that very first scene in the show where we see Bran influence the past slightly - you know, when he calls out "father!" and young Ned turns around, having heard a voice on the wind-

And there's a direct parallel to ADWD here, where Bran is certain Ned heard him speaking in the godswood but Brynden says it's not possible (not possible for Brynden perhaps!)-

Lord Eddard Stark sat upon a rock beside the deep black pool in the godswood, the pale roots of the heart tree twisting around him like an old man's gnarled arms. The greatsword Ice lay across Lord Eddard's lap, and he was cleaning the blade with an oilcloth. "Winterfell," Bran whispered. His father looked up. "Who's there?" he asked, turning … … and Bran, frightened, pulled away. His father and the black pool and the godswood faded and were gone and he was back in the cavern, the pale thick roots of his weirwood throne cradling his limbs as a mother does a child.

It's not quite time travel. It's like the acorn and stump metaphor - Bran can't appear in his physical body in the past but he can make a bit of noise, perhaps even be mistaken for one of the old gods.

As TWOW and ADOS go on, I think we'll see Bran's powers grow (likely in ways that frighten him and horrify the reader), and we'll see the very beginnings of him influencing the plot that happens during the previous books, showing up in scenes we've already experienced, similar to the Ned scene above. I think this because, well...he's already done it!

Now, as for What Time Traveling Bran Has Already Done - it’s tricky because we have a LOT of magic users waking and shaking. I’m not including every single instance of weird whispering or funny birds here, just the moments I think are more likely to be Bran than anyone else because I think Bran mostly deals with his siblings. I imagine they're easiest to reach out to magically because they already have the ability to access magic, and they're also the people he cares most about. The most obvious to me is in A Clash of Kings, when Jon hears a voice on the wind, very similar to the young Ned scene in the show-

Jon VII in A Clash of Kings

The call came from behind him, softer than a whisper, but strong too. Can a shout be silent? He turned his head, searching for his brother, for a glimpse of a lean grey shape moving beneath the trees, but there was nothing, only … A weirwood. It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?

Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow. He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.

Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him.

This moment was when I really started paying attention to Weird Shit Bran Might Be Doing because of that line "not before the crow." Now, we know Bran mentions talking with Jon later on, in the very last chapter of the book, here-

 He could reach Summer whenever he wanted, and once he had even touched Ghost and talked to Jon. Though maybe he had only dreamed that.

But I think it's both Bran in the present and Bran in ADOS speaking here - brothers reaching out to each other in their fear, and future Bran piggybacking off that connection to send a warning (this is back in Jon VII, during the shared Jon-Bran dream as before)-

Then he realized he was looking at a river of ice several thousand feet high. Under that glittering cold cliff was a great lake, its deep cobalt waters reflecting the snowcapped peaks that ringed it. There were men down in the valley, he saw now; many men, thousands, a huge host. Some were tearing great holes in the half-frozen ground, while others trained for war...This is no army, no more than it is a town. This is a whole people come together.

Bran warns Jon of the wildling army headed their way because he needs the Night’s Watch to stop fighting the wildlings, get them safely out of the True North (so they can’t be reanimated as wights), and focus on the Long Night. When you read the passage, it seems as if Bran is trying to awaken Jon’s third eye - something present baby Bran isn’t concerned with, because he barely understands his own third eye awakening. But a Bran in ADOS or beyond would know exactly what to say and do to get Jon and himself to wake up! Not just because of the paradox, but because of his connection to his brother and his vast understanding of his own magic. Similar to the idea that “who would know how to motivate Bran better than Bran himself” who would know how to motivate Jon better than one of his beloved siblings?

Arya X in A Clash of Kings

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree. There she knelt. Red leaves rustled. Red eyes peered inside her. The eyes of the gods. "Tell me what to do, you gods," she prayed.

For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb. And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya's skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father's voice. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," he said.

“But there is no pack," she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. "I'm not even me now, I'm Nan."

"You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you."

"The wolf blood." Arya remembered now. "I'll be as strong as Robb. I said I would." She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth.

Once again, we have a voice - it seemed as if it was her father's voice - telling a Starkling to do something specific, reminding that Starkling of their ties to Winterfell, the north, and home. The voice she hears, speaking her true name, is the kick in the pants Arya needs to grab Gendry and Hot Pie and get out of Harrenhal. There's something interesting, engaging, heartbreaking, that when Arya is at one of her lowest points, lamenting the loss of her pack, and out comes the voice of one of her pack urging her to keep faith, and helping to inspire one of her best moments - I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. Again, we have a voice trying to get the Starklings to wake up and face their reality!

Sansa in A Storm of Swords

That night Sansa scarcely slept at all, but tossed and turned just as she had aboard the Merling King. She dreamt of Joffrey dying, but as he clawed at his throat and the blood ran down across his fingers she saw with horror that it was her brother Robb. And she dreamed of her wedding night too, of Tyrion's eyes devouring her as she undressed. Only then he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed his face was scarred only on one side. "I'll have a song from you," he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. "I wish that you were Lady," she said.

To be clear I think there’s a large change this is nothing. BUT. Considering Bran seems to be reaching out to his siblings, I like the idea that Bran, and magic in general, is trying to talk to Sansa but she can’t quite hear it. Winterfell and it’s magic and it’s family is calling it’s daughter home, even torn from her magical guide as she is, still trying to reach out through her dreams and through the animals around her. I’m desperately hoping that at some point in Sansa’s early TWOW chapters, we’ll start to see birds acting and speaking funny around her as Bran tries harder to reach his lost sister.

Theon Greyjoy in A Dance With Dragons

BUT. I don't think it's just the Starklings that get these messages from Bran - it's everyone he cares about, everyone he loves or will love. One of the other more obvious examples of this is Theon Greyjoy, himself clearly capable of some degree of magic, just like the Starklings-

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. “Theon,” they seemed to whisper, “Theon.” The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. “Please.” He fell to his knees. “A sword, that’s all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. “I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands.” A leaf drifted down from above, brushed his brow, and landed in the pool. It floated on the water, red, five-fingered, like a bloody hand. “… Bran,” the tree murmured. They know. The gods know. They saw what I did. And for one strange moment it seemed as if it were Bran’s face carved into the pale trunk of the weirwood, staring down at him with eyes red and wise and sad. Bran’s ghost, he thought, but that was madness. Why should Bran want to haunt him? He had been fond of the boy, had never done him any harm. It was not Bran we killed. It was not Rickon. They were only miller’s sons, from the mill by the Acorn Water.

“he had been fond of the boy” please allow me this moment to contemplate killing myself thanks.

okay back on track but this is very self explanatory - we know Theon has some sort of capacity for magic because he had a vision of the Red Wedding in ACOK and unlike Jaime who just fell asleep on a weirweed tree, Theon was just up in bed. We see it again here, where Theon can hear a voice on the wind and then seems to see Bran’s own face in the face of the weirwood tree. Once again, the voice on the wind is trying to help a loved one of Bran’s find their way back to themselves, back to home. And Theon, for all the harm he has done, is still so so loved by Bran, and loves Bran in return.

Samwell Tarly III in A Storm of Swords

Sam made a whimpery sound. “It’s not fair …” “Fair.” The raven landed on his shoulder. “Fair, far, fear.” It flapped its wings, and screamed along with Gilly. The wights were almost on her. He heard the dark red leaves of the weirwood rustling, whispering to one another in a tongue he did not know. The starlight itself seemed to stir, and all around them the trees groaned and creaked. Sam Tarly turned the color of curdled milk, and his eyes went wide as plates. Ravens! They were in the weirwood, hundreds of them, thousands, perched on the bone-white branches, peering between the leaves. He saw their beaks open as they screamed, saw them spread their black wings. Shrieking, flapping, they descended on the wights in angry clouds. They swarmed round Chett’s face and pecked at his blue eyes, they covered the Sisterman like flies, they plucked gobbets from inside Hake’s shattered head. There were so many that when Sam looked up, he could not see the moon. “Go,” said the bird on his shoulder. “Go, go, go.”

Whoever this is - it's Bran!!!! - helps to save Sam and Gilly's lives, actively tells them to run for it, and just a little bit later, Sam is around to help save Bran in turn. I think there's also something to be said for the brotherhood connection here. They refer to each other as brothers in the book because of their connection to Jon; that connection to Jon, and therefore each other, means a lot to both Sam and Bran. There's a practical reason for saving Sam here in that he can help Bran in the "present" timeline, will likely help in the future, but more than that there's an emotional bond here and it seems to me that magic runs off emotions just as assuredly as it runs off of other important stuff like blood and and sacrifice and weirwoods.

Jon Snow XII in A Storm of Swords

With a raucous scream and a clap of wings, a huge raven burst out of the kettle. It flapped upward, seeking the rafters perhaps, or a window to make its escape, but there were no rafters in the vault, nor windows either. The raven was trapped. Cawing loudly, it circled the hall, once, twice, three times. And Jon heard Samwell Tarly shout, “I know that bird! That’s Lord Mormont’s raven!” The raven landed on the table nearest Jon. “Snow,” it cawed. It was an old bird, dirty and bedraggled. “Snow,” it said again, “Snow, snow, snow.” It walked to the end of the table, spread its wings again, and flew to Jon’s shoulder. Lord Janos Slynt sat down so heavily he made a thump, but Ser Alliser filled the vault with mocking laughter. “Ser Piggy thinks we’re all fools, brothers,” he said. “He’s taught the bird this little trick. They all say snow, go up to the rookery and hear for yourselves. Mormont’s bird had more words than that.” The raven cocked its head and looked at Jon. “Corn?” it said hopefully. When it got neither corn nor answer, it quorked and muttered, “Kettle? Kettle? Kettle?” The rest was arrowheads, a torrent of arrowheads, a flood of arrowheads, arrowheads enough to drown the last few stones and shells, and all the copper pennies too.

The Night's Watch seem to take this as some sort of divine sign, and Jon's friends take it as an excellent ploy from Samwell Tarly. But when Pyp confronts Sam over it a page later, Sam completely denies it -

“I had nothing to do with the bird,” Sam insisted. “When it flew out of the kettle I almost wet myself.”

Everyone has their theories about people warging Mormont's crow of course. I think what's interesting to me here is that Jon is really wrestling with the idea of leaving the Watch for Winterfell, in which case Janos Slynt was likely to take over command. Someone like Slynt being in charge when the Long Night is coming is a bad idea, and here, Mormont's bird directly contributes to Jon staying where he needs to be - watching over the wildlings and making sure they aren't turning into Wights.

(And this is getting into my other theories here, but IF Sansa as the Girl In Grey is true, I think this is a neat sort of timeline fixing - almost as if Bran is saying “no, not yet, the pieces aren’t aligned, Jon can’t leave yet, Brienne isn’t at the Vale to get Sansa, I haven’t trained enough, Jon still keeps slapping his hands over his third eye so he can’t see, I need to give myself more time here.”)

Bran II in A Game of Thrones

But...it's not just his family and friends that I think Bran is trying to help here, and of course, if he IS the Three-Eyed Crow, he isn’t YET. What I think is going to be a big climactic part of Bran's story is self sacrifice, giving up some of his own power, his own happiness, to save others. Yes, part of this is my absolute refusal to accept Borg Hivemind Fantasy Police State King Bran in that he will say NO to the hivemind, but I think there's something magical here as well!

I think in order to access great power you need to be willing to put your own body on the line.

Jojen mentions having gotten sick with "greywater fever" shortly before his greendreams started

Dany experiences a miscarriage then literally walks into fire in order to hatch her dragons

both Beric and Catelyn have to quite literally be gruesomely murdered in order for Thoros' fire magic to work to bring them back to life

Melisandre has to physically give birth in order for her shadow assassination to work

on and on it goes. In order to be capable of great power, you can’t just have a willingness to throw someone ELSE onto the pyre but yourself as well. But Bran is pushed out of the window instead of willingly jumping. Or...

The wolfling was smarter than any of the hounds in his father’s kennel and Bran would have sworn he understood every word that was said to him, but he showed very little interest in chasing sticks…Finally he got tired of the stick game and decided to go climbing….

The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind the ears, then turned away, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and pulled himself up. He was halfway up the tree, moving easily from limb to limb, when the wolf got to his feet and began to howl.

Bran looked back down. His wolf fell silent, staring up at him through slitted yellow eyes. A strange chill went through him. He began to climb again. Once more the wolf howled. “Quiet,” he yelled. “Sit down. Stay. You’re worse than Mother.” The howling chased him all the way up the tree, until finally he jumped off onto the armory roof and out of sight.

I think this is future Bran, finally becoming the Three Eyed Crow, inside Summer. Summer shows no interest in the game and it’s only then that Bran decides to go climbing. Future Bran is sacrificing himself for the greater good - but can’t stop his mournful cry of the fate that awaits his own young self.

[bblackamethystt]

Alexa, play "Drama" by aespa

[hirokiyuu]

(ripping my hair out by the handful) Sol Is Not Trapped In The Time Loop Sol Is There Because They Choose To Be

[moe-broey]

LIKE. I'm not saying Takumi Can't be mean, he absolutely can be mean. I def feel like his supports w Elise teeter on feeling too mean for my liking (but also the fact that it's Elise he's talking to could be a factor in why I feel that way like!!!!!!!! How are you gonna be mean to Elise 😭😭😭💔💔💔💔)

BUT. It does feel in line for him. ESP given the context that she's one of the princesses of Nohr. And maybe it feels A Bit better too, because Elise is being just as stubborn as he is, but in her own way for her own goal (wanting to befriend him). Even when it's clear Elise is hurt and disappointed, it just... doesn't feel as sad as it does with Felicia??? Maybe because of how she handles it as well.

ALSO I think the payoff for Takumi's fuck ups are ESPPP rewarding in Elise's convos, when he does apologize and make up with her. His supports with her are actually some of my favorites, they are SO sweet and so fun 🥺 (DYING when she calls him "kid" like. That is SO funny to me. Elise is just a brilliant character herself LMFAO)

Idk. I just think. They should have handled his supports w Felicia differently. He can still be mean, and it can even feel bad as an audience member looking at it, but I think if it had the right context/right payoff it would have been fine at worst and rewarding at best.

[surpriserose]

sorry i cant think about how bad sex ed is in America without blowing up and yes this is colleen hoovers fault

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

--

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[mo-mode]

Back on my Screenwriter soap box while watching PJO: They should have bought a bunch of oil diffusers.

(Edit: This post was made before someone pointed out to me that I missed a key line of dialogue, but my points and theories still stand for the same reasons backing up my original post so I’m not changing anything. The dialogue I missed lets us know that Hermes told Percy the lotus was being pumped into the air off-screen. It’s also implies (? I’m still on the fence about this one?) that Hermes told him what day it is, but I missed these during my first three watches because of how quick and vague it was. Which actually kind of supports my point on why visual indicators are so important. Without these, it’s easy to miss key information. And remember, it’s a kid’s show. ANYWAY my conclusions haven’t changed, and I still believe these edits would work better than the quick line of dialogue so just keep this in mind. Thanks.)

(I’m not being nit-picky. I swear. Just hear me out.) So the weirdest thing to me in episode six was how Percy just…learned everything so quickly without any visual indicators? Like they know time passed because it’s dark outside, but how did he know it was Thursday? They know they were affected by the lotus flowers, but how does he know it was pumped into the air? This irked me because even if he’s smart enough to figure some of this out himself (which he is) we as the audience should still be able to follow his thought process instead of learning after the fact.

What if there were oil diffusers?

So imagine the trio walks into the Lotus, figures out this is like the Odyssey, and decides not to eat anything. They waltz in super confident that they cracked the code, but they were wrong. How do we know? Because the moment they enter the crowd, we get an establishing shot of a lotus-branded oil diffuser letting out steam.

Immediately, we as the audience realize their mistake, making it just that more tantalizing to watch. As the episode continues, we realize they’re everywhere. There’s a diffuser in the plants, on the counter, between the game tables, always right out of the corner of our eyes. They just keep churning out lotus-scented oil into the air, which we can infer because we’re smart. (Remember that.)

Now when Percy realizes what’s going on, we know HOW they’re doing it and HOW Percy knows without being told!! Because they were there the whole time.

Onto Thursday.

Consider: A watch.

What if Hermes has the only watch in the casino until the trio walks in with their own?

Let’s give Annabeth one of those cheap, funky watches that gives the time, day, month, year, etc. Something you get from a kids toy catalogue. It’s waterproof, glows in the dark, has an alarm or whatever. I feel like Annabeth would have one of those. (And honestly, she might already. I forgot.) The most important feature for us, though, is the day. It clearly tells us the day of the week.

It’s pretty easy to establish that Annabeth has the watch. Just do it the same way they establish the date: Percabeth arguing over it in the truck. Annabeth shows him the watch. Establishing shot of the watch’s face. That’s it. No bells or whistles necessary. Then when they get to the casino, Annabeth checks it one more time (without an establishing shot, she just does it casually) and they walk in.

(It’s so easy. I promise.)

While Grover is walking around alone, he tries to check the time and realizes there’s no clocks. (Which ngl is super common in casinos already, but it’s creepy nonetheless.) Yada yada, he gets sucked in by Augustus and that’s how he gets got.

Meanwhile, Percy and Annabeth keep meaning to check the time, but every time they do, someone tries to hand them an appetizer or a drink, which makes them forget OR Annabeth’s hubris keeps her from checking. (Percy: Time check? Annabeth: Its only been five minutes. We’re fine. We need to focus.)

And that brings us to Hermes. After their chat, yada yada, Annabeth “leaves” and Hermes gets all cryptic, then he makes a BIG show of checking his watch, and THAT’S when Percy realizes something’s wrong because oh no they haven’t checked the time. So he finds Annabeth, they see it’s dark outside, they check her watch, and it’s Thursday.

“But we didn’t eat anything!” Annabeth says. Percy looks at the diffusers by the entrance. It dawns on him. “They’re pumping it into the air.”

That’s how you VISUALLY SHOW US THINGS instead of Percy just figuring everything out off-camera and telling us!!!!

Now, you may be thinking “Oh but do they have the budget for that??” Do you know how cheap these props are? Just bulk buy like six oil diffusers, slap a homemade sticker of a lotus flower on them, and keep moving them into every shot. And they’re quiet!! They wouldn’t interfere with the sound, the steam is visible enough to be caught on camera without messing with the lighting, they actually look really cool in some lighting, and they fit the atmosphere of a hotel/casino!! Then the watch is like $15, fits with Annabeth’s character, and totally matches her outfit.

It’s CHEAP! It’s EASY! It DOESN’T CUT INTO THE RUN TIME! It’s AESTHETICALLY PLEASING! ANNABETH GETS A SICK WATCH!! NO DOWNSIDES!!!!

The biggest problem with this show isn’t how accurate it is to the book or how much money they have or that they’re “Disney-fying” it. The problem is they are TELLING US things instead of SHOWING us. And not to beat a dead horse because everyone’s heard of “Show Don’t Tell” but like??? This is exactly why everyone is taught this over and over again in school?? Because people still do it anyway all the time???

There’s also something else I learned (or really just picked up) when I got my B.A. in Creative Writing: Good shows are predictable.

Whether it’s a case of the audience learning what’s going to happen before it happens or them watching the show again and realizing how obvious the answer was the whole time, audiences always want to feel smart. They want to interact with the material. If you don’t give them the opportunity to pick apart the mystery themselves by setting down clues, they’ll give up on interacting with the show and lose interest. That’s why you SHOW them things. There are several moments where this show is completely unpredictable, not because it’s complex but because it doesn’t let you predict it. That doesn’t make it bad—the comedy and character development is doing a great job of carrying the show’s weight so far. But it definitely doesn’t make the show good.

It’s like Rube Goldberg machines. Or dominoes! We don’t watch those crazy 1000+ domino videos so we can watch the last one fall. We watch it to see HOW they fall. Take one domino out, and it’s unsatisfactory. It doesn’t work anymore.

But some oil diffusers and a watch??? Little clues that make the realization that more visually appealing??? THAT’S SATISFYING

Anyway, these are just two things that could have been done, but weren’t. Most of the show is stellar. I think it just needs a little bit of editing here and there. I studied this for like years, and I needed to get this off my chest. That’s it.

Rick Riordan, if you ever see this, I am available for hire :) I would love to be a script doctor please please please please

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

For a request:

Maybe a rescue fic with ghost, price, or soap? One where they rescue their non military fem s/o? I know you’ve written some already and they are so good but I EAT THEM UP EVERY TIME and love that trope so much!!!!!!

Hurt/comfort is my drug I swear

I know that’s pretty vague so maybe I’ll think of more eventually but that’s what I’ve got for now.

I love your writing!

- 🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️

None Lacking Sins

Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

Synopsis: It started with the incident at the grocery store and then built to the hidden gun in the nightstand and a quick, frantic, call to your boyfriend.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: Implied stalking, violence & blood, angst, protective Soap, suggestive language and conversations, implications of wanting a kid, vulgar language, fluffy banter, hurt/comfort, canon typical actions, edited in the middle of the night

A/N: I've been in a Soap mood lately, tbh. I think I'm going to flip-flop uploads for my Gaz series and Requests too...anyways. Enjoy, anon! You can never go wrong with a rescue fic!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*  

You called him for the first time when you were at the store, picking out dinner and asking what he wanted for a welcome home meal.

“Well,” his sly voice made you roll your eyes, but a smile still blossomed over your lips. “If you want me to be rash, Bonnie, I’d say that I wouldn't mind a good bite out of your–”

“Johnny, you finish that sentence, you’re not going to get anything besides butter on toast. Give me a recipe before it gets dark out.” Veiled glee was obvious from your tone, and the heat on your face could all but be heard over the line. Two months apart had made you both eager to be in each other's presence. 

Picking up a box of pasta, you flip it over and check the price, sticking to your budget and tilting the phone parallel to your chin. A deep chuckle meets your ears, and your chest feels light as it pierces your lungs. 

Your boyfriend was off in Australia this deployment—he’d been complaining about the heat nonstop on those few and far between video calls the two of you shared. While it was a step-up to know where exactly Johnny was this go around, the prospect of his job still made you incredibly nervous. There was never a time you could remember when he came home without a new cut or scar; bruises were all but guaranteed. 

Sucking down a soothing breath, you place the pasta into your cart and fix the phone’s position. The Scot was coming home in a day or so, you wanted to make him feel at home again. Destress.

You’ll see him before you know it. There’s no need to worry.

“Bit snappy, then, eh? Oh, alright.” The man huffs good-heartedly, and you hear the springs of those thin barracks-bed mattresses as his large frame shifts. Johnny lets off a soft sigh before continuing. You listen intently, leaning onto the handlebar ahead of you. “What about a nice plate ‘O that one you always make—hell—the…the one with the Pollock and cabbage.”

You blink through a laugh, shaking your head and pushing yourself off to go find the needed ingredients. The dish wasn’t easy to make, in fact, it took a helluva lot of time, but you didn’t mind in the slightest when it came to cooking for Johnny. He deserved it. 

“Hey, now,” He teases, smirking to himself, “What’s so funny over there, Dearie? You makin’ fun of me?”

“I would never dream of it, oh great and wondrous, Mr. MacTavish!” You huff, fake serious, as you place a box of cookies into the cart and pass a few strangers who raise an eyebrow at your conversation. A man passes by with a blue cap on, and you swerve the cart to move around him while tossing back a frown. You soon continue on like nothing happened, pulling back the sense of security from the man over the line. “Do you want mashed potatoes with that as well? Wine?”

Johnny groans, “Hey, you’re the one that asked me!” 

Divulging into giggles, you make your way around the store and stock up, holding a light conversation about how he and the rest of the boys were doing. 

“Ghost told me to let you know he appreciated the book you lent him, said he’d get it back to ya as soon as he’s able.” The Scot comments, and a hum makes its way from you as you head to the self-checkout. 

“Well, that’s good. I said he would like it – the bastard’s so tight-lipped about what he enjoys it was hard to nail-down a genre.” A chortle sounds off when you gather the chilled pollock and scan it; the phone was held against your shoulder to your ear. “High Fantasy for the win, I guess.” 

“I should get the man to read ‘The Way of Kings’ next time—form a little book club, y’know? Get all the boys in on it like some old ladies.” It was adorable how cute Johnny sounded, like a kid on Christmas. “Stemin’ Jesus, could you picture that, Bonnie?”

“I’d pay to see you pitch that, Dear.” A cheeky tone leaks through. “Price would laugh straight into your face.” 

“Please, the old man doesn’t know how to laugh….He’d just puff cigar smoke in my face and tell me to fuck off.” 

“As I said—I’d pay to see it.” Your boyfriend grumbles under his breath as you place the paper bags into your cart, the contents heavy, and grab your receipt with quick fingers. “Gaz would definitely be in for it, though.”

“I don’t doubt that. Anything beats playing cards for weeks straight, aye?” Your hand can finally grip the phone once more, and you sigh contently as the strained position of your neck finally rights itself. 

You’re about to answer but slow your pace with a scrunched look of confusion as you exit. 

Passing through the front doors, you suddenly get a strange sensation in the back of your mind to turn around. The hairs along your arms stand up as a breeze passes the steadily chilling dark sky, but the way the shiver ran down your spine wasn’t due to cold. Lips thinning, you spare a glance over your shoulder and look along the brightly lit grocery store as its windows leave cascading rays of light over the sun-bleached concrete. The black asphalt of the parking lot is hard under your feet.

There are a handful of other patrons at the checkouts—mothers with children and others buying quick meals for dinner—but none are out of the ordinary. 

You huff and roll your shoulders.

Maybe the day’s just getting to me.

“Bonnie,” Johnny’s slightly concerned voice brings you blinking back, turning your head back to the sparsely lit parking lot and realizing you had stopped walking completely. Your hand was sweaty like you’d just run somewhere. Fixing your hold on the device, your boyfriend continues, “...Everything alright? You’ve gone all quiet over there.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh dismissively, trudging forward to your car, “I just got the weirdest feeling right outside the grocery store.” 

The cart makes a loud rumbling sound as it goes over loose rocks and the bumpy texture of the asphalt, the metal rattling loudly so you have to strain your ears to hear Johnny’s next words. 

“What kind of feeling?” His drowned-out voice was so serious that it shocked you—you’d only ever heard him use a tone like this when he had briefly talked about nightmares that had woken him up in your shared bed. 

The Scot’s words were monotone, slow, and even if the sound of the cart’s wheels was raging all around you and making your skull rattle, you’d still swear you would identify that tone over a hurricane. It made your gut churn. 

“Really, it’s probably nothing,” you play off with a tense shrug he can’t see, coming to a stop at your car and reaching into your pocket for your keys. “I just got a chill.” 

Your eyes look around before you open the trunk, biting into your lip at the long shadows that the tall street lamps give off. Licking over your teeth, you bink dismissively and shake your head, unlocking the vehicle and huffing as you begin loading in your purchases. 

“Anyways,” you try to ignore the hard build of your spine or the way your eyes travel back to the brightly lit store. There wasn’t anyone out here but you and the dead forms of cars, trees off in the distance, and far-off lights of other buildings. You swallow and clear your throat. “I was thinking about getting us a dog.” 

“You’re not gettin’ out of this that—wait, did you say dog?” Across the world in a shitty bed, Johnny’s once concerned eyes widen, jaw going slack. “No way in Christ’s Hell, Dearie.”

“Oh, come on!” You groan, placing the second to last bag into the car and tuning your back to the street, throwing out your hand. “It doesn’t have to be a big dog—just one I can go on walks with and keep me company. I know you have a bad past with them, Love, but I just want someone to help not make the house so empty when you’re gone.” 

Your voice slides off near the end of the sentence, and you try not to sound so sullen. Johnny frowns as he stares into the far wall of the barracks over the heads of sleeping men, itching at the back of his neck. It was no secret that the Scot wasn’t particularly fond of canines—his encounters with them were almost never pleasant unless he knew the handler. 

But…

“I’ll think it over, eh, Bonnie?” He relents, sighing, and he thinks he hears snickers from a dark form in the distant corner. The Sergeant glares over at it and continues with a pang of internal guilt about how lonely you must feel most of the time. “Promise…but you’re more likely to get a cat dressed in a suit than a mangy mutt anytime soon.” 

You laugh at the attempt of a lighthearted joke, closing the trunk with a roll of your eyes. A breeze goes by and your arms erupt into shivers, clothes not enough to keep out the chill. 

“I’ll take it.” 

“Hm, you know,” Johnny smirks, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes and grunting out huskily, “there’s another way to make sure the house won’t be all quiet when I’m gone.”

“Keep it in your pants, MacTavish. You’re not even here yet.” Smiling through the heat of your cheeks, the skin of your cheeks glows; your body rolls with heat. “Save it for tomorrow.”

“What, am I gettin’ you all worked up over there?” He hums, and you grab your cart, pushing it into one of the specific areas where someone would grab it in the morning. “‘Cause I have no problem with waitin’, Dearie, all the more perfect when I get to be with ya.’”

“You wish, handsome.” Walking back to the slight rumbling of your car, you speak through tilted lips and completely miss the form walking up beside you. “I think that—”

“Excuse me?” 

Yelping, you nearly drop your phone to the floor as it slips out of your startled grip; heart jerking at the sudden intrusion into an intimate conversation. Swiftly turning around you spot the same man as before—the one with the blue cap that had passed by quite rudely in the store. His strong face looks sheepish.

Johnny quickly calls your name through the line, and you let off a reassurance before tilting the device down.

“Holy hell, man, give a girl a warning next time, yeah?” Chuckling weakly to push back tension and the twisting of your intestines, you notice the stranger’s tall frame is covered in a heavy jacket. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, actually,” He’s not outwardly alarming to look at, the man, with his loose body gestures and controlled tone. “Sorry, but I was just wondering if you could lend me a hand. I found a kitten under a van back there,” he points, and you look over to the far corner of the parking lot. Sure enough, there was a large van surrounded by two black cars. Your eyes narrow on the scene, already getting a prickly feeling. “Do you have any food that might bring it out? Or maybe you’d be willing to reach under and grab the little bastard?” 

The stranger laughs and continues with a jerking of his shoulders. You watch every movement with an upticking pulse, fingers tight over the phone as Johnny listens with growing worry. 

The Sergeant's dark eyebrows pull tight, and he stands like he could run out the door to you; jaw tight and muscles wound.

“Put me on speaker.” You decline silently. Better not to get a hotheaded and protective Scot involved when he was thousands of miles away.

“Sorry,” Clearing your throat, you take a step back, attempting a friendly smile. “I have to get home to my husband.” It wasn’t the first time you’d had to use the spouse card to get away from creeps, and it won't be the last. Worked better than just the boyfriend title, honestly. And there was something about this man’s eyes that didn’t sit right with you. “Work night and all, you understand?”

“He left yet?” Johnny asks, gruff as his accent gets stronger. “Else I’m callin’ the store and sending security out to you.” 

“It shouldn’t take a long time,” the man begs and you take another slow step back to the car door, pupils going tiny. Breaths shallow. “You’ll be back to your…husband, in a few minutes. I’d hate to leave the poor guy all alone.” 

“Sorry.” You say again, firmer. “No.” 

Not wasting any time, you open the car and jump inside, wrenching it closed once more and pressing the lock. Breathing heavily, you stick the keys into the ignition, missing a couple of times, and look into the side mirrors to spy on the tall shadow that hovers like a plague. 

“Sweetheart? Hey?” Johnny calls out your name as you force the car to start driving away, face tight and limbs shaking. “Hey, are you alright?” 

The man has half the sense to wake up Price, but with the stirring bodies around him, there’s half a chance the Captain already knows something’s off. Johnny hadn’t bothered to check his noise level when the uncomfortableness seeped from you over to him. What kind of a man approaches a woman near dark and asks a question like that? The action didn’t sit right with the Scot. 

Johnny’s body hums with energy—volatile rage keeps his heart in a tight fist with a deep seething hatred of not being with you to help force back the freaks in person. He wasn’t above getting into someone's face if the situation called for it; after a couple of outings to less-than-nice pubs, all it took was a few nervous glances from you nowadays for him to create a barrier out of his own flesh.

“I’m okay,” you whisper to him, biting at your lips and peeling back flesh. “It’s all good. I-I’m on the road already.” 

A great weight falls from the man in the form of a sigh. He slowly sits back down on the mattress, lips thinning and slightly shaking his head. His free hand comes up to rub over his cheek. 

“Good. That’s good…” He snaps out of his concerned stupor quickly, but the fast beating of his heart does anything but slow. “You’re okay.” 

It wasn’t worded as a question, maybe more of a reassurance, but it helped you immensely. Your tension lessened at the comforting sound of Scottish drawl and deep, silver, voice. But you wanted him to wrap his arms around you; gaze into those cerulean orbs.

Tomorrow.

“Keep on the line until I get home?” You ask feebly, not able to resist looking in the mirrors as you turn out of the parking lot. 

The blue-capped stranger was still standing there, and one of the black cars in the far corner had turned its headlights on. A deep dread overtakes your ribs like you’d just gotten out of something very, very, bad. A sense of a lingering morality stays in between your ribs.

“‘Course. Wouldn’t be doin’ anything else, Bonnie.” Johnny utters, glaring at the floor. “I’ll be ‘ere the whole time.”

It wasn’t fair that he was unable to be there with you—never before had the constraints from his job hit him full strength in the chest like this. If he can’t protect the ones he loves back on the home field, then what was the point of the Task Force in the first place? 

By the time you get home after taking the fastest route, you quickly gather everything from the back and shuffle inside, pulse still racing. You lock the door behind you and take a deep breath, closing your eyes. 

Johnny’s soft breath over the call was like a lullaby, right in your ear as if he was beside you in bed. Oh, you missed his soft snores more than anything. Your gaze goes glossy, but the tears are held back stubbornly. 

As if sensing your turmoil, your boyfriend speaks lowly. 

“Y’know, I bet the rest of the boys would really love it if we kept ‘em over for a drink and a bite when we all get back. I can whip up something quick on the grill and you can take a breather, eh?” He speaks so softly it almost makes the tears worse, heart palpitating. 

You wetly laugh and place a hand to your mouth, standing in the dark foyer with groceries on the floor and a primal fear slowly leaving you. The familiar scents of charcoal and birch wood from the Scots hair product are stuck into the very walls of this shared dwelling, along with the scuffs on the floor from play-wrestling during movies; a light that needed to be replaced due to Johnny accidentally running straight into it at two am. He had thought an intruder had broken in, but it was just a bird that had snuck in through an open window.

The signs of a well-lived and loved home. 

“But you wanted pollock,” you grumble with a hidden smile and burning ears, pushing the tip of your shoe into the front rug.

Johnny beams and goes to lie back down, putting a hand behind his head against the pillow.

“Well, now I’m makin’ burgers. Guess you’re just going to have to sit back and watch my fabulous arse from the porch, yeah, Dearie? Don’t burn a hole into them, now, they’re the only pair I’ve got, and I know how much you like ‘em.”

“Shut up.” 

“I’ll even wear that apron you got me—what was it you said it did,” the cheeky Scot smirks, all teeth and crinkled eyelids, and hears your complaints get louder as your mind flies away from what had happened almost immediately. “Made me look like I should be in a porno? Hell, if you were in it with me, I’d not complain ‘bout it. Steamin’ Jesus, I’d let you do horrible things to me, Dearie.”

From somewhere in the barracks a low groan echoes out and Johnny snaps his hand down to stifle his loud laughter as you bark at him. 

“MacTavish!” 

Great bouts of laughter leave everyone glaring from atop pillows and from over fingers stuffed into ears; some even get up and gather blankets, leaving the barracks room entirely.

In your foyer, your body blazes with heat like you’d been set on fire, a hand placed over your eyes and a treacherous grin on your mouth. 

“Keep your voice down, you absolute arsepiece!”

“Aye—! That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya!” 

“Johnny!”

—

The second time you called him was out of pure curiosity, only a few hours before your lover was scheduled to come home and cook for you and his Task Force. Around six o'clock. 

“When was our postbox all scratched up?” Your thumb runs over the black numbers of the sequence, blinking with wrinkled skin as you take a glance at the neighbors’ and frown. No one else's was like that. “I thought you said you compromised with the local kids and would give them money for sweets so they would stop messing with our stuff?” 

“Little fiends were sucking me dry!” Johnny huffs, “No way the devils would pass up more sugar and do something like that. What’s it look like, then? A few stray rocks manage to dent it?”

Your lips release a sigh and you pick up your mail with an annoyed grunt, closing and locking the cubby as you reply. “No way, it looks like someone took a knife to it.” Clicking your tongue, you shake your head. “God, things have just been going wrong lately.”

Shuffling his feet over the tarmac and hearing the plane engines die down behind him, Johnny takes a glance back. Price was standing at the top of the C17 arms crossed and head tilted—the Scot could imagine the raised eyebrow almost immediately. 

He grimaces and holds up a finger, walking a few more steps away as Gaz leaves the hull with his bags slung over his shoulders. 

“I can’t talk any longer, Bonnie, Price’ll wring me for not helpin’ unload the gear. He’s damn near skinnin’ me already.”

You chuckle, “Tell him I said ‘hello’ and not to damage the face.” 

“Oh, you’re a horror, you are, Dearie.” 

Quick declarations of love and see you soons were exchanged before the connection was cut, and your feet carried you back into the house. Your phone and the mail went to sit on the tiny hallways table, shoes tossed onto the plastic mat sitting on the floor with a small thump. 

Sighing, you rub over your eyes, thinking over if it was worth calling the post office or just trying to fix the scratches yourself. 

“I think we have some paint in the garage…” You trail off. 

Ultimately, you just pushed that to the back burner. Johnny was coming home. Your lips peeled into a large smile, and you’re rushing off to get into a nice outfit for the rest of Task Force who was coming a bit later than your boyfriend. Thoughts of finally being able to be picked up by your boyfriend's strong arms were all-consuming, being held into a broad chest and digging your nails to the dip of his spine. 

Just being able to be around the mohawked-man was a blessing that you’d never take for granted. 

You settled on a nice top and casual pants—you’d met the others before, so there was no need to go overboard. Smoothing your clothes down, you enter the living room and go to open the curtains, letting the light of the interior spread to the small lawn and the street. Humming under your breath, the vehicle outside doesn’t catch your attention immediately; the black metal is just another parked entity sitting still. 

When you do pause, your curtains half-opened, the delayed shock makes you lose precious time as you stare slack-jawed at one of the twin cars from yesterday at the parking lot. Your fingers clench into the fabric in a sudden moment of frozen shock. As if a mythical creature had just run past your field of view, the parting of your lips is instinctual before the widening of your eyes. 

A still second passes before you’re sprinting to the front door—locking it and snatching your phone. Heart pounding, you make a dash to the bedroom, dialing Johnny with fear-tight pupils. 

He had told you if there was ever an emergency to call him right away, he’d get there faster than any police officer; for the record, you believed that wholeheartedly. Johnny was more loyal than a dog in a pack, once someone raised the alarm the Sergeant was locked in. 

Rushing into the bedroom, you trip over the tossed covers but right yourself as the dialing tone sounds out, heavy breathing making your lungs hurt. You open the nightstand table and dig under a collection of books, hand meeting the smooth metal of an M9 pistol. 

Putting the phone on speaker, you throw it onto the mattress.

Legally, you shouldn’t even have this—while Johnny had been teaching you to shoot, you didn’t have a license for it yet. But he’d insisted on leaving you behind with something to defend yourself with.

The confused voice of your lover sounds over the open space. “Jesus, Bonnie, you miss me that much? It cannae ‘ave been more than ten minutes—”

“The car from yesterday is outside the house.” You throw the books to the floor and hear them make a clatter just as you pull out a box of ammunition. Taking out the gun’s magazine, you load bullets with a violently shaking hand. Some hit the ground with a metallic ping, but you pay little attention, just blinking back anxious tears and a harsh focus on the sounds of the front door handle being jimmied.

“I…what?” Johnny’s voice gets heavier, demanding with a snarl trapped in the back of his throat. 

Standing stationary in the doorway Base—about a twenty-minute drive from home, the man’s heart suddenly jumps in his breast. Did he hear you right? Behind him, Ghost slows to a stop at the now blocked opening, watching with narrowed eyes; a large rifle slung over his shoulder and a carry bag in his arm. Johnny’s shoulders wind tight, feet parted as he suddenly turns on his heels and takes off back the way he came in, the phone still at his ear where the Lieutenant knew you were on the call.

“What the fuck?!” Ghost’s skeletal head follows after and pointedly notices the Scots lack of care for how his bags hit the ground but keeps the pistol holstered at his thigh and the combat knife strapped to his upper shoulder. 

“Johnny?” He calls out, but only the wind answers him. “The hell are you off to?!” The gargantuan man sends a glance over to Price who was watching just as intently, lids narrowed. Gaz cleared his throat.

“....Shouldn’t we follow him? Sounds pretty serious.” 

Price sighs, taking a moment to watch Soap sprint to the main building and shove past other soldiers and staff. He grunts.

“Move light.” 

The phone call was filled with heavy breathing and hurried orders. 

Your boyfriend was running you down the basics of firing at a moving target as the sound of pounding at the front door became more hurried.

“It’s not like a stationary target—when someone’s runnin’ at ya, they're gonna be moving quick and you’re not going to be able to fire if you don’t mean it!” 

“Okay, okay,” you mutter with a shaky inhalation, loading the M9’s magazine and clicking off the safety. “What the hell do they want with me?” The whispered question is more for you than it is for anyone else, but the answer from the sprinting Scot startles you. 

At that exact moment, the pounding of a fist stops completely.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna fire at the first bastard that comes down that hallway. We’ll ask the questions later.” You hear a car door opening and a yell from Johnny’s side, soon the clammer of grunting breaths an exclamation of ‘hurry the fuck up!’

“I—”

“If you need to, leave through the window and go to the neighbors. Take cover in the foliage and slip away to the back alley.” Johnny never spoke like this to you—clipped and deathly serious. But now that you think about it, as you stay frozen and barricaded in the bedroom, if he spoke any differently you’d probably break down. “Do you copy?”

This was Sergeant MacTavish, and damn him if anything came between that man and the people he cared about. 

He barks your name, “Do you copy?!” 

“Yeah,” the gun shakes in your grip, but nonetheless you hold it at your hip and turn your eyes to the window. It would be easier to leave, you think. You’re not trained for this! “I–I think I’m going to—”

The front door’s window is broken with a shattering of glass. You rush to the phone and turn off the speaker, afraid that the sound would immediately tell these people where you were. Loud shouts flow into the foyer and spread like venom under the crack of the thin barrier separating you and the intruders. 

“Spread out and find her!”

“Yes, Sir!” 

Sir? You ask, eyes snapping this way and that as Johnny is dead silent on the other side. You think you hear the slam of a foot to the pedal, but you can’t be sure. Fuck, there was so much going on, you didn’t know what to do.

“Screw this, I’m going out the fucking window.” You gasp out, lungs tight and skin sweaty, you turn on the safety on the gun and stuff it into your belt. 

One-handed, you unlatch the lock and strain your ears, hearing feet getting closer. Grunting, you shove the heavy frame up and try to stop the ringing in your ears. Whoever these people in your house were—they were professionals. They had patience; studied your intellect with the trick in the parking lot and followed you home so they could mark your postbox number as a reminder of your address. What the hell was happening? 

Just as you’re about to make the small drop into the flower bed, a creak echoes from behind the bedroom door. You freeze in place, one foot dangling into the backyard. 

Breathing slowly, your eyes lock to the deep shadow that spreads like two distorted poles as the large feet face the very place you’d holed up. As delicately as you’re able with an award-setting tremor in your gut, you place the phone down onto the window sill; Johnny’s loud and worried voice dims as all attention moves to self-preservation. You’re just about to reach for your gun when the door busts off its hinges. 

Starling, and before your hands can find purchase, you’re tumbling backward—out of the house entirely with a stifled shout of alarm. Slamming to the ground and crushing flowers in the process, you have no time to think about the pain going up your spine or at the base of your skull before you’re scrambling for the M9. 

Just as someone peeks out from the window, face covered and holding an assault rifle, you’re firing three shots in rapid succession as you don’t even remember flicking off the safety. 

Two shots miss entirely, but on the last and final press of the trigger, as your arms catch the recoil, it connects. 

A comment is cut short as blood explodes in a great wave of velocity, coating the house upwards almost to the shingled roof. The body slumps, weight bringing it down to hang limp over the frame.

Wide-eyed, you still hold the shaking gun in the air, muzzle smoking, breathing fast through your mouth. Had you just…

Your stomach bunched, acid traveling up your throat to pool under your tongue. Perhaps you would have thrown up at that moment, the setting reality that you’d just shot someone in the head like an anvil in your pounding skull. But the barking voices from inside the house snap you back. 

Gasping down the breaths you realized you hadn’t been taking, your wobbly feet dart to shove you up like a newborn deer as sprinting bodies close in on the porch’s sliding door. God, you could only imagine what Johnny was thinking. 

Bolting out of your backyard fence, you remember your lover’s orders and run as fast as you’re able to the neighbor's open yard, using the darkening sky to help cover you. Cursing under your breath and thinking over all of the ways this should have already gone wrong, you wipe at the tears cascading down your cheeks. 

Don’t think about it—just get away.

It wasn’t long before you were down the alleyway, feet weak and lungs burning. There was a stickiness to the back of your scalp, blood, undoubtedly, from an injury caused by the fall.

It’s a damn miracle I didn’t break anything. 

What would you have done then? Just let those people take or kill you? You shiver at the idea and force yourself to go faster. Darting around a corner, your feet skid to a quick halt. 

The barrel of a gun was pointed directly at your face. 

“Had a feeling you’d be slippery.” It was the voice of the man from the parking lot—the man with the blue cap. Your face jerks to an imitation of confined horror and unease at the same eyes boring into you. He was dressed in gear like the rest of the men now exiting your house to hunt you down. The stranger shifts his feet and you flinch. “Drop the gun, Sweetheart.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” You find your voice, hissing out. The pistol clatters to the floor as it slips from your grip and you hate how you flinch at the sound. 

“Your boyfriend and his buddies are hard to track down.” Blue Cap huffs, and the tall stature of the man makes you incredibly nervous. Backing up a step instinctually, he follows and smirks. “But I figured the best way to meet him was to find his little bird first—he’d come right to me. Cliche, I know, but you can’t fault me. Works every time.” 

What did this guy want with your Johnny? Gritting your teeth, your fingers shake at your sides, hips tense and ready to run.

“He’ll kill you.” You level, not keen to show this man how disgusting you felt being near him. 

He shuffles up next to you, grabbing the meat of your arm. Trying to jerk away, the barrel of his weapon is shoved into your ribs; gasping, your body goes rigid.

If your heart goes any faster, it’ll break.

“Not if I threaten to kill you first.” Forcing you forward, you glare and feel the urge to spit in the man’s face. “C’mon, hun.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, freak.” 

“Ooo…fangs. Can’t be surprised, you did shoot one of my men, after all. Not a bad trigger finger, but you do need decent work on your accuracy if you wanna make anything out of it.” Your eyebrows pull in as you’re corralled back out of the alleyway, barrel bruising your skin and blood dripping down your neck. The man’s grip hurts as a strangled whimper falls from your bitten lips. 

Feet scraping over concrete, you’re brought out into the street as neighbors peak out of windows with drawn curtains; phones to their faces. Did these intruders not care about the police? If anything, that made you sweat more. 

“Ride’s waiting.” 

“I’m not getting into that.” Grunting, your eyes are stuck on the black void of the car parked in the street. A menagerie of other armed men stands all over. “Hell no—you can just shoot me now if that’s the case.”

“Don’t tempt me, I can still go after the Sergeant’s dear old mom,” your lungs chill as the man chuckles to himself, looking down at you through dark lashes. “He has a cousin, too, am I right?” 

Rageful tears spark behind your lids as you blink. 

No way it was going to go like this. Where’s Johnny? 

The gun was taken from your ribs as you’re shoved forward. 

“Get in. Now. We’re already behind schedule.” You stare into the interior and clench your fists, lips quivering but jaw clenched. Your Lover’s voice comes to you, sure of himself and laced with stubbornness. 

If you’re ever in trouble, you wait for me, Dearie. I’ll be there ‘fore you know it, ready to defend your honor like the knight in shinin’ armor I am, eh? Why are you laughing…?

Turning back around with every ounce of courage you can muster, you splay your feet and cross your arms.

“No.” The gun is raised to your head, and you want to flinch back in terror but restrain yourself. 

“Get in.” 

“No.” How your voice wasn’t breaking was a question in and of itself, but Johnny had always said you were stubborn like him. Best time to prove him right was with a barrel to your face, apparently.

The stranger’s eyes light with anger, hands clenching over the body of the weapon as the rest of his men stare on in shock. A growl meets air.

“I’m not asking for a third time, Sweetheart—” One loud boom later and you’re ducking down with your hands over your head, ears ringing and body unsteady; a great weight hits the ground right next to you.

The sound of gunfire rattles the world all around the once quiet street, and you think that you and your Lover will have to move after this. No way the neighbors could let all this slide. Looking up, your eyes jump from the corpse spasming near you to the running men, chaos breeding in the lines between shouts and dropping bodies. 

A hand latches into your waist, and you’re being lifted into strong arms moments later. Squealing, your head snaps to the size and meets cerulean blue inlaid in a strong brow line. 

“I’ve got ya.” Your body loses all tension at the accent that you would know anywhere, even in death, a strong grip picking you up and keeping you close to his broad chest. 

Johnny carries you away in the midst of battle as the rest of the 141 get involved, making quick work of the remaining men. Breathing in his scent, you force your face under his chin, feeling the stubble scrape as your fingers dig into flesh. 

He’s here. He’s—he’s right here.

“Don’t worry, Dearie, I’m right here. It’s nearly over, now.” You try to bring him closer as he takes cover behind a wall, pressing his shoulders against the grating stone as he shields you closer to him. Sliding down to the ground.

His eyes snap back and forth, heart rapid. God, he was nearly too late. Johnny presses his nose into your hair as he breathes deeply, watching bodies fall and feeling you shake. Feeling you shiver; now finally able to let everything sink in. 

“Shh,” the Scot mutters, pressing you closer as you whisper his name in a hoarse breath. “You’re alright. I’m ‘ere, Bonnie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His hands filter over your skin, checking for injuries and feeling over growing bumps from under-the-skin abrasions.

His teeth clench together in hate, hotheadedness taking over for a moment as part of him wants to rush out and pick a few of these bastards off himself. But it’s just not that simple. 

Looking out into the street with serious eyes, the radio attached to his vest sounds off as the last of the firefight ends almost as quickly as it began. 

“Clear.” It was Price. “How is she?” 

Johnny sighs, looking down at you in his hold as he whispers comforting words in quick succession.

“Shaken, but alright…” The reply is muttered as you sniffle, your fingers going to wipe away tears. “She’s—she’s alright.”

Johnny beats you to it as he tries to calm down, large digits tilting your head to the side and studying intently as he swipes them away with a firm thumb and a careful frown. 

“Johnny—” Your eyes stay locked on him as the Scot gets rid of any trace of fear or sadness, calluses burning your skin just as they always did. His gaze flickers to you; lips pulling tight. None of you choose to move, too content with being this close to one another and safe, even if the situation was serious. “I…”

You trail, not even knowing what to say as the wetness of your eyes blurs your vision, body hot, and the back of your skull aching. Your hands go to cup his cheeks. It’s all the words he needs. 

Eyes soft, the Sergeant attempts a weak and worried smile. “I’m so proud of you, Dearie, y’know that? So damn proud.” Your lips quirk, a strained laugh echoing out. A finger pokes the side of your nose. “Hey, I’m serious now. Stop your foolin'.” 

Johnny’s fingers run deep circles into your temples as you trace the lines of his cheeks. 

“Shut up.” You huff, straining against a wide smile. It was easy to push all of this behind you when you were looking at him. He made everything better.

“Hm,” He moves forward and presses his lips to your forehead, quickly going to lay kisses all over your face until giggles spill out from the alleyway to the waiting three. 

Gaz smiles to himself, Price grunts lightly, and Ghost gazes off. 

“I’ll just have to prove to my Bonnie Little Lady that she’s a prime piece of work, then, eh? Smarter; more quick than a fuckin’ recon team,” he leans close and you have to try and shove him away playfully when he starts to squish you against him. Your laughter grows as his scratchy chin nuzzles your neck. “And don’t mind me sayin’ now, but a proper fine pair of tits and arse to go along with the brains of ya, Dearie.”

“MacTavish!” you squeal, “I should call your mother up and explain how you speak to me—that’s vulgar! I know for a fact she didn’t teach you that.”

“Teach me? Oh, now, then, no one could teach me a thing when you’re around. Cannae think a bit; better off talkin’ to a pile of stone.” You punch his solid chest and laugh so hard your face hurts, breath fanning against his neck as his roaming praise continues as if his mind was a bag of water punctured by a knife. “I’m always thinkin’ ‘bout you, my Little Bonnie.” 

The last sentence is quietly muttered into your temple, a kiss pressed tight. He pulls back slightly and feels at the dried blood on your locks, fingers separating to find the scalp. Johnny’s chest rattles in a sigh, hand shaking slightly when he sees it. 

He’d also seen the body on the window sill, though he knows not to mention it.

Christ, you’d had to kill someone. 

The prospect of taking a life was easy to the Scot—some days he felt like he had been born and bred to do just that. It became simple. Elementary. Like his mother could memorize a recipe, he could memorize the position of arteries; what shot to take at that instant, and which to wait on based only on past missions that resonated like past lives.

But for you…

Oh, it was never supposed to happen to you.

“Are you alright?” Johnny breaths, humor gone and left with guilt. 

He feels your lips on his raging pulse and lets his eyes close, content to feel you move against him as your head remains in his neck. Shifting his body into a more comfortable position, he cages you in protectively. Never again would he allow this to happen.

“I shot someone.” The man’s lips quivered, heart hurting at the blatant shock in your voice. It hadn’t hit you yet, and, hell, Johnny still remembered his first kill like it was yesterday. It wouldn’t be good when all this calmed down. He’d thrown up for two days straight, himself.

“Aye.” He breathes.

“His blood’s all over the house.”

“It is.”

“Is…is that,” you’re shivering, so he massages your spine soothingly until you find the words. “Is that a good thing?” 

He should say no, tell you that the situation that you’d been put in was never supposed to happen and it was just an unfortunate reality. Death wasn’t a good thing, per se. But the man had broken into your shared home—busted down the bedroom door with the intent of using you as a bargaining chip to get to him. So, to the Scot, the answer is clear.

No one messed with his family and lived.

“Yes.” Taking down the air of a dusty alleyway as sirens wail a street over, you weren't surprised that your boyfriend had managed to get to your home far faster than the police could. He said he always would, didn’t he? 

The bills for the speeding tickets and the running of red lights were going to be atrocious.

“Okay.” Your answer is muttered as you peel back, pressing a kiss to the corner of Johnny’s lips. You believed him. Always would. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me.” His bright teeth show off a smile as your mirror. He kisses you heavily on the lips. Whispers against your lips, a promise. A vow. “As long as you put up with me, I’ll always keep you safe.”

“Soap,” Price yells, snapping the two of you out of it. “Get on with it!” 

The Scot raises a shocked brow and smirks down at you as you tilt your head and listen in happy confusion. 

“Y’know, those shots weren't half bad back there. ‘Specially after takin’ a tumble into the flowers.” Your expression freezes in denial as you’re lifted bridal style into the air. Speaking over the calls of police and firemen as they come to the scene, your voice monotones as your legs swing.

“...I missed two out of the three, you dork. That’s failing.” Johnny gapes in mock surprise and you refrain from snorting at the boyish glint in his eyes.

“Jesus, is it really? Hell, you’ll be comin’ for my job in no time, won’t ya? That’s one better than me!” 

You kiss him and feel the grunt through your lips.

TAGS ||

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[chaosandmarigolds]

(self indulgent. Look away!!)

“So, your plans after this?”

the question had caught you off guard so you quickly look up to Sargent, the quietness of the hide out almost enough to suffocate you. So you give a dull laugh, “Wash up? Get dinner.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and nudged your boot with his, “The war, silly.”

“Oh. It’s stupid.”

the blunt and quick answer made his face contort and he gave a dull laugh, “Soap wants to start a boxing club, can’t think yours will be worse than that.” Your eyes look out of the landscape barely hidden by the thin price of plastic protecting you from the sandstorm and your breath faltered, “No. I mean…it’s stupid.”

“can’t be that bad.” He looked so honest in his attempt to get you to open up, so when you seemed to relent a ghost of a smile came over his face.

“don’t laugh,” you begin slowly, moving to sit differently, “i…I wanna be mom. I wanna bake and I wanna go grocery shopping, and I wanna fix the broken hearts and skinned knees and I want to help them grow up and I want to see the people they become, I want to support them, and love them through the pain and it’s stupid.” You finish with a laugh and look down, “A waste of talent right? Went to all of that schooling for nothing? I get it, and I know it won’t happen.”

there was a long silence and he spoke, “It’s not stupid. You’re the best shot aside from LT but hell it’s your life and there’s no difference.”

“it’s a waste.”

“of what?”

“the money for school, the effort I’ve given to get to this position, I’ve fought every step of the way to get here and the fact I want to throw it away is…it’s stupid, like I said.”

He seemed dumbfounded, “You’re not throwing anything away. If a mechanic becomes a doctor did they throw away all their years as a mechanic? If a swimmer plays football are they no longer a swimmer? The idea that the person you were before something vanishes is idiotic. If anything you’re ensuring that your children will have a safe future, and I think that’s damn noble.”

hell of a time to start crying, you sniffle up your reaction and turn your head away. “Anyway, what about you? What are your plans?”

“Honest? And don’t laugh?”

you give a chuckle and wipe your eyes, “Cross my heart.”

“Follow you around like a lost puppy dog.”

“Nuh huh.”

“Yuh-huh-“

(Literally if this gets even one not or comment I will consider that a win. I…have no words, um, just a self indulgent piece :p toodles!!)

[novemberheart]

Thank you for the support on the last post! Here’s Chapter two!

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2 -> Chapter 3

{overview} It’s move in day!

{Warnings} Female reader, poly relationship (the gay kind), light pricexghost and Gaz/Soap banter, Ghost already being a bit of a softie

The aggressive grind of the bandsaw covered the sound of approaching footsteps. Yet the tingle behind Simon’s neck was all he needed to know someone was there. He removed his foot from the pedal, shutting the machine off. He slid his safety glasses up to his head as the work shed door clanked open. He needed to grease the hinges.

“How’d it go?” He asked, leaning his back against the worktop. John shrugged, a pleased expression on his face.

“Good.” Price responded, leaning back across from him. “She seems like a good girl. It’ll only be for about a month anyway. And you know how it is, one- if not all of us will get shipped off sometime.” He sighed rubbing a hand over his face. Simon clicked his tongue in agreement.

“The boys like her?”

“I hear wedding bells.” John teased, causing both men to chuckle. “They like her.” He affirmed. “Would’ve been nice if you’d join us.” He continued slowly. John extended his leg so it pressed against Simon’s. A small action to show he meant to harm. Simon pressed further into Price, clearing his throat softly.

“Wouldn’t have mattered. Johnny already seemed hell bent on helpin’ her out, and you know if Johnnys thinkin’ it, Kyle is too.” Simon suddenly stood straight up, bending forward so his palms rested right next to John. “And you can never say ‘no’ to them.” He murmured, his cheek brushing against John’s.

Price let out a strangled gasp-laugh of sorts, his hand flattening against Simon’s chest pushing him away. “I can’t say ‘no’ to them?” He accused. “Tell me, what have you been up to in here?”

“Making another planter box for Kyle.” Simon responded quickly, a playful spark lighting up his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I thought there was four of them?” You questioned absentmindedly, adjusting yourself so you sat on your knees. Today was move in day and Kate was helping you pack what little belongings you had. She paused, all her attention on the task at hand- folding one of your t-shirts. She has always been a perfectionist.

“Yeah there is. You haven't met Simon yet. He’s a good guy, just a bit”- she trailed off, refolding another one of your items.

“Shy?” You leant.

“Sure we’ll go with that.” She sighed.

“I thought he was the mean one.” Kate’s wife, Robin interjected from over the phone. Your eyes widened and you turned over your shoulder to look at Kate.

“No I didn’t mean that- I hadn’t even met him when I heard that. He’s not mean, I just didn’t have a word for it at the time.”

“Do you have a word for it now?” You pressed. Robin giggled from over the phone. Kate opened and closed her mouth a few times.

“No- but he’s not as mysterious and complex as he likes to think.” Kate confessed. “My advice would just be to steer clear of him, you’ll only be there for a month anyways.”

“You’re making him sound scary.” Robin whispered harshly. You nodded your head in agreement.

“He won’t do anything to you.” Kate said firmly. There were times when you forgot what Kate did for a living. You forgot the emotional and physical turmoil she goes through on a day to day basis. She was protecting Simon. Her tone shooing off any idea that he was a bad man. You wondered what it would be like to have that type of bond with someone. A bond that is forged out of otherworldly trauma. Yet, you should be grateful you don’t have a tie like that. ‘Well there’s always tomorrow’ you thought to yourself. You shook that idea away. “We should get going. Love you, Honey.” Kate held the phone up to her chin, making a kiss noise into the speaker. Robin blew a raspberry.

“Bye Aunt Ro!” You shouted.

“Bye, lovie! And good luck!”

All in all you had three boxes. You never bothered to put any money into your place, knowing the likely consequences. When you and Kate pulled up to the house, John and Jonny were waiting for you.

“That’s it?” John asked, already opening the car door.

“Yeah. You don’t have to do that. That one’s heavy”- You stopped yourself as he picked up the box with one arm supporting it.

“Nonesense bon. Can’t have the neighbors thinking we aren’t gentlemen.” Johnny grinned also lifting a box like it was full of helium.

“Thank you.” You spoke sincerely. They nodded practically jogging back to the house.

“Don’t bother with things like that. They are pains in the butt- all of them, but they do get a weird satisfaction out of lifting heavy things. And opening jars.” Kate snickered. “Help me with this one?” You and Kate made it to the porch by the time Johnny came bounding back.

“The neighbors!” He scolded. “Let me help you with that box!” He yelled, taking a quick look around like the neighbors would be judging him from their windows. You and Kate both laughed and his face beamed. “You’ve got a pretty smile, bon.” Johnny blurted.

“You too.” It came out before you could stop it. It was the truth- one that you wished you hadn’t admitted. The last thing you needed was a flirting match on your first day. He said nothing, but Kate rolled her eyes at the noticeable pep in his step.

“Here’s this.” She handed you a key card to get into the housing area. “I transferred it to your name, but it’s old and the only one I could find so it might take a few times before it opens the gate. You’ll have access to the pool, gym and the clubhouse area. John said you can borrow one of their keys for the time being.” She gave you a soft smile, before wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulders.

It suddenly dawned on you this was goodbye. She was heading back home and you were going to be here, by yourself. You winced and held her just as tight. “Be a good girl.” She whispered. You nodded your head, thanking her heavily.

“Bye boys!” She yelled through the doorway.

“You’re not staying.” Kyle spoke peering his head from around the corner. It was like the same realization dawned on them. No more Laswell= no more buffer. She shook her head, heading down the porch. You watched her as she hopped into the drivers seat. Her movements were eager. You couldn’t blame her. She missed Robin desperately.

“Everything okay?” You jumped at Kyle’s voice, but quickly threw on a smile. You couldn’t not seem grateful.

“Yeah, just going to be weird not seeing her all the time.” You took a few cautious steps into the house. Even though it would be “yours” for the next month it still felt wrong entering without a direct invitation. Kyle nodded his head in understanding.

“Ready for the rest of the tour?” He smiled, wiggling a brow at you.

Next to the dining room was a bathroom. Next to the bathroom, close to the entryway was a downstairs office, which you were politely asked not to enter. You are more than willing to comply. Past the bathroom and dinning room was the mudroom and back door. These men were active and there was evidence of almost every hobby you could think of. The backyard was breathtaking. Plush outdoor seating (handmade from wood thank you Simon), a fire pit, barbecue, another wood table with chairs for outdoor dinning and last but not least a picture perfect garden. You just wanted to sprawl out in the grass and soak up the sun. You’re sure they would let you. In the far right hand corner there was a medium sized shed, painted black. ��That’s Simon’s workshop.” Kyle had explained.

Up the stairs was another “office” type room. But this one was for play- not work. An air hockey table, a projector, the largest bean bags you’ve ever seen in your life, a wall with video games, movies and boardgames.

“Can this be my room?” You pleaded.

“You can come in there whenever you want.” Kyle promised. “Me and Johnny would enjoy the company.” Your stomach fluttered at smoothness of his voice. You wished you could record it for nights you had trouble sleeping. Next to the game room was another bathroom- this time a full one with a nicely sized tub and shower combo. “This’ll be your bathroom.”

It was as carefully decorated as the rest of the house. “You’ll share it with me and Johnny. Don’t worry he’s house trained.”

“Over here is your room.” Kyle presented. “It’s the plainest room in the house, but we rarely have people over.”

It was plain, but there was still a warmth to it. The thing that caught your eyes first was the large window overlooking into your surrounding neighbors backyard. Good thing you love to people watch. Your bed was in the center of the room with a plush white comforter and equally sinkable pillows. The closet was across from the bed with a sliding door. Your boxes were placed neatly in front of the window. “Oh and.” Kyle began. He took a few steps into your room, signaling for you to follow. He shut the door, leaving the two of you alone in your new bedroom.

“Simon installed this. We told him about the break ins- hope that was okay and he took it upon himself to install this bad boy, so you’d feel more comfortable.”

It was a swing lock, one that could only be opened from the inside. A soft gasp left your throat. “That’s so kind.” You whispered.

“Don’t make too big of a deal out of it.” It was a light warning. “He gets flustered easily.” You giggled, trying to suppress the tears building up in your eyes. You wanted to meet Simon now more than ever. Laswell was right- he wasn’t mean in the slightest. Next to your bedroom was another bedroom and across from it was the master bedroom.

“There’s only three rooms?” You hummed. “I’m not stealing someone room am I?” You doubted it with how unused your room look. Kyle shifted on his feet, his hand scratching the back of his neck. Laswell must’ve not given you ‘the talk’.

“Me and Johnny share that room.” Kyle said slowly. “Cap’ and Simon share that one.” He pointed towards the master bedroom.

“Oh!” You chirped. He could tell by your face you still didn’t catch on to what he was hinting at. In your mind they were all so close anyways, why wouldn’t they share a room? He sighed, but felt like it might be better for you to catch on naturally than for him to make it sound like a big deal. I mean it wasn’t like they were going to have an orgy in front of you.

“You hungry? It’s a nice day out. Cap’ usually throws something on the Barbecue.” Kyle offered already turning towards the stairs.

“That would be alright?” You questioned slowly. Kyle’s face softened.

“Course. Besides Johnny needs a new tennis partner.”

“What happened to the old one?”

“He’s a big ol’ cheater. No one wants to play him anymore.”

As promised John was just setting up his area and Johnny was bouncing a tennis ball against the side of the house.

“You play, bon?” It was a simple question, but it felt as if he was persuading you.

“I heard you cheat.” You felt as though you could be playful with him. His eyes scrunched in challenge.

“That’s what he’s been feedin’ you, hmm? Well bon, I have never cheated a day in my life. They just can’t wrap their heads around losing every time. It’s a coping mechanism.” He smirked. John shot a glare over his shoulder and Kyle shook his head quickly.

“Liar and a cheat.” Kyle yelped dodging a neon ball.

“I’ll go easy.” Johnny had turned his attention back to you.

Your hands twisted in your shirt. “Alright.” You sighed.

He did go easy on you. A part of you wondered if he was bored, the ball bouncing back and forth between the two of you at a snails pace. Yet every time you caught his gaze his face would express there was no where else he’d rather be. Well, you’re sure that wasn’t true. He was a people person. He made whoever he was interacting with feel like they were the only person in the world. Kyle had a similar effect. Though his was less assertive. With Johnny you would get attention, but with Kyle held back just enough to where you wanted it. Even now as your eyes carefully watched the ball they couldn’t help but drift over to him, sitting in the lawn chair keeping score.

You missed the ball.

“That was a record.” Kyle boasted, clapping his hands together. “15 passes in a row.”

“What’s the score though?” Johnny insisted.

“I don’t know, mate. 29 love.” Kyle shrugged. Johnny rolled his eyes.

“You won Johnny. Don’t worry.” You soothed.

“Didn’t make it easy, bon.”

He was competitive. You wondered how many fights had to be broken up in the game room.

“Foods just about ready, Johnny go get Simon.” You perked up in your chair.

“Yes sir, yes sir.” Johnny mocked stomped off, back into the house.

“You take cheese on your burger?” John asked. Your stomach had been growling for the past fifteen minutes. You quickly nodded. “We usually have chips but someone ate them as a midnight snack.” John chided placing a large plate of burgers in the center table.

“Simon too.” Kyle muttered, getting up heading back inside the house.

“How do you like your room, honey?” John asked, closing the grill top.

“I love it. It’s like a hotel.” You beamed. John’s lips quirked up into a smile.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Thank you again. You’re doing more than just giving me a place to stay.” You didn’t go into depth, but you could tell by the way his eyes softened that he knew what you meant.

The door slid open. Kyle came out with his arms full of condiments and two bags of potato chips or “crisps” as John called them. Johnny bounded out not soon after with a jug of soda and five cups balancing in his hand.

“Drink soda, Bon?”

“Umm not usually this late. I’m a wimp when it comes to caffeine.” You admitted.

“So what do you drink?” Johnny continued.

“Uh water.” You smiled sheepishly.

“That’s a new concept to him.” Kyle chuckled.

“I’ll go get it.” You took a glass and stood up. “Do you have any filtered? If not tap is fine.”

“There’s a pitcher in the fridge.” John answered. You slid the door open once more heading past the mudroom and slightly down the hall to turn into the kitchen.

You nearly dropped your glass at the large figure leaning against the kitchen island. He wasn’t much bigger than the others, but he looked more out of place.

“Hello.” You greeted. “Simon?” You asked slowly. He was handsome. You wished this group would make a calendar. They’d be sold out in no time. He looked about the same age as John. He had a beard trimmed close to his face, leaving enough of his strong jaw on display. His nose was a bit crooked and bumpy- must come with the job. His hair was honey ginger and cropped. But the thing that caught your attention first, and held it, were his eyes. A deep chestnut color, with absolutely no emotion it made you shudder.

Your name left his lips in a gravel breath.

“Yes.” You responded in an instant. “Just came in to get some water.” You stammered. He fixed his posture so he wasn’t blocking the way to the fridge. You grabbed the pitcher, almost overflowing your cup from the speed of the water. “Thank you for my lock.” You blurted. You peaked at him from over your shoulder. Turning your body to face his felt like too much of a commitment.

“Welcome.” He replied bluntly. “Sorry that happened to you.” He added. He cleared his throat, not turning back as he headed to the backyard.

So far, so good.

Hope you liked this next chapter. I personally believe that Ghost would not wear his mask in his home- or anywhere other than on the field or when he is physically on base. A man walking around town with a skull mask is much more likely to drawn attention- which is the last thing he wants. I also believe that Simon is a ginger 🙊🧡 based off of his two seconds without his mask on. Anywayysss This description isn’t set in stone and you are always welcome to think your own thoughts 🥰

See you next time!

[penelopepine]

Don't be a stranger! Pt. 5

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader

Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship, slight angst, mentioned past deaths

Upon entering the room Simon sees that Johnny and Gaz are already there talking to one another. Silently walking inside he takes a seat next to the others and places the box in front of them all. 

“What’s this?” Gaz looks from Simon to the box. 

“Cookies, I’ve been told I have to share.” 

“These aren’t poisoned are they? Who are they from?”

"They're from his new lady friend! Ain’t that right Ghost?" Johnny interjects before he could answer. 

It seems Johnny was still hunting for gossip about who it was that sent him a package, “Quiet down, MacTavish.” 

Johnny and Gaz share a laugh between the two of them before both reach out for one of your treats. He had debated actually sharing these with them as he knows they'll be asking for more now. They'll start asking about you, and he won't be able to give them a clear answer; not yet anyway. 

“Tell your lass that these are heavenly Lt.!” Johnny moans out as he takes a bite of one of your cookies. 

The regret of sharing is already rearing its head it seems. He glares at the man and says, "MacTavish." 

It was Gaz who noticed his discomfort right away from the other sergeant's comment. "Come on now, Soap don't antagonize him; Ghost will share what he wants when he's ready." He gives Simon a quick reassuring nod, "but really thank them for us for making these!" 

"Will do." 

It was at that moment when Price finally stepped inside the room as well, "Good evening lads, what's the reason for this?" He points at the box of treats in front of them with a questioning look on his face. 

Johnny clearly goes to answer the question before Gaz hits him on the chest with a pointed look. He then looks towards him, clearly leaving Simon to answer with whatever he felt comfortable admitting about you. "A friend." 

Price seemed shocked for a moment that he had even said that much, "Ah a friend; well you'll have to introduce sometime." 

"Hmm." 

Later he tells himself; later he would introduce you to the team. Once the two of you have spent more time together, maybe once the two of you were together. 

Price claps his hands together once as he makes his way towards the front, “Now, let’s get started shall we!" The projector is turned on and the picture of a man appears on the screen.  "This here is the man we're hunting for, and Laswell estimates this will be a 2 week op. So prepare yourselves for that lads."

-

It was the next day when Simon tried to call you. He hoped with each ring that you would pick up, he didn't want to leave you with a voice message before disappearing from you. Hearing your voice one last time before leaving would also ease his mind while away. 

Just as he was about to give up and started to mentally prepare what he was going to say to you. 

"Hey Simon! Everything ok, you're calling me a lot earlier than you normally would?" You sound worried, which is exactly the opposite of what he wants right now. 

"Love, everything is alright. Just letting you know that I'm not going to be available for a few weeks." 

It's quiet for a few seconds before you respond, "When are you getting sent out?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"You'll be safe won't you?"

"I'll do my best." Simon would do anything for you; all you needed to do was ask, "and I'll always have a piece of you to remind me to do that." He smiles down at the bracelet, and lightly fidgets with the heart charm.

You give a soft laugh over the phone, "You'll have to make me one next time you’re here. That way I'll have a piece of you too." 

He promises to himself that he'll do that for you. As soon as this op is finished he's going to talk to Price about going on leave again. The man already has an idea of what is going on so hopefully he won't question him too much. Considering every other time he was practically dragged off base and forced to go on leave. 

"I will, love. I'll also see how soon I can visit again after I get back to base." 

"Just let me know when and I'll be there to walk you home from the car!" 

The two of you continue to talk for a few more minutes before saying your goodbyes to one another. He can't wait to finish this op and get home to you. 

-

The last two weeks have been absolute hell, but it was all hopefully going to come to an end in just a few hours. All there was to do now was wait; which led him to laying down right next to Johnny as they watched the warehouse. 

“I spy with my little eye something…blue.” Johnny whispers next to him. This has been going on for 10 mins now and he was debating with himself if killing the sergeant would be worth it. 

“Johnny.” 

“Wrong, guess again.” 

Killing him is becoming more and more worth it, “Hush.” 

“You’re no fun Lt.” Johnny pouted before changing into a gin, “How’s Beads doing by the way?” 

“Beads?” 

Johnny points to where the bracelet usually sits on his wrist, “Beads, your lass!” 

Simon had almost forgotten that he had seen the bracelet while he was moving it to a more secured pocket on his vest. “If I tell you, will you stop being so annoying about this?”

“Cross my heart!” 

"Beads," He doesn't necessarily like the nickname, but he doesn't feel comfortable saying your name right now, "Is doing good. She loved the rock you tripped over." 

"You fucking sent her that rock?"

"It's displayed in her living room and everything." 

When Johnny doesn't immediately respond he looks towards him only to see a soft look gracing his face. "You really like this lass don't you?"  

That is what scared him, because he did care about you. He tried to fight it at first; the two of you were never meant to interact after he helped you in your flat. Then the daily morning walks to your work started right after, and he couldn't avoid you after that. “I might.” 

"That's a love confession coming from you." 

"Maybe it is." He whispers to himself, but based on Johnny's shocked face he probably heard as well. 

"Ghost-" 

“Target spotted; get ready to move in.” Price's voice comes over the comms interrupting whatever Johnny was going to say.

The topic is immediately dropped after that, and two of them focus on the task once more.

-

When the plane finally landed back on base Simon made a beeline to his locker to get his phone. Admittedly the talk with Johnny did help him sort out some of his feelings that he had for you. Simon was going to try and get a hard read on you when he goes on leave again; try and see if you were also wanting to take the friendship to the next level. 

Turning on his phone he sees that he has a few texts and a voicemail message from you. Reading the text first; there are simple updates about your work and random thoughts you’ve had throughout the day. It was the voicemail that made Simon’s blood go cold. 

“Hey Simon,” you sound nervous, that's the first thing he picks up on, “Can you give me a call when you get this. A couple of Russian guys came by today asking about you. I don’t want to worry you, but they were asking a lot of strange questions. Stuff about where you were, and when you would be getting back. It’s probably nothing, but I just felt like I should tell you. I’ll talk to you later…Bye.” 

Panic was the only thing going through Simon right now. Quickly checking he sees that the voice message was from a few days ago. 

“Fuck!” For all he knew you could be dead right now. He couldn’t go home just to see another person he cared about dead on the floor again. 

He calls you; each unanswered ring is just another nail in your coffin. 

“Hello.” 

Taglist: @nexthyperfix @yourdaydreamerfan @tf141gloryhole @just-pure-trash @definitelynotaclown

@arminarlertssword @openup-yourmind

[itstheghostofmypast]

Pollen Love (1/2)

Florist Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: The world had always been a bit too dull for the florist, a bit too rough for his petal like soft heart, stomping on it whenever anyone would deem fit - but was she any different? If so, why was she out of his reach, why did the world pluck away the flower that was supposed to put his bouquet back together?

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Warnings: heavy self-criticism, violence, language

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.3k

Est.Read Time: 25 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: A two part treat till I work on my main series.

"Woah there, what happened- did the boss come at ya, at like-" he turned to check the giant clock at the opposite end of the floor, "8 am- you want me to go knock some sense into him?" he asked, pulling out a dozen tissues from the 'free tissue box' and pressing them on her nose, signalling for her to blow, only for her to smack his hand, and point at something.

"What- oh" he stared at the bouqet of blue roses wrapped in a pastel yellow paper, all tied up with a with bow. "Wait- he made a move on you?"

Snatching the tissues she blew in an extremely ungraceful manner before throwing them away, "You idiot, they're your birthday gift, take them away before I die."

His fingers touched the soft petal of a rose, smiling at the sweet gesture before turning around to hug her only to be smacked across the face with a file. Letting out a mixture of a whimper and a growl he stared at her, hand on his now pink cheek, "So many mixed signals."

"I'll kill you, wash your hands! You know im deathly allergic to pollen!" protesting she sat down on her swivel chair, crossing her legs and glaring up at him. "And what mixed signals, you should be thankful I didn't shove them up your a** for not inviting me to your birthday party."

Letting out an exaggerated fake gasp he knelt down infront of her, placing a hand on his heart, "And for that I am truly sorry, my bestfriend since childhood, but please understand how the guys wanted me to go with them to a certain club where I couldn't possibly take you."

"You shouldn't be celebrating your birthday at a strip club anyway, it's extremely unhygienic," she mumbled, glancing at the flowers and then back at him on the floor on his knees, the usual Wooyoung theatrics.

"Yet, so entertaining -"

"You're disgusting."

"But a simple man."

"Get out of my cubicle".

That was three days ago, today was a Thursday, a regular, boring Thursday so did Wooyount expect to find another bouqte in his cubicle, no. Did he find one, yes, this had been going on since Monday and at this point Yunho and a few on the others floor had begun to assume there was something going on between the two. So, like any best friend,  he decided to confront her during break.

Turning off the faucet she shook her wet hands over the sink, looking in the mirror to check up on her makeup, her ears picking up the sound of the door opening, "There you are!"

Turning to look at the all too-familiar voice before letting out a shriek and throwing the bar of soap at him, as he ducked skillfully,  being all too aware of her habit of throwing things at him.

"THIS IS THE LADIES RESTROOM."

"Well I'm having lady issues," he said before aiming the bouquet of sunflowers at her, only for her to take a step back gasping, "My lady, mind you a horrifying one, has been leaving me these bouquets when I clearly know she doen't love me enough to face death each day." as soon as he was done they heard someone flush and the last stall open, his eyes widening in fear, about to make a run for it but she grabbed his hand, "Oh no, now you face the consequences."

"So, who are you in love with?"

"For f***'s sake." hissing she face palmed, Wooyoung's boistorous laugh echoing across the tiled walls. Before them, Yunho stood infront of the sink, rolling up his sleeves as he begun to wash his hands, turning his head to meet her questionng glare to which he shrugged, "Ladies washrooms are cleaner, men use toilets like pigs and..." moving closer to reach beside her, he pulling out a few tissues, "Ya'll have tissues."

Rolling her eyes at this  statement she turned to Wooyoung, motioning for him to move, only for him to move the bouqet closer to her face, watching her nose scruntch as she covered her mouth. Muffling out a whine, "Wooyoung, come on, its nothing, just let it go, I let go the fact that you went to strip club to your birthday and didnt celebrate with me-"

"THAT'S WHAT YOU TOLD HER ?"Yunho, who was now leaning against the counter hollered. That's when she noticed it, the silence, the way Wooyoung was shaking, in...fear. No...this mf wouldn't have...could he?

"Yunho" he hissed, slowly moving back as she stepped closer to him, "You a**hole." is all that escaped him before he made a beeline for the elevator, "I SWEAR I WANTED TO TAKE YOU BUT YOU HAD YOUR PROJECT THE NEXT DAY" he yelled running into the eventor, pressing on the close button before she could jump in. Unfortunately for him, she was able to stick her hand in before the doors closed, automatically opening again.

He backed into the opposite wall, "I c-can explain." holding the bouqet to cover his face until she snatched it and started beating him with it, "YOU PROMISED TO GO WITH ME- f*** I CAN NOT BELIEVE YOU WENT TO THE IMAGINE DRAGONS CONCERT WITHOUT ME!"

"IM- ow- SORRy-STOP"

The elevator stopped at a random floor and dinged, not that the two even pressed a button in this first place, they only stopped when someone cleared their throat. Pausing midscene the two- Wooyoung who was covered in petals and Y/N who was holding the dead beat bouquet,  the wrapping paper crumbled to shreds- looked the people standng at the entrance.

"Umm..."

"Everyone, but these two, are normal." Jongho explained and entered the lift, someone next to him nodding and entering. That's when Wooyoung noticed, buff dudes hang out with buff dudes, that and how his bestfriend was twitching, slowly moving behind him, trying to hide, like she was...shy? He hadn't seen her ever flinch around any other man, let alone shy away from one. It was at this point when is gaze moved from her, trailing to catch the face of the man standing next to Jongho, who was offering her a shy smile in return. He was an eight...or at max a nine...or 9.98- point is he wasn't extraordinary, in fact, when did he start working here? Wooyoung always knew everyone, and this strange, tall mountain of a man was not part of the everyone, nonetheless, the creep was disturbing his dear darling demon, which is why he chose to speak up.

"Haven't seen you before?" his words calm but with an edge to them causing Jongho to let out an exagerted sigh and the man to nod at him, an introvert huh, still had the guts to hit on her? Creep and a weirdo.

"He doesn't, I just wanted to show him the gym here." Jongho turned to face the two idiots, the lady who sends him her work in late almost every week and her scoundrel of a friend who makes sure to finish all the morning free muffins before the poor bear can reach the break room.

"I almost couldn't recognise you without the mask?" the stranger spoke in a hushed tone, causing her to dip her head even more, mumbling a, "I didn't think you would."

"You know this creep?" Wooyoung turned to her, before biting his lip when he felt her heel dig into his toe. Pretending she wasnt doing that she bowed in apology, only for him to smile at her, "It's alright, so, this is who you buy flowers for each day?" his voice as soft as the clouds, as smooth as velvet, though unknown to her, those words, the sight of her standing so close to the rude guy, watching them physically engage before the two had entered the lift had set something burning in him, anger? Jealousy?

F*** no, they were not for this moron, but would she tell him the real reason? Of course not, shaking her head, she was about to speak when Jongho cleared his throat, "Anyway, San, let's go ....and you two...stay out of trouble." with that he walked out, her frantic gaze meeting San's calm eyes, with one last dimpled smile he walked out with a "Hope to see you around Miss."

With the doors closing she bit her lip, this is not how she wanted to him to see her, this is not what she wanted him to think- wait, was he going to stop being nice to her? Or would he just treat her like any other customer? Or-

"So, that's him, huh?" his words broke her train of thought, slinging an arm over her shoulders, "That's the guy, you face death for each morning, the guy you are willing to buy for, because he got your itty bitty heart in his palm and he has -until today- not seen you without a mask, not because you're hygienic,  no, because you'd literally get an allergic attack and die?"

Sighing in defeat she rested her head on his shoulder, "I'm pathetic, aren't I?" as she let him lead them out to their floor, as fun as this was, they still had half of the day left and he had some investigating to do.

"Nah, not pathetic,  just desperate and stupid."

"Thanks, Woo."

"Anytime."

.

"You gonna do something or just stare at the weights?" Jongho asked as he got off the treadmill, noticing how his friend had been distracted ever since they got off the elevator. To be honest Jongho had brought him here because this was closer to work and San's shop, and since he'd get off work late it was easier for them to continue with their routine at this office gym, rather than the one near their apartment complex.

"Oh- no, sorry." San mumbled, sitting back on the bench, reaching to pick up a dumble, only to freeze at the next choice of words his friend spoke so casually, "Can't believe thats your masked lover."

"She isn't my lover." he hissed cranning his neck around to glare at the man who was now sitting on the bench next to him, chuckling before chugging down a whole bottle of water.

"No" sighing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "She's got you whipped, but you didn't know she was in a relationship- you're such a romantic Sannie."

"I'll throw this at you. I swear." placing the dumble back down, grumbling he got up, no longer interested in working out anymore, choosing to stretch out the tension in his muscles instead.

"And I'm surprised you never bothered asking for her name."

"Drop it." with that he grabbed his duffle bag , "I'm going to hit the shower."

"Mhmmm...so what was more distracting? Her skirt or the fact that you saw her face for the first time-" Jongho's sentence was cut halfway when a towel was smacked on his face, San's attempt to shut him up before disappearing around the corner to the washrooms.

.

Today was not a good day. Well, yesterday wasnt one either, well it was till he found out that the lady he had been saving his extra silky ribbons and prettier flowers for was in fact in a relationship, or at least what looked like one. Today, he had gotten up earlier than expected, a minute before his alarm rang, which only added to his anger. Then the water ran out while showering, so he had to stumble out of the tub, eyes closed, trying to keep his eyes safe from the suds of his shampoo, almost tripping off what may have been his own pants. After that fiasco, he had missed the bus, which meant he was late, which meant he wasn't opening his flower shop, his pride and hardwork on time. But was he upset about that or the fact that since he was late, he wouldn't be able to see her today- wait why is he even thinking of her?

In midst of his crisis he missed someone standing in front of him and bumped into them, thanking God for his cat like reflexes as he balanced himself quickly, hands instinctively reaching to grab the hand of the falling individual, pulling them up into his chest.

Her forehead bumped against his chest, his arms secure around her waist, her own palms pressed against his warm chest, the sweater warm and fuzzy under her finger tips.

"S-sorry." peaking up through her lashes, her face flushed at the sight of his curious gaze. "It's alright" smiling down at her, suddenly his day turning a bit brighter, "No mask today ?"

"W-what? Oh, " her fingers instintively reaching to touch her lips, before nodding, "Yeah, I forgot...you're late today."  eyes meeting his once more, as he gave her an apologetic smile and nodded. Never had she been able to look at him up close, sure she had seen him work before, thats how she started to develope these feelings. The way he'd be so focused, his sharp gaze to the way the tip of his tongue would peak past his pouty lips, the way his hair would fall over his forehead, caressing his eyebrows-

"I leave for three minutes."

"Oh-"

In an instant the warmth around her was gone, much to her displeasure, he had moved back, hands at his sides, no longer holding her close, much to his own displeasure.

"Morning" Wooyoung cleared his throat, before taking a sip of his coffee, eyes on the man who was staring back at him. To her, it looked like a gentle stare, but Wooyoung could see the swirling emotions behind his dark orbs, the anger, the jealousy- oh he was going to have so much fun with this.

Clearing her throat, she turned to Wooyoung, "What are you doing here?" who smiled at her, one that anyone who didn't know him would feel was the most honest smile one could see, but she knew better. He was up to no good, as he walked up to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling hercloser, "Didn't we see you yesterday?"

San's eyes caught th visible the dicomfort that she displayed for a second, certain gears in his head working quick, fists clenching at his sides- this wasn't his matter, and Jongho had told him to stay away from this stuff or he would kick him out, this was a new start, and he wasn't going to ruin it.

"You did," averting his eyes from her face he eyed Wooyoung, scanning him, he was smaller than him, in stature and build, bet he was quicker than him though- no, he wasn't supposed to be thinking like this anymore.

"San...right?" her words catching him off guard, inhaling sharply he turned back to her with a smile, "Nodding, yes, San, Choi San." Noting how her she was mimicking a smile of her own, eyes swirling with untold stories, ones he'd love to hear, all the time.

"Wooyoung" he brought his hand forward, somewhat coming infront of her, much to San's displeasure, but he shook his hand nontheless, with a fake smile, before catching her eyes again, his fake smiling morphing into his dimpled one.

"Will you be coming in today?" he asked them, "Give me a minute I just have to open up-"

"N-no its okay, we were just passing by!" she cut him off, before looking at how the two idiots were still gripping onto each other's hands. Wooyoung was going to be the death of her.

Turning his head to look at her he nodded in understanding before he felt the idiot squeeze his hand,  only sparing  him a glance then looking at their clasped hands, an awkward silence settling between the three.

"Umm..."

"Wooyoung."

With a firm nod he let go, smirking at the way the bigger male wiped his palm with his pants, trying to be oh so discreet about it.

"Good grip" was all he said before moving to Y/N, "Let's go, love." walking ahead as she sighed, wanting to smack him so hard right now. Turning to San she bowed politely, "I apologise, he can be a handful sometimes, it was nice seeing you."

She was almost a good foot away before he called out, "WAIT!" causing her to freeze in spot, whipping her head around to stare at him all doe-eyed, his heart hammering against his ribcage, demanding to leave with her, "I didn't catch your name..."

"That's because you never asked me, silly." chuckling at his curiosity veiled with his shy demeanour, "It's Y/N."

With that she was gone, running after the a**hole, according to San, who had noticed how he was making her uncomfortable by the passing minute. A part of him wanted to go and give him a good piece of his mind, but he knew not to, he had promised Jongho he wouldn't get into fights anymore, he wouldn't let the world write his story for him.

.

"Having fun?" she hissed, entering his cubicle, noting how  she was ignored. Her source of anger was glued to his desktop, glasses at the tip of his nose, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. Eyes skimming each word before him.

"Wooyoung I-"

Words pausing at the rude gesture, a finger pointed in the air as if asking her to shut up for a moment. Huffing, she stood there, leaning against the entrance of his cubicle, arms crossed as she looked around waiting for him to finish with his dramatics for a good twenty minutes.

"Aaaand done." twirling around in his swivel chair he stared at her, manspreading, "Yes, child."

"SIT PROPERLY!"

"YES MA'AM." fixing his posture in an instance he cleared his throat, sitting cross-legged watching her lean against his desk, eyes frantically darting from her face to the screen.

"Let's go, Love?" quirking a brow she asked, "Are you trying to ensure I have no shot with him?"

"Quite the opposite, stupid one, I'm trying to ensure you do."

"You got a shitty way of showing it."

Clicking his tongue he rolled his chair closer to his desk, smacking her knee, then pointing at th screen, "Look."

Rubbing her knee she stood up, turning to look at the screen, "What- oh my god, you're stalking him- Oh he looks cute her" her words rushing out before she could bite her tongue, earning a high pitched laugh from her friend.

"Stop" whining and covering her face with her hands she peeked through her fingers, watching him scroll through the florist's shop's social media account.

This was the most fun Wooyoung had had since highschool, it had been so long since he'd seen his oh so perfect friend a mess, sputtering nonsense. "My point is, he has no personal account, and this one is recent too, its only for the shop and considering he only has male staff- this other dude - man do all buff people have like this secret club-"

"Your point?"

"Yeah sorry, my point is that he has no lady in his life, so you've got a shot."

"And pretending that we are in a relationship is going to work how?"

"He's shy and you're hopeless at this, someone has to tip the scales and be pushed to make the first move- and we all know how your first moves involve stupidity."

"I regret knowing you for so long."

"Ooooh what are we discussing here?"

The two froze at the third, new voice entering the scene, "But, I feel like people who come in late should be more concered about their work, not Sannie's love life."

"Sannie?" the two squeaked but with different tones, with different intentions.

"Yes, Sannie, San, Choi San, man who is not part of your assignments for the week. Neither of yours." he stated as a matter of fact, slowly nudging Wooyoung's chair out of the way as he moved closer to the screen, "New account, huh..." scrolling down at an inhumane speed he hummed, "So, how's his shop?"

"Nice."

"Average."

"Wooyoung, you've never been there." She sighed at his comment, "It's not average, its very nice, its pretty and colourful."

"Wow, bet saying that would get you in his pants, huh?" Wooyoung mocked, rotating in his swivel chair, smirking at the sight of her tainted cheeks- perhaps he did want to show their boss, that he deserved the raise rather than her, or maybe just embarass her because it was fun, or just both.

Luckily for her Yunho had completely ignored that  statement, instead  turned around to her, "So, you're allergic to pollen and you still go to the shop?"

As embarrassing as it was, it was true, "Yes." mumbling she stared at her shoes, instantly glaring at Wooyoung who had whispered, "Simp".

"Does...he know?" Their boss inquired, before closing the tab and turned to face them completely.

"No! God no, he'd never let me in the shop if he did, I mean he seems like the caring type and-" her words came to a fault at the sight of the two men smirking at each other, cause her to whine and slap Wooyoung's shoulder.

"WHY ME?? HIT HIM TOO!"

"He's our boss."

Huffing she turned to look at Yunho who gave her a gentle smile, "You're  right, he is the caring type, but" his lips quirked downwards, something she noticed instantly,  "He's not s pet project, so is this a little crush or do you actually like him, which brings me to my next question, how could you like someone without even knowing their name?"

"I..."her words hugged the silence that came after, staring at her shoes then at Wooyoung for some help, but he looked at her with the same look her boss was giving her, she did like him, but she didn't know a lot about him either- well technically a while ago she didn't even know his name.  What if this was a meaningless crush? There was no guarantee that he felt the same way either, what if he thought she was some annoying, clingy customer that-

A gentle squeeze of her hand had her look up from the all too interesting floor, only to find Wooyoung standing right before her, giving her a small smile. He raised his hand, watching her flinch but he chuckled, "You're crying silly..." he whispered, the thumb of his free hand stroking her tear stained cheek, watching her let out a shaky sigh.

"I- I wont- I mean I-"

"He didn't mean it like that...he just wants you to be sure of your feelings...I think they were close friends." Smiling at her he made her sit down on his chair, "Don't worry, I get it, I've never seen my demon sent to me straight from hell cry for a guy, so you must really like him, we just gotta figure out a way for you to get to talk to each other without chickening out, yeah?"

She nodded only to look at the person who cleared their throat, Yunho, standing there awkwardly, "I uh...I was only kidding, I didn't doubt your intentions....but damn...who knew I'd see the employee of the month, the holder of Woo's reigns, end up crying all because of Sannie-"

"I hate you." She hissed, grabbing a tissue box and flinging it at him, only for Wooyoung to catch it mid air, "Holder of my reigns?" He turned to Yunho who shrugged, "It's a name that stuck, most of us did think you two were an item" the taller man shrugged before looking at her sitting there in self-doubt, making him feel worse, "I, I think Wooyoung should go on with his jealousy plan, if Sannie didn't have the slightest crush on you, he wouldn't have smiled at you like how Jongho told me he did."

"You spoke to Jongho about this?"

"Yeah, well he did talk about the way San was distracted at the gym thanks to your skirt-"

"Jongho also said get back to work and not waste the first half of the day playing matchmaker."

The three froze at the new tone, slowly turning to find the bear like man standing there with his arms crossed, shaking his head, "I'll count till ten"

"Oh I'll win because I'm already at my desk." Wooyoung smirked earning an eyeroll from Yunho and scoff from her, watching the two walk out as he stared at Jongho who was glaring back at him, "Is she serious about him? He's been through enough as it is, it took us some time to bring him back on track."

"She is. I- its actually the first time I've seen her act this way, the real question is, is your boy fixed enough to treat her right?"

"Guess that's something you'll have to check for yourself....you are her...boyfriend after all, even if a fake one." With that Jongho left the cubicle, leaving Wooyoung alone with his thoughts, on one hand he was debating whether this interference was worth their time, but then again, he was right, he'd never seen her like this, not when he had confessed to her back in highschool and she had politely declined his offer, or when that guy in college asked her put publically- well, technically she had put him back in his place there and then and Wooyoung thanked God that he had the bestfriend privilege back in highschool too because if this is what she'd do to someone who tried to pressurise her due to the public presence even if she did once say this guy was cute- he'd hate to see how she'd deal with someone she disliked.

So, there were two questions that bothered him, was the flowerboy fixed enough to handle her? And did she now possesses the gentleness to handle delicate flowers?

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @marsvillee @spooo00oky @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt

[opal-orchard]

warmth & respite

18+ mdni!!! • fluff, smut (oral/face-sitting receiver!Ellie)

———

Ellie’s had a difficult day, only you can give her what she needs.

1.5k words

———

a/n: hi i’m nai! please accept this as my offering to the tlou community. i’m not new to writing or tumblr but this is my first tlou work and my first time writing a full smut so pls be nice lol. if there’s anything you want to see me write my ask box is open :)

i hope you enjoy it and if you do pls reblog and follow, i rlly want to make moots on this side of tumblr, you all are so unhinged and gay (my kind of people!)

The door to your shared studio slams shut, you don’t need to guess who it is —you could tell by the sound of her footsteps approaching the door. But you look up anyways and watch a disgruntled Ellie throw her dripping backpack onto the ground, her face twisted into a scowl.

“Patrols have been fucking insufferable lately,” she groans bitterly to no one in particular, removing her gear from her backpack and thigh holster.

You set your novel down and prop yourself up on your elbow, watching her intently. You know when she’s like this all she needs is you to listen.

She’s soaking wet, making her muscular arms glisten, and her tight black jeans and tank top press against her body. You salivate looking at how the fabric of her jeans hug every curve.

“I keep getting assigned to train Evan,” she continues, still fixed on putting away her gear, “He thinks he knows Every. Fucking. Thing!” She slams her drawer shut with a groan.

“And he’s so fucking annoying. Keeps trying to ask me stupid questions cause I like girls, and of course we had to take the river trail today, so that dick had to make sure I got all fucking wet!”

She glances over at you for the first time, and her demeanor softens. “Hey you,” she exhales.

“Hey. Sorry about your day,” you respond back.

“I need a shower, I’ll be back,” she says, heading towards her bathroom, peeling off her top as she walks, making you revel in the sight of her wet back muscles.

——

She emerges from her bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body, her short hair damp and a little messy. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she softly rubs her hand along your leg, as if to remind herself you’re tangible and alive.

“Hey babe,” she says with all the gentleness she can muster, a soft smile on her face. Your eyes meet hers, and time stills. You’ll never grow used to her calling you that, no matter how many times she does. Warmth spreads through your stomach anytime her voice is this soft and raspy.

“Sorry I was …like that earlier. Just had a bad day.”

Wordlessly, you crawl behind her and wrap your arms around her bare shoulders, pressing soft kisses along her neck and cheek. Her skin is soft with a tinge of lemongrass from her soap.

“No need to apologize, my love,” you say, pressing your face against the curve of her neck, “I’m just happy you’re home safe.”

“Me too,” Ellie whispers, planting a kiss on your arm.

You two revel in this moment—in the relationship you’ve built, full of warmth and respite from the violent, cruel world you live in. You think of all the ways you want to make Ellie feel good.

You turn her face towards yours and press your lips against hers. Ellie’s lips are soft and she opens her mouth to let you take the lead for a little before she kisses you back with intensity. It makes you moan into her mouth and she takes that opportunity to plant open mouth kisses against your jaw and neck.

The sensation leaves you breathless but you gently push her back before you’re too far gone. “Wait— Ellie, I— I wanna— can I eat you out?”

She bites her lip, and a playful smile forms, “Can you?” before returning to your neck. A challenge. You make your lips meet hers again for a sloppy kiss and undo her towel; Ellie gasps into your mouth at the sensation of the cool air hitting her exposed skin. A string of saliva connects your mouths when you pull away and she’s flushed, the skin under her freckles a dusty rose.

You wrap your arms around her back and press your clothed chest against her bare breasts, it’s your turn to leave her breathless with open mouth kisses. “Mmmm you feel good, babe,” she purrs, her head tilted sideways from bliss. Ellie grips your shoulder and presses your head deeper in the crook of her neck.

Growing needier, Ellie rubs her chest against yours. The sensation of her bare nipples against the fabric of your top making her breaths more erratic. You lean down to take one in your mouth and she whines, gripping you tighter. “Ooh shit!”

Kissing the space between her breasts, you let your hands roam her body and her skin is hot to the touch. Liquid pools on the tips of your fingers when you reach down to touch her pussy, her swollen lips spreading with so much ease. She’s soaking wet and scorching hot, and the contact makes her jolt with pleasure.

Ellie watches, transfixed as you put those fingers in your mouth with unwavering eye contact. “Shit,” she grits, in this moment, something snaps— and you both know what’s about to happen.

Ellie shuffles off the bed and stands in front of your face. She loves being above you when you eat her out. You pause and marvel at her curves from her chiseled shoulders down to her hips, how her figure widens and narrows, then widens again. How her taut stomach leads to her most intimate spot that’s hovering right before your mouth. You scoot to the edge of the bed and Ellie props her leg on it to give you access.

Bound by the urge to be more intimate, you wrap your arm around Ellie’s thigh and pull your bodies closer. Looking up to meet her affectionate eyes you’re overwhelmed with a desire to savor her, to pleasure her. No one else has ever made you feel desire and warmth as searing and intense as she has.

Dragging your fingers from her belly button to her labia, you use your index and middle finger to open her lips, and a swollen sappy clit greets you. You take it into your mouth to suck—your lips between her lips and moan at the sensation that runs through your body.

Ellie’s mouth falls agape and her eyebrows contort in bliss, “Oh you good girl, oh fu— just like that!” She cradles the back of your head and rubs your scalp affectionately.

You grip the flesh of her ass and thighs tighter and swirl your tongue around her clit and suck on her folds. “Ugh just like that,” she rasps, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth, her hand gripping your hair a little tighter. You lick laps from her clit to her entrance and she bucks against your face.

She can get a little bossy when you fuck, you love when she tells you what to do, “Put your tongue inside,” she commands her voice raspy and breathy, she spreads her leg a little farther and pushes your face deeper in her pussy. You oblige, swirling your tongue around her swollen entrance before pushing inside. Ellie tilts her head back and releases a loud, guttural moan, so unfiltered and unafraid. You’re french kissing her pussy now, your lips pressing against and sucking her entrance to get your tongue as far inside.

Her juices are all over your lips and nose and cheeks, some beginning to drip down your jaw and chin.

“F-fuck, I need more,” Ellie gasps and with a swift motion she pushes you flat on the bed. She’s positioning her pussy on your face before you can ask questions, and she continues grinding into your mouth and nose. Your arms are awkwardly suspended in the air before you settle them on her waist.

You’re transfixed by her taste, her scent, her lascivious sounds filling the room, the sight of her head tilted back in bliss and her stomach flexing as she gyrates on your mouth. “Oh babe—oh babe!,” she moans, her face contorted and eyes completely glossy with pleasure.

She’s practically using your mouth and nose as she sloppily grinds her folds over them. Your mouth is growing sore but all you care about is getting her there, you stick your tongue back inside her, and she’s gone.

You grab her hips to help her ride through her orgasm. She releases a lascivious moan and bucks her hips one last time before she melts, her body limp and her chest heaving, her pussy sopping wet and throbbing. Creamy white sap oozes onto your lips and you lick it, savoring her taste.

You watch her stomach muscles flex as she lifts her leg to dismount you, and in this moment you realize just how dazed and aroused and transfixed you are. But content more than anything, that you could give the girl you love so much pleasure.

She collapses beside you and grabs your jaw, kissing you with tongue. “I needed that babe. I love you… so much” she says softly and licks her lips. She languidly wipes her thumb along your cheeks and puts it in her mouth.

You watch her and you both lay there motionless, placid from bliss, but it’s getting harder to see her clearly with the room growing darker. You peek out the window and the sun is setting in the summer sky, “Ugh, it’s getting late, I should head to Tipsy Bison and get you something to eat befor-“

Ellie grabs your arm and firmly pulls you back onto the bed in one graceful, effortless motion. She’s still laying there blissed out and it reminds you just how easily she can overpower you if she desires.

“I’d rather skip to dessert.”

———

a/n: in retrospect i don’t think this position would work unless ellie’s bed is really short…

i’ve read this over so many times i’m starting to hate it, so if there’s a mistake i apologize lmao. my goal is to not be so hard on myself and just write more lmao

[eliecasa]

summary: reader see’s a man spank a box on tiktok & it awakens a monster

warnings: minors i know I said I wouldn’t but we all lie as humans. this is one of those times where you mustn’t interact, plss ( contains these mentions: asphyxiation, verbal, and spanking kinks ) the reader is mentioned to have a vagina.

wrdcnt: 2K

inspo

A small huff of frustration pushed from your nostrils as you’re once again opening your eyes to stare out into the rainy darkness of the night. The sight is usually lovely and heart-warming as it was Simon’s wish to live somewhere with nature all the while staying a generous 20 minutes away from the city. It’s quiet here but there’s a memory that echoes loud and vibrantly in the back of your mind.

Simon sat still, sleeping as quiet as a mouse as you squeezed your eyes shut and subtly rubbed your thighs together. If you’d never downloaded tiktok, you’ll probably be sound asleep and dreaming of a dog handing you something as strange as a sweater with your own face sewn into it. Soap suggested that it be a good idea to keep a good balance of humor and seriousness since Simon would be left alone to tease you without anyone else jumping in to defend you, and the only way to do that was to give in and download the god-forsaken TikTok app.

Oh how you wish you’d never listened to him.

The first thing you’re greeted with is a video of a buff man underhand smacking a box to fit evenly with the others atop and below it. It came immensely loud from your headphones and caused a barely-audible yelp to part your lips. Your first thought was to get out of there so, you did… by scrolling one video down as Simon came over from the kitchen and asked what was wrong. And of course, having lacked a good answer, you merely waved him off and cleared your throat, saying that your headphones were accidentally turned to maximum volume.

He squinted those dark and suspicious eyes before humming and going back to make dinner- which was the deal for an old bet that he lost. Anyway, you’re instantly back on the video and fluttering with little butterflies of heat and embarrassment… that was until you opened the comments and saw that everyone else was thinking the same. Even married people were saying things such as “I try to get my husband to do this but he doesn’t know manual labor too well” which tickled you a little bit.

Though you were laughing at the time, you found yourself staring at Simon’s hands a bit longer than usual as the two of you ate dinner together. Don’t be mistaken, Simon had done nearly everything you desired with those strong pair of hands but still, that new seed planted in your head was quickly taking over and growing vines up and down the walls of your busy mind.

“What’s on your mind?” He said after watching you daydream for five minutes. It almost seems deliberate as he moved to hide his hands underneath the table. Classic Mr. RIley.

“...Nothin’,” you shrugged, connecting your gaze before promptly taking a good chunk of spanish rice.

Simon paused and did that empty stare where he kinda just assessed you before going back to whatever business he was originally doing. The judgemental gaze causes the slightest of shame to boil your skin as you roll your eyes. He’s your husband and has seen and touched every nook and cranny of your body and for some reason, you don’t want to tell him what’s bothering you.

Fast forward back into the present. The fluffy white comforter seems to get unbearably hot just as the heat radiating from Simon does. Sex and experiment is no taboo between the two of you and your coyness was just overall pitiful, however, that small little angel in your head keeps saying “Well, you have to really ask yourself if he’s the type to wound his loving spouse” while the devil said “Tell him to throw you over his lap and spank you like that goddamn cardboard!”

Again, you rub your thighs together. Maybe your mind was turning into one of those awful hormone monsters from a show that shall not be named. A small sound of anger escaped your mouth as you try to clear your mind, knowing that Simon would get woken–

“Having a strop, are ya’?” His heavy voice felt heavy and trapping as you knew that this was the most reasonable time to just get it over with.

Almost too quickly, you flip in his arms and lock eyes with him. Well, he was still waking up but your patience led you to gently pinch various areas of his face before he’s basically stretching his neck to be freed.

“Fuckin’ stop will ya?”

“Why haven’t you ever gotten rough with me?”

In the moonlight that shows through your windows, you can see the way that Simon’s face bunches into one handsome twist of confusion and tiredness. His eyes slowly open to look at the ceiling before he turns his head and stares dead into your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Your right hand moved back a couple of inches and came back to gently slap him as his face remained cradled in your hands. A small chuckle escapes him before he pinches your thigh.

“Why’re you kicking my ass instead of explaining–”

“I obviously mean- like during sex,” you spoke with the tiniest amount of annoyance in your voice as the sexual frustration was beginning to plague.

The hand on your thigh rested as his face relaxed.

“I do… it was your idea to get into the choking thing-”

“No! I mean- yes that but why don’t you ever hit me?”

He seems to relax into the pillows a bit more as his eyes darted back to the white and plain ceiling. Simon was taking a moment to actually think if he’s never done such since it seems like a problem that could have been bothering you for who knows how long. Maybe you were doing that classic tactic of trying to alter his memory for your own benefit. There’s been multiple times where you’d lay on top of him and ask when was the last time he’d give you proper praise despite him clearly remembering it happening two days ago. He tilts his head, thinking of the past five months. The two of you had gotten into a couple new positions, areas to have sex, as well as experimenting with verbal kinks. Not to mention that asphyxiation kink that appeared to stay and make an appearance during each session.

“Simon!”

“I know, I know… just making sure you aren’t lying,” he said, casually sitting up to turn on the blinding light next to the bed. You try not to grab him as he moves from over you to settle back and rub his eyes.

“What needs to be done to get you sound, eh?”

A lightning bolt strikes as you pretend to think as if Apollo was saying “Don’t you dare waste that man's time, Y/N.”

So, instead of pissing anyone off, you decide you sit on your knees and face Simon with your chin up and your shirt covering your sweaty palms that were hidden underneath the oversized fabric. You’re ex-military and you’re especially all but a coward. Simon Riley will not stop you from reaching your dreams.

“I want you to start…” your lips twist in the slightest as you try to find the right words just to settle on “spanking me…”

He tries not to seem surprised but the smallest raise of his eyebrows gave it all away.

“Today,” you finish, almost coming off stern and unmovable.

Many would disagree with this but you could say that Simon had very telling eyes and right now, he was not only questioning just how freaky you were as well as how much of a possible masochist you were underneath that loving and soothing base of your personality. The asphyxiation thing was brought up during sex so he couldn’t really so no to you in the heat of the moment but now you’ve caught him fresh out of an innocent sleep.

“Are you… sure?--”

“Simon,” you dare, looking away for a second before shaking your head at his timidness.

He wasn’t following the script; you’d admit that you wanted to be spanked and he would pat his lap and get to work. That’s how it was supposed to go! However, Simon wanted to play the long game and see how long he could drag this until the sun began to rise.

“Why didn’t you say this instead of staring at my hands the entire meal?”

“Who the hell would just come out and say ‘Hey, mind hitting my ass when we fuck’?”

A small smile spreads his pink lips as his shoulders momentarily hunch.

“You’re not shy any other time.”

For the 800th time, your pupils roll to the back of your head. As you’re shaking your disappointed little head, you pause to see that the storm seems to calm down a bit, instead turning into a windless pour that wouldn’t wake anyone if they were sleeping. The silence left you no choice as Simon indeed began to follow the script written in your head.

“Guess we’d better get to trying before you’re all snappy then,” his heavy mancunian accent coming loudly as he stood up and stretched.

The movement caught your attention and glued it onto his strong thighs. Simon was a brief type of guy— which was honestly a bit surprising when you first discovered it. The soft fabric remained comfortably on his strong thighs that would soon have you stretched across them.

There’s a couple of heavy steps across the bedroom floor before he settled on the front of the bed and in front of the black screen of the television.

“Are you serious?” you purse your lips, crawling towards him as he looks at you from over his shoulder.

Instead of being verbal, he jerks his head to coax you over as a barely-noticeable smile squints his eyes.

And be damned; you were over there in no time. But instead of instantly giving you what you wanted, Simon couldn’t help but tease you a while longer. Only now do you wish he was a quick mover that despised roleplay. Your hips jump a little as two of his slightly-calloused fingers slid down the smooth and silk skin and dew of your cunt.

“Why the long face, doll?” He laughed, taking a glance at the way your lips and eyes were tightly closed shut.

“Do your thing, Simon,” you spoke quickly to muffle a sound of pleasure by covering your mouth and turning away from his eyes-view.

“I just wanted to feel you a little bit, no harm done,” he gently slapped your soppy cunt before lifting your shirt to bunch around the waist. Tonight, you were just wearing a normal pair of lace panties without the partner of a bra. Bras are vibe killers and the world could do without. Plus– it gives your lover easier access to rest or warm his hands when he’s bored.

Anticipation made the fabric become nearly insufferable as the room seemed to double in heat.

“Keep these on?”

You thought, looking at the shiny oak of your bedroom floor before giving him a muffled response.

“I don’t mind them staying on.”

As so, his ring finger released your panty and turned into a palm that smooths over the entirety of your plump ass. The feeling of Simon’s hands on your bum had often aroused you more than it probably should have. He’s never spanked you but he's grabbed it and caressed it as often as you allowed. The way he’d squeeze long enough to make it hurt had always brought out the bedroom hormones even though sometimes he would do it somewhere other than the comfort of your home. anything that made you feel like his was enough to keep it wet for hours.

“What are you waiting fo-AH!” you nearly turn into a flailing mess before your hands quickly resettled onto Simon’s strong thigh which was trembling with amusement.

For someone who was wary of hitting you, he’d come down really heavy handed. You’re a first-timer, it wouldn’t have killed him to at least warn you. However, the hot and stinging feeling is an arousal-multiplying sensation that has your mouth feeling a little numb and your adrenaline flowing.

Your eyes nearly comically blow wide as the two of you make eye-contact, Simon’s face being one of subdued delight as you gently pant out.

“Do. That. Again.”

[critterbitter]

If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your comic making process? I find it hard to make comics that look eye-pleasing to read and yours are like candy.

Ah, comics! Dig under cut to see some old wips as I attempt to explain my nightmare thought process to you.

For making a comic AESTHETIC and APPROACHABLE:

I've noticed that it's easier for people to be pulled into a comic if I set the environment first and foremost, so people have some vague context for the scene. Of COURSE that's not always necessary ( there are a lot of comics that start out without environmental story telling and it works perfectly) but I've always liked having a lil illustration before digging my rat claws into the meat of the story.

For example! “Emmet and Elesa have a clandestine meeting in the library at 4 am.”

The sketch was sort of the jumping point to where I wanted to go with the comic. I wanted to a. explain wtf is happening and b. draw a nice conclusion about what the f is happening.

You don't need to make the environment available in every panel too! I'd suggest making your first panel tell all the environment detail you need and then like... slowly removing irrelevant detail from there. And then hit folks with the background again at the end. (So basically, you don't see the library in this comic until the beginning and a bit towards the end. I have tricked you! aha!) So that's one tip i have. For Readability: Anyways, to make a comic easy to read, spacing is super important. Dialogue tends to cramp a shot by a WHOLE lot. For example! Remember the "Lamp is told she's beloved (and has a tsundere moment over it"? That used to be TWO panels. Man. Nightmare fuel. Lemme find it. (This is the rough. I Lined It, realized the pacing is off, and then withered. Please don't look at it too hard.)

So here's the thing. This READS. But the sheer amount of dialogue in the beginning is fatiguing for me and the "you are beloved, Lampent" NEEDS that oomph of both characters realizing that over the span of years, their relationship stopped being antagonistic and started being family instead. Some folks are fine with blocks of dialogue, but I have the attention span of a patrat on candy. I will not make it. SO! To match the almost moody atmosphere, I stretched the comic out. I stretched that bad boy out a LOT. And I got this out of it.

Something to keep in mind in comics is there's always going to be one or two iconic lines. Lines that make people FEEL things. Those lines deserve their own panel, their own shot, their whatever. A good story has lulls in its conversation. If you can replicate it, you're winning. Character Blocking:

So basically no, it's not all witchcraft. It's only a bit of witchcraft. Another thing that helps is differentiating characters if they're on the same panel is by solid blocks of color. I have, for the longest time when working on storyboards, blocked characters different tones in order to help differentiate them. Don't be shy! Do that if it helps your comics read! Ingo will always be darker shaded then emmet. The angry nightlight will always have some hint of purple on her (unless I forget). The first goal in a story is to convey information, hehe. Here's an example of color blocking! (This is from a VERY old botw comic I did for linktober in 2021.)

It's, ah, rather rustic compared to what I do. usually. I know! BUT the primary goal here is to convey where the characters are in relation to each other. And the fact they're color coded makes life easier for both reader and artist. Alright! That's all the tips I can think of off the top of my head. Time to get off that soap box, haha. Overall: Basically, my work process is-- draw a story telling image/ write a funny piece of dialogue. Build the comic around that. Pace it so the important lines stand out. Color code the characters for max visibility. And then four to twelve hours of lineart, but that's neither here or there.

Thanks for coming to my unregulated rambling!

[eiraeths]

do you guys want some of my cod 141 headcanons you’re getting them anyways

SOAP

-puts stuff in his mouth a lot to hold it when he runs out of hands (this includes when he’s making explosives, it stresses everyone out)

-gets cute aggression and bites people

-will also bite in a fight

-has bits and pieces of rubble from explosions that he thought looked pretty

-is feral, like he takes a hit to the face during a spar and grins with blood trickling into his mouth

-had a graffiti phase as a teen that never fully left and because of it he writes in all capital letters. this is great when they need something written down where no one can read it. (the 141 probably had a meeting where they went over how to read his handwriting)

-has dreams so realistic he wakes up confused wondering if it was a memory he forgot about even if it didn’t make sense

-military grade anger issues

-never fully grew out of his punk phase

-his childhood room was full of road signs and traffic cones

-is actually a hardass when it comes to training recruits (i think the proper term for privates in the sas is troopers but im calling them recruits cause that seems to be the term everyone uses)(everyone thought his bright attitude meant that he’s laid back and easygoing. no. he’s not. yall ever seen those videos of drill sergeants coming up with the most creative insults? thats him)

-randomly says “i am normal and can be trusted around military grade weapons”

-his journal from the og games is a must in the remaster sorry i don’t make the rules

GHOST

-can play guitar super fucking well, im talking full on fingerstyle ballads

-major staring problem, if he doesn’t want to talk to someone he’ll stare until they go away. sometimes stares at people for no reason. also stares when he wants something. he’s always watching.

-would be interested in getting into blacksmithing if he didn’t grow up poor and hates spending money on himself that isn’t out of necessity (seriously you need like 30k to start a forge)

-can and will obsess over damascus patterns in blades (i feel like his favorite pattern would be fish bone or those really complicated mosaic patterns. he gets soap into it too by showing him fireball patterns)

-never grew out of echolalia and because of this is amazing at mimicking noises (he mimicks smoke alarm battery low noises and phone chimes to troll people sometimes.)

-road rage, but its quiet fuming comments that make you grip the oh shit handle for dear life (“you better turn off your fucking highbeams or i can’t be blamed for the head on collision that’s about to happen”)(no one can tell if he’s serious or not)

-hates tin foil, hearing it or touching it makes him clench his jaw because it feels like he can feel it in his teeth

-secret sweet tooth, but it comes and goes. sometimes he’s disgusted by anything sweeter than white bread and other times he can fuck up an entire box of lil debbie cakes

-can hand sew efficiently and fast as fuck

-his favorite type of blanket is a heavy quilt

GAZ

-is aggressively hydrated and is one of those people who carry around those big 128 oz water bottles

-gets competitive over karaoke (it took him months to convince everyone to join and he only got the idea after finding out soap wanted to be in a band as a teen and that he spent days learning how to properly vocal fry)

-says WOO! when he’s super fucking excited (will throw his arms up as well if soap is around because the two of them are an echo chamber of emotion)(the WOO! might actually be canon theres a voice line in warzone)

-probably the most up to date on modern fashion trends (get this man a long cashmere coat he deserves it)

-he does own a bedazzled cap he found at a gas station though (it’s hideous)

-elaborate skin care routine (he’s conned everyone to have some sort of routine. especially ghost. he got so concerned when it hit him that ghost was always wearing the eyeblack)

PRICE

-listens to black label society (i won’t budge on this its not even a head canon to me anymore its fact it was revealed to me in a dream)

-plays solitaire (he’s a very high level and it took him less than a year to get there. no one knows where he found the time to play for that long)

-drives a manual and shames people who don’t know how to work a stick

-literature nerd (im talking all the classics and philosophy books this man can get his hands on)

-discovered tennessee moonshine and has thought about it ever since

-smacks people on the back of the head when they’re doing something stupid

-if anyone makes a negative comment on his facial hair he gives them the dirtiest side eye

GEN/MULTI

-gaz and soap carry those big contractor waterproof sharpies and leave gaz was here or soap was here everywhere they go (this stemmed from soap’s graffiti phase and gaz turned it into a competition. they once got into a competition on who could leave the most signs until price called them muppets and confiscated their sharpies)

-ghost put soap in air jail once, it was very effective

-gaz and soap go to the gym together and take photos in the mirrors after they’re done (somewhere there’s a photo of the time they got ghost to join and they even got him to flex an arm)

-ghost and soap are professional assholes to each other.

-none of the 141 are allowed play card games and gamble with each other because they’re all dirty charlatans

-price tried to stop smoking only once and carried around gum and peppermints. ghost stole the peppermints and soap wouldn’t stop asking for gum

-gaz and ghost are the only ones who really try to adhere to the lights out rule. price and soap can be seen drinking coffee throughout the day

-all of them can hold a grudge for life

-ghost clears his throat loudly when any of them smoke by him. or stares. depends on the say

-if any of the smokers see another outside smoking and decides to join them it turns into a drawn out conversation about the most mundane topics

-the 141 can have full conversations of pure sarcasm nons