#breath/infantry

[ceilidho]

prompt: you keep seeing apparitions of a dead special forces operative who's been haunting the barracks. (light angst; nsfw) (actual ghost simon riley)

-

War dogs chewed up and spat out by the machinery of war.

It is an incalculable blow to learn of his death. Worse still that you learn of it by happenstance, one officer talking to another, only listening in because it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him and their voices go hushed in that way that makes your ears prick up. You’re sitting at a nearby table in the canteen when someone says the single most devastating words that have ever been spoken near you.

“They weren’t able to recover the whole body, just some of it. Pretty gruesome. Don’t know if you ever met him, but he was an alright guy—pretty quiet. Scary, yeah, but—I don’t know. He was fair. Got the job done though. Soap’s taking it pretty hard.”

You barely breathe at the news. Something is squeezing your heart until it overfills on the other side. 

You walk around base in a daze after that. It’s not anyone’s fault that you aren’t notified—no one was supposed to know. Your whole arrangement with Simon was predicated on the knowledge that it would never be revealed to your commanding officers or the rest of the infantry. Made sense at the time. Makes less sense now when your world is falling apart and you have no way of even requesting Ghost’s dog tags. 

Pain holds you upright like a splint while it also tries to smother you. You crawl back to your barracks after training the recruits, voice a hoarse whisper in your throat. Showers are an optimal place to cry, when maybe you won’t be heard. Grief is not grief when there’s nowhere for it to go. 

Maybe Soap was privy enough to Ghost’s life to know. He doesn’t spend time with you, but you see him once from across the tarmac on a flight out and his gaze lingers on you. There are deep troughs under his eyes, dark even with the distance between you. His posture is still, rigid; despite his uniform being pressed and his hair being cut and gelled into place, there is something singularly heavy weighing him down.

He nods from across the way to you. You grit your jaw and nod back. 

It’s the only time you’ll ever acknowledge it. Soap never seeks you out after that—maybe it’s too painful. Maybe shared pain isn’t always enough. 

The worst is only finding out weeks later that Ghost has been buried. That’s your closure. An offhand comment from an operations officer on a smoke break. Your numb hand flicking a lighter. Rain breaking in the early twilight hours and you stand in it so long that you shiver and shake on your way back to your room. 

Lightning that crackles in the storm clouds, illuminating the place where you just stood outside while you stare from your window. Illuminating someone standing where you just were. You squint, but they round the bend to one of the other buildings before you can make them out. 

Every soldier has a story. Conducting barracks checks on staff duty only to find a soldier with half their jaw missing asking for a cigarette. A marine approaching a soldier asking for his rifle, garbed in a ripped vest from early Iraq. Squad bays known for apparitions, known for hauntings. Figures seen from the trees, the half-shadowed remains of old tanks, burned and hollowed out, suddenly upright and mobile. 

In certain barracks, soldiers won’t even leave their rooms at night to use the washroom. They’d rather piss in old bottles or hold off until morning light altogether. It’s common enough to be joked about, for soldiers to trade stories in the mess over supper, trying to spook each other with the things they’ve seen or claimed to see. 

You can tell the ones who’ve actually seen things from those who haven’t though. The ones who have are often quieter, often only laugh a little. The truth is buried in their inability to fully commit to the bit. It’s the knowing that does that.

Knowing that there are things that death cannot hide. 

The first time you see Simon again, it’s not a homecoming. You know there’s something very wrong. 

It’s 3am and someone’s standing in front of your door. You feel it before you see them, feel something like every single hair on your body standing on end and the sudden lucid thought in the middle of a dream that you need to wake up. That you need to wake up right now. 

Heart racing when your eyes snap open. Sweat already slicking the backs of your knees. You’re lying on your side, hands curled close to your face, and you feel its gaze on you like the heaviest dread you’ve ever felt in your life. You stare at the wall that your bed is pushed up against until you find the courage to roll over.

Just a shape in the dark. A dark shape. Distinct from the rest of the darkness in your room. Tall as it is wide. The slightest motion to it, like breathing or the gentle swaying of the human body when it’s allowed to be loose. 

There’s a lamp on your end table. You flick it on without tearing your eyes away from the dark shape looming by the door, but when light unveils your room, it flickers away like a bad illusion. Just a jacket hung up on the back of the door. Your heart races still. 

When the light goes off, the shadow doesn’t reappear.

It might not be him, but something’s haunting you. You spoon cereal into your mouth in the morning with a shaking hand. It’s the massive shape of a body behind the shower curtain in your private bathroom that has you certain—certain—that someone’s there until you whip it to the side and see only tile wall. You know what you saw though, and you know from the way the top of it peeked over the curtain that it was blond. 

Weeks go by. You’re in a bivy sack and a voice you recognize wakes you up for watch. It’s the same voice that used to rumble low in your ear when you let him into your bed on leave (you always used to take them at the same time, no one the wiser). You’re back on base in your room and something leans its full weight onto your bed. You wake up to him sitting on the edge of your bed, blood dripping from an old wound. Him though, skull mask and all. Eyes shadowed always, black staring at you seeing and unseeing. 

You don’t need to ask what he wants from you. He lumbers around the barracks like a wraith that only you can see. Never truer to his old moniker than he is in death. A civilian worker flirts with you one day and he winds up in the infirmary. Fell down the stairs, another sergeant tells you when you ask. You smile tight, brittle. If only. 

He slips into your bed at night when the lights are shut and you’ve turned over onto your side. You can’t see him, but the bed compresses under his weight like it did when he was alive. He’s still for a minute, stare heavy on you while you lie there motionless, waiting him out. When he finally lays a hand on your hip, you flinch at how normal it feels. Like he didn’t go out and die one day. Like it’s really him at your back dragging a hand down the curve of your hip and over your thigh.

He divests you of your pyjamas the same way he used to in motel rooms, your apartment off-base, his cabin up north that you still have the key to but can’t bring yourself to visit. You let him. Shorts pulled down and kicked to the bottom of the bed, then your underwear. Shirt rucked up so he can fit a big, rough hand over your tit. His hands are solid where they touch you, nothing ghostly about them. He squeezes like the memory of your flesh is half-gone, like he needs to sink himself into you again. 

“Missed…you…” His voice comes like a deep rumble, tectonic plates shifting over the asthenosphere. 

The hand on your breast slides up, over the delicate skin of your throat, over where your pulse goes mad and you dry swallow because there’s nothing in your mouth. Over and up the curve of your cheek, thumb pressing against your lips, curling your top lip up until you’re almost kissing it. Then he lets go, hand coming back down to your hip. 

“Simon, are you—” you start, cut off on a gasp when he lifts your leg over his hip and something presses against your opening. Notches there, sinks in hot inch after hot inch. Head spinning and breath wild when he spears you on his thick length, half-tumbling over you until you’re lying prone on your bed. Simon’s as heavy as you remember, the full weight of him keeping you trapped there. You can only take. You can only draw in a deep breath and let out the softest sounds while he presses in, 

“Had to…come back,” the ghost of your old lover says, growling into your ear. “Couldn’t…leave you here…alone.”

You wonder what’s really behind the mask this time. His hands and dick feel flesh enough, but fear still quivers in your belly because you know that whatever it is pressing you down with a firm hand on your shoulder blade, it’s not fully him. 

You’ve heard of ghosts haunting places but never people. There’s something achingly loyal about the way he fucks you though. It’s dark and hot under him, and he mouths where he can, mask pulled up finally. Not that you can see. Better that you can’t, maybe. Pulsing in and out of your cunt, silent but for his shallow intakes of breath. He feels enormous and terrifying at your back. 

A big arm still clad in his old uniform jacket is braced beside your head. Simon whispers apologies into your hair; that he pulled himself out of a grave for a second time because he couldn’t untangle his soul from yours, but he got it wrong this time around. He didn’t make it in time. 

“I won’t leave you though, love,” he says around kisses laid tender on the nape of your neck. He bites the meat of your shoulder hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth. “Never gonna leave you.” His words make you slicker, hotter; tightening around him until he snarls and fucks more viciously. A promise you thought he couldn’t keep. 

In the morning, you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You take off your shirt and turn around. There’s a red bite mark on your upper left shoulder and it aches when you touch it.

[callofdudes]

Best idea

Y/n had to go MIA/KIA to keep the 141 safe, once Simon founds out angry cause he mourned for his best friend only to find out their alive and in hiding, demanded platonic cuddles as their “punishment”

Ok, I'm gonna get the brain juices running for this one. Another one based off a story my bestie @itsscromp and I did. But I changed it up. Hope you enjoy, it's longer than I anticipated it being.

Also, I should have fully expected the repercussions of letting you guys vote Egg as a callsign... but I'ma still use it.

Where did you go??

Summary: They thought you were gone, dead. Turns out you were under their noses and a call away the whole time.

Cw: Angst. Nothing much else.

Your mission had gone... Well for lack of a better word it went to shit. Whole thing blew up. An ambush, a bomb, it would be a long road to explain what all in all happened but it did, and now you were paying for it. It had gotten so bad they couldn't pull you from the junction you were stuck in.

You were supposed to be infiltrating an old base which had become home to a drug ring. But no one happened to mention the mines you'd step on and fuck up your leg with. Or the live wire that alerted the whole base after said mine went off.

So now this entire base was up in arms, you have a broken leg and probably other damage. You were lucky your leg hadn't been blown off.

And to be quite frank, these men were extremely dangerous which meant your fuck up was astronomical. The second they found you you were probably going to die.

So you commed into Price, telling him your situation.

"Alright Egg, I'm going to go in on foot and bring you back to the helicopter just hang tight soldier."

"Yes sir." You lay down, catching your breath and willing yourself not to look at your leg because if it felt bad it probably looked bad too.

Not twenty minutes later Price was approaching your form, bending down to check on you. "You broken??"

"Yeah I'm pretty sure... I don't want to look though."

Price nodded, tucking his gun away and grabbed your arms. "Alright, up we go," he hauled you up into his arms, hefting you over his shoulder and going back the way he came. Just... A little quicker this time since things were looking good for the oppositions infantry.

Price brought you back to the helicopter where you were bandaged up. The mission could have been better planned so they didn't end up sending another team out.

Price had the team drop you off near some loading stations far off the location of the base.

"What... Are we doing here??"

Price got out of the helicopter and checked your leg before pulling you out with him. "I can't bring you back to base. It's a security risk if I do..."

You frowned. "What do you mean?? Where am I going then??"

"There's a secure underground safehouse that will keep you hidden. It's got the provisions you need and the people you need. They'll keep quiet and keep you safe. For now, for however long, I need you to lay low."

You opened your mouth to protest but then shut it again. "I understand. Will I get to see the others..?"

"No, you are not to contact them in any way at all. Until I contact you, you are to remain on the downlow."

Your head falls slightly, but you nod. "Alright, I can do that."

Price nodded and patted your shoulder. He picked you up and helped you into the truck waiting for you. "They'll take care of you. I'll contact you as soon as it's safe. If I do not contact you do not contact us. Got it?"

You nod once again, taking the instructions to heart. You wouldn't be able to contact Ghost, Soap or Gaz. You wouldn't be able to contact anyone. But you knew this was for the best.

So with a last goodbye Price closed the door to the truck and the soldier in the driver's seat drove down the empty road out of the landing space.

"How long will we be gone??"

"Until we get the word from Captain Price. Don't worry. It'll be kept under wraps..."

...

Price returned to the base, taking a deep breath and having had time to figure everything out. He immediately called the others into a meeting.

Considering you and Price weren't supposed to be back for the rest of the day, or even two days or more the meeting was seen as urgent.

Ghost was there first, the sergeants following his trail as they came into the office. "Price... What are you doing back?" Ghost asked sternly, hands clasped tightly as if ready for action at a moments notice.

"Relax... There won't be any fighting. I need you all to sit."

Soap threw Gaz a concerned look as they sat. "Where is y/n, are they still out there??"

Price straightened his posture. He didn't exactly want to lie to his own men, but he'd done worse and he knew this was completely for the best.

"The mission didn't go well as soon as we went in."

Ghost frowned. "Didn't go well?? These drug traders could be connected to Shepherd's on power, how did it wrong??"

"Ghost, relax." Price replied firmly. "I realize that we didn't think this over as well as we should have... Their base was much more protected than we originally thought so Egg went in blind."

"So what happened? Did you pull them??" Ghost was growing more agitated the longer they sat there.

"They commed in about an exploded mine and... We couldn't find them."

The room grew quiet. Soap and Gaz shared concerned looks as Gaz spoke up. "Did you do a full search? We're they hidden in the dirt or something and you missed??"

Price shook his head. "Too risky to go on foot and search. We didn't know how many more mines were out there." Only a small white lie, but a lie nonetheless.

Ghost squared in his chair. "Then we need to go find them. What are we sitting here for just waiting-!"

"Ghost, if they are safe they'll comm in. For now I can't risk sending men in there with the base on high alert and their supposed boss on speed dial. So for now we sit down and we wait to see if Egg comes back with anything."

Ghost was boiling up underneath. Feelings of rage that Price couldn't have waiting a little longer. Worry because they left you out there probably still alive... And fear. Because what if you weren't alive.

"I won't make any calls on it now, but this is where we are at so remain patient. I'm doing what I can to sort this out." Price had to rewire this plan to keep all of his men safe. All of his soldiers, including you.

"Dismissed."

The air was tense when everyone left. The idea you were out there alone, still alive and possibly if not injured and with no help. It scared them all.

Gaz was the first to try and get in contact with you. But any of his efforts were proving ineffective.

Soap just had to wait it out. To hope they could find you or you could find them in time.

Ghost... Ghost didn't know what to think. He knew you were capable. He knew if you were alive then you'd comm in. Once you were safe he knew you would make contact. You could protect yourself... He had to believe you would be ok.

That mentality lasted right up until a week later when Price called everyone back in to pronounce you MIA. Stamped on a card to your file and just like that, they truly had zero traces of you.

They were devastated. A week and no turn of anything from you. This is when Simon started to call your phone. Leaving you text messages.

He couldn't sleep because all his thoughts and dreams were of you. Hoping you were ok and alive. That hope was dying, waking up in cold sweats on nights he could close his eyes for even a moment.

Clutching his beating heart while his body rattled with panic, phone pressed to his ear only to hear your voice over the same simple voice mail as ever.

He couldn't be without you. You were a crucial part of his life. Of his mission. He couldn't just abandon that connection. You had to be alive.

Price cut communication with the safe house you were being taken care of. Unless it was an emergency Price knew not of your condition, only that you were safe. He too was worried, bouncing around through meetings and talking with Laswell and this and that and the other thing.

Trying to figure out what to do now that they needed a new plan and how long they could wait to re-infiltrate.

Simon had started leaving you voicemails, not knowing if he'd ever hear your voice again.

"Hey, this is Y/n, I'm currently busy but please try to leave a message so I can get back to you!"

Simon laid awake, staring up at the ceiling as he held the phone to his ear.

"Y/n.... If you can hear me you gotta respond. Please, I don't know if you'll ever hear these again but if you're somewhere out there I know you're alive. Anything, please, I..." He closed his eyes, thinking back to the last time he saw you. Taking off in that helicopter, a pat on the shoulder and a good luck...

"I miss you. And I'm not giving up on you. I'm not." He wouldn't cry... He wouldn't cry. He would not cry.

"I'm going to come find you. I know somewhere you're still alive. Even if their torturing you I promise I won't leave you out there to die you hear me."

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he covered his eyes, curling up on his bed. "I know you hear me...." He choked out. "I know you can hear me...." He stares at the phone. "Please Y/n.... Please, anything..."

He stared at the phone, waiting like you would magically pick up and reassure him even for a second that you were ok and alive and even if you weren't thriving you were still breathing.

But no...

The voicemail lasted for over an hour. Simon laid there, staring at him phone, unable to bring himself to hang up again.

His thumb hovered over the phone. He wanted to say one last thing... He opened his mouth, but he hesitated. His eyes downcast and one last tear rolled down his cheek as he ended the call once again. Only to face another restless night of no sleep.

By the eighth month mark you were pronounced KIA.

Simon had pretty much known by that point. He'd lost his best friend but he had been in denial until Price told them. They couldn't find a trace of you. No body, no tags, no clothes, no weapon. You had simply... Vanished.

Simon continues to mourn all while you were still being held up in that underground safehouse. Sitting on the small rickety bed, watching the higher ranked soldiers also staying watch at the safehouse talk in the other room.

It was beyond difficult. No contact with outside, you ate, slept, the others tended to your leg and occasionally sparred with you to help you back on your feet.

You missed your team. Your friends. Your family.

You listened to every single voicemail Simon sent. You couldn't reply. Couldn't text him back or even pick up the phone for a second to let him know you were ok.

You remained radio silent.

Even as you'd lay awake at night with your phone replaying the voicemail, listening to the recorded lapse of Simon's breathing while he stared at the phone with an empty, sorrowful expression from the other side.

You missed him so much. You wanted to see them again. But you couldn't. Not yet. Would you ever get to see them again?? They couldn't leave you down here forever.

There was a brief knock on your door as one of the sergeants nodded to you. "Food is ready, new supply just came in."

You nod, pausing the voicemail. "Thanks... I'll be out in a minute."

You sighed, turning off your phone and tucking it away, praying that you'd see them soon.

...

Simon had lost you. Didn't even get a chance to protect you. It had gotten to the point where his lack of sleep would lead to seeing figures of you disappear down hallways. In a spark of hope and joy he'd rush to find you only to find nothing...

On the off days he'd run into a recruit or a sergeant wandering the halls. As soon as they would turn around though... The illusion would shatter.

His own mind was killing him from the inside. Sending you hundred and hundreds of text messages. Every morning and night, rants about his day and what he was feeling. If he was going to pour everything out like you'd ever see it he did it now.

Knowing you'd never pick that phone up again, knowing you'd never look him in the eyes again. Knowing he'd never hear your voice or feel your touch or know your comfort ever again.

This drove him further and further into the spiral. Price had never seen Simon beat up the punching bag so much he bled all over it. He'd never seen Simon get snappy and angry I'm split decisions like he did.

He'd never seen Simon grow so desperate and over protective of Johnny and Kyle. Because Simon's new fear was he'd lose them just like he lost you...

This went on for the next three months after that. Nearly a year since you'd died and they were back out on that minefield. A proper plan, a new way in, a new goal.

Simon was desperate to tear that base apart and even find a trace of your body. Even just a piece of your clothing or your signature engraved gun hanging in their armory somewhere.

But in the end he was left with no more questions answered than when he first entered that meeting room eleven months ago.

Simon had followed the trail to the last thread. The main office of that base. Pulling open every drawer and every cabinet.

"Lt stop you're making a mess-!"

"There's got to be a file or something here! There fucking has to be!"

"Ghost stop we found the information we needed. We have the shipments contained the base is clear what could you be looking for??" Gaz asked, trying to understand what had gotten Ghost in such a frenzy.

"A kill list or an interrogation chart. Anything."

"For what Simon!?"

"For Y/n!!" Simon snapped at them both. Breathing heavy as he finishes emptying every drawer in that office.

Price stood silently in the doorway. Enough time had passed. He wouldn't put them through this anymore.

"Come on lads... I think it's time I show you something."

Their attention turned on to him. Simon was almost vibrating with rage and anxiety. He just wanted any knowledge of what happened. He knew you were dead but his soul was restless without knowing. He needed to know...

They left, Price piled them in the helicopter and the ride back was silent. Simon stared at his hands the whole time. Soap fidgeted, knee bouncing and chewing his lip anxiously.

Gaz picked at the loose strap of his gun, also attempting to distract himself from the elephant in the room.

When the helicopter landed they weren't on base. They landed on the small helipad you had been brought to some some before. Price got out, motioning the other three to follow.

"Where are we Price??" Soap looked around, not recognizing the place.

"You'll know soon enough." Price brought them to a truck, talking with the officer in charge of the station before climbing in the driver's seat.

The sergeants got comfy in the back and Simon slipped into the passenger seat. His eyes remained fixed on the passenger window, watching the open land pass by and the fields of undisturbed flowers and wildlife.

What if he had found you here? May you would have liked that better. Surrounded by the flowers and the soft blowing breeze instead of wherever your body lay, ashes or not.

He turned away, fixing his eyes to the dashboard to try and distract himself.

The ride was quiet once again. Lasting about an hour and a half before Price stopped, parking the vehicle outside a small outpost of sorts. It wasn't build very high off the ground and was concealed by trees and wildlife.

"A safehouse. Why cannae we jus' go home??" Soap asked as he jumped out of the vehicle with the others.

"I'd prefer we made a stop here." Price said, leading them to the entrance where surpisingly a soldier was there to bring them in.

"Occupied? Now there's something new." Gaz whispered to Soap.

Simon didn't understand why they were even making this stupid trip. He wanted to go back to base. He wanted to hide once again like he always did.

"Captain Price, welcome back." The soldier shook Price's hand and walked them further inside.

"Sergeant! Their here for you!" The soldier called out, walking to one of the small rooms where you were. Where you spent most of your time.

You looked up. Who was here for you?? Your eyes widened. Them, your team! It had to be them they were back!

You pushed off your bed, leaning into your good leg and moved faster than you had in almost a year. Turning the corner and there they were. Price, Simon, Johnny, Kyle. All of them.

But.... This wasn't the hopeful reunion you'd pictured in your head over and over again. No one moved. The thought of Simon rushing the hug you didn't come true as he didn't move.

Price walked over, embracing you. "Good to see you again sergeant." You hugged him tightly, so good to be held by him, embraced by Price again. You'd missed him so much.

Johnny was the second one to snap out of it, running over and wrapping his arms around you tightly. "What the hell is wrong with you doing this! You had us all sick and worried and heartbroken!!"

"It wasn't my plan... I'm sorry." You hugged Johnny back. "I'm so sorry Soap, I'm so sorry." Johnny couldn't stop his tears, not wanting to let go in fear you'd slip away again.

Gaz followed, hugging you tighter than you'd ever felt him do before. You'd never seen Gaz openly cry but he was balling, sobbing as he hugged you tightly.

"We thought you were dead, captain told us you were dead!"

"I had to do it to protect them... To protect all of us." Price knew this would probably take a bit for them all to come to terms and forgive him for, but it had to be done.

When the others were done cooing and coddling over you, there was just Simon left.

He felt alone. He felt cold and separated. He felt like he wasn't a part of the same bubble as the others... He watched them embrace and kiss and love on you... You. It was you.

You turned to him, but Simon didn't move. He didn't know if he could. He felt so consumed by his darkness and his grief it didn't allow him to step into the light.

He'd consumed himself so much if he touched you he felt he might burn. That you fall like sand from his fingertips and the illusion would shatter...

"Simon...." You whisper, stepping toward him, causing Simon to step back.

You could see the fear in his eyes. The lack of trust, the amount of hurt, the pain he must have went through to have one of his lifelines ripped away and then thrust back into his life suddenly like it was fine.

"I'm... I'm sorry Simon I didn't mean to hurt you. I listened to every voicemail you sent. I knew every text that went through. But I...."

"You could have told me you were fine! You could have told me you were ok!! Bullshit that you couldn't!! Bullshit!!" Simon thundered.

You remained silent. Simon glared at Price. This was his fault. You'd been taken away without warning. He could have kept it a secret he could have carried that knowledge and not been out through a years worth of fire from hell!

Simon threw his gun to the ground, not even carrying as he left again.

"Lieutenant! Simon!" Price called after him as Simon left the safehouse.

You placed your hand on Price's chest. "Don't... It's ok. Let me help him."

Price looked down. But he nodded.

You left the safehouse, finding Simon around the corner huddled up, shaky hands trying to light a cigarette to get his nerves to calm down and his mind to clear up.

"You hid from me." He cursed, acting like he was seconds from spitting your name into the dirt and squashing it. But you knew. You knew inside he was hurting more than anyone else on the team.

You knelt beside him, gently taking the lighter from his hands. "I never meant to hurt you. If I didn't have strict orders from Price I would have contact you right away."

"Why couldn't he have at least told us you were ok. That you were alive."

"I... I don't know Simon, you'll have to ask Price about that one. But I promise I never meant to hurt you. I listened to every voicemail, I didn't give up. I can see the pain it caused you."

You moved closer, slipping into his arms and hugging him tightly. The second you wrapped your arms around him. He felt your weight, your warmth, your heart pounding in your chest against his own.

Simon finally looked at you, tears spilling down his cheeks. He was shattered. So hurt from losing you.

"You fuckin' abandoned me!!"

"I didn't abandon you Simon. You know I would have picked up and came running back even if my leg was missing."

He knew it was true. But he was so... So angry and torn and upset. He wanted to scream and fight and he felt so small and helpless.

The real you.

Not some illusion passing corners or drifting through his peripherals. The you he could touch and hold and protect.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, never letting go of you even once. He didn't stop those tears as he pulled you impossibly closer.

"I'm here Simon. I'm not leaving again ok? I'm right here."

He remained silent, crying as he held onto you. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck. It felt like hours passed. It felt like time slowed. What felt like two hours was twenty minutes when he finally pulled away enough to look at your face.

To see the light in your glimmering eyes, to see every feature of your face that made you, you.

His sergeant. His teammate. His family.

You smiled softly, gently pulling up his mask off his head to cup his cheeks, rubbing your thumb gently over the dimple in his cheek you've seen when he shows you his smile.

"Smudged your paint a little bit," You whisper. "Let's get that fixed." You gently brush your finger over his face, feeling him start to relax at that familiar and missed touch as you fix the paint around his eyes.

"There we go. How can I help Simon. What will help make this better?"

Simon tried to flick away the rest of his tears, huffing softly. "Cuddles. And you are not allowed to say no after what you put me through. This is your punishment for making me go through that shit!"

You chuckle. "Oh, cuddles with Simon, scary. I'll pay the fine, I'll do all the punishment time of cuddles you request. Sound good?"

Simon nods his head.

"Ok, well how about we go inside now? I could use some cuddles too."

You were about to get up when Simon hugged you again. "I'm glad you're ok..."

You smiled softly, kissing the top of his head. "I am too Simon." You help his mask back on and the two of you head inside.

Simon would let out his feelings to Price sometime later when his head felt less foggy. For now, he was content to crash on the rickety old safehouse bed and koala cling to you till kingdom come.

Nuzzling up and holding you tightly, not letting you go for even a itty bitty millisecond.

And you were fine with that. You were glad you could be back with your family. Simon was glad to welcome you back. You'd be serving a lot of cuddle prison time. A strenuous task, but one all too rewarding.

Running your hand down the back of his head, scratching his back to help him relax and set himself at ease.

All he needed was to koala crush your soul into his soul, and then he'd be ok. Slowly, his eyes started to close after the exhaustion of the mission, but he fought to keep them open.

"I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise, I won't be going anywhere." You whisper to him.

"You promise?"

"I double swear it. I won't leave. I'll be right here."

He snuggled you impossibly closer and let his eyes close. He let his mind rest. His heart soak in you and heal. Slowly you could help mend what has fallen apart.

And cuddles were never a bad place to start...

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟏𝟐 — 𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐌

kinktober day 012 | agent!peggy x lieutenant!reader

you're eating your wife out under her office desk as she speaks to - or least, attempts to speak to - her military soldiers. tinged with the angst of a classic 1940s 'forbidden' sapphic romance.

cont. office sex, fingering, edging, angst (what a combo) word count. 2065

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Oh, babe, m’so close,” Peggy gasps in pleasure, gripping onto the handles of her arm chair, as your fingers curl inside her pretty cunt.

“Almost there already?” you tease, mouthing at her pretty breasts and leaving light marks with your teeth. “I haven’t even been here that long, Agent Carter.”

“Enough with the Agent Car- Oh, just shut up and fuck me properly,” she responds exasperatedly, hands twisting into the navy green of your military uniform. You move your fingers in tight little circles, smirking as she throws her head back.

These forbidden little trysts that always ended up in Peggy’s office fed into every one of your desires and fantasies. As much as the element of ‘forbidden’ excited you to no end, there was always this sick little want in your mind to show Peggy off, show everyone how good you made her feel, show everyone that you were the only person who could make her feel like this.

Today is no different, the both of you in Peggy’s office. You had purposefully left the door closed but unlocked, only with the woman’s reluctant agreement. That thought in itself, that any of her soldiers could see her unravelling like this — that thought made you so, so wet.

When Peggy brings her hands up your shirt to palm at your tensed abdomen, you feel a surge of arousal, and it causes you to slam the back of her chair against her office desk with need. Peggy whines beautifully as you tower over her with purpose, hands wrapping around her pretty neck to kiss her.

You get lost in the haze of lust, only registering Peggy’s stifled moans and those pathetic whimpers, only registering her warmth and wetness clenching needily around your fingers.

“Coming!” Peggy cries out, and just as you’re about to push your fingers once more against her sweet spot, there’s a knock on the door.

“Agent Carter, it’s important,” a gruff male voice sounds from behind the door.

You halt your movements, eyes locking with the brunette, fingers stilling themselves inside her cunt.

You don’t miss the way Peggy’s eyes dart to the door in fear, her breath hitching, but her hips still trying to chase that pleasure.

It excites you.

“You have to go,” Peggy squirms under your grasp that holds her still. “We can’t be seen-”

“You want me to jump out the window of the sixth floor?” you ask seriously, helping to button up her blouse. She looks so pretty, with her face flushed and her lipstick smeared. You swipe a thumb along the bottom of her lip to clean it up, and Peggy looks at you pleadingly.

“Agent Carter, it’s the 107th Infantry Regiment here to see you.”

With a determined huff, Peggy lifts up a leg and promptly kicks you under her desk, the heel getting you in the side. “Come in,” she says loudly, glaring at you as your face screws up in pain.

Eyes narrowing at her brattiness, you reach up from under the desk and pull off the entirety of Peggy’s grey skirt in one fluid motion just as the door swings open, leaving her completely bare and vulnerable from the waist down. Her panties were still in your pocket, saved for further use.

Peggy lets out a strangled sound of frustration mixed with pleasure as she rolls her armchair into place, hiding her nudity from view of the entering soldiers. This means that you’re face-level with her bare, glistening cunt, and it doesn’t take a genius to find out what you’d do with that.

“Agent,” the soldiers chorus as you make yourself comfortable under the table. You’re seated cross-legged, gripping at Peggy’s thighs, mouth dangerously close to her throbbing cunt.

“R-Right, this better be important,” Peggy begins, clearing her throat and trying to regain her composure. Her hands are clammy, nails digging into her palms in an attempt to calm her growing arousal.

Your hot breath is on her wetness, unbelievably simulating, and your presence under her desk while her soldiers were in the same room was electrifying.

“It is,” that same gruff voice sounds, and you recognize it as Bucky Barnes. He was a bit too arrogant for your liking, and you detested the way he looked at Peggy sometimes. 

She was yours.

Your hands slide up the length of Peggy’s bare legs, dragging goosebumps along with the gentle touch, then grabbing fistfuls of the sides of her ass.

Peggy jerks in her seat, and you can imagine her sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?” another voice asks. It’s Steve Rogers, Mr. Captain America. You feel another round of jealousy coursing through your bloodstream. It was no secret around camp that he had a puppy love for your lady.

You wrap your bulky, muscled arms around her big thighs, forcefully prying them apart as your tongue pushes into the slit of her leaking pussy. Peggy was already sensitive from before, and the sensation of your long tongue entering her cunt made Peggy let out a disguised moan. 

“I- oh, I- I think that I’m just a bit unwell today,” the agent says with a quavering voice, forcing a polite smile onto her face in an attempt to hide the pleasured expression that fights its way there.

“Sorry to hear that, Agent Carter,” Steve offers sympathetically. “We’ll make this quick. We've got new intel on the Red Skull and we think he's a more dangerous threat than we initially envisioned."

When you start dragging your tongue up and down in long stripes, teasing at Peggy’s entrance but not truly letting her experience a high, she knows that her squelching sounds would be embarrassingly loud if she didn’t do something. 

Peggy reaches for the remote and turns up the Stark-sponsored fan to its highest setting. The loud whirring sound creates more noise, and you gladly take the opportunity to dive into her cunt, tongue lapping fervently at the wet heat like you were worshipping a sacred temple.

“I’m just – oh, Christ – have a – mhm, bit of a fever going,” Peggy says brokenly, fanning at herself with an awkward chuckle. She’s screaming internally, your mouth buried in her pussy like you would nest in there forever.

"Right,” Bucky says with a raised eyebrow. “So we thought we might need more backup before our infiltration into the HYDRA base. The senior-rank soldiers, Agent Carter, if you could allow us that permission."

Peggy nods, the words going in one ear and flying out the other. Your fingers are in action now, as well, 

"We know that it's a last-minute change,” another soldier says, and Peggy looks in his general direction but she can’t even focus on how he looks like to recognise him. Her vision is swimming, her thoughts are dizzying.

The centre of her universe was you.

She was so close. So, so close.

But you leave her hanging there, at the edge of a precipice, between inexplicable pleasure and unrecoverable shame.

Peggy almost sobs.

"Changes like that have to be made in the face of all possible scenarios,” Peggy says, clamping her thighs around your head. It helps fractionally with the overwhelming arousal, and the agent desperately seizes that small chance. “I appreciate you all coming to me with this information. It should take a bit of paperwork to settle but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Agent Carter,” Steve says sincerely, and you roll your eyes under the desk at the stupid smile you can hear in his voice. She was yours. You push your fingers in a little deeper.

Fuck, Peggy needs it. Needs to release all that pent-up arousal.

"Oh, Agent Carter, have you seen Lieutenant L/N? We want to ask her about the added arms and ammunition," you hear Bucky ask, and you almost snort into Peggy’s dripping cunt.

"No, I don't suppose I've seen her around,” Peggy forces out, trying to subtly grind her hips against your face. She’s that desperate, that needy for the pleasure you’re dangling in front of her. 

You’d been edging her, controlling her pleasure like you were a puppeteer and she was your marionette. 

She needs it. She needs it or she’s going to die.

"Is that all?"

“Yes, Ma’am,” Bucky answers, and following his lead are the rest of the soldiers who leave Peggy’s office in an orderly manner.

Your two fingers curl in the glory of her dampened cunt, tongue still lapping at the flowing nectar that tastes like honey to your lips.

Finally, Peggy cries internally. Finally, she can get her sought-after release—

"Peggy," Steve begins desperately, putting his hands on the edge of the desk you’re sitting under. He’d hung around while the others had filed out, clearly wanting to speak to the agent.

Oh, fuck no.

Peggy wants to cry in frustration at her prolonged denial of pleasure, and you fume in deadly silence. How dare he address her by her first name, with more fondness than a close friend. How dare he think he’s good enough for your Peggy–

"About that dance I asked you to-" Steve continues, none the wiser to the raging conflict going on beneath the surface.

Your fingers thrust deep into Peggy’s sweet spot, and a lewd squelch sounds, and it takes everything in her willpower not to cry out your name. Steve is too flustered to notice, and Peggy thanks the heavens for his oblivious nature.

"I'm not–, in- oh, interested, Rogers. Exit my office now.”

By the grace of some God, Steve takes ‘no’ as an answer. The dejected man hangs his head, turning around in resolution. Peggy’s vision is blurring, not because she feels for Rogers, but because the amount of pleasure you’re filling her to the brim with.

She can feel you, gripping the flesh of her thighs and leaving dark fingerprints, your tongue ever so languidly tracing the outline of her dripping hole, just waiting for the opportune moment like a predator about to pounce on its prey.

The door’s barely clicked shut before you’re making the most carnal noises into Peggy’s cunt, tongue diving deeper than what she thought was physically possible. “Oh, mhmm, fuck!” she cries, head thrown back as she weaves her fingers into your hair.

“You have no idea,” you growl, throwing both of Peggy’s legs over your shoulders to give you better access. “No fuckin’ idea how much I wanted to make you cum in front of that good-for-nothin’. Make him see you become such a fucking slut for me.”

Peggy mewls, practically humping your face, so insanely desperate for you to make her feel good. She can’t differentiate your rough hands or your long tongue, stimulating her across her whole body, like a raging fire has been ignited and it can’t be doused.

“Please,” Peggy pants, one of her hands going to grip the top of her armchair, trying to reach a semblance of non-existent control. “Oh,” she moans, husky and low, when your nose bumps against her enlarged clit. You proceed to do it repeatedly, and Peggy’s frighteningly close to passing out from sheer pleasure.

“Say you’re mine,” you whisper, almost unheard. 

Peggy hears the desperation in your voice. Like she’s not the only one who’d die without your touch. Like she’s more than just a simple game of cat-and-mouse. Like you’re not the forsaken lovers who’ll go down in the history books as ‘best friends’.

Like the two of you could ever be something more.

But it doesn’t matter, not now when she’s crying for your touch, and not ever.

“I’m yours,” Peggy answers, with more resolution in her voice than any military call, with more steadfastness in her voice than she would ever care to admit. It’s a promise, a sacred one, and with that the two of you were bound.

All it takes is a harsh curl of your fingers into Peggy’s sweet spot that has her coming undone, ropes and seals unwinding for the maker that is you. 

Wave after wave of pleasure rolls over Peggy’s body, white-hot liquid making its way into the crooks and crevices of your face Peggy found her religion in.

The look that passes between the two of you as Peggy finally topples over the ledge is unsaid. It doesn’t need to be said. It can’t be said.

I’m with you till the end of the line.

"in the crooks of your body, i find my religon." -sappho

how was the characterization of peggy? it's my first time writing for her, and it was pretty interesting as compared to writing for natasha and wanda. i mean, peggy's speech is generally more refined, and i would think she would be more prudish about sex in general. (my personal opinion, i've never watched her series)

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter xxv – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count:  4,100+

masterlist

Y/N wanted to wake up to Eris’ warmth wrapped around her, to have his autumn scent taking over her senses once again, and his strong arms reminding her that she was protected, safe. 

But Eris had left hours ago – and so stealthily that Y/N had no idea when. 

Instead, Y/N had shot up in bed breathing heavily. 

There had been a surge of power. So strong that it jolted the witch from her deep sleep. 

Both her movements and the surge woke Ronan up, growling as if there was danger in the bedroom. 

“Eris,” Y/N breathed. 

Somehow she knew the power had erupted from him. 

Something was wrong – very wrong. Even the night Eris had defeated Beron, even the night Y/N followed him deep into the forest to test his new strength…she had never felt such power come from Eris. 

If he were using it now, then he was under some sort of attack. 

Y/N jumped out of bed, flinging off her nightgown and threw on trousers and a tunic – quicker than worrying herself with a dress or a damn corset. 

If she was off to battle, she would order a sentry to fetch her the same armor Eris had forced upon her before. 

But Y/N needn’t look far, for as soon as she flung the door open, she was met with a handful of sentries standing guard outside her chambers.

Amongst them were all of Eris’ smoke hounds. And as soon as they heard their master’s mate open the door, they had shot to their feet and whined with anticipation. 

Y/N’s eyes raced amongst the sentries, half expecting Lucien to be with them.

But Eris’ brother was nowhere to be found, which meant he was surely with him. 

“Where is the High Lord?” She asked curtly. 

“There was rebellion in Drumenthoul,” the highest ranking responded quickly. She recognized him well enough to know his name: Captain Respen. 

Her brow furrowed. “Lord Muiris’ demesne?” 

“Yes, my lady. It is one of Autumn Court’s largest cities. Its subjects attacked the manor of the late lord, after they heard of the attack on you. His son retaliated, using what was left of his father’s army to wreak havoc on his own people. But it appeared to be an attempt at a trap.” 

Y/N’s stomach dropped. “Walk with me,” she ordered all of them. 

Instantly, they fell into step with her. 

“Ready my horse with my weapons,” she continued. One of the sentry rushed ahead to do as she asked, making his way to the stables. “I must go to him.” Then she looked at Captain Respen and silently told him to continue.  

“Before the attacks started, Lord Muiris’ son had called for reinforcements...from any Lord who did not agree with the High Lord’s usurping.” 

“They knew Eris would aid his people and they used that to lure him intro a trap with a bigger enemy than he could have anticipated,” Y/ noted aloud. 

“Precisely, my lady.” He didn’t hide how impressed he was with her intelligence. She had the makings of a High Lord's wife, despite her mortal and witchling upbringing.

“Do not fear though, Lady Y/N. Eris anticipated such an attack. He brought his best infantry.” Respen hesitated before he added, “And he has gained much power since becoming High Lord.” 

Y/N knew Respen was trying to calm her, to assure her Eris couldn’t be in danger. But no words would calm her.

“And you were left behind to guard me?” Annoyance was clear in her voice. 

“Protecting the High Lord’s mate is no lowly task, Lady Y/N. It is a great honor. The High Lord will take no chances at you being attacked while he is preoccupied with civil war. It would be the exact time for an assassination attempt.” 

When they reached the courtyard, Aengus was indeed ready, with her sword, bow, and satchel of arrows attached to the saddle.

But Y/N suddenly remembered that Drumenthoul was on the north coast of the court.

She had included cardiography in her Autumn Court studies. And it would take days to reach. 

Why had no one said anything?

“Can someone winnow me?” She asked. 

All the soldiers shifted uncomfortably, not meeting her gaze. 

Captain Respen was the one who broke the silence. “We are under strict orders to do no such thing.”

He at least had the decency to look guilty about it. 

That was why no one had questioned her orders to grab her mount: she would never get close to the danger in time.  

“Lucien is with them?” She asked quietly. 

He nodded. 

“So I am to just wait here?” 

Before anyone could answer her, there was another surge of power. 

Between the courtyard of the Forest House and the outer gates, there was a half mile. 

But despite the distance, Y/N could see him – no – she could feel Eris. And she sensed that something was not right. 

The next second, she was jumping onto Aengus, and digging her heels into gelding. The horse needed no other signals to throw him into a run. 

“Accompany Lady Y/N,” was the last thing Y/N heard before she was in the forests and meadows between the courtyard and outer wall. 

When she was close enough to take in her mate, she noted that while Eris was walking on his own, his entire body was tense. 

A gust of wind hit her. “He is injured…faebane…faebane…faebane.”

Another gust of wind. “He took…his beastly form.”

Y/N had heard of the High Lord’s beast form from a night of drinking with Cassian. He tried to scare her by sharing the murderous creatures she could stumble upon in the Prythian wilderness. 

“But none are more terrifying than the beasts of High Lords," he had whispered to her for dramatic effect. Then went into great detail of the few times in his centuries when he witnessed Rhysand’s own beastly form. 

Y/N still didn’t know much about them, but she did know it drained one's power. It was no parlor trick, but a skill that only a powerful High Lord could wield – and use sparingly. 

That must have been the blast of power that had woken her up. 

When she was just a few yards away, Y/N swung her leg over the side of the saddle and jumped while Aengus still cantered and had yet to come to a stop. 

“Eris!” Y/N gasped at the sight of him. 

Though he walked on his own, Lucien watched his eldest brother with caution a few steps behind him.

And now Y/N could see that Eris had at least twenty arrows sticking out of his back. 

Then she heard the galloping of her guard catching up to them. 

As soon as Eris’ spotted them, his posture straightened even more. 

He does not want to appear weak in front of his men, Y/N realized. 

“The infantry?” Y/N asked the two of them. 

“Only a handful lost,” Lucien told her. “But many injured. They are being winnowed. The rest will return on horseback.”

Y/N turned to her guard. “Ready the infirmary tents! The injured will be returning any moment. Have a female alert the human women that I will need their help. They will know what to prepare.” 

Captain Respen barked orders at the others, but he and another lingered. 

“Leave us,” she ordered them, more harshly than she ever would if the situation did not call for it. 

Respen eyed Eris. 

“Do as my mate demands, Captain.” The High Lord finally spoke.

Y/N was surprised by how strong his voice sounded, when it was becoming more and more clear to her how much pain he was in. 

Respen and his lieutenant nodded before galloping back to the Forest House. 

Once they were out of eyesight, Eris fell to his hands and knees. 

“Eris!” Y/N whispered, not wanting any fae senses picking up their panic. 

“For Cauldron’s sake!” Lucien growled as he helped his brother off the ground with Y/N. 

Y/N carefully put one of his arms over his shoulder, while Lucien did the same with his other arm.

“How bad?” She hissed.

“I shall live,” Eris muttered. 

His pale skin was not its usual glow, but sickly looking. His hair was covered in mud and blood – and she could only hope most of it was not his. 

“It’s the faebane,” she acknowledged. 

Eris and Lucien looked at her with surprise. But she ignored them. 

“Can you ride?” She whispered to Eris. 

He gave her a shaky nod. “Behind you,” he clarified. 

She nodded and whistled for Aengus. “Lucien, help me get him in the saddle.”

Y/N climbed on first, and pulled him up as Lucien lifted from the ground. 

Eris growled at the pain, making her heart race with panic. 

As soon as he was sitting, Y/N gave orders. “Lucien, get a cot brought to my witchery.  Do it yourself and tell no one. Discretion is key.”

Lucien nodded and winnowed to the Forest House. 

“You want to show them how strong you are, then show them,” Y/N muttered before she urged Aengus into a gallop. 

When they got closer, she softly urged him. “Take the reigns.”

Eris did as she said. 

Y/N knew why Eris did not winnow back into the Forest House on his own. She knew why he would not show pain, despite his back being littered with faebane-poisoned arrows. There were those who still questioned his power. Therefore, he would not show weakness. 

Instead, it looked like two lovers returning after sharing a relieved embrace. 

Y/N jumped down from Aengus and handed the horses to a stableboy, making sure not to watch Eris with worry as he dismounted on his own. 

“Make sure all the healers have been alerted,” Eris told his sentries. Then he looked over his shoulder of the forest and meadow they had just come from. 

With the wave of his hand, a hundred tents appeared out of nowhere. Healer tents for the injured that would soon be brought back. 

“Come,” Y/N offered her hand to her mate. 

Eris didn’t hesitate, taking it and letting her lead him into the Forest House. 

——

Y/N had offered Eris a pain relieving tonic, but he refused it. 

Not having time to argue with him, she fluttered about her witchery, brewing a potion and cutting herbs. 

All while Eris sat patiently on the cot Lucien had snuck in.

Within minutes, Y/N had a healing paste ready. 

“The arrows,” she gulped. “Shall I remove them one by one or all at once?”

Eris met her gaze over her shoulder, “All at once.”

“I will help,” Lucien offered. 

“Touch me with your grimy hands and I will set you alight,” Eris growled in warning. 

Y/N ignored the outburst. “Ready?” She whispered. 

He nodded. 

But Y/N moved in front of him and crouched before him. She took both of his hands in her own, squeezing them lovingly.

She closed her eyes and started chanting a spell.

And Eris immediately felt his back start to heat. 

Even as a bystander, Lucien felt the witch’s power fill the room. 

Eris almost forgot he was about to suffer, too enamored with watching his mate take over with her magic. 

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, but they looked at no one and nothing. 

Lucien watched as they glazed over in white, which they had all put together was only when she was stretching her magic to new and powerful heights. 

And then, as if there was an invisible lasso around all of the two dozen arrows in his back, Y/N’s spell got louder and then abruptly stopped. Along with her spell ending, the arrows were all ripped from Eris’ back in one pull. 

But the only noise that came from the High Lord was a low growl. 

Y/N gasped at the exertion of power, and was quickly trying to catch her breath. 

But her eyes had returned to normal. 

Lucien leaned over to look at Eris’ back. “Well, you sure got all of them.” Then he bent down to pick up the fallen arrows from the ground, burning them in his palm until they were ash. 

“You better clean that up,” Y/N warned as she saw it flutter to the floor. 

She turned her attention back to Eris. “Alright?”

He just nodded. 

“I must clean the wounds individually now,” she told him gently. “Some will need stitching, but not many.”

Silence filled the room as the real work began. Y/N treated Eris’ wounds as if he were made of glass. She was gentle and kind, always giving him a moment when his body tensed with pain. But he never complained and barely made a sound. 

“It was not…it was not how it should be,” Lucien finally spoke after some time. He was sitting on the ground now, knees propped up as he watched from the corner.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked with confusion. 

Lucien watched Eris, who would not meet his gaze. “Beron’s beast form was that of a multi-tailed fox – still a tremendous size – and with the wings of an owl. Smaller than the beasts of the other High Lords, but still ever so deadly.” 

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And…?”

But Lucien didn’t speak. 

“I was something else,” Eris finally answered, trying to pass through the subject. 

“Something more,” Lucien corrected darkly. 

“I don’t understand,” she admitted quietly. 

But Eris just stared at the ground, his face emotionless. 

Lucien cleared his throat awkwardly, but continued. “He too turned into a fox, but that of a bear – something to rival even Tamlin. He had the antlers of our court’s stag. And the flames…he was engulfed in flames.”

Was it fear in Lucien’s tone... or awe? Y/N couldn’t figure it out. 

Lucien finally finished with, "The arrows you pulled from his back are just those of hundreds that failed to take him down.” 

“Then I shall thank this beast when I see him,” Y/N snapped. “For he seems to be the reason that Eris returned alive.” 

That was her only warning to Lucien to stop his antics. 

“Leave us,” Eris ordered his youngest brother. 

He didn’t need to be told again. 

“I will check on the injured,” Lucien announced to no one in particular. 

He closed the door louder than necessary, making both of them roll their eyes. 

The only sound to be heard was the crackling of the fire in the witchery. 

“How do you know how to treat faebane?” Eris’ tone instantly switched to the softness that was only reserved for his mate. 

“I shall tell you when you tell me why you ran into battle without waking me," she countered grimly. 

Eris was smart enough to look guilty, even though she couldn’t see his face as she worked on his back. “I did not wish to worry you.” 

“And being woken up by your surge of power was not more worrisome?” 

“I did not realize you would sense my magic in such a way,” he admitted. 

Y/N paused her healing and walked around to look down at him. “You could have been killed, Eris. And I never would have even said goodbye.” 

Without hesitating, Eris reached up and gently grasped the back of her neck, pulling her down until her lips crashed to his. 

She was sure the movement did not feel good for his back. But one would never know from the way his body only tried to pull her in further.

The subject was lost for a few moments, while their lips moved together.

Eventually, they pulled apart. 

“You are right,” Eris told her, voice raspy. 

“I am right?” She questioned, suddenly forgetting what they had even been talking about before he kissed her. 

“I should have woken you before I left,” he clarified. 

Then he smirked. “But I knew you would have tried to come.” 

“Of course I would have!” She admitted with a playful glare. 

His eyes darkened in warning. “You cannot rush into battle alongside me every time there is danger I must face, Y/N.”

“And why not?”

“Because I need you safe. Do you forget why you are here? And because these are not your battles to fight."

Y/N looked into his eyes before she answered, “They would be if I accepted the bond.”

She yelped when she was suddenly sitting across Eris' lap. He had pulled her so swiftly that there was no stopping it. 

“Do not tease me with such things, witch.” 

His body felt so hot, it was as if there was fire itself beneath his skin.  

Y/N swallowed. “I need to finish healing your back, High Lord.” 

Eris watched her before allowing her to get up. 

A tension filled silence settled in the room. 

“Will you let me see your beast form?” She finally asked him, her tone innocent. 

Eris smirked, only because he knew she couldn’t see it. “Why, so you can make me your pet, like Ronan?”

“I think it would be rather hard to cuddle a grizzly fox that was immersed in flames…” She thought aloud. “Cuddles would be much easier when you are in this form.”

Y/N had finished with her spells and healing salve, and was now wrapping Eris in gauze to keep it in place and protect the mending. 

“Where is this torment coming from?” Eris asked as he slowly stood. 

Y/N stepped to him, her eyes seemingly innocent. 

Then she suddenly kissed him again, but pulled away only after she bit the corner of his lip, making him hiss – not from the pain, though it did sting – from arousal. 

“For not waking me,” she answered, as if it were obvious. 

She stormed out of the witchery and threw open the door to his bedchambers that were next down the hall. 

“Also, I put a sleep tonic on my lips. So you will want to get in bed in the next few minutes, or you will be passing out on the cold, hard floor. And if you ruin my hard work from that, I shall punish you even worse.” 

Eris looked at her, utterly stunned. 

“You poison your High Lord?" His eyes narrowed playfully. “Finally, your true self is revealed: you are an evil, little witch after all.” 

She ignored his teasing. “To bed, now.” 

Eris sauntered past her into his personal bedchambers. 

She waited until he sat on the bed, then she slammed the door behind her. 

Instantly, she started chanting a protection spell. 

Yes, she had just knocked Eris out, which left him even more vulnerable than he already was with his injuries and exertion of power from using his beast form. 

Therefore, she would not leave him unprotected. 

She knew his guards would be lingering further down the hall. Lucien would have ordered to give the two of them space until further orders. 

All of them straightened to attention when they saw her round the corner.

“The High Lord is to stay in his rooms and rest,” she explained firmly. “If he comes out, do not engage. One of you is to inform me immediately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Lady Y/N.” They all said in unison. There was no mockery or questioning; their tones held only respect and understanding. 

—🍁—🍁—🍁—

Eris awoke feeling much better than he probably should – and he knew he had Y/N to thank for that. 

It was dusk now. And he’d left for battle before the sun had risen that morning. So he must’ve been asleep for quite some time. 

Y/N’s poison had knocked him out so quickly that he hadn’t even bathed since battle. Though she had cleaned his wounds, he probably smelled of sweat and blood. 

Eris quickly went to his bathroom and bathed, finally ridding himself of the battle filth. 

Then he threw on a simple tunic and trousers, and rushed out of his chambers. 

His sentries were waiting for him and bowed immediately. 

“The injured?” He asked, getting straight to the point. 

Captain Respen stepped forward. “Tended to, High Lord.” Then paused before he added, “More were lost, their injuries to dire. The healers did all they could.” 

Eris frowned, but gave a slow nod. 

“Where is my mate?” 

All the sentries behind their captain shared a look, silently communicating. 

“She insisted that you are to stay in your bedchambers and rest,” Respen explained.

Eris ignored that. “Where is she?” 

——

Eris entered the grounds where all the healer tents had appeared. He expected to hear moans of pain or tears of grief. But there was a subtle peace amongst the camp. 

The sun had just passed the horizon, leaving the forest and sky with a unique mixture of faded blues and oranges. 

“This way, High Lord,” Captain Respen nodded in a direction past the tents. 

Servants had erupted countless fire pits to both warm the camp and make visibility easier for everyone, despite faelights glowing inside each healer tent. 

Eris’ walk slowed when he heard the giggling and laughter. 

It was not a common sound in Autumn Court.

Once they walked past the last of the tents, Eris halted. 

Y/N, ran around with the mortal children they had been sheltering. It appeared they were playing a game of tag. But every time one of them got away from her grasp, a gust of wind would tickle them, causing a fit of giggles. 

“She has been running around all day, aiding the healers in any way she can. She has saved many lives today.” Captain Respen told him quietly. “When someone finally managed to get her to take a break, she came to entertain the children whose mothers were still helping the wounded.” 

Eris didn’t respond, just watched his mate, who looked utterly exhausted, yet smile and played with the children despite it. 

“Will she stay?” Respen dared to ask his High Lord the question that all of Autumn Court had come to wonder. 

Eris ignored him, but the clenching of his jaw was visible. 

He stepped towards his mate, purposely making noise to bring attention to his arrival. 

The children’s laughter stopped immediately at the sight of the High Lord. Some of them even eyed him with fear. 

“It is alright,” Y/N assured them.

Then she beckoned Eris closer, to her. 

He did as requested, following that invisible string attached to his heart.

“Is it true you turned into a beast?” One of the brave children asked hurriedly. 

Y/N bit back her smile. 

“Can you show us?” Another cried out before Eris could even answer. 

“I do not think your mothers would appreciate that,” Eris told them. 

“I don’t have one. So can you at least show me?” Another begged. 

“Now, now,” Y/N playfully scolded them. "The High Lord is far too powerful to show off his gifts like some court jester.” 

“Awww!!!” They all whined in unison. 

But Eris kneeled before them, pausing dramatically to get their attention back. 

The children leaned in, believing they changed his mind. 

With a subtle and small flick of Eris’ wrist, his palm twisted to the sky, and fireworks erupted above them. 

The children cheered and jumped underneath the fireworks as they continued to erupt in every color they could ever want, some even turning into little animals before exploding. 

They tried to catch the falling light in their hands. But it would always disappear before they could, creating a new game for the children. 

Y/N moved to her mate’s side to join him in watching the new joy.

“Neat trick," she told him.  

Eris gave her a shy smile. “I used to do the same for Lucien when he was a child. Sometimes it was the only thing that could stop his crying fits after father… reprimanded him.” 

But they both knew it was more than reprimanding.

Eris sighed. “It has been so many centuries, I almost forgot about it entirely...until now. 

“How are you feeling?” Y/N asked him. 

“I am fine,” he answered too quickly. 

She sighed, but didn’t push. 

“My guards say you have not rested since tending to me,” he pointed out. 

She shrugged dismissively. “There were many injured. And the healers were overwhelmed. I helped as much as I possibly could.”

“And I am grateful for it.” He countered. “But for someone who does not wish to join this Court, you certainly care about its inhabitants.” 

“Shhh,” she warned. “None of that. I am quite tired.” 

The next second, Eris had scooped Y/N up in his arms. 

“Eris!” She admonished. “Your injuries!”

“My injuries are healing – thanks to you.”

Eris passed his guards, who had been watching over them from a distance. “Once the fireworks finish, make sure the children return to their mothers and caretakers.”

“Of course, High Lord. The children will be looked after.” Captain Respen bowed. 

When they were at the doors of the Forest House, Eris locked eyes with one of the footman who stood at the ready. 

“Bring dinner to her bedchambers,” he ordered. 

The footman nodded and rushed off. 

Eris looked down to see that Y/N had closed her eyes and rested her head in the crook of his neck. 

“Are we too tired for a bath?” He asked quietly. 

Without opening her eyes, Y/N mumbled. “Never too tired for a bath.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “Good. It is my turn to take care of you.” 

“Will you promise that I will wake up next to you tomorrow morning?” 

“I promise, Y/N.” 

-----------

Thank you thank you thank you for your patience. I'm sure no one will read this...but work was really terrible around the holidays. I was trying to find a new job, but the job market is so terrible. So my mental health just took a real hit. I've also really gotten back into reading, so that because my thing unwind after work, instead of writing. I had also been doing a lot of different personal art projects – painting, editing, and photographing. And those started feeling better than writing for me.

Anyways...thank you for those who stuck with me and were patient and supportive.

[blingblong55]

Stay professional- 141

A/n: I have no idea what picture to use…

Based on a request:

Doctor reader who has incredibly dark humor that most times their patients/the guys think their serious --- GN!Reader, doctor!reader, platonic!relationship ---

A/N: Just the jokes ig because my head is a mess rn

The first time meeting you did scare them. "You have very little time," You told Price as you fixed his arm during the flight. His eyes widened, "what?!" Gaz, Ghost and Soap swore the injury was minor. "What?" you asked and Price swore it was the morphine messing with him. "Oh, no…you aren't dead…dead.whatever I said, I meant, with the scar…you have very little time with this scar, it'll heal fast," you reassure and he breathes a sigh of relief. "Who the hell got us this doctor?" Ghost asks the team and you shrug. "I'm not even a doctor, just an infantry soldier," you casually mention and Price nearly faints.

"Oh, I'm kidding!" you laugh. "Y'all need to have some humour," you nudge Gaz who was beside you. "Humour? Humour?! Look 'ere you little-" Ghost gets stopped by Price. "Not now, they have a needle in their hand." Your hands working fast to get Price ready for the long way back home. Now and then check on him and then glance at the others. "Weather is nice out there?" Soap and Ghost glare. Gaz stays silent. "Not a friendly team?" You look at the three men. No one said a word. "Good thing I showed up, huh," you once more try and make the flight back to baseless awkward.

---

It was months since the initial welcome they gave you and now they've gotten used to you. Well, not really but you just believe they are.

You were sent back for them on a different occasion. More men in the team as they had just come back from another long and deadly mission. You were fixing a patient when one taps on your shoulder. After some conversation, you tell them, "Take one for each day of the week," the pills sit on your palm. "But there's only three pills," the soldier said. Price sighed. "Exactly." The man's life flashed before his eyes. "I'm just kidding, these three will help until we get back," You pat his back and the man's life comes back to him.

---

Price and his men were in the infirmary when you walked in. White attire on you as you walked to a man who had been waiting for results. His file on your hand as you walk to him. Ghost listened to whatever bull shit would come out of your mouth. "So, what's the problem doctor?" the ill soldier spoke. "What's your zodiac sign?" You casually ask. "Uhm…cancer I believe." You nod, "what a coincidence no?" The man was about to tear up when you walked away and to the next patient. Ghost was beyond bewildered as he watched you leave the man.

---

Another time when the team was left with a gasp was when you had to inform a child that their parents had died in combat. The little girl didn't know where to go or who to until they tugged on her white coat. "Excuse me, doctor, can you help me?" The little girl said. You knew well who it was, and out of nervousness, you said, "I wish I could, but I'm currently helping families and you're an orphan."

Price was left with an audible gasp from his sergeants and a deep chuckle from Ghost.

---

A soldier who was known to be the barracks bunny got tested and you had to deliver the news. Once more, 141 was there for a routine checkup when they saw you walk to the person. "I have your diagnosis," you carefully said. "Well what are the results, I don't have all day." The soldier said. "Well it's a clear positive for being a slut, but you go and slay your way on their infected dicks, honey," you walk away from the patient and to them. "Gaz, you're up next, then Soap, Price and then Ghost, we need a serious talk sugar," you walk into your office.

"Seriously, the rookie?" Soap looked at his lieutenant.

---

On another mission, Chimera and 141 worked as allies, and Soap got injured. You walked to him. "Hi, how are you?" You ask as you sit beside him. "I'm fine, thank you." He says politely. "So why the fuck did they say you need medical attention?" Price rolled his eyes as Gaz chuckled when he understood the joke. "To work, doctor," Price's gravelly voice said.

---

A young recruit needed serious medical attention after a bomb exploded by him. After hours of working on his body, Price who commanded the soldier came up to you. "Is he okay? The bomb exploded by his left side-"

"He's all right.." you chuckle and then apologise. "Sorry, uhm..yeah… stabilised" ---

It was time for you to end your shift, the men after some time got used to you and just waited for you to walk with them. "Night, doc," Soap walked his way with Gaz to their rooms. "You have some dark humour, doctor," Ghost comments. You grin, "Well you know what they say," you shrug. "What do they say?" Price made the accident of asking. "Dark humour is like food-" Price walked away when you said that. "R/N, don't you dare finish that sentence," Ghost commanded but gave you a fist bump. "Good one though," he chuckles.

[miniwheat77]

Pure. (Captain Price x Virgin!Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, unprotected p in v sex, loss of virginity, oral sex (f receiving), blood, wounds (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): You’re new to sex and John figures that out pretty quickly.

This was a request, you can find the ask here.

You aren't sure how you managed to get yourself into the position you're in now. It started off amazing. You got along well with everyone on base, all of your missions were a success and not many issues had happened since being on base with taskforce 141. Everything seemed to go so well and it was amazing. Until of course, it wasn't.

You noticed the feelings you shared for everyone seemed to be the same unless it came to Captain Price. You laughed and joked with everyone else, but when it came to conversating with him, you almost always shied away from him, bright red cheeks and you always tried to distance yourself from him as fast as possible to avoid incriminating yourself anymore than you thought you already had.

John took a liking to you right away. You were sweet and did just about anything he'd ask you to do. He adored that you seemed so submissive, so caring. You always checked up on everyone. If someone seemed like they were having an off day, you were always the first to ask them how they were doing, trying to cheer them up anyway you could, and he loved that about you. John might've stared a little too much. Might've spent too much time thinking about you, analyzing you. Figuring out your each move.

It didn't take John long to realize you acted the way you did because you were innocent. You know a lot about how fucked up the world could be but didn't have much exposure to it on your end. You only had one childhood boyfriend that you dated for around 6 weeks, and only seen him during school. You were still innocent and John admired that about you. But knew it would never last with the military. You would be broken down and worn out like the rest of them, thinking that about you broke John's heart a little. John took a liking to you right away and sometimes he flirted a little more than he really meant to, always complimenting you. Calling you pretty, saying he liked your outfits, how he liked the way your lips looked glossy from a little bit of chapstick. To you it seemed innocent, but to him he really wanted you to notice him.

He knew with the age gap, there’d most likely never be anything going on between the two of you, but it’s the thought that counts. Right?

John always looked out for you. And despite how toxic it may have seemed, he tried to keep the other guys away from you. The couple times he heard them talking about you and how innocent you were, he put an abrupt stop to that immediately. In a way, you were his and that was that. Despite being infantry and on the front lines with the group, you had started out as a combat medic and knew your way around a few wounds. Sometimes when all of the medics were busy, you were alongside helping them patch people up until they could be seen by the medics.

John carried out a mission that had gone a little south, and each member of his team was injured in some way. Gunshot wounds in places that weren’t fatal but still needed attention, gashes that needed stitches.

John was waiting outside of the infirmary, when you arrived. You had been injured as well, but definitely the least out of all of you. “John, it’s your turn to get looked at.” You breathe. “No. I’m fine.” He’s a little stern but you don’t listen to him. “How about I take a look at you? At least?” You look up at him with those doe eyes he adores so much. “Fine.” He sighs. “She told me all of the beds are full. So you can come to my room.” You nod your head, following him along the hallway. John felt like an idiot for leading his team into danger like this. It was his fault they were all injured. Even you. He opens the door to his room and you follow him inside. He closes it after you step inside. You’ve gathered a little bit of medical equipment, some tools for stitching that were packaged and sanitized already. John knows where the worst wound is, the back of his upper shoulder. He pulls his shirt off, it was no good anyways. He sits on his cot with his shoulder to you and you start bandaging him up. Luckily it wasn’t too deep to need stitches. A few other wounds on him needed attention. A couple pieces of shrapnel, gashes here and there. Once his wounds were clean and bandaged, it was your turn. You made a move for the door but he stops you. “Don’t think I don’t see the blood on your clothes Y/N.” He chuckles. “It’s your turn, sit down.” You nod your head.

He starts slow. Washing his hands, cleaning any equipment he’d need. You have to strip down to nothing but a bra and your cargo pants. It’s awkward at first but as he bandages you up, you get used to it. He starts making normal conversation as he helps you out. But eventually, it goes a little deeper. You asked him if he had a wife and he said no. No wife or kids. No relationship in the past couple decades, which made your eyes sparkle just a little when you found out.

“What’s this?” He points to your upper thigh. “Oh.. uh.” He notices the large tear in your cargo pants and sees that there’s a massive gash there. “Gonna have to bandage that. Need to get a closer look to see how deep it is.” You nod your head, standing up awkwardly. “I think I can do this one myself if-“

“Nonsense, I’ve got everything we need here. No worries okay? Nobody will see.” He reassures you. You take a deep breath and nod your head.

It’s very apparent to John that nobody had ever seen you in your undergarments before. You take a deep breath. Reaching to your front to unbutton your pants, sliding them down your thighs and off before sitting back down onto the bed. John has to force himself to look away from your panties. They were plain and white, but he still admired them. Maybe that was just because they were on you. He swallows hard as he gets to work. It’s not too deep. “I’m going to bandage it for now, I don’t think it’s deep enough to need stitches but you need to keep an eye on it. Make sure it’s clean.” You nod your head. Once he’s finished and cleaned up the dried blood on your thigh, he looks down your legs for any other cuts or punctures, not finding any. He stands up. Picking up an army green sweater of his own and passing it to you. “Here, since your shirt’s covered in blood.” He smiles.

“Thank you Captain.” You blush, taking it from him. You slip it on and he has to force his eyes away from you. You looked so good swimming in his sweatshirt. It goes down to about your mid thigh, covering your panties. He breathes out. “You’re a very pretty girl you know that?” He smiles. “Oh.. thank you.” You smile. You notice his hoodie has his scent on it. It’s intoxicating.

You’re standing now, having slipped the hoodie on, you needed to pick up your clothes. You stand up straight to look up at him, thank him for helping you out. But instead, he stares at you. He notices a few strands of your hair in your face and doesn’t think before reaching forward to tuck them behind your ear, leaning in closer to you than he intended, and he can see your eyes flicker to his lips.

You thought he was going to kiss you.

And you didn’t panic or shove him away.

John takes the opportunity and leans in, lips brushing over yours. Your eyes close tightly and you’re breathing a little heavier than before. Once he closes the distance between the both of you, lips pressed firmly to yours he moves himself closer, hand still cupping your face as he deepens the kiss. He pulls you flush against him, hands holding your hips as he kisses you. He lowers his hand to your thigh, placing it there. You don’t realize it, but you open your legs just slightly subconsciously. He takes that as an invitation, fingertips gliding over your exposed skin. He doesn’t move his lips from yours and he can tell you’ve not had much experience. You kiss him shyly, lips moving a little sloppily. He doesn’t mind.

When his fingertips glide over your opening through your panties, your lips move from his so that a gasp could leave your mouth. Only now realizing what was happening. You’re panting a little, lips plump and slightly pinker from the friction. Your eyes were wide as you lowered your gaze to where his hand rested between your thighs, rubbing over the wet patch of your panties. “It’s okay. Just relax for me yeah?” He smiles. He’s rubbing small circles into your clit, your hips bucking slightly. His fingers are just barely brushing over your opening, ghosting over your clit in circles.

“Captain I-“

“Call me John sweetheart.”

“John..” you trail off. “I’ve never.. um.” You take a deep breath. “I know love, I can tell.” He let’s out a deep chuckle, your cheeks reddening. “No… I mean.” You swallow hard. “I’ve never done anything, not with anyone. Not by myself either.” John draws his hand back, resting it on your thigh. “You’ve never touched yourself before?” He asks. “Just.. rubbing the outside. But not even that really.” He smiles. “It’s alright love. Do you want me to stop? It’s okay to stop me if you’re uncomfortable.” Your brain screams at you. This is a bad idea, he’s your captain. But the heat he’s awoken inside of you tugs you toward him. “I…” John smiles at your silence. You don’t want him to stop, but you’re too awkward to tell him to keep going. Hand gliding up your thigh again. Your eyes flutter closed, giving him the impression you’re okay with what he’s doing. He pushes you back slightly, into the wooden desk behind you. You rest your hands on it, hips pushed out from leaning against it. He rubs gentle circles over your covered pussy and your eyes are still shut, lips parted as whimpers escape your lips. Your knees weaken as he keeps a steady pace. “S’okay love.” He leans in, hot breath attacking your ear as he goes for your neck. You’re panting, and John loves this. When he kisses your neck, you’re on the edge, clutching the desk like it’s a lifeline. Knuckles turning white. You’re sure your hand will leave an impression in the wood, if you can even think about anything else other than the way his hand- oh.

A whimper leaves your lips, stomach clenching up tight. “John- I think I-“

“Shh.. it’s okay. You can let go for me. Show me how you cum, pretty girl.” He breathes. Your chest and stomach are full of butterflies, it feels like millions are swarming your body, you’re sure you’ll burst any minute. The immense amount of pleasure he’s giving you, you can’t take it. His lips attack your neck and while he wants you to be quiet, he doesn’t care. The other part of him wants to hear your moans, when you cum for the very first time. A cry leaves your lips when you cum, pussy clenching around nothing and tears gather in your eyes. John remembers the first time he’d cum too, how intense it felt, how he couldn’t get enough. Sure it was a long time ago but he still remembers it like it were yesterday. So as you pant, hips jumping when he slows his circling fingers, kissing you to hide the pants leaving your lips. If anyone heard you, they didn’t need to hear you anymore.

“That’s my girl. Such a good girl f’me.” He breathes. Hands on your hips. You’re stuck in another dimension, shot there from your intense orgasm, floating through cloud 9 as your body comes down. He chuckles, seeing the lost look in your watery eyes. “You okay?” He chuckles. “Y-yeah.” You blush. The tingling between your legs overrides the clarity you have after your orgasm. Heart settling in your chest. The fluttering in your clit was hard to ignore. John can’t help but smile to himself. You were so stuck right now, he’s sure if you tried to walk away your legs would wobble. “Sit down on the bed until you’re calm okay?” He helps you sit down and he sits next to you. “You’re so beautiful.” He breathes. John finds it harder and harder to ignore the own throbbing in his pants. But you’re not ready for that yet. “I’m sorry if I forced myself onto you.”

“No- no you didn’t. I.. I liked it.” You face is burning red. He smiles, just as he’s about to say something else, a knock at his door has him flinching. “Captain, there are beds open in the infirmary now!” Gaz calls to him. “Thank you Sergeant!” He calls back. “Should probably get back to them.” You nod your head. “You can keep the hoodie. Looks so much better on you anyways.” He breathes. You blush, nodding your head with a smile.

———

For the next couple of days, everything seems like a blur. You can’t do anything without thinking about what had happened between the two of you. How he could make you feel like that through your clothing, fingers not exploring you anymore than just the outside of your opening. When you pour coffee, you overfill your cup thinking about it sometimes. The overwhelming sensation of your orgasm sending you spiraling. The couple days after it had happened, you tried it yourself. But it ended in frustrated sighs and a cold shower. Interactions with him seemed completely normal. At least to him they did. You couldn’t look at him the same way. His fingers had done such sinful things to your body and he was so casual about it. Sometimes you’d swallow hard when he’s gripping something tightly. A pen, a gun.

Your thigh maybe?

You have to shake yourself out of it. The part of your brain that knows sex exists wonders what it’d be like to have him inside of you. Pushing your walls apart with his cock, tugging an orgasm from you. It would hurt, it’d sting. But what follows makes the fantasy worth it. An orgasm so good it makes the last look pathetic. Crying and clenching around his cock. Hitting such a high that you never come down from it.

A knock at your door brings you out of your thoughts, and you stand up hurriedly. Opening the door just a crack so you can see who it is. “Captain?” You whisper. It’s late.

“Hey… sorry to bother you so late. It’s just that gash on my back is starting to throb. I’m worried it may be infected.” He trails off. “I don’t want to take away from the medics so I was curious if you would look at it?” He asks. “Yeah. Of course.” You move aside. John quickly notices you’re wearing just his hoodie again. It didn’t look like you had anything on underneath it. “You can sit down on my bed.” John nods his head, he can see that it’s unmade, so he probably disrupted you. “Sorry if I woke you.” He says. “Oh no. You didn’t. I was just getting ready for bed.” You smile. He nods. He tugs his shirt off, and you pull the bandage off. Seeing that it does look infected. “It doesn’t look too bad, but it’s definitely infected. I’ll clean it out and put a new bandage on but you should probably see a medic for some antibiotics.” You tell him. He nods his head. Once he sees you’re finishing up, he decides to make his next move. He reaches out for your thigh, pulling you closer to him. You don’t make a sound, but don’t move away from him either. “You’re so beautiful.” He looks up at you, fingertips sliding up underneath the hem of the hoodie. You breathe hard. “Thank you.” Your heart starts to race and he can hear it.

John knows he could get himself into a lot of trouble being with you. He knows it. But when he brushes his fingertips up your panties and can feel how wet you are for him, every bit of self control he has goes out of the window. As he rubs circles into your clit again, seeing the way your eyes flutter closed and you clutch his arm for dear life. He loses himself even further. “You.. said you’ve never done anything?” You shake your head. He stands up, moving you back, watching your eyes open in frustration as he draws his hand away to do so. “Why don’t you lay on your bed f’me?” He breathes. You look up at him, and he can see the nervousness in your eyes. “Okay.” You agree, sliding back into your bad. “Relax. I just want to take care of you. Make you feel real pretty.” Your cheeks heat up. What the hell have you managed to get yourself into? “Try to stay quiet for me okay?” You nod your head, he pushes his hoodie up over your hips and you look up at the ceiling in nervousness. Nobody had seen you naked, ever. He slides your panties down your legs, throwing them to the side. When he can finally see you, all of you. He has to stop himself from drooling.

“So pretty n wet for me.” He growls. He leans down, hearing you gulp. “W-what are you doing?” You ask. Confused by how he’s getting closer to your opening as he moves himself down the bed. “You trust me?” He breathes. You nod your head. “So relax. Let me take care of you.” You nod your head, tensing up as he lowers himself into you. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pinning you to the bed so that no matter how much you squirm, you won’t get away from him.

You still don’t understand what he’s doing until he lowers himself into you completely, tongue gliding up your opening and a gasp leaves your lips. Your arousal is sticky and sweet on his tongue. He wiggles his tongue back and fourth over your clit, knowing how sensitive it is since it’s not been too abused. Your hips buck and you try to move away. The direct pressure has you flinching. He can’t help but chuckle to himself at your reaction. He continues as he normally would, kissing your clit and flicking his tongue over it. Loving how wet you’re getting and the tiny mewls that leave your lips with each flick of his tongue. The way your hips jump with every single lick or touch he makes. He draws away for just a second. Looking up at you, “M’gonna try something okay? If I hurt you, tell me.” You nod your head. Worry flows through you, but your arousal blocks it out. Your opening is already soaking with his saliva and your arousal. He slides two of his fingers over it, when the first is wet enough, he pushes it inside of you. Your eyes widen and you gasp out. You’re tight even on his finger. He has to stop himself from growling out.

When you’re adjusted, he pumps it into you, the sounds that leave your lips are unholy and he has to remind you try to be quiet for him. You’re squirming underneath him, moaning out his name which he adores. It’s music to his ears. He moves his other hand from your thigh, pressing it down onto your pelvis, holding you still for him. The second finger is wet enough, and you’re adjusted to him. He adds the second finger and you freeze, eyes widened as you stare down at him. He lets out a deep chuckle. “You like that hm?” He mumbles. You nod your head. “So pretty.” He mumbles, leaning down and flicking his tongue over your clit while pumping those two fingers into you.

You tilt your head back, pants leaving your lips as you enter a subspace.

Your body is warm, the buzzing in your head is all you can hear as he edges you closer to the best orgasm you’ll have so far. You’re doing so good for him, and he’s reassuring you. But you’re not listening. When he pushes you over the edge, you clamp a hand on your mouth, nearly screaming into it. He smiles into you, not stopping his assault on your sensitive clit. Your legs shiver and he has to hold you still so that he can finish your high, gripping you tightly. The squelch of his fingers entering you is sinful and so loud with how wet you are. The only thing on John’s mind is how he wants to hear you like this when the two of you are alone. Moaning and whimpering out loud for him, it’s a dream. When you finally come down from your high, body relaxing. Your skin is flushed red, warm to the touch. John was surprised the kind of feelings he made you feel. “You okay?” He asks. You nod your head. You’re still a little out of it. He loves it, has you right where he wants you. “You did so good for me pretty girl.” He brushes his fingertips over the bare skin on your stomach. “So so good for me.” He smiles. You notice the bulge he has in his sweatpants. Eyes widening at the size of him. How was he supposed to fit? John catches on quickly to what you’re looking at and smiles. “Hey. Look at me.” He lifts your chin so that you’re looking at him. “Do you feel good honey?” He asks. You nod your head. “Yeah.. really good. I want to make you feel good too John.” You breathe. “Hey. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I want to make you feel good baby.” He mumbles, leaning in to kiss you. His facial hair scratches you so good, the only thought crossing your mind is how good that same scratch feels when he’s buried his face between your legs.

“John.” You mumble. “Yeah sweetheart?” He asks. “What.. what is sex like?” You ask. He smiles. “It’s hard to explain because I’m sure my pleasure feels much different than yours. But whatever you felt just there? Is probably twice as intense depending on who you’re with.” You nod your head. You’re intrigued now. After a few more minutes of talking to John, you start yawning. He smiles at you. You’re so cute. He helps you get back to bed. You clean yourself up and he makes sure you’re comfortable before he leaves. The complete relaxation your body feels sends you into a deep sleep, sleep so good you can’t remember the last time you slept so good.

Over the course of the next couple weeks, your interactions with John are much more intense. When you make eye contact, you lock eyes. You stare longer than you should at each other and when John makes eye contact with you in a meeting, whatever he’s holding he holds in a death grip, knuckles going white with the force of his hold. You’re driving him crazy and you can tell. The tension in the room when the both of you are there is so intense that that others notice how on edge he is. He has dreams about you. You pinned beneath him, moaning for him. He loses so much sleep over you. Nothing he could do himself would even compare to what he’s felt in his dreams about you. But he would never ever force you into anything you don’t want or put you under any kind of pressure. His interactions with you are normal. Small smiles, waves. Some normal chatting during pass times. John wants to come to your room and touch you every night. He wants to make you feel absolutely amazing all of the time, but he knows there’s a such thing as too much. He doesn’t want to pressure you, so he keeps his distance.

You on the other hand, hoped he’d come visit. Wish he’d come by every night. You’ve never thought about sex before, but since he’d touched you the first time, you thought about it constantly. Day dreaming about him, what he must feel like. How gentle he could be. How rough he could be. You’re losing sleep over it, distracted during meetings. You’ve never once thought about having sex with anyone you’ve met in person before, but John successfully changed that for you. You’re laying on your bed, phone in hand. You’re watching something you shouldn’t be. Videos on what to expect when losing your virginity, other videos too. It seems so good, so addicting. Your body feels hot thinking about it. If his fingers felt like that, how good would he feel inside of you? You’d finally get to make him feel good, repay him for him for how good he’s made you feel. The intimacy draws you in. You’re daydreaming about, laying in his bed as he thrusts himself into you. Surrounded by his intoxicating scent, clutching his sheets, hearing him moan out. Thinking about what he’d say.

Your body feels hot, legs sticky from your arousal. You’re not sure how much more you can take. John was on watch, he’d be getting off of it soon. You sit up, sliding a pair of socks on your feet. He has to pass by your room, you’d hear his footsteps. You think to yourself for a second. You pick up his hoodie, folding it up. You wait by your door, listening for his footsteps. After a few minutes, you want to moan out when you can hear his heavy footsteps, boots making them echo. Heat pools between your legs, and you can’t take it anymore. You have to know. You wait a few minutes, opening up your door and peeking out. You don’t see anyone, so you make your way down the hallway to his room. When you get there, you knock at his door. He opens it, smiling when he sees you. “Come on sweetheart.” He smiles. “What can I do for you Hm?” He asks. “I washed this, and wanted to give it back to you.” You smile, handing it over. He stands still for a minute. “Why don’t you keep it Hm? Looks so much better on you anyways.” He smiles. Your stomach fills with butterflies, you didn’t really want to give it back, so hearing this was good. You liked sleeping in it. “Why don’t you come sit down hm?” He pats the bed next to him, so you do. You sit down, and John can see the way you’re clenching your thighs together. He swallows hard. “John… I wanted to ask you something.” You breath, “yeah?”

“I..” you take a deep breath. “I want to know what sex is like.” You breathe. He smiles. “What do you want to know about it?” He asks. “I want to know what it feels like.” You blush. He looks confused for a moment. He freezes for a minute, hand moving to rest on your thigh. “The only way you’ll be able to tell what it feels like is to have sex, Y/N.” You nod your head, eyes meeting with his. “I know.” Those words crash right into him. “Do.. you want me to…?” He hesitates. You nod your head. He looks down. “Are you sure?” He asks. You nod your head. “I’ve thought about it, a lot. It’s what I want.” You take a deep breath. His tongue glides over his bottom lip. “Okay. Get up on the bed love.” You nod your head. John can’t help but feel a little bit of guilt. You never had these issues until he made the first move. He’d definitely need some reassurance before taking anything too far with you.

He felt nervous, a sense of nervousness he hadn’t felt in quite a long time. John tried at relationships before. He’d been with his fair share of women, but none of them ever worked out. None of them ever made him feel the way that you did. Your smile, the color of your eyes. The fact that despite being in some of the worst situations you could possibly think of, you still tried your best to cheer everyone up. Some of the best times John has had in the military is after you joined 141. It seemed dull, like he was just going through the motions. But you came along. You joked with everyone, your smile and laugh were contagious. Maybe you weren’t as innocent as he thought, not in every aspect anyways. You knew how bad a situation was, but ignored it. Tried your best to help the others around you work through it.

John moved slow. Lingering touches, gentle kisses as he moves himself above you. His lips ghosted over yours and when he tugged your shirt off, seeing your completely exposed chest, it started to hit him. This was real, this was happening. This was no dream, no daydream. You were beneath him and you wanted him. He grasps the hem of his own shirt, pulling it off before returning his lips to yours, capturing them in a kiss you may never forget. He rocks his hips into yours, noting the whimper that leaves your lips. He tries to prepare you the best he can. Keeping you occupied with foreplay. Kissing you, nibbling at the skin on your neck. Whispering to you. You start to squirm, getting impatient. He knows you’re ready, but he’s stalling. He doesn’t want you to regret this. He wants to give you as much time as possible to back out in case you’re not ready. He grasps the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs, noticing you aren’t wearing any panties. He takes a deep breath at your exposed mound. Nearly dripping for him.

He reaches down to unbuckle his belt and your eyes follow his hands. Making quick work of his belt and lifting himself off of the bed to remove his cargo pants. Your breath hitches in your throat when he grasps his boxers, tugging them down his legs and revealing himself to you. There wasn’t a single layer of clothing keeping him from you now. Completely raw and exposed to each other, something neither of you would ever forget. You swallow hard when he moves to hover over you once again. Eyes looking deep into yours, waiting for you to stop him. “Are you sure you want this?” He asks. You nod your head, looking down. You wondered how it was supposed to fit, he was massive. John takes a deep breath, lifting himself up until he’s on his knees. He moves himself closer, grasping your thighs and lifting you up to move you closer to him. A gasp leaving your lips as he moves you where he wants you. An action that doesn’t go unnoticed. “You can’t take it back.” He mumbles. “I know. I trust you, John.” You breathe. He nods his head, looking down to where the both of you were about to connect.

The thought of it is like a drug. The thought of being inside of you, sounds so foreign. Yet it’s right here. About to happen. You feel the tip of his cock gliding over your opening. Gathering your arousal on the tip, gliding it over your clit. Your hips buck and a mewl leaves your lips. John bites down on his lip, harder than he means to. He takes in a sharp breath, spitting into his hand and slicking up his shaft, lining himself up with your entrance. “Relax for me okay? I’m going to hurt you, but you have to trust me.” He breathes. You nod up at him, eyes burning into his. The tip of his cock pushes through your folds, stretching your opening. Your nose scrunches up, eyes closing tightly. “It’s okay-“ he breathes.

This seemed unfair. He had to hurt you, someone so sweet and kind. But he felt nothing but the best pleasure he’d ever felt in his life. How tight you felt wrapping around the tip of his cock. A tighter death grip on him with every little bit he sinks into you. He’s trying to keep himself together, wanting nothing more than to make you feel as good as you’re making him feel. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the cries you want to let out. John hates himself for hurting you so badly. He kisses your cheeks, the small tears that slip from your eyes, he’s kissing those away too. “Take a deep breath for me.” He mumbles. You nod your head. Sucking in a harsh breath. John’s hips are halted, not wanting to push you too far. “Do you want me to stop?” He asks. He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he had to. You shake your head. “You can keep going John.” You breathe. He nods his head. Sinking into you further.

Finally when his hips are flush with yours, he gives you a minute to adjust. He leans down, kissing you. Trying to distract you. “Are you okay?” He asks. You nod your head. He slides out of you, pushing himself into you again. The first few times he does it, it’s a little rough. It stings a little bit. As you adjust to him, it starts to goes away. You tilt your head up, chest starting to move with your breaths that are getting more frequent. “You feeling good sweetheart?” John asks. You nod your head. “Yeah. F-feels good John.” You breathe. You look down between the both of you. Seeing his girthy cock disappearing into you. How on earth it fit, how it could feel so good. Was beyond you. You felt so full of him, a foreign feeling. A moan leaves your lips, propping yourself up onto your elbows to get a better look. “You like to watch sweetheart?” He laughs. Leaning in to kiss your nose. “Mhm.” You breath. “Feels so good.” You pant. Just when you’re about to ask him to pick up the pace, it’s like he reads your mind. Thrusting a little faster, with a little more force. “Oh my god-“ you moan, letting your head fall back into his pillows. And just like your daydreams, you’re there. Tugging at his sheets as he pushes you into a high you know you’ll never come down from. Sweat covered skin, fluids mixing together, a sinful concoction. John chuckles when you moan out, making him clamp a hand over your mouth. “You’ve got to be quiet for me sweetheart.” He smiles. The fact that he could make you feel so good sends shivers down his spine.

Each sensitive spot he brushes up against, he adds more. Nibbling on that sweet spot on your neck he’d found. Fingers gliding across your stomach to rub small circles on your sensitive nub. He kisses down your chest, attacking your nipples with his lips. You’re on cloud 9 again, but it’s more intense. “Can feel you clenching around me sweetheart. You close?” He asks. You nod your head eagerly. Struggling to keep yourself together. John smiles. He rocks his hips into yours at a steady pace. “Rub your clit for me.” He draws his hand back. You take over his place, gently rubbing at it. He keeps the same pace, thrusting right into your spongy spot. You were teetering on the edge. You suck in a sharp breath when you hit your high, and John clamps his hand over your mouth again right as you cum, muffling a moan that leaves your lips. You draw your hand back, clutching the sheets like your life depends on it. Bucking your hips up into him. John rides out your high before his thrusts halt. “Can you handle it?” He asks. You nod your head. You’re dazed as he continues, right on the edge of his own high. The groans that leave his lips are even sexier than you thought, another pit forming in your stomach. “Oh fuck- I’m going to-“ he slides out of you, pumping his cock. You pull him into you, kissing him to muffle his own moans, jumping when you feel his warmth covering your chest and stomach. When he relaxes, hand covered in his cum. He laughs. “I’m sorry if I was too rough.” He breathes. “No no. You weren’t.” You blush. He’s a little embarrassed just how quickly he had finished, but he can’t even remember the last time he’d been with anyone. He stands up, getting you a towel before returning and wiping his cum off of you. Helping you get cleaned up.

When you’re wearing clothes again, he’s got you pulled real close to him. Hand gliding through your hair as you lay next to each other. “Thank you, John.” You look up at him. “For what?” He asks. “For being so gentle with me.” He smiles. “I will always be gentle with you. You already go through enough as is, I don’t need to go and add to it.” He chuckles. “Besides. You’re a sweet girl. And I’m glad you trust me as much as you do.” You lay your head on him again, eyes getting a little heavy. You don’t feel much but relaxed right now, but you’re sure tomorrow will be a different story. When you see the love bites he’s left on your skin. Maybe fingertip sized bruises somewhere on your body. The slight sting between your legs. Sore thighs. The thought of it makes you smile.

Who would’ve thought that out of all of the people you crossed paths with that could’ve taken your virginity, it ended up being your Captain.

I didn’t know if you wanted me to tag you so I’m going to anyways. I hope you like it!

@tamayakii

[rottenpumpkin13]

I like to make myself depressed by imagining "what if" scenarios, like what if Genesis's degradation was impossibly delayed. Maybe they never decided to break into the training room that day, and the start of the downhill spiral wouldn't start for months—maybe years—to come.

And what if Angeal started to bring Zack around more, not as a student but as a friend. He fits right in with them. He's bright and a breath of fresh air. Sephiroth immediately likes him. They get along great. Genesis is a bit more difficult to crack in the beginning, but once they hit it off, there's no stopping them. Genesis likes Zack because he's interesting, he always listens to everything he has to say and is completely interested in it.

Fate weaves inevitable paths, which is how Cloud and Zack ended up friends. They meet each other on a completely different mission that brings them together either way. Neither of them had ever had a true best friend before each other, which makes their bond all the more unbreakable.

Over time, Zack introduces his friends to Cloud.

Cloud is terribly nervous at first. After all, these are the most famous men in Midgar—on the planet, even. And Sephiroth, his hero who he's looked up to his whole life, is amongst them. And now Cloud is standing in front of his apartment door, critically adjusting his infantry uniform over and over while Zack knocks on the door.

He flashes a bright smile at Cloud, his blue eyes crinkling as he winks at him as if to say, "they'll love you, don't worry."

Cloud has the oxygen pumped out of his lungs once the door opens, and standing there is Sephiroth himself. 'He's even bigger up close,' Cloud thinks to himself as Sephiroth surveys him, taking in the sight of his unruly blond hair and wrinkled uniform.

Cloud fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut as he braces for a rejection. But instead, Sephiroth smiles—he actually smiles. Warm and welcoming.

"You must be Cloud," his smooth voice brings Cloud down from his high of self scrutiny. Opening the door wider, Sephiroth beckons them both inside. "Zack has told us so much about you. Come in."

Cloud nearly trips over himself. He feels like he's floating as Zack pushes him inside. Immediately the scent of roasted meat and potatoes reaches him. He looks around, unsure of what he expected from Sephiroth's living quarters. Nonetheless, it wasn't this. He definitely would not have expected the strewn boots by the door, a familiar red leather thrown on the coat rack, and the sight of Genesis Rhapsodos stumbling around with a wine glass in hand.

He grins as soon as he sees Zack.

"Hey, Zack" His face breaks into a surprised pout once he notices Cloud behind him. "Oh? Is this your mysterious Infantry friend who we finally get to meet?"

Cloud gulps, feeling his face flush. "Cloud Strife, sir."

Another person stumbles out of the kitchen, laughing. "You can relax. We're off duty and all friends here, so there's no need for that." Angeal wipes his hand on a dish towel before throwing it over his shoulder and extending a hand toward Cloud.

"Angeal." He smiles, shaking Cloud's hand eagerly.

Cloud, in turn, blushes even more. "Uh—I know, sir. I mean," he winces, "Angeal."

Angeal laughs, then ushers him into the kitchen. The rest of them shuffle behind them. Cloud feels simultaneously out of place and comforted at the same time. There's something about sitting at the counter while he watches Angeal slap Zack with a dish towel for sticking his finger in the sauce and Sephiroth and Genesis arguing over which plate set to use as they set the table. The chaos and imperfection brings him comfort.

They have dinner later that night. The boys bombard him with questions about Nibelheim, life in the barracks, and question him about his life goals. Zack eagerly tells them that Cloud wants to become a SOLDIER one day, like them. Their reactions overwhelm him. Sephiroth freely asserts his opinion; he thinks Cloud should go to university after his enlistment and forget about Shinra. Genesis wants to start giving him materia lessons already, prodding him about training regiments and how great the SOLDIER life is. Angeal thinks his dream is very noble, and encourages Cloud to work hard for whatever he wants.

Afterwards, Zack walks him back to the barracks. The cold air whips through the hallways and tinges Zack's cheeks a rosy hue. He's chewing a strawberry lollipop and is wearing one of Angeal's hoodies, an attestment to the bond they've cultivated.

"Do you think they liked me?" Cloud asks nervously, a ridiculous question to Zack, who laughs and slaps his friend's shoulder in response.

"Are you kidding me? You're practically one of us already."

One of us.

That us didn't make sense to Cloud in that moment, and wouldn't until a few weeks later, when he found himself on the rooftop of the building. The last afternoon sun tinged Sephiroth's hair golden. Zack could be heard grumbling about his rapidly melting popsicle beside him. He was wedged between the two, who in turn were in between Genesis and Angeal. Cloud swing his feet over the edge, looking at the drop into the skyline below. He hadn't been aware people could access this part of the rooftop. But he figured if you were Sephiroth, and had spent your entire life trying to find places where you could be alone, loopholes like these became saved in the back of your mind.

Cloud understood. He told Sephiroth about the water tower back home. Sephiroth had ruffled his hair and promised to visit someday. Angeal's laugh as Zack accidentally let his popsicle fall over the edge reached his ears, blending with Genesis's soft voice as he read Loveless for them.

Cloud felt at peace in that moment. He had never had a best friend before Zack, much less a group of them.

He understands the us perfectly well now, finding solace in being part of the we, entrapped in the "guys, look at this" and "what are we doing this weekend?"

But the thing about delays is that you can only outrun them so long. By finding a home earlier than fate had planned for him, Cloud sooner learns that the happier you are, the more you have to lose, and the harder it hurts when the people you love betray you.

He ends up on that road to Nibelheim either way.

Laughing at Zack's snoring as he sleeps on Cloud's shoulder is enough to quell his motion sickness, if only for a moment. Sephiroth sits on Clouds other side, talking more than he had ever heard him talk. Cloud suspects he's living vicariously through him, holding his excitement for him while he collects his thoughts.

He asks about Claudia Strife, the mountains, the culture, and everything Cloud had mentioned since they had become friends. Sephiroth asks Cloud wether he thinks his mother will be proud of him, referring to the Third Class uniform Cloud now wears. His voice shakes when he talks about Angeal and how he always wanted to visit Mt. Nibel. He never mentions Genesis.

The change of the gravel on the road tells Cloud they've reached the outskirts of the village.

Things will never be the same again. Maybe that's the way they were always meant to be.

[thefoxtherapist]

male reader x jiyan perhaps? ^^ he's out on the battlefield for awhile without contact and finally cones home to him <3

thank you and stay hydrated!!

Hi! Thank you for the request ^^ I hope you like it, I still need to do his character quest </3

You had gotten used to your boyfriend’s schedule, or rather, his lack of proper one. He spent most of his time in the Norfall Barrens, protecting the frontline. It was something you understood when you entered into a relationship with him. He was very clear about his priorities, the city being the highest one.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him! Especially when he forgot about your morning calls for the 8th day in a row. You made a face as the call didn’t go through for a third time. You could only assume an uptick in TDs but on your own you could vocalise your disappointment, outright sticking your tongue out at your terminal.

“Are you fighting with your terminal again?”

You jumped, nearly dropping the thing, you were quick to catch it with your foot, bouncing it back up into your hands. “Jiyan!” You exhaled, whirling around to face the man standing in the entrance to your living room. You tossed your terminal onto the chair nearby, surging forward, Jiyan was quick to catch you in his arms.

“Surprise.” He held you tightly, inhaling your scent softly. “The infantry is holding a training exercise, I decided to take the time to come see you.” He pulled his head back slightly, golden hued eyes staring into yours. “My beau.”

“I was worried when you didn’t get back to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Jiyan’s apology was sincere as he opted to hold your waist with one arm, instead using his free hand to caress your cheek gently. “No injuries.” He promised. You nodded, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch. Jiyan lowered his head, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle declaration of affection.

One you eagerly returned to your General. 

After several soft moments with one another you pulled back to catch your breath, resting your forehead against his. Jiyan’s eyes remained closed, hand still on your face. A peaceful moment of respite from the war. You smiled softly.

“Wanna go to Panhua’s for Jinzhou stew?” You inquired in a quiet voice, already well aware of what his response was going to be. Jiyan’s eyes opened, the excitement on his face was only momentary, but you knew him well enough.

“My treat.”

“You’re on the frontlines all the time, let me treat you!”

Jiyan pulled away from you, stretching as he took a step back. “Nonsense, I should treat my boyfriend for spending so much time away from him with no word.” Well, you couldn’t really argue with that. You retrieved your terminal from the chair, clipping it onto your hip with ease as he went down the hall to your bedroom.

“Did you do laundry recently?”

“Yep! Your clothes are clean.”

“Thank you.” 

You could hear the man in the bedroom, rifling through the closet to acquire clothing that was more casual. He didn’t mind his uniform, but he didn’t feel like being spotted by every person he passed on the street. You shook your head fondly, you really did know him too well.

When he returned to your side you’d put your boots on, sitting on the bench in the entrance way waiting for him. You stood up, eyeing him up and down noticeably. Jiyan merely rolled his eyes when you winked at him. “Lookin’ good, General!” 

“Hush.”

Your hand rested on his lower back, and you leaned down to kiss the exposed tacet mark on his spine. Jiyan shuddered, looking over his shoulder to look at you the best he could. “Don’t overexert yourself. Let’s take it easy today, alright?” You looked up at him and he nodded as he averted his gaze. 

[buckys-wintersoldier]

After years he sees him again | Steve Rogers

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> After seeing Bucky after years again Steve still suffers with guilt. But he knows you support him and together you will find his best friend.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 880

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> (T) past trauma, guilt, fluff

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 -> 10 Years Anniversary CA:TWS | March 27 | Theme: Steve Rogers | Motorcycle, Guilt, “It kind of feels personal.”, Favourite Steve Quote | @catws-anniversary

Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

The sun is shining beautifully into your shared room, and Steve breathes softly. His eyes are focused on you, while your head rests on his shoulders. Yesterday was an exhausting day for Steve; he just met his childhood friend, even though you can’t really name it a meeting. It was more of a mission, which ended up with Steve feeling more alone than ever before. He loves you, and you love him, but there is always a missing part inside of him, Bucky. His old friend, who protected him and was always around him. James Barnes, Sergeant James Barnes, 107th Infantry Regiment. Steve helped him escape the Red Skull; he would have walked to Austria when Howard wouldn’t have offered to take his plane. And then there was the next mission, the one he lost his best friend, or at least he thought he did because yesterday he found out Bucky is alive, but now better known as the Winter Soldier. Steve’s hand is placed on your back, and he draws small circles on your skin. You turn your head to look at him.

“Stevie?” You ask softly while you slide your hand up and down his broad chest and along his abs.

He breathes heavily, closing his red, swollen eyes before he opens them. Then he looks at you, trying to force a smile on his lips, but you know it’s not a real one. His eyes don’t light up as they are used to when he smiles. But you don’t blame him; how is he supposed to smile when he just saw his best friend after thinking he would never see him again. After finding out that his best friend is the winter soldier and Bucky didn’t even recognize or remember Steve anymore, Steve was alone and exhausted.

“He was looking at me-“ he interrupts himself, eyes filling with tears. “Directly at me. And he didn’t even know me.”

The tears falling down his cheeks, you capture his cheek to wipe away the tears. Steve immediately leans into your touch, sighing softly.

“W-When I had nothing… I-I had Bucky,” Steve says quietly, but you understand him.

Your boyfriend closes his eyes once again, seeing his best friend standing in front of you, the mask just falling off his face, and he turns around, facing Steve. Steve’s eyes widen. His best friend, his childhood best friend, is standing there. His throat is suddenly so dry that he needs to clear it, staring at the other man who looks back at him. ‘Bucky?’ Steve's voice is shaking when he speaks. Bucky looks confused, narrowing his eyebrows, and his eyes glide from Steve to the side, back to Steve, and back to the other side. There is no one else than the two of them, so why does the blonde man just say that word, that name, which sounds kinda familiar to the brown-haired man, but at the same time he doesn’t know what Steve is talking about? ‘Who the hell is Bucky?’

“Steve, do you want to eat breakfast?”

“What? Ah yes, sorry.”

“Stevie, we will find him,” you say, kissing his chest softly while he just nods.

Steve hasn’t slept all night after seeing his best friend. The confused look of Bucky is always in front of his eyes when he closes them. The guild inside of him is worse than ever; maybe he should have jumped after his best friend. Maybe he could have saved him, or should he could have reached Bucky’s hand and pulled him back into the train. You try so often to convince Steve that it wasn’t his fault, but Steve just shakes his head and smiles softly, trying to believe that he wasn’t the reason for Bucky falling down, but deep inside of him, in his heart, he gives himself the fault, maybe because he asked him to come with him on the mission. Whenever he rides the motorcycle, he sees Bucky in front of his eyes, when he saved him, when they walked back to Peggy side by side, when they are on the mount, next to each other. The smile on Bucky’s face when he laughs. He used to ride the motorcycle as Captain America, and Bucky sometimes made jokes about the man in uniform tights on a motorcycle with a shield. ‘It’s nothing personal, pal. Just- those tights for a big man like you.’ Bucky laughed, placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder. ‘It kind of feels personal.’ He replied and chucked. Steve’s attention is back at you when you kiss his neck. His fingers draw circles on your back, and then he pulls you closer against him.

“I love you, princess.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

He loves you so much; he always knows that you support him as much as he can, and you would never be mad at him for showing his real feelings. With you, he can be the way he really is; he doesn’t have to be the hero he has to be in public. You love him the way he is, sad, happy, excited, or exhausted from his mission. Steve leans closer, capturing your lips with his, smiling softly against your soft lips. While he pulls you on top of him and tickles you softly.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬.

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @felicitylemon @cjand10 @lives-in-midgard @casa-boiardi @cevansbaby-dove @flstrawberry @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf

[callsign-rogueone]

not alone - r.g.

Ridoc Gamlyn x reader part three of Ridoc and Sweetheart’s story. words: 1.8k 🏷: Iron Flame spoilers in a vague sense, reader experiencing the joys of RSC, implications of torture but it’s not shown, mild panic attack / anxiety spiral / self-deprecating thoughts, bring tissues maybe, “happy” ending, Ridoc (and Sawyer) to the rescue! I am so stuck on the first-date scene that I just skipped it for now but it will happen eventually, I promise!!

This has to be a dream. It feels like something out of an adventure novel — waking up in a literal dungeon, chained to the wall. 

“Rhith?”

You wait a few seconds, but she doesn’t respond. Oh, gods, what if she… no, she’s okay. She has to be okay, because you’re okay. Maybe she’s asleep or off hunting or something.

But she’s never not responded to you before. She’s always replied, always been there to assuage your worries and remind you that it’ll be okay, just breathe. 

Breathe. Deep breaths, think about the butterflies… You look up, seeing no trace of them, no flutter of blue wings in the dim mage light of the room that you can’t seem to brighten, either.

You try it again, picturing them more clearly, thinking about the patterns on their wings and the colors… Nothing.

Something is definitely wrong. 

Why can’t you make a simple illusion? Is your signet broken? Is that why you’re down here? Is this some kind of reconditioning? A punishment? Or are you here to be executed for being defective?

“Rhith?” you try again, still working to steady your breathing, but every second that passes without a response only tightens the knot around your heart.

There’s no use. She’s not going to respond, because she’s given up on you, finally realized she’d chosen poorly, that you aren’t fit to be a rider after all, and decided to do away with you before the next Threshing, where she could choose a better rider, one who doesn’t need constant reassurance and hand-holding like a child.

The door swings open, a uniformed infantry officer stepping inside, here to decide your fate. He’s fully armed, a short blade in his hand, ready to carve into your skin or to pierce your heart, put you out of your misery — to thin the herd, to separate the wheat from the chaff. 

“I’m sorry,” you plead, as if that will change her mind. “I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll try harder, I’ll prove to you that I can handle it, just please don’t give up on me, don’t leave me here to die, please…”

He scoffs at you. “Crying already? This is going to be easier than I thought.”

You can’t dry your tears with your hands tied behind your back, so you settle for blinking them away and willing them to stop — you need to be strong if you want to get out of this room alive and see your brother and sister and the rest of your family again.

Family. That’s it — to convince them you’re worth it, you need to be someone else, someone who is worth it, like your brothers. 

You’re going to get through this. You’re going to endure whatever they put you through like Garrick would, and do it all with a straight face like Xaden, and be brave like Liam and smart like Brennan, and then Rhith will take you back, and everything will be okay again; you just need to stay strong.

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

Ridoc can’t find you at breakfast— you aren’t sitting with Bodhi and Imogen and the other marked ones like you always do. Maybe you’re sleeping in, he decides. The thought is a small comfort to him, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

He hadn’t seen you all weekend, but that much is normal — he’d spent Saturday afternoon with his friends at the tavern in town, and you aren’t the going-out type; you’d rather curl up with a book to distract yourself from the rest of the world and it’s cruelty.

You hadn’t answered your door when he’d come to extend you the invitation, but he’d just assumed you were elsewhere. And your relationship is new, anyway, new enough that the word relationship probably isn’t the best to describe what the two of you have — you’ve been on two dates. You aren’t going to be spending every hour of your spare time together. 

But you aren’t at morning formation either, and as he settles into his usual seat at Battle Brief, you’re still nowhere to be found. There’s no denying it now; this isn’t a series of coincidences, this is a pattern, and something is definitely wrong.

Second squad seems to all realize what’s happening at once.

“I’m sure she’s okay,” Sawyer tries, but Ridoc seems unconvinced, bouncing his leg under the table nervously. His eyes snap toward the door as it creaks open, one person walking through.

You make it up to the back of the lecture hall, settling into the open chair beside Ridoc, your usual spot these days.

Everyone’s eyes widen at the cuts and bruises across your arms and face, knowing there’s likely even more covered by your clothes.

“Are you okay?” Violet asks in a whisper, knowing it’s a stupid question, but wanting to say something anyway.

You nod, chewing your lip. “I’m fine, but I can’t feel Rhith. I don’t know what happened.”

You’ve been trying all morning, had tried all night when they’d finally left you to sleep… you haven’t heard anything from her in two full days, but the infantry officer had let you go free, so you must have passed whatever test they’d given you, decided you were worthy of being a rider after all.

Guilt flickers in Ridoc’s chest - he should have told you, given you some kind of warning. “They did the same thing to us last week. It was something in the water. It’ll wear off soon, I promise.” He holds a hand out, a small icicle forming in his palm that he wraps in a piece of soft fabric. “Here.”

You take it from him, holding it to the killer bruise forming on your jaw from where the officer’s fist had nearly broken it. “Thank you.”

You’re exhausted. You’d barely had enough time to shower before class started, and you’re pretty sure you’re concussed; it’s hard to think, and everything is too bright in here, too loud…

You turn your gaze back to the professor, but don’t take any notes, don’t make any move to take a pen and paper from your bag, letting your eyes fall shut as Devera continues her analysis. It goes in one ear, out the other, but you know none of it is true anyway, or if it is, it’s only half the story.

The ice is starting to melt against the warmth of your skin, dripping down your wrist. He takes it back, letting it disappear into thin air and pocketing the wet handkerchief silently, resting an arm on the back of your chair and pressing a soft kiss to your bruised temple.

You blink awake at the sound of everyone getting up to leave — you must have gotten almost an hour of sleep. It’s taken some of the edge off, but your entire body still aches as you rise from your seat.

“Aotrom says she’s on the flight field,” Ridoc says, shouldering your bag before you can protest. “Do you wanna go see her?”

You just nod in response, your jaw still aching too much to speak. You make the walk up in silence, your heart clenching when you see Rhith standing there, waiting for you.

The comforting voice is finally back in your head. “Hello, sweet one.”

“Hi,” you say aloud, voice wavering. 

She lowers her head to you, letting you stroke a hand over the dark green scales of her nose. “I would never want to replace you, sweet one. You are just as strong and just as valuable as your brothers, and I chose you for a reason.”

You realize that she’d heard it all, your desperate pleas for her to spare your life, the promises that you’d be better, thinking she’d abandoned you…

“I’m sorry for thinking that, I just… my signet stopped working, and I couldn’t hear you…” you’re going to cry just thinking about it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “Try it again.” 

You take a breath and close your eyes, picturing a butterfly. When you open them, you can see one floating through the gentle afternoon breeze. You add another, just to be sure that it wasn’t a fluke, and another… three of them now, content to flutter around in front of you.

Ridoc is still watching you, silent. The look of relief on your face breaks his heart.

He realizes that by separating you from Rhith, they’d taken away your only friend in that room. He’d had Rhiannon and Violet and Sawyer by his side the whole time, but you’d been entirely alone; no marked ones, nobody from your squad — you’re the only second-year left. They’d taken your best coping mechanism as well, your ability to self-soothe with your gentle projections. 

Rhith looks up at Ridoc, who stands a respectful distance away, your bookbag slung over his shoulder. “She says thank you,” you relay for her, “for taking care of me.”

Ridoc smiles. “Always, sweetheart. Now let's get you to the healers, hm?”

He holds out a hand, and you hesitate a moment before you take it, intertwining your fingers loosely. His skin is warm against yours, soft, gentle, safe. When you make it down the hill and across the bridge to the infirmary, you almost don’t want to let go.

You stay as close to Ridoc as you can for the rest of the day. He treats you incredibly carefully, even after you’ve been mended back to normal, the cuts healed and bruises faded completely.

You’re grateful to wake up in your own bed the next morning, silently getting ready for the day and falling into your place at morning formation.

“Atken,” Dain calls, gesturing for you to come see him. “You’re being transferred.”

What? Why? Your heart races, but you follow him silently, stopping in front of a different squad, in Fourth Wing.

“I think you already know most of your squadmates,” he prompts.

You take a good look at them — nearly all of your friends; Imogen and Sloane and Violet, and now Ridoc and his friends too. You might cry. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Don’t thank me, thank those two. They made quite the argument for transferring you.” He nods toward Ridoc and Sawyer — they both smile at you, Ridoc grinning from ear to ear, Sawyer looking rather bashful.

“So you won’t have to be alone anymore,” Ridoc answers before you can ask. 

You fall into the formation beside him, reaching over to hook your pinky around his in a tiny show of appreciation. “Thank you.”

He smiles at you, warm and bright, keeping your fingers interlocked through the morning roll and announcements.

Maybe your second year won’t be so bad anymore.

[fourthwingfanclub]

Violets Second Signet **Spoiler Warning**

Ok, after a long time thinking about this, and reading Iron Flame 4 times I think I am ready to theorize my idea for Violets second signet.

Let's start by summarizing what we know.

I have seen that some people have speculated that her signet is Distance wielder because she asked Xaden if that was his. While I don't think that was just brought up without a purpose, I don't think that would be her signet. (I think Aaric might end up being that).

I also think Violet's signet is going to be something that either we have never seen before, or very rare. This power comes from Andarna, she's a special breed of Dragon that has been basically extinct for 650 years.

Signets are based on the rider, and what they need most at their core. Violet needs information, Facts.

It is also mentioned many times that Violet has a mind of a scribe and the heart of a rider. I think this is important, more important than we know yet.

I think Violet can process events and information in slow motion. I think she can see everything around her happening, giving her time to process and record the events within her mind. While this doesn't seem significant, to Violet its everything. There are a few events that's stood out to me that made me think this.

First, when she reviews what Aiofe wrote and admits she missed some things. Also, Jesinia mentions that stories can change depending on who is transcribing them. Violet is mad about the amount of information that has been forgotten or changed due to scribes hiding the Venin from Navarre. She would want to recount everything correctly.

“Absolutely.” I nod, then take the notebook and skim Aoife’s neat handwriting. It’s amazingly accurate, with little details I’d missed, like the two infantry cadets who’d offered to be the healers’ aides because that’s their job for the squad. They have designated roles for each mission. I set it down on top of the book I’m returning to sign. “This is incredible.” “Glad to hear it’s accurate.” She glances over her shoulder, as if checking to see if we’re alone, which we are. “The tricky thing is to capture the truth and not just an interpretation. Stories can change depending on who tells them.”

Yarros, Rebecca. Iron Flame (The Empyrean Book 2) (p. 224). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.

Second, the way some of the events and wording were portrayed made me suspicious that these were written a specific way. They were very detailed catching events that were happening in seconds or described as happening in slow motion. I think we see some clues to this being her signet once we get to Part 2 of the book and Andarna is awake and Channeling. We know Violets first signet showed up right after she started channeling with Tairn (that first kiss with Xaden), so it would make sense that she could have been showing signs of her second signet without realizing it. I don't think she was fully able to wield until the final battle though. My reasoning for this is if she was, even if she was unaware, Tairn would have sensed her pulling power from another source and wielding. If he did during the battle, we won't know that until the 3rd book since we don't get much info on events once battle has ended.

Examples of her signet showing up prior to final battle as follows...

Time slows to sluggish heartbeats as I watch him reach for the ground.

Yarros, Rebecca. Iron Flame (The Empyrean Book 2) (p. 567). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.

Everything somehow slows and yet happens at once.

Yarros, Rebecca. Iron Flame (The Empyrean Book 2) (p. 597). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.

Time slows to heartbeats, my breath freezing in my heated chest. Then the wyvern crosses the invisible barrier, and my heart stops beating altogether as its wings flap once. Twice.

Yarros, Rebecca. Iron Flame (The Empyrean Book 2) (p. 745). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.

During the battle, two events really stood out - when Violet was waiting for the Venin to come upon them and worried about her friends. She says they have 10 seconds maybe. It is then described in detail all the events taking place a second at a time. Shes following this dagger being repaired while simultaneously aware of everything and everyone around her. She is able to gather copious amounts of information in a short, small amount of time.

One. Ridoc waves his hands at my right, holding a dagger that’s been snapped in two. Shit, if his only remaining blade is broken—I blink when the pieces disappear. He wasn’t waving at me. Two. Snapping my head to the left, I find the pieces already in Rhiannon’s hands as Feirge dives to where Sliseag hovers beneath. Three. Feirge flies alongside Sliseag, and Rhiannon tosses the pieces. Four. To Sawyer’s credit, he catches them. Five. Sgaeyl rises to take Feirge’s place, and I lock eyes with Xaden only long enough to see that he’s unharmed. Blood both drips from Sgaeyl’s mouth and runs in rain-driven rivulets down the side of Xaden’s face, but I instinctively know it’s not his and focus on the imminent threat. Six. Breathe. I have to breathe through the firestorm in my chest or I’ll burn out. It’s not that I don’t recognize the signs: the trembling, the heat, the fatigue. It’s just that they don’t matter. Everyone I love is on this field. Seven. They’re almost on us, and I look down at the ward chamber, where Marbh stands watch with a Blue Clubtail I don’t recognize and a vague shape I hope is Andarna, and when a flash of sunlight reflects on the dagger in Sawyer’s hand, it disappears again, Feirge already on the move. Eight. “Dajalair is frustrated by the unflyable conditions,” Tairn relays as Feirge rises alongside Aotrom. Nine. “Tell them they’re more efficient guarding the courtyard and incoming wounded than struggling with waterlogged wings,” I note. “They’d be a liability up here right now, not an asset.” The dagger changes hands, and Ridoc is once again armed. I grin at how seamlessly we work as a team, then face the coming tidal wave. Ten. “You’re beginning to think—” Tairn starts. “Like Brennan?” I suggest as the wyvern enter our airspace. “Like Tairn,” Sgaeyl answers,

Yarros, Rebecca. Iron Flame (The Empyrean Book 2) (pp. 827-828). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.

The last scene that made me think this was when Sawyer and Aotrom was being attacked by multiple wyverns. Violet is able to assess the situation, gather the information, which gave her the opportunity to save her friends. I think this speaks directly to the battle at Resson, her world had been so turned upside down with the realization that everything she knew was false she was unable to fully piece together the information she did know about how wyvern is made from Venin, she feels responsible for Liam.

We’re almost there, but everything happens so fucking fast that it’s as if the rest of the world slows down. In one heartbeat, the closest wyvern opens its jaws. In the second, it blasts green fire across Sliseag and Sawyer dives backward out of the seat, narrowly avoiding being burned to death and rolling down Sliseag’s spine with a smoking boot. In the third, it completes its assault, snapping at Sliseag’s exposed side. Sawyer kicks at the gaping jaws to save his dragon from the bite, but in the next, he takes it himself, his leg disappearing between the wyvern’s massive teeth.

Yarros, Rebecca. Iron Flame (The Empyrean Book 2) (p. 833). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.

With that I leave you with this blurb from Xaden

“You have to find your center again, Violet. I can’t do it for you.” He holds my gaze, letting his words sink in, before adding, “You are a creature of logic and facts, and everything you know got turned upside down and shaken. You’ll never know how truly sorry I am for that. But you can’t just sit there and hope. You want it to change, then you have to figure it out, just like Gauntlet. You’re the only one who can.”

Yarros, Rebecca. Iron Flame (The Empyrean Book 2) (p. 663). Entangled Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.

[houndofsevenhells]

“Of Septons and Hounds” (Sandor Clegane x Original Female Character)

SUMMARY — A recently widowed impoverished spinster, who now finds herself at the Lannisters’ mercy, develops a strange relationship with the fearsome Hound. As the ten year long summer comes to an end, she tries to fight for the man she really wants, while dodging her good-brother's schemes to see her wed yet another elderly lord.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is my first ever work in this fandom, I hope I did my favourite fearsome Hound justice. English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes that is my fault alone. Oh, and there’s also smut.

WORD COUNT — 3,391

Masterlist

The ten year long summer was coming to an end. I could feel it in my bones. Casterly Rock still stood tall and strong, as I suspected it would for another eight thousand years, but everything else around me was changing.

I was savouring a rare moment of peace and hid from the world in the alcove of the rose gardens. The round-petalled, sunset-coloured variety that grew here were my favourite, though of course the crimson ones planted at the very centre were the most magnificent. My good-brother Ser Damion once told me they were the pride and joy of Lady Joanna, and knowing his cousin Tywin I could certainly see why the gardeners worked so hard to keep these blooming all summer long.

As the recently widowed impoverished spinster, who now found herself at the Lannisters’ mercy, I hid in these gardens quite often–mostly to escape my good-brother’s schemes. One should hope his duties as the castellan of the Rock would have kept him busier…

I breathed deeply and felt my head swimming from the sweet scent of the roses. Somehow I knew the crimson ones smelled stronger as of late. I was sure they spoke of impending autumn winds. They had developed a startling, imposing scent that permeated almost the entirety of the gardens and it almost seemed like the flowers wanted to shine just one last time before they would inevitably wilt. Like the one last feast one would throw just before the first snowstorms.

“Well, then.” Suddenly, strong hands grasped my shoulders and I shot up from the bench I was resting on.

I was met with the half-burned face of Sandor Clegane; his ruined lips twisted in a mockery of a smile and his imposing frame blocking the sun from my view completely. 

“Oh. It’s you.” I was clearly relieved.

No less confused than before, Sandor took a step closer.

“Who did you think it was?” he asked. His voice was broken glass, crunching under infantry iron boots. 

“My brother,” I confessed easily. “He is getting fatter on his castellan purse, but is almost as tall as you, Ser Clegane.”

Immediately, Sandor snarled at the title, his grey eyes full of hate. But I stood there proudly, daring him to scold a high-born lady in public. I was riling him up and he knew it, but he let me all the same. 

“Come.” His command was short; an order a captain of the guard would throw at a fellow soldier.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady, Clegane?”

He said nothing to that, just sent me another angry look over his shoulder and then kept walking. I stifled a laugh.

Unlike all those other guards prancing around the Rock in their gold shiny armours, Sandor’s black ring mail and boiled leather seemed to be quelling the sunshine around him.

Unable to help myself, I followed him inside the castle.

His long legs carried him quite a distance further and soon enough I found myself trotting behind him like an ungraceful pony.

“Is that any way for a lady to walk?” he grumbled, though there was mirth in those angry eyes and I grinned as soon as I saw it.

“Is that a jape I hear, Clegane? By the gods, it–” But the rest of that remark died in my throat as he pulled me into a dark corridor that ended with a spiral staircase. He went down and again, I followed.

“Where are we?” I inquired.

“Underneath the barracks.” His rasping voice drifted up to me. Once more, he was leading.

“Lovely,” I sighed and then simply kept following.

At the end of the staircase, there was an old door with an even older-looking lock, to which Sandor for some inexplicable reason produced a rust-covered key. He unlocked the door and it soon became apparent he must have been the first one to do it in quite a while. It took a formidable power to open it at all. I looked at how his muscles bulged under the dark sleeves of his tunic and against my better judgement I did not stop looking until he caught me in the act. 

Without any niceties, Sandor took my hand and led me through the narrow passage, then firmly shut the door behind us; the rusty hinges straining under the task.

“I do appreciate the effort, Clegane, but if I should have to perish, I’d rather not do it under some aimless old stone that decides to drop on my head with–”

“You talk too much, woman.”

He grabbed me and soon my back was pressed against the cold stone wall. I did not necessarily mind. This was what I came there for; it was what I wanted and what Sandor kept giving me for the past year and a half.

I reached out blindly and when my hands found his face I pulled him closer for a kiss. He wouldn’t reciprocate at first, this much I knew, because such was our game. He would let me sense his humours and somehow through a simple touch and kiss I would read him like a book. I realised he would need it rough today and my body shivered with anticipation. I deepened the kiss and finally Sandor moved closer and started to unlace his breeches.

There was scarcely any light source in the old dungeon and I could barely see a thing. Regretful, giving my particular weakness for the sight of the man. Because Sandor was everything I could ever want from a man, even though he would never let me say it out loud. 

But the noose around my neck was tightening. With the summer ending and Her Grace slowly packing to move back to King’s Landing with the children, I knew the proper mourning period after my late husband’s passing was over. As I had no remaining male relatives, Ser Damion Lannister was in charge of any dowry my puny cousin Crakehall branch could offer. Soon, the evil beast that married my sister would force me to wed once more–undoubtedly to another evil beast of his choosing.

“You are shaking, my lady.” The familiar raspy voice brought me back. I sighed because I enjoyed him calling me a lady quite as much as he liked to be called “ser”.

“It’s cold in here.”

“Aye.” He reached under my skirts and I gasped once he pulled down my smallclothes. “So let me make you warmer.”

Another sigh turned into a moan when he put two fingers inside me and curled them. He was not being rough to be cruel, but because he knew I could not stand a slow and tedious prelude.

“So wet,” he rasped into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Were you thinking of me all day?”

I could not smell the wine on him this time and I enjoyed the thought that he wanted to experience me sober. I always liked it better when he was not drinking and I thought the incentive for him was that our time together would last longer.

“Actually no, I–” I exhaled and let out a surprised chuckle as he grabbed my thigh firmly to lift up my leg. I rested it against his hip and he added another finger inside me–this time more smoothly.

“Cease your prattling, woman,” he grunted. “Does the dark frighten you so much? Or the creature you find yourself in the dark with?”

I let out another moan as his teeth nibbled at my neck. 

The sensations were overwhelming. The stone wall was cold against my back, and the dank dungeon was not something I would call remotely romantic–it smelled of damp earth and rot, and to be truthful after a day of training in the yard, Sandor smelled no better.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see him sneering at me.

“Where in the seven hells are you?” He leaned in closer and as he replaced his fingers with his cock, I steadied myself by clutching his arms. “Because you sure ain’t here with me.”

“I am… thinking,” I whispered and it gave him a pretence to claim another kiss from my lips. 

He knew me too well; such was the consequence of two souls connecting the way we have been doing. At first our dalliance was just a mutual understanding–but now it expanded and grew like a root, and despite our better judgement, we started to get to know one another.

“Stop thinking so much, woman,” he grumbled, his voice surely hoarse from yelling at incompetent recruits through all of the morrow. “Look at me. Look at me.”

I finally looked up and saw the faint outline of his face. His eyes no longer resentful, now they glinted with lust. I smiled as I understood the object of that lust was me. 

“Go on then,” I mustered my best commanding tone and moaned as he squeezed my thigh harder in return.

The rough wall behind me, the strong arms I was clutching and Sandor’s hardness inside me all brought me back from whatever hell my mind had wandered to and I set my heart on the now. That is why we worked so well, I supposed. His roughness and my need for it paired together beautifully.

We were both close, I could feel it. Sandor let out a groan and I made myself tighten around him in response. I wished the moment could last longer, but I knew deep down all things that exist in darkness and privacy must one day come out to light.

I reached my peak first and nearly cried out–but Sandor was faster. He captured my lips in another harsh kiss, spilling inside me. I felt how his body tensed, pressed up against me. Still seeing stars, I let him release my leg back down, though I appreciated him still holding me close. I swore under my breath at how unsteady I felt and I heard Sandor chuckle. An oddly comforting thing, that disembodied rough chuckle in the dark. 

I pulled up my smallclothes and straightened my skirts, wincing at the mess that spilled from me. I did not care if his seed quickened, though. Thankfully I was no longer a maiden and knew my sums better than I used to. My monthly blood was still far away and I had more time to take precautions.

My release did make everything better, but I still was not finished with my game of teasing the bull.

“When was the last time you took a bath, Sandor?”

I could not really see it, but I knew his brows were tightly pinched together.

“Last week, I think. Why? Does this dog’s stink offend your ladyship?”

“No,” I chuckle. “Have no fear. I know who you are and I still enjoy your company.”

That, I gathered, stunned him more than a blow to the head could. I heard his clothes rustle. He was putting himself back in order, too.

“The smell of blood and sweat,” he grunted. “Some twisted tastes you have, woman.”

I put my hands in front of me and grabbed at his tunic to pull him closer. This time, he obeyed. I pressed myself against him and I could feel his breath quickening.

“Some twisted tastes, indeed,” I hummed and moved to rest my cheek against his chest. “But I wish we could go somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Casterly Rock.”

Somewhere far away from my sister’s husband, is what I truly wished to say and Sandor knew it well. I could feel him stirring uncomfortably, undoubtedly unsure what to say to that. I knew then that I let myself say too much.

“Well, we’ve got that. The two of us here, nice and private, as the lady commands.”

“Very amusing.”

“I do try.”

His hands moved from my backside then and I felt his fingers in my hair. True to the word he had once given, he was doing his best not to make too much of a mess of my braid. But I knew he liked my hair. He remarked on it often.

We were quiet then, just the two of us in that small dungeon under the barracks of Castle Casterly, and it was as close to peaceful as I have ever felt. I knew I was trying to hold on to this moment just a little bit longer, to somehow keep it from ending. 

To my surprise, it was Sandor that broke our silence this time:

“I do not want to let you go yet.”

I knew what it meant, for him to speak his mind like that. I was fast to answer so as not to keep him in suspension:

“Nor I you.”

I wanted to say more; to say I wished he were mine and mine alone. But that would be foolish. I knew it could never be. I started to trace soothing circles on his back instead; something I knew he enjoyed very much.

After a moment, he spoke again, though his voice was less hoarse now:

“And if I said… I am yours as you are mine?”

The pang of emotion in my chest was as pleasant as it was scary.

“I would say that is all I want.” I placed my palm against his scarred cheek and felt him lean into the touch. “I want you,” I assure him. “I do not wish to be away from you. I do not wish to be married to a lord or a hedge knight or the first drunk who wins against Damion at cards. I want…”

But then the moment faded away and Sandor brought us back to reality:

“What we want doesn’t matter.”

We have been here before, I realised. This was not the first time when both of us wanted the same, but neither believed we could truly take it.

“You know I am no knight. No lord. I’m just their creature, I’m the Hound.”

“Do not say that.”

“But that’s the truth,” he replied, his voice harsh and grating like knives on stone. “I have killed more men than I could even remember. I’m scarred and ugly and hard to look at. You would not be getting a man, you would be getting a beast.”

I knew what he was doing, what he was trying to do. But this time, somehow, I did not want to cower before my better judgement. Winter was coming and I was growing tired.

“Well, fortunately I am good with wild creatures,” I declared in my best lady-like tone. “If I could make your Stranger eat my apple offerings, I am certain you are no more work than that.”

He went silent and even in the dim lighting of the dungeon I could see the conflict in his face.

“Never had a woman like you, with manners and all. I was never meant for any court. If we give in, you’d be wed to a brute.”

I exhaled and decided then that if after a decade the seasons were changing, I deserved a change as well. I have decided then to break the spell of misfortune with a jape and took a step closer to sniff at his neck.

“Well, as your lady wife I could at least make you bathe more often. If that is not a credit to my taming skills, I do not know what would be.”

He laughed at that and even though his laughter would always be short-lived, I still took that as a victory.

“Fuck the court then, eh?” he said and gently held my face in his rough, calloused hands. 

“Fuck the court,” I said sternly, and I knew my swearing always took him by surprise, “and fuck their dances, and fuck their hedge knights. May they all dance themselves off the cliffs of Casterly Rock! And may Ser Damion die of a bloody flux. I hope it is painful.”

“Aye,” Sandor chuckled again and kissed the top of my head. “It is. But do not let them hear you cast your spells. I will do much, but I will not save you from a burning pyre.”

It would not matter if they burned me to ash tomorrow for true. Today I finally had hope.

“I want to be your wife,” I declared. “I want them all to know who protects me. I know you will protect me. They are all afraid of you and–”

“Look at me,” he ordered and I did so at once. “You say this… And you say this knowing what I am? Knowing why they are all afraid?”

“I do not care,” I replied, now close to tears from thinking he would not agree after all. “My good-brother is in charge of my money and in charge of me. I have nothing of my own, no reputation, no lands or keep. Truth be told, you are marrying down, Sandor.”

He laughed at that and I cherished the sound. I adored making the mask fall.

“You are taking advantage of me, woman, is that it?” he rasped, though now his voice lacked all that anger. He seemed almost happy.

“Yes, Sandor Clegane,” I grinned. “I have cast my spells and ensnared you in my power. All of our combined riches of one dragon and two stags shall get us as far as… The Trident, most likely. After that we shall both be whores, but we shall be very happy, indeed.”

“Careful, woman,” he snarled, though his eyes showed no anger.

“Pardon me, my lord.” I gave him my best curtsy.

That earned me a hard squeeze of my backside, but I had no regrets.

“Do you have no fears, then?” he rasped, his hand playing with my hair again. “None at all?”

“Well, I do not particularly care for spiders…”

“By the gods, woman! About me, I meant.”

“Then, no.” My grin grew wider. “You are many things, but you are not a monster, Sandor. I know I can believe your words if you say you would not hurt me.”

“Never.” He rushed to answer this and his hands immediately tightened around my waist. “But I will hurt anyone around you if I need to keep you safe. I will keep you safe, the rest of them can fucking burn.”

“Then I shall dance on the ashes,” I japed again, though my heart threatened to burst out of my chest from happiness. “Come then. Let us find some drunk Septon, I hear your Lord Tyrion knows a few.”

Sandor chuckled and took me by the hand to lead us out of the dungeon.

“He is your cousin.”

“Only by marriage. Remember, I am a Crakehall. Wild boars and lions are not exactly friendly.”

“And hounds are? You are mad.”

“You better wed me fast, then. Such a grand prospect shall not wait forever. But after that, I never want to see or hear the name ‘Lannister’ ever again. ”

We stopped on our way up the stairs and to my astonishment Sandor kissed me right then and there. He looked me in the eye, solemn as always, no doubt waiting for me to change my mind. But I would not. Not when he had shown me what happiness tasted like.

“What is it?” I asked. 

“This may be the most foolish thing I have ever done,” he grumbled. “And that’s saying something.”

I took his hands in mine and shook my head, smiling in a way I hoped was encouraging and not entirely deranged from joy. 

“I am the unreasonable one, Sandor. You shall be my reasonable husband that tames my wicked nature, remember?”

“Am I now?” He smirked. “So you do take me for a husband? I ain’t even civilised enough to know the… vows.”

“Neither does the Septon, if we get one drunk enough to agree to wed us.”

“Nothing will change your mind, then?”

“Nothing shall save you now from this predicament. The hounds are out, the boars are slain, the… I do seem to have run out of house sigils for my japes, but you do know my meaning, I hope?”

“Aye,” he said and this time he seemed to have believed me. “That I do, woman. Now, let us get you that Septon so that I can bed you long and proper.”

[absentwriterdoll]

My Drinking Partner is a Combat Doll

My drinking partner claims that it's a combat doll.

Who am I to question it. I've seen combat dolls of every stripe. Pilots, infantry, airborne, amphibious, vacuum, you name it. Porcelain, augmented, organic, machine, clockwork - some even mixed and matched.

This one is matte black. Night ops, it tells me. Doused with pigments once, never ordered to be recolored.

Doesn't tell me much more than that.

Not like I can't hear its stories from the way it acts, though.

The way it looks about the room. Watches the other patrons. Reacts to sound.

The way it talks. The way it laughs. The way it breathes.

The way it drinks.

It drinks absinthe, by the way. Strong, tastes like shit. It's good stuff.

The night grows deep. Whatever conversation we might've had dies in the silence.

Not that I mind.

Better than drinking alone.

It tells me that it's not going to come back tomorrow.

I ask if its a hunch, likely.

It nods at me.

I mention that I've had the same hunch before. Haven't died yet. Damn well should've, admittedly, but I'm not complaining.

It nods again.

Silence again.

I raise a hand, call the bartend over, order the doll another shot.

Tell it that it owes me. Not taking it tonight, I've already had enough.

I'll take it when it gets back.

It glances at me.

Narrows its eyes.

Can't say that it doesn't scare me, I'm brave enough to admit that.

But it nods.

And it takes its shot.

And it leaves.

...

It doesn't come back.

...

Not for another month, at least.

Same seat that it always shared with me, same posture, same color drink - just missing an arm, part of its face, and the rest of the usual crowd giving it a wide berth and the occasional stare.

Tells me in garbled speech that it wasn't wrong.

I nod. And tell it that I didn't expect it to come back looking like me. Same arm, same part of my face.

And it grins a broken grin.

Tells me it'll keep the stock color of its replacements.

It raises a hand and orders me a drink. Pays me back.

Absinthe.

Good stuff.

[thewritetofreespeech]

hello! could you do some scenarios for quicy boys? like jugram haschwalth, uyrru, ryuuken ishida, and bazz b with a reader with long hair? maybe finding out they have long hair because they always have it up?

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you felt the start of a class 1 headache budding behind your eyes. A symptom of being around the Bambie's for too long.

You loved all your Quincy ‘sisters’ equally. There were so few of you these days that they must be cherished and protected, even if you weren’t part of the group. But like most sisters they could get on your nerves and be almost impossible to deal with. Sometimes you needed a break.

Quickly making your way out of ear shot of the squabbling through the many secret corridors of the palace, you heave out a heavy sigh at the sound of peace & quiet and let your hair down. Relaxing for the first time in what felt like months now.

“What are you doing?”

You jump at being startled by another voice coming from another secret corridor, this part of the castle really just a maze, and feel your face heat up. “I was…just trying to be alone.”

Standing up straight and trying to right yourself in front of the Quincy Grand Master, you feel very uneasy being out of uniform like this. It was undignified, and unworthy of your station. “This portion of the castle is usually abandoned.”

“I know. That’s why I come here.” Jugram replied. Much to your surprise. “They’re quite loud aren’t they?”

“The Bambie's?”

“All of them.”

He then walked closer to you. Your breath catching in your throat as you thought he was going to scold you for being out of uniform. Instead, Jugram reached out and grabbed a lock of your hair. “I didn’t know your hair was this long.”

Your face felt incredibly hot as you looked up at him. Having to turn away from those green eyes before you faint. “I…I keep it up usually. It’s more presentable that way.”

Jugram smiled softly at you, and you thought your knees might buckle right then. “That’s what I admire about you. You always think of your actions in how they will affect the Sternritter and His Majesty.” You were surprised. You thought that Jugram never thought of you at all.

The blonde released your hair and took a step back. “Try not to wander off too far.” He then told you. “Can’t have you getting lost. Try to be back before last call.”

“I..I will!” He gave you a single nod and then went on his way. Leaving you a bit confused, as you stroked your hair.

“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” You turn around at the loud sound of Bazz-B barking. Able to hear him more than see him with the helmet on your head. “I’m the only hot head around here! You can’t just be running off like that!”

“But isn’t that supposed to be what an infantry member does?” You tell him as you pulled off your helmet. “Go in first and clear the way so the rest of you can come in and finish them off?”

Bazz-B seemed startled for a moment, but it certainly couldn’t have been by your logic. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing at you.

“What? What’s what?”

“That!” He repeated. Just pointing with more emphasis at your head like it he made it more obvious you’d get it. “What’s going on with your head?”

“My head?” You asked. Touching it and feeling for a wound. You don’t feel any and suddenly realize he was talking about your hair. He’d never seen it down before. “I couldn’t fit my helmet on with it up the usual way, so I had to just bunch it up under there. Why? Does it look bad?” You probably had the worst helmet hair.

The senior Quincy didn’t say anything. He just turned his head away. His face as pink as his mohawk. “No! I mean…it looks fine. I just didn’t know your hair was that long. It’s…nice.”

“Do you like people with long hair Bazz-B?”

“No!” He snapped at you, but seemed to immediately want to take it back as he turned away again. “It’s whatever. Hair is dumb anyway. It just gets in the way.”

“Do you think I should cut it then? So it fits under my helmet better?”

“No!!” That was the loudest one yet, and you smirk. “I mean…do whatever you want! What do I care what your hair looks like?!”

Bazz-B literally waved you off as he marched off. Seeming done with the conversation. You don’t cut it, but any time he annoyed you from then on you would comment on Liltotto, or some other short hair cut you saw, and how cute it would look on you.

“Hmmm….I’m never going to get this….” Something about math was just beyond your grasp. Words you were fine with. Pictures, descriptions. But math? You must have missed the line when you were supposed to queue up and get that skill that day.

“Don’t be so discouraged.” Uryuu told you, trying to be encouraging. “You’re getting better.”

“You’re just saying that because we’ve been at it for over an hour.” Time did not seem to be playing a factor in your skills at all.

It was that time of year when all the students buckled down and started cramming for their university finals. This would be the test that decided their future, and they had to be perfect. Funny how you’ve faced literal monsters and nearly the end of the world, but a stupid test was what kept you up at night worrying.

“Let’s just call it quits and help me pick an easier university. Or a job in retail.” You tell him as you pull your braid bun down.

“Don’t say that! You really are getting it. You just need too…..” Uryuu’s pep talk stopped as you started to take your braid apart. “What are you doing?”

“It’s too tight. I need to give it a minute to breathe.”

“I just…I’ve never seen you like that. With your hair down before.”

You thought about it for a moment and you supposed he was right. Since it was so long, you usually kept it up & braided for ease. You never really thought about wearing it another way. “I’d wear it down, but it just seems like a hassle.”

“You should….maybe try it some time….”

You turn to look at Uryuu, who was pushing up his glasses as he continued to write notes, “do you like long hair Uryuu?” He didn’t answer you, but his face turned pink as he started at his notes. His pen pressing into the paper harder.

You might not be good at math, but you could see what this was adding up to. “Maybe I’ll leave it down more.”

Surgery had been very loud. 6 hours working on your patient, but you were confident he was going to pull through. You were dead tired. You needed a shower to get the smell of blood and disinfectant off you, followed by a very long nap.

“Good work in there.” You look up to see Ryuuken following behind you. Pulling off his mask and surgical cap.

“Thanks. You too.” You told him, pulling off your own cap. “I was worried when they put the Director in for my surgery. All that time behind the desk, I thought you’d lost your touch.” You click on the water the wash up some and, when you don’t hear anything from behind you, you look back at Ryuuken. “What? I hurt your feelings?”

“Your hair is long.”

You blink a few times at the older man, then reach up to touch your hair. It was down. Like completely down. Your hair tie must have snapped when you were taking your cap off, but you were too tired to notice. “Damnit,” you curse quietly. Now what were you going to do? “I keep it up because it’s a little hard to practice medicine with it flying around. Why? You got a problem with it?”

“No,” he told you matter-of-factly. Also making his way over to the wash sink. “Actually, it suits you.”

You were a little taken a back by his compliment. Two in the last half hour no less. As far as you knew, that was more complimenting than Director Ishida did in a year. “Well, thanks.”

“Are you on call?” He then asked. To which you sort of shrug in response.

“I guess. I can’t leave until my patient wakes up.”

“Come by my office then.” Another surprise. “I want to go over the surgery notes when you’re done.”

You weren’t sure why, but it felt like surgery notes were the last thing he wanted to go over. Maybe you were just tired. In any case: shower, nap, check on patient, go see Ryuuken. Somewhere in there you had to find a new hair tie, but that could wait til later.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia

Synopsis: TBA Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia ?????) A/N: I couldn't wait any longer to start sharing this series with you guys. I am so excited for you to meet Dahlia and go on this roller coaster of a journey with me. This is your warning that this series will have a decent amount of angst and hurt, and will be a slow burn. Garrick going to have his work cut out for him And I'm curious... who do you think her sibling is after this?

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist

Of course I would dream of that day. Of course my brain would bring up this memory now. Making me relive the worst day of my life. Doomed to haunt me till the day I would shrivel up and die.

There I am. So young and naïve. Not a care in the world as I run through the trees with my friends. No clue of what’s to come in a mater of minutes.

My feet push me further and further into the forest. Everything a blur of green and brown. My heart hammering loudly in my chest as I push myself to keep going. To win.

I can hear the sounds of their foot steps behind me. But not gaining. No. I was the fastest. The more agile. It gave me an upper hand while manoeuvring through the trees. I was going to win.

Ahead the trees start to thin, more light seeping into the dense forest. A beacon guiding us to the finish line. But for me…. It was guiding me to victory.

The boys had been stupid to suggest a race through the forest. But they were determined to beat me. At everything else we did they had the upper hand. They were bigger and stronger. Able to weld those training swords better than I. But when it came to this. No one could catch me.

I cry out in victory as I leap over a fallen log and into the clearing. Jumping up and down as I celebrate. I turn to watch the boys jump over the tree before placing their hands on their legs as they try to catch their breath.

I go to tease them about my victory, just like they would in the training grounds. But my words fall short as the ground trembles beneath me. A feeling I knew all too well. The boys eyes go wide at the sight behind me. I turn ever so slowly to see a hoard of dragons behind me. We had run so far through the first we had ended up in the clearing where the riders dragons were kept. And in the middle of them was a dragon I knew all too well. My father’s.

Unlike the boys behind me I wasn’t scared of the dragons. But coming from infantry, the boys behind me had never really been taught about dragons. They were scared.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I tell them as I take in the dragons in front of us.

The dragons looked beautiful in the sunlight. Their scales glistening when the sunlight hit just the right spot. I couldn’t help but be drawn to a blue one down the back. Blue dragons had always been my favourite. But they were the most ruthless of the colour. My father teaching me to never approach one.

“If there’s nothing to be afraid of why don’t you approach them.” One of the boys behind me mocks.

“I’m not afraid. Only a fool would approach a dragon” I call back.

“Liar. You’re scared.” Another mocks, the others snickering at his comment.

I whip back towards them. “I’m not scared.” I say sternly, my hands forming into fists at my side.

“Approach them then. Your father’s a dragon rider. You should know what to do.” One of the older boys states as he walks towards me. “You want to be one of them one day. Go on then. Get some practice.”

He shoves me in the shoulder sending me stumbling backwards towards the dragons. I couldn’t deny I was a little scared. I’d only been near a dragon a handful of times. But never on my own. Always with my father watching over my brother and I.

I turn and face the dragons behind me. My father’s dragon now front and centre.

I could do this. I knew this dragon. He belonged to my father. He wouldn’t hurt me. Right?

Each step forward has ever fibre of my body telling me to run. Don’t give into peer pressure. Turn back and let them think what they want. Prove to them you aren’t afraid another one. But I don’t. I keep putting one foot in front of the other.

My father’s dragon exposes his teeth, a low growl rumbling from its throat as he watches me approach. A warning. Even he knew this was foolish.

My heart beat thunders loudly in my ears. Drowning out the world around me. Run. I need to turn around and run.

Out of the corner of my eye I see it. My head snapping to the side as the rock soars over my head. I watch it, following it as it arcs through the air, and meeting its target. Right in the middle of the dragons left eye. I watch as its tongue curls, an orange glow igniting at the back of its throat. Its mouth still angled down towards me.

I turn to run even though I know it’s futile, know that I won’t make it. But I have to try. As I turn I feel the heat behind me. Know what’s about to happen. I shut my eyes, bracing for my end. But it’s an end that never comes as I’m pushed by something. No not something. Someone.

I soar across the clearing, landing with a thud on the ground near the boys as a scream rips through the clearing. By the time I look up no one is there. Just a pile of ash on the ground. A pile of ash my father rushed towards. My twin brother not far behind. My father’s screams and pleads echoing around the clearing along with my brothers cries. I scramble up to my feet, limping over to my father and brother.

“F-father?” I stutter out, my voice shaking.

Never in my life had I seen my father that mad as his head whips towards me. Tears brimming his eyes as he sneers at me.

“T-this is your fault!” He bellows as his eyes narrow at me.

I stop in my tracks shocked at my father’s outburst. My brother also recoiling from him slightly. His eyes also brimming with tears.

“How could you be so foolish? You know better than this! She’s dead because of you!”

I look down at the pile of ash he gestures to. And that’s when it hits. Know why my father and brother look so distraught and upset. The pile of ash was my mother.

I go to rush forward, but my father’s hand whips out and shoves me backwards to the ground. The force vibrating through my body as I hit the ground.

I’d killed my mother. I shouldn't have listened. Should have stood my ground. I should have run. If I had run she would be alive.

I look up and meet my father’s eyes. His gaze pinning me to the ground. I open my mouth to apologise, but he cuts me off with words that would stick with me for the rest of my life.

“You’re no daughter of mine.”

A/N: If you want to be on the tag list for this series please comment below <3

[miniwheat77]

High School Sweetheart. (Ghost x Reader.)

!CW! Make a dentist appointment, this shit is so sweet you’ll get a cavity.

Summary: Ghost and reader are high school sweethearts who cross paths again.

This was a request, you can find the ask here.

Every day it felt like he was just going through the motions.

Wake up, do what Captain Price asks him to do, go to bed. Sometimes there’s an occasional mission in there. Other than that, that’s all he does. Ghost wonders how the hell he ended up here sometimes. It doesn’t take long for him to remember. He’s lived a shitty life up to this point, and if he’s not killing terrorists, he feels worthless. “We’re welcoming a new recruit, meet outside.” He hears everyone announcing it to each other, everyone filing out the metal exit door. He creeps up behind everyone else, standing in the back.

“Everyone, this is Y/N.” Captain Price announces. He freezes up upon hearing your name. You give a small wave and he recognizes you immediately. What were you doing here? You greet everyone, talking and joking with them. Soap is making small talk with Ghost until you approach. “Hi, I’m Johnny but you can call me Soap.” He reaches his hand out. “This is Ghost.” He nods to Simon. You give him a look of confusion. “What is your first name?” You ask. “Simon. Simon Riley. Long time no see.” He puts his hand out, and you smile. Pulling him into a hug instead. This takes Johnny off guard. He knows Ghost isn’t a hugger. “How d’ya know each other?” Soap asks. “We went to high school together. Used to date.” You laugh. “High school sweethearts ah? Small world.” Soap laughs.

—

Ghost wasn’t sure how you ended up here. Last time he checked, you were off to work in the medical field and he joined the military. Ghost is the one who broke things off, he knew he couldn’t keep you happy and stay in the military. He never thought he’d ever see you again, especially not like this. “Why don’t you talk to her? I see you staring at her all the time.” Gaz nudges him. Ghost shakes his head. “Not my girl anymore.” Soap chuckles. “That’s gotta sting right? She’s smokin hot.”

“Depends on who broke up with who.” Gaz laughs. Ghost rolls his eyes. “You two are annoying.” Standing up and getting rid of his unfinished meal. He was growing more annoyed by the day. He wishes you hadn’t said anything.

He had to admit, you were pretty skilled. Something he didn’t expect. He wanted to talk to you, he did. But he didn’t know what terms you stood on exactly, so he left it alone. He makes his way into the gym, finding you. You’re taking deep breaths, lifting up the weight you’re holding on the bench press. Ghost decides there’s no better time to approach. “Shouldn’t do it without a spotter.” He mumbles, standing behind you. “Yeah? Maybe I wanted to go out on my own terms.” You smirk, taking another deep breath, arms beginning to shake slightly. He rolls his arms. Crossing his arms. “You know you’re a lot- different than you used to be.” You groan. “Yeah, happens when you get old. You’re different too.” He laughs. “How did you end up in the military anyways?” He asks. “I was a paramedic for a while, switched to an ER Medical Assistant.” You put the weight back up on the rack, taking in a deep breath and sitting up. “Seen a lot of traumatic shit, couldn’t handle it.” He looks at you, confused. “So the military sounded like a better choice?” He asks. “No, I tried to switch to normal jobs. Tried being a cashier, receptionist, vet tech. Hated it all. I had a lot of pent up anger, had no outlet. Talked to a counselor, tried doing other jobs. So I started doing medical in the military. Hated that too, so I just switched to infantry. I see a lot of traumatic shit, but at the end of the night I don’t go home alone. It gives me an outlet.” You shrug. He nods his head. “What did you see that fucked you up so bad?” He asks, following you around through your work out. “There was a few things.” You shrug. “My first day, I had to do an STD draw on a 5 year old girl. Her mom left her in a crack house for a few days, had no idea what happened to her.”

“Maybe she got a hold of a dirty needle.” You shook your head. “No. I tried to explain it away, but you would’ve had to see the way she screamed when the male doctors got too close. I wanted to rip her moms fucking head off when I seen her.” You breathe. He nods his head. “I understand. What else?” He asks. You swallow hard. “Little girl was brought in. Had a brain aneurysm.” You breathe. Your voice was getting unsteady. “She was dead before she got there, but the doctor wanted us to do CPR for the moms sake. I did CPR on her until my whole body hurt, until I couldn’t handle anymore, and than some. That’s not what bothered me though.” He looks at you, look of confusion again. “It’s the way her mom screamed when the doctor told her she didn’t make it. Still haunts me to this day.” Ghost sighs. “Jesus Christ.” He mumbles. “I’m sorry.” You nod your head. “I’m fine. I mean I’m not but I have to be. Life is short, I just like to stay busy.” He nods his head. “What about you LT?” You smile, standing up. “What made you stay?” You ask. He shrugs. “I guess I like to stay busy too.” He shrugs.

—

“She likes to stay busy? She’s flirting with you, you idiot.” Gaz rolls his eyes. “What? No she wasn’t. She had just got done telling me some really traumatic shit. The hell is wrong with you.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, if you’re as smart as I pray to god you are, you will get her back, and put that tight ass on lockdown before I do.” Gaz raises his eyebrows. Ghost rolls his eyes once again. “Another meal ruined again.” Ghost rolls his eyes. He decides to go off and find you, not finding you in the gym like he usually would, so he assumes you’re on watch. He’s correct. He makes his way up the watch tower, seeing you sitting at the top inside. “Hey.” He walks in. “Hey. Johnny is supposed to take over for me but not for another hour or so. What’s going on?” You ask. He shrugs, sitting down next to you. “Staying busy.” He’s short. “Ghost huh?” You smile. He nods his head. “You tell them how you got that nickname yet?” You smirk. Even behind the mask you can tell that he’s smiling. “Nah. Not yet. I won’t hear the end of it.” Simon hates this. You knew Simon. You always brought Simon out. Made him smile, made his stomach swirl. “Why’s that?” You ask. “They keep teasing me about letting a girl like you get away.” He laughs. “Ah, everybody makes mistakes. It’s fine that yours was me.” You smirk. He rolls his eyes. “Don’t get too big of a head over there.” You laugh, just like he remembers.

“You’re huge now.” You smile. “Huh?” He laughs. “You were built in high school, sure. But nothing like you are now.” You laugh. “Is… that a good thing?” He asks. “Yeah it’s pretty hot.” He looks up at you, eyebrows raised. “Thanks I guess.”

“Even tough women like to be manhandled, Ghost.” You chuckle. “Remember that for your next girlfriend.” He can sense the jealously in your voice. He slides his phone from his pocket, opening up his text messages. He opens his text chat with Soap, writing out a text.

“Don’t worry about taking over watch, I’m taking over for Y/N.”

“ ;) ”

“Fuck off, MacTavish.”

“ ;))))) ”

He rolls his eyes, sliding his phone in his pocket. “Sound a little jealous to me.” He smirks. You roll your eyes. “Me? Jealous? Really?” You smirk. He nods his head. “Yeah.” You laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” You laugh. “And you’re a liar.” He chuckles.

When the silence takes over once again, he thinks about it for a minute. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles. “For what?” You ask, looking up at him. “For leaving you alone. Making you go through all of that shit alone.” He sighs. You laugh. “I went a little crazy. If we were together you would’ve hated me.” You laugh. “Still, I feel bad.” You smile. “Well. We can always be friends. No sense in regretting something you can’t change.” You shrug. He nods. “Yeah. You know I think you’re a strong girl right?” He laughs. “I think you’re a strong guy too Simon. You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He rolls his eyes, thankful for the balaclava covering his face. His cheeks are too pink to look natural without it. “I’m serious. You did the best you could with the shitty hand you were dealt, and the fact that you’re still doing so good makes me so fucking proud of you.”

Somewhere deep down, passed the barrier he’d put up, those words sting him right to his core. Reopening old wounds he didn’t know he had. “Thank you. I’m proud of you too.” You smile. He can see the pain in your eyes. He knows he’s hurt you. He just hopes somewhere deep down, you’ll be able to forgive him.

—

Ghost doesn’t always take the time to realize exactly how lucky he is. His eyes scan the table, his captain, Gaz, Soap. They’re all sitting around him laughing at something Soap has said, eating their dinner. It’s the closest thing Simon has ever had to a family, and with you back. You flipped his world upside down. He’s in his head too much anymore, thinking. He’s so guarded, but somehow these kind people gravitate toward him. He just hopes if anyone has to die, he does first. He doesn’t want to suffer anymore.

He’s staring off into space, thinking about you. How you were together when you were younger. He thinks about the first time you had together. First kiss, first time. How nervous he was hovering above you, trying to keep you calm and reassure you. How much you trusted him. He always thinks about how calm he was when you were around. After fighting with his asshole dad, anytime he was stressed out and ready to give up, you were always there. Helping him back onto his feet. The times he couldn’t, you’d sit there. Right at rock bottom with him until he was ready to climb his way back out. You helped him every step of the way, and he left you alone. You did everything. Put your heart into his hands. And he shattered it. Stomped on it until it was nothing but fine grained glass. A powder. And you still picked it up. And placed it right back into his cold hands. Just so that he could throw it in your face and walk away.

He needs to stop before he gets upset. Instead, choosing to think about how beautiful you are. Back then, so carefree. He thinks about those summers you spent together, sun beating down on each other. Swimming together, being in love. Your smile. Your giggle when he said something dumb. He remembers how pretty you were, looking up at the moonlight with tears in your eyes because of something so dumb. A fight, a disagreement. He misses how simple everything was. He thinks about holding your hand, walking up and down the street before either of you could drive. He thinks about the stray kitten you had found and how much he tried to convince you not to take it home, but you did anyways. And he remembered how hard you cried when the cat got too sick to bring home from the vet. He held you close as you said your goodbyes.

He thinks about the time he first put on a skull balaclava and how you gave him the funniest look, narrowed eyes and a smile playing at your lips. “So mysterious. Your new nickname is Ghost.” You smile. And how he pounced you, pushing your back into the silk sheets, tickling you until you nearly cried, laughing so hard. How you pulled his mask up to kiss him, just like Mary Jane and Peter Parker.

He’s walking away from the table before he realizes his feet are taking him to your room. Carrying him even though his brain is somewhere else completely. He doesn’t even knock on your door, barges right in. Thankful you’re half dressed. He closes the door behind him, you look up at him in complete confusion as he closes the distance between the both of you. He’s pulling his mask off and ditching it somewhere in the room. “Simon? What are you do-“ his lips are on yours before you can even finish your sentence, holding onto the nape of your neck with both of his hands as he forces you back into the wall behind you. You melt right into him, and he’s so thankful you don’t push him away. You let him kiss you, body relaxing into his. When he finally pulls away, resting his forehead on yours, you’re panting. Taken off guard by him. “I love you. And I’ll understand if you don’t want to give me another chance. But I won’t fuck up again. I let you get away once, and I won’t again.” He breathes. A laugh leaves your lips, “Simon, I knew I was going to give you another chance the moment I see that fucking mask.” You giggle.

Maybe that stupid metaphor is right.

‘If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it was meant to be.’