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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

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To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

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

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process.

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?”

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament.

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones.

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch.

He won't. Not inwardly.

“I…” your jaw clenched.

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it.

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough.

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.”

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you.

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this.

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.”

“Exfil point?”

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job.

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand.

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look.

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed.

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different.

This was betrayal.

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights.

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil.

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig.

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?”

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.”

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?”

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him.

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth.

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up.

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back.

You wouldn’t be coming back to him.

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough.

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him.

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs.

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking.

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…”

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion.

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone.

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together.

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?”

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.”

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.”

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right.

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room.

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?”

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.”

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this.

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth.

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty.

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you.

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you.

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong.

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing.

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior.

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean?

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground.

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet.

“Trick’s in the damn building!”

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach.

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther.

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon.

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it.

But Simon had not.

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast.

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!”

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder.

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same.

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself.

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils.

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared.

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources.

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him.

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless.

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch.

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you.

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away.

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons.

You’d never be able to tell him now.

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting.

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal.

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.”

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips.

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing.

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why.

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really.

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw.

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated.

He scoffs. “Of course.”

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain.

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears.

“Let me get my knives.”

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal.

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away.

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson.

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this.

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to.

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips.

It was half your choice, after all.

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could.

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips.

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt.

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg.

You blink over at him, raising a brow.

“Looking for me, Ghosty?”

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above.

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash.

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.”

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement.

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name.

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars.

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one.

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs.

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts.

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present.

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion.

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?”

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood?

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder.

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe.

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base.

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars.

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state.

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.”

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down.

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat.

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker.

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming.

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up.

“Good.”

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.”

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal.

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.”

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles.

The slam of a body to the ground.

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline.

“Slag,” he spits.

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter.

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.”

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell.

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again.

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf.

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant.

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!”

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets.

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you.

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!”

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now.

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing.

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain.

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped.

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!”

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating.

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!”

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling.

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done.

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.”

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time.

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.”

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.”

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.”

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights.

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly.

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore.

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered.

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists.

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed.

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks.

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach.

You wanted to see Simon.

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear.

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver.

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate.

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room.

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you.

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare.

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.”

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling.

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow.

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing.

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving.

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse.

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be.

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.”

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours.

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock.

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips.

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh.

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive.

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference.

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him.

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

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moongreenlight · 10 days

Text

Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit.

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely.

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye.

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled.

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages. Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own.

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her.

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier.

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels.

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.”

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

#I'm mafia-baiting sorry #This was really just to get me back into posting my writing lol #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #price cod #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #mafia au

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thegnomelord · 4 months

Note

I love your monster au so much. It makes the monsterlover/fucker in me real happy. Sorry just wanted to share my appreciation.

I've been thinking too, how would you feel about writing a underwater sea creature reader? (No pressure but I hope this idea tickles your fancy so I'll infodump my ideas on you) They can live on land and stuff but drag their prospective mate into a deep underwater ravine when they want to mate. Idk how to describe it, like I have an idea in my head of what the creature's traits would be but I can't find a way to put it into words.

I'm going to give it a try though, (excuse the fact it won't make much sense, my thoughts jump around a lot. But I'll try and make it coherent.) Basically, my mind went to underwater dragons. So with most of the traits that you wrote for dragons, like the purring and the tails intertwining (and the sharing of scales). But I was thinking without wings, because you don't need them underwater. But we glow in the dark, because we are deepsea creatures we have adapted to become bioluminescent. Oh and also we have gills and stuff still when we are on land.

Idk if this is confusing or just something you don't want to write but I was hoping for you to include a more sfw part with the mating dance maybe and then then an actual nsfw part (dom top male reader??)

But at the end of the day this is just a suggestion and it's up to you if you want to write it or not. (If you do write it can it be with ghost or gaz?? gaz giving us shiny things but sea related, like shells? and/or ghost struggling through knowing how to court us. Both of them being confused of what to do because we are a new type of dragon that not many people knew existed and our courting traditions are mostly unknown??

Okay this is cool and it tickles my brain of having just this big fucking monster that's gigantic due to deep sea gigantism :D, I also picked Gaz cause I like the sea/sky duality.

CW:NSFW, subbot gaz, domtop Mreader, quick and rough

When you first joined the taskforce, Gaz didn't know what to expect. Your species had been newly discovered, barely any information about you, but something about you put some ancient part of his mind on edge, ants nipping on the sinew of his wings until his body begged to return to the safety of the sky.

First time he met you, you reminded him less of a dragon and more of a Leviathan — something that dwelled where the light didn't reach, far too big than anything should be allowed to be, bright bioluminescent markings shimmering against dark scales to lure prey into crushing jaws filled with sharp crooked teeth, horns like spears to pin down what couldn't fit in your maw, powerful legs built to swim and breach the surface of the water to catch unaware flyers like Gaz just to pull them down into the abyss to be devoured.

He would have been more. . . unsettled by you had you not been so nice.

You towered over him even in your mostly human form, but you were a gentle giant, happy to let him use you as a perch and humming along as he talks, joining in on his and Johnny's pranks and hiding them when Price eventually catches them.

And Gaz doesn't even notice when your presence no longer makes his feathers puff up, the shadow you cast over him now warm and welcoming after all the times you'd been a meat shield for him. He tils his head back to catch sight of your eyes as he leans back, soft feathers rubbing against your clothes, "Hey there big man." Gaz smiled.

You hum, your hand coming to loosely hold his hip, holding the pretty thing close to you. "Hi." You purr, the small biolights along your body flickering in seemingly random patterns, but nothing about them was random to you or your kin, your interest in him painfully obvious.

But to your dismay Gaz doesn't understand, just snorts at your colorful display. "What's got you in a good mood today?" He asks, eyes tracing the dancing lights, that instinctual bird part of his mind liking the sight, and the low rumble of your voice, and just. . . being near you.

You blink, "You," You say simply, your people aren't ones to mince words.

Gaz can feel his body heat up at your declaration, feathers puffing up, but strikes down any thoughts about you before they turn inappropriate and cause him to coo at you. "Fine, keep yer secrets." He huffs and gets out of your hold, wings stretching out to purposely show off his feathers as he walks away, tail feathers flickering.

He can feel your eyes follow after him, hummingbirds pecking at his spine and he doesn't know if he should feel that way. And all you can think of is how you could drag your pretty bird down into the abyss without clipping his wings.

. . .

Gaz watches you lazily swim around the lake near their current base in your real form, "Havin' a nice soak in there Nessie?" He asks as he walks the short pier and sits down, dipping his feet in the water as his wings spread out lazily behind him.

A low rumble leaves you like a distorted whale song, your large form pushing through the water like a submarine cutting through the ice. "Nessie?" You ask as swim over to him, "Who's that?"

"Never mind about that," Kyle grins, his eyes roaming along your large form as the biolights flicker once again in that specific pattern that means nothing to him but everything to you. "You look happy."

You shrug, "It's nice to be back in the water." Without a word you heave yourself out of the water and onto the pier, large hands clutching the wood on either side of him, a deep purr rumbling in your chest at how close he is to you now. "Did you need something?" You ask, biolights flickering seductively.

Kyle swallows drily, eyes going wide as he registers you loom over him, can smell the sea and salt still clinging to your scales, something other than fear buzzing down his spine from how close your dangerous teeth are to him. "Oh, right, uh," He clears his throat to clear the molasses clinging to it, wings spreading out in a way that got his feathers shining in the setting sun as he reached into his pocket.

"I, um. . . I got you this." He said, holding out the seashell he'd found for you. His breath caught in his throat as you looked at it, hoping you liked it; he'd spent hours polishing it until it was shining, the colors vibrant and every single scratch buffed out.

"Thank you," You rumbled and took the seashell into your hand. Your pupils dilated, a very pleased purr rumbling in your chest — oh, he was so thoughtful, such a good mate to bring a rare treat for you.

Kyle felt like a bloody peacock at the way his wings spread out, but he couldn't care less about his posturing when you accepted his gift, his heart fluttering like butterflies in a jar.

Then you ate it.

You ate his gift.

His heart shatters like the seashell between your fangs, wings dropping like a rock, never having expected to be rejected like that. "I- what- why did- if you-" He couldn't even form words to say what he wanted, pressing a hand to his face in an attempt to hide the way his eyes prickled with vestiges of tears.

Unfortunately for him, you notice. "Oh, little bird, what's wrong?" Your voice is soothing, biolights pulsing in a slow and calming way as you gently pry his hand from his face, looking into his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

Kyle doesn't look you in the eyes, doesn't know what the hell to feel right now, the words spewing out of his mouth before he could control them. "Why would you do that!" He hisses.

You tilt your head. "You gifted it to me." You say like it's supposed to explain everything, reaching up to cup his cheek, your clawed hand cold and wet against his skin. "It was very good." You lean in closer, a deep purr rumbling in your throat, your long tail moving to curl around his leg.

Kyle sucks in a sharp breath as you push you loom over him your hands on either sides of him keeping him in place, feeling himself slowly lay back as you creep over him onto the pier, heart drumming in his chest. "Wh-what?"

You snort, eyes glowing like anglerfish lures, lowering your head down to lick a stripe up his neck, claws raking down his front. "Let me show you my appreciation, yes?"

Kyle shivers at the sensation of your teeth against his throat, body heating up, your scent — of sea and salt and something very very old — invading his nose, an involuntary chirp escaping his chest. "Ah, yeah, sure just-" Kyle yelps as your claws cut through his clothes, wings quivering as they're pressed against the wooden pier behind him.

"Relax little bird," You coo softly, licking around his lips in what counts as a kiss for you when your maw is filled with vicious teeth, tongue trailing down to lick up the drops of his salty sweat. "I'll be gentle."

And gentle you are; softly licking up the blood after your fangs had left marks on his skin, sharp claws holding his trembling hips tenderly as your rough tongue worms inside him, soft purrs and deep rumbles vibrating your tongue against his prostate until he's sobbing, his hands clutching your horns to hold your head closer as his cock leaks a puddle of pre onto his abdomen.

He whines when you continue stretching him with your tongue, "Please, mate, just-" Kyle sucks in a sharp breath as your tongue once again grazes his prostate, thighs clenching around your head. "-just please fuck me already! I can't- I'm not going to-"

Kyle sobs with joy and anguish when you pull your tongue out, the slimy appendage slithering back into your maw and leaving him painfully empty. "Alright, alright," You coo, moving up to drape your body over his, nuzzling your cheek against his as you line your hard cock with his stretched hole. "Relax,"

The tip of your cock breaching his puckered hole has Kyle sucking in a sharp breath, "Easier said than done mate," He chuckles, closing his eyes and just trying to focus on your scent and just you, groaning. Fuck, you're big in all aspects, his body clenching down like a vice before relaxing enough for you to slowly push further, spreading his walls wide until you're fully inside him, your hips resting against his.

"There you go," You purr, letting Kyle adjust as you nibble on his neck, biolights flickering happily when he rocks his hips into yours. "Taking me so well,"

Gaz can feel his body heat up at your words, throwing his head back when you rock your hips, cock hard and heavy inside him, dragging against his walls with every minute movement that has him panting and whining, his legs crossing behind your back to pull your hips closer every time you pull out.

The world escapes your notice, all your attention fully on him as you focus on mating him, pulling needy desperate sounds from Kyle's lips, your large hand gently stroking his leaking dick as your cock rubs against his prostate, your unhurried pace making him cum again and again and again until he's a moaning boneless mess by the time you cum inside him.

#gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod smut #cod monster au #cod modern warfare #monster 141 au #monster cod au #cod mwii #cod x male reader

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ghcstao3 · 5 months

Note

Born!werewolf soap and Turned!Werewolf Simon.

Simon was turned into a werewolf during his time with Roba, tied to a man so horrible he never associated lycanthropy with anything but pain, and lack of control. It only ever reminds him of a time when he was always hungry for affection, yet violent without it. He never shifts without choosing to, and purposely ignores his needs as long as he can, until it’s debilitating.

Soap who has been a werewolf his whole life, knows his pack’s history like the back of his hand. He’s extremely attuned to his instincts, and to other wolves. It’s almost more comfortable for him to be a wolf, than go through the pain of humanities stiffness.

Them finding eachother and hurt/comfort <3

Initially, upon meeting Ghost, Soap is more than glad to finally have the opportunity to work with another werewolf, let alone one known for his skill, his precision, his deadliness—but then Soap is just as soon finding out that there's far more than meets the eye about Ghost's own condition.

Ghost, like most werewolves, was born human. There's a faint but distinct smell about him that tells Soap this, and initially, it's really no concern of his. Outside of his family, most other werewolves Soap had encountered in his life were turned at one point or another.

What separates Ghost from them, however, as Soap soon figures it out—is that Ghost never shifts. Not unless he has to, anyway. And that makes Soap curious more than anything.

Because shifting is such an integral part to being a werewolf. It's natural, freeing, and it's one of Soap's favourite things. It's a new kind of powerful that's so important and special to a werewolf, that Soap could never understand why Ghost would ever want to stave off such a thing. And being that Ghost is so tight-lipped about his own life, Soap has no idea where to begin guessing.

It isn't until months of knowing each other that Soap starts to get a hint.

The mission is tough. The team is in a tight spot, and only Soap's claws and teeth and strength aren't proving to be enough. So with a look Soap can't quite decipher, Price pleads silently with Ghost to do the one thing they all know he hates.

But because it's necessity, Ghost follows through. Soap should have clocked something was wrong in hearing pained groans and too-loud cracks of shifting bones, but he can't do anything to stop it. Can only watch as Ghost is released and begins a massacre, and Soap can only trail behind to pick off stragglers.

Once everything is said and done—it takes an hour to find Ghost, who had taken on the unfortunate task of shifting back alone, and who is discovered curled up and staring ahead at nothing in a far corner of one of the warehouses they'd been assigned to raid.

He bares his teeth when Price moves to approach him, a low growl rumbling out of his throat. Price pauses and glances back to Soap, whose hesitant attempt is met with no protest.

Huh.

That distant look still glazes over Ghost's eyes, though the fog clears ever-so slightly when his attention is called to Soap sitting beside him. Where Soap feels more alive than ever after a shift, Ghost looks... small. Afraid.

Hurt.

Soap begins to suspect the circumstances of his turning had been less than favourable, and his heart breaks with that realization.

Ghost, as touch averse as Soap has known him to be, tucks into Soap's side without prompting, leeching off his warmth and comfort while, in witnessing the scene, Price and Gaz turn and head out to meet exfil and explain the situation.

Whatever had happened to Ghost to have his shifts be this way—Soap determines then, in that very moment, that once they're back to safety and Ghost is back within himself, Soap is going to find a way to help him make peace with this inescapable part of his being. He'll find a way to turn bad into good, or neutral, at the very least, because Ghost doesn't deserve to be a stranger to himself.

Soap will take that pain away if it's the last thing he does. Because he doesn't think he could ever stand seeing Ghost so broken again.

He wraps his arms around Ghost's broad frame and lets the lieutenant bury his face in Soap's chest with a vulnerability Soap only gets to witness as a cause of animalistic instincts still not having worn off. It'll be inevitable, when Ghost comes to only to back off and shut everyone out for a little while, but for now, Soap selfishly indulges in the comfort as much as Ghost needs it.

Soap will make that pain his own, if he has to, he thinks.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Note

He's not stalking you, he's looking after you, baby

Oh, is he?

Follow You Home

Pairing: Soft!Bucky Barnes x Florist!Female Reader Summary: Bucky just wants to see you smile when he visits you at the flower shop. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: (S)talking, (c)reepy behavior, talk of (v)iolence and (d)eath, (s)exual thoughts, delusion, obsession, homeboy has issues (still love him), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Future fics for this AU will venture into (d)arker territory. Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @rookthorne. A/N: For @springdandelixn's Double-Trouble Sleepover (featuring flowers) and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Mini March Challenge ((s)talking, ribbon, plaid shirt). ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A sense of serenity and calm washed over Bucky Barnes as he walked into the flower shop. The fragrance and colors almost overwhelmed him the first time he went in, but he learned to adjust. One of the only blessings of the trauma he experienced is that he could be extremely adaptable when the occasion called for it. Now he craved the sweet scent that surrounded him.

The way he craved you.

“Hi, Bucky,” you called from behind the counter. “Right on time.”

Like when he saw you the first time, he stared at you for far too long. He was still too intrigued to care if you caught him. Unlike most people around him, you never cowered under his gaze. You always greeted him with a smile which was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Even if your smile didn’t reach your eyes today.

Still beautiful. Still mine.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a quick look around as he made his way to the counter where his flowers were waiting. “I brought you something.”

“Let me guess?” you asked, your smile still not as bright as normal. “A candy bar because I’m so sweet?”

Sweet enough to melt on my tongue.

“What gave it away?” he asked, handing it over with a small smile of his own. He could have set it on the counter, but he liked having an excuse for his fingers to brush against yours. “One day I might switch it up on you.”

“No, this is nice,” you said, sniffling. “Thank you.”

I’m reliable. Dependable.

Predictability had a way of putting some at ease. It communicated stability, safety, and security. He made sure you knew exactly what time he’d be at the shop and on which day. He always purchased the same flowers. Always brought the same wrapped candy after you commented one day that you craved it.

You'll crave me the way I crave you.

“Beautiful,” he said as he inspected the small bouquet and took a moment to steal a glance at you. Not that he needed to look over the arrangement. They were perfect every time, right down to the perfect ribbon bow to hold them together. “Mrs. Bradshaw will love them.”

Every week he bought a small bouquet of tulips for his elderly neighbor. She didn’t have many people to look out for her, so he checked in whenever he could. In some ways, she reminded him of Rebecca. Or at least what he thought Rebecca would be like if he got to see her grow up. Maybe it was why he felt the need to protect her.

He felt the need to protect you, too.

Just not from myself.

“It’s nice that you do that,” you said, ringing them up with another quiet sniffle.

“I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay?” he asked, putting the change in the small bowl by the register.

“Just not a great day,” you tried to brush off.

“Bad customer? I don’t mind taking care of them. Just tell me who,” he offered.

A man screamed at you weeks ago over the cost of flowers for his wedding. You explained that he was receiving a discount and the price was agreed upon, but it wasn’t good enough for the jerk. You threw him out after he shattered one of your vases.

Bucky shattered one of his knees.

I’m not a bad man.

“No, it wasn’t a bad customer,” you said, your eyes misty as you reached for the candy bar and changed your mind.

"You can talk to me," he urged, placing his hand on yours long enough to provide comfort without being uncomfortable. "I'm your friend, right?"

I'm actually more than that.

"Yeah," you nodded, taking a deep breayhy. “You know my boyfriend?”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment. When his slight obsession with you began, he found out everything he could. While it didn't surprise him that you had a boyfriend, it disappointed him. Especially when he discovered that he was a decent man. Always friendly when he visited the shop. Even kept your place nice and tidy when he stopped by.

It was a feat Bucky didn't break every single one of his fingers for touching you.

“Yeah, I know of him.”

“He dumped me. Through a text,” you said as more tears welled up. “Just said we were through. No explanation. When I tried to call him, he blocked me."

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice filled with sympathy as he grabbed a pack of tissues from his jacket pocket.

"My stuff was in a box this morning, waiting in front of my door," you went on. "I thought things were going great between us. Not too fast or too slow, but I guess I was wrong. Maybe he was seeing someone else."

"If he was, he's an idiot,” he said, itching to walk around the counter to hug you. It broke his heart to see you upset. “They can't see someone as perfect as you when they have you right in front of them.”

“I’m not perfect,” you argued, dabbing your eyes with the tissue. “Look at me. I’m crying in the middle of the shop.”

“You’re perfect to me,” he said.

In every way.

"Thanks, Bucky. You've always been very kind."

“It’s the other way around,” he said, clearing his throat. “And I appreciate it more than you know.”

Because of Bucky’s past, he did his best to blend in most days. As a man forced to do bad things against his will, the truth behind his actions didn’t matter to some. They had their minds made up about him and would never trust him because of what he did.

Do people feel better by making me a villain?

But one day, while he was out trying to make amends, he spotted you helping a homeless man on the sidewalk. He had seen him before. Most passed him without a second glance, but you crouched down and checked on him. You even gave him a bit of food you had on you and some money.

“I wish I could give you more, but that’s all I have,” you said.

The man nearly cried with gratitude. No one else cared, but you did. That was when you spotted Bucky looking your way. He could avoid being seen if he wished, but part of him wanted you to notice him. If you recognized him, in a good or bad way, you didn’t show it. You merely smiled, gave him a friendly nod, and walked on.

As if you hadn’t changed his life.

Bucky didn’t mean to follow you at first, but he had to make sure you got to wherever you were going safely. He didn't want anything bad to happen to you. Besides, a gaze between the two of you wasn't enough to leave him satisfied. Once he squashed his curiosity and made sure you were okay, he thought he’d leave you be.

He was wrong.

The second he walked into the shop and saw you again, he knew you had to be his.

“You’re caring and strong. You deserve kindness and respect,” he told you, wondering if the depths of his feelings showed in his eyes. “Someone who will love and cherish you for who you are.”

“I might cry again,” you smiled.

It reached your eyes this time.

“I’m just glad you’re smiling again,” he said. It would be beautiful to wake up to it each day. He was going to make that happen.

“Is it okay if I ask for a hug?”

“Sure,” he said, opening his arms.

You moved around the counter and leaned into him with a sigh. He smiled as he held you, feeling a warmth inside of him that he hadn’t felt since before he met you. He imagined many times how he’d make you shiver with need once he had his hands on you and it took strength not to stretch you out on the counter.

Just like it took him strength not to touch you in your home.

Watching wasn’t enough. It never was. He’d have you in his bed soon.

Where you belong.

“It’s probably for the best. I think he was stealing some of my panties,” you said against his shoulder before you gasped. “Oh, my god! I shouldn’t have told you that. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky loved the feel of your satin underwear around his cock. It was easy to imagine how wet they’d be against your pussy as he teased you. Not that you’d wear underwear much once he had you. Maybe he’d keep you in one of his Henley’s. Or a plaid shirt so he could rip it open. Or little sundresses so he could push them up around your hips.

So many options.

“Don’t be sorry,” he smiled when you kept your face hidden. “I’m glad you’re comfortable with me.”

As you should be.

“Thank you, Bucky,,” you said, lifting your head and gazing at him. "You're a good guy."

"I'm trying to be," he whispered, holding you a bit tighter before he let you go.

If anything, he'd be good to you.

"Here," you said as you pulled away and grabbed the largest red rose in the shop. “You should find someone special to give this to. I think they’d be very lucky.”

“Yeah, I think I will,” he said as a couple walked through the door. “I should let you help them. Is it okay if I see you tomorrow? Just in case you need a friend."

"I'd like that," you smiled.

"I'll see you later then," he smiled back.

“Bye. Thanks again."

Bucky left the rose next to the candy bar when you weren't looking and walked out the door with his tulips in hand. He’d have to explain to Mrs. Bradshaw that he’d be moving shortly. His new home was ready. A place outside of the city. Quiet. Secluded.

Perfect for the two of you.

Bucky was going to take great pleasure in the two of you christening every room of the place. He'd even fill the rooms with roses and other flowers to show how special you are. You deserved beauty in your home.

He frowned when he suddenly thought of your tears. Your now ex-boyfriend hadn't seen him coming. As much as part of him hated that he ever touched you, had been inside you, he didn't want to cause an innocent man pain. Not when his only crime was that he wanted you.

I just wanted you more.

He almost felt guilty for sending the text and blocking your number. He felt even worse when he remembered how the light left his eyes. That feeling went away when he boxed up your things. It had to be done.

No one would find the body.

Maybe I am a villain, but I'll be your hero, too.

Once Bucky saw you home safely tonight, he’d wait until after midnight to make his move. He did say he'd see you tomorrow. He’d show you how easy it is to break into your place undetected and bring you to your new home. A place where he could keep you safe from a world that didn’t deserve your kindness.

He didn’t have a choice or control over his life in years past, but he did now. He chose to take back control. To begin again.

Starting with you.

And who better to love and protect you than the former Winter Soldier?

You'll love your new home, right? Bucky thinks so. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #soft!dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x florist!reader #rolling into spring writing challenge #roosminimarch #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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lialacleaf · 9 months

Text

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 6

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited… Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Simon was struggling for the days following his return. You could tell that he was trying his best not to be a stick in the mud.

He’d been spending an awful lot of time in his shed, and you’d seen two new furniture additions to the house since his return.

You’d tried to pull him out of his head, getting him to bake bread with you in the kitchen, but despite his outward smile you could tell he was drowning.

It all came to a head while you and Moonbeam were sitting on the carpet in front of the Christmas tree.

Simon came to stand in front of you, a somber look on his face, and your smile faltered.

“Do you wanna talk?” You asked softly, patting the space beside you. You noted the large, orange envelope in his hands, and the duffel bag on his shoulder, and you tilted your head questioningly. Surely he wasn’t going on a mission. You hoped Price had the good sense not to send him out right now.

“I did something wrong,” he began. “I…I fucked up y/n.” Your jaw went slack, and you stood to your feet. “I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep lying to you.”

He held out the duffel bag, and you accepted it with a wary gaze, setting it on the coffee table beside you.

You opened it slowly, the zipper catching a few times, and tried not to wince at the smell of his sweaty gear.

He just stared at you, this most agonized expression you’d ever seen in his eyes. “Simon,” you began as you emptied out the contents of the bag, but you froze when your fingers met hard plastic.

You pulled the object out, staring into the familiar faceplate sewn into a balaclava. You held your breath for a moment, eyes flicking between him and the mask.

There was no Tommy. No Lieutenant Ghost. Only Simon Ghost Riley. Your husband.

“You…you were him. This whole time?” You asked, standing up at him. It made sense. Simon Riley was dead. He was a Ghost.

“I’m sorry. M’ so sorry. I just wanted to help, and you were begging me to do something, I didn’t know what else to do-“

“You lied to me,” you whispered, eyes narrowing at him. You’d always known that he’d married you out of pity, that he’d felt somehow responsible for your position, but you didn’t realize it was because he was there. “Why would you do that? Am…am I a joke to you? You hated me-“

“No,” he said firmly. “I loved you, I loved you for a long time.”

“Then why didn’t you say that? Why lead me to believe that you were two different people! You made me feel worthless that day in the mess, why would you do that?”

Simon flinched as you raised your voice. “I…I was wrong to do that. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me from what, Simon?” You seethed.

He gulped. “From…Ghost.”

You punched the bridge of your nose. “What does that even mean?”

“Ghost isn’t a good person. He hurts people. He’s a stone-cold killer. He’s the worst part of me. You wouldn’t have been able to love Ghost,” his voice wavered, and you closed your eyes, biting your lip.

“I already loved Ghost,” you whispered, not daring to open your eyes. “You didn’t need to lie to me, Simon.”

He had tears in his eyes when you opened your own, and there was a bitter frown on his face. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I fucked this up. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he shook his head.

You frowned deeply, crossing your arms over your chest. Ghost was your husband. You had married Ghost, and he’d lied to you about it. “You always do this,” you mumbled angrily. “I spent three years working my ass off on that task force, and you sidelined me the entire fucking time, and now you’re telling me you loved me, but you wanted nothing to do with me, so you just…became a different person? A version of you that didn’t even exist anymore?”

Simon was silent for a moment, before a choked sob left his lips. “I didn’t think there was anything good left in me until you came along,” he began. Your eyes softened slightly at his words. “For the first time in a long time I felt like Simon wasn’t completely gone, and I thought maybe you could bring him back but…Simon isn’t strong enough to deal with all the shit that Ghost does. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better for you.”

He held out the envelope, and you accepted it with a wary glance at his tear stained face.

The deed to the property, the keys to the truck, and a substantial amount of cash sat nestled inside. “Simon?” You asked in a warning tone.

“You didn’t sign up for this. You married Simon, not Ghost, and I…I can’t be just Simon for you.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “Oh hell no, you are not getting out of this that easily.”

He tilted his head at you in pure confusion, and you resisted the urge to slap him. “I don’t want your fucking house, or your car, or your money! I want you to fix this!” You seethed.

“I-I’m trying-“

“No. You made a mistake and you’re trying to run away from it because you’re afraid I won’t accept you if you’re not perfect! Get over yourself, Simon! I’m not perfect! I lied to my parents about my job, which sure as hell isn’t as bad as this mess, but it still wasn’t right.”

“You don’t want me to leave?” He asked softly, and you took a deep breath.

“No.”

“But you’re angry with me.”

“Fucking furious,” you agreed.

“I…don’t understand.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Simon. I just need you to be willing to stand beside me.”

You set his farewell package on the table, and took his hand in yours.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

“You can start by telling me how the hell you got into this Ghost mess, and then you can promise me you’re never gonna lie to me again,” you demanded.

Simon’s eyes locked with your own, and he felt his breath catch. There was a fire blazing in your eyes, and he realized that you, for as fragile and small as you were, you were nothing like his mother. You were strong, and resilient. You were powerful in your own, special way. And you were giving him a second chance.

“I’m so sorry,” he began. “I’m so, so sorry, y/n.” I did a terrible thing, I tricked you, and I never should have done that.”

You nodded in agreement, settling your hands on his shoulders. You were angry with him, and hurt by what he’d done, but you still loved him, and despite his actions, you didn’t doubt that he loved you. It was a sobering thought. The mighty Ghost, on his knees begging for a woman’s forgiveness.

“I was just a kid when I joined the army, I had to get out of my mum and dad’s house, he did awful things to us that I have no business making someone as good as you listen to,” he said. “My brother became an addict, and I had to leave for a while to get him straight. He got married, had a kid, and things were fine so I went back in, started doin’ private work, and then shit hit the fan. I was held hostage for months, and when I finally made it out they hunted me down…” he trailed off, his breathing going ragged as he recounted the events.

“They found your family,” you finished, gently stroking wet cheeks. He looked up at you in surprise, and you bit your lip. “I read the obituaries,” you explained.

“You knew?” He asked in disbelief, and you nodded. “And you didn’t figure it out?”

You frowned, looking at your feet as you were unable to meet his gaze. “I thought Tommy was Ghost,” you admitted, and Simon’s shoulders tensed beneath your fingers. You could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t like the thought of that one bit.

“Simon,” you said softly, bringing his attention back to you. “Promise me you’ll never lie to me,”

“I swear on my mum’s grave,” he rasped as you cupped his cheeks.

“Promise me you’re not gonna try to be someone you’re not.”

His lower lip twitched and his jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I promise.”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you pulled him against your chest as you buried your nose in his dirty blonde hair.

“They buried me alive,” he said all of a sudden, and you blinked in confusion.

“What?” You asked in horror.

“They buried me with another man’s body and I dug out with his jaw bone. That’s why they call me Ghost.”

You stared at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw, before blinking away your momentary lapse. “Is that why you don’t like sleeping under the blanket?” You asked.

He nodded like a scolded child and you let out a long sigh, squeezing him tightly. You were going to get this man into therapy if it was the last thing you did.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “I don’t deserve this.”

“That’s not how love works, Simon,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. “And I’m still pretty mad at you,” you grumbled.

“I’ll take it,” he murmured against your shoulder. “Y/n,” he said softly, standing to his full height. “You can’t tell anyone who I am. Not your family or your friends-“

“I get it. It’s between you and me,” you said, and he nodded.

“You and me.”

AN: it’s not done yet I promise, plenty more to come~ you all thought she was gonna find out on her own~ SIKE~ the guilt was just gonna eat him alive until it broke him. You’ve been cordially invited to cry.

Tag list: Thanks for your support you guys!

@warenai @livynicole @ghostlythots @hilowhiho @mrmountainman @miamia89 @shiraya92 @crocodilefeet2707

@zzariyahchan @gaida-511 @misshoneypaper @soldierlass @dazaiscum @mockerycrow @kaysav608 @classygardencroissantcolor @innerskylover @kristalhi @hotaruteba @tzutology @sushiumex @l3xiluve @immajustlikeok

@iplayghoul @linoskitten11 @zollaris @whore-for-anime @migeuloharaslxt @blog-luvdance @embermdk @buttercupmuffins

@corpsebridenightamare @15382663884 @discowizard88 @strawberryjambrrread @lieblinqs

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you

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qtboni · 9 months

Text

╰﹒ 𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 !

PAIRING: Captain 'John' Price X Reader

OVERVIEW: John craves warmth and safety, which he finds whenever he comes to you, the person he loves <3 Based on this request .

C/W: Entirely fluff w/ comfort + kissies and huggies <//3

W/C: 980 bubs

"Been raining hard lately, hm?"

The sweet aroma of the hot chocolate filled the air, making the cold humid night more bearable. The pat-pat pouring rain outside your home was nothing but a cozy background noise. As you handed John the hot cocoa, you heard him take in a deep breath, filling his lungs with its rich scent. You smiled, feeling comforted by the small gesture of love you had just done for him.

"It certainly has," he replied, taking a sip of the piping hot liquid and sighing as the warm liquid seeped into his body. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"Anything for you," you whispered to him. As you sat down beside him and leaned your head against his shoulder, a pair of lips brushed against the top of your head in a gentle kiss. You shyly smiled and stole a glance at him, only to shy away again when you saw him gazing at you.

"You're staring..." you stammered. clearly embarrassed, you opted to bury your head deeper into the sweater you were wearing. But before you could do so, he gently took hold of your chin and turned it toward him. With his thumbs, he caressed your cheeks softly, his eyes locked on yours as he spoke in a soft, loving voice.

"You're glowing, my love," he smiled at your blossoming cheeks as he gave a peck to your nose. "How could I not?"

The touch of his fingers on your chin and cheeks was like a feather's caress against your skin. The warmth of his words and the intimacy of the moment left you feeling both flustered and comforted. The love he had for you was evident in the tenderness of his touch, and you couldn't help but melt in his arms.

"I'm just glad to see you're safe," you said, nuzzling closer to him, feeling the heat rising between the two of you. "Smiling and cozy at most, John. You deserve this, that you deserve a hot cocoa, aye?"

He chuckled softly in response and pulled you closer. You couldn't help but to giggle when he rubbed your noses affectionately together.

"John!" You playfully whined at him, giggles and chuckles falling out of your lips that made him even soft for you. You wrapped your arms around him to stable yourself, feeling as if you were going to melt into a puddle. Really, you were just yearning more of his warmth touch.

John leaned closer and left soft, tender kisses on the edge of your lips. His gaze was filled with love and affection, his cheeks flushed with excitement. He finally kissed your lips, slowly and softly like cotton, taking his time and enjoying every moment. Your lips were soft and supple under his, and you felt the butterflies in your stomach fluttering with joy.

You felt the softness of his beard on your face, tickling your chin. You could feel John's gentle touch on your face, his lips tasting sweet on yours. You reached out your arms and pulled him close to you, wanting to feel his warmth.

Your breathing was slow and steady, as John held your lips in his, enjoying every moment of this tender and passionate moment. With both of your eyes closed, he leaned his forehead to yours, his warm breath brushing your blossoming cheeks.

"What I don't deserve, my love, is you." he muttered under his breath, carressing your cheeks. "I don't know what I did to deserve such an angel like you."

"Oh, John..." you uttered, your voice filled with affection and tenderness as you slowly opened your eyes. Your gaze met his, and you cradled his head in your chest. You felt your heart swell with love and joy as you embraced him.

"You didn't do anything, my sweet," you replied softly as you ran your hands through his hair with tenderness and affection. "I chose you because I love you for who you are, not for what you've done. I love you, John."

"And I will never stop loving you," he replied as his eyes were filled with love and affection. He nuzzled closer to you, craving your warmth and your affection. "When I look at you, when I'm with you, I feel... I feel like I'm home. That I'm with the person I truly belong with," he brushed a strand of hair away from your face and wiped your tears away gently. "You're my home, and I'm glad you love me too."

He rested his head and body in your arms, feeling safe and loved as the two of you shared a tender moment in a world filled with dangers and uncertainties.

He continued, whispering lovingly to you, "I'm so happy to be yours."

This was enough to make your heart swell and flutter, the warmth of his confession melting away any hesitations you might've had. Your love for John growing deeper as you realized you truly belonged to him and that he truly belonged to you, both of you each other's home and shelter from the world's storms and troubles.

"I love you," you shakingly replied with your eyes welled with tears as you took in his sweet words and heartfelt confessions. You cuddled him closer, giving a peck at his forehead. "God, I love you so much."

To John, your warmth and affection meant more than the world's battles and difficulties. Like a soldier weary from war, he came back to you again and again, seeking your comfort and safety. In your arms, where he belonged, he savored the peace and joy you brought into his life.

You were his home. And as the Captain, John led his team and fought valiantly for days. But as your beloved captain, he ran into your arms seeking your love and affection every night.

You were John's, and John was yours. He couldn't be anymore happier.

A/N: there's one scene that was inspired by a pinterest writing prompt i saw on my feed the other day and i wanted to credit the author (who came up with the "you're staring" "you're glowing" stuff) but couldn't find the pin anymore :(( if anyone knows, pls lmk !

navi / masterlist !

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milf-murdock · 4 days

Note

Hi!! I love love love your writing! Especially your 141!Reader series <3 I don't know if you take requests, but your last post about Simon and baby Joseph made me so angsty and I would love to read more angst from you. Could you please write about Simon thinking 141!Reader was KIA on a mission? Thank you!!!

Anon....who....who hurt you???? I’m kidding 😆 mostly 👀 But for real, this one HURT. Like. OUCH. This man has been through so fucking much…but let’s put him through a bit more 😈😈😈 also, I did very much hurt my own feelings with this one. So I’m thinking we might need a part two reunion because I don’t know if I can leave our Ghosty boy in shambles like this

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The rain patters against the window in a steady rhythm.

Simon watches the fat raindrops roll down the small window pane, one foot anxiously tapping against the concrete floor. He didn’t know why he was called to Price’s office, but there was an ominous charge to the air. Call it a premonition, or maybe an instinct, but he knew in his bones that something was wrong.

The click of the door handle pulls Simon from his thoughts as Price enters the office, a heavy silence filling the air.

“What’s happened?” Simon's voice has a hard edge to it, cutting straight through the bullshit. Watchful eyes appraise every detail of Price’s body language, and Simon notes the deep sunken look of his captain’s eyes accentuated by a somber expression.

Price avoids Simon's gaze, staring down at the oak desktop before him as he takes a seat. The captain wasn’t one to mince words or beat around the bush, but even he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation despite his many years in the service.

Simon's heart hammers in his chest, every second in the unknown feeling like an eternity. This isn’t right, he thinks to himself.

Price steels himself with a deep inhale, pulling his gaze from the desk to face Simon head on, looking past the mask, speaking to the man he knew laid beneath.

“I wanted you to hear this from me, son. You…deserve to hear this from me.”

Simon stops breathing.

With practiced determination, Price continues his speech, having rehearsed the words in his head the entire walk down to his office.

“Reconnaissance mission, Operation Blackout, suffered multiple casualties after a long-range detonation by enemy action. There’s been no contact with the team, and rescue attempts were unsuccessful due to the extensive damage caused by the explosion. All team members are presumed KIA. The official course of action…”

The rest of Price’s speech is drowned out by the dull roar in Simon’s ears; his blood runs cold, his rigid body barely breathing.

This can’t be happening. Not again. Never again.

Simon's thoughts grip him by the heart, squeezing painfully.

I can’t do this again.

He had already lost everyone once. Had built impenetrable walls, designed to protect him from this type of pain.

But you. You and your goddamn charm, and your soft smiles, and your relentless fucking attitude. You broke down those walls brick by brick, made Ghost–no, made Simon– feel more like a man than he had in years. You slipped past his ironclad defenses and took his heart without him even realizing it.

And just when he had finally opened up, just when he had finally convinced himself that maybe he could be happy–that you could be happy together. It all came crashing down.

In the distance, Ghost could hear shouting. A chorus of denials piercing the air, heavy ragged breaths filling the silence between.

A heavy hand fell on Ghost's shoulder and he found himself back in his body, looking up at Price, voice raw.

With a stark realization, Ghost realizes it was him. He was the one shouting, the one gasping for breath.

The world tilted out from under him.

____________

Ghost left Price’s office a different man–a mere shell of the man who entered. With every step he took, he felt himself slipping further and further into the familiar safety of Ghost, an unpierceable facade moving through the world.

Everything felt wrong. Every step. Every breath. He felt like he was moving underwater, every action taking twice the effort it should.

The next few hours pass in a blur. The official order that he was being sent on leave. The ensuing argument with Price over the orders. He eventually just gave up. Leave, no leave, it didn’t fucking matter.

None of it fucking matters.

Johnny tries to see him before he leaves, meeting Simon on the tarmac. He tries to be there for his lieutenant, his friend.

The red rim around Johnny’s eyes reminds Simon that he wasn’t the only one who had lost you. They had all lost you. But even that which should have been a comfort, a sort of kinship in the grief, meant nothing. Simon didn’t give a singular fuck. He turned away from Johnny mid-speech, leaving the Scotsman to sit in his grief alone as he watched Ghost disappear into the aircraft.

____________

It takes every ounce of strength Ghost has to make it through the flight. To make it through the drive back home. To make it through that door.

Keep it together, soldier. Don’t you dare fucking lose it, Simon Riley. Just a bit longer.

His belongings crash to the floor as the door slams shut behind him. He doesn’t even bother turning on the light, instead using the faint glow of the moonlight through the curtains to guide him to the cabinet.

Ghost pulls the bottle of bourbon from its resting spot, not even bothering with a glass as he pulls off the corked top and takes a hearty swig.

The burn of the liquid is invigorating, filling Ghost with a quiet simmering fire.

He takes another drink. And another.

He walks through the flat in a daze, the amber liquid dulling his senses, sending him even deeper into the haze of his grief.

Ghost finds himself in front of his dresser, staring at the wooden drawers.

Taking another drink, he steels himself as he yanks open the top drawer. Rummaging beneath the pile of socks and t-shirts, Ghost digs out the small velvet box. He grips it tight in his hand, the small object groaning in protest as waves of rage and pain overtake Ghost, threatening to pull him under. Hot tears slide down his face, but he doesn’t even notice.

With a roar he throws the velvet box across the room, the impact fracturing the drywall. Ghost’s knees go out from under him and he crashes to the floor, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. There would be no repairing this. No amount of time could heal this type of heartbreak.

You were dead.

And as far as Ghost was concerned, Simon Riley died with you.

#y'all I'm so sorry this one HURT #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost riley

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sagewritings · 5 months

Text

Silent Rebel - Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

pairing: young coriolanus snow x female reader

synopsis: despite being raised in the capitol among individuals driven by a thirst for power and violence, your desire to reform the system grew stronger with time. upon graduating, you swiftly initiated your plans for change. however, executing these plans becomes a challenge when you accidentally catch the vigilant gaze of coriolanus snow.

word count: 1.5k

warnings/tags: mentions of death and violence

a/n: hello everyone! it’s been a while since i’ve posted here on my blog because of college and as an apology, i’m posting 2 fics for yall! i just recently watched the ballad of songbirds and snakes and i haven’t stopped thinking about tom blyth since then. also i’m thinking of rewriting this fic into something longer and more detailed so lmk what you think :>

the other fanfic is about finnick odair so if you’d like to check that out (as well as my other works) you can check the pinned post in my blog :)

i hope you’ll like this one! happy reading!

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

The Capitol's grandeur stretched like an unending expanse under the perpetual sun, casting shadows that danced across its facade. Coriolanus Snow, now a phoenix risen from the ashes of exile, bore the scars of Doctor Gaul's mysterious experiments that had purged him, or so it seemed, of the rebellion's cunning influence. Yet, as he trained meticulously for the position of game maker, a new hunger for power gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

You, on the other hand, have come from one of the wealthiest Capitol families. Freshly graduated from the prestigious university, your eyes were pried open to the injustices perpetrated by the annual Hunger Games. To you, the ritual appeared not only senseless but also a gruesome spectacle, a parade of innocent children's demise for the Capitol's entertainment.

Motivated by an unquenchable desire for change, you secured employment under Coriolanus Snow, tasked with a covert and life-threatening mission: gather evidence of the heinous atrocities committed during the Games and expose them to the oblivious citizens of the Capitol and the oppressed districts.

Months passed, and you meticulously documented the games' ruthlessness. Coriolanus, a master tactician, did not have trouble sensing what you were trying to do.

One day, as you compiled the thick notes in your small office, the door groaned open. There stood Coriolanus Snow, an unreadable expression painted across his face.

"What are you doing?" he inquired, his voice rigid and steady.

You looked up, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. "Just routine work, sir. Managing the games."

Coriolanus's eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam piercing through them. "I know what you're up to, Y/n. Trying to expose the Games, reveal the injustices. I won't allow it."

Panic set in, but you skillfully maintained a calmed image. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Leaning in, his voice now a menacing whisper, Coriolanus intoned, "I suggest you reconsider your actions. If you persist, your family will pay the price. I have ways of ensuring they suffer."

Fear seized your heart. The safety of your family became an immediate concern, and the thought of their potential harm under Coriolanus's influence was unbearable. Reluctantly, you nodded, silently acknowledging the looming threat.

Months passed and you continued your subversive work under the hawk-like gaze of Coriolanus Snow. The ledger of injustices stacked up, the ruthlessness of the games meticulously detailed in your notes. Yet, the weight of your silence became increasingly drowning.

As the Reaping ceremony for the 11th Hunger Games approached, a tidal wave of anger surged within you. The oblivious citizens of the Capitol reveled in the spectacle while innocent lives were put on the line. A few more cheers and praises, and you could no longer contain the seething rage within.

In the climax of the ceremony, as the tributes' names echoed through the theater, you erupted and aimed your anger at the nearest individuals. "This is senseless! You're all cheering for the deaths of children! Have you no humanity left?"

The Capitol citizens stared, a cocktail of shock and disdain painted on their faces. Coriolanus Snow, observing from a calculated distance, felt a spark of intrigue. The fire in your eyes ignited something within him—a curiosity that cut through the cold layers encasing his soul.

Post-ceremony, he summoned you to his office. The air was thick with tension as you entered, unsure of the impending reckoning.

"What was that outburst?" he demanded, his gaze penetrating your very core.

You took a deep breath, the ember of anger still smoldering beneath the surface. "I can't stand by and watch the Capitol revel in the deaths of innocent children. It's inhumane, and I won't be part of it any longer."

Coriolanus regarded you with a calculating gaze, his mind working overtime to decipher the emotions playing across your face. In that moment, the power dynamic between you shifted. You, once submissive under the weight of fear, now stood before him with a resolve that both intrigued and unsettled him.

Days stretched into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Coriolanus found himself studying you closely. The once compliant heiress had become a thorn in his side, yet there was an inexplicable allure in the fire that blazed within your eyes. The darkness within him, even for a fleeting moment, softened as he observed the sincerity in your actions.

One evening, as the Capitol vibrated with anticipation for the 12th Hunger Games, Coriolanus sought you out. The ensuing conversation was unlike any that had transpired before.

"You're different," he remarked, his tone almost conversational.

You met his gaze, a cocktail of defiance and exhaustion mirrored in your eyes. "Maybe I am. Maybe the Capitol needs to change."

Coriolanus chuckled, the sound laced with a bitter edge. "Change? In the Capitol? That's wishful thinking, Y/n.”

Yet, as the night wore on, an unexpected camaraderie developed between you and Coriolanus. The formidable walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, if only for a fleeting moment. The bitterness that had defined him gave way to a vulnerability he hadn't allowed himself to embrace in years.

In the days leading up to the Hunger Games, you found yourself trapped in a delicate dance with Coriolanus Snow. The man who had once blackmailed you now grappled with his own internal demons, and you became an unwitting witness to a facet of him that few had glimpsed.

As the new set of tributes entered the arena, you couldn't shake the weight that settled in your heart. The Capitol's insatiable appetite for violence, the games transformed into a grotesque tradition—each element bore down upon you. The arena, symbolic of despair, stood as a stark reminder of the darkness entrenched within the very fabric of the Capitol.

In a rare moment of solitude, Coriolanus found you gazing out of a window. His presence, once a source of terror, now felt oddly reassuring.

"You're not the only one questioning the system," he confessed, his voice a low murmur.

You turned to him, surprise evident across your features. "What do you mean?"

Coriolanus sighed, weariness etched into the lines of his face. "The Hunger Games, the Capitol's insatiable hunger for power—it's all a game. A game that consumes everyone, even those who believe they're in control."

The vulnerability in his words resonated with you, a shared understanding of the stifling reality enveloping the Capitol.

As the Games unfolded, the brutality played out on screens across the Capitol. The once-deafening cheers now echoed hollowly. The tributes' struggles, their pain, became a haunting reminder of the cost of the Capitol's insatiable appetite for entertainment.

In a quiet moment between you and Coriolanus, as the tributes faced insurmountable challenges, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "Maybe you're right. Maybe there's no purpose in this. But what can we do? The Capitol thrives on its own cruelty."

The admission caught you off guard. Coriolanus Snow, the orchestrator of the Games, seemed to accept a truth he had long suppressed.

Days turned into nights, and the 12th Hunger Games concluded with the predictable exhibition of victory and defeat. The Capitol moved forward, its citizens eagerly anticipating the next spectacle. However, within the very heart of the Capitol, a subtle shift had transpired.

Coriolanus Snow, once engulfed by an uncontrolled hunger for power, found himself ensnared in a complex dance with you. The darkness that had defined him wavered, if only momentarily, in the face of a reality he could no longer avoid. As the Capitol plunged into preparations for the next set of Hunger Games, you and Coriolanus navigated a precarious balance.

In a clandestine moment, away from prying eyes, Coriolanus spoke, his voice bearing a trace of sincerity. "You've made me question things, Y/n. The Games, the Capitol—I can't escape the truth anymore."

You regarded him with a mix of astonishment and skepticism. "And what does that mean for you?"

Coriolanus sighed, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "I don't know. But I can't keep playing this game. There has to be a way to change things, even if it's just a little."

The admission lingered in the air, a fragile acknowledgment of a truth long concealed. The Capitol, with its gilded exterior, appeared less invincible in that fleeting moment.

As the days unfolded, Coriolanus Snow embarked on a path unforeseen, diverging from the relentless pursuit of power. The Hunger Games, once a symbol of his ascension, now stood as a haunting reminder of the darkness that permeated the Capitol.

The journey had merely commenced, and the road ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty. Within the intricate tapestry of power and rebellion, a spark of humanity flickered. The man who had once manipulated you had begun to question the very system he had upheld.

As you and Coriolanus confronted an uncertain future, the foundations of the Capitol quivered. The dance between power and resistance persisted, and within the very heart of the Capitol, a nuanced revolution commenced subtly.

The Capitol, with its towering structures and glittering facade, stood as both a testament to opulence and a stark reminder of the shadows lurking beneath.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games #young coriolanus snow #tbosas #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #president snow

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shadow4-1 · 4 months

Text

Getting Drunk Imagines w/ the 141 Boys + Alejandro, Rudy, & König (SFW)

I was getting drunk for my besties birthday, and at the bar I was hit with the idea. What would it be like to get drunk with these guys one on one?

Tags: Light kissing, romantic undertones, no smut. (MDNI, this is still 18+ content imo)

Captain Price:

It was a night of liberty that he, unfortunately, wasn't allowed to enjoy himself. He had too many reports to write and a multitude of things to prepare for. Laswell was breathing down his neck, and by God, was there nothing worse than that.

He eyed the team group chat with a sigh, watching as the boys drunkenly sent nigh illegible messages to each other. He'd wanted to join them at the bar, some lil' hole in the wall place with decent enough booze and decent enough eye candy. But he couldn't. He was a Captain, and he had responsibilities.

There was a knock at the door. He was annoyed at the prospect of being torn away from his already time intensive work. This impromptu meeting would be cutting into whatever free time he might get tomorrow. Despite his annoyance, he opened the door to invite the guest in. Huh, it was you. Weren't you supposed to be out with the boys and under the watchful eye of Ghost?

He raised a brow as you sheepishly, sank into the seat before him. Your body seemed more relaxed than usual. He rested his head on his hands and watched as you tried to make yourself as small as possible in the rather large office chair. Before he could question you, Soap barged into the office, out of breath and excited. He asked if Price had seen you, not even bothering to glance over the tall back of the chair. No, no he hadn't. With that, Soap was gone, and Price had questions.

You shrugged and admitted that you had asked Soap to bring you back to base for a "forgotten phone" only to ditch him. You loved the boys, so much. But as of lately, they had been getting too rowdy for your tastes. You much preferred a quiet, more relaxed environment to drink.

Priced hummed and sat back in his chair. He asked if you liked bourbon. You shrugged. He offered you a glass of some. You agreed.

The night went on. The two of you conversed about a multitude of things. Some of them were work related, but some were more personal. The two of you bonded over a shared interest in countryside life, the logistics, and how you wanted to set up a self-sustaining lifestyle. You both found yourself laughing and drinking even more. Eventually, the decently filled bottle had been emptied out. You covered your mouth in a display of shock. You two had done that?

Price couldn't help himself. He laughed, loud and boisterous. He couldn't remember the last time his belly ached with such amusement. The word escaped from his lips without him thinking.

"Cute."

Cute? You clammed up but he could tell it was a certain type of shyness. It brought him back to a memory of his first girlfriend in primary school. They'd held hands and pecked shyly away from the prying eyes of other people. The office was warm and secluded. During the conversation, you'd moved closer to him. You were only an arms length away.

You called his name. Something about the way you said it was too much for him. He cupped your jaw and kissed you senseless. All logic, all common sense was damned as he licked across your tongue.

Lieutenant Riley:

You weren't stupid. You knew that this was an honor very few, if any would be afforded. You tried to keep your eyes off of the very few belongings he did have within his quarters.

A sickness had broken out across the base your team was stationed at. It wasn't deadly, just a contagious strain of the flu. Despite being vaccinated, the bug was still going around. All of the other boys, including Price, had fallen ill. As the team's field medic, you'd wanted to help them, but everyone fought against it. You couldn't get sick. It'd jeopardize everyone's safety on the field. Meanwhile, because of the many layers he wore, Lieutenant Riley was also unaffected.

You were dying to do something, anything, than continue to be stuck on the sidelines. Ghost had offered a drink to ease your nerves. You took him up on it.

You sat in his desk chair as he pulled out a full bottle of whiskey from a locked box beneath his bed. He then sat on his bed as he uncapped it. He offered you the first drink, which you graciously accepted. The liquor burned badly on the way down, but you weren't a lil' bitch, and were determined to keep up with your unflappable lieutenant.

Eventually you lost track of how many times you'd passed the bottle back to him. Your body felt warm and delightful. You couldn't help but smile. He asked you what was funny but you didn't reply. Instead you sucked down another greedy gulp of alchohol. It didn't taste nearly as acrid as it had at first. It was almost pleasant at this point. Uh oh.

Simon drained what was left in the bottle with a few heavy gulps. A little bit of excess amber liquid dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Before he could move to wipe it away, you did it for him. Your thumb brushed sweetly over the seam of his lips and over the slight stubble of his chin. He sighed out, seemingly enjoying the touch.

You blinked, and the spell was soon broken. You pulled your hand away and couldn't meet his hungry eyes. You hadn't meant to overstep like this. You tried to stand up, tried to leave, but it was obvious Simon was just as under the influence as you. He grabbed your arm, seemingly off balance. He pulled you into him despite that not seeming to be what he wanted. The moment became an awkward push and pull as the two of you tried to navigate whatever this was.

"Just c'mere, love."

Eventually, you caved, and pecked him on the lips. He grumbled in contentment, and soon, the two of you were laying flat on the bed.

Sergeant MacTavish:

Taking leave was never something you looked forward to. Every time you were forced to, you'd always end up alone at your parent's vacation home. It was a scenic little place, but it was always a boring affair. That was, until you realized Johnny had gotten his new flat a few minutes away.

He'd given you a "tour" of the one bedroom apartment. A total bachelor's pad, complete with shitty futon and painting covered hole in the wall. You'd brought him the nicest bottle of whatever your parents had laying around (its not like they were drinking it anyway). He'd graciously accepted it and opened it.

He didn't have glasses so he offered to just pour the liquid down your throat. Of course you brushed him off. He always flirted that way. But you did manage to get a few swallows down before passing the bottle back to him. The two of you settled down for a movie and a dinner consisting of takeout food.

Despite the two of you getting drunker and drunker the vibes were great. Eventually the two of you managed to get to the bottom of the bottle. You pulled the last little bit of liquor into your mouth, but before you could swallow, Johnny whined for it.

"Please, hen. I wan' th' rest of it."

Feeling a tad cheeky, you obliged him. He pressed his lips to yours and you let him drink the last of the alcohol straight off your tongue.

He couldn't get enough, and the next thing you knew, he'd pinned you down to the futon. Soon enough, your mouth tasted more like him than any booze you've ever had.

Sergeant Garrick:

The two of you had a habit of going on long drives off base when you could get a chance. It gave you both a well needed break from the hustle of the 141 team. Occasionally, you'd pack food, but the two of you also liked to stop and get greasy food from local fast food restaurants.

A drive-thru bar? Gaz was shocked, what a truly American thing. Despite his reservations, the two of you opted to get more than your fair share of mixed drinks. They were supposed to be for the boys too, but halfway back, you both agreed that the ice in some of the drinks would be melted by then.

Gaz pulled over into the parking lot of a grassy park, wet with dew and rather pretty bathed in the hues of the sunset. The two of you enjoyed a meal and as many of the assorted flavors of booze you got your hands on. Gaz turned on the radio and soon enough the quiet was broken by the sound of your tone deaf hollering.

The two of you calmed down and got to talking. It was nice. Gaz always has such a level head. You told him that, and you didn't miss how his face lit up.

"This is why I only associate with pretty people. They're always so sweet."

You chuckled and flushed with heat at his comment. You shot back that if he thinks you're so pretty, why hadn't he made a move yet?

You aren't surprised by how he kissed you sweetly over the center console.

Colonel Vargas:

Ever since Valeria escaped, Alejandro had changed. He was still as intense as ever, but his attitude had taken a dangerous edge to it. He tried to not snap at your fellow members of the 141, but it was obvious he was having a hard time adjusting. This night was no exception.

The other boys had scoffed and left the rec room to go outside and smoke. They had grown tired of Alejandro's constant growling and his thinly veiled comments about them cheating at pool. You were the only one left willing to put up with his out of character behavior.

You'd texted Rudy about it, and he suggested you get the Colonel drunk. As ridiculous as that sounded, you agreed that maybe you should listen to Los Vaqueros' second in command. You had a few shit beers you were saving for a time like this.

You offered them to Alejandro and he thankfully accepted your offer. The two of you drank and chatted as you played pool. It was in his nature to be competitive, and so when you began to win, he grew snippy. It wasn't the mad, annoyed kind of snippy he was towards the boys. This was more challenging in almost a...hungry sort of way.

"You think you can beat me? Ha! I'll fuck you up, cabrona."

You laughed at him, rolling your eyes. That seemed to have been wrong thing to do. He cornered you up against the pool table, tossing your pool stick onto it, completely ruining your game. He tells you not to fuck with him unless you really want to feel the consequences. Again, he's not threatening per se, but almost demanding.

You can almost taste the beer on his breath. His cheeks are flushed a cute little pink. You tell him that. He pins you to the pool table to force his tongue down your throat.

Sergeant Major Parra:

It's just a check in. Alejandro would happily go back home to Las Almas if he wasn't so hot on Valeria's tail. Instead, he sent you as a representative of the 141. Rudy is just so happy to see a familiar face. Los Vaqueros welcomed you in with open arms.

They showered you in gifts. So many beers and shots of tequila were fed to you that you lost count. Eventually, the night slowed down, and you had no choice but to lean on Rudy for support. He was so kind, he steadied you so well despite the fact he was just as drunk as you. Giggling, the two of you tripped and fell into the brush at the perimeter of the base. It was so funny that neither one of you couldn't stop laughing until your sides ached.

You both laid there, out of breath, minds swimming, looking up at the southern stars. He took the chance to hold your hand. You kissed his cheek.

"I'm glad you're here, amiga."

Colonel Konig:

No one in KORTAC really liked each other. All relationships were based on respect and rank. All new meat, aka you, were at the bottom of the pecking order. You got shit gear and even shittier respect.

You'd always been scrappy. And so clawing your way into the good graces of the higher ups had been relatively easy. What you hadn't expected was the backlash and annoyance of your fellow operatives. If it hadn't been for O'Conor pushing you to take his spot at poker night, you would've had a nice quiet evening. Instead, you had no choice but to beat Horangi and Hutch and turn them into angry dickheads. A part of you didn't blame them as stolen barrels of liquor had been freely flowing the entire night.

Horangi growled at you, half in English and half in Japanese. He pointed angrily at your face, his nigh unintelligible words getting more and more scathing. Just as he was getting around to calling you a cheater, someone snapped their fingers. Immediately, the entire room went silent. Konig scoffed something in his native tongue but switched to English shortly after.

"If any of you bother maus again, I will bother you." He chuckled darkly.

Immediately everyone packed up, grabbed their things and left the recreational area. Horangi hissed at you but left his lost money on the table. He also left his glass of liquor behind. Deciding to enjoy all of your spoils, you stole his cup and began to drink.

Konig hummed at you, seemingly enjoying the view of you drinking down the juice of your pissy comrade. He offered you his untouched glass. You humored him, sitting on the table as you chose to nurse his drink instead. You thanked him for standing up for you. He shrugged, and let his eyes hungrily devour the sight of your body.

As you got to the bottom of the glass, you quickly realized that you had allowed yourself to walk right into this trap. You were alone with him, and no one would be coming to bother you for the rest of the night. König's eyes felt like fire on every exposed piece of your skin.

You licked your lips and pondered the situation. You had nothing to lose.

You smiled at him, leaning back farther on the table. You curled your finger at him in a beckoning motion. He kicked the chair away as he quickly moved to stand over you.

You supposed there were worse ways to attain power among thieves.

#cod imagines #mw2 headcanons #captain price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #rodolfo parra #alejandro vargas #konig x reader #konig cod

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the-froschamethyst4 · 2 months

Text

The Blanket Of Safety

𖤐Pairing: Father! Alex x Mother! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, language, daddies girl, insecurities, mentions of a bully, yelling,

𖤐Summary: Alex's daughter comes home scared to go back to school because of a bully, so Alex steps in to bring it to the schools attention

————

2:30PM

Alex and his wife's daughter Maddie came home, tear stains on her cheeks and her eyes were red. Alex was still at work while Y/n saw her daughter's red face.

"Maddie, baby, what's wrong?" Y/n bends down to her daughters level, cupping her daughter's face.

"where's daddy?" She says, through sniffles.

"He's still at work, baby."

Maddie didn't want to say that there's a bully at school who constantly picks on her, she was scared something may happen. She was always told to tell an adult about bullies but when Maddie brings up a bully to any school adult, she seems to get brushed off.

---------

9:00PM

Maddie was in bed, and Alex just got home. He had a very late night, he usually would get home an hour after Maddie would come home from school, but Price needed him to stay longer.

"Love?" Alex comes into the living room seeing Y/n staring at the black TV screen with a mug of hot tea in her hands, she looks up at Alex with red eyes. "Y/n?" He drops his bag and cups his wife's face.

"S-She's getting bullied, Alex," Y/n's voice cracks.

"Maddie?" She nods in response.

"She said t-this girl in her c-class comes and bullies her f-for no reason, she s-says she brought it up to the p-principal and her teacher, but she gets brushed o-off like she's nothing," Y/n then placed her mug on the coffee table and her head rested on Alex's shoulder.

"I'll go to the school tomorrow and tell the principal," Alex doesn't mess around when it comes to his daughter or his wife.

----------

Alex walks down the hall and saw his daughter's bedroom light still on, Maddie's bedtime was 8:30. He walks to the door and gently pushes it open.

Maddie was coloring, she drops her markers and looks at her dad. She stood up and runs to her daddy. He bends down to her level hugging her.

"Mama, told me what happened," Alex tells her.

Alex proceeds to gently shut the door. Sitting on the floor and Maddie sits on his lap.

"Baby, what does she do?"

"He."

"Huh?"

"It's a boy, daddy."

"Okay...what does he do, baby?" Alex repeats.

"He just picks on me, picks at my hair, eyes, my teeth," Maddie has those bunny teeth, two big front teeth and small teeth surrounding the two front teeth. Of course Alex and Y/n find them cute, but Maddie has now grown insecure about them, not smiling or laughing.

"What do you tell the principal, when you first said something about it?"

"He's a boy...boy's will be boys...he only picks on because he likes you," that pissed Alex off. Alex was raised to be respectful but of course there are those boys who think they're being cute when they pick on people.

"I'll go to the school and put a stop to this okay?"

"Okay, daddy," Maddie says.

Alex then gets an idea, he remembers when his mom did this with him when he was little whenever he was getting bullied in school. He grabs a soft blanket off her bed and wraps her in the blanket earning a soft giggle from her.

"This is the blanket of safety, baby," Alex says.

"Why?" She asks.

"Because when you feel sad, wrap this blanket around you and when the blanket is around you, nothing will happen to you, the blanket will protect you," he smiles. "Words won't hurt you baby."

Alex picks her up and placed her in her bed, moving the covers over her small body, kissing her forehead and giving her an 'I love you' before turning off her lights and shutting the door quietly.

----------

Next Morning (8:40AM)

Maddie held Alex's hand before walking into the school, Alex let's his daughter walk inside and she heads to her classroom as Alex heads to the front office.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" The old lady asks behind the desk.

"I'm here to see Mr. Sanders," Alex says in a very, very, serious tone, his tone made the smiling old lady drop her smile when she realized it's something serious.

"Of course, I'll go get him," she says, getting up from her chair and heading to the back to go get the principal.

Soon she came back with Mr. Sanders behind her.

"Mr. Keller, how can I help you?"

"I wanna talk about my daughter and how she's getting bullied," Alex says.

"Of course, let's go talk in my office," Alex follows Mr. Sanders into his office.

"Your daughter is Maddie?"

"Yes..."

"Her so-called bully, Jayden Reyes."

"Oh so, you are aware...what have you done to help put a stop to this?" Alex jumps to the point.

"Mr. Keller, there is nothing for us to stop this-"

"Bullshit."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Bullshit, he picks on her about her features, makes fun of her, and she has brought this up to you before and your response was, boys will be boys, picking on you means he likes you...that is some bullshit, do you tell every little girl that comes up here talking about getting picked on by a boy? Because if so, you are a shit principal."

"Sir, Mr. Keller, it is a lot of work and paperwork-"

"Woah! Just because it's a lot of paperwork?" Alex's jaw was on the fucking floor. "My 5-year-old comes to you an adult to put a fucking stop to this and your excuses...are shit coming from your ass-"

"Mr. Keller, please do not curse in my school-"

"WHY BECAUSE A FUCKING PRINCIPAL CAN'T DO HIS JOB CORRECTLY!?" Alex yells now.

"Mr. Keller, if I do something what would you like me to do?"

"Either separate them, or pull the little rat to talk to him about picking on people, because if it continues, this was calm, I was being calm, I'll come back and start a fucking riot. Make it stop now, Mr. Sanders," Alex stood up from the chair.

"Anyways...have a good day Mr. Sanders," it was a like switch in Alex's tone. He was calm now, very calm.

-----------

A Few Days Later

Maddie has seem to be a lot better, she smiling, and laughing again. Alex held Maddie on his hip as they stood at the drop off line at the school.

Maddie was kicking some rocks as the doors opened to let the students into the school. Alex kissed Maddie's forehead and let her go.

"Look both ways!" Alex says as Maddie did before running to the schools' sidewalk.

Alex looks at his daughter go inside the school, she walks passed Mr. Sanders and Alex and him made eye contact. Alex gave him a sarcastic smile before heading to his car.

"Asshole," Alex mumbles to himself as he is walking away.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #alex keller #alex keller x reader #alex keller x you #alex keller x y/n

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sorcerous-caress · 5 months

Text

Yandere Wyll headcanons

[Soft yandere, Toxic protective Wyll, jealousy, possessiveness, nb!reader]

[Part of the Wyll's Week event]

Bedtime stories of love at first sight that his father used to tell him after tucking him in was something he thought he outgrow.

Yet on that day as he hopped down the grove's gate and faced the goblins, meeting your eyes amidst the battlefield felt like an arrow struck his heart.

A feeling he can't explain.

Wyll was hyperaware of your presence during the whole fight, of your safety. Casting a spell on the nearby goblin that might have taken you by suprise, completely ignoring the fact he was surrounded by a dozen of them himself.

In the aftermath, it almost hurt him to retreat back inside the grove, to leave you all alone out there.

He wanted to go and check on you, to ask your name at least.

But the tieflings urged him back, declaring him their hero as he smiled politely at the kids running up to him.

Please come back, he thought, please follow him.

It must be fate, and when you walked inside the grove and spoke to him, he was sure of it.

Your name sounded pleasent on his lips, and when you called him the blade of frontier he thought he might trip and make a fool of himself.

One thing led to another and he found himself back at your camp.

Much to his dismay, there were other tents placed Besides your own.

Even his reaction surprised him, why did his lungs burn at the idea of someone else staying near you as you slept? Why does his heart ache at the idea that he wasn't the first person you called back to camp.

The eventual meeting with the devil he was hunting ensures, and you're there by his side during it.

But you're looking at the devil with concerned eyes instead of disgust, you're lowering your weapon and asking if she's okay.

You ask for her name just like you asked for his.

Something ugly twists inside his stomach.

He takes over the conversation, steers it back to the purpose it once held before.

But you stop him, talk him out of it, and like any fool smitten in love, he can't refuse you.

Part of him is aware that he did the right thing, that your words rung true at the end, Karlach is no devil.

And as he pays the price for his change of heart that night, you still face him the next morning.

Still as handsome, you tell him.

You don't look at him with disgust, you don't prod at his horns and you don't avoid eye contact with his abyssal eye.

It really must be fate, for someone as kind hearted as you to cross paths with him.

He stays by your side that night, nods off to sleep with his head resting against your shoulder.

From that day on, he stays by your side and on your team.

Every attempt at getting him to go back to camp is met with refusal, you can only bring two other companions, the third will always be Wyll.

The world is too dangerous, the people are too greedy. He can't let someone take advantage of you, he can't let you out of his sight.

He shows off his power more in front of you, plays the heroic role with more flourish, targets the enemies that target you.

The other companions make a comment or two about how he seems to be inseparable from you, Wyll takes it in stride and plays it cool, yet never denies it.

Somehow each attempt they make at getting closer to you gets interrupted by some way or the other.

That time Gale attempts to share the weave with you, Scratch suddenly runs to you, your favourite boot in his mouth with chew marks and you completely lose focus and go after him.

That night Astarion invites you to the forest, it suddenly starts raining and it's too damp and muddy to do anything on the ground.

When Shadowheart called you to split a bottle, a cat jumps out of the bush and nearly makes her stumble off of the small cliff into the lake, both of you immediately make it back to camp.

As Wyll dismisses the familiar he summoned, he can't help but feel guilty and ashamed by his actions.

Just because he's not in a hurry to share his bed with you, doesn't mean that the other companions deserve it because they're easy.

Not to mention, you did promise him to dance with him eventually, did you not?

#♡yandere #♡toxic relationships #♡Wyll #wyll x reader #yandere Wyll #bg3 x reader #yandere bg3 #toxic relationship #jealousy #possessiveness #nb!reader #nonbinary reader #yandere x reader #♡Wyll'sWeek #Wyll'sWeek #Wyll's Week

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zeltqz · 1 year

Text

— rindou/fem!reader (9.3k words)

cw—virginity loss, mentions of getting together, implied sexual assault & kidnapping (not from rindou)

a/n— inspired by anon lino. Thx for the request, I switched sum stuff up tho bc it was already long as shit n I didn’t wanna make it like 15 k words 💀‼️

Your father is a force to be reckoned with.

Listed as one of Japan’s top twenty politicians, he’s already made a public figure in the eyes of the press & population.

Some hate him, others love him. You wouldn’t know though, not being let outside of your house for safety reasons. It’s lonely a lot of the time, being stuck in your big house with your siblings all day, tall men in black suits, glasses, and ear pieces watching your every move.

Though you were one of the richest families in the country, you felt trapped in a jail cell. The only difference was your cell was a huge mansion with security locks that changed every few weeks, the code only being told to trusted security.

‘It’s for your own good’ he defends his behaviour, thinking isolating his children at home instead of giving them a life for themselves outside is for your safety.

If you needed education? You were schooled online. The best mentors in the country are paid by your father to tutor you and your siblings. If you wanted to make friends? Don’t be stupid.

What do you need friends for when you’re surrounded by all this luxury?

It was lonely , isolating , and boring .

That was why when your father was at one of his meetings, late at night, you took the opportunity to sneak out, replacing a body double made from extra pillows hidden under your sheets.

It was thrilling leaving the house alone for what felt like the first time in years. You were allowed outside of course, your father wasn’t cruel, just protective. But with your freedom came at a price, not allowed outside without the presence of a tall man—maybe two if your father felt the need for it— tailing your every move.

Now though? You were able to walk around the streets late at night without the feeling of someone watching you from behind. You had no clue what to do though, looking around, half the stores were closed, save for that late night 7-Eleven at the end of the road. Bright green, yellow, red lights attract you towards it like a moth to a flame.

The inside is packed full with items ranging from snacks, meals, drinks. You walk around like someone who’s never shopped for themselves before. It’s quite embarrassing, you think, the loathing bitter resentment you have for your father isolating you almost your whole life stirs deep, and green inside your stomach.

You pick out a small snack bar from the aisle and head towards the counter. You’re not that hungry, you just felt bad for walking in a store, seeing nothing you like, then leaving. It seems rude.

By the time you get to the counter, the woman pops her gum as she tells you the price, looking at you with a strange look you can’t decipher.

“One sec—” You smile at her.

She ignores it, rolling her eyes.

It was then you realised you’d forgotten your wallet at home, as well as your phone, the excitement from sneaking out made you lose all common sense apparently.

“I—I don’t have any money.”

“Huh?” The cashier’s voice was high in pitch, purely shocked. “Rich girl like you has no money? What, did your daddy cut your allowance or what?”

“I—wait.” You blink at her, bewildered. “You know who I am?”

“Duh.”

“Oh.” You swallow your nerves down, looking bashfully at the ground.

There was a feeling that your father was hated in this town, you don’t really blame the people for thinking so. Even you yourself hate your father. You know nothing about politics because you refuse to listen to your fathers lectures on it. So you can only imagine that the rest of the country, those who are directly affected by his political beliefs, might hate him too.

A hand claps down on your shoulder, startling you. Looking up, a tall guy, slightly shorter than your bodyguards, stands behind you, holding out the right amount of change in his hand, sliding them across the counter.

“It’s on me,” he tells the cashier, who nods her head, then jostles you with his shoulder. “Now you owe me a favour.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, the smile on his face screams he’s up to something, but you don’t look into it, only happy someone was kind enough to save you from embarrassing yourself further.

“What favour?”

“Come with me.” He doesn’t answer your question, just leads you out of the store. His hand rests on your lower back the entire time, and you feel uneasy, but still push it down, berating yourself for being so cautious, on guard, around a man who was willing to help you out and pay for you.

“Where—” Your voice cracks from nerves, so you clear your throat and try again. “Where are we going?”

He ignores you.

When you try to slow your pace, the hand on your back pushes you onwards, practically forcing you to move. It was when he’s leading you to an alleyway, the nerves you forced down come back full force, a thick, heavy lump forming in the confined space of your throat.

“I don’t think this is—” He pushes you into the alleyway; you land on the floor with a yelp.

“Is that her?”

A voice, husky, gruff, speaks up, different from the man from before.

You try to look up, but your vision is blurred, only seeing specs of colour you assume are people. The thick, pungent smell of cigarettes fills your nostrils, then a foot, heavy and dirty, steps on your head, not applying pressure to hurt, just keep you immobilised on the floor.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Nah, I don’t believe it. Pull out a pic or somethin’.”

You want to cough, the cigarettes making it hard to breathe. One of the men crouches down in front of you, pushing the guys foot from your face in favour of tugging you upwards by your hair roots.

“You know why you’re here, right?” He wriggles your head in his hand like he’s rolling a dice, probably uncaring to the way your scalp feels like it’s burning on fire right now. “I asked you a question.”

“I don’t—ow, sir, man, please stop…it hurts—”

“Sir?” He spares a glance to the guy behind you, then his grin turns wolfish. “I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t do too much with her. We need her stable if we’re gunna show her daddy.”

“How much money you think she’ll be worth?”

“As long as she got all her limbs, no cuts or bruises a decent price, but if we rough her up a lil’ bit, she might be worth a bit more.”

Your body feels weak, tense, mouth dry, ears full of static as you listen to these men talk about you like you’re a slab of meat getting pawned off at a butchers, talking about you like you’re not even here.

If only you’d just stayed home tonight, stayed in the confinement of your bedroom, warm and cosy, smells like perfume and scented candles that your grandma gifts you every Christmas, instead of being here, face messy from the dirty floor, hair roots on fire, nostrils scarred with the burning scent of tobacco.

The man lets go of your head, and it hits the floor, your head throbs painfully from the hit.

“You think she’s a virgin?”

“Go check.”

Check?

Your stomach churns, empty lungs short of breath when the man goes to touch your sweatpants, panic rising in your blood.

“No, please, don’t—ow!” You scream in pain when he pushes your head back down to the ground, some dirt entering your mouth.

“ Shut up .”

You’re kicking and screaming at this point, but it’s useless as his hands pull down your sweats.

Cold air smacks your bare skin and you want to cry, heat burning the edges of your eyes as tears form, but no sound comes out.

“Your daddy is fuckin’ up this country, you know that, princess?” The pet-name is cold, icy, as he grits it out like it’s meant to be pleasant.

His finger slides against your clothed folds, and your heart is racing, body limp on the floor as he continues his speech. “You probably don’t know that, huh. You rich fuckers only think about yourself.”

“I don’t,” you gasp out, weakly, hot tears stinging at your eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Agree with him. I hate him too—hate him so much,” you whimper into the ground, wet chunky tears soaking down your face.

He lets out a hefty sigh, fingers stop touching you down there, and he stands up with a sigh, relighting another cigarette. He takes a puff, a moment to relax himself, and turns to his group.

“What now?” He’s not talking to you, gesturing over to the other men who’ve been watching the whole ordeal with nothing but a straight face.

“I dunno.”

“Ain’t this kinda embarrassin’?”

The men look at the new voice that speaks up from behind them. From what you can spot with your limited vision, he has blue stripes riddled within his blonde hair, adjusting his gold glasses on his face, looking at the group with a disgusted look.

“Fuck does this have to do with you?” The one with the cigarette breath barks out, eyebrows creased with anger. “Go on somewhere.”

The guy simply ignores them, looking straight at you. You feel your blood run cold when you meet his stare. “You alright?”

“I—”

“Don’t answer him.” The guy next to you slaps his hand over your mouth. “Don’t address her.”

“You guys really have nothin’ else to do at night than harass some innocent girl?”

You fear for the guy defending you as he steps closer into the alley, the sound of his boots echoing in your ears as he makes his way towards you. You want to tell him to run, go somewhere, don’t get hurt because of you, but he seems awfully confident, and you couldn’t speak if you tried.

“Innocent? Please, you know who her father is, right?”

He shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms together. “Na. Who is it?”

“That stupid fat politician scum that’s tryna fuck with our rights.”

He gives him a blank stare, hands shoving themselves into his pockets. “So…what’s that gotta do with her? Go touch up her daddy then. Or what, you scared? Can’t take on a fat man, huh.”

The implication has the guy seething, nostrils flaring as he rips his hand away from your mouth, dropping your head back onto the floor with a smack.

There’s another dull throbbing sting in your head doing nothing but amplifying the previous pain, and your wince catches the attention of the guy defending you.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” The man gets all up in his face, practically drooling like a feral animal without a leash.

“That so? What are you waiting for then?” He smirks as he grabs onto the man’s hands, bunching them into fists and positions them by his own face.

His confidence, his blank stare, his voice…you can’t help but gawk at him, mind hazy as you watch the scene go down. “Hit me, c’mon. I even put you in position.”

The guy spits onto the ground, wiping his nose before lifting his hand to punch him.

“Dude, back the fuck up.” His friend pulls him away, ignoring the complaints and death threats spewing from his lips. “Rin, he didn't mean to threaten you. We weren’t going to do anythin’ to the girl, I promise.”

“Rin?” He cocks his eyebrow meanly. “Are we friends? I don’t know you, don’t call me that.”

The guy slams his mouth shut so quick and fast, his teeth clamp against each other. “S-sorry, Rindou. But I mean it—we really weren’t gonna do anythin’ bad to her! We just wanted to scare her daddy into givin’ us some money. That’s all! I promise…”

“Promise? You really expect me to believe that shit?” Rindou stares at the man who shakes his head in fear. He looks down at you, and your blood runs cold once more. “Did they touch you?”

“He—well, he touched me down there.” You look down at your private area.

The guy guilty of it scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “It was barely even a touch.”

You glare at him from where you’re sitting, feeling a surge of confidence flow through you now that Rindou is here keeping them at bay. “You still touched me, asshole.”

“I’ll fuckin’ do worse if you keep runnin’ that slutty mouth of yours,” he snarls.

Rindou clicks his tongue, unimpressed, lifting you from the floor easily, hoisting you onto his shoulder.

It’s impressive to you how effortless the action was, butterflies flancing around in your stomach when his arm holds your waist to support you.

“You guys better pray my brother doesn’t find out about this.”

“Fuck you and your weak ass brother.”

That guy has some serious anger problems, because even his own friends are gawking at him like he’s a lunatic for spitting those words out.

Probably some unspoken code in these streets to not insult the ‘brothers’.

Now you’re curious.

“Yeah?” Rindou only chuckles, says nothing more, pulling out his phone from his back-pocket. You lay on his shoulder as he dials who you assume is his brother.

The silence in the alley is deafening, you can practically hear the group's hearts beating out of their chest as the line rings.

“Yo?”

“Bro, guess what?”

“What?”

Rindou walks over to the dude who thinks he’s all that. “Found this guy that thinks he can beat you up, thinks you’re weak ‘n shit. And actually, he said he could kill you.”

There’s a snort over the line. “What’s his name?”

Rindou nods over at him. “What’s your name?”

When he refuses to respond, there’s a beat of silence, then Rindou kicks the guy in the knee, sending him dropping to the floor without a beat.

You’re almost certain you heard a cracking noise, then the guy is screaming in pain. You can’t see due to your position on his shoulder, only looking at his friends who stare at him with a sense of pity, but refuse to speak up themselves.

Rindou drops to his level, bringing you down with him. “I said, what’s your name?”

For the sake of it, Rindou digs his hand on his probably—no, definitely broken knee the same way he stepped on your head, applying pressure each second the guy fails to cough up his name.

“It’s Yamajiki Kenzo! Stop—argh, it hurts! Fuck—” He splutters out, desperately trying to push Rindou off.

Rindou clicks his tongue, standing upright, and brings the phone back to his ear. “Didja get that, Ran?”

Ran says with a yawn, “we can find him tomorrow, no biggie.”

“Actually—ah man, looks like I broke his knee. My bad.” Rindou sends him an unapologetic smile, and the guy looks like he’s three seconds away from jumping at him.

He hangs up the phone, tugging it back inside his pocket, turning to face the group.

“Anyway, I’m taking the girl now, or—” he jostles you on his shoulder, catching your attention. “Want me to fuck them up for you?”

“Wha—”

“Did they hurt you?”

“I mean, yeah—but—” You look around. Half of them are scared half to death right now, it won’t do you any justice seeing them beat up on the floor. Part of you wants to be the ones to hit them though, get revenge for yourself. “I don’t know.”

“Say what? You want me to let ‘em go?”

“I don’t care…I just wanna go home…”

“How’s this,” he jostles you one more time, “I take you home and tomorrow I’ll fuck ‘em up for you.”

“Home? No, no. You can’t take me home—my dad he—he doesn’t know I’m out right now. I have to—”

“I can sneak you in. It’s no biggie, I’ve done it before.”

“Okay…”

“Great.” He turns to face the group. “Just wait till tomorrow. Oh and you might wanna bandage that up. Gonna look fuckin’ nasty in the morning.” He gestures to the guy on the floor with a broken knee, his face burning with sheer rage, eyes narrow, and sharp.

“Whatever.”

Rindou puts you back on the ground outside the alleyway, watching you dust yourself off. A hot flush spreads across your cheeks and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“Thanks, Rindou. I really appreciate it.”

“‘S no big deal.” His phone vibrates in his pocket so he goes to check it. “Ah, I gotta go. Somethin’ came up.” He folds it shut. “You okay goin’ back home alone?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Kay, stay safe.”

“Bye…” Your words trail off when he heads the opposite direction. You watch him leave, heart twitching a little in disappointment because you wanted to know more about him. You’re unsure you’ll ever be able to see him again unless you get yourself into more trouble, but then again, he’s not Spiderman, showing up at any signs of danger.

Today was merely a coincidence.

You wish you’d bought your phone.

The walk home was rough. Your face and jaw aches like hell, your legs were sore from being pushed onto the ground without a care. Your heart still hasn’t slowed down, could feel it roaring in your ears with every beat.

You managed to sneak back inside your house without getting caught. Everyone was asleep, minus the family dog, rummaging through the kitchen trash. The security were asleep on their posts, and they’d most definitely be fired if your dad caught them.

You flop back onto your bed with a long, exasperated sigh, staring up at the ceiling, reminiscing over today’s events. You search your pockets quickly, frowning when the snack bar the guy bought you wasn’t there. It probably fell on the floor.

Well that’s a bummer.

You find your phone deep inside your drawers, unlock it, and start researching. Crime in Roppongi has gotten so high over the last couple months, mainly due to the fact those in power are money hungry, only caring for themselves, raising the prices for everybody that can’t afford things. Your dad is a part of that group, and no wonder everybody hates his guts so much.

Everything gets paid for you, which is why you didn’t see this as a big deal at first, thinking money was something that came easy to people. But the sheer rage on those guys’ faces made you realise some have it way harder than others, and greedy folks like your dad and his party are only out there caring for themselves.

Though it was a traumatic experience, you learnt a lot from it.

It’s no wonder why gang activity in the area has been rising steadily. Stealing food and money to survive, dropping out of schools because they can’t afford it anymore.

You fell asleep with your phone on. Your father enters your room in the morning, a little bit confused you had some dirt on your face. He taps you awake. You stir, but don’t fully wake up yet, too tired and exhausted from yesterday's events.

“What is that…” he questions, shifting your body upright to see your face better.

The side of your face had signs of minimal bruising, obvious dirt on your face, staining your skin mud brown, your lip has a slight cut on the upper lip, and your eye was slightly bruised.

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” He’s shaking you awake by force this time, and your eyes shoot open, startled, springing up from your bed and wiping your eyes.

“What? Daddy, why’re you here?”

“ Your face .” He reaches out to cup your cheek. You blink at him, utterly confused, brain hazy and muddled from sleep. “What happened to you?”

A quick peek in the side mirror across your room reveals your damaged face.

So last night wasn’t a dream? Maybe you should’ve figured since it was clearly obvious that in real life you did not have sex with dream Rindou. It was so amazing, despite being a virgin, the sensations were completely up to the imagination. He was touching you down there with those big hands of his, fucking you with that cock of his.

You were in the midst of riding him before your stupid father decided to shake you awake, breaking your thoughts, bringing you back to reality.

Wiping the crust from your eyes, you glared at your dad. “Just leave me alone. I wanna go back to sleep.”

You shove his hand off your face, mood sour, sinking back between your sheets.

“Why is there dirt and bruises on your face? Who did this to you?”

“It was nobody! Okay? I just fell. Go. Away.”

Your dad sighs, rubbing a hand on your shoulder to attempt at soothing you. It only makes you groan, wanting to push him away further, preferably out of your room forever.

“I know you’re lying to me, but I can tell you’re upset about something. So I’ll talk to you later.”

“Whatever.”

By the time he’s gone, you try to head back to sleep, try to force your brain to return to that delicious dream you were having, but all fails. You can’t even get back to sleep, yet alone dream that exact scenario again.

Later that night, after you’ve fixed makeup on your bruises, you sneak out one more time, this time with a mission and a purpose. Phone and wallet in your back pocket, you came prepared.

It seems the name Rindou holds quite a name in the town, asking the people around led you to his current location, what seemed to be a nightclub. You’ve never been inside one before, having seen them all in the movies. It was almost exactly the same, yet more overwhelming, crowds and crowds of people dressed in suits, mini dresses, long dresses, short skirts—you were most certainly underdressed, now realising that now that you left the house in a simple black tank top, paired with a matching black zip up hoodie, and a fresh, clean pair of sweatpants.

You look like you were heading out to a sleepover, rather than a private nightclub, and you instantly regret your outfit choice.

Rindou, on his way down the steps, spots you looking around as if searching for someone, and he can’t help but feel sorry for you. God, you’re so stupid, walking into a place you clearly don’t belong. From your outfit, down to the way you were being pushed around by everybody in the thick crowd.

He sighs, making his way towards you, muttering excuse me’s to everybody he’s shoving past to reach you. His hand latches onto your elbow, making you yelp since your back was turned, and you turn around to punch the dude, only to soften when you see him.

“Rindo—” He’s yanking you through the crowd before you could even finish his name, and you’re trying to push him off you, screaming at him to let him go. “Get off me!”

He’s ignoring you, dragging you out of the main room, into the hallway with all the bathrooms. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” You open your mouth to speak when he cuts you off. “And don’t say to party, because you and I both know that’s bullshit.”

You swallow your words down, chin lowering towards your chest, avoiding eye contact.

How on earth are you supposed to explain that you were here on behalf of a dream you had the night before and want to re-enact it in real life without coming off as desperate ?

“I—I just wanted to see what a nightclub was like…that’s it.”

“Wearing that?”

“Ok. Rude.” You spot dried blood on the side of Rindou’s face, underneath his glasses. You take a step forward, he takes one back, confused when you keep walking forward, eyes trained on his face.

“What? What are you doing?” He’s backed up against a wall when you reach out to touch his face, thumb wiping over the blood from his face. It’s stained, so you frown, digging around your pocket for some tissues “Why are you touching my face?”

“Because there’s blood on it. What happened? Did those boys from yesterday hurt you? Oh my god, I told you not to go after them! I said I would handle it and now you’re hurt because of me—”

“Relax? Jeez, this ain’t because of you, or from them. It’s somethin’ else.”

“What then?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grabs your hands away from his face, putting them back down at your sides. “Now, are you gonna tell me why someone like you is out here at a club like this at night?”

“I—it’s embarrassing…”

“Now I gotta know. C’mon, tell me.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, the action pressing your tits together, cleavage exposed from your shirt. Rindou’s eyes not-so-subtly drop downwards, eyeing the crevice between your breasts. You feel fuzzy when you notice it, hoping he finds you as attractive as you find him.

“If I tell you, you can’t laugh. At all, ‘kay?”

“Sure, c’mon what is it?”

“I…want you…to have s-sex with me.” It felt like a weight has been lifted off your chest, body feeling ten times lighter once the words got out. The initial feeling of anxiety lingers at the bottom of your stomach as you wait for his response.

He says nothing, unblinking deep-set purple eyes stare at you, bewilderedly. His brain works 100mph to figure out how to respond to that. He’s had sex before, a couple one-night stands in the past with different girls, had a girlfriend for a couple months who he had regular sex with until they broke up. It’s not often he has girls asking him for sex, they normally initiate it themselves, pulling him in for a kiss, touching his shoulders, thighs, suggestively.

To have you in front of him like this, asking for it…he’s not sure how to respond to that. “You what?”

“I want you to have sex with me. I had a, uh, dream last night about it and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I want you to have sex with me. Only if you want to, though I would appreciate it if you said yes.”

You wriggle your hands beneath your shirt, fiddling clumsily with your fingers, watching the bewilderment play out on his face.

He even scratches his head, contemplating your answer.

“I mean, sure? But—”

“Really?!” Your voice pitches higher with joy, then clears your throat to bring it back. “I mean, really?”

“Yeah I guess.” He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, heading towards the back door of the club. “You comin’?”

“Wha—what, now? You mean now?!” You jog up to him, crossing the distance quickly! He opens the door, you follow behind him mindlessly as he makes his way to his car.

“Yeah, ain’t that…what you wanted?”

“Yeah! Sorry I was just—”

He grunts, rubbing an exhausted hand over his forehead. “Stop talkin’, c’mon already.”

You snap your lips shut, nodding silently as you enter the front seat of his car. The entire ride to his place has you shifting nervously in your seat, seat belt digging uncomfortably tight against your chest.

The view outside is calming, the streetlights flashing against your face as you stare out the window makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

“Alright, get your ass on the bed.” Rindou nods at his bed, beginning to shed his shirt off. You blink at the sight of his bare chest, thick black ink covering the right side of his chest. It’s distracting, but attractive, mouth salivating at the sight. When you do nothing but stand there, he cocks his eyebrow at you. “Did you hear me?”

“No—I was just…wow.”

He looks confused for a second, following your fixated gaze towards his chest. “Oh, this?”

“Yeah…it’s—so cool.” He snorts, moving towards his bed, dragging you down with him. “Did it hurt?”

“I don’t feel pain.” He’s half paying attention to your words, tugging you onto his lap, hands eagerly untying your sweatpants strings.

“Ooh, edgy—hey! Calm down—” you yelp when he drags your hips forward fiercely, struggling to undo the knot.

“How many times did you loop this shit? What the fuck.”

“I dunno—I just do it.”

He finally unties it, lifting your hips up to tug your pants down your legs.

Your hands hold onto his shoulders, fingers digging tight into his skin as his hands wander your body. It managed to feel better than the dream, which was expected, his warm, moist, calloused palms gripping onto your waist.

He kicks off his pants to the floor, setting you back down flat on his lap. Something feels hard between your legs, pressing into the flesh of your bare thighs and it takes you a minute to realise what it is.

“Is—” you gulp down your words, fighting reality. “Is it meant to be that hard?”

“My dick? Uh, yeah. What, you’ve never touched one before?”

You shake your head anxiously, stomach burning weakly, biting restlessly at your lips as his brows lift, stunned, and bowled over at the fact that he’s about to take your virginity.

“Oh.” He looks down at your hips, white-hot fingers grazing delicately down the curve of your hips. “That’s—wow. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

In contrast to before, you nod your head quickly, and with an indescribably hunger you grab onto his hands on your hips, boldly shifting them backwards to cup your ass.

“I want this, and I won’t regret it. Promise.”

“Even if this was the worst lay of your life?” He says it as a joke, lips curving into a playful smirk as he shamelessly gropes your behind.

“I wouldn’t have anything to compare it to anyway.” You shift a little closer, hands creeping to hold behind his head, itching your fingers in the soft streaks of his hair.

His eloquent eyes drop down to your lips suggestively, soaking in the glossy sight of them. Your body is stiff as you stare at him, blinking rapidly at what’s to come. He doesn’t say anything, just looks back up at you, asking you with his eyes.

Your eyes slip shut mindlessly when he leans forward. His lips are soft, just like his hair, sensually moving them against yours. He’s patient as you learn the ropes, sometimes moving your lips at the wrong time, catching them in an awkward position. He tilts his head to create a new angle, your body stiffens still when the angle makes the kiss deeper.

“Relax,” he pulls away to whisper the words along your lips, kissing down the curve of your jaw sultrily. “You’re too stiff.”

His hands slide up the slope of your back in an attempt to soothe you, hugging your body tight to his. The feeling of his hands holding you is strangely affectionate, the feeling of your heart buzzing in your chest gives you the newfound confidence to lean forward again, capturing your lips together.

It’s quicker this time, more generous and warm, lips sliding against each other, and he drinks up the sounds of your soft moans. Your hands move to grip onto the side of his face, replicating the image you had created in your dreams.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, looking up at you with those eyes of his that never fail to drive you crazy.

“Take off your shirt.”

It’s getting real now, you realise. His voice is seductively low, slightly breathy and you fidget backwards, spine straightening, hands sliding under your shirt to reach behind you, unhooking your bra.

You drag it down and under, unsure of what to do with it, choosing to hand it to him. The second it's in his hand, he tosses it away in favour of lifting your shirt up and over your head.

He reaches under your shirt , both hands cup your soft tit, palming, kneading it. He uses the side of his head to nudge you back into a kiss.

As if now muscle memory, you hold the sides of his face as he presses firm kisses against your lips, one hand pulling at your nipples, rolling, flicking his thumb against the sensitive beaked bud, other hand gripping the size of it in his big hands, occasionally squeezing at it when a soft noise escapes your lips whenever he does something with his tongue, licking into your mouth with fervour, biting at the swell of your lips.

Your thumbs brush against his cheek bones, tilting his head to the side as you scoot yourself closer on his lap, wanting him as close to you as possible.

“So what made you agree to this, Rindou?” you ask questionably, and he breaks the kiss to look up at you.

“I mean, you’re hot, that’s for one.” He lifts your shirt up, but doesn’t take it off, putting his head under and starts to suck your nipple.

You wish you could see his face, only looking at a budge moving around through your shirt. The feeling of his wet tongue gliding across your nipple is extra sensitive, and you bite at your lip to control your moans.

“S-so you find me hot?” You feel warm and fuzzy inside when he nods his head through your shirt. “W-what else?” you ask through a shuddered breath, groaning, eyes slipping shut as your head lifts to the ceiling when his teeth tug at your nipple.

“I dunno,” he grasps both breasts in his hands, squeezing them together, groaning at the sight. “You ask a lotta questions, though.”

“...sorry.”

“What’re you apologisin’ for? It’s cool.” His tongue kitten licks at your nipple a couple times, and you shudder when he sucks it back into his mouth.

“I’m not sure….I always just apologise, I guess.”

He hums in acknowledgement—you think— raising your arms as he’s shrugging your shirt off your body, throwing it across the room. He picks you up from his lap, laying you flat against his bed, propping up his pillows as you snuggle into it.

“It’s comfy,” you say with an awkward smile, unsure what to say now.

Are you supposed to kiss him again? Didn’t you do enough kissing already? Or was it too little? Do you hop right into the sex? Maybe you should’ve watched some porn before this, gotten a little comfy with the setting before jumping straight into losing your virginity.

He laughs as if he could read your racing thoughts, and you look up at him through beaded eyes, but in reality, he’s laughing at your awkward smile. It’s cute, clumsy, and innocent.

“You’re so cute,” he says, leaning forward, propping his arms beside your head, taking in the sight of your face, blinking up at him daringly, lips pursed and parted.

He bends down to kiss you slowly, shifting to fit himself back between your spread legs as they lock around his waist, keeping him in place.

Before you could fully melt into the kiss, he’s pulling back, bracing himself on his knees before your legs, big palms spreading them out further.

You feel exposed, hands covering your face, wincing when he rubs the palm of his hand up and down your clothed pussy, fingers grazing your clit delicately through the fabric of your panties.

“Oh—oh wait, that feels good—”

You’re bucking your hips up into the feeling, trying to feel it again. His finger brushes it again, and your lips fall open in a soft moan. “Oh my god, wait—”

“I’ve barely even touched you yet,” he chuckles, amused, and you swear you feel your thighs tense up when he drops down to the bed, face inches away from your pussy.

His hands grip onto your thighs as he stalks forward, tongue darting out to lick a long strip from the top of your pussy to the bottom, and up and down, up, down again and again through the fabric of your now soaked panties.

Shaky hands wind themselves in his hair, holding the strands in a makeshift ponytail as your back bows off the bed with each lick, every nimble stroke of his tongue.

“Can you—uh, wait—” You sit up on your elbows, looking down at him between your legs. “Can you remove the panties? Please?”

“Yeah, hold-on.” He peels your soaked panties away, bound by your slick, and his saliva, that he eagerly laps up, eyes closed, groaning between your legs at the taste of you.

You can’t bear to watch him eat you out, closing your eyes, head hitting the pillows as your hands reach for his hair again. He’s mumbling something under his breath, burying his face deeper between your legs.

He doesn’t let you catch a breath, tongue scribbling ruthless patterns against your drenched folds that have you squealing, tugging at his hair desperately.

Rindou normally doesn’t do oral, rather have someone else go down on him, but just the thought of making you suck his dick makes him feel bad. There’s a hidden array of feelings concealed by his lust for you that makes him want to just pleasure you tonight, hence why he’s leaving his own comfort zone to make you feel good.

He can’t seem to get enough, unsure if it’s meant to feel this good for him despite not being the one being touched.Maybe it’s the way you pull at his hair whenever he sucks with a certain amount of pressure on your clit. His fingers dig more profoundly into your thighs as his tongue flicks and sucks along your clit, up and down, repeating that same motion over and over and over, drinking up your slick in a way that drives you crazy, tugging almost painfully at his hair that it's pleasurable.

Your hips start jolting away from him, trying to run from the feeling of his tongue spreading your puffy lips, tearing you apart piece by piece, lick by lick, stroke by stroke. It’s too much. Too much for you to handle in one sitting, muscles tightening as it chases your climax, goosebumps rising to the surface of your sweaty skin.

“Rindou—ah! F-fuck! I’m—” Your bite your lip so hard it aches, adding to the throbbing pleasure as you cum, hips jerking against his face to spread your juices along his chin as he groans at the feeling, strong hands holding you in place as his tongue continues slurping at your pussy.

You forcefully try to rip him off you, body unable to take the pleasure, your mind hazy, like you’re floating in another dimension. It feels like you aren’t in control anymore, unable to moan loudly as you squirt on his face, whimpering as your shaky legs begin to slow down.

Rindou pulls away, bottom half of his face now soaked as he lifts himself up from the bed, wiping at it with his forearm. When you open your eyes, the corner of your mouth turns downwards when you see the sight of his bedsheets, soaked in your mess.

You don’t mean to feel embarrassed, after all, he was the one that drove you to that point, but your shoulders hunch together and you pout regardless. “I’m sorry—”

“Sorry for what? That was so hot.”

“Really?”

He nods his head, gently pushing you back down to the bed.

“Yeah, it was,” he breathes as shuffles forward, spreading your legs more to get another good view of your pussy. “You look so good—” he dubiously strokes his finger against your slit, dipping it inside, loving the way your back arches upwards. Your reactions are so cute. “—so wet, you’re so hot, fuck—”

“Rindou—” You’ve never been filled, never had anything up there before, so the feeling was new territory, and uncomfortable but as he picks up the speed, your cunt drips more, soaking his long finger, giving it the momentum it needs to continue fucking in and out, in and out.

“How’s that feel?” He presses a finger upwards, brushing your g-spot, and it’s like something inside you switched, a sudden heat prickling inside you has your body jolting forwards with a loud moan that has him biting his lips, pinpointing that spot with his finger effortlessly.

Your body can’t handle another orgasm, and at this rate you’ll be cumming in no time. Your body tries to pull away from him, thigh muscles contracting, toes curling, as his finger fucks you deeper.

His eyes are focused on your body; the pain-laced pleasurable look on your face is his motivation to keep going, slipping in a second finger to watch you go crazy, moans rising in volume, hips jerking from his touch.

“You close?” He asks despite knowing the answer, wetting his lips as he’s watching you attentively, revelling in the way your walls clamp around the girth of both fingers, sucking him in each time he dares to pull out.

“I—I think, yeah—ah—” Your moans sound gargled at this point with how hard your shoving your head into the pillow to silence them.

To hear how noisy you’re being is embarrassing; sinking into the pillow is half to conceal your blaring screams, half to sink into the softness in shame. Despite the burning heat in your face, the unwavering, direct gaze on Rindou’s face as his thumb rubs speedy circles on your clit is enough to push you over the edge, tip you towards your climax for a second time, body convulsing and twitching as a second round of fluids leave your body.

It’s less than last time, having squirted it all out before like a leakage, but it’s powerful enough for your eyes to roll, lips parting in another silent scream as your legs try to desperately push him away.

His fingers still inside you as his eyes survey the damage done to your body and his sheets.

It’s equally messy on both ends, your chest inflating and deflating with every heavy pant, the area on your thighs closest to your pussy now soaked with a mixture of his saliva and your slick. His sheets are ruffled, practically pulled away from their neat placing, wet patches splattered the clean shirts dirty.

When you finally catch your breath, you can’t even find your voice, scared to talk incase of another voice crack, so you stay silent, brows furrowing at the dull ache in your thighs that grow progressively hotter when you try to sit up.

“You good?”

You peek an eye open to stare at Rindou. From his POV, you’re unsure what you might look like: drained, bushed, spent…the list goes on, you think. “I’m fine.”

Your legs are limp, like the small energy you had left in them fizzed away after your second orgasm. It’s not until you hear him unbuckling your pants, you remember you’re not done yet.

There’s still one more little thing left…oh—oh, it’s not little at all.

You’re speechless when he pulls his cock out from his briefs, shrugging them down his legs, onto the floor. He holds it like it’s nothing, like your mind isn’t shaken up, like you’re not goggle-eyed.

Your blinking dumbly, half scared, half still processing stuff out when his hand wraps around the base of it, slowly stroking himself up and down, twisting his wrist when he reaches the tip.

He’s telling you something, but you can’t hear him, not with the way blood is racing towards your ears, blurring out the sound of anything and everything.

“Hey,” he jostles your leg to catch your attention, and it’s like your ears pop, free of static. “I asked you to reach in the dresser. Pass me a condom.”

“Oh—oh, yeah okay.” You gulp down your anxieties, reaching over to his dresser.

You grab a condom packet and toss it to him. He catches it effortlessly, putting the edge of it into his mouth, holding it with his teeth as he spreads your legs for the third time today, fitting himself between them.

It’s hard fighting the urge not to fidget beneath him, tell him you’re not ready and storm out the house, limp over back to your house with your half working legs. But you’re not a bitch—you say weakly in your mind, completely lacking the confidence to say that aloud.

He rips the condom packet open, and for a second you’re puzzled with how that tiny thing could possibly fit around the length of his cock. It’s long, but not huge, not thick either, on the thinner side with a slight curve to it. That curve is already making your insides scream, wondering if you’ll be able to feel that inside you.

Is that a good or bad thing? To feel it in you? Will it add to the pleasure, or just make you bleed?

Your questions go unanswered as you watch with pure focus as he rolls it down his cock, like a veil, and it fits perfectly.

“Alright, I’ma push in now,” he says, leaning forward, strong arms braced at your sides. “If it hurts, squeeze me, ‘kay?”

You nod dumbly, blinking up at him as he rolls his hips against yours, the tip of his cock running over your weeping hole, all wet and ready for him to slip inside.

You can feel your walls stretch open when he shifts forward, engulfing the tip inside your pussy inch by inch.

“Oh—” you choke out, not liking the way the stretch feels.This is far worse than the feeling of his fingers, his tip being three times the size of that.

It feels like forever with the pace he’s going at, ever so slowly pushing himself inside. When he’s around halfway, that’s when the stretch turns into a burn, a heavy, unsettling prickling sensation around your abdomen that has your nerves igniting in a state of panic.

Your fingers fly to his shoulders, digging them almost painfully into his muscles, letting out a shattered breath when Rindou keeps pushing.

“I know, I know—it’ll feel good in a bit,” his lips brush against your temple soothingly, giving your forehead a gentle kiss, fighting the urge to groan at the pain stinging in his shoulders.

When his hips are close to yours, the final inch of his cock left to be pushed inside, your hands fly around his neck, almost cutting off his blood circulation with how hard you’re holding him.

You both let out a satisfied sigh when his hips are pressed flush against yours, his sigh mainly due to pleasure, the heat of your warm cunt is enough to make him spiral; your sigh mainly due to thanking the heavens you didn’t get ripped in two pieces. There’s an agonising ache gnawing in your legs the longer his cock stays nestled inside your pussy.

With what limited space he has, he pulls out slowly, till the tip is left, and you feel so empty for a short moment, before he’s slowly pushing back in, getting your body used to the ministrations.

He repeats this over , and over, until your hold on his shoulders loosen, until your moans are reduced to whimpers, then he picks up the pace just a little, slamming back inside you enough to hit deeper and your back arches off the bed. Your hands get stripped away from his shoulders, bunched up at the wrists, and pinned above your head as he fucks into you raggedly, rolling his hips in a way that hits deeper than your g-spot.

“Rind—Rindou—I wanna t-touch you—stop—” you beg breathlessly, wriggling your wrists from underneath his grasp. “Please.”

The attempt is useless, his grip as strong as his brutal thrusts. You’re sure your body won’t recover after today, you’ll be bedridden for days, weeks even.

He shuts you up with a long kiss, your sweaty chest pressed flush against his own.

He holds your chin up with his spare hand, tongue flicking into your open mouth, tangling with yours. Your hands curl in on themselves, desperately trying to touch any part of him, hold his hand before he pulls away, breathing heavily as his spare hand moves between your legs, spreading you out further, pushing himself deeper. The new angle is relentless, finally feeling the curve of his dick hit your g-spot repeatedly. You see stars behind closed eyes, fingers scratching desperately at his wrists to let you go.

His hips begin to stutter, his pace falling off when your walls spasm and contract around his cock. The condom does nothing to stop the tight squeeze of your pussy holding him in place.

He groans by your ear, the audible and deep noise sets your nerves ablaze, unintentionally clenching around him, ripping another groan from his lips.

Letting go of your hands, he sits up on his knees, both hands gripping the fat of your thighs unceremoniously, digging his nails into the flesh. The pain added to the pleasure going on between your legs, body happily welcoming the sting of his nails.

“H-holy shit—” he grits out, eyes trained on the sight of his cock pushing in and out of your overstimulated pussy.

“W—what?” You dare to lift yourself onto your shaky elbows, barely able to keep yourself upright.

There’s a ring of white cum being shoved into your pussy, and back out again with each thrust, covering the see-through condom cloudy.

“What i—is—ah—that? Is that bad?”

It looks bad…is that supposed to happen? Why is it that texture? Did you get an infection? All these thoughts race through your mind at rapid speed.

“No, it’s not bad. It jus—just means you—fuck—” He can barely get a sentence out, not with the way your pussy spasms around his cock, the way your pussy squelches audibly each time his hungry cock ruts into you. “T-touch your tits, make yourself feel good.”

“Okay.” You reach down, grasping your tits in both hands, squeezing them the way he did before. It doesn’t feel good, you think, unsure if you’re doing it right.

“Your nipples,” he laughs at your confused face, “touch ‘em.”

Your fingers play with your nipples, rolling them between your fingers as his hands slide upwards to your hips. You yelp when he lifts your lower body up from the bed, angling your body in a way that makes his cock hit your spot easier. The sensation from your nipples, paired with the shockwaves of his hips slapping against your ass, blur your vision completely, hitting your peak. Your gut tightens, body dissolving into a feverish pleasure, nipples tender with each rapid flick of your fingers. You think you black out, moaning in a silent scream as you come undone on his cock, crying out his name when his hips stutter, gritting out fuck as a warning he’s about to cum.

You feel empty when he pulls out quickly, tugging the condom off and jerks himself off, shuffling up the bed to kneel beside your body, tugging his cock till cum splatters on your bare chest. It feels warm on your skin, your hands quickly reaching out to scoop it up on your fingers, experimentally tasting it.

It tastes salty, earthy, on your tongue, and he watches as you scoop it up a second time, sucking it from your fingertips.

“Fuck, stop doin’ that, drivin’ me crazy.” He shudders, cock twitching when you look up at him, smirking deviously as you lick up another scoop, making a show of your tongue wrapping around your fingertips.

He’s reaching over into his dresser, grabbing some wipes to help you clean up.

“It didn’t taste like how I expected it to,” you say, laying flat on your back as he drags the cold wipes along your chest.

“That a good or bad thing?”

You shrug, eyes following him as he lays down next to you. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I can walk right now.” You curl up next to his body, seeking his warmth as he grabs the covers, pulling them over your body. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“‘M not laughin’,” he lies straight through his teeth, a throaty silly chuckle leaving his lips as you dig your fingers in his chest, trying to push him away, fake pouting as a light laugh pours from your throat as-well.

“You literally are! Stop—” He catches your hand when you try to swat at him, placing it back down by your side.

“Thanks for the ego-boost,” he smirks down at you, wiping the sweat from your forehead away.

You shift closer, hand brushing his hair away from his face, gently taking his glasses off, tucking them neatly on the side. You sit up on your elbow, bending down to kiss him. His heart rate skips a beat when your lips, soft, warm, brush his own. His hands slide down to your hips, holding you in place when your tongue traces the edge of his own. You moan when he sucks the length of your tongue sensually, soft whimpers leaving your lips when he sits up, switching the position, laying you flat on the bed as he fits himself between your legs. Your hands skim across his hair, digging them into his scalp as he bites at your lip, swirling your tongue around his.

It’s quite possibly the most intimate kiss he’s ever had, drinking up every inch of you, rolling his hips against yours when your legs wrap around his waist.

He knows he needs to stop—you know you need to stop too, but the way your heart flutters when he groans into your mouth has you kissing him harder, grabbing his hand to squeeze at your breasts.

You pull away first, wiping the saliva from your mouth. “I—I think I should go home now.”

“Can you walk home?” He asks genuinely, but there’s a hint of a playful smirk on his face that has you punching his chest softly. “Stay the night, I’ll walk you home in the morning.”

“But my dad—”

“Who cares? What’s he gonna do?” He dips his head down to your neck, and you pull him closer as he sucks bruises onto your skin.

“He’s strict and protective. He’ll notice I’m gone—”

“He’ll notice you can’t walk straight either. There’s no difference.” When you still look unconvinced, he pleads, hand sliding down to cup your ass, relishing in the way you gasp out. “C’mon, stay please?”

You bite your lip as you think. He has a point; your legs are so sore right now you doubt you could even stand on two feet to head to the door, yet walk through your house without your dad noticing something is up. He’s already suspicious about the bruises on your face that you still need to think of a better explanation for, this will just make him confirm whatever suspicions he’s thought of.

“Ok. I’ll stay.”

Time passes quickly, steady. Months of you sneaking out successfully to meet Rindou at his house, months of you losing yourself in his sheets, tugging his hair as he spreads you open with his fingers, eating you out till your legs shake and cum on his face each time, kissing you like he loves you, riding him like a woman starved, sucking the salty thick cum from his cock, smiling deviously up at him as you swallow it.

Months and months of you learning everything about Rindōu, meeting his family, his friends, creating some sort of social life for yourself.

“So when can I meet your dad?” Rindou asks, catching the ball he’s been throwing repeatedly at the ceiling.

“Never. He’d hate your guts, Rin.”

“So? The feelings are mutual, then.”

You look at him, unimpressed, rolling on the flat of your stomach on his bed. “I’m serious. He’s gonna be weird about it, hate on you, your background, your family, your tattoos—”

“Oi,” he nudges you gently with his feet. “What’s wrong with my tattoos?”

“Nothing!” You sit up, crawling towards him on the bed, lifting the hem of his shirt up, revealing the slightest glimpse of the thick black ink you love so much. “Love it so much, Rin.”

“Yeah?” His lips twitch up to a grin, resting a hand behind his head, “show me.”

You peek at him through your lashes, fluttering them chastely, grinning cunningly, leaning down to kiss down his chest.

His muscles contract and flex with each light kiss, rucking his shirt upwards as you make your way further up his chest.

You kiss up to his lips, shuffling yourself on his lap, sucking sweetly along the swell of his lips.

You pull away with a sigh, sitting back on your knees.

“But on a real note—” you cover his mouth with your palm when he tries to kiss you back, ignoring his ticked-off brow. “—you cannot meet him. At least not yet.”

He says something muffled beneath your hand. You remove it, and he repeats himself. “You’re scared I’ll say somethin’ outta pocket, ain’t you?”

He grins at your eye-roll, wiping some hair from your face as he takes a moment to admire you. You barely notice the love-struck look on his face, too busy ranting about how your dad absolutely cannot find out about your secret relationship.

“I know you’ll say something out of pocket, Rindou. But it’s too early now…and he’ll probably ground me for life for sneaking out all the time to see you and I can’t risk not seeing you anymore. It’s not worth it,” you take his hand, squeeze it gently, reassuringly. “You understand that, right?”

He cradles your body in his lap, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. In truth, you are, he’s never been happier since he’s met you. His brother noticed, his mother noticed, his friends noticed. Even he finds himself thinking about you more than he should; you creep into his dreams at night with that voice of yours, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, creeping your way into his head whenever he zones out.

“Yeah—yeah, I get it.” He pulls you in for a tight, warm hug, nestling your head in the crook of his neck. “I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

#—tr </3 #rindou smut #haitani rindou x reader #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #tokrev x reader #tokrev #tokyorev x reader #rindou haitani smut

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