#bastard man: deploy!!!

[chknbzkt]

Anddd for the one that started it all: Moondrop the Night Terror!!! \o/

Stand-alone!!!

More pictures and lore below!!

Proto dragon Moon (yucky man, I love him so)

Gremlin to not-gargoyle pipeline is so real lmaooo-

The shades, abyssal inky monsters that take vague, bastardized forms based on things they see (and oft consume) are infamous for only venturing out of their pools at night. Shades are, however, not the only thing that stalks Hyde’s Crossing and it’s people when the sun falls ‘neath the horizon.

Yet another “problem dragon” (with an impressively sizeable bounty on his head!!), Moon’s disposition towards humans in particular is hostile at best, potentially deadly at worst. He relishes in the chaos and unrest his nightly excursions cause to all manner of folk, seemingly unpredictable in that he never sticks around in any one part of Hyde’s Crossing for too long.

No, indeed efforts have been ramping up of late to catch him. He’s responsible for all manner of crimes including arson, murder of livestock, theft, jaywalking, vandalism, bribery, forgery… and murder. Never you mind that the deaths in question were either an accident on his end or that of his would-be slayers, unfortunately he’s not particularly interested in sticking around to give his testimony to the contrary.

So, as efforts to encourage monster hunters to kill him dead in the form of steadily rising bounty rewards continue being made, he’s stuck nomadically jumping around from place to place to evade capture or worse. He’s not keen on stopping his nightly reigns of terror, he wants to be feared and he likes the purchase that comes with having no alignments or attachments.

He’s made attachments with humans before. He has the iron collar to show for it. Never again.

He has no hoard to call his own and it’s not doing his dubious mental stability (with like zero support) any favors. He does tend to linger near villages with libraries a tad longer despite the risk, however.

It’s only a matter of time before his bounty gets upped to “kill on sight,” though to finally sort himself and his baggage out may require being “slain” by the right hunter he meets at the right time…

[lxvvie]

Couples shit with Simon Riley, Newlywed Edition:

You and Simon got married, and Price was the Best Man. Kyle stood on your side, and Soap was the flower girl. He blew bubbles instead of throwing flower petals because you and Soap thought it would be funnier. There's a picture floating around somewhere of Simon staring rather concerningly at a particularly large bubble Soap blew, too.

You two swearing you're gonna fuck all night long on your wedding night... only to crash as soon as you hit the bed. You didn't even take your clothes off. The sexathon came later. You two just woke up, looked at each other, happy as a pair of clams, and bloody hell, you made an honest man out of Simon fuckin' Riley.

Getting each other gag gifts as a wedding present. You were serious about getting him that cockring weren't you, love? Well, he has all the time in the world to make use of it.❤️

Noticing how relaxed and settled Simon is after you two start your married lives. Well, as relaxed and settled as Simon could be, all things considered, but he's not as anxious. He's... content. Happy.

Simon still can't believe it though. He's married. He's bloody married. You married him. A right bastard like him, at that. Simon makes a promise to himself and you to never turn what you two have into the shit show that defined his parents' union, promises to never become the asshole his father was, and it gives him all the strength he needs to combat his demons. He'll fight them every day if means seeing your smiling face, luv.

Simon also using the fact that he's married for shock value for everyone other than 141. He doesn't really tell the others but also doesn't bother addressing the news when it gets out. He just lets it be. It's amusing, though, seeing the confusion and shock on the other soldiers' faces when they find out. "Wait, Lieutenant Riley's married? He has a missus?" Correction: "I'm the missus."

He also jokes with the rest of 141 on some, "Sorry, lads, 'm an honest bloke now," which makes the others snort. Will also use a variant for you, too. "No can do, lovie, you made an honest missus outta me." Pfft.

You've also taken to calling him the Hubster ("Pretty cute, eh, Si-bear?" ".........") and you're banned from saying it in public lmao.

Similarly, you use the shock value to troll your associates. Your coworkers were not expecting Simon of all people to be the one you married. You call HIM the Missus? ("Sure do.") The way they see it, you two are polar opposites. Well, they do say that opposites attract.

Simon buying a chain for his wedding band for when he deploys because even with the gloves on, he refuses to wear his ring near his gun. It's a symbol of you, one of the best fuckin' things to ever happen to him, and he'll be damned if he ever lets the two touch.

You jokingly suggest that because Simon has really taken to the missus thing and ran with it, he should get it tattooed on him. This being Simon bloody Riley, he goes and does exactly that. The shock on your face was worth it all. Cheers, darling.

You two holding hands if only to look at your wedding bands side by side and bloody fuckin' hell, you're falling in love with each other all over again.

[karlachismylife]

i told myself i'll take a break in my failing attempts to write a couple things on Karlach x Soap in english and go back to writing a couple other things in my first language for the upcoming fandom combat deadline

so here's a thing i wrote instead and it's neither of those :D

Very much inspired by my precious friend that is obsessed with some datesim I know nothing about and talks my ear off about her sexy chinese dudes while I make her listen to me simping for my dead scottish ADHD meow meow. We don't know shit about each other's fandoms but we're so excited for each other... Also excuse me if this idea has already been done (I swear I thought of it on my own, but I will tag anyone who's done this before if you send me a link) + my English writing still sucks.

I also encourage you to check out these smaus, they're brilliant and I somewhat looked at them when wrote Kyle's text messages and this wonderful thing about Ghost and Animal Crossing that also inspired me to look into these silly military men and mobile/video games.

Task force 141 and their reaction to their S/O playing dating simulator games

CW: gn!civilian!reader (if I slipped into one or the other gender somewhere, please tell me & I'll correct), mostly fluff with a bit of spice, pet names, mild cursing, unserious jealousy and banter, long-distance (Gaz), describing nudes and mild sexting (Gaz), soft Ghost, mentioned spanking (Price), mild dom!Price, alluded reader recieveing fingerng and oral (Soap)

Word count: ~5k

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

That silly app you downloaded because its (very compelling) ads were repeatedly shoved in your face became surprisingly convenient when Gaz got deployed and wasn't within reach for weeks. A slightly clay-looking guy on your screen didn't hold up in comparison to the smoothest bastard sergeant with the tightest grip on your heart, but a cute feature with app notifications stylized as loving text messages from the virtual boyfriend somehow helped cope with the radio silence from Kyle. You knew he would be fine, how could he not? You gave him a very proper goodbye kiss (and goodbye sex that was a bit more improper) for luck, and he was too damn good at his job to fail. You weren't going insane from worry, at least not more than usually.

But the loneliness, the fucking loneliness was a little bit more bearable when you still got your "good morning beautiful xx" and "thinking about you before bed" even though the font was wacky and some phrases were clearly poorly google translated. To unlock these little snippets you opened the app every day, usually tapping mindlessly on all the required interactions before going to sleep and eyeing some of the ingame wardrobe options that wouldn't work too bad on your man. In fact, you even took a screenshot of a nice suit - if tailored right, Kyle would look in it sharper than the tactical knife he knew so well. You just needed an opportunity to show it to him.

And the opportunity barged in with a sudden surge of texts right when you were already getting ready for some shut-eye.

Three weeks of muffled unease wiped out and replaced with that never-tiring giddy feeling bubbling inside as soon as you saw Kyle's name pop up on top of your screen.

"hi baby"

"finally can text, miss you terribly 😘"

"what are you up to angel?"

You could feel your own cheeks strain with the stupid smile plastered on your face. No doubt, Kyle texted you at the first opportunity - he was there, he was okay and he missed you. All sleepiness in your body withered away, leaving you energized at eleven pm, squirming in your bed as you rolled over to start vigorously typing back. You never knew how much time you both have to chat, unstable signal or simply never-ending duty could interrupt you at any given moment, so you had to get your fill of premium class Garrick right there and then - no matter how drowsy it would make you the next morning.

Eventually you sent him the screenshot you took without second thoughts:

"btw thought you'd look good in smth like this baby, what do you think?"

Instead of a normal reply on the topic, though, you recieved an immediate jab followed by short pause:

"the fuck is that baby? 🤣"

"wait i think i know"

"replacing me with a vr boyfriend already? jesus fuck angel i haven't been away even for a month"

"i'm wounded, truly. he doesn't even look that good and can't spell correctly. what a downgrade 😔"

If only you could communicate the muscle-straining eyeroll you had through text. Chuckling and snorting, you immediately came to defence of your pixel prince charming, simply for the sake of it.

"how dare you. he's not a mere replacement, this is true love, garrick 💕🥰❤️✨"

"look at the top, we're already level 29 intimacy"

"gonna get him to send me nudes soon, they unlock at lvl 30"

Gaz could probably hear your bratty giggles on the other side of the globe, sheets rustling as you wiggled in your bed, absolutely proud of your impeccably fine-tuned wit and properly excited for the upcoming smartass comeback, since Kyle would rather die than let you have a win. But you've already calmed down with your cheeks mildly flushed, and the messages were still left on read.

Weird. It wasn't the first time your chatting ended abruptly, but usually Kyle had time at least to tell you he had to go - maybe even exchange little "ily"s. Did the signal cut off? But it was good enough for him to download a picture even, surely he'd notice if it started lagging and tell you. Did something bad happen? An emergency? An ambush?

A slight frown etched in your face as you started unwillingly thinking of the worst. Then - in a moment - that little green circle signaling Gaz was online came back. And still no answer.

Did he... get actually upset? Over a fucking datesim app?

It was hard to believe. Impossible, even. Kyle was never prone to jealosy fits, smug bastard definitely knew how secure you two were. But maybe... maybe it was the fact that you were seeking comfort he couldn't provide? Being told you needed a whole ass app simply to tell you goodnight while he was god knows where, unable to hold you and cuddle you to sleep - that could sting.

Shit, you shouldn't have started this. Gaz wouldn't outright admit he felt even the slightest bit insecure over an unblinking 3D monstrosity with a sexy Korean voice. He'd think it was stupid - and he would be right, frankly, but in this case this wasn't completely unreasonable.

Already anxious, you put your thumbs back on the phone to type out a careful question, but before you could even think of a right way to formulate it the chat chirped and loaded in a bunch of attachments.

Absolutely scandalous. Hastly unndone uniform, sweaty shirt pulled up and - you knew it even if it was outside the frame - clutched in his teeth, bared in a self-assured smirk, belt unbuckled and hanging from the loops of pants pulled down just a bit; just enough for his hand to slip inside and gather into a delicious grasp around the bulge you knew was straining against his boxers. Fucking tease, pulling the elastic band with his thumb to let you see just the base of his cock - you had to swipe several mouth-watering closeups on his chest, v-line beautifully adorned with dark hair and that bloody hand you already ached to feel on your thigh, before you finally got your reward. Hard just from the thought of you, tip glistening with the pre-cum he definitely smeared all over specifically for that picture.

"wanted to ask if your pixel bf can beat these"

"but i think your silence already says enough 😏"

You groaned, belly warm with the familiar longing. What an angel of a man, finding time to somehow snap packs of perfect nudes in the middle of wherever he was. Already turning over to slide your hand down your body, you sent a very sulking "hate you garrick. first made me worried and now horny, shameless bastard" and got an obligatory "sure you do. i'll fuck that attitude outta you as soon as i get back angel".

Somehow all the need in a virtual replacement vanished after this chat. Not only did Kyle text you more regularly - sensing a competition maybe, huh? - but you also got yourself enough material to be comforted before sleep. Sure, you'd rather have your man there in person, but no perfect-looking anime prince could offer a view better than Kyle's flexed arms or a cheeky sneak peek of his plump ass and a smooth back arch snapped over his shoulder.

No wonder you two threw yourselves at each other when Gaz finally showed up home, tired and a little roghed up, but very much alive and pent up for you. Once you were done relieving some of that frustration and cuddled up after a nice, hot shower, though, Kyle nipped your earlobe teasingly.

"No such level to unlock this experience, huh, angel? Something your app boytoy can't provide."

He caught your arm before you could elbow him playfully and grasped you tighter aroung your waist, using his free hand to get his phone and hold it in front of your face.

"Besides, I think he likes me more."

"How the fuck did you get to level sixty, Garrick?!"

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Twilight was peaking how many years ago? And they still have this stupid choice everywhere."

Simon, the unmoving domestic shadow spread in a comfortable sitting position on your couch for the daily quiet together time, turned his head lazily and gently squeezed your thigh, careful not to disturb your legs thrown over his lap as he leaned a bit closer with a mildly interested "Hm?"

"It's this dating game. They're making me choose between a vampire and a werewolf. Can't think of another conflict for the last decade, really? Why not elves versus orcs? They never make stories about sexy orcs. But there's a market for it! Why stick to the same broken record all the time? Or, I don't know, invent beef between fairies and mermaids!" You huffed in exasperation, waving your phone in a vague gesture meant to express your disdain for the lack of creativity in the supernatural romance visual novels department. Ghost's usual intense stare boring into your face could mean anything - from him silently judging you for lacking respect for the culturally impactful vampries-werewolves feud to a wordless question whether you were in the sexy orc enjoyers market.

But when he finally spoke, scarred lips slightly curled upwards in a hint of an amused smile and eyebrows raised, he asked what seemed to catch his attention much more than what fantasy creature you would like to bang.

"A dating game?" His smirk became more prominent, eyes narrowing as an indicator of him looking for a way to quip in the most unbearable way possible. "What's all that about, love?"

The fact that he didn't know wasn't that surprising, you'd be much more astonished if Ghost did know what a dating simulator game was, but the need to explain still caught you off guard, forcing you to pause with the expressive phone gesturing and actually try and describe the phenomenon.

"Well, it's a mobile game, where you, like... have to play through a story with the main thing being befriending and romancing characters. It's mostly reading a story, really, but you get dialogue options to unlock special scenes with your chosen romantic interest or you can give them gifts..." A stolen glance at Simon told you that he was surprsingly paying attention. "But there's often a plot too. The one I started recently is about, well, vampires and werewolves... a Twilight ripoff, basically, but the player gets to be Bella." You paused, gauging his reaction, but other than his calloused fingers kneading the meat of your thigh Ghost didn't even move, leaving you to look at him with suspicion mixed with amusement. "Want me to show you?.."

Finally, his hand stopped its methodical massaging, only to pat your thigh approvingly and help you sit up, cozily snuggled up to the man whose hoodie you shamelessly stole just to wear around him. Wrapping his muscular arm around you, Ghost leaned his head against yours and prepared for the highly educational lecture on the world full of opportunities to get turned down because of having too low approval with the character.

You showed him the exact story that got you so riled up, explained the quite primitive mechanics behind gaining attraction points with the characters and rehashed the entire plot up to the point where you were stuck now - the one where it was obvious the game wanted you to pick a side. Simon listened carefully, gruff chuckles at some of your grumbling and a lot of very insightful commentary on each and every character ("that one's got Johnny's fucking mighty schnotz" and " 'course he's a fucking twat, look at his bloody necktie, a hemp one would be an improvement on 'im"), inculding your own avatar that you spent considerable time making to look like you wanted.

"That supposed to be you, love?" He didn't even try to mask the snarky tone, and you definitely prepared to be offended. You put so much thought into the character looks! So what if they didn't match your real ones fully? It's the game limitations, not your fault. "Hmph. Maybe good enough for these two muppets to fight over. But I reckon I like my version better. Comes with high-quality visuals."

His arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you up for a short and sweet kiss, rough thumb stroking your jawline tenderly and pressing up under your chin when Ghost pulled away with a crooked smirk, shattered with scars into an artful mosaic.

"Trying to get your approval higher, sir?" You teased, eyes darting between his smiling - what a view, honestly - eyes and ready to be kissed again lips. His response was predictable. "It's working, innit, love? Think there's enough for a special bonus scene yet?"

Despite you clearly pretending to think and count his imaginary attraction points, Simon already started pulling you up into his lap, holding you securely and running his fingers along the curve of your back. "Might need a little more convincing, gamer. You didn't even bring a special gift to this date." Ghost's half-lidded eyes sparkled with hidden competitevness and his chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as he reached out to take your phone out of your hand softly.

"Gave you the hoodie. It counts." Ignoring your not very convincing protests ("It's mine already, of course it doesn't count!"), he tapped something on your screen and then put the phone away, wrapping his arms back around your form and slowly leaning into a tangled cuddlepile in an almost lying position. All your squirming successfully restrained with a bearhug, you huffed and placed your chin on Ghost's chest, looking up at him. He was there, with you, but deep in his gaze you noticed a certain swrling cloud of thoughts. Reading Simon's eyes was a must with him, he knew you could and didn't ever hide them from you.

"What are you thinking about?" You carefully inquired, running your hands over his shoulders and squeezing gently, a habit helping both of you to ease some tension. Simon blinked, tilting his head slightly, and let out a small sigh, seeking the right words. "You're not playing that game because I'm not doing enough, are you, lovie? 'Cos if you are, I'd rather you tell me what's wrong."

Always straight to the point. At least, when he finally decides to speak up. The big, scary dog worried about a silly mobile game as his competition? Cute. But the seriousness in his eyes called for a proper answer, not a teasing joke or a simple "aww, don't worry".

"You're doing more than enough, Simon, and you know it. It's a game, just living out my fantasies as the main character. But I can delete it if it makes you uncomfortable, it's no big deal, you know?" The tiniest bit of tension you felt underneath your fingertips disappeared, leaving Ghost sinking even further into the couch with you properly wrapped in his protective embrace.

"Nah, gorgeous, you keep playin' whatever shite you wanna be playin'. Just promise to keep me updated on the bloke so I can upstage him in every way." His voice got muffled since he buried his face in your chest, eyes closed peacefully and pure bliss written in all the relaxed features. Cradling his head, you hummed in agreement, but then perked up again.

"Wait, what bloke? You picked one of them for me?" - "Mhm." - "Oh come on, Simon, what happened to the freedom of choice!" You could feel his smile get more prominent despite being hidden in the softness of your chest covered with the thick hoodie material. "Which one did you choose? The vampire 'cause he's wearing all black?"

"Nuh-uh. The other one. The mutt."

You giggled at his choice of words and let out a quiet "oi" when Simon pinched you for disturbing his calm enjoyment of a "bonus scene" with the chosen romance option, that being you.

"Why? You're a Wolf Man fan or something?"

"'f course I am, love. He's British."

Captain John Price

When you saw the notification that the game you got sucked into with the active help of your friends got a "sound update", you knew what that meant - they finally added English voiceover lines for every single hunk of a man you had in your virtual harem, and you couldn't wait to hear what voices they gave your favourites. Given the nature of the game, you decided to put your earbuds on and started listening through the whole voicelines library, busying your hands with mundane tasks like folding laundry. John was sitting in the kitchen, fully immersed into his reading - potentially work-related. Or at least enthralling enough for him to miss your flushed cheeks or periodical giggling.

But no matter how important his reading was, what he couldn't miss was the sultry male voice coming out of your phone with a whispered "Wouldn't you love that, bunny?". Of course the parinig connection between your phone and the wireless earbuds had to get interrupted exactly when you were pouring yourself a cuppa and couldn't even drop the kettle in order to shush the suggestive purring of your digital fave.

You could feel Price staring at you. You could practically hear his bushy eyebrows slowly rising as he patiently waited for you to say something first. You were fully contemplating brewing yourself some poison instead of tea to avoid getting confronted by your man who just heard someone call you bunny on the phone.

So when you didn't start first, John, more amused than anything - he knew you too well to read through all your tiny microreactions and conclude that this wasn't hardcore evidence of an affair, but something much more suitable for future teasing (were you listening to porn or something? a naughty audiobook? oh so many golden opportunities to make you squirm under the steel gaze of the captain) - asked very nonchalantly: "What was that, darling?"

"What?" There was no point in pretending you didn't know what he's talking about, but you still tried. If anything, it allowed you to stall while you very hesitantly turned around and saw John and his smile, not even a hint of sterness in the round plumpness of bearded cheeks and little crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. "What was what, honey? You want some tea too?"

A futile attempt at deflecting and bribery rolled into one. You were lucky you were not his subordinate. You were unlucky the voice of some other man, dripping with mirth, came back into your ear once the next voiceline loaded in and the connection with your earbuds got restored. This was equal to admitting your crimes in front of the judges, but you slowly took your phone out of your pocket and hit pause.

"Does the tea come with an explnation who's the bloke whispering in your pretty ears, bunny? 'Cos if so, I'll take a cuppa, thank you very much."

He was beaming. Leaned back in his chair, knees wide apart and burly arms folded on his chest, Price wanted to have a wee little pause in his serious reading, and watching you squirm was the best distraction and brain-reloading he could ever get.

"I-it's not like that, I promise." Was that a bead of sweat running down your nape? John grunted, cocking an eyebrow and pushing his chin into his chest to stare at you from an angle that best conveyed that "I am not convinced, love" look. "It's just a little game, John, promise. Not a real man, just a made-up character."

Those piercing eyes narrowed even more, silently measuring you up for potentially bullshitting him, and then a heavy hand patted the broad thigh. An order, not an invitation (an order you could always disobey, though...)

"Show me."

Forgetting the option to disobey with little consequences, you hung your head down and dragged yourself and your fresh cuppa over to John, settling in his lap. The tea didn't even make it to the table, he snatched it from your fingers, careful enough not to spill, and sipped loudly, patting your side condescendingly. Any more stalling could result in various stages of burning buttocks, so you complied with the demand without Price repeating himself and opened the app, disconnecting your earbuds in the process.

He clearly wanted to hear that embarassing shit.

Your explanations of what a datesim was seemed to amuse John greatly - knowing his love for farming games, you made sure to mention all the best ones mixing the two genres, clearly trying to sweeten the deal.

"So wha', sum muppet in your phone callin' you bunny and you like 't? Maybe I should start too, huh?" You had to close your eyes to stop the internal screaming, and John's gruff chuckle hit your burning ear with a gentle puff. "But these, erm..." - "Companions." - "Riiight, these companions, they ain't whispering something... naughtier, are they?"

There was a hint of seriousness in his question, so you opened your eyes again and turned to look at him. His face was still smiling calmly, but the expectation was that of an honest and direct answer.

"Well, they do have more explicit scenarios and voicelines..." - "They talkin' dirty to you, eh? Guess I should step up my game." He flexed his jaw and leaned even closer, brushing his slightly chapped lips over the tender shell of your ear, soft beard tickling you and leaving you helpless. "Can't have my sweetheart wooed by sum app game fockers, can I? C'mere you little bunny, Imma show you sumthin' to hop on."

He stood up suddenly, lifting you with a soft grunt and dragging you away from the forgotten phone and empty cup. No amount of "John!" squeaked out could save you from that bear of a man groping your ass before throwing you onto bed and climbing on top. His weight squeezed the air out of your lungs as he roamed his big palmes all over your sweet body, even more enthusiastic about the impromptu break in his work.

"Ugh, fine, Johnathan Price, I won't be listening to the spicy dialogues! Just let me finish my-" Absolutely futile, your plea to get back to housework you had planned got cut short by a deep kiss, John's tongue sliding in your mouth as the most efficient (okay, maybe, second most) gag he could use on you. Your hands, previously pressed against his furry chest in an attempt to push him off, relaxed and buried themselves in his thick hair, ruffliing it and tugging him closer by the strands. A low grunt let you know what you already knew and felt much lower - John fully approved both that and your promise to keep away from the horny digital harem.

"Why even bother with 'em bloody games when you can 'ave the real thing, huh?"

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Whit are ye smiling at there, bonnie?"

Before you could even process the question and come up with any answer (excuse) about the silliest giddy smile that a cutscene in your chosen romance route got out of you, your massive - the only way to not be thrown off by Johny "Can't Sleep Still" MacTavish - bed creaked underneath the impressive weight of a fine Scottish specimen. Like a curious pup, Soap squeezed his head through the loop of your arm, earning himself a choking cuddle in the process, and stared into your screen.

"No, Johnny, piss off! It's personal!" You scrambled to turn your phone away from him and held it to your chest, a traitorous warmth in your cheeks threatening to give away what kind of personal it was. Of course, Soap caught on immediately, playful glint in his eyes as he simply yanked the phone out of your grip and turned over onto his back, shamelessly using you as a pillow while he unlocked your screen (why the fuck were you two so trusting and shared passwords!) and looked at the animated cutscene.

And why did it have to be the first spicy one you finally unlocked?

"What's tha'? Didnae peg ye fur a hentai type, bonnie." Soap watched the looped animation for a few more seconds while you wrestled against his heavy fucking carcass helplessly. With a single tap he closed the cutscene and let out an amused hum when met with the continuation of your unlocked chapter. "Och, so ye're reading smut too? Naughty."

You squirmed visciously, fighting for your dignity as he started reading aloud through the desciption of what didn't make the cutscene. The experience was downright horrible, humiliating and arousing at the same time as Johnny's thick brogue and mocking tone killed every ounce of spice in the steamy scene and somehow added new ones. Along with his stuttering. This lad... you even tried to grab his arm and chew on the meaty muscle in hopes of distracting him, but he didn't even flinch, simply pulling his limb out of your grasp and putting it behind his head comfortably. Outraging.

"Slender aristocratic fingers squeezing supple..." he smacked his lips so loudly that you groaned, "...flesh nae hard enough tae leave marks, but enough tae el... elicit pleasure, his breath hot in yer ear, whispering... Hauld yer horses- how come is yer name 'ere, bonnie? Who's writing this fur ye?" You nearly bounced off the bed when Soap suddenly sat up straight, relieving you from his (quite welcome, to be fair) burden, and frowned at your phone, scrolling through the erotc piece as if he could figure out who was the author just from reading it carefully enough. The pout he turned to you with was nothing short of absolutely heartbreaking. "Who's tha' "Laird Sebastian" prick writing a' kinds of nasty shite he wants tae dae tae ma' leannan? Am ah nae enough fur ye, bonnie? Dae ye wanntae leave me fur some posh bastard wi' a stick so far up his arse tha' it pokes outta his yapper?"

It was so obvious that Soap was just taking the piss, but his bottomless puppy eyes with the longest lashes fluttering as if on the verge of tears were working their dark magic, crashing your train of thought like a whole gang of outlaws from the Wild West and coercing you into making an apologetic expression and reaching your arms pleadingly for a hug. "Aw, come on, Johnny, it's just a-"

"Ah dinnae think tis a good idea, love. Ah dinnae have slender aristocratic fingers, wha' if a'm awful lot o' a commoner tae yer tastes..." Soap tilted his chin up, a perfect depiction of dignity suffering horrible offence, and turned away defiently, immediately peeking back at you from the corner of his twinkling blue eye. You knew those little smiling creases too well to miss them forming despite him holding a pout quite successfully, so you scoffed, still slightly flushed from being caught red-handed, and rolled your eyes, snuggling up to Johnny from behind and starting to kiss behind his ear.

"I'm so, so sorry, love of my life. No posh bastards come nowhere near you, you're my favourite commoner. Fuck Lord Sebastian-" You realized you chose the wrong wording when Soap couldn't hold back a snort. "Aye, well, seems lik' ye were planning on doing exactly tha-" - "Oh shut the fuck up, MacTavish!"

Shut the fuck up he did, turning back to face you abruptly and tackling you into the sheets, lavishing kisses with his searing hot lips all over your face. A real mutt pouncing the handler he has no respect and all the love for. There was no choice left for you other than wrap all your limbs around Soap and writhe underneath him, nearly missing that very inconspicuous way he reached his arm out and dropped your phone on the nightstand before cradling your head for much deeper, sloppier kisses.

"Gonna show tha' laird sod how tae fuck mah bonnie real good, aye? Mak' ye come wi' thae fingers right 'ere, nae aristocrat bullshit." Lapping up your neck with his wet tongue, Soap planted a greedy kiss right underneath your jaw and sucked at the soft skin until it showed a little pinkish hue. The bastard was set on making you sing for him, big rough palms grabbing handfuls of your flesh, squeezing and massaging while Johnny kept decending down your body with clear determination. "C'mon, leannan, let me hear ye. Say yer ol' Johnny's better than tha' bawbag Sebastian."

Sliding your hands over his broad shoulders, you held his nape before tugging on his slightly outgrown mohawk, your own head falling backwards in an exhausted yet adoring sigh.

"You know it's just a game, right, loverboy? A dating simulator, not a real thing? Oi, watch it!" A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Soap chomped on your side and immediately nuzzled into your stomach to blow raspberries into the soft plush, catching you once you started squirming and giggling. No intention of letting you catch your breath until he heard what he wanted. "Fine! Fine, Johnny, you are so, so much better than Lord Sebastian."

Satisfied, he loosened his grasp on you and lifted his head, grinning like he's just won you over from somene actually threatening in terms of romance. Hooked his fingers into your housewear bottoms, slowly tugged them down and started trailing hot-mouthed kisses down from your solar plexus, sky blue eyes glazing over with the never-satiated hunger for your taste on his greedy tongue.

You held your breath. A joke was itching inside your mouth, begging to be let out, dancing on the tip of your tongue...

"You're lucky I didn't choose Duke Aaron's route. That's some serious competion."

"Och, away 'n bile yer heid, bonnie!"

Thank you for reading! I appreciate all interactions, likes, reblogs, comments and requests (send in anything for now! I can filter them myself, but I am open to smut, including rare kinks and some dark themes. Keep in mind though that I am limited by my skill & overall prefer sugary fluff. I will write for any of the task force 141 and baldur's gate characters, including parings, poly, x reader and x OC), I will write drabbles, headcanons and whatever else formats you can think of.

Also any corrections are welcome as long as you're not being mean! Thank you <3

[starsexplodeatnight]

JohnnyxBimbo-reader!

Johnny and you were sitting on the couch together. You are tweezing those few fucking annoying hairs that grow between your brows.

Why're you doing it while sitting on the couch? Because Johnny whined about how you two 'don't spend enough time together while he isn't deployed!' Which is bullshit.

He's just the type to piss and moan that he's not crawled under your skin yet.

Bastard fell asleep as soon as you sat on the couch with him. Snoring away with his fat mouth open, hugging your lap with his face on your stomach.

Hm...

Looking at his handsome face... So handsome... So -hairy

Your hairy, hairy man.

*pluck!*

"AHHHH!" Johnny catapulted himself from your lap and off the couch. Your big bad war hero, bested by you, plucking a hair from between his brows.

You are pealing with laughter as he rubbed the red spot between his brows. "THE BLOODY FUCK WAS THA'?!" He yelps, looking so betrayed.

"You had a hair, between your brows... I helped." A grinchy smile on your face.

"Tha' was mean! I dinnae have a hair!"

"Did too."

"Did not."

You reach forward to pluck another, he grabs your wrist quickly and leans back. "I dinnae have hairs between mah brows!"

"You sure 'bout that?"

"...you're takin' the piss."

Then he darts for the closest mirror. A few minutes later he slinks back, leaning into your lap once more.

.

.

.

"Get rid of the bastards bonnie."

You give him a post deployment clean up- he enjoys you doting on him. Leans in for YOU to put the mask on FOR HIM. Squints and pinches his face each time you pluck a hair.

He ends up falling asleep back in your arms... Content after being babied by you after a hellish deployment.

[angelstate]

DadBestFriend!Konig x Young!Reader.

DadBestFriend!Konig who always goes to your dad’s house when he isn't deployed, visits your family more than any of his actual family members because to him, having served in the military by your father’s side meant more than going to Austria and seeing his entitled sister and narcissistic mother, his dad long dead to even remember much of how he was like. 

DadBestFriend!Konig who although would never admit it out loud to anyone, does not only visit your house to see your father but also young little you, who he only got to meet when you moved in with your dad three years ago at age 18 to go to the university of your choice and study fashion design.

DadBestFriend!Konig who immediately caught a liking of your sweet and docile nature, appearing with gifts for you at your house door when he knows he isn’t home, and at first isn’t because of any malicious intention, at least not consciously. he just wants to gift you things he knows you like to show you that despite being in his 40s he is just the right fit to be your lover. 

DadBestFriend!Konig who pushes the narrative of “age is just a number” into your pretty little head, giving fucked up examples of relationships he knows his colleagues have where the age gap hadn’t been an inconvenience at all. Telling you that if it was so immoral as society make it out to be then a lot of people would be in jail. including your father because he and your mom had a 13 age gap when they got married. (disgusting bastard he is by making an example out of your parents)

DadBestFriend!Konig who visits so often your dad “convinced” him (Konig was the one of the idea) that he should move into the house instead of paying the rent of an apartment he barely used either way. claiming the house had a lot of empty space for him to occupy as he wished. 

DadBestFriend!Konig who shortly after moving in, takes 4 weeks of paid leave, saying that he only did it to get used to the house and grow comfortable to living with more people, even though he had stayed so many times over the last 10 years it was difficult to believe he needed time adjusting to anything. The only new addition your dad has had in the last three years was your presence in the house, which seemed to be a blessing more than anything else.

DadBestFriend!Konig who views you as the perfect little housewife, always doing something around the house, cooking dinner and lunch, cleaning and decorating every section of the house that is empty or lacks color. watering the plants every morning as you walked around, pajamas still on, under eye patches, and a face mask on your face. 

DadBestFriend!Konig who grows close to you quickly, not that you have anything in common, but he listens to you talk about the stupid little things young people like you are into, He often times swore he wasn’t old school, that he was a progressive man despite his age, but in reality, he wished nothing more to shut you up when you talked about wanting to work and build your career when you finished university instead of marrying someone and being a stay at home wife.

DadBestFriend!Konig who agrees with you that women shouldn’t get pregnant in their 20s. He is progressive in that at least, he knows and has seen how women resent having children so young and don’t get to experience drinking or going out. His mother was one of those women, she resented him for having him when she was 19 years old, (even though any time she brought it up he would tell her she should’ve kept her legs closed) and even more so when his dad abandoned her not even three months after he was born.

DadBestFriend!Konig who pretends to change his mind about certain topics of women being independent, playing the long game of slowly making you change your mind and have a more conservative look about certain things, the ones he knows that he needs you to have in order to make the perfect little housewife out of you.

DadBestFriend!Konig who can’t help but smile when you ask him to go shopping with you, saying that he always seems to find the most modest clothing items that had started to grow into you after Konig spent the last 2 weeks showing you and discussing how it looked well kept and professional, not outright calling it modest as to not trigger your brain into thinking he was trying to suppress your more revealing clothing style (he was though, he was really trying to suppress your “slutty” way of dressing)

DadBestFriend!Konig who doesn’t give a fuck about changing your mind about sexual modesty in the slightest, because he knows that you were too focused on your studies to sleep around, he knows you don’t like one-night stands and that guys your age don’t know how to treat women right. He feels no need to put effort into keeping you away from sexual interactions because you seem to be pretty opposed to them all by yourself.

DadBestFriend!Konig who only realizes that it also means you are pretty opposed to sleeping with him after you tell him that you aren’t looking for a partner at all and you rather just focus on yourself and your goals, that maybe after you finish your career you would consider looking for someone.

DadBestFriend!Konig who decides to double down his efforts and starts to be more pushy, leaning into you when you are cooking something, asking about the dish you're making as he cages you in between the countertop and him, pressing his chest against your back, his breath brushing against your neck, making you shiver, a small twitch of your shoulder that you don’t notice but he does, making a mental note your neck is sensitive.

DadBestFriend!Konig who is aware that sharing his most intimate problem with you isn’t appropriate but doesn’t give two fucks, telling you that is been so long since he slept with someone, that being a Colonel has left so little time available for him to meet women, that he is nothing short of pent up but doesn’t want to sleep with a woman he has never met before, needing a sort of connection before having sex.

DadBestFriend!Konig who knows he is not only being pushy but also borderline manipulative and can’t bring himself to care no matter how much the guilt eats him alive, and at times he wishes he had met you later in life so it wouldn’t be immoral of him to go after you, but God, aren’t you the perfect woman for him despite your young age and lack of experience in every aspect of life.

DadBestFriend!Konig who has an extremely big amount of self-control, having played a year-long game of playing with your mind, making you more and more open about the fact that older men treat women better, know more, and can protect you like no boy your age could ever do, giving you a more traditional look at life. He doesn’t give a fuck about having kids though, that’s why he never tried to change your mindset about being child-free, God knows he would kill himself if he ever had a kid to take care of. 

DadBestFriend!Konig who pretends to act surprised when you confess your love to him, saying his words back to him about age being just a number and if people don’t like it then they should look away. 

DadBestFriend!Konig who pretends to think about saying yes to you, pretending he cares about your youth and your ability to live it if you were with him, not because he actually cares in the slightest how it affects you, he just wants to hear your argument about it being alright, hearing his manipulative words that he fed you for a year finally coming from your mouth. 

DadBestFriend!Konig who immediately jumps at the opportunity to claim his “boyfriend privileges” the moment you say yes to being his lover. more or less dragging you to your room and throwing you on the bed, claiming on top of you till his thigh is between your legs, pressing against your covered cunt, feeling you throb at the small contact, unaware of the long night ahead of you. (Thank God your father had been deployed 4 days before, leaving the house alone with no risk of you being heard by him if you moaned too loudly.)

[peskellence]

could I please request some reed900... 👉👈

Nines' skin is malfunctioning, but Gavin reassures him (in his own, Gavin way) that he accepts him as he is? Skin or no skin?

thank you. bless. kiss. forever indebted💕

Say less, friend, I've got you 🫡

Fail Safe

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: M/M, Established Relationship, Fluff, Praise and Affirmation, Self Acceptance.

AO3 Link

Summary: Gavin and Nines are on security duty when an unexpected cyber attack results in the android's synthetic skin being compromised. Despite his worries, Gavin reassures him that their bond runs deeper than the pieces they are made of.

Word Count: 4.7K

Gavin and Nines had been assigned to security duty at the opening ceremony for a new Jericho Community Centre. It was due to be a pretty contained event, nothing overly flashy or publicised. Normally, it wouldn't demand any police involvement, but there had been whispers the Anti Android Alliance planned to attend—staging some sort of protest. 

This turned out to be true, although not in the way that could've been anticipated. It seemed a particularly enlightened Dipshit In Charge had decided the usual M.O. of bats and bricks wouldn't cut it. Instead, they were going to make some waves with a street-deployed cyber attack. Send their 'message', whatever deranged bullshit that might be, by taking out some local figureheads with a home-brewed virus. 

Fuck knows how they'd manage to string together the spaghetti code with their three collective brain cells—or how they'd loaded up said clusterfuck onto the batons concealed in their pockets. Nevertheless, about five minutes into the presentation, they started swinging. Weapons bared and flung into the faces of nearby pedestrians as they tried to make their way to the stage. 

Shit hit the fan, but fortunately, not for their targets.

It turned out the engineering at Fuckhead H.Q. was just as shitty as the planning, as the would-be attempt at corporal justice folded like a house of cards. Most of the batons didn't work, and with the ones that did, the virus wasn't able to execute the way they'd wanted. 

The intent had been to infiltrate the android's core systems through mass corruption of their internal networks. Ultimately, overloading the CPU and causing permanent shutdown, but without plugging the device directly into an access port—which they clearly had no idea how to do, and their targets weren't about to help with—its reach was incredibly limited.

Basically, it couldn't do shit. Stalling at the first line of defence: the chassis. Digital garbage hurled at a plastic wall. 

Nines had been hit by one of the bastards—stuck in the side of the neck as he wrangled them away from a Jericho representative. Handling of the situation became a lot less gentle after that, with the man catapulted onto the floor, squealing like a pig as the android pinned his flailing limbs. Gavin had moved to assist, feeding the guy a couple of teeth for his trouble.

Total accident, of course. The man just happened to move his face as he was getting the cuffs on, and it just happened to slam into the detective's fist. 

He didn't get much of the chiding he'd usually expect for this, as the virus had started to do its thing. Working across his partner's body, flickering in patches like a broken LCD. The corruption branched down his throat before retreating beneath his collar in search of available access. 

Much like with the other android's affected, it failed. Nines was fine, mostly: the only exception being that the malware had managed to fuck up one of his less important functions. His synthetic skin. 

At least, that's what the Cyberlife Tech on the phone suggested was happening when they decided to call. The glitches spread, with the majority hidden beneath clothes—but Nines could undoubtedly feel the effects of corruption taking hold. While he wasn't sure if this was something they really needed to worry about, the concept alone left a bad taste in Gavin's mouth.

They were forced to leave reinforcements to book the fucker responsible, as well as the rest of his brain-dead friends. A shame, as the detective would have loved to acquaint him with the book about to be thrown his way. Maybe give him a black eye to go with the dental bill. 

As they made their way home, the vibrancy of glitches had started to decrease, fading into a translucent creep that filmed across the skin. Whatever receptors were present to lend cloaking abilities were beginning to short-circuit, creating an expanding kaleidoscope of freckles and plastic. 

Gavin used full siren privileges to run every red light they encountered, determined to weave through the traffic as quickly as possible. He had never seen the android so panicked—frenzied—like the car would be at risk of imploding if it didn't imminently materialise outside their home. 

With his understanding of Michigan Traffic Laws becoming increasingly lax, Nines continued to rip into the rep held at knifepoint in his temporal channel. He hadn't bothered to lock communication to his internal server and instead was speaking out loud—in a tone that a more diplomatic man might describe as 'a bit confrontational.'

In reality, he had gone all seven shades of middle-aged-mom-with-an-expired-coupon. Demanding the guy listen to every minute detail of his grievance and inform him how quickly it could be resolved. 

Gavin would have found this hilarious had the intensity not been a little terrifying. Instead, it inspired him to punch the gas harder, resulting in a chorus of beeps as he pulled a particularly dangerous manoeuvre around a sharp bend. 

It didn't seem to matter what the squeaky-voiced foetus on the line said; each suggestion was ruled unacceptable. Commencing a perpetual cycle of 'that isn't fast enough' and 'speak with your supervisor' and 'this is an emergency, William; it should be prioritised accordingly.' The rep responded to each chastisement with small, deflated whimpers, like a punctured balloon expelling air.

The virus, now engaged fully, worked in stages to target each section of artificial skin. Limbs faded out in sporadic blotches as glossy pinpricks expanded their way into dense bands of white. They tunnelled through rapidly shrinking pockets of flesh, with Nines looking like a six-foot lava lamp by the time they finally reached the apartment.

Admittedly, it was a strange image—with this something the android seemed astutely aware of. He had charged for the bathroom and locked himself in within seconds of entering their home, informing Gavin with no uncertainty he would not be coming out until help arrived.

This was all well and good at first, but after three hours—and five espressos—nature was calling. Not softly, either, having been forced to wait for a good fucking while. 

The pressure grew, and rather than risk a hole being punched through the wall of his bladder, Gavin concluded he couldn't hold it. Rapping his knuckle on the wood, he pressed his face against it, making a pointed appeal to his partner.

"Nines, I need a piss. Let me in for a sec." 

The request went ignored, bouncing uselessly off the door and crumpling at his feet. Frustrated, he knocked again, using his available grip to jiggle insistently on the handle. 

"Come on, I'm desperate. Open the fucking door."

"The Cyberlife technician will be here soon," an even tone greeted him, undercutting the demand. "I am confident you can wait a few more minutes."

"It's been more than a few, jackass."

"The operative advised that their arrival would fall between 2 and 7. As we are nearing 6:45, we can anticipate—"

Gavin disrupted the explanation with a prolonged groan of protest. His head lulled back as he grappled with a growing temptation to slingshot it through the panel. "Those windows mean jack shit. You'll be lucky if the bastard shows up before June. Hell, you'll be lucky if he shows up at all." 

There was a weighty pause as though Nines was attempting to formulate some form of mind-shattering retort. Words of assurance so profound they would effectively conclude the debate—as well as any and all that followed.

Despite having a world of knowledge quite literally wired to his brain, the android gave him nothing. Treading over the same tired deflection with a small, dejected huff. "Just wait. It won't take long." 

"If you don't let me in, I'm gonna go in the litter box—or the kitchen sink."

The latter threat inspired a visceral reaction. Gavin swore he could see the red casting from his partner's temple, seeping through the cracks under the door. "You wouldn't dare." 

"Try me. It's full of dishes. You want that on your conscience?"

As though taking a moment to grapple with the grim proposal, Gavin was made to wait in anticipation of his partner's reply. A lull that seemed to stretch endlessly, as he tried not to focus on the uncomfortable pressure in his groin. Crossing his legs, he tapped his foot impatiently—a motion that would have likely attracted the attention of a marauding cat were she not out harassing strays. 

There were muffled sounds behind the door, like rustling fabric, followed by the telltale scrape of something heavy being moved. It seemed like Nines had gone to the effort of barricading himself inside, just in case Gavin managed to break through the flimsy hold of the lock.

"Turn around and keep your eyes forward. I will only leave this room on the condition you do not look." 

"Yeah, sure, whatever," the man grunted, eyes rolling at the theatrics. "I swear I won't look. Scouts honour."

Another rustle followed—and a click—as an internal mechanism was turned and released. The door creaked forward, with casts of fluorescents from beyond the passage starting to leak into the hallway. True to his word, Gavin turned around. Gaze fixed on a nearby wall—as though the flecked chips of paint were the most engaging things he had ever seen.

The panel swung open completely, anchored on creaking hinges, and steady steps crossed the threshold. They did not progress much further, as Nines failed to meet the steady foundation of the carpet, instead greeted with a cat toy being compressed beneath his weight. 

The worn squeaker of the felt mouse strained to its absolute limit, wheezing in a prolonged cry, until it slipped out from beneath his toes and careened across the room. 

Shit.

Nines opposed the trajectory, fumbling back and colliding firmly with the weathered plaster behind him. Dangerously close to where they kept their beast of burden's scratching post.

Shit. 

Gavin wasn't sure if the glitching had affected his partner's durability, but he didn't want to find out. Certainly not by being forced to remove him from a surprisingly solid pillar of plywood. 

Nines already had one near miss today. The last thing he needed was for the engineer's visit to end up a real emergency.

Don't turn, don't—

His head whipped around despite all resistance. It had been out of instinct, really, with no malicious intent intended. An innate compulsion to assist, justifying that he would've been more of an asshole if he'd wilfully allowed his boyfriend to skewer himself.

It only occurred just how badly he had fucked up when he saw him. 

The partners froze, eyes locked, and the room around them seemed to vanish. The structural integrity of limbs and furniture was immediately forgotten as Gavin's heart plummeted into his ass. 

Nines looked horrified. His LED flashed like a warning beacon, crimson pulses growing in frequency the more his eyes widened. He stayed that way for a period. Paralysed. Like a startled deer out on a highway, about to be struck by an oncoming vehicle. 

It was nothing like him at all, and Gavin found it deeply unnerving. He then proceeded to make it worse, executing all the same grace of a violent roadside collision. Allowing the first slack-jawed musing that popped into his skull to tumble tactlessly from his lips:

"Oh shit."

The red illuminating Nines' face took on a different meaning in the wake of the outburst. He had broken free of his prey-like stupor and emerged angry—furious. Taking laboured strides toward the bathroom, levelling his partner with an increasingly scornful glare.

"I told you not to look." 

Gavin winced at the accusation dripping from the words, as they were dragged through the snarled curl of the android's mouth. Damage control was needed, but he was unable to engage the appropriate mental factions. 

Instead, he attempted to downplay his previous stunned reaction—gesturing his boyfriend up and down with feigned indifference:

"This is why you've been holding the shitter hostage?" He noted how his arm cast shadows against the sheened wall of plastic, masking his intrigue with a scoff. "Really, that's it?"

Nines jerked back, expression pinched as though he had been struck in the face. "What do you mean, 'that's it'? Gavin, look at me."

"So you're a bit pale. Grey round the gills. You should've seen me this one time at Summer camp." Gavin chuckled preemptively, arms folded across his chest as he attempted to recall the memory. "Man, I'd eaten like seventeen s'mores, and I swear they'd laced the marshmallows with laxatives because, after that, I couldn't…"

He trailed off as the pronounced scowl etched deeper into his partner's face. Informing it wasn't the time for jokes—and that the legendary saga of Preteen Gavin and the Exploding Bowels would have to wait for another day. 

"... Seriously, what did you think I was gonna do?" he challenged, abandoning the playful lilt in favour of something serious. "Freak out and run for the hills because you look like a robot? Because newsflash, genius, I kind of got that. Your skin turns into a goddamn Rorschach every time we do it. Not to mention the static orgasms—" 

Nines raised a hand to stop him, clearly not appreciating the growing vividness of the account. "There was a time when this would have been an issue. Please don't insult me by denying that."

His voice was stern—gravelly with a mixture of frustration and hurt—as his expression hardened further. A feat the detective had thought impossible. 

He bore into him with sharply trained eyes, still the same vibrant grey they'd always been—despite everything else that had changed.  

Remorse struck hard, twisting his gut and nearly knocking him back. Nines was right: not long ago, this would have been a big deal. 

The consequence of a roadblock which spanned the numerous tangled alleys of his mind. Something established by years of resentment, growing uncontrollably over time. Soon, it had become impossible to bypass, not that he'd made much effort to try. Facing the beast, he just knew it was insurmountable.

That was until Nines arrived, rolling up to the rickety wagon he'd parked against the barrier and all but ripping him out. Tugged from his seat by the goddamn ears as he kicked and howled in protest.

"Plastic fucker—"

Of course, it wasn't all that dramatic. It didn't happen immediately, and definitely not in a single pull.

The occurrence had been slow and gradual, with Gavin only starting to scream when he realised what was happening. Because the closer they got—moved from aggrieved associates to unexpected friends—the more he had to challenge everything he understood about being alive. A painful, arduous process that forced him to confront wrongs he didn't even know he'd committed.

The conclusion should have brought relief, but instead, it was hollow. Something was still missing—and it sure as hell shouldn't have been. His entire worldview had been uprooted, enriched, and expanded by Nines' perspective.

What more could he possibly want?

Then came that one night spent together on surveillance. They'd been scoping out some low-life dealer: a notorious scumbag who had been running operations out of the back room of an underground nightclub. It was a particularly seedy establishment, turning out to be more 'brothel' than 'party spot.'

They had been forced to adjust their approach, cosying up to one another in an effort to assimilate with the handsy patrons. Not that Gavin was complaining—which, in itself, brought to light something extremely damning. The emergence of a serious problem, one that threatened to blow up his fragile state of composure with a fucking grenade. 

A particularly enlightening moment occurred—where Nines had him pinned to a wall, held firm by his wrists—when he realised it was too late. The problem was there. Had been for a while. Shaped into the contours of a chiselled jawline and a cool, bright stare he wanted to drown in.

"Keep still, detective. Eyes on me. I believe I have a visual." 

The request had been low, practically purred against his ear. It had sent his heart rate skyrocketing, blood rushing in frantic pumps through the lingering echoes of words still dancing in the canal. 

Oh fuck. 

After that, he couldn't keep convincing himself that he was content with friendship. He wanted more, wanted this, without having to pretend. Desperation drove him to the insane stunt he pulled seconds later. If it failed, he could always claim it was part of their 'performance.'

An excuse that wasn't needed.

Their lips had met, and after a fleeting blip of hesitation, Nines reciprocated. Practically melting into him, abandoning his wrists in order to capture the sides of his face. Like he was holding something valuable— worthy of care and reverence.

They'd lost their visual on the target, as well as any hope of catching up to their boss, but the impromptu trip to a motel had been worth the berating they received from Captain Fowler. 

It couldn't be overstated just how grateful Gavin was that Nines had chosen to give him a chance. To show acceptance despite everything he had put him through. 

Because even if he was better, nothing could change the foundational truths of the man he was. The innumerable faults that would continue to persist despite all best efforts. Recklessness, arrogance, and spite. Baggage that came wheeled on a dolly cart, stacked to the ceiling.

None of it mattered. 

The android took it all—willingly—and without any ultimatum. From the start, the only expectation had been that Gavin would do right by both of them by not fighting the way Nines made him feel.

And nothing had ever made him feel this way. The kind of unconditional devotion and adoration that seemed unique to them, as well as the simple comfort of being together. 

He owed Nines everything. The least he could do was offer some modicum of the same security. Especially now, when he seemed so vulnerable. 

"You know your skin deactivates every time you go into sleep mode, right?" 

The effort backfired horribly. 

If Nines hadn't already seemed willing to take up permanent residence in the bathroom, this declaration came close to cinching it. His eyes widened to near-comedic proportions, looking like they might careen from their sockets. "Excuse me?" 

Gavin, realising that this had decidedly not been the approach to take, acted quickly to rectify the mistake. "I'm kidding; I just thought it might make you feel better."

The android was seldom listening, making clear that the damage was done as he sidled closer to the bathroom. The exposed soles of his feet pressed against the linoleum, and Gavin's body howled, desperate for its overdue reunion with his porcelain throne.

"This is—just—I mean, you look—" 

"I am well aware of what I look like," Nines interjected. His already tense posture had grown increasingly stiff, as though his back was being supported by a cast iron rod, "and just how far this version of me must detract from your preferences."

The words struck hard—much more so than the previous blow. Any ensuing attempts at fumbled retorts were abandoned as he blinked, stunned into silence.

"The issue will be resolved, and once it has, you needn't concern yourself with my default appearance."

Wait. Hold up.

"Now, if you excuse me, I will wait in the bedroom."

Awareness unfolded, leaving him floored—thoroughly astonished at how Nines, the paragon of informed deduction, could have been so cataclysmically wrong when it sought to matter most. To be able to speak so matter-of-factly, with such a candid degree of confidence, about something that couldn't be further from the truth. 

His legs moved before his brain could catch up, placing him decisively into the path between his partner and their bedroom. 

"Don't you dare go storming off like you're some goddamn teenager," he hissed, in full awareness that his standing there wasn't actually stopping anyone. Nines could quite easily pick him up and fling him across the room like a frisbee, although he trusted him not to. 

"What else would you propose I do? Allow you to defecate in our kitchen because I refused to accommodate?" 

"You aren't even giving me time to think." The injustice of the situation was becoming more pronounced, flaring hot in Gavin's ribs. "You're just assuming the worst of me, acting like I'm gonna be a total dick about this." 

This proved enough to pierce through his partner's haze of contention. The sharpness in his eyes faded, giving way to a flicker of regret. His softened gaze then fell to the side, heavy with shame. "...That was not my intent. I'm sorry." 

"It's fine." 

Clearly, it wasn't. The tension between them persisted despite the conclusion to their argument. It was suffocating, and Gavin couldn't help but notice how, despite making no further attempts to physically flee, his partner was still trying to hide. Sinking into himself, hands wrapped in a tense bind across his chest. 

"...Nines." The name was gentle, settled on a pensive purse at the end of his lips. "Let me see you. Please."

The android didn't respond immediately, hesitation evident in every microscopic shift of his frame. Eventually, his arms slackened and fell back, revealing the expanse of exposed white torso. While still unsure of the idea, demonstrated in his continued refusal to look up, it was clear Nines was extending some form of invitation—one that Gavin accepted.

He traced his fingers carefully up the stretch of the android's chest. It was not made of a singular uniform piece as he had previously assumed, but rather, a complex network of small, interwoven panels. Segmented into varied shades of white and grey, connected by subtle welds.

As he delicately tested the marks with the heel of his palm, he noted how remarkably smooth they felt, blending seamlessly with the rest of the body.

Not everything beneath the chassis was covered, with pockets of plastic so thin they were practically translucent. It revealed a dense network of wires—vibrant blues shifting through the synthetic circulatory system, pumped in steady flows of biofluid. 

The liquid originated from the centre of his ribs, beneath a protrusion in the sternum. Something that pressed to the surface—formed in a subtle ring. It pulsed gently, and the longer he looked, the more he was able to detect rhythmic glows of light.  

Gavin whistled low, noting how the pace of the component increased when he placed a hand across it. Blue bled through his fingers, illuminating the veins and tendons beneath his skin. It seemed so calm and balanced compared to the uneven tempo of his own raging pulse. 

"I didn't think you'd be able to see so much…" he mused, voice low with admiration. "It's fucking incredible. You know that, right?" 

"I am a machine," Nines said bitterly—the word of contention spat with disdain, like a curse. "A collection of polymers and circuitry, designed and constructed together to perform a practical function. There is nothing remarkable about it."

"What you just described is a dishwasher. This is not a dishwasher; this is—" He scoffed in self-deprecation, realising just how unequipped he was to describe the gravity of what he was seeing. In the absence of any poise or delicacy, the man opted for honesty. "You're like some crazy modern artwork, a goddamn masterpiece." 

"Stop lying to me."

"I'm not. You'd be able to tell if I was, right?"

Nines had nothing to say to that. His mouth jutted open, a tumultuous train of thought evident in the shifting glow of his LED before it wordlessly snapped shut. 

"Look, even if you weren't objectively the coolest thing I've ever seen in my life, it still wouldn't matter."

The android still refused to look at him, posture locked painfully tight, but as Gavin traced a delicate finger around his regulator access panel, there was a hint of a shudder. Bristling through his shoulders, as the tension held there started to wane.

"I know you don't wanna hear this—because it doesn't fit into your tortured soul narrative—and honestly, there's no way to say without it sounding like something out of a shitty romcom—"

He was stalling for time and not effectively. This sort of sentiment wasn't his strong suit. It didn't come naturally, which Nines was aware of. Still, if there was ever a time to be nauseatingly, cavity-inducingly sweet, this was it:

"Truth is, I love you, and that's got absolutely jack shit to do with what you look like. It's because of what's on the inside, or whatever."

"You love me for my thirium pump regulator?" 

The finger stalled in motion. 

Gavin looked up to discover Nines was facing him, a mischievous grin tugging his lips. He glowered despondently and made a hasty attempt to retract his arm. "Shut up, you know what I meant."

The limb didn't get far, as Nines captured it by the wrist, keeping it anchored to his chest. "I did," he assured, caressing the skin, marking trails of bone and ligament with the end of his thumb. 

Until the languid motions slowed as synthetic muscles seized. An aftershock of the previous state of anxiety. It was such a minor slip in control that anyone else would have unlikely noticed. Gavin knew better—keenly able to detect the change. 

"This really doesn't bother you?", the android asked, accentuating the question with increased pressure against his carpus. 

"Does it bother you that I have a mole on my chest the size of a quarter? Or that you can do a dot-to-dot with my stab wounds?"

"Of course not. Why would that matter?" 

"Exactly." The man huffed, punctuating the point with an affectionate prod to the android's temple. "Come on, you're the one with the supercomputer brain; just think about it for a second."

Whatever equanimity his partner was still clinging to unravelled in an instant. He looked genuinely overwhelmed, struck by a tidal wave of emotion which he could barely seek to contain. The breaks showed fast, leaking through in small hitches of crackling breath. 

"Gavin, I—" He stopped as though desperately seeking to regain some degree of composure. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Don't be a moron." He ushered him forward, capturing the hand still wrapped around his wrist. "Come here." 

The android did not resist the embrace, sinking into it, as he enclosed the man with powerful limbs. Cradling the back of his head, digits toying with tousled brown strands.

"Sap," Gavin teased, although he revelled in their proximity just as much. Indulging greedily as he peppered kisses across a tempting expanse of shoulder. "You don't need to hide yourself from me. Ever. I'm here for you—and nothing else."

The charged sounds grew louder, like the rumble of a car engine, sending vibrations through Nines' throat. This was before he cupped his partner's chin and allowed the sound to escape through tightly pressed lips. 

He moved with the sort of fervent passion that might suggest he was scared Gavin would disappear—but really, spoke more to the gratitude of knowing he wouldn't. It was only as he had fully breached the cavern of his mouth, and their hips were beginning to rock in sequence that the android finally pulled away. 

Gavin was left mesmerised—and a little dazed—by the unexpected boldness. It didn't matter how often Nines did this or what other shows of licentious spontaneity happened to follow; he couldn't foresee a time when it wouldn't knock him off his feet. 

How was he supposed to ground himself when he was perpetually flung into Cloud Nine, reminded of just how lucky he was? 

"...Besides." He chuckled richly, the sound rolling into the part of tenuously divided lips. "Bald really isn't a bad look on you. It's kind of hot." 

The man could practically hear the tight flourish of his partner's eyes before he graciously conceded to the attempt at flirting. "Oh, really? Is that so?"  

With a hum of affirmation, Gavin leaned down, forming a seal on the junction between the android's shoulder and neck. "You ever wanna…you know…with the dome out. I'm game."

"Perhaps another time." Nines then returned a hand to the back of his scalp. Burrowing into the hair before resting a cheek softly against his temple. "Right now, I would like it if we could stay like this."

Gavin dutifully complied, removing his lips in favour of nestling against the collarbone. He savoured the gentle rush of warmth that radiated beneath the chassis. It felt like home, and his eyes slid closed, entirely at peace.

"Yeah, that sounds good to me." 

[bestfictionalplant]

Round 2 Group 6

Propaganda and spoilers under cut

Jumpkin:

It's a little guy :D More seriously, it's a monster. All monsters in Cassette Beasts can be "recorded" so you can turn into them! "A Jumpkin is a special monster created by smearing the goo from another monster, Jellyton, on a normal pumpkin. It's pretty much the only monster with this kind of capture method. Jumpkins are just funny little guys that, as their name implies, jump around! They have such zest for life. A jumpkin tape can be ""remastered"" into two other monsters, Beanstalker and Draculeaf."

Karzahni:

in the time before time, when the evil mayor impersonator makuta was planning his plan to get the little robot meat guys in their little memory-erasing containers and before he'd impersonated the mayor (i think; don't quote me; i am Not Good at the timeline) he was like "hey i should make a plant that will force these four-foot fuckers towards the big sports and politics stadium under threat of murder so i can easily get my bastard robot cops to force them into the amnesia balls" and then he made karzahni. who was too smart and cool and powerful. so he did not get deployed. he is named after the legendary Lego Hell and Lego Satan where Bad And Naughty Disabled Robots Go For "Repairs" And Never Return. it's expensive to copyright names. they had to double up on occasion. or triple up. or quadruple up. anyway so evil mayor impersonator who is also ANOTHER Lego Satan but that's besides the point, creates this plant. but the plant is too smart. so he puts it somewhere and forgets about it and makes the morbuzakh NEW PARAGRAPH anyway so basically most creatures in this universe are immortal bar murder and fucked-up circumstances. no old age, basically. but this plant has one, because Bionicle Satan (Not Karzahni) makes his shit with limited lifespans so they can't wait for ten thousand years gathering their power and then kill-murder him to death. six big robot meat superheroes fight a fucking big monster in a tunnel. the cool smart one who used to be a teacher gets poisoned. but because karzahni (plant) is so fucking cool it can make an antidote. and it holds the antidote hostage in exchange for Cool Oil, which is oil from the apocalypse planet where the robot meat guys' creators are from, but they fracked too hard and split the planet into three pieces so that's a bit fucked-up and yet besides the point. anyway they get the magic juice and give it to karzahni (plant). previously in the story (but later in the timeline; this is a TWO-YEAR FLASHBACK EPISODE BABY) some other robot meat superheroes took a dunk in this cool fucking water and got mega-boosted powers. super-superheroes. but that's because god exists and has predetermined what can happen in each individual's life. those guys got Good Results From Applied Goo. karzahni (plant) does not. it just fucking. dies. it is then chopped up to make some lorries float so they can take the amnesiac sphere guys up to a cool new island they found, because their old island got FUCKING WRECKED NEW PARAGRAPH anyway a cutting of karzahni survived (known as karzahni ii) with all the memories and shit of the real one and just sort of goes. FINE. i will join you, Lego Satan (not karzahni but the evil mayor impersonator) in gaslighting this mentally ill man into thinking he's short and his life is a lie in order to get the time travel device he made out of some magic fucking frisbees. karzahni took on the role of the morbuzakh. then the guy's like "this is bullshit" and gets thrown off a cliff but Karzahni II catches him and goes "hey. everything's alright. i tortured and killed a guy and he said you're doing good and everything is gonna be okay" and then the evil mayor impersonator (who by this point has not been impersonating the mayor for like. at least a week?) kills it. again. for real this time

[soullessdianthus]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 | 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 (comfort/fluff)

READ THE FIRST PART HERE ⟶ 𝕏

Summary: Basically some sneaking out with your Lt, because he had been worried about you. :( What could go wrong? Y/N ━ your name

Word count: 4k

It wasn’t easy going back to the everyday routine, to the schedule you did for yourself and religiously followed day after day. Even though you had the strength to get out of a warm bed, participate in tedious training and spend time with your friends in the cafeteria you were still not allowed to participate in a mission. 

Obviously you were allowed back in the gym after your body healed and regained strength, although some may have suggested it was still too early. Some green and yellow bruises visible under the hem of your shirt, soreness in muscles slowly fading away. 

But it was the hand that hurt the most and healed the longest. You found out the hard way during a sparring session with Omen, when he blocked your punch with his forearm and then the blunt pain made your mind go numb. Captain Price was right – your soul and your body were not ready for a mission. 

— It takes time to properly heal a bone, kid. Take it easy. — He tried to suggest, but it only left you infuriated. 

You have never asked for a time off, you never asked for this. Price was right, it takes fucking weeks to regenerate a bone structure. If you hadn’t taken a strong painkiller before bed since the interrogation, the night would be sleepless as the healing process was uncomfortable. 

Being stuck in the base made you feel useless, especially when your lieutenant and friends were being constantly deployed somewhere, leaving you alone with the unpleasant memories regarding Shadow Company.

Soon after their departure your name was cleared out with the help of Kate Laswell. You wished to never see the bastard responsible for your beating again or nowhere near you. Graves never tried to apologize or reach you again, but his presence around the base made you succumb to the four walls of women's barracks all day long. 

Like a coward.

It might have been the first time in your lifetime, when you found a person to be so repellent. Thing was, that the whole grief or disgust you were carrying was about the commander's perverted innuendos.

Since the beginning you had a feeling something was off about his cocky attitude. Something more than just shitty pick up lines. It was about Graves overall, but you decided to blame it on your prejudice toward men. 

You should have listened to your intuition and refused to walk with Phillip that day. You really should have and now you’re suffering the consequences. 

The painful sorrow echoed in your ears almost all the time, bringing pathetic tears to your waterline. Hiding them became more complicated than before. 

And little did you know, such a small and “unimportant” detail wasn’t overlooked by your superior. Ghost’s eyes swallowed by the darkness noticed each single thing, especially when it came to you. How your brassy smile faded and how your brows were no longer furrowed in full concentration. You changed. 

Despite the injuries, your form wasn’t lacking – while one of your hands was healing you mastered knife throwing with the other. You still participated in daily training and gatherings, so Lieutenant Riley felt entitled to keep you in line and in one piece.

— That’s enough for today, Y/N. — The calm yet resolute voice of the lieutenant stopped your training with your partner, Omen. The same man who came to the lieutenant's office, alarmed by your disappearance after the operation regarding weapon trafficking.

— But I’m fine, sir. I can continue.

But the mountain of a man stood unmoved and stoic, doubting your reply. Nonetheless, Ghost was glad that your voice stayed the same – fiery yet sugary. A sweet little burden on his mind, giving him sleepless nights. 

— Go change your bandages, they’re bloodied. You’ve broken a stitch, again. 

— Fuck. — A quiet curse left your lips as you inspected the crimson patch over the bandages wrapped around your forearm. You knew you were going to get lectured by the doctor once more. 

— If that keep happenin’ they might stop patchin’ you up, you know that? 

— Take some rest, it will heal quicker. — Comrade Omen stated, placing his sweat covered hand over your stiff shoulder.

— I don’t need your pity too — you almost hissed at his friendly gesture, reflecting on your own words immediately. You exhaled slowly, trying to relax your muscles, before apologizing for your defensive response. — Sorry. 

— He’s right, take a break — upon seeing the ongoing conflict in you, Ghost glanced through his mask with a cold gaze. — It’s an order, soldier. 

You rolled your eyes like a rebellious youngster before heading towards the locker room, leaving the two men behind. 

The last thing you wanted the lieutenant to think about you was that you were weak. You were far from that and he knew it perfectly – you were as stubborn as he, yet much better than Simon. At least in his opinion. 

He, contrary to you, brutalized and hardened his body through the years, leaving his flesh scarred and coarse. Simon didn’t want it to happen to you too. To see your young, soft skin turn into a bumpy piece of leather would be a disaster indeed. 

However you still felt like you needed to prove yourself – before Ghost or Captain Price. You wanted to be valued and your current state, which was Graves’ fault, was slowing you down. You have never asked for a special treatment. 

It felt like your own body was sabotaging you, acting against your own will. 

Agitated, you closed the door to the locker room behind your back, before slumping down on the wooden bench in the middle of the alley. You hid your face in your hands, before trying to gather thoughts. 

You were fucking infuriated at yourself for breaking down in his arms that night, when Ghost along with Captain Price came along to your rescue. You were so tired then that you weren’t fully yourself – controlling, keeping everything organized and composed. 

Keeping feelings locked, both unpleasant and those more… complicated. 

You dared to show him your vulnerability and now he thought of you as something fragile. Worse, someone not suitable for his squad. 

If you hadn’t stood your ground, he would have already kicked you out, right? There was no place for frailty under his command – under Simon Riley’s supervision, a legend of the shell of a man, closer to the cold blooded murderer than a lenient lieutenant. 

Yet, you found comfort within his warm embrace that night, feeling safe for the first time in a while. His care of you seemed genuine. 

But why? You were just a private, a rookie. 

Maybe Ghost wasn’t as stern as they said? Perhaps his heart wasn’t made of ice. 

It has been another sleepless night since the doctor cut off your medication as in his opinion you should rest with no issue now. Well, the doc was utterly wrong.

You trashed between the sheets in your bed, while your other roommates were long gone in their dreams. Despite almost all of your injuries being healed, everything hurt. You found the sensation close to the soreness in your tibia when you were growing up. 

There were things left unclear, an anger you have been bearing, because of your lieutenant. Ghost must have thought very poorly of you if he softened just because you have been interrogated and blood was spilled. 

Fuck, you must have looked pathetic in his eyes. 

You needed to talk to him about… all of this or else you wouldn’t find peace. But right then, you needed fresh air – a cold breeze upon your flushed cheeks. You decided to break the curfew, risking a punishment, just to sneak outside for a moment.

You silently jumped out of the bed and put on clean cargo pants and a fleece jacket. Thankfully the hallways were empty by the night time and you managed to reach the doors on the back of the base building.

Your slow and relaxed exhale was interrupted by a sudden hoarse voice echoing from the darkness. 

— Goin’ somewhere? 

— JesusfuckingChrist — you said during one, sharp inhale. One of your hands shot right to your chest, grasping the fleece material tightly. — Scared me, Lt. 

— Not the first time, eh? 

Only when Ghost took a drag of his cigarette, the burning tobacco underlined the features of his bare jaw – pale skin covered in few scars and a stubble blonde rash. Lips pouted, sucking on the cigarette’s filter. The man rolled his balaclava over the tip of his slightly bumpy nose for the first time in your presence and you did your best to remain normal about it. 

Fuck, did he uncover his face so casually around anybody else? 

— You’re smoking? This late? — You tried to sustain the small talk in order to hide your confusion. 

— Want one? 

He proposed and you hesitated. For a moment you wanted to accept the offering. 

— No, thanks. I don’t like the smell of cigarettes on my hands.

— Then what are you doin’ outside? It’s past your bedtime, Y/N. 

“Cheeky bastard”, you thought to yourself at his stupid comment, your jaw parting slightly open in an offended manner. You wiped your sleepy face with a hand, before slouching slightly into your palm. 

— Just… I needed to get out of there and breathe. Couldn’t sleep.

Ghost hummed intrigued, before throwing the burned out smoke to the ground and crushing it with the sole of his shoe. He detached from the wall, he was leaning upon and started walking in your direction. The mask was again covering his face. 

— I might have a remedy for that. 

Curiosity was probably your biggest vice that someday might be your doom. But in that moment, something made you follow the lieutenant through the field cloaked in darkness.

You had to speed up to catch up with his massive steps, but when you did, a subtle smile appeared on your lips. Both of you broke the curfew and of course, his punishment would be way less severe than yours (if he even would suffer the consequences). But the same thrill of it, made your heart beat faster. 

— Are we going to do something mischievous? — You asked in full curiosity, keeping your head straight. 

— Thought you like stayin’ out of trouble.

— I do — you partially agreed — usually. 

An even wider grin twisted your cheeks, exposing some of your teeth. Ghost discreetly took a glimpse at you, though you didn’t notice due to the hood covering his head. 

— You’re up to something, Y/N?

— A thing or two.

He hummed, before responding.  

— Should I worry? 

— Of course no, sir. 

The man chuckled. Barely audible, but he did and he couldn’t deny it. It might have been the first time you heard him behaving so casually. 

After a short walk you reached the parking lot and only then you began understanding what his “remedy” was. Ghost opened the passenger’s door and with a theatrical gesture invited you inside. 

Your eyes crossed with his for a moment, searching for… what? You couldn’t let your imagination too loose, the naive and stupid thoughts that were gathering inside your own head had to be gone. Immediately. 

— Where’re going? — A simple question was asked, when he started the engine of the vehicle. 

— That’s classified. 

— Very funny. Got another? 

You satirically asked, your face staying calm and unbothered. Maybe slightly frustrated, but that’s exactly what he wanted to pull from his subordinate. He took a sick pleasure in toying with you like that. 

— Plenty. What does the Loch Ness monster eat? — Ghost said in a stoic manner, while you  lifted your brow in anticipation. — Fish and ships. 

There was a moment of complete silence, before you laughed out loud. The joke was utterly bad and dry, yet somewhat funny.

But the truth was he brightened up your mood even if only a little, it has taken the burden off your shoulders.

— Saving those for later or what?

— Aye, special occasions. 

Involuntarily your cheeks flustered as you could feel the warmth spreading over your face. Thank God it was dark, but still – afraid of getting caught, you turned your head toward the window. Even if you didn’t see a single thing outside. 

Ghost stopped near the guard’s post to identify himself. And well, you too. The warden said nothing and let the two of you pass to the road leading outside of the base. 

— Uhm, sir? — You spoke out as soon as he rolled up the window. — Won’t they report that we… sneaked out?

— Don’t worry about that. 

The ride was calm and silent. The radio was turned off and since he didn't share how long your voyage would last, you got comfortable in a passenger’s seat, leaning over the doors. 

Then, something broke the mind numbing silence with a short whisper.

— Simon.

— What?

— You keep callin’ me “sir”, it makes me feel ol’. You can address me by that instead. — He explained.

— Just in the privacy of our conversations?

— Positive. 

— Now, that seems fair. You know my name for far longer, but you just adore staying mysterious, do you? 

— Mhm. And deadly. 

He kept focusing on the road ahead for a couple more minutes, a quarter perhaps. Quickly you became sleepy, body snuggled in the corner of the cabin – the rocking of the car and the scent of Simon’s cologne lulling you to sleep. 

It was strange, not so long ago you couldn’t rest in the bunker’s bed and now, curled up in a moving vehicle? He surely had to put some spell on you. Otherwise, you would never let your guard down. 

If not for him continuing the conversation, you would surely fall asleep right there and then. 

— Wanna ask you a question, Y/N, but need you to answer truthfully. 

— That’s kind of insulting for you to assume I would lie, Lt. 

— It’s more of a proposition really — Ghost’s whole arms jolted as he changed the gear, the damn machine was old and cranky. — You wanna talk about what happened? 

You knew perfectly well what he was asking about – “the Shadows” incident that happened nearly three weeks ago. For a brief moment, a minute perhaps, you were infuriated. 

“Oh, so that’s what it is about��, you thought disappointed to yourself. Disappointed, but why? What were your expectations of this late night drive with your lieutenant?

Surely the severe beating from Graves’ boys gave you a concussion if you dared to think about something more regarding your lieutenant. Especially to the infamous soldier Ghost. 

But the truth was, you took a liking to him earlier than the interrogation took place – it wasn't the fault of a head injury, you were just a naive, stupid girl. 

You took a deep breath in and out, gluing your eyes to the glass window on your left, shielding yourself from his sight. 

— I was… terrified, after what happened — you started explaining slowly, feeling as if the car had stopped and the engine was turned off — I don’t know why, but the beating and bruises weren’t the worst part. He scared me.

— He threatened you. 

— In a way that… extracted primal fear. Fuck — you slowly turned your head in his direction, to see Ghost was listening carefully all this time — do you know, what I mean? I–

— I understand. Such interrogations are purely based on psychological torture. But that’s not the reason you’ve been acting strange.

— What do you mean, “strange”?

Now you have begun to feel truly offended.

— Wanna play silly now, Y/N? You’re better than that. 

— Fine — you snorted, the bridge of your nose slightly frowning — I don’t like your special treatment. In this field people get hurt, you know that. I’m not a cripple. 

— Never said you are.

— Then why do you keep sending me away? 

— Because you’re stupid enough to keep pushin’ yourself until you bleed instead of properly healing. Wounded soldier is a dead weight. 

This time he sounded meaner, almost like he was reprimanding you for your effort to be a valuable soldier. To him, you were behaving irresponsible. 

— I temper myself to reach your fucking standards. — You raised your voice for the first time this evening and quickly remembered who you were talking to, your lieutenant. You were on the verge of losing everything you have been working for. Would he be willing to remove you from his team? The panic overwhelmed your senses, you couldn’t breathe. — I need air. 

You pushed the doors open and jumped out of the car, circling it before stopping near the mask. Ghost got out too and slowly walked over like a vulture following his next meal. 

— Since when do you care so much about others' opinions, hm? 

But you stayed silent, probably thinking too much. He knew you were very cautious with your responses, but he wanted to hear the unfiltered truth. So Simon kept pushing. 

— I asked you a question. 

He stepped closer, cornering you between him and the mask of the car. It was hard to notice any switches in his gaze only illuminated by moonlight, his skull mask successively casted a shadow over his eye sockets. Ghost took a step forward and you one back – your fiery eyes finally noticing something eerie in his dark globs. 

— I don’t care what others say about me. 

— No? Then why do you try so hard to impress me? 

The masked man took another step in your direction, causing you to bump into the car’s mask with your thighs and ass.

— Because you’re my lieutenant. 

— Is that so?

Ghost’s hoarse, deep voice caused you to feel the vibrations of his voice in your body.

He leaned impossibly close, slowly placing his hands on both sides of you, physically caging you between his arms and a vehicle. You had to turn your head slightly to the side in order not to bump into his mask. 

Fuck you could feel his warm breath on your neck. 

— Y–Yes.

— That didn’t sound convincin’ enough. 

You looked down, slightly ashamed of your incompetence at that moment, cheeks flushed pink. It only took Simon to come closer to you, to strip you of the ability to talk back. 

— When you joined my team, I didn’t think you’d be difficult. I was wrong, everythin’ about you was a hassle. You’ve been a burden on my mind, girl. And now, look at you – jumpin’ ‘round me, tryin’ to fall back into my favor. Does an average soldier do things like this? 

Now that he put it that way… You began revaluing your priorities. Was your little crush that obvious? 

One of his hands began caressing your hip in a soothing motion. If he wanted to, Ghost could pin you down with the force he carried. Yet, the gentle giant was trying to persuade you to talk. 

— N–No. 

— No — he repeated with a much gentler gaze. — Then why do you care about my opinion so much? 

— I didn't want you to think I’m weak. But lately… — your sweet voice broke down, the shame washing over you as you finally confessed. — I’m a pathetic disaster, because I took your offer for comfort and now you’re taking me for someone…

But before you finished, he cut you off. 

— I offered you support, because I understand what you’ve been through.

— I felt humiliated — you hesitated for a moment, before finally letting the emotions flow through your veins. Hot blood made you feel lightheaded, but at the same time adrenaline gave you strength to keep confessing  — because I like you, Simon. And you saw me… like that. 

Ghost exhaled loudly, his shoulders dropping. 

— Always so tough, aren’t you? Come ‘ere. 

Without any warning, his huge palm sneaked to the back of your head and pulled you into his chest. Your cheek was pressed tight against his fleece jacket, heat radiating through the layers. 

You found the act… soothing. Squeezed by Ghost’s arms, providing you with a feeling of security and being taken care of. How could you deny his touch, his help or kind words? 

— You’re always comforting soldiers like this? 

You lifted your head to look at him and carefully assess his reaction. From this close, you could see his eyes clearly and what hid behind them.

— Only if they’re called Y/N. 

But what he was about to do, would leave you flabbergasted.

Ghost rolled his balaclava up his nose again and leaned over your pretty face. Although his lips were scarred and you expected them to be harsh, they were nothing like that. Soft, slightly wet tissue brushed over your parted lips, teasing slightly before finally kissing you. 

One of his hands kept your head steady, the other caging your body to his. You managed to sneak your own palm, smaller and more slender than his, to Simon’s jaw and touch it tenderly. 

His mouth worked wonders on stealing your breath, causing your muscles to finally relax. Ghost lightly pulled on your lower lip, toying with it for a moment. You had a feeling that he might even bite down just to draw a little bit of blood. 

A crimson he was bathed in, the sins he had on his guilt. Who could have thought that such a distant and cold shell of a man was hiding “Simon” beneath? 

Gentle, caring Simon who fell in love with you. 

The sweet tension coiled in your belly, thighs begging for some friction. Your whole body clung to his broad form and you giggled between the kisses. 

— What? — He asked, looking at you with a spark in his eyes. 

— You’ve gone soft, Lt. Ghosts are supposed to be terrifying. 

— Mhm. And you’re supposed to be in bed at this time. 

This time it was you, who pulled the other into another hungry kiss. Your cold hand sneaked lower, under his underlined jaw and down his strong neck, so you could nuzzle your fingers between his skin and jacket.

— Will you take me to yours, Lt? — You teased shamelessly, quietly whispering into his mouth as your eyelashes fluttered. A sense of fulfillment rushed through you, when Simon finally proved to you that he cared as much as you did. 

— Playin’ a dangerous game, Y/N.

Ghost kept playing with the strands of your hair that poured through his fingers. With the other arm he kept you close, soaking up the faint moment, an intimacy with you.

Blonde man precisely felt the curves of your chest clinging closely to his broad chest. Your lungs were filling and emptying at the same rhythm. He couldn’t stop staring at your beautiful eyes, stars reflecting in their pupils. 

Simon Riley knew he shouldn’t get attached to anyone – he was a soldier and life was cruel for people like you two. But when he held you in his arms, breathing so softly, Simon wasn’t regretful. 

Not a single fucking bit. 

He finally had found you.

[mwolf0epsilon]

What Love Looks Like

This is a long one...

Caprichoso, walking around the mess hall with a food tray full of green nutrimush while looking for a place to sit: Uh, I guess Dogma must still be on shift...

Clearcut, sitting with a group of 501st vode before noticing Caprichoso: Over here Capri.

Caprichoso, glancing over and beaming: CC! Hey! -sitting down next to the older trooper- Thanks, this place is packed!

Hardcase, chuckling: That's usually how it is during midmeal! Lots of very hungry troopers lining up to get the best slop!

Clearcut, noticing the enormous pile of food on the other's tray and looking slightly nauseated: Capri, please tell me you're not planning to eat all of that in one sitting...

Caprichoso, grinning: Sure am! But I promise I won't get too excited and choke this time. I'm just not used to being allowed to eat so much of my favorite grub without having to slap someone's hand away.

Clearcut: I am still not quite sure how the green veggie paste is your favorite. It's too sweet for my own taste.

Hardcase: How, for real? The sweetness is what makes it good!

Caprichoso, looking at Hardcase: You. You get me! All of the other options taste so bland! But this one tastes so good...

Hardcase: Hear hear! Green mush is the best mush!

Jesse, laughing: Man... I wish you'd been assigned to the 501st. You would have fit right in immediately!

Caprichoso, surprised: Wow, you really think so?

Fives: We know so. You're what? Around Tup's age group? Pretty sure if you'd been deployed at the same time you would have made the cut.

Jesse: Yeah, maybe then we would have all just fit where we belonged instead of dealing with... Some troopers.

Tup, frowning but staying quiet:

Hardcase, pausing as he glances up at Jesse with a somewhat puzzled look:

Clearcut, also pausing but looking noticeably uncomfortable:

Caprichoso: ... What do you mean?

Jesse: Hm? Oh, you know. Just some conflict you don't really need to worry about.

Caprichoso, noticing Tup's unusually quiet demeanor and the pinched look on Clearcut's face: ...

Caprichoso, crossing his arms: No, carry on. What was that supposed to mean?

Jesse: ... Ok, I'll be real with you. You? You get us. You fit in just right. Better than you do with the 105th.

Caprichoso, frowning due to this being a particularly sore topic for him: Yeah...?

Jesse: Well, there's a trooper who's the exact opposite. And he proved that on Umbara.

Caprichoso, adding 2 and 2 together: I... You're talking about Dogma aren't you?

Tup, focusing on his tray clearly unwilling to participate in this conversation:

Fives: Yeah, it's about Dogma. He doesn't really fit with the rest of us.

Jesse: He doesn't act like a vod, is what Fives means. Which is a huge problem.

Tup, looking up at Jesse with an angry look on his face:

Jesse, raising his hands in defense: I mean, I'm sure he's plenty brotherly with you Tup. But that's you. With everyone else he's a stuck up shabuir that wouldn't hesitate to rat anyone else out for his own benefit, just like he did on Umbara.

Caprichoso, slowly beginning to look angry: Umbara was a stressful situation. You saw what Krell was like, do you really think you were anything but lucky back there?

Fives, offended: Lucky?!

Jesse: We were anything BUT lucky! Krell nearly killed the entire battalion! Made us kill each other for his own sick amusement! Sent Fives, Hardcase and I to be executed via firing squad which Dogma manned! And then when evidence cropped up that he was a bastard, Dogma STILL sided with him! Hells he pointed a blaster at the captain! At Tup! He's no vod!

Caprichoso, furious: You were lucky, because that was ONE campaign with Krell. The 105th on the other hand experienced all that and worse CONSTANTLY! And let me tell you, when your entire deployment is based on survival of the fittest, you have to do some pretty crappy horrid things to live another day...

Jesse, trying to find an argument for this: Vode stick to each other! No matter what!

Caprichoso: Really? So you never met a vod on Kamino that never picked on someone else because they were favored by trainers? You never got angry at your own batchers because you felt like they could do better and were slacking in sims? Never met some other older vode who thought they knew better than you just because they were more experienced?

Jesse: ...

Fives, recalling how it used to be for Domino Squad back on Kamino: ...

Hardcase, trying to figure out how to get everyone to calm down before this gets any worse: Err... Maybe we should...

Caprichoso: I read the reports. I read what happened on Umbara. I read them because I knew from the moment Krell left to lead the 501st, that something bad was gonna happen. And I can tell you from both an inside and outside perspective that all of the things Dogma did he didn't do for himself.

Clearcut, sighing because he knows Capri isn't going to let go:

Caprichoso: He was scared, sure. We all were scared once we realized Krell was a demagolka shabuir who didn't really care for us unless we were useful or entertaining in some way. I watched good vode be reshaped into... Into something unrecognizable under his command. My brothers who I love so much and who I wish loved me just as much as Dogma loves you miserable bastards!

Tup, opens his mouth:

Caprichoso: Keep your mouth shut, you lost the right to say anything the moment you let that piece of osik lieutenant drag your twin's name through the mud! For all that I've heard you moan and bitch about my twin being a jerk, you're no bouquet of roses!

Tup, flinching: Ah...

Fives: Hey don't talk to Tup like that!

Caprichoso: Or what? You'll go off on some suicide mission and jeopardize the lives of your vode like you did on Umbara? Get off your high fathier ARC trooper, you've got no idea how to work in a team and it shows. The stunt you pulled on Umbara only got you a firing squad execution, one which according to records should have fallen to your coward of a captain to lead... Not Dogma.

Jesse: The captain would never--

Clearcut: ... He would.

Jesse, turning to look at Clearcut in surprise: Uh?

Clearcut: ... Sargeant Slick.

Hardcase, wincing: ...

Caprichoso: Also on that note. The firing squad. Curious how Dogma chose the best sharpshooters and a medic to make damn sure you lot didn't feel a thing once you got taken out. Very cruel of him uh? Following orders from someone who wasn't opposed to punish an entire battalion for someone else's disobedience, and yet still making damn sure it was as mercifully a clean shot as possible...

Jesse, at a loss for words: I... You don't...

Caprichoso: I don't get it? Sure I do. Surviving under Krell taught me something valuable. That if you plan to act against an oppressor, you make it your mission to put the only target on your back. Not on your vode's. And yeah sure, I'm louder, I'm angrier, I'm ten times more insufferable than Dogma. But I can recognize something you definitely don't seem to be able to unless it's your brand.

Fives: And what's that?

Caprichoso: What love looks like. And it certainly isn't wishing that your little brother was in a battalion where he would have been abused into submission or into outright hate and hostility towards his own crew.

Caprichoso, getting up: Urgh, I'm not hungry anymore... Your opinions are so disgusting I'd rather starve than eat with you. I don't get what Dogma sees in you poodoo-brained karkers at all, he really would be better off on his own. -storming off furiously-

Jesse, Fives, Tup & Hardcase, watching Capri leave the mess hall: ...

Clearcut, sighing sadly due to this conversation having derailed so quickly: ... I've never met a kih'vod more stubbornly loyal than Capri. He won't be letting go of this newfound grudge anytime soon.

[forgloryforhonor]

may i ask if gintae can be considered as parallel characters? since they share a lot of similarities in values and all. what do you think? i love parallel characters as much as narrative foils

I always thought they were parallels as well as foils to each other

GinTae as Parallels

Roles in community and family

Both are in wish-granting or dream-fulfilling kind of business (otae in hospitality/hostess sector and Gintoki as an Odd Jobs guy)

Considered as bosses/leaders and top class in their specific areas of specialty

Aniki (boss man, big brother) / Anego (boss lady, big sister) persona

Gintoki is kind of the Joui Vanguard (in the Joui war he is the first to rush in, and in action scense he always works alone and is the first to deploy himself)

Otae is also first line of attack/offensive defense (Silver Soul Arc-Siege of Kabukichou)

both had strong mentors that defined their way of life and philosophy. Gintoki knew Shoyo best while Otae understood their father best.

Gintoki canonically sees himself as surrogate father to Kagura sometimes

Otae raised her brother on her own after their father died

Otae also wholeheartedly accepts the Anego title Kagura bestowed on him

Gintoki is considered by Shinpachi as his Aniki too

Speak and curse in the same kabukichou accent

Personality

both act as Boke (stupid man) to the other straight man characters (tsukkomi)

both tend to hurt the people they love in order to protect/save them

Both can be incredibly self-sacrificial and suicidal for others and for their core beliefs

Both can be truly cruel at insulting others and each other (fatphobia, ageism, classism, misogyny, etc)

both are very very good at finding each other's weakness and exploiting them to cause most damage (or get them to do what the other wants)

both are very good at finding/recognizing each other no matter where or when

both have been positive and negative change to each other in many ways

Friends and Admirers

Both of them have similar group of friends. They operate in the same circles.

both of them are well loved in their community for their strong leadership and cunning bastard personas

both of them have admirers that are mirrors of each other: Kondou-Sarutobi, Kyuubei-Tsukuyo

Both of then are parallels and foils of Hijikata

Both of them are used to mingling/hanging out with opposite sex and know how to play their charms well to their advantage

Storywise

In my old posts, both Otae and Gintoki have preached the same things to other people at different points in time, which means they seriously have a lot of shared values and both live under the same life philosophy.

Them doing dogeza in Beam Saber Arc (nuff'said)

Their tragic future selves dying at the same time in Be Forever Yorozuya Movie and Novelization

Both risked their lives/ imprisonment/death penalty for Hijikata and shinsengumi

Otae earning Queen of Kabukichou title from Otose, Gintoki seen as Tatsugurou/Jirocho Protege

Similar Stands

Lots of manga panels where they mirror the same actions and dialogue on different pages

And etc

GinTae as Foils

Opposite Genders

Otae usually needs to be saved; Gintoki is usually one of the saviors

Gintoki can be quite a gourmet pastry chef and cook; Otae cannot cook ever

Different social classes / poverty level

Gintoki usually needs to be found, Otae does the finding (or is the cause) of the Yorozuya getting back together

Fighting style: Otae is rooted in reality and the traditional martial concepts; Gintoki is more freestyle, fantastical and wild

Fighting Style: Gintoki is Vanguard, Otae is backup/Rearguard or Home Defense/Baggage Train

Sexual experience: gintoki isnt a virgin and have slept with men and women, otae is a virgin through and through

I'm quite rusty on the GinTae nowadays so I hope you can suggest more too. But may I recommend my big essay "Otae's Involvement With The Odd Jobs" back in my older sideblog called @ukaiknowsbest ?

Thank you so much for the ask. I love questions like these.

[wolkoshka]

Paranormal

summary: you meet Ghost for the second time at Soap’s birthday/costume party and this time, you promise to get a taste of the man behind the mask. Simon Riley/Ghost x Reader

warnings: slow-burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, mutual pining, excessive drunk flirting, slightly dark!Simon, touch-starved Simon, trying to get into Simon’s pants (and sort of succeeding??), nsfw-themed

•this is a simon riley ficlet, I repeat, this is not a one-shot but contains a bit of plot and character development, bcs god knows we need 'em

•part 1/3

word count: 5k+

London was drenched, blinding flashes forking out amidst midnight clouds rolling in a hailing storm.

Or it was pishin' doon oot there, as your childhood best friend would call it.

His birthday, along with the rain, had just stormed in, and since he was being deployed on another mission tomorrow, he wanted to party as soon as the clock struck midnight.

Excitement buzzed in your veins, and not because of the party - well, partially - but because of a certain someone you were impatient to meet again.

On cue, lightning flashed as a strong kick to the bar's door burst it open - and in strut you, Ghostbuster uniform on full display. Except, this one's slutty. And there's only one ghost that needed catching tonight.

All commotion stopped to regard you.

Tossing the umbrella into a rack, you kicked the door shut with your heel.

With shorts hugging the plump of your ass, a form-fitting jacket unzipping down the front to reveal your salacious cleavage, and waist and thigh straps securing the proton pack to your back coupled with the knee-high boots four inches tall, you knew you were a sight to behold.

The bar was swarming with familiar faces of both military and mutual friends.

You dramatically posed, the gun of the proton pack activated. “Heard there was something strange in your neighborhood.”

Low whistles and compliments rebounded. “There’s something strange happening in my pants right now!” one male enthusiastically called from the back.

“Haud yer weesht,” a familiar voice reprimanded, soon followed by an effective smack.

From a sea of shark fins, faerie wings, and numerous superhero costumes, a Mohawk head popped out. Your expression abruptly brightened and you twirled performatively as Johnny shouldered through the bodies and took you in a big, tight hug.

The heat of his body singed into your chilled one, enveloping you.

“Ay ye bastard. Ye actually made it.”

Embracing him equally as tightly, you smothered him with kisses on the face. You hadn’t seen him for three months now. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Johnny-bo-bonnie. Mwah, mwah, mwah. That one’s from mum.”

A hearty laugh. “Don’t tell me - she baked me something real delicious and you ate it.”

“Guilty as charged.”

He put you down, and you stepped back to take in his outfit: a bathrobe, slippers, and polka dotted blue swim trunks. His chest was bare and suave sunglasses perched on his head.

“And what are you supposed to be?”

He splayed his arms wide open, a shit-eating grin revealing straight, white teeth. “A man on a well-earned vacation.”

You playfully slapped him on the chest. “Good one.” From your proton pack, you withdrew a box. A present. “Here. Gotchu something.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s another soap.”

“Why? Were you showered with them tonight?” A snort-laugh. “Get it? Shower? Soap?”

“Harr, harr, harr.” He thumbed over his shoulder at a shrine of soaps forming a pyramid on a table. “Suddenly, everyone’s so bloody hilarious tonight.”

You made a noise of intrigue. “Do they smell nice?”

“Don’t care. What did you get me?” He palmed the box, opening it.

“I’m taking some if they do.”

“Go crazy, lass.” A soft gasp. Then, “O feckin’ feck me.”

“I know, I know. I know you too well. It’s my curse,” you sighed, but smiled when he took out the expensive bottle of GlenDronach, his favorite scotch.

“Happy birthday, sucker.”

He looped an arm around your neck, hugging you close and kissing you on the temple. “And that’s why you’re my favorite best friend.”

"Other best friends, huh? Take that back or I’ll Bath and Body Works your arse next time I see you.”

“Roger that.”

Arm still corded around your shoulders, he turned your bodies to the bar - and there he was.

Ghost.

Simon Riley, you learned his name was.

The muse that lingered in every afterthought, in the darkness of the night, while sleep cooed you into a moment of silence your heart beat fast and loud enough to fight off - just to win more time thinking of the man who did not even care for your existence.

A soft gasp parted your lips.

His back was to you, broad and tall, as he conversed with Price, head tilting ever so often in remark.

He sported a dark brown leather jacket over a black hoodie and equally as dark cargo pants. His combat boots hugged up his strong calves, his legs parted over the bar stool he perched on, meaty thighs barely fitting.

He wasn't in costume. You guessed he dressed as a ghost mirroring a civilian.

Despite the chaos circulating him, his poise was calm and collected, but not unaware, the stiffness in his shoulders stating as much.

A killer of killers, apex predator of the fittest, his prowess was unmatched in the battlefield, and to witness a man of his caliber exist in environment simple and mundane had a startling effect.

Menacing, you thought, a bite to your lower lip.

"See somethin' you like?" Soap humorously chuckled.

You'd met Ghost three months prior, while Task Force 141 was deployed on a private mission to locate Shepherd's current hideout, and as a private contractor who'd built many commercial, private, and government facilities - wherever the clients needed them built - you'd come across one personally requested by Shepherd himself.

It was a long time ago, but your memory had not failed you.

By the shores of Chile, was a property laid out by you, the blueprint of it handed off to Soap to investigate.

Screw client confidentiality when your best friend's life was put in danger by a betraying bastard.

It was then, as you'd climbed into the SUV to hand the blueprint, you'd made out a humongous shape in your peripheral and screamed out in reaction.

It hadn't helped when it was a skull staring right into your very soul.

"Ah, a common reaction to Ghost," Soap had commented. "Lt, meet my best friend," he said your name, and to you, "meet Lt. Ghost. Simon."

Simon.

You'd wiggled your fingers a hello at him. "What a name. Pleased to meet you."

He hadn't responded, had merely stared before looking out the window.

Right then and there, he was an enigma you couldn't deny. You'd decided to make him look your way however and whichever way you could.

"Johnny, be done with it," he'd grated out when you and Soap got lost in the gossip, the husk and deep gravel of his voice eliciting a full-on body shiver from you.

You'd stolen the name he'd given your best friend, calling him Johnny from that day onwards.

Now, here he was anew. A few more steps and within reach, you merely had to walk to him.

Excitement buzzed in your veins.

You smoothed a hand down your outfit. "Do you think he'll appreciate the joke?"

"Knowing Lt and his humor, or lack thereof actually, he might just hate himself for loving it too much."

A giddy feeling spurted in your chest. "You think?"

"Oh, yea. But go easy on him," he added, peering down at you, brow arched, "the man just landed from a solo mission. There's an uneasy air about him tonight. The fact that he's even attending is gift enough for me."

"That means he's tired, grumpy, and susceptible to an easy one night stand. Just my type of target."

"Ay ye vixen. I said go easy. Here," he lowered the zipper on your chest, revealing more of your cleavage, "that's better. Now go get him. God knows he needs it," he grumbled the last part.

Happily, you almost skipped your way to him. But just before reaching, two bodies swarmed you, hugging you close and screaming in your ear over the bar music. Your friends from college.

"Where have you been!"

"It's so good to see you again, come!"

You were dragged away, more distance than you'd like being put between you and Simon. Nooo.

It wasn't after two hours of losing yourself in the crowd, dancing with people, with Johnny, backs pressing together to roll to the beat of the songs in your sickest moves, that you, downing more margaritas than you could count, summoned back your wits and sauntered your way to the bar.

Plopping down on a stool next to his, you mirthfully laughed, buzzed out of your mind.

The melodious sound cut his conversation short with Price and dragged his attention to you, and - oh, fuck.

Those eyes.

Even in your stupor you admitted to their allure.

He walked, talked, like a man who's had his flesh peeled from his bones. Eyes too haunted to be alive, too haunted to be dead.

A man imprisoned in the infinite present that neither knew him reprieve or end.

You were so lost in them that you didn't say anything to him for a long moment. Then, "Hi," you lowly voiced, grinning like a fool who just got the best present under the Christmas tree.

Reminding yourself to be sexier, you opted for a, "What is a girl like you doing...sitting all alone when a hunk like me is right here?"

Your brows furrowed in the middle. No, that didn't sound right. You tried again.

"What is a girl like me doing with...with a hunk like you, sitting...all... No, that's not it either."

The bulk of him shifted in his seat, whiskey in a gloveless hand, as he now regarded you.

To be the sole focus of those eyes, it killed you. Like honeyed whiskey swirling with the silver clouds of storm outside, it made you feel more drunk than you already were.

But you could see how tired he really was, eyes rimmed red, thin veins stark against the white of his sclera.

"All right," he spoke, tone indulging, but rigid and gravely as the rest of him. "You have my attention."

You did? Success!

Even with the balaclava hiding that no doubt beautiful face of his, you complimented him, afraid that if you didn't, you'd be committing a heinous crime.

"You are." You hiccupped. "You are so pretty."

"And you are shit-faced. Had too much to drink, did ya?"

You leaned in, eyes twinkling with something wicked that even he could not deny.

"Liquid courage," you drawled. And then laughed again, dusky and free.

Price, having noticed where the conversation was heading, turned away with a warm chuckle.

"I'll leave you two to it," he said, giving his attention fully to Gaz, who sat to his left.

You waved at the boys, all giddy. And then motioned with your finger to Ghost's waist, as if to say you were going to get inside his pants. Oh, yes, he was the object of your desires.

Gaz chocked on his bottle of beer.

Price palmed his mouth to stifle a laugh. Unsuccessfully.

Ghost, on the other hand, when you glanced up at him, had his lids hooded.

In his language, that might as well translate to a glower.

"You have one minute," he almost barked out. Glower, indeed.

You straightened, expression serious. You gave him a captain's two-finger salute. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Then, before he could toss you out the window of the bar, you followed it up with, "Heard you like jokes. Do you like mine?"

You motioned to your costume.

He followed the movement, gaze raking down your body, and then slowly up, blond lashes fluttering. When his eyes landed on your cleavage, heat filled them, and in reaction, warmth spooled low in your belly.

"Clever," he throatily remarked, glancing away to his whiskey.

All for you.

His compliment added even more heat to your belly, and you blushed, biting your lip.

"I have more where that came from."

A low rumbling sound. It took you a while to decipher it as a hum. "Is that what the courage was for? Not in the mood, poppy."

His rejection would have floored you had you not been already sat.

Not giving up, you leaned further in, fingers trailing over his leathered forearm that rested on the counter. If one focused enough, they'd also spot the slight tremble in them.

At the closeness, he craned his head down slightly to give you a warning look.

It was dark and foreboding, commanding you to watch the boundaries he'd laid or you might just pay the price.

Any man would have run the other direction. But you were not a man. You were horny. For him. Your desire for Ghost had been stoking for months now, and this very moment, so close to him, you thought you might burn alive with it.

You needed him between your legs, feeding his length into you, assuaging the ache that had made a home there with a friction only he could create.

His scent filled your lungs, and you visibly shuddered. He smelled of the storm outside and something else, something masculine and singular only to him.

If you weren't already drunk, the mere heat of him would've rendered you stupid.

Maybe it had, because the next words out of your mouth were sultry and promising.

"You know, it is not ghosts that haunt, but rather they are the haunted. Give me one night, and I might just chase them all away."

You gently dropped from your stool then, stepping into the space between his parted legs, hands daringly skimming over his robust thighs - before warmly palming them, fingertips digging in his cargo pants.

And he was letting you. That fact alone made your head reel.

Face tilting up, you bopped your chin against his clothed one.

At that, Ghost breathed in deep, and then breathed out slow.

Were you getting to him? Or was he really just tired to deal with you, as Johnny had warned?

Only one way to find out.

"I have another joke for you," you hummed. His lids dropped to your lips, and stayed there. You licked them for emphases, the pink tip of your tongue leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

A sound started in his chest, the beginnings of a groan, you guessed, before he quashed it, and you wanted to whine like a little girl who'd been denied her favorite sweet.

"Be out with it," he lowly grinded out.

A small, playful smirk. "What do you call a man who's great at sex with a sigh and moan in his name?"

An intrigued huff, but it came out rasped. "Go on then."

You stretched to your toes, back bowing and perked breasts brushing against his hardened chest. As you dug the heels of your palms into his thighs, your lips trailed up his jawline and nestled right at his ear.

"Simon," you heatedly whispered, making sure to actually moan the last syllable.

When you pulled your face back an inch, you saw his pupils blown, a frightening darkness overshadowing all color. His breathing had deepened, turned almost harsh, but quiet, as his suddenly ravenous look made your knees weak.

You'd never seen his eyes glimmer like that, so predatory, and that turned you on more. So much so that molten heat drooled out of you, soaking your panties. Did he know the effect he had on you?

His hand traveled up between your bodies, and blood rushed in your ears, your heart palpitating. Had you done it? Were you finally going to know the taste of him? Know how his lips felt against yours, moving, devouring? How hotly his kiss melted every inch of you?

As anticipation coiled tight in your stomach, his iron knuckles pressed into your lower chest, right below your revealed cleavage - and nudged you away.

You plopped back down to your heels, taking steps back the more he outstretched his arm and pushed you farther, like he couldn't stand being in the same vicinity as you.

Confused, hurt - a look you did your best to mask - you searched his expression. There was nothing to gain, masked as he was.

"Point made, love," his deep - deeper - timbre chafed the air between your bodies. "But not tonight. Not in the mood. Go on, now. Dance with Johnny, will ya?"

Humiliation blistered your cheeks and you quickly sobered - and felt increasingly sick to your stomach.

He'd just dismissed you like you were some schoolgirl acting out in his classroom.

Hands balling into tight fists, you stole a determined step toward him. You'd worked quite hard on those jokes, mind him.

"Some fun, you are. What, afraid of a little pleasure?"

He leisurely blinked. "Pleasure's not what I'm afraid of," he began only to cut himself short. A glower crowned his ashen brows, smudged by the eye paint, and he grumbled something under his breath you could not make out.

Swaying a bit on your feet - liquid courage, your arse - you flipped back your hair. "Fine. I'll find somebody else to have fun with." Then, inching closer to him, you leaned in to drunkenly whisper, "And when they're balls deep inside of me, I'll still wish it was you."

The glass of whiskey shattered in his grasp when he fisted it too hard, and that groan, that heavenly, wonderful sound of peak male frustration, finally escaped.

"Bloody fuckin' hell, poppy."

With a cheery twirl, you marched away, lithe shoulders blanketed by the crowd, and left the ever stunned lieutenant to his devices.

But his rejection still chafed you, and, oh, God, you needed to get wasted. So wasted, this night would never come back to haunt you again.

. ☾ .

It wasn't after another hour of dancing, partying, and singing sappy songs at the top of your lungs with Johnny and the gang, even tipsily sniffing some stacked soaps and secretly hiding the ones you liked in your bra, you finally found yourself in your designated spot - hunched over a toilet seat and vomiting the contents in your stomach.

It was expected. You'd drank and drank and drank... And now, your whole world swam.

A wretched sound tore from your throat as another round lurched out of your mouth, splattering into the toilet.

You groaned, vision blurred. Ew.

Settling back, you wiped at your lips with your wrist, heaving. So much for having a good time. But Johnny was happy, so you were happy. With his dangerous line of work and your stressful one, you two deserved such nights of peerless fun.

Like the good 'ole times, something Johnny must've needed too, since he didn't usually celebrate his birthdays. But when he did, oh, shit hit the fan in the most amazing ways.

Recalling some of your escapades, you smiled to yourself, completely unaware of the large silhouette shadowing past the doorway.

The lavatory door whined closed.

At the sound, you looked up.

Ghost stilled in his steps, cocking his head at you in question.

You huffed. "What are you doing in the ladies' bathroom?"

"This is the men's." He thumbed his right, where the urinals lined the wall.

What?

This whole time you were hunched over the men's toilet seat?

Another round of nausea shot up your throat, uncalled for, and you bent over the toilet in time to unflatteringly decorate it.

Gross!

This was so not how you wanted your night to end with Simon, either.

At his retreating steps, you immediately clambered to your shaky feet. "Please, don't leave. I get scared when vertigo hits." Such pathetic admittance, but it was the truth. When your world spun out of control, so did your fears.

He stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

You tried to hurry to him, but knocked one ankle against the other, and unceremoniously tripped. Hard. Head first, down you thwacked against the marbled flooring.

You blacked out.

When you slowly came to, webs of darkness blurring the edges of your vision, you moaned your distress. Bit by bit, Ghost's face registered, hovering over yours, his Manchester accent thick with how he roughly ordered you to come to.

Blinking up at him, you deliriously raised your hand to pat his masked cheek but to no avail. Darling man. Were you dreaming? If so, you never wanted to wake up. You smiled a small smile at him.

"Hi," you whispered. You sounded so wasted and oh, so enamored. Sober you was going to have a serious conversation with drunk you tomorrow.

"Don't move. Easy, now, yeah?" He pushed you down when you weakly fought to rise up. "You're bleedin' all over the place, poppy."

You tried to reason with him, say how disgusting the floor was and you could never lay down there.

"Should've thought of that before drinkin' your posh arse stupid, yeah?" was his argument.

Dream Simon was mean.

"I'm posh," you hummed out a silly laugh. "Posh like a Spice Girl."

"Be quiet," he roughed out, unimpressed. From his pocket, he withdrew a glove and pressed it against your temple.

A throbbing ache hissed where the clothe touched your skin, and you winced.

After a stringing moment, "Why do you hate me?" you softly asked.

His eyes focused on you then, deep and intrusive, and you licked your lips in consequence.

"I don't hate you," came his gruff retort.

"So then why won't you kiss me?"

A slow blink away from your face. He might as well have rolled his eyes. "You don't want to kiss a man like me, poppy."

Why? Because it would rock your socks off? Render you into a silly little mess? Make your dirtiest dreams come true?

Even with a bleeding temple, you understood the meaning behind his words. Maybe even rejection. He was a dangerous man, callous and brutal. Men like him only caused pain and destruction, spawned nightmares and reveled in the blood spilled.

But from the stories you've heard of him, especially from Johnny, and from your own little interaction, you saw more than the mask he donned. Saw past it to something buried in him. Something guarded so very deep inside, not even sunlight could pierce the shadows around it, but it was there. And you saw it even now, drunk and utterly wasted you may be.

Maybe he thought he'd hurt you. Maybe he tumbled rough and mean under the sheets. At the image, arousal ignited in your veins, backlit behind the wall of drowsiness and pain that still coursed through your system.

"And... And if I still do? Would you kiss me then?"

"Negative."

A pout.

"How's your vision?"

With you in it, "Good."

A clipped nod. "I'll help you to your feet. And then we can take care of that nasty little wound there, yeah?"

"Aye, aye, captain," you murmured.

When he pressed the glove a bit too deeply into the wound, you immediately rectified your words. "I meant, yes, sir. As you say, sir."

A hum, low and raspy. "That's more like it."

Slowly but surely, you climbed to your feet. For a moment, your vision went black and your ears rang, and you paused, waiting for the darkness to pass. Simon waited with you.

"Better?" he asked when you straightened, touching where his glove pressed against your temple. Your fumbling hand fell upon his leanly adroit one.

Skin grazed skin, electrifying warmth rivaled warmth, and you softly gasped. You nodded, gaze lost in the sheer view of him.

Ghost towered over you, your head lining his broad chest, and you suddenly felt engulfed. It certainly didn't help when the reality of him ending you with just the flick of his wrist if he so willed hovered over your consciousness.

God, he was so big. Just the mass of him and how he crowded any room he was in, made your mouth salivate.

And now, enveloped in his masculine heat, he was all you could see, hear, smell.

Feel.

"Don't look at me with eyes like that, poppy," he gravely warned, lids hooded as he stared you down.

Your throat tightened, lungs drawing in as all air escaped you. "And how am I looking at you?"

"Like I'm dinner."

You moaned despite yourself. It was achingly soft and needy.

You wanted to taste him in the back of your throat, feel his throbbing weight on your tongue, mouth working him mad enough that being pushed over the edge of insanity was his only option. And when that happened, you wanted to know how he sounded as all shred of control left him, his back arching as he spilled all he was worth in you, pumping and pumping, still in desperate chase of that high.

"Bloody hell, still with that look. Not a good listener, are ya? Come 'ere." He dragged you between the two sinks. "Lean against the wall." You did as told, back flattening against the large mirror mounted to it. He opened the faucet and let the cool water run as he wet the glove.

Ruggedly, "Stay still."

With that, he squeezed the water out and slowly got to work, dabbing around the wound and cleaning you up. It was a painstakingly tedious process, but you didn't mind, wincing here and there as you watched him tend to you.

See? Something more in there.

You studied the furrow in his brow, the sharp concentration in his eyes, the even rise and fall of his shoulders, and thought you lost a little bit of your mind for him.

He rinsed the glove, squeezed it, and resumed his task. His hand palmed the whole top of your head as he maneuvered you in whichever way he liked, tilting your face up, down, to the side, as he reached all spots inflicted.

The rough pad of his thumb pinned over the arch of your brow, and you thought you felt him subtly brush at it in his nursing.

When he caught you dumbly staring up at him for the third time, he broke the comfortable silence. "Shouldn't be drinking that much."

Had he been keeping tabs on you? Such wishful thinking, but butterflies still took flight in your tummy. You watched his masked face.

If his lips weren't shielded, you thought you'd feel his breath ghost over your cheeks.

Instead, you innocently batted your lashes at him. "Am I in trouble...sir?" you teasingly - sultrily - added.

He was in the process of wetting the glove when his gaze snapped down to you.

It was brief, but there was a flash of desire behind those lidded eyes before he subdued it with the subtle clench of his jaw.

The air in the room, on the other hand, he could not manipulate. It altered, thickened, became...hotter. Tension pulsed from his body raw and electrifying.

When he gradually straightened, protruding his chest, you suddenly felt suffocated - in the best of ways.

In the sizzling silence, you felt cornered, and your lips parted in anticipation.

He spoke, his words measured and roughish, betraying nothing. "You're bleedin' all over the place and yet you still can't keep it in your pants, mm, poppy?"

You bit your lip, a muffled sound of excitement building up in your chest for provoking a Special Forces soldier - Lieutenant - of all people. "Mhm."

You were stupidly giddy. He merely shook his head at you.

Then, he was watching you again, blond lashes fluttering as his gaze traced over your features, slowly, so agonizingly slow, before settling on your lips. You felt the heat of his stare on them.

A small sound got caught up in your throat, and it wasn't missed by him.

"Do I excite you, little one?" he quietly hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest, crackling ever so slightly, and it felt like honeyed butter melting down your skin.

A tremor racked your entire form, arousal burning your pupils wide and your breath scorching hot - all for him to witness and take in.

It must've pleased him, because he gave you the sexiest bedroom eyes you've ever beheld, the sheer fever in them sweltering and wild.

Huskily, "Yeah?" He stepped forward, large boots emitting no sound. You pressed further up against the wall, chin brushing over the leather of his jacket.

A thin layer of sweat dotted your skin at his nearness, your body involuntarily heating up, an unbearable ache building up between your legs.

And you thought Simon knew exactly what he was doing to your senses, because he followed it up with, "You look at the mask and think you're goin' to get fucked hard, is that it?"

His fingers lightly pinched your chin, his thumb darting up to caress the underside of your lower lip, grazing the edges and eliciting a ticklish sensation.

A needy whine from you caused that broad chest of his to collapse in a visible shudder. Seeing the reaction you pulled from him, your mouth fell open in want, and you meekly grinded up your hips against his thighs.

Your clothed core skimmed over the rough texture of his cargo pants, catching on a crease, but it was enough friction to have your head falling back against the mirror and you keening.

"More," you hotly moaned, feeling wetness seep out of you.

You tested the waters again, widening your stance and rolling your hips upward. Your clit meshed tight against his solid thigh, and when you rubbed it in gradual circles, grinding down, his thigh muscles bulged in response, hitting a sensitive nerve.

"Fuck," you gasped, mouth parting wider. You hadn't expected it to feel this good. "Ghost, please."

With a commanding grip of your hip, he stilled your ministrations. "None of that, poppy," he hoarsely warned. Then, "Shit," he lowly grunted when he felt your hips fight his hand for more stimulation, "That bad, huh?"

You mustered a nod, eyes never leaving his. "Want you," you breathed out.

"Can't have me." A small shake of his head. "Won't give you what you want. 'Sides, you're drunk out of your mind, love."

With that, he released you, backing away before you could reach for him.

Suddenly bereft, you wanted to shout your dissent.

Instead, your body laxed against the wall, palms clutching the coolness of the tiled wall. You already missed his nearness. His hands on you. You didn't want this moment to end.

You didn't want him to go.

Not so soon, anyway. Because God knew he'd make promise to his sobriquet.

"Wash your face. And get your shit together. That's a direct order," resounded his harsh command. If you hadn't wallowed too deep in his rejection, you might've caught the way his hands fisted at his sides when you whined in frustration.

With a defeated slump of your shoulders, you commanded your legs work and rounded the sink.

Palming the rushing water, you went about washing your hands and thoroughly rinsing your mouth. All sensation of him drowned with the water, leaving your skin cool to the touch.

"I'll take you to the hospital," he added more softly, which still grated the air.

Your heart seized in your chest. Why the sudden care?

What game did he play with you? Because one moment, he looked like he wanted to ravish you and the next, like he couldn't get away from you fast enough. Which was it, did you repulse him or attract him?

When he touched you, it was never deeply, desperately, but lightly, airily, leaving you begging for more.

And making him ever estranged.

What was his problem?

What was yours?

Why did you desire this particular man so wantonly? You had to find yourself a fling for the night. You had to flush Ghost out of your system for good.

You had to go home.

How you were going to accomplish both in one night, though, you had no clue.

Yes, while sober, you might have soldiered through the trauma to your head, but right now, still drunk and dizzy, you couldn't tell your elbow from your arse.

Splashing another round of cool water over your face, you grunted when you accidentally swept over your wound.

Appearing much like a drowned rat than the intended sexy Ghostbuster, you shut the faucet, clutched the edges of the sink and lifted your head to stare in the mirror.

Your eyes fell on Ghost.

He quietly watched you watch him from the reflection, a looming shadow in the background, waiting. You expected him to abscond you, but he remained - and that gladdened you beyond belief. Which also now irritated you.

He extended his glove to you.

Breath suddenly shaky, you turned around, the ugly bruised cut on your temple momentarily forgotten. When you made to step forward, crimson blanketed your left eye, and you swiped at it. In the haze, you saw your fingers coated in dark red.

"Bollocks." You started bleeding again. "No need for a hospital. I live a street down. I have a med kit. I'll..." You creased your brows in thought, still tipsy. "I'll care for it at home. Yes. And since you blue-balled me, I intent on finding someone to do the naughty with. I need you out of my system and out of my mind."

Oh, sober you was really going to sit you down tomorrow morning, all right.

He didn't respond to you.

The journey to Ghost proved to be a dangerous one, as the floor and walls adamantly dodged you, making your world swing whichever way you grasped for leverage.

You felt like you existed in a gigantic ball rolling down a hill at full-speed just waiting to burst and send you flying through the air. And you were in a hell of your own making.

Barking out a curse, you heard Ghost stomp your way - before you felt strong arms band around your shoulders and under your knees, effectively hoisting you up in his arms. "You are trouble, poppy. And you won't be taking care of anything in this state. I'll drop you home."

With that, he carried you out of the restroom, the bar, and into the chilled night of London city.

an: it got too long, yall, too long! this is part 1 of 2 for now. i couldn't help it, when i write, i write. part 2, we're ghostin' it up! (therell be smut) hope you enjoyed it!

part two

[julcia404]

Chop, chop

Sooo...this little oneshot here was heavily inspired by @hacked-by-jake as well as @itsnotzka and her adorable Jake-AI (with whom I had a very funny conversation 🤭). It’s just a short little thingie - I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had while writing! 💙

.

'Jaaakeeeee...we have to go! Where are you?'

She impatiently waited in the hallway, looking at the clock on the wall with furrowed eyebrows, when she finally heard his hasty footsteps as he came out of his study.

'I'm here, I'm here, we can go...I just had to wait for that last test run to finish, and I deployed something and couldn’t leave it alone, and...what?' With raised eyebrows she looked at him, arms crossed and an annoyed expression on her face.

'W-what is it? Why...What’s wrong?' confused, he looked at her and couldn’t make out what the problem was. He glanced nervously at the clock. 'We're not late yet, are we? If we leave now, we'll still be on time, we just have to hurry a bit. Heh. Uhm. Love? Can we...go?'

'I don’t know, Jake, can we?' She waited, wondering when he would notice. They were late now anyway, so why bother and give him a hint - a few minutes more wouldn't make any difference now.

Worried, Jake looked at her and her annoyed expression for a moment, then he cautiously looked down at himself when it finally hit him...'Oh fuck! Crap! Of course! I'm sorry! I-I'll be back in a minute, alright? It won't even take me a minute! Ok? Just a second, I'll be back in a second! Sorry, I-uhm...alright! Love youuu!' and *poof* he was gone again.

She sighed, dropped her bag on the floor and leaned on the wall to wait for Jake, not able to suppress a little smile. Adorable dork!

She heard him rummage through their closet and bump into furniture, like always when they were late (because of him!). But she had to admit that she kinda liked that, it was fun to watch and witness the else so concentrated and serious man being clumsy and hasty and in such trouble. She heard another bump and it sounded as if Jake stumbled over the clothes that probably were scattered all over the floor, followed by an annoyed groan. She quietly giggled and shook her head.

When they finally arrived, the group was already waiting.

'You are late. AGAIN!' Lilly huffed annoyed, while Hannah softly asked in a whisper 'His pants again?', causing Jake to scrunch his face and blush furiously. Fortunately for him, no one else listened to that little conversation or heard MC's exhausted whining 'Yeah...again...it's always the same. Every single time...', accompanied by a deep and dramatic sigh.

While Lilly patted MC's shoulder encouragingly and clumsily tried to comfort her by assuring her that Jake will learn it one day (hopefully!), her beloved finally dared to say something - or more precisely, mumble something: 'At least I had my boxers on...' At this, she turned around and looked at him with a mischievous smile that meant danger. Oh no...Oh fuck, please, no... 'Yeah...THIS time.' dammit! ...well, attack is the best defense, right?

His embarrassed face turned into a sassy one. 'Why so annoyed, my precious? You weren't that annoyed last time...'

And then he winked. That bastard winked at her with a suggestive smirk!

'But we never showed up to that family gathering! You don’t want to know what I had to come up with to excuse our absence...!' Jake was about to say something when they suddenly were interrupted by gagging noises. Oh, right, Lilly and Hannah were still there...

'Eww, you two! That’s waayyyyyy too much information! Seriously, don’t...just - please, never talk about this again, ok?!' Lilly stuck her fingers in her ears and fled to the rest of the group.

'Well, that was fun...let's do that again, please!' Hannah said cheerfully and followed her little sister with a big grin and a nasty giggle. The next meetings with the group or Jake's family would be a lot of fun - for Hannah, at least. Jake and MC on the other hand were already thinking about possible exit strategies.

'What about...uhm...urgent emergencies? How many are realistic before they notice that these are just an excuse? Or we could...uhm...we could have a transportation problem? You know, no car and public transportation is out of service or something like that?'

To their misery, Hannah heard that. 'If you forget your pants and boxers again, you can come with your helicopter - chop, chop!'

[constelationprize]

Let me just leave my (most likely wrong) two cents here: Maybe Jeremy's compartmentalization and denial game is unparalleled, which I won't deny is a possibility, but he did not give me dead sibling energy, specially if it was a death he was partially blamed for. Maybe these are unrelated facts, but here is my evidence: Jeremy caused a scandal unintentionally during a fall banquet that caused his parents to divorce; it's something that was image ruining in a family that's all about keeping up appearances; whatever happened turned his sister off of Exy; his family is always worried about him running his mouth and keep as close an eye as possible on him; he does not like talking about his father and his whole family seem determined to erase the man; his father's carreer sees him constantly deployed in Europe and so away from home; Cat hesitates before saying 'three' siblings.

My current theory about that is that Jeremy's dad had a bastard son, who his mother knew about, but Jeremy didn't think she did. Maybe she was even also having her own affair with the man she later remarried. So maybe this son is another player on the same section as USC (or he lives in Europe and Jeremy just saw the evidence in some other way), and at his first fall banquet, Jeremy discovered all about it and in the heat of the moment confronts his father, in front of everyone. He was, at the moment, defending his loved ones, but none of them see it this way, instead of just choosing to see it as Jeremy humiliating them and destroying their image.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

A small something that ties in the current chapter, and with things that will happen in the future, thanks to @mmyrrhh for the brainstorming (weeks ago, I hope you remember lol)

Also, a kind of apology for being so late with next chapter. November is a difficult time for me and I've been kinda sick (teaching is fantastic for catching everything and anything the kids bring you) and unmotivated.

Tag: @glitterypirateduck @letsreadallday @jamesrifftapes @sofasoap @mmyrrhh

Previous / Masterlist / Next

It had been a fucking long day.

Anytime any of his 'kids' was deployed without him, Price lost sleep. And now he had three of them deployed and the fourth on leave to attend his sister's wedding. And to top it all, Heather had left for a couple of days to visit one of her aunts that was unwell, and he all but felt abandoned at base.

It was stupid, of course. He had tons of work to do.

But still, he kinda missed not having to wonder what Soap had got into (or had someone come to complain about the Scot's latest experiment in the garage). Or having his daily chat with Gaz while going over the schedule for the day after the briefing. Or having Riot translate things for him that he absolutely could translate but enjoyed having her there, with her constant humming and her witty comments. Or having Simon's constant, silent and trustworthy presence at his back.

Sighing, he dropped the folder he had just signed, and opened his cigar box to get one, grumbling. Without really paying attention he cut the cigar using the cutter, and then started toasting the foot while beginning to read the next folder.

Suddenly, the fucking cigar started to make a high pitched sound and some sparkles flew from the foot he was toasting. Startled, Price rushed to put it out on what was nearest to him...

His glass with two fingers of whiskey.

He stared at the cigar as the pitiful sound died out, trying to steady his heartbeat, and with the first rational thought, he knew.

He knew.

With a calmness that he really didn't feel, Price grabbed his phone and dialed a number, and waited, his free hand balled into a fist.

''Price'' Simon's voice sounded casual, and Price could hear feminine laughter in the background, along with Soap's voice saying something he could not quite catch.

''You are a fucking bastard''

''For what, concretely?'' Oh, the bastard knew. His voice was just too non-chalant. Price could almost imagine the shit-eating grin that he knew was hidden underneath the fucking balaclava.

''Almost set my beard on fire'' He grumbled, lifting the glass to peek inside. The cigar was completely drowned, and the whiskey ruined.

''Oh, that. Yeah, payback's a bitch''

''What the fuck did I do to you?!''

''Glitter in my gloves, remember? Had to wash them four times until it disappeared'' For fuck's sake, Price could imagine Simon's sodding smug face, given his tone.

''That was two months ago!''

''Revenge is a dish served cold, old man''

''I swear to God I'll get back at you'' In spite of himself, Price rumbled a laugh, leaning back in his chair. ''You sneaky wanker''

''Bring it on'' Simon laughed. Laughed. Just that made Price's smile widen.

''How's everything in Spain? Where are you?''

''Benidorm. We're having dinner'' There was a slight pause before Simon continued talking, but his voice sounded a tad worried. ''Is everything alright? Do you need me?''

''Everything is alright, Simon. Just wanted to yell at you for almost setting myself on fire, but what pains me the most is that I wasted good whiskey putting it out''

''Pity'' Simon chuckled lightly on his end. ''Anything else?''

''Just... be careful. You take care of yourselves, alright?'' Price sighed, searching for another glass in his drawer. ''I'll be waiting for you lot to come back''

''I know'' Another silence from the other side of the line, before Simon added, calmly. ''Thank you, Price''

''You're doing good, Simon. That doesn't mean I won't prank the shit out of you the moment I have the opportunity. You better watch out''

''Do your worst''

[vermillionwinter]

Fever Dream

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian f!reader

Summary: How many chance encounters can you have before you decide fate has intertwined your threads? With the 141 on leave pending an investigation, you appear to Simon, a lighthouse in the distance calling him to safety.

Warnings: Mutual attraction, slow-burn series (our boy's got a lot of work to do), Spicy thoughts-not explicit.

Note: I haven't had the will to write like this in years, but Simon Riley has reawakened a beast, and I need to get all the words out. So, this is a very rusty piece of work, but hope y'all find some enjoyment! Tattoos are the only physical descriptions I believe. the 2nd POV's are bringing me back to middle school Quizilla days.

Quiet. Everything in Simon’s Manchester flat was too fucking quiet, and the air stagnant when he was home. And that silence gave his thoughts the freedom to creep and dance to the murkiest valleys of his subconscious. Wrapping its tarry tendrils around the very memories Simon wanted to keep locked behind the chained door, dragging them out of him to relive every excruciating moment the darkness saw fit to unleash. 

Sitting in the single chair of his small, round table, Simon could catch wafts of soil and decay wrapping him in the tight confines of the damp wooden coffin. His lungs tightened, constricting the oxygen he needed. The fear of no escape webbed its way through the calm fog the prior glass of bourbon provided. It was as if the darkness narrowed in on him, boxing him into the point of full paralysis. The arms of his chairs he gripped tightly in his fists began to transform into the feel of the corpse that once was buried with him. 

HONK!

Simon’s eyes shot open, and he took the deepest breath he could muster as his lungs got used to the feeling of a full inhale and exhale. His eyes darted around in panic taking in every detail of his barren flat. It was sparsely furnished with essentials, one of them being a bed large enough the behemoth of a man could stretch upon comfortably. As comfortable as one could get when they're accustomed to the hard ground or the scantily padded cots.  

Simon shot back the bourbon he originally poured to savor and appreciate relishing in the slow burn it made down his esophagus. What he wouldn’t fucking do to get back out on the field. 

“As soon as we're back, gents, we are boots on the ground finding these bastards. We’ll find Shepherd and every lost Shadow.”

Ghost hadn’t been deployed since he took the last shot at Hassan in Chicago- weeks have passed. Bloody fucking investigation into Shepherd’s and Shadow Company’s off book deals called that all operators on the ops related to Graves’ and Shephard’s stolen missiles had to take mandatory leave pending investigation. Shadows were still getting wrapped up for questioning. There were few still on the run. But they’d find them. They didn’t deserve the courtesy of living their lives in fear. The face of death is all they were due. 

Betrayal. Betrayal got his family killed. Got Simon Riley killed. And now good soldiers lie dead in fields, their graves forever empty; and families lie dead in the streets of Las Almas. Innocent lives taken by those he once defended, defended the 141. 

Glass shattered against the opposite wall before Simon realized he threw the blown sand from his hand. Shoulders sagged, defeated, depleted, ready to give into the quiet of his home. The benched operator stood from his chair and made his way to the shower. He’d clean the mess later. He was alone after all. Always alone. 

Simon walked through the small crowds, prolonging the journey to his destination to walk to a path he didn’t have to squeeze through a throng of people. Wisps of the fresh air sauntered over him, releasing threads of tension into the open. Easing him from looking over his shoulder and checking his surroundings more often than they stayed in front of him. To his relief, no one was following him. Venturing out into society felt like an op in its own way. Having to blend in when you lived your life in anonymity. He wore a different mask in the calm of the world. One fewer people were familiar with than the ominous mask he donned on the field.  

And Las Almas was proof of why. Shephard was a loose-end that needed to be handled yesterday, and Simon couldn’t shake off the constant feeling he would be found. Just as Roba had found him. He couldn’t very well walk around with his most distinguishing feature on full display, a beacon where to strike next. Simon had to stay vigilant. For himself, but most importantly for them. Nothing could get to them. 

Sleep was an elusive luxury Simon would not allow himself since he was dismissed on leave, not that he had the best slumber before then. Running on cat naps, caffeine and spite. The blame and guilt eating away at him, letting those bastards go unseen. And all he wanted was five minutes alone with Shepherd. Ghost wanted the ex-general begging for his life as it left his very body. 

To…

All of Simon's plans of vengeance were halted when you stepped out onto the patio of the bakery he found a form of solace in on leave- emerald lace dress billowing around your body, combat boots peaked through with each step you took. Ethereal. A goddess among man. You were divine and entrancing as you stepped lightly, despite the clunky footwear you chose. He was in the door before he could notice where you sat, but hell he found himself praying at your altar you would be in perfect view. 

La Gouter was one of the few havens Simon had found in the area. The crowd was moderate, but constant. Tea was always fresh, and the man could not resist the warm, buttery treats. Today he sat with a chocolate croissant with his black tea- two sugars, no cream. Balance. 

A book tucked under his arm, he leaned against the mural of Paris- where he had a clear view to the left, right, patio door adjacent to his table, and the entry of the cafe itself. Which also gave him the view of his tea shop muse, and a sudden warmth rushed over him when you looked towards him, eyes honing in on his eyes. Target locked. 

Looking down quickly, he cracked open the book that accompanied him. Laying there waiting to be read, to transport the reader to another realm. A world where he didn’t have to be Simon Riley. Now he could get lost in the spice filled sands of Arrakis. Simon let his eyes settle on the pages behind the orange cover. 

Twenty pages in, half the tea gone, he felt his eyes drifting again. Black nails adorned your lithe fingers-wrapped around a pen you used to write in the notebook splayed on the table. Legs shifting, the slit of your dress exposed more tattoos scattered on your smooth leg. Wouldn't it be nice to run his fingers over the lines of each piece of art that was displayed there? To feel those hands wrapped around him instead? To lay you out in front of him the way your notebook was exposed to you. Lines of intrigue covering both flesh and paper. He wanted to know the webs of thought spinning from your head to paper. The sounds your lips would release at his touches. Were they soft and airy? Low and rough?

Fuck, he shook himself from the lasvicious thoughts (swirling in his head) throwing back the rest of his tea that he dearly wished was bourbon, and left for the gate. But as he threw his trash into the bin, he had that feeling. There was an energy when eyes bore into you. Watched your every move, like you were prey. Their target . Taking in even the smallest of twitches.

Chalked it up to being on edge after Las Almas, but fuck he needed to get back to his flat now. What if Shephard had found him? Ghost had no shortage of enemies that would crave nothing more than to spill his blood. Were the others still alive? Gaz. Price. Soap. But Simon wasn't met with a bullet when he turned around to face whoever was trailing him. No. Simon found curious eyes glistening in the sun- following his every move. Down to the smallest twitch.

Simon felt his heart stutter, a catch in his throat when you flashed a disarming smile, painted in dark red. Stomach in unfamiliar knots, he froze for a moment soaking in your warmth in the moment of vulnerability. He wanted that warmth to blanket him in its softest rays. It was terribly disarming. Blinking out of his stupor, he found tantalizing eyes paired with a shy smile greeting him. But, the brute didn’t know how to respond; his mind was still in conflict. And he left without another glance in your direction, all the while wondering how someone could glow in the dull skies of London. There was enough sunlight to bathe you in its golden rays. The shimmer upon your skin was like nothing Simon had ever seen, your beauty enraptured him. 

You watched the giant of a man turn-hands shoved in his pockets-and leave the cafe, and you couldn’t help the appreciative gaze as your eyes roamed the backside of the man who stopped dead in his tracks and stared at you for an agonizingly small amount of time. Whom you had caught staring at you minutes ago. His gaze, through red lenses, overwhelmed you, a vehement aura exuding and reaching.

He was statuesque, a gargoyle in the flesh wrapped in the darkness of his fabrics, sitting at the small metal table against the bright paints of the Paris mural. You certainly appreciated the contrast. Auburn beard covered a strong jaw, but his face was mostly obscured by the black Everton cap and red lensed shades. The hoodie did little to conceal the firm bulk of his arms, broad shoulders. When he broke eye contact to read his book, shades went to his hat, but angled his face to further obscure your view. A shiver chilled you. Why was he hiding? But you didn’t let your attention linger, though you did want to. You wanted to watch him read, and immerse himself in whatever tale he was venturing through.  

In. Out. In. Out.

The mantra on loop to keep his thoughts focused. Singular. Not focused on red lips pressed against his neck. Teeth grazing a path over a protruding vein. So he ran faster. Faster. Faster, until all he could think about was how to get enough oxygen to his lungs, Lamb of God blasting through his headphones. The opening notes of Walk with Me In Hell leading him through the end of his run. Spent. Overexerted. Exactly what he needed. He’d finally sleep, and just not fucking care what happened next.

Simon released a breath he had not realized he was holding until it left him. Disappointed relief. The tea shop siren was absent from his visit. It was strange. The wanton desire to be in the presence of another being. He was used to alone. It was easier to work when you didn’t have the reminder of how many lives were in your hands. It was effective, and he was damn good at it. You had his mind in a whirlwind of confusion. Not even the women he's fucked stayed with him the way you have. You've never even said a damn word to him, and he was crumbling. Under a spell you were unaware you cast. Synthesizing his dreams to your every whim.

“Fucking Christ.” A soft growl met his ears, eyes slid toward the culprit. And there you were, just as gorgeous and warm without the infrared glow of the burning star above. Even with the snarl across your painted lips, coffee spilled in front of you as you picked up the few items you dropped. The espresso color accentuated the shape of your plush lips, and he wanted to know what the supple flesh felt like between his teeth, tongue sliding in sync with yours. And fucking hell he’s heard your voice, further fueling his mind. Simon’s base instincts were bleeding through more than he would care to admit. Like some horny school boy seeing tits for the first time. He didn’t care for it, wanted it gone. Made him feel compromised. It was consuming him in a time he couldn’t afford distractions. When could he ever?

Your morning started out shit, and seemed to become progressively shittier. You had an assignment due by midnight. The internet at your place was out, and the company had been very little help with an ETA. It had been your day off, but Deana was out with some virus her kid picked up from school and you were the lucky winner to be on rotation that week for the store. All you wanted was the comfort and warmth of a white chocolate mocha, and now that was also ruined as the caffeinated beverage seeped into the porous concrete of the patio. 

You had been set and determined to complete your assignment covering the impact commercial farming has had on the environment and global economics. Then, you saw him. Shades sat atop his same hat, the once full beard had been trimmed, hugging the shapely jaw. You liked it, so much so that you stumbled on a table, coffee slipping from your hands.

You wanted to scream, cry, kick the chair, but instead you blinked back the tears and picked the empty cup from the puddle of cream, sugar and caffeine. Feeling like a bloody idiot for being that damn distracted by a bloke you’ve not actually seen yet. If he walked around without the hate and sunnies, you’d most likely not realize it was him. But hell if the mystery wasn’t all the more enticing.

 You sighed, paying no more mind to the gargantuan on your left-dizzy from the distractions- and set your workstation. Three hours. That’s all you had before your shift at the shop.

You sat with one earbud playing music as you began cycling through your notes finding topic points and sub plots for your outline. The angelic voice of Florence Welsh guiding you through the motions of the ebb and flow of your homework routine. And deep in your concentration and will to see this task complete, you did not notice a dark figure leaving its perch. 

“Excuse me?” you looked to see one of the younger baristas standing with a coffee. “Uh…some dude ordered this for you, and wanted me to bring it out to you?” 

You quirked a brow taking the drink from the nervous kid and thanked them. When they skittered back into the building you took a look around seeing Paris missing one of its Gargoyles of Notre Dame.  A jolt of excitement warmed you when the sweet velvet flow of the caffeine hit your tongue. A perfect coffee to lift your spirits from a perfect stranger.

[bestfictionalplant]

Round 1, Group 6

Propaganda and spoilers under cut

Undergrowth: A gigantic plant monster ghost from the Ghost Zone, he wants to enslave humanity due to their destruction of nature and turn the Earth into a giant jungle paradise. He uses his mind controlling vines to enslave the citizens of Amity park. Her refers to the all the plants as his children and Danny's friend Sam, due to her being a vegetarian and environmental activist, gets special treatment among his mind controlled slaves as his "daughter", even dressing her up in a poison ivy-eque outfit and granting her similar powers to his own. Danny was only able to defeat Undergrowth after mastering his Ice Powers.  Despite hating humanity, he does not want Earth to be destroyed, and is therefore one of the many former villains that help Danny save the planet from the giant asteroid in the series finale. 

Karzahni: in the time before time, when the evil mayor impersonator makuta was planning his plan to get the little robot meat guys in their little memory-erasing containers and before he'd impersonated the mayor (i think; don't quote me; i am Not Good at the timeline) he was like "hey i should make a plant that will force these four-foot fuckers towards the big sports and politics stadium under threat of murder so i can easily get my bastard robot cops to force them into the amnesia balls" and then he made karzahni. who was too smart and cool and powerful. so he did not get deployed. he is named after the legendary Lego Hell and Lego Satan where Bad And Naughty Disabled Robots Go For "Repairs" And Never Return. it's expensive to copyright names. they had to double up on occasion. or triple up. or quadruple up. anyway so evil mayor impersonator who is also ANOTHER Lego Satan but that's besides the point, creates this plant. but the plant is too smart. so he puts it somewhere and forgets about it and makes the morbuzakh NEW PARAGRAPH anyway so basically most creatures in this universe are immortal bar murder and fucked-up circumstances. no old age, basically. but this plant has one, because Bionicle Satan (Not Karzahni) makes his shit with limited lifespans so they can't wait for ten thousand years gathering their power and then kill-murder him to death. six big robot meat superheroes fight a fucking big monster in a tunnel. the cool smart one who used to be a teacher gets poisoned. but because karzahni (plant) is so fucking cool it can make an antidote. and it holds the antidote hostage in exchange for Cool Oil, which is oil from the apocalypse planet where the robot meat guys' creators are from, but they fracked too hard and split the planet into three pieces so that's a bit fucked-up and yet besides the point. anyway they get the magic juice and give it to karzahni (plant). previously in the story (but later in the timeline; this is a TWO-YEAR FLASHBACK EPISODE BABY) some other robot meat superheroes took a dunk in this cool fucking water and got mega-boosted powers. super-superheroes. but that's because god exists and has predetermined what can happen in each individual's life. those guys got Good Results From Applied Goo. karzahni (plant) does not. it just fucking. dies. it is then chopped up to make some lorries float so they can take the amnesiac sphere guys up to a cool new island they found, because their old island got FUCKING WRECKED NEW PARAGRAPH anyway a cutting of karzahni survived (known as karzahni ii) with all the memories and shit of the real one and just sort of goes. FINE. i will join you, Lego Satan (not karzahni but the evil mayor impersonator) in gaslighting this mentally ill man into thinking he's short and his life is a lie in order to get the time travel device he made out of some magic fucking frisbees. karzahni took on the role of the morbuzakh. then the guy's like "this is bullshit" and gets thrown off a cliff but Karzahni II catches him and goes "hey. everything's alright. i tortured and killed a guy and he said you're doing good and everything is gonna be okay" and then the evil mayor impersonator (who by this point has not been impersonating the mayor for like. at least a week?) kills it. again. for real this time