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sweetiesicheng · 11 months ago

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s.coups - slice of our lives

word count : 1,932

happy birthday to our handsome s.coups ~

"finally," you mutter as you sit down on a stack of wooden pallets. you just finished cleaning for the night at the restaurant you work at, but you couldn't help but think about the mistakes you had made earlier during tonight's service.

you dig through your backpack for a bit before opening one of the pockets. you take a box of cigarettes out and open the box to see your lighter and two cigarettes left. you take a cigarette out and light it up.

as you sit in the silence of the alley behind the restaurant, you try to calm down before going home for the night. you don't want to go home still thinking about the service since you have work tomorrow as well.

when you're done smoking the first cigarette, you drop the end onto the ground and reach down to smash it with your foot. the back door to the kitchen suddenly opens, and you see the expeditor walking out.

"hey," seungcheol greets when he notices you.

"hey," you greet back and light the second cigarette.

"you look beat," he comments as he takes his jacket off.

"cause i am," you reply. "we were slammed tonight."

"front of house messed up a lot since myungho’s out sick. we already chewed them out for it,” he mentions. he walks over to you and stands in front of you. "need a ride home?" he offers.

you shake your head, "no. i live pretty far. i'm going to leave after i'm done," you say to him.

"can i stay to make sure you get on your way safely?" he asks, "my mother would kill me if she somehow found out i left one of my coworkers by herself in this crusty alley."

you crack a smile, a first for the night. then, you nod your head. "yea, you can keep me company," you say to him. "i'd offer you a cigarette but i'm out."

he shakes his head, "i don't smoke, not anymore at least."

"better than me," you manage a laugh out. then you sigh, feeling emotions starting to bust out again, but you try to suppress them in front of your coworker.

"you okay?" seungcheol asks you. "hey, look at me. y/n, look at me."

you look down at the ground and watch your falling tears hit the pallet. seungcheol reaches over to take the cigarette away from your hand.

"hey, listen," seungcheol says to you and crouches down in front of you, enough to where he is in your view. "tonight was rough, for everyone. front of house was a mess, and chef shouldn't have taken you off of your station. you're a rockstar in there. no one else can work the desserts better than you."

you start to smile as you listen to him. then you chuckle, "yea, no one better than chef," you say.

"oh whatever. when we had family dinner that one time and you two had your little competition. everyone knew you were the best, even chef. if you hadn't beaten him, then you would have never stepped foot in that kitchen again. you're in that kitchen with all of us for a reason," seungcheol says to you. he reaches in and wipes some of your tears away. "need another pack?" he asks, noticing the empty box next to you.

you shake your head, "i’ll buy one another time," you say to him. "um, thanks. sorry you had to see that," you say to him and wipe the remaining tears with your sleeve.

"no worries. take it easy on yourself," seungcheol replies.

—

"y/n?"

you look over your shoulder and have to do a double take when you see seungcheol.

"oh, hey," you greet and look back at the mixer. "give me a second," you say to him.

"no, you're good. just wanted to tell you that i left something for you in your bag. keep it up," he says before walking away.

you smile and continue working. there are two desserts for tonight's service, but they're the ones you usually go with. with one of the line cooks helping you out today, the two of you finish preparing everything.

eventually, service begins and you help prep ingredients for the next day since you'll have to wait a bit until people want to eat their desserts.

"y/n, i'll love you forever if you save me a piece of cake. i want to bring my girlfriend something yummy from work," one of the line cooks says to you as she passes by.

"you should bring her here," you say to her. "i'll pack you two if we have any leftover," you say and continue prepping ingredients while she goes back to her station.

once some more time passes during service, you start making the desserts for customers as you hear orders called out.

"coming through. watch your feet," you hear someone say as they walk through with a tray.

"shoot, we need more strawberries," the line cook with you says. "i thought we had enough," he mumbles while finishing off making a dessert.

"i can grab more. finish these for me," you say to your coworker before leaving your station. you quickly go into the walk-in fridge and grab more strawberries before leaving. you quickly walk back, trying to avoid being in the way of the other chefs and employees. "here you go," you say to your coworker.

"thanks," he replies before finishing the desserts and bringing them to the pass.

the rest of service goes smoothly, much better than the past few shifts where you had been more stressed out. after you finish cleaning for the night, you grab your stuff and notice something in your bag, a new box of cigarettes. there's a note attached to it with a phone number and a smiley face drawn onto it.

you smile and pack up your things before leaving. you put your headphones on and start walking to the subway station.

—

[ y/n ]

you trying to keep me

hooked?

[ seungcheol ]

just trying to save you a trip.

did not mean to supply to

your habit.

my apologies. my apologies. 🙇🏻‍♂️

[ y/n ]

haha all good

thanks

[ seungcheol ]

no problem. get home safe.

—

the door to the condo slams open, "am i late?" seungcheol asks as he hurries in, all while holding a pizza box.

"you have three minutes. come on, sit. i'm hungry," you say to him as you crack open two beer cans.

"the pilot better not follow her again," seungcheol says as he throws his jacket onto the arm of the couch. he sits down next to you and pulls the coffee table closer to the couch so you two can reach easier.

"do you think she'll give a rose to him?" you ask as the show starts. "oh, not him!" you shout when you see an eliminated contestant back on the screen. “what is he doing?”

"geez...that's embarrassing," seungcheol comments.

the two of you watch the newest episode of "the bachelorette" together. both of you mentioned how you wanted to hang out, so you two eventually set up a date on one of the days that the restaurant is closed.

"that is way too embarrassing," seungcheol comments again as you two watch what is happening. "and what he said to her was even more embarrassing."

"yea, he's kind of aloof about all of this," you say as you grab a slice of pizza. "i'm surprised he hasn't gotten out yet. i bet he's just in this still cause he's cute," you add on as you watch the episode.

"you think he's cute?" seungcheol asks you. you look over at him.

you shrug, "i mean, yea. he's cute, but he's all over the place," you reply.

seungcheol leans back, putting his arm on the back of the couch. he tilts his head as he looks at you. "what about me?" he asks.

"huh?"

"am i cute?”

you stare at him, pizza in hand. you can feel yourself blushing from his words, knowing that your answer is in your face.

"you're cute. did you know that?" seungcheol asks.

"we're supposed to be watching "the bachelorette" right now," you say to him, trying to calm down internally at the same time.

he grins, "alright. let's watch," he says to you before looking at the tv screen again.

you look forward, eating a bit of pizza and trying to focus on the latest episode. you finish your slice and finish off the beer too. the episode continues on with a few dates and a jaw dropping moment happening.

you sit back on the couch with a second beer in hand. while watching, you feel seungcheol move his arm to be on your shoulders. since you want to be comfortable, you eventually lean against seungcheol as you two watch the episode together.

"damn, i should've bought flowers..." seungcheol mutters while the bachelorette starts handing roses to certain people. you look at seungcheol again. "you didn't hear that."

"uh huh," you start and look at the tv screen, "right." you chuckle while you hear seungcheol sigh. "you can give me some next time i come over," you say to him.

"next time? you're giving me a next time?" seungcheol asks.

you look at him again and smile, "you're cute too, choi seungcheol."

—

"stop! i'm testing new flavors!" you whine at seungcheol, who is trying to snag another piece of cake from the counter. "seungcheol! just wait like five more minutes."

"it's just one cake, y/n. you have a bunch of them. i'm sure it's great," seungcheol says to you, finally standing away from the table. with no cake in hand, he crosses his arms and leans against a counter while watching you decorate the cakes and put little details on top of them. "you going to make this for tomorrow's service?"

"yea. i've been thinking about making new stuff lately," you mention. "i think it'll be good for a change," you say and pick up a plate. "okay, taste test please," you say to seungcheol and hand him the plate.

he grabs the plate with one hand and opens a drawer next to him to take a fork out. he cuts into the dessert and takes a bite. you watch his expression change into a smile.

"oh, that's really good, babe," he says to you and continues eating. "i think this is better than the chocolate mousse."

"let me try," you request. seungcheol feeds you a piece. "i think it needs something on top," you state your opinion. "maybe just something for color."

you open the fridge and start looking for something to garnish the dessert before opening the freezer as well.

"what about this?" seungcheol points to something in the freezer.

"you think?" you ask.

"you have more of them, so it can't hurt to try," seungcheol says to you.

you make more desserts with little modifications to them, trying to determine which one is the best. seungcheol gives his opinions, which helps you a lot as both of you taste everything.

"this one is the best," you say to him, pointing at one of the cakes.

seungcheol nods, "yea, that one is really good. i like this one a lot too."

"hmm...maybe i should just wait until next week. i'll need to ask mingyu to order some ingredients at the restaurant," you say to him.

"you have plenty of time," seungcheol says to you. "you did a great job," he adds with a smile.

"thanks for helping me out."

"of course, babe."

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inkedinfusions · 8 months ago

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𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 | eren jaeger halloween special

⊱♱⊰ | A small Halloween party and smudged makeup may seem like what happens every other year, but this one is about to take a turn, one both expected and surprising.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . ♱ .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist of works

𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 '𝟐𝟒

word count: 2.3k

content warnings: fake blood, mentions of alcohol

a/n: I started this today lmao. Anyways, I hope ya'll have a happy halloween if you celebrate it, and if not, I hope the candy that this festivity brings you is sweet and plentiful. Also thanks to my beta reader for reading and revising on such short notice (read: I deadass just texted them the link to my docs and they read it over immediately) Truly the goat <3

Thanks for reading!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 smudges in the corner of your eye for the umpteenth time that late afternoon.

Historia huffs, reaching for the makeup remover and cotton pads to wipe it off, being extra careful to not erase any of the purple shadow that adorns your eyelids.

“Would it kill you to stop squirming?” she asks when you blink and smudge it again.

You groan, almost hiding your face in your hands before realizing that would only mess up your makeup further. It had taken a grand total of three baby wipes, five brushes and a shit ton of q-tips to make the eyeshadow and glitter look good, and you aren’t about to mess up the other half of Historia’s hard work.

“I’m sorry!” you say. “I can’t help it if my eye twitches— and It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.”

Mikasa snorts from where she lays on her bed, doom scrolling while she waits for you to get ready. The witch hat she’ll be using is sitting on her nightstand, next to some discarded accessories and a pallet of red face paint, responsible for the tracks of painted blood on your face.

Historia sighs, screwing the lid back on the liquid eyeliner bottle.

“I’m just going to use a pencil,” she says. “It’ll be easier to wipe off and correct later.”

“I told you to do that from the start,” Mikasa chimes in.

You stay still when Historia brings the liner close to your eye, flicking it outwards. The pencil will be easier to smudge, but quicker to clean up, even if it means you’ll spend a great deal of the party in front of a mirror. Or you’ll just give up halfway through and hope that the pseudo smokey eye is excused by your costume.

“Why can’t you do it?” you ask Mikasa when Historia is done, helping her arrange the makeup supplies so that they are less of a pain to clean the next morning.

“I mean,” you continue, “you basically wear this everyday, no?”

Mikasa shrugs, standing up to help tidy up. “I can’t do it to other people though. Only myself.”

Her lips twitch in a mischievous smile before continuing. “Eren is the one who knows how to do that,” she says, grinning slightly like it’s some kind of inside joke. “Maybe you should ask him for help?”

Historia chuckles and you feel your face heat up. “Shut up,” you protest.

“I’m just saying-“

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

Historia’s makeup box closes with a click, and Mikasa's vanity is more or less cleared up. You and your friends had chosen to arrive early to get ready in her room, while the boys are busy raiding nearby convenience stores for snacks and booze.

Halloween is never boring with your friends. Either because of some stupid stunt Connie and Sasha pulled, or dumb gossip you would share late into dusk, your get-togethers are always thoroughly entertaining.

And speaking of the devil.

“Hey guys,” Sasha says through mouthfuls of chips, entering the room. “Done with the costumes?”

A small chorus of Yeahs echoes in the room

“Mikasa is wearing the same emo outfit she always wears so—“ you mutter, ducking and laughing when Mikasa launches a pillow in your direction, ignoring the ‘It’s goth!’ she throws your way.

You take cover behind Annie, who arrives just after Sasha, almost crashing into Historia when she starts to fiddle with the tiny gemstones on her face in the mirror.

“I think this one’s crooked,” she mumbles, slightly poking at them with her pinky finger.

“Babe,” Ymir says from where you thought she was passed out on a bean bag. “It looks fine. Leave it.”

“You think so?”

“You could be wearing a trash bag and still be the most beautiful girl in the room.”

“Ugh, gay people,” you say teasingly, knowing as well as them that their relationship is actually goals, and no, you weren’t jealous at all of their mutual sappiness.

“Ugh,” Ymir replies. “Straight people.”

“But I’m not-“

“You like Eren,” she cuts you off. “That’s enough.”

That serves to silence you for the time being, wisely choosing to instead stuff your mouth with the bowl of chips Sasha stole from downstairs.

“And speaking of the devil,” Mikasa says when a car is heard outside.

“Oh! You think they bought sour gummies?” Sasha asks with stars in her eyes, already rushing downstairs.

“Knowing them they probably bought half the store,” Ymir mutters, reaching for Historia’s hand to follow Sasha.

You make your way downstairs, walking among fake cow webs and hanging ghosts, guided by the lively chatter of your friends.

Sasha and Connie are already on the couch munching on snacks, chattering excitedly next to Jean, who is browsing scary movies on the Tv, looking for something to have in the background.

Reiner and Bertholdt are busy setting up the drinks, arranging the kitchen table with a wide variety of sodas, booze, and colorful red syrup. You even spy some edible fang gummies, the only snack not already poached by the others.

“Hey,” Eren greets you when he sees you approaching, although it’s partially muffled by the vampire fangs in his mouth.

“Hi,” you smile, matching bloody grins on both your faces. “Those fangs working for you?”

“They are a pain,” he groans. “I swear some of this blood is real, with how many times I’ve cut my own gums.”

“Maybe you should stick to those gummies,” you point to the kitchen table, opening up the bottom cupboard to take out the punch bowl.

Eren, who has already given up on keeping his plastic fangs on, follows you as you move through the kitchen, taking over the punch preparing process from Reiner and Bertholdt, shooing them to the living room.

“Maybe I will.”

He rips the plastic bag open while you pour a sizable amount of cherry juice into the punch bowl, followed by pared orange peels, cinnamon sticks, cloves, ginger and chili. You take the bag from his hands and take some fang gummies to sprinkle into the bowl, mixing the ingredients thoroughly.

“Could you pass me the—“ Eren passes you the vodka wordlessly. “Oh thanks.”

“Course.”

You prop it up next to the punch for anyone looking for a drink with a kick to it. You had learned from previous hangouts that alcohol in communal punch was not something to mess with, some people’s unreal tolerance (Eren’s and Annie’s) spiking up the median endurance.

Let’s just say that you don’t remember much from New Years Eve two years ago.

You don’t notice how his eyes linger on you for a moment, how the tips of his ears go red when your fingers graze. And if you do— well— you’ve both played the oblivious game for far too long to do anything about it.

“Hey,” Eren starts, prompting you to look at him. “So I was wondering—“

A loud screech and your friend’s subsequent complaints makes you both jump in place, and a loud robotic voice informs you that the karaoke speaker Historia had brought has been turned on. Loud music follows the voice before the volume shoots down, and the first few notes of a popular song start to play.

You turn to Eren after a beat. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grins, handing you a red cup he had previously poured. You’ll know he’ll tell you if you push, but like many past occasions you simply return his grin, accept the drink, and walk towards where your friends are gathered.

Your throat feels raspy after the eight consecutive songs you’ve sang, some with Sasha and Connie, one with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, and others where you didn’t have a mic, but were simply belting out the lyrics with everyone else.

Scream plays quietly in the background after an unexpected scream (funny) had scared you and Sasha, prompting you both to bump into each other and make a mess of popcorn on the floor.

Said girl still ate them, so you can’t really say they went to waste. Under five seconds too, so, in her words, the five second rule still applied.

Reiner had somehow been coerced by Jean and Marco into singing a Disney song, and you were sure that the whole block could hear their screeches. You were a giggling mess by the time they sang the last note, tears coming out of your eyes at their impression of what was before a heartfelt anthem.

It is only when you wipe off your tears that you realize your fingers are stained black. Shit, you think, the eyeliner.

You groan, not really wanting to go fix it, but knowing that you probably look like a panda and not at all like the smokey black eye you had envisioned.

“Hey, Mikasa?”

“Yeah?” She turns towards you.

“Can I borrow your liquid liner? I’m going to try and do it myself.”

“Are you sure you won’t poke your eyes out?” Mikasa asks, raising her eyebrows. While you didn’t appreciate her lack of faith in you, it was well founded. You weren’t clumsy by any means, but your hands had the tendency to shake when you needed to do precise work.

You open your mouth to reassure her when a voice coming from your left pipes up.

“I can help,” Eren offers.

“You sure? I wouldn’t want to interrupt your fun or something.”

“It’s fine. Besides, Jean’s voice is kinda making my ears ring now.”

A beat passes, interrupted by Mikasa clearing her throat. “If that’s all then, better hurry. The pizza is getting here soon, and I can’t guarantee you’ll get a piece if you’re not downstairs the moment the doorbell rings.”

“It won’t take long,” you say.

“Sure,” she says, unconvinced.

You and Eren both decide to ignore the implications of her statement, walking upstairs. You start to walk towards Mikasa's bedroom, meaning to retrieve her eyeliner.

“Where are you going?” Eren asks.

“For the liner?”

“I have a different one that it’s easier to put on. Come on, it’s in my room.” He nods towards the door to his bedroom, and you fall into step next to him as you stroll down the hall.

“I forgot you had an emo phase.”

“It wasn’t— whatever.”

You snort at his lack of retort. His so-called ‘emo phase’ wasn’t actually emo, but you liked to tease him about it every once in a while.

You make a quick detour to wipe off the black smudges that were left over, messing up your eyeshadow but not really caring enough to fix it properly. It would do for the night. Besides, unlike with the eyeliner, you could simply blend it in with your fingers.

Eren flicks the lights on and you flop onto his bed while he searches for the forgotten liner, a remnant of his dark and embarrassing past. Well, embarrassing for him at least. You, on the other hand, found it incredibly attractive whenever he put it on. Not that you ever told him.

“Here.” He takes a black bottle after rummaging through his drawers for a while.

Eren takes a seat next to you, and you move onto a similar sitting position, facing him.

While you couldn’t stop moving around when Historia was helping you out, you are now completely frozen in place, transfixed in his aquamarine eyes.

You feel every breath he takes, every exhale he lets out. Small translucent freckles that remain from summer decorate his cheeks, where startling red is also painted.

His touch is feathery soft, the fingers on your chin doing almost no work to keep your head in place. Still, he doesn’t remove them.

Eren gently tilts your face as he goes, filling in the gaps in the wing, in your upper lash line, in the inner corner of your eye.

You realize his mouth is moving after a while, bringing you out of your stupor.

“I— sorry, what?”

You mourn the loss of his fingers on your chin when he pulls back to screw the lid of the liner back on. Eren chuckles, and it’s not the first time the sound brings butterflies to your stomach.

“I asked if it’s okay like that.”

“Yeah,” you say, still a little out of it. “It’s fine.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t even looked at a mirror—“

“What were you going to say to me in the kitchen?” You interrupt.

His mouth slams shut, and for a second all you can hear is both of your heartbeats drumming in your chests, blood rushing through your veins, warmth beginning to spread throughout. There’s even the bad singing of your friends in the background to top it off.

“It was nothing,” he says.

“No it wasn’t. What were you going to ask?”

You watch as Eren internally debates with himself, weighting the pros and cons interfering with your pull and push game would bring. The pros win, it seems, because he replies, softer than you've ever heard.

He gets closer to you, fingers once again finding their home on your chin. His eyes look for resistance but find none; your pulse looks for his own and finds a rhythm.

“Can I—?”

You don’t let him finish, and it’s really something you have to work on, the way both of you never wrap up your questions. But oh, you don’t find it in yourself to regret it.

He tastes like candy, sweet and sour, the lingering flavor of alcohol adding a small kick to the kiss. Your hands find his way to his costume’s collar, his own to the back of your neck.

It’s soft, gentle, warmed in the slow burn of a confession years in the making. Maybe you did have one regret— the fact that it took this long for you to get here.

You part just as quickly as you came together, the subtle after taste of his Halloween treats lingering in your breath. You smile, and he smiles, and you both start giggling like little kids after a sugar high, intoxicated in the other's presence.

“Hey,” he says, thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth. “Now your lipstick is smudged. Want me to help you with it?”

#never in my life had i giggled when writing #smudged lines #ann writes #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger

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constxntine · 2 months ago

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Hi!

I usually write on Wattpad, but I've wanted to give this a try and see if this works. For a couple of weeks, I've watched Halo and dived a little too deep into its lore. They can say whatever they want about the show but I genuinely loved it, and master chief is 🤤🤤

Pablo Schreiber is a hot specimen of a man so I will start to write about him and see if it works!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

It's my first time writing in a ‘You’ form, so be prepared its a little cringy. But still, thank you for bearing with me✌️🏽

(English isn't my first language, so bear with me please..)

Master chief! X female!reader

Warnings; fluff & slight smut

🖤MDNI🖤

Word count: 1,763.

————————————————-

Ever since the Silver team took out their pallets they have been enjoying mundane things that are boring to others but joyful to them.

For you, Kai, and Liz it's doing girl nights with Miranda.

John secretly enjoys seeing you have fun, but seeing you in shorts made him feel things he never felt before.

It's the fourth night in a month you spend time with the girls. Ever since you took out your pallet the world suddenly became a lot brighter. Feelings you never felt before kicked in and the colors around you never looked so bright. Before the pallet, you only knew war, bloodshed, and death.

You know it's the same for your team, it's like the five of you all connected at a deeper level.

Especially with John.

The Master Chief aka the demon is a strong-willed man who has a typical stoic personality. Even the way he sits reminds you of a robot.

His eyes never linger too long at anyone, never showing an emotion and sticking to the plan. Doesn't matter at what cost.

Now, you can't forget the way your heart beats faster when he walks up, how cheeks become hot when his green eyes stare a little too long into yours.

You know all too well your friends have noticed John's behavior around you, his big hands that rest on your waist when he speaks to you.

John doesn't hide it, and you don't complain.

The four of you are in your room, a cheesy movie in the background with a bowl of popcorn and all kinds of sweets. Riz is braiding Miranda's hair while you dye Kai's hair a different color. She wanted blue this time, and instead of doing it with gun oil, you decide to buy her some box dye and help her.

"So.. what's up with you and Master Chief, Y/N?" Riz asks you as she tilts her head towards you. Miranda whistles and Kai turns around with a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah Y/N, you got some tea for us?" The three of you groan when Kai uses another term she learned from some marines. "You've got to stop with that, Kai." You groan but feel the warmth rising to your face.

"You're deflecting the question! Tell us!" Miranda yells.

You shrug your shoulders.

"I don't know what's to say. John and I are just friends."

That was a complete lie, you know too well you aren't just friends.

The sexual tension between you and the master chief is present. You always feel it the second the two of you are alone.

The two of you didn't do anything until last night. You ended your shower with a small towel wrapped around your waist. You didn't even notice someone else coming in until you turned around and saw John watching you like a predator stalking its prey.

John came closer until you had to force your head up. His hand rested on your waist to pull you closer until you touched his bare chest. "What are you doing?" You mumble surprised, as if this wasn't what you wanted from the beginning.

Master Chief was intimidating, to say the least, his aura forcing anyone to stand down and cast their eyes downwards. But nowadays you couldn't control the thoughts that swirled in your head whenever you saw him naked.

John rests his hand on your neck which makes you shiver. The movement itself showed his dominance that made you weak in the knees.

"Something I should've done a long time ago."

As your lips connected the world around you stopped.

The both of you didn't know exactly how to kiss, but John is a fast learner and takes the lead. Both his hands are now on your neck to pull you in. You moan against his lips and he sees it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss.

He groaned against your lips and you felt something poking your thighs which made you gasp in surprise.

"Hello..?" Kai waves her hand in front of you and suddenly you're back in your room, watched by your friends who see the blush setting on your cheeks.

"Oh damn, she got it bad." Miranda whistles which made your team laugh.

"We only kissed, nothing special." You mutter but still, your friends heard exactly what you said.

"Kiss, huh? Is Master Chief a good kisser?" Kai teases with a hint of humor radiating from her face.

"I wonder if he fucks like a beast too, wouldn't surprise me, though," Riz says without hesitation, and you gasp while the others burst out in laughter. Miranda watched her with wide eyes and Kai laughed until the tears ran down her face.

"Riz! You can't say that!" You yell but she shrugs.

"What? Don't tell me you never stared at his di—"

"Alright, that's it!" You interrupt her with a laugh. You place a plastic bag over Kai's hair as you shake your head. "Can't believe you're saying that over John. I'm surprised even."

Kai sits on the ground to sit in front of you with a bag of sour candy.

"You know we all have the deepest respect for John, but we all know the way he looks at you. Besides ever since the pallets we can't deny certain things. We're human, of course, we stare. But the way he looks at Riz and me is different from how he looks at you."

Miranda nods her head. "I've seen it as well. That stoic mask never left when he took it out but the second his eyes find you it's as if he forgets how to act.. emotionless. It's quite cute."

You sigh softly, pulling your knees up until you can wrap your arms around them and stare outside.

"You know Dr. Halsey would never accept that. We all know how she claims John like a prize. Relationships aren't common between Spartans. The second she finds out she will put the pallet back in."

Riz's eyes find you with the same mischief she had when talked about John's massive dick.

"Who says anything about relationships? You can just fuck."

Miranda and Kai turn to her with wide eyes.

"Oh my god." You exclaim, shaking your head with a smile.

"Where did you get so bold?" Miranda asks Riz.

A smirk forms on the female Spartan. "Since nothing is holding me back."

———————————

John didn't have a plan in mind, just wandering around until he found your door. It's been a day since he saw you and his mind telling him he needs you again.

He truly wants to deny his feelings, but the second he took his pallet out he started to see you differently. How your hair is always in a lazy hairstyle or how your eyes always have that look of want towards him. Your soft smile when he talks to him and when the two of you are only he can help to love the way your cheeks redden.

The feelings are so strong that it makes him scared, and that's something he truly never felt before.

With all the wars and conflicts he's been in, fear never holds him back. And it still doesn't, but now as he sees you fighting against whatever, he always prays you come back safely. Every scratch or mark freaks him out. Even the slightest hint of pain stops his heart for a second.

He knows how badass you are, how you are one of the strongest out there who can handle themself perfectly. But he needs you and seeing you bleed is a trigger that John rather not have.

He's the Master Chief, the one they look up to. So how come he's scared of losing you?

Your calm demeanor makes him realize that is what he needs. He's the quiet one and you love to talk.

He doesn't mind it he loves how you can chat for hours with all different kinds of stories about nothing important. But to you, it is, so for him it is as well. As long as it makes you happy, he is happy.

So standing at your door and waiting to knock is what sets him off to eventually open it. He knows the code to your door, you had given it to him whenever he wanted to come over.

But instead of seeing you alone, he's met with four other women.

The TV is on, casting a yellow glow on the woman. Riz is wearing a green set with aliens on it, Kai and another green with "Grinch" written on it (whatever that means), and Miranda a literal blue fuzzy suit with ears on the top.

You, however, wore something a little different.

You wore a skimpy top that barely covered your tits with little cherries on the top and shorts that didn't cover anything, he could see your underwear that barely covered your—

Fuck.

John grunted. "Good evening."

Both Riz and Kai gave their leader a nod with weary eyes.

"John, what made you decide to come over." You ask him as his eyes find you again and drink your body, his eyes looking down until he comes back up again. You shivered when he swallowed, a look of arousal that made you clench your thighs.

"I—I. I wanted to say goodnight." The man grunted before turning around, but you could see just in time his pants tenting at the groin area.

You nod your head. "Oh okay, goodnight, John."

Master Chief gives you a little smile back and walks out, the door closing behind him.

Once he's gone the girls gasp and laugh, now finally witness how the tension is between you and your secret lover.

"Did you see the way he stared at her!" Miranda squeals in delight.

"I told you he wants to fuck her." Riz grins and fist bumps Kai who grins back.

You place your hands on your face and groan. So much for pretending there isn't anything between you.

#the master chief x reader #the master chief #sierra 117 #halo tv series #halo paramount #halo fanfiction #john 117 x reader #halo spoilers #halo fanfic #sierra 117 x reader #john 117 #pablo schreiber

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suugarbabe · 2 years ago

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[Chapter 8]

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of drinking/drunkeness, mentions of blood, kidnapping, torture, use of torture curses

An: so sorry this took so long, I was sick and mentally exhausted from other things and also debating where to end the chapter and where to start the next one; hope its alright :)

Enzo clutched his arm, rubbing the spot you had just harshly hit with your fist, “Okay, ow! You didn’t have to hit me that hard, Angel. T’was just a joke, yeh?” You rolled your eyes, picking up the box in front of you and setting it on the pallet. “You know she wouldn’t have hit you if you weren’t being such a twat,” Pansy spoke without looking up from her clipboard, marking off which weapons from the artillery stock you and Enzo were packing for the next ‘business meeting’ and what was left.

You shot a sickly sweet smile Enzo’s way, “Yeah, Enz, don’t be such a twat.” Enzo scoffed, “I was not being a twat! I simply asked if I could have your room since you and Riddle obviously sleep together. There’s no point in you each having your own room and I know for a fact he gave you a bigger room than mine.” You reared your fist back as if you were going to hit him again, causing Enzo to flinch slightly. You smirked at this, “You’re the most dangerous of the family but you’re afraid of lil ol’ me?”

Enzo shook his head, “Nuh-uh, I know there’s something else deeply hidden within you that we haven’t seen yet. I’m not pushing my chances. And you’re avoiding the question.” You huffed, placing two large rifles in a long wooden box before turning to face him, hands on your hips, “For your information, if Mattheo and I do sleep in the same room, it’s my room. I’ve never even been in his room. So maybe you should go ask him if you can have his room.” Enzo’s face dropped slightly, “Mmm no, I think I’m good. But answer me this,” the smirk that formed on his face gave way that you were going to hate what he was about to say, “Does Riddle make you call him boss during sex?”

A low groan left Enzo’s throat as he clutched his arm once more, “Shit, Pansy! In the same spot, really?” You high fived Pansy, “Serves you right.” You stuck your tongue out at Enzo, who mirrored your action. Pansy opened her mouth to tell you both to stop acting like such siblings when Draco’s voice rang between your ears, Family meeting, dining room, five minutes. You glanced between the two in front of you, “We all heard that right?” Enzo nodded, “You mean the annoying voice of a ferret ringing in my head?” Pansy slapped Enzo in the arm, in the same place of the two previous punches, “Merlin’s beard, can I not have any fun anymore?”

The three of you apparated back into the foyer of the house, making your way into the dining room to see everyone but Mattheo already sat at the table. You took your place to the left of Mattheo’s chair, still glaring and making faces at Enzo sitting across from you. Theo leaned closer to Pansy on his left, “What’s with those two?” Pansy shook her head, “Please don’t ask.” Theo opened his mouth to respond again only to be cut off by Mattheo walking in to the room, his presence alone enough to silence the table.

All eyes focused on Mattheo sat at the head of the table. “Tonight is an important deal for us. The De Luca family has been making deals with us since the beginning, they’re some of our most trusted muggle allies. Theo and Enzo, you two will load the pallets on the truck while Blaise, Draco and I go and meet them at the discussed location.” The boys all nodded at their assignments, not questioning what they were told. “What about us?” You motioned between yourself and Pansy, essentially halting some of the boys midway as they had begun to stand up. Almost as if he anticipated your questioning, Mattheo had a simple answer for you. “You’re not going.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, “And why the bloody hell not?” Mattheo’s jaw clenched momentarily as others around the table widened their eyes. No one spoke to Mattheo that way, not when it came to business deals. Taking a deep breath to center himself before turning to you, his eyes a dark onyx as he spoke, “You’re not ready.” You narrowed your eyes at him, clearly not satisfied with his answer. Mattheo mirrored you, not stepping down from his decision, “I understand this may be frustrating, but I’m not willing to risk a repeat of the last time. You’re just not ready yet.”

It was your jaw that clenched now, “A repeat of the last time?” Mattheo had his tongue in cheek, clearly trying to keep his composure and his tone authoritative, “Yes, the last time. Lest not forget you nearly getting sexually assaulted and the boys and I having to kill five fucking people, or has that occurrence slipped your pretty little mind, Princess?” You tensed slightly, your eyes squeezing shut at the memory. Forcing yourself to meet his gaze you tried to match his demeanor, “No, Mattheo, it has not.” He gave you a saccharine smile that you took as anything but sweet. Leaning back in your chair you crossed your arms, pouting in defeat.

Mattheo felt a strange pang in his chest, like a tight ache that was telling him to change his mind, but he had to stand his ground, “You and Pansy have the night off. Enjoy it. It won’t happen much in the future.” He avoided your gaze, looking everywhere but your eyes because he knew once he did he would give in. Instead he kept his stare on the black mahogany beneath his tapping fingertips, “I’m doing you a favor. You have the night off.” You leaned forward on your elbows, making sure to keep your tone sweet and even, “Thank you, boss, I truly appreciate it.” The use of his title stung, but he did not have the time to dwell on his feelings.

Giving the boys all a curt nod, the group stood. Each man disappearing with a chorus of crack-like pops. When the last one was out of site you turned to Pansy, letting out a frustrated, “Can you fucking believe that?” At the same time she blew out a laughing, “You are so fucking lucky, Birdie.” You blinked at her in confusion, “Lucky? How am I lucky? I essentially just got sat from a business deal because other men can’t handle I have fucking tits.” Pansy just smirked, shaking her head, “The sooner you acknowledge your feelings for each other the better all of our lives will be. I mean him too by the way. That little lovers quarrel you guys had at the table had us all at the edge of our seats. You should’ve heard the things Theo was saying.”

You groaned, “Spare me.” Pansy couldn’t help but laugh, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “C’mon. Let’s go shopping or something, get your mind off it. We have the night off, remember?” You smiled then. A slow, almost sinister smile that had Pansy shaking her head. You stood up, walking out from the dinning room. Pansy was quick on your heels as you hustled up the stairs, “No. Birdie, whatever it is you’re thinking the answer is no.” You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop the wheels in your mind from turning, “He told us we had the night off, Pans. Then let’s do what any hot, single women would do…let’s go out.” You walked into your room, making a b-line for your closet, “Help me pick out an outfit.”

You turned to see her still standing in the doorway, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. “Oh come on,” you walked back towards her, grasping her wrist and dragging her inside fully. “Help me pick one out and I’ll pick one out for you. You know they never come back from these business deals until the next day, hell, sometimes the next evening depending on how it goes. We’ll go out for a few hours, have some fun, and then we’ll be back here asleep in bed before they even knew we were gone.” Pansy chewed on the inside of her cheek, “Just one club?” You took your index finger, lifting it up to the center of your chest and making a small ‘x’ motion, “Cross my heart.”

Pansy’s shoulders relaxed then, her smiled growing two fold, “Okay…then I say wear,” she flicked through your options, giving a sad pout after a moment, “Wear something of mine, because for Salazar’s sake, Birdie, we need to take you shopping.” You groaned out a slight giggle, “I know…maybe if I play my cards right I can convince Mattheo to buy me some.” You were mostly joking, but the look Pansy gave you told you it would be worth a try in the future. After a few outfit changes, the two of you were turning in the mirror and examining your final choices. After much debate, you finally landed on a blood red corset top with a black leather skirt while pansy opted for a black body-con minidress.

You let out a low whistle as you took in your reflection, “Salazar’s fucking sake we look good.” Pansy nodded, “If we don’t get free drinks tonight, there’s something wrong with the male society.” You huffed a laugh in agreement. After a few finishing touches to your hair and makeup, the two of you apparated down the street from the dance club. As the two of you made your way down the pavement, you were acutely aware of how different you felt compared to a few months ago. “You know, Pans, I haven’t been out like this in a long time,” you hooked your elbow with hers as you guys approached the line to get in. Pansy leaned her head on your shoulder briefly, “We’re gonna have a good time tonight, Birdie. You deserve it. Just relax and let loose. Who knows when we’ll be able to do this again.” You giggled, smiling sweetly at the bouncer as he nodded and let the both of you in without hesitation.

As you entered the club the sound of bass was nearly overwhelming. You could only mildly hear the melody to whatever song was playing, let alone your own thoughts. Pansy hooked her fingers with yours as she led a path towards the bar. You could feel men’s eyes on the pair of you the whole way up. While at your own club Pansy was stoic and focused on her job, this seemed to be an environment where she thrived. Pansy gave a particular pair of tall, handsome men a wink as she squished the two of you between another pair of guys. “Oh, excuse me handsome, we were just trying to get a few drinks, maybe a shot or two,” Pansy’s tone was coated in honey as she batted her eyelashes at the broad blonde next to her.

Her seduction trick was flawless, the blonde man buying both shots and both cocktails. She thanked him and gave a pat to his cheek before dragging you to the dance floor. This became a repeated pattern for the night: bar, batted eyelashes, dance floor. You had to give it to her, the routine worked. “Go on, Birdie you try. How about…” her eyes dragged over the sea of bodies near the bar, “him.” Her manicured finger pointed at a taller man near the center of the bar. He was handsome sure, tanned skin and dark curls on the top of his head, “Why him?” Pansy gave you an incredulous look, “Because he looks like Mattheo.” You were thankful for the amount of alcohol in your system to help hide the burning blush that flooded your cheeks, “Okay, fine.”

You made your way to the bar, Pansy close behind. As you got closer you tried a different approach than Pansy’s earlier tactic. Coming up to the man you stood directly behind him. You motioned for Pansy to stand next to you, her giving you a questioning look. The bar area was crowded, and all you needed for your plan to work was exactly what was about to happen. As another group of people tried to squish through the crowd behind you, your body was bumped forward, causing you to put your hand out and catch yourself on the man in front of you. As you’d hoped, the man turned around and you made your eyes wide and innocent as you looked up at him through your lashes, “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. These crowds are terrible.”

The man smiled down at you, his eyes weren’t the same as Mattheo’s. The man’s were more of a walnut brown and felt cold, like this was all a game to him just as much you . His smile also was nothing near as stunning as Mattheo’s…but regardless the man was clearly falling for the charm you’d put on, eyeing you up and down as he spoke, “Oh it’s quite alright, beautiful.” You let out a bashful laugh, looking down at the ground. The man caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your gaze back to his, “Let me buy you a drink, your friend too.” His eyes flickered over your shoulder to Pansy.

“O-okay,” the boldness of his touch causing you to stutter over your words. Your chest ached once he turned to order the drinks. The interaction didn’t leave you as satisfied as it did Pansy, if anything it left you yearning for something else. You turned to Pansy after the man handed you the drinks, “I didn’t like that.” She hummed in acknowledgement, “Yeah I was more so testing a theory.” You raised both eyebrows at her, “Mind telling the whole class, Miss Parkinson?” Pansy shook her head, smiling as she downed half her drink, “Not, yet, Professor.”

The more you drank the more your chest ached. And the more you felt yourself longing for him. You were far beyond inebriated, not thinking clearly, but what Pansy couldn’t hear couldn’t hurt her. Mattheoooooo, you closed your eyes and called out to him, not even knowing where he was with the deal, if he was possibly fighting someone. You just wanted to hear his voice. Princess…what’s wrong? You smiled to yourself. You were sure to Pansy it seemed like you were just enjoying the music as your body still ebbed and flowed with the beat.

Mattheo’s frown turned down further, something that wasn’t unusual during business meet ups, but this one was going fairly well. “What’s up, boss?” Enzo leaned in to whisper to him. Mattheo held up a finger, trying to focus on your voice in his head, Mattttyyyy, miss youu. Mattheo’s jaw clenched, Birdie, where are you? You hated using your legimens, the fact that you were communicating with Mattheo that way, along with how you were talking was causing him high concern. I’m dancing wiff Pansy, she’s such a good dancer, Matty. I wish I was dancing with yoooou. Mattheo eyed Draco, silently telling him to take the lead before Mattheo walked off back towards the truck. Birdie, are you drunk? There’s no fucking dance floor at the house? Where the fuck are you?

He rubbed both hands over his face, trying to control his breathing. Not drunk…maybe drunk…don’t member the club name, like a pretty flower. Mattheo walked back towards the others, “Are you happy with the product or not?” He was being stern with the man but Mattheo needed this deal over with. The De Luca family member nodded his head, “Yeah, we’re happy. Well wire you the money first thing in the mornin’. Always good doin’ business with you, Riddle.” Mattheo nodded, shaking the man’s hand before grabbing Enzo’s collar and dragging him away with it. “Ow, woah, hey what the fuck?” Enzo was confused by the motion. “Birdie and Pansy went to a fucking club and now Birdies drunk, we have to go get them.”

Theo jogged to catch up, “Which club did our little trouble makers go to?” Mattheo scowled slightly, “This isn’t a fucking joke, Nott. And she said something about a pretty flower? She’s fucking drunk, she’s fucking talking to me through legimens and even then I can tell she’s slurring her words. You were a man whore in your prime, Nott, which club is that.” Theo huffed out a snort but didn’t deny Matthoe’s allegations, “Sounds like The Dahlia probably.” Mattheo nodded, “Draco, Blaise, you two take the truck back. Enzo, Theo, you’re coming with me.” The boys all nodded at their assignments as Mattheo reached out to you again, Stay put, Princess, I’m coming to get you. He rounded the corner with the other two boys to make sure they were out of sight before apparating to the alley down the block from the club.

Your voice rang in his head once more, Are you going to dance with me Matty? I miss you so m- Mattheo stopped in his tracks the moment your voice cut out causing the two behind him to almost smack into his back. “What is it, what happened?” Enzo was taking in their surroundings checking for threats he may have missed. “Her voice, it just…cut out. She was talking to me and then it was like something cut it off before she could finish.” Enzo wore a worried look, glancing over at Theo whose lips were downturned. Mattheo started walking again, only faster this time. As they approached the entrance to the club, the bouncer must have recognized Theo because he pulled back the rope and allowed the three men in without question.

As they approached the edge of the dance floor Mattheo gave one instruction, “Find them.” The three spread out, weaving through swaying, sweaty bodies as they tried to catch a glimpse of anyone that looked remotely like either you or Pansy. Running into Theo, Enzo asked if he had any luck. Theo shook his head, “Not yet. Every bloody black haired woman looks like Pansy out here and I can’t catch a glimpse of Birdie anywhere.” Mattheo approached the two, eyes asking the same question Enzo had moments before. Theo shook his head, Enzo’s height giving him an advantage in the middle of the crowd. “There,” he pointed over the heads of those around him. Theo and Mattheo turn, following his indication until they’re face to face with a very far gone Pansy.

She pouted as they approached, assuming they were there to break up the fun. She opened her mouth to complain when Matthoe effectively cut her off, “Where’s Birdie.” Pansy rolled her eyes, turning around the point at the person behind her. Only you weren’t there. Pansy turned in a circle, once, twice, three times before stopping and facing the men in front of her. “I swear, Mattheo, she was just here. She’s been by my side all night. We were dancing on each other not even five minutes ago.” Mattheo’s face grew hot, a sense of worry rushing over him that he’s never felt before for any kind of person, “What do you mean she was just here. Where the bloody fucking hell would she go?”

———-

You groaned lightly, your head pounding as you tried to sit up. The floor beneath you hard and cold, your outfit doing little for warmth. As you pushed yourself to a seated position you felt a weight in one of your wrists. Looking down you saw your wrist wrapped in a thick metal cuff, a chain attaching it, and effectively you, to the wall behind it. “What the fuck…” a low whisper left your lips as your eyes started to adjust to your surroundings. The floor below you was concrete, leaving a persistent chill running throughout your body. Around you seemed to be the layout of an old factory, abandon machinery and materials littered about the space. It was darker in the building, the emergency lights appearing to be the only functioning electricity around you.

Hugging your knees to yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to call out to Mattheo. You repeated his name, over and over and over. You groaned out in frustration, slapping the floor next to you, causing the chains to rattle. “Whatever it is you are trying to do will not work.” You stiffened, the sound of his voice was something you thought you had forgotten, but hearing it ring through your ears once more brought a flood of painful memories with it. You looked around, trying to anticipate the direction the voice was coming from, the the old walls of the factory had the sound reverberating from every direction. “You know I didn’t think you’d be knocked out this long. But then again, your drunken state must have heightened the effects of the Stupefy charm.”

You watched his figure emerge from the shadows, the fear you once felt quickly returning like a white hot burn all over your body. You scooted yourself back until you were nearly flat against the wall, your knees hugged to your chest as his name fell from your lips like a ghosted whisper, “Damiano…” He smiled, flashing all of his teeth like a snarling predator as he towered over you, “Hello, Sunshine. Did you miss me?” You stayed silent, trying to press yourself impossibly further away, leading him to let out a low and menacing chuckle. He squatted down to your level, forearms resting on his knees as he balanced himself on the balls of his feet. He reached out slowly, like he was going to touch your face. You turned quickly, swatting his hand away.

He smiled once more before grabbing your face harshly, forcing your gaze to meet his, “Don’t be like that, Sunshine. I’m being very nice only chaining one arm down, but if you misbehave I have no qualms doing the other.” You huffed out your nose, still refusing to speak to him. You closed your eyes once more, desperately trying to reach Mattheo, or anyone from the family for help. Damniano applied more pressure to his grip, surely leaving the beginning of what would be a bruise on your face when he was done. “I already told you…your little tricks your new boyfriend taught you aren’t going to work. I figured he was a legimens like his failure of a father. I put a spell on the building; he can’t hear you and you can’t hear him.” Your lip quivered slightly, a new sense of fear enveloping you.

Damiano tsked at you, “I knew it. I always knew you were a stupid, weak, little witch.” He let go of your face before swinging his palm and slapping your cheek with enough force to split your bottom lip. You gasped, coughing slightly to catch your breath again, spitting blood onto the cold stone before you. You glared at him, “You think I’m weak because I’m not like you? Abusing and torturing those that don’t agree or don’t do my bidding? Why am I even here, Damiano. What do you want with me?” He looked down at you once more, a devious smirk adorning his features, “This is why you’re stupid, Sunshine. Can you not see it? Godric, okay. Let me spell it out for you. I don’t want you. You’re nothing to me. Even when you were mine you were nothing, just a tool. And that’s what you are today. Well…more like…a pawn.”

Your face fell, which only caused a laugh to emit from his throat, “Oh dear girl, don’t worry. We’re not going to kill you. But we’re going to make sure Mattheo and the rest of his little group get the message. He stole something valuable from me. You, Sunshine, were nothing, but your abilities were everything. I can’t just steal you back or he’ll sick his fucking dog Berkshire. Can’t have that can we? But what I can do, is send him a fucking message.” He drew his wand as he stood a few feet away from you. You held your breath, trying to prepare for whatever he was about to unleash, but nothing could help with what he casted. With a red light leaving the tip of his wand your body was instantly aflame with pain, your muscles and limbs contorting and squeezing with agony. Your breath felt like it was knocked from your lungs, your mouth agape and gasping for air.

Two more figures appeared beside Damiano, their wands also drawn and prepped for whatever torture they were directed with. After a few moments he broke the spell, grinning as you gasped for air and tried to hold your body up from the floor. “You know, I was really hoping you would scream. I sometimes find myself missing the sound of you squealing in pain when I used to punish you. No one has quite the same ring to it you had. Guess I’ll just have to up the intensity of it all. Boys,” he turned to his cronies on either side of him, “together this time.” In perfect unison the mumbled the spell together Crucio. Immediately your back arched off the floor, your arms and legs contorting awkwardly as the searing pain once again entered your body. A blood curdling scream left your throat, the sound nearly as defeating as the pain you were feeling. Your eyes rolled at the immense pain, your mind going blank.

As you felt like you were on the brink of passing out, Damiano instructed them all to stop. He turned to them once more, giving specific instructions, “I want you to rough her up a bit more, but don’t touch her face. I want her to be recognizable when they find her. The two men nodded before approaching you together. You managed to sit yourself up again, holding yourself up on wobbly arms. This position didn’t last as one of Damiano’s men quickly landed the heel of his boot to your shoulder, your collarbone cracking with the action. You flew back slightly at the impact and collapsed on your back. You groaned in pain, clutching the area and turning to your side. The men began kicking you; in the stomach, in the ribs, in the back. You were a rag doll for their game of human football, barely audible grunts and moans slipping past your lips. “That’s enough,” Damniano’s voice rang out. You coughed, spitting out more blood that seemed to fill your mouth.

The two men left your side immediately, walking back to their previous positions to watch as Damiano approached you. He crouched over you again, taking your face in his hands. With his thumb he spread your blood over your lips, “I always did like red on you.” You tried to pull away, but your strength was null, “Like I said, Sunshine, you…are weak. But you were mine first. And I can’t let you, or anyone else, forget that.” He shoved you from his grip, you falling back down to the ground. You were limp on the cold concrete as Damiano lifted your skirt over your hips. You felt him grip the meat of your thigh closer to your hip before the tip of his wand began to dig into your skin with a white hot burn. A whimper left your throat as he carved into your skin; you could smell it burning. Once done he grabbed the back of your head, tilting your neck awkwardly so you could see his handiwork on your body. On the outside of your thigh, closer to your hip was a small symbol that would make it impossible for you to ever see it without thinking of Damiano. A sun.

A single tear fell down your cheek, Damiano leaning in and licking it off your face with a satisfied hum. “You know I love it when you cry, Sunshine. But I can’t stick around to watch. As soon as I’m gone, the blocking spells will be lifted. Then you can call your little dark lord boyfriend. You’re at 1538 Woodbury Lane in London. Really wish I could see his face when he finds you.” He pulled your skirt back down over your legs once more, patting your leg where he just carved your skin before walking away and apparating out of sight with a low popping noise. You waited a few moments, just to make sure he wasn’t coming back, before tightly shutting your eyes, your entire focus on Mattheo and anyone else in the family that might be able to hear you.

1538 Woodbury Lane, London. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. You repeated the address over and over again until finally you heard him, We’re on our way, Princess, don’t move. You opened your eyes, at the sound of his voice, tears now flowing freely down your face. The irony of that statement ‘don’t move’ was not lost on you, causing a forced laugh from your lungs. With Mattheo’s confirmation that he was coming, you finally allowed your body to relax into the concrete below you. As if that was all the permission your body needed, your eyes felt heavy and soon, everything became dark.

#Protego series #mafia!matheo riddle #mafia!slytherin boys #mafia!blaise zabini #mafia!enzo berkshire #mafia!theo nott #mafia!draco malfoy #mafia!pansy parkinson #Mattheo riddle x you #Mattheo riddle x reader #Mattheo riddle angst #Mattheo riddle fic #mafia!au #mafia fic

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ladylooch · 5 months ago

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She Thinks We're Just Fishin'

A/N: The date on this one has changed on my WIPS page about 8 billion times, including from yesterday in which I admittedly forgot. LOL! But it's here now, in all it's glory, and early in the morning... at least for me 🤣 We've seen disappointed Miles over Connor knocking up a young Lucie, but this sweetness is the pallet cleanser that they still need.

Word Count: 3.5k

Please also enjoy this throw back inspo song & try not to cry 🎧

Machester, MA

Outside of the waves gently rocking into the side of the boat, silence extends over the two Wood men who are preparing for a day of fishing. Miles and Connor have been fishing together for as long as Connor can remember. There is an easiness about their relationship out here. It’s uncomplicated and simple. They don’t need words or long discussions on tasks. They each know their role and fluidly move about the boat doing what needs to be done.

At the end of his tasks, Miles pops open the cooler, cracking a beer for Connor and one for himself. The two men cheers, sharing similar grins at each other, reflected in their blue, polarized sunglasses.

“Now we just need princess Ariel.” Miles smirks, looking back up the hill towards the house where Stella Wood is still getting ready.

“Lucie is probably slapping a fifth layer of sunscreen on her.” Connor chuckles as he sits in the passenger seat of the boat, beside his dad. He takes a long gulp of the cold beer, feeling himself relax further into the off-season day. Damn, he loves hockey but days like this are hard to beat on the water.

“That’s okay. Let her take her time. When she’s ready, the fun will begin.” The patience Miles Wood has for Stella is incomprehensible. Connor doesn’t remember him being that way with him on fishing days, but Connor also tended to procrastinate until the last possible second, so he supposes that is fair. “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, buddy. Thank you for driving up for this.”

“Me too.” Connor admits.

Sure, that initial conversation about Lucie and him being pregnant did not go over well. But Miles Wood has transformed into the most loving, engaged, supportive grandfather Stella could ask for. He’s right up there on the pedestal with Nico Hischier. It’s like they told Miles it was a girl and all the storm clouds cleared out of his eyes. The Wood family was having a baby girl. Finally!

Since then, Miles has collected handfuls of ‘world’s best grandpa’ apparel and ‘ask me about my granddaughter’ shirts and pretty much anything else he can put on his body announcing to the world he is a grandpa. It’s been a fun awakening to see in his dad for Connor. It’s healed something between the two of them too.

“Daddy?” Connor hears Stella yell out to him as the back door opens. She steps out with Lucie behind her. She’s wearing a rainbow swim suit, pink swim shorts, pink water shoes, and a pink bucket hat over her wild curls. She drags her striped beach towel on the ground behind her, collecting leaves, until Lucie wraps it around her shoulders to keep it somewhat clean. Inside his chest, Connor feels his heart squeeze impossibly tight. He loves that little girl more and more every second of her life.

“I’m comin’!”

Connor grins at his dad.

“You wanna get her…” He trails off because his dad is already standing, stepping out of the boat to grab Stella from Lucie at the end of the dock.

“Gandpa, where my stuff?” Stella asks, tilting her palms up to the sky and shrugging her little shoulders.

“In the boat! Your dad and I got it all ready for you.” Stella’s little steps bring her to the side of the boat. She extends her arms up, fingers wiggling impatiently. Miles lifts her and sets her into Connor’s arms. He can smell the sunscreen lathered up on her. Connor smooches her cheek, then tickles her belly until she squirms and giggles.

“You ready for a fun day?”

“Yeah. Mama said I get a juice box cause I was good about the screen.” She points to her forearm, dragging a finger through a bit of the white sheen on her skin.

“We got ‘em on ice for ya, Stell.” Miles assures her, grabbing one and popping a straw in. He hands the box to her. “Con, where is her life jacket?”

“In the bag.” Connor points to the back bench where the bags were put under the seat. Miles reaches in to grab it and Connor clips it in place on Stella.

“You too?” She wonders.

“Yep. Us too.” Connor agrees, giving his dad a pointed look. Miles nods immediately in compliance. Usually, when it’s the two of them going to this particular spot, they don’t wear life jackets. But with Stella in the boat, and the seriousness of keeping her safe, they put theirs on to be good examples.

“We go!” Stella yells excitedly when the boat motor kicks on.

“Woo!!!” Miles cheers loudly as he backs the boat expertly out of the boat ramp. As they get farther from shore, they can see Lucie and Kailey sitting on the deck. The girls wave them off and then Miles turns the wheel to head out on the water.

The expensive boat easily casts through the waves. It’s a calm day in the bay which is going to be perfect for fishing. They are going out to an easy cove where they can anchor and chill for most of their time together. They’ll get good bites, but won’t be crashed around by waves or other people boating around. It’s a hidden, sacred gem that Miles and Connor found when he was about 10 years old.

To bring Stella there now, for the first time, is so special.

As they ride along, Stella sits contently in Connor’s lap, sipping her juice box. She pats his forearm on occasion, trying to talk to him. The wind is loud across the water, so Connor has to lean down, getting her lips onto his ear so he can hear. It’s just random statements like “So bright!” In referenced to the sun. “So big!” In reference to the waves. “So fast!” In reference to the boat. And then finally, “I don’t want this.” About her juice box. So Connor finishes the juice for her and tosses it into the trash can.

They begin to slow down as they get to the cove, not wanting to disturb the water or the fish they are trying to catch. Miles tosses the anchor into the water.

“Hi fishies!” Stella gasps, waving her little fingers at the water.

“Seeing any?” Connor asks her.

“No, but I feel them.” She insists.

“That’s good!” Miles encourages her. “Trust those instinct, Stelly Belly.”

After getting the boat settled, Miles goes to work on getting Stella’s new fishing rod situated. When he asked her what color she wanted at the sporting goods store, she picked the pink one. But then she asked if it could be sparkly. The store didn’t have one like that, so in the few weeks that have passed since they bought it, Miles Wood has delicately brushed gold glitter onto the entire thing for her. Stella is beside herself with glee seeing it sparkle in the sunlight.

Connor chuckles as he stabilized a jumping Stella with an arm around her.

“Careful, bug. We are on the water so its a bit rocky. Can’t have you falling in as fish bait!” He jokes, poking her tummy.

“I’m too big!!!”

“You’re the perfect size for daddy sharks tho.” He puts their noses together then launched to the side, nibbling at her neck like she’s corn on the cob.

“Daddy, no!” She squeaks, pushing him away. “Fishin’s serious.” She points at him.

“She’s already a natural.” Miles beams. “Stell, come here. Let’s get you ready to go.” Miles calls her over. She steps to his side where he kneels down on the boat floor, ready to show her how to bait her hook.

“Oh. Uh. Probably not.” Connor says, trying to warn his dad with a shake of his head. His dad doesn’t understand the warning.

“So baby, you take a worm and you hook it on.” Miles shows her, piercing through the wiggly sea worm. Stella gasps in horror.

“Daddy! The worm!!!!!!!” She screams.

Miles pauses, looking at Connor.

“I did something?”

“Yeah, you can’t show her…” Connor shakes his head at his dad. Miles lack of experience as a girl dad is showing.

“Oh… Stell, the worm is fake.” Miles tries. Connor laughs.

“She’s smarter than that.”

“Always worked on you…” Miles trails off with a giggle.

“Luckily Stella has more of her mom in her than I did.”

Miles pauses, giving his son an annoyed look. Connor shrugs then gathers a still upset Stella into his arms.

“Baby, we talked about this. There are gonna be some worms on the hook. How we gonna catch fish without ‘em? But grandpa won’t show you this time, okay? We will learn how a different day.” Connor kisses her bucket hat, then rubs her back encouragingly. That seems to settle Stella into a calmer head space. She sighs loudly.

“I need my sunnies.” She waves her hand out dramatically at her dad.

Connor reaches for her bag and grabs them out of there. They are pink daisies that make her look so cool and cute at the same time. She’s his spitting image, but all her beauty really comes from the spunky personality she got from her mom.

As Miles steps into his role as teacher, Connor sits back in his chair again, content to take it all in. Grandpa Miles walks Stella through a slow cast, teaching her about the bobber, and how to be in tune to the feel of a fish on the end of the hook. After several worm replacements, Stella suddenly screams out.

“Something there! A-a-a fishy! Gandpa get it!”

“You get it!” Miles encourages her. “Pull to the side and set the hook.” Stella does with Miles’ help then gasps again as the line starts drawing out from her pole. “Reel!” Miles grabs her better into his arms and moves her hands a few times to teach her then backs off so she can go for it. “Tilt your pole up towards the sky, sweetheart.”

In another few moments, a tiny stripped bass comes out of the water on the hook.

Connor jumps up excitedly as Miles get the fish into the boat for her.

“First fish, baby!!!!!” Connor exclaims excitedly. He grabs his phone and does a photo shoot with her, him, the fish, and his dad. He sends off a few to his wife then holds Stella as she worriedly watching Miles take the fish off.

“He hurt?”

“No, it’s okay.” Miles assures her. “We are going to let him go back and get bigger. Then maybe we catch him again next year!”

“Oooo yeah. Back to his family!” Stella nods like she understands completely.

“Yeah.” Miles agrees. “Ready to go again?”

“Ya!” She cheers, bouncing over to her spot again to wait for her freshly baited fishing pole.

For twenty more minutes, Stella goes through the highs and lows of fishing. Miles discreetly puts on worms. The fish eagerly take the bait. Stella tries to get a few hooked but they’re speedy quick and she’s still learning. Despite Miles and Connor giving her pep talks, her interest begins to wain.

“Are you ready for a break?” Connor asks her as she starts to develop a pout on her lower lip.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. Good job, baby. I’m proud of you! Did good for your first time and were so brave trying something new.” The smile Stella gives him is brighter than the sunshine ricocheting off the blue water.

“Daddy, I love you and gandpa.”

“So sweet, cupcake!” Connor kisses her cheek. “We love you too.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent with the boys taking turns casting out and catching some small fish. Stella does so well sitting with each of them and talking about any thought that flows through her brain. Miles and Connor entertain the big thoughts, but otherwise let Stella constantly chatter to herself or the birds or, of course, the fishies.

Miles is taking his last few casts before they head back to the house. Stella is dozing on Connor’s chest out of the sun when Miles suddenly hooks into a big one.

“Whoa!” Miles calls out, waking Stella.

“Holy crap…” Connor watches his dad’s big rod bend into an arch. “Tuna!?”

“No clue.” Miles grunts. “It’s heavy as hell tho.”

“Dragging its self down?”

“Yeah. Get the net ready.” Miles grunts out as he fights to reel the fish in.

Ten minutes of fighting gets the fish close enough to the boat that they can see a flash of its scales.

“Holy shit!” Miles and Connor both exclaim. On the end of that hook is a bluefin tuna- a fisherman’s prize in these waters.

“Get it in the boat!” Connor cheers to his dad. The fight is exhausting. Stella cheers on encouragement too cause the two men are so excited. Her little yelps and awes help Connor keep track of her while helping his dad reel for a bit too. Then they switch back when Connor gets it closer to the boat.

Finally, the fish is out of fight. With the net, they haul the big fish over into the boat. Miles and Connor hug in excitement then Connor goes to grab his daughter for her to see.

“Its so big!?” She says in awe.

“Yeah! It’s the biggest we have seen around these parts in awhile.” Miles tells her. The last time they caught a tuna together, Connor was home for the summer from the U.S. development program at 17.

Connor takes pictures again, all of them chuckling at the size differences of the first and last fishes of the day. After, Miles sighs heavily then starts to work with Connor to get the live well ready. It’s within regulation size and will make tons of filets for the freezer.

“It should fit?” Connor asks, unsure.

“We are gonna make it…” Miles mumbles.

“Bye bye fishy!” Stella says from behind them as they get the big fish into the live holding container.

“Oh no, this one is coming home with us, Stell!” Miles tells her.

Stella’s thin eyebrows weave together. She turns her feet outward to balance on the edges in confusion.

“No?”

“Yeah, it’s a big one! We get to keep one per day, per boat! So this is our one.”

“His family?” She asks, big blue eyes beginning to swim.

Connor sucks in a breath, looking at his dad. Oh boy.

Miles and Connor's identical gazes meet, silently speaking before Stella suddenly interrupts angrily.

"Gandpa, put him back!" She ends the fierce sentence with a big stomp of her right foot. Connor presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the laughter in his throat. Holy hell, Lucie Hischier is here on the boat with them.

"Stell... babe... this is a big deal. I know it's your first day fishing, but this is a once in a lifetime fish!"

"He needs to go back to his family!!!!!" Her eyes start to turn tumultuous and distressed. She rushes to Connor patting his forearm insistently. "Daddy, help. Tell him!"

Connor sees both sides... he really does... but he doesn't think his dad quite understands the meltdown that will ensue if that fish doesn't get back in the water. And fast.

"Dad..." Miles baulks at his son, eyes going wide.

"You are kidding me."

"Please." Connor cringes like he too is in pain at the thought.

"This is dinner." Connor gives his dad a warning glare. "What... it is?"

"NOOO!!!!! We can't eat Bluey!!!!!” Stella extends the name out in a screech that echos over the water.

Well, fuck, she’s named him, Connor thinks, knowing it is truly over now.

Stella starts to scream, panicking as she rushes towards the live well. "No... No!!!" She wails out. A sob of such distress coming from his granddaughter changes everything for Miles instantly.

"Okay! Okay! Okay, Stell. Yes, we will give him back to the ocean." Miles immediately caves at the big tears splashing down her cheeks. "Oh my god, this hurts so bad." Miles shakes his head. "Con, help me get him out.”

And it probably does hurt his dad, especially for someone who has been fishing since he was three years old. But next to him, Connor feels the bond between him and his dad grow deeper than the ocean they're currently sitting in.

"Thank you." He murmurs to his dad after they watch “Bluey" swim off tiredly. Stella is in Miles' arms and waves goodbye to fishy one last time.

"Stella Wood, I love you more than anything else in this world." Miles murmurs, then puckers his lips for a smooch. "Also your grandma is going to love this story and that's good for me."

Connor rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

"We should head back."

Later, around the dinner table which does not include fish, Stella animatedly tells her mom and grandma all about their big fishing trip from Miles' lap.

"And then, um, um, gandpa caught big fishy…. Bluey! Then I tell him to put him back! And then he swim back to his family as we wave bye!"

"Oh wow! What kind of fish?" Kailey asks around a bite of her salad.

"Blue fin tuna." Kailey stills, then collapses into a melty puddle with her arms hitting the table.

"You really put it back?"

“Yeah." Miles sighs, taking in the dreamy look from his wife with a puffed out chest. Lucie looks at Connor for a clue.

"That's the best fish you can get around these parts." He informs her, tracing a heart on her thigh where his hand has been resting.

"Oh wow... that was really sweet." Lucie says to her father in law, smiling tenderly at the thought. Her fingers fold into Connor's and she squeezes them in acknowledgement of what a big deal that is.

"Now fishy has dinner with his family!" Stella concludes. "Like us!"

Miles chuckles, holding up her latest juice box to her lips. Stella gasps out an "ahhh" when she is done with her gulps.

"Mama, I wanna stay here tonight. Sleepover."

"We are." Lucie reminds her kindly.

"Yeah. Okay. I sleep with gandma and gandpa."

"Sure!" Connor smiles widely. "You'll have to show them your sleep dancing."

"Oh, she's just like you then?" Kailey teases. "I always had a foot in my face when dad was on the road. Most of the time both. It's like he was comforted with his toes up my nose."

"I knew it! I knew that was from him!" Lucie exclaims. "She tries to get her toes in my nose too."

"Yeah, anything weird we chalk up to the Wood side of the family." Kailey winks.

"Works for me." Lucie smirks, stroking her hand along Connor's big shoulders. He rolls his head over to look at his wife. All it takes is one look and Lucie is hiding her blushing cheeks into his bicep.

At the end of the table, Stella starts to yawn. Soon, she’s tuckered out in her own princess bed with a few select stuffies and her noise machine stirring the sea breeze air.

“Daddy?” Stella asks as he pulls the covers up to her chest.

“Hm?” Connor asks her.

“We go fishin’ again?”

“Of course. We can go whenever you want in the summer.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If it doesn’t rain, yeah.” He agrees.

“And gandpa catch Bluey again so I say hi?”

“Mmm, I don’t think we’ll see Bluey again, babe. He’s too happy to be back with his family.” Connor settles on.

“Oh.” She blinks a long, slow blink, then looks up at him with half opened eyes. “You like Bluey, daddy. You go work but come home to mama and me.” Connor smiles tenderly down at his sweet girl.

“Yeah. I’ll always come home to you. Okay?” Stella nods. “Time for lights out. No sneaking out of here tonight.” He gently bops her nose with his finger.

“What if I get scared?”

“What did we just talk about? Hmm?? You call for me. I’ll come.” Stella nods seriously, then a big yawn stretches her mouth and closes her eyes. This time, her eyes stay shut. Connor smoothes her hair off her cheek and then leans down to kiss her head. “I love you. Goodnight.”

Connor tip toes out of the room, then turns around to double check she is still doing okay. He watches as she tiredly lifts a hand to the window across her bed that looks out into the bay.

“Night, daddy bluey.” She murmurs.

Connor knows his daughter's innocence is worth more than having that trophy fish hanging from the mantle downstairs.

He knew that this afternoon too.

It was never about just fishin'.

Read more Lucie and Connor here.

#lucie x connor #nhl x oc #nhl fan fiction #nhl fic #hockey writing #grandpa miles wood #whoa

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jackactuallywrites · 5 months ago

Text

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 12

Warning: Nada, comfy chapter

Summary: Guess who’s not dead?

Notes: it’s a long chapter, ur welcome xo

Word count: 3,759

ao3 link

It didn’t make sense to you how hard Ghost’s death played on your conscience. It wasn’t like you had anything to do with it; you were the most civilian civvie to ever civ.

At least you still had your little Ghost shrine. It was strangely soothing; every time you felt guilty about his death, you would go and sit with the vase with his old ID until you felt better, playing idly with the dried petals as you chit-chatted to ‘Ghost’. Well, you never felt better, really, but it distracted you enough to the point that you could get back to your regular life.

There was a small problem with the shrine, however. You were pretty sure that your quiet dedication to him had brought him back as a ghost. A ghostly Ghost. It felt as though you were revisiting old ground; you’d had this before, thinking your apartment was possessed when it had actually been Ghost sneaking around in your apartment. But, he was dead. So, if there was any sneaking around to be done, it would have to have been done by his ghost; you’d set enough booby traps for corporeal forms that surely even an SAS man like him would trip and wake you up with a clattering of old cat food cans. You imagined he’d be proud of you for improvising like that.

It was always when you’d had a shit day that Ghost would pop into your mind like that. Today, you’d been dealing with a stray colony on the outskirts of town, and they had been in pretty miserable shape, cold, half-starved, without so much as an old pallet to sleep on. You’d did what you could, set up some cheap outdoor shelters, basic plastic boxes lined with straw so they had somewhere to keep warm, and given them a heaping pile of wet food to eat from, as well as set up strategic bowls of water, but it never felt like it was enough. You saw Ghost in those cats. Forgotten about, abandoned, left to die. No big surprise that he was on your mind.

Soap chattered at your feet as you walked through the living room to your little shrine. Roach only watched you warily from the sofa. It had only been a fortnight since you’d brought him home, and he still didn’t seem best pleased about the situation. Perhaps he preferred his old cupboard to a warm, comfy apartment with anything his little cat heart desired. Little bastard. Still, you pet his head as you passed him by; he was a good boy. You’d worried he’d knock as many things over as Soap, but such animal indulgences didn’t seem to appeal to him. The petals in the vase had long since lost their fragrance but not their beauty, still a beautiful array of purples, and right at the top was the ID card. You didn’t feel like you had learned anything more about him since the day you originally read that card.

You went to pick up the card, a rare disturbance of the otherwise untouched shrine, but it felt weird, thicker. There were two plastic cards, the old military one sliding around on top of the old one. Strange, had it split in two? You set the military ID down on the side and looked at the other one.

Christ.

A civilian driving licence. Simon Riley’s driving licence. It must have been his very first one; the man in the photo was barely a man at all, practically a child, a brooding teenager staring morosely out at you. He hadn’t changed much, and it made you sad to think about how, even as a teenager, he had those dead eyes. You’d assumed he’d developed those in the military, hard from battle, but he couldn’t have been old enough to join by the looks of the photo. The address was some shithole on the other side of Manchester, one of the rougher areas. That explained that. Like with the military ID, the birth date had been scratched off, the paranoid fucker.

Had that card always been there, stuck to the underside of the military ID?

No. This was new. You were sure of it. And that presented a whole new bunch of problems.

You checked your email, double-checking your spam folder, but there still hadn’t been anything from Ghost. There were no texts either; the messages in your phone were only from you, endlessly trying to get the slightest sign of life from him. Was this his way of reaching out from the beyond? A crazy idea, but fuck it, you’d passed crazy when you made the damn shrine in the first place. Soap had come to wind around your ankles, and you eyed him suspiciously.

“You know anything about this, Soap?”

He meowed.

“Right.”

Having accepted the absurdity of your situation, you were now pondering how one was supposed to commune with the dead. The cynical side of your mind told you that you’d just not noticed there were two cards, but desperation was more appealing, telling you that Ghost was reaching out to you, something that became more convincing the more wine you drank. You could order a Ouija board off Amazon, apparently, but you weren’t convinced that a spiritual board from a soulless corporation wouldn’t just immediately curse you. You’d already sent him a dozen more texts, and two attempted phone calls, but it only gave a dead dial tone. Hmm. You did have a whiteboard stuck to your fridge. That could work.

What did you want to say to him? ‘You alive?’ seemed like an insulting question to ask a ghost. Fuck it, you might as well get weird with it, the whole situation was bananas.

‘Simon Riley,

Show yourself, Saturday, at 7:30pm.

Love

Me, Soap, and Roach’

That seemed appropriate! Summoning a spirit with your cats. Mm, it really did feel like you were going to die alone at this rate. You watched the clock on your phone, waiting for 19:30 to come around.

You should have known nothing would have come of it.

The time had rolled around and gone without so much of a hair of spiritual activity, and you’d decided to write the whole event off as a slight break in your psyche after a too-long day at work. You kept the whiteboard up regardless, though more out of laziness than anything, even if a small part of you was still quietly hoping he’d turn up someday and sent yourself to bed.

At least that strange event hadn’t been a complete loss.

You’d made a nice new tradition for yourself; on Saturday night, rather than go out and get bladdered with the girls (you’d moved that to Friday), you’d have a night in with Soap and Roach, curled up on the sofa in your pyjamas watching dross on the television. Soap would always take the position of privilege on your lap, but Roach was beginning to warm up to you, lying on the back of the sofa, not touching you, but still near to your head. Roach. What a name. It didn’t come close to describing the beautiful young man he was turning into, a delightfully fluffy tortoiseshell, with a tail like a feather duster. His tail flicked idly out the corner of your eye as you tried to scratch his chin, still not quite on board with you fussing him.

For once, the sound of knuckles rapping on your front door didn’t send him scarpering for safety, but his tail did swish dramatically.

“I know, how dare they knock on our door. The cheek of it!”

Soap was most displeased when you had to move him from your lap, knowing that his place of privilege would be taken up by your dinner, and you apologised profusely, with only a slight amount of sarcasm as you dropped him on the cushions, “I know, Soap, I’m a fiend. You’ll get over it.”

Sweet mother Mary, you’d summoned a ghost.

He was standing there, in your doorway, all six foot something of him, blue jeans, black jacket and all, complete with that skull mask you thought you’d seen the last of. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? You didn’t have any salt, nor any iron, and you were fairly sure the Winchesters were fictional.

Hang on. Spirits didn’t wear cologne.

In an instance, your grief was replaced with rage, an easier emotion to carry, and your body decided to take matters into its control, reaching out to shove at his chest,

“You prick.”

Ghost didn’t move, rooted to the ground, and that irritated you more. You jammed your finger into his chest, scowling at him, “I thought you were dead, Ghost. I mourned you. I cried for you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

God, you’d missed his voice.

“You cunt.”

“Aye.”

Would it have been in poor form to kill the man you’d mourned for?

“Fucks sake, come in.”

Even Ghost seemed unsure of you, having shut the door behind him but not taking a single step further into your flat, just standing at ease, his hands behind his back. You eyed him suspiciously; you’d seen this move before. Yep, there it was, the flowers. Yet again, he was presenting you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, this time a warm yellow, still with shades going to white, the man clearly a fan of an ombré effect.

“These aren’t enough to make me forgive you. Prick.”

“I know.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and it softened you a little, even if the hurt was still lingering, masked by rage. You huffed angrily, but still threw your arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly as though you were afraid he really was a ghost, resting your head on his chest. He was still for a moment, before his arms came to encircle your shoulders, and his cheek came to rest on your head.

Neither of you moved for a good few minutes, and your racing thoughts began to settle, the rage dissipating into the upset and concern it had covered up. Though, you still had questions. You pulled away first, looking up at him, “You have a lot of questions to answer.”

He sighed, “I’m still limited by the Secrets Act.”

“I know that much. There’s other questions.”

Soap had waited patiently by your feet, but now you’d stopped hugging, he made himself known, meowing loudly, holding the noise for a good long while. Some part of Ghost finally thawed, and he crouched down to fuss Soap, his gloved hands scratching underneath the cat’s chin and on his cheeks, murmuring quietly, “You been taking care of her for us?” You objected, “I think you’ll find I’ve been keeping him out of trouble.”

For once, Roach came to socialise of his own volition, bottle brush tail held high in the air as he trotted over to Ghost. You could see the smile crinkling the corners of Ghost’s eyes as he saw Roach, and he reached out to pick the cat up, holding him in the crook of his elbow as he fussed him, “Roach! Alright, lad? Haven’t seen you in an age.”

You had to protest now, “For gods sake, why Roach? It’s such an unpleasant name for a cat. What, is he a used joint or a cockroach?”

The joy in Ghost’s voice was evident as he spoke, “You can call him Gary if you like.”

“What. Gary? What is it with you and giving cats weird names?”

Roach was purring. He’d never purred with you. Sexist. However, you couldn’t deny that the sight made you smile. Ghost, with his two cats, so clearly happy. It felt like a rare emotion for the man. You allowed yourself to relax a little, “You staying for dinner?”

Ghost looked up from Roach.

“You offering?”

“What does it sound like?”

Ghost actually seemed surprised by your answer, considering it for a moment. “Yeah, go on then.”

You didn’t waste time going to the kitchen and getting yourself a glass of wine, leaving Ghost to his boys as you placed the flowers in a pint glass with some water. Some tight coil in your stomach had finally relaxed, and you felt light, a great weight lifted off your shoulders. Your hand hesitated as you got yourself a wine glass out, turning back to the living room,

“You fancy a glass of vino?”

“If you’re offering.”

Were you hitting on him? You hadn’t decided yet. You think you were just being friendly, after all, you always offered your girls wine, and you certainly weren’t flirting with them. You decided to put that thought to the back of your head as you poured out two glasses, carrying them back into the living room.

Ghost had made himself comfortable on your sofa, Soap curled up on his lap, Roach squeezed up against his legs, both purring so loud they could have been mistaken for a pair of jet engines. Little traitors; you were the one who’d been taking care of them the whole time! Ghost took his glass as you offered it, placing it down on the coaster on the coffee table, and you sat on the opposite side of the sofa, watching him curiously, “You know you can’t drink with the mask on, right?”

There he was. Those eyes could curdle milk with a single look. “I am aware of that. Just didn’t want you freakin’ out is all.”

You laughed, “Come on, I’ve seen your face before. You’re not that hideous.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Ghost pulled off the mask without much flourish, and now you could see what he had been hiding. Bruises of varying ages swept over his cheekbones and jawline, alongside a pattern of scabs across his cheek, though they did look mostly healed at this point. You could see a thin red line in his hair, a few inches away from his temple, dark amongst the blond hair. It was impossible for your eyebrows not to skyrocket at the sight of him, battered and bruised. “Christ. Who’d you piss off?”

Ghost scoffed as he reached for his wine, taking a large glug, “How long you got?”

“That why you couldn’t reply to a text?”

He shook his head, “Phone was blown up. Didn’t have access to owt.”

The absolute indifference with which he regarded dangerous situations took you aback. It made sense, of course; he was a soldier and a special forces one at that; no doubt he was constantly in danger, but Christ. You gestured to his face vaguely, “That the same explosion that did all that?”

He shrugged offhandedly, “Bit. Not all.”

Now you felt bad for being so irate about the tests. You paused, thinking, “Hang on, when did you get back?”

Ghost scratched the back of his head absent-mindedly, “‘Bout thirty-seven hours ago, I reckon.” He eyed you, an amused look on his face, “Must have done some powerful voodoo with that whiteboard. Wasn’t that far off.”

You’d forgotten about that. Your cheeks flamed, and you scoffed at him, “Come off it. I was drunk, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He grinned at you, clearly smug, “Aye? That desperate, was you? Price told us about your little break-in and all.”

You didn’t have a snappy comeback to that.

“That… well, that may have been ill-advised.”

Ghost snorted, a rumbling chuckle in his chest, “Aye, ill-advised.”

You folded your arms over your chest, “I saw an article about some soldiers being blown up! And you know, you technically were, so I stand by it.”

“You stand by breaking into a military base?”

“Oh, fuck off. I thought you’d be there. I didn’t know you were… wherever the fuck you were. Besides, you’ve got no moral high ground; you broke into mine all the time!”

“Only once. Before I shipped out.”

You raised a brow, slightly disbelieving, “Really? Only once?”

It was Ghost’s turn to look a little abashed now, and he ran his hand over his head, “You’ve already got one of my IDs. Thought you’d appreciate another.”

So it had been there forever. Typical. How had you not noticed?

Another knock sounded on your door, and you saw the flinch that Ghost tried to suppress at the sudden noise. You didn’t mention it, though both cats did, starting up their loud purring again.

“That’ll be dinner. I’ll get it; you make sure Soap doesn’t do a runner.”

Luckily for you, you always liked to order at least two portions worth, liking to have enough for leftovers for the next night, so there was plenty to split with Ghost. Soap protested loudly as he was removed from the comfort of Ghost’s lap, licking his paw sulkily as he contended with his new position on the floor, and Roach took his exile silently as per usual, skulking into the bed underneath the coffee table, one of his favourite haunts. Ghost followed you to the kitchen as you divvied up the portions onto separate plates, hovering behind you like, well, a ghost. You took what you wanted, then gestured for him to sort himself out. He looked between you and your plate questioningly, “That all you having?”

He made it sound like you were being conservative with your portion. You didn’t fuck about with curry, you’d piled it up on your plate with a giant naan, and there was still a huge bag of poppadoms to share.

“What d’you mean, that all?”

“Sure you don’t want any more?”

He was being polite. No doubt the man was ravenous, just home from wherever he was getting blown up, and Englishmen really did love a good curry. You rolled your eyes at him, “Fill your boots.”

It was quite impressive how much Ghost could pile onto his plate without risking overspill.

“You spill that on my carpet and you will cop it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You put your plate on the TV stand, gesturing at him to help you move the coffee table, and he looked at you questioningly, already shovelling curry into his mouth.

“What, you think you’re eating for free? I’m getting manual labour out of you. Help us move this; the sofas a pullout innit?”

You could see that smugness in his face again, and you rolled your eyes at him, “Give over. It’s my house, we’re doing film night the way I do it.”

“Aye ma’am.”

He didn’t bother putting his curry down, holding it in one hand as he grabbed the coffee table with the other, easily lifting it and placing it down to the side, Roach quickly shifting out the way, going to join Soap in the cat tower.

“Show off.”

With the coffee table out the way, you rolled out the bottom of the sofa, then pulled the handle to bring out the cushions from the storage underneath. Then, you went to your bedroom, grabbing your duvet and throwing it over the sofa, as well as your pillows. You set up the pillows on your side how you liked them, before grabbing your curry and getting comfy on the sofa bed. Ghost wasn’t quite as at ease as you, sitting back on the other side of the sofa, though he didn’t get under the duvet. You pointed your fork at his boots, “You put those on my duvet and I’ll have you.”

“Proper madam you are.”

“I’m serious!”

He placed his curry down and bent over to untie his bootlaces, placing his boots together by the side of the sofa and then lying back, going for his curry once again.

“You planning on keeping that waterproof on all night?”

He raised a brow at you, “Christ, love, you gonna let me keep anything on?” His next sentence was so quiet you barely heard, “That I would dream of.”

You squinted at him, “Eh?”

He just grinned at you, “Don’t stare too much.”

You rolled your eyes at him, grabbing the remote from where it was sitting on the arm of the sofa, “Get over yourself.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him taking off his jacket, and he followed it with the jumper underneath, sitting in just his T-shirt and jeans. His arms were impressively muscled but just as battered and bruised as his face was. You allowed yourself to look as you turned back to him, your eyes flicking over the tattoo that wrapped around his forearm before you looked back at his face, “Any film preference?”

He shrugged, speaking through a mouthful of food, “Whatever you fancy.”

You could have made him sit through a girly romcom just for the fun of it, but you decided to go with something you thought he’d enjoy. “Pacific Rim.”

He smiled at that, “Classic.”

It was strange how comfortable you felt around him; you were quite happy lounging in a pair of old trackies and a dated pyjama top next to him, bullshitting with him about the film as though you were a pair of old mates. When the credits rolled, he took your plates into the kitchen, and you could hear the sound of him doing the washing up as you lounged happily on the sofa, Soap curled up by your side. You could get used to Ghost’s friendship. As he washed up, you flicked through the films on your screen, “They made a Pacific Rim two? I bet it’s shit. You wanna watch it?”

Ghost came back through with the empty containers washed up and in the bag they came in, ready to be recycled, “Bit late, innit?”

You shrugged, already getting the second film up, “So sleep on the sofa.”

He sounded a bit surprised at that, “You want us to stay over?”

You looked from the tv to him, “Why not? Unless you don’t want the cats sleeping on your head.”

He was quiet for a second.

“There a shop round here?”

You didn’t blink at the sudden question, “Uh, yeah, there’s one round the corner.”

Ghost nodded, then sat down on the sofa, pulling his boots back on. You looked at him curiously,

“What you going out for?”

“Beer. And crisps.”

Two hours later, the credits were rolling, but neither of you were awake to see it. You’d fallen asleep first, curled up with Soap, and Ghost had taken the lead from you, settling in for what was undoubtedly the most peaceful night’s sleep he’d end up having in years.

#jack writes #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod fic #simon ghost x reader

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queers-gambit · 1 year ago

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Hello my lovely, it’s me your babygirl. Remember me? 🥰🥰

I know you’re busy working on fics rn so take as much time as you want to answer!

I’ve got a very important question regarding Felix that I’d love your opinion on it & share my thoughts with you!

*quickly runs to give you the biggest hug & spin you in my arms* 😘

So…. What do we think a Felix x reader wedding would look like at Saltburn? A grand extravaganza with a million guests or an intimate ceremony with just the Cattons?

Obviously they take every opportunity to throw a party at Saltburn so a wedding is the ultimate bash in the eyes of the Cattons.

Or would Felix just decide to change it entirely and just want it to be a tiny intimate thing since he wants this to feel quiet and special. And then maybe some big party another day to the delight of Elspeth and sir James.

For Felix he’s so laid back and in love all he cares about is his girl and what will make her happy. They are so young and in love i wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed on a lazy Sunday morning or a day reading naked in the field, just because he was so blissfully happy he knew there was nobody he’d rather spend these kind of days with for the rest of his life.

Side notes: Venetia would be maid of honor right? I see Elspeth as the mother in law that makes herself heavenly involved with planning and gives her brutally honest opinion picking out the dress 😅 I can even picture stoic Duncan trying to hold back tears while he’s holding a tissue box to Elspeth or sir James while they read their vows.

…

Sorry for the endless ranging but I’m aching to know your thoughts and see if you’ve thought about this too!!

of course i remember you, baby girl! welcome back!

i needed a break from writing, so thank you for sending this, my darling! it's always good to refresh the pallet, and this ask really got me thinking!

let's get into it!

kinda-sorta wedding AU HC's

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 1.4k+

warnings: suspiciously none

so your question all depends on the Reader, but i'll try to answer best i can.

the Saltburn wedding is definitely a huge, extravagant ordeal. the Cattons are well connected, so, it wouldn't just be Felix and Reader's peers attending, but ALL family from both sides, as well as family friends, too. Reader's family is invited to Saltburn a week before matrimony; where they try to help, but the Cattons have hired 3 different wedding planners to make this the most talked-about event in any social circles.

every room in Saltburn is cleaned and decorated. an abundance of flowers are shipped in to be hung from the ceilings and bannisters. there's BOTH a live band and a DJ, an erected outdoor dance floor.

now, i can see two different things: 1. Felix and Reader marry in the local church and then the reception is hosted at Saltburn. 2. they marry on Saltburn's property and still have the big ass reception on the grounds.

either way, it's most def a summer wedding to utilize optimal weather. it's a reason to wear the best clothes, drink expensive liquor excessively, and indulge in gluttony. it's a night designed to make attendants jealous.

there's well over 300 people, Sir James and Elspeth combing through their address books to send invites even to family friends they haven't spoken to in years. they're the kind of parents that take advantage of their child getting married; it's the best excuse to show off and have a grand celebration, to prove the family doesn't do anything half-assed. if they can throw extravagant parties just for the hell of it, they definitely feel pressure to out-do themselves.

it's like this wedding isn't *for* Felix and Reader, but more so for the Cattons to show up and show out. it's not about a union of two people, but an excuse to gloat and smash their privilege in everyone's face.

Felix eats it up 'cause it's all he knows, the spoilt rich boy, but Reader's a little uncomfortable with the sheer size and details of her wedding. but in the same breath, she's relaxed because she KNOWS this is just how the Cattons operate and she doesn't really have to lift a single finger.

so, Reader lets Elspeth plan her ideal wedding - 'cause there's no way she's not involved. they make some decisions together, it's a bonding experience for Reader and her soon-to-be MIL, but for the most part, it's the matriarch doing most of the heavy lifting.

Felix and Reader only get to decide on wedding colors, catering options, and the cake. and even then, they have to endure his family's opinions.

Reader doesn't even get to 100% choose her dress, hair, and make up. Elspeth basically decides everything. i agree with you and think Mrs. Catton would impose herself even on the wedding dress selection, becoming persnickety, opinionated, and a little snarky when Reader shows off her dresses. this causes tension with Reader's family, who think the older woman far too self-important, and maybe it's Reader's mother or sister that stands up to her and insists Elspeth keep quiet since this *isn't* her wedding and they don't want any influences on Reader. they want Reader to choose her perfect wedding dress without scrutiny since she has no say in anything else.

in fact, maybe - juuuuuust maybe - Reader's family takes her to shop for a wedding dress without Elspeth in an effort to dial down the stress. it's not meant maliciously, but Elspeth simply cannot help herself and takes over everything; so, Reader's family figures if she's not there, Reader can make a decision *for herself*.

when Elspeth finds out, she's hurt, but it's Sir James that calms his wife down by reminding her that she had something not-so-nice to say about damn near every single dress Reader tries on. so, she accepts this one detail being out of her control.

the entire wedding screams "old money" because half of the decorations and details are wildly redundant, but there's no such thing as cost to the family. Elspeth is def living vicariously because she thinks she knows best, so she spares no expense - perhaps even going as far as to rent exotic peacocks to roam the grounds simply because the Cattons can!

they're definitely going "Crazy Rich Asians" in the sense that Felix's marriage is going to be the event of the decade, like Collin and Araminta's wedding. again, it's not even about the union but just a chance for the Cattons to remind everyone that they were lesser-than. Felix thinks it's normal, he thinks this is how it's supposed to be 'cause he's def removed from reality, and truth be told, he loves the attention. the bragging rights.

Felix might be a bit more reserved than his family, but he's still a Catton and glamour is *all* he knows, especially for an event like this. he doesn't stand up to his parents because they're paying for everything, which makes him feels as if he's not entitled to an opinion. so, he lets Sir James and Elspeth plan the wedding they want since all Felix has to do is show up. he'll do his best to alleviate stress, acting as a buffer between his betrothed and parents, but he doesn't dare open his mouth.

this is marketed as a once in a lifetime celebration, so nobody is willing to butt heads with Sir and Mrs. Catton.

on that note, yeah, i can see Felix having an intimate proposal. maybe in the field at sunset, maybe at a cafe in town, but not in bed. he's got a flare for the dramatic, so odds are, he's actually down on one knee. he's young, so he doesn't need to make a huge ordeal for the proposal since it's an incredibly intimate moment. he might even proposal on a whim / impulsively. he's had a ring for months, planning the best moment to ask Reader, but he gets anxious and one day, it just happens. it feels right. Felix has that burning feeling that he needs to ask now else he'll fuck up his plan in the future by being so nervous. so, yeah, he just asks one day - barely even thinks about it! he just knows Reader is who he wants, so why plan the "perfect moment" when an opportunity organically presents itself?

now, Venetia can be a bridesmaid, but she's not MOH. again, depends on the reader, but i imagine Reader's sister or her own best friend should be MOH. Reader wants Ven involved in everything, but no, she's not gonna be the one standing next to Reader when she gets married. Ven helps decide bridesmaid dresses, works with Reader's sister and / or best friend to plan the bachelorette party, and is present for any conflict between Reader and Elspeth. she's sorta like a tie breaker because Felix is on Reader's side and Sir James is on Elspeth's. Ven is the one who helps keep Elspeth under control, the only one bold enough to stand up to her mother without fear of repercussions. she sees how Reader is struggling to both have the wedding of her dreams and respect for her MIL, so, Ven imposes herself to give Reader a break. to be the voice Reader lost.

and just because it's fun, YES, Duncan is def in attendance, handing the Cattons and Reader's family tissues during the emotional moments of the wedding. he eats two slices of cake. and for the fuck of it, you bet your ass Duncan lets loose a little and Cabbage Patches on the dance floor.

i think it's nice to imagine Felix being all cute and intimate, but personally, i think he's so far deep in his family's way of living to truly be humble. sure, Reader anchors him to reality, but he still lives this extravagant life so he doesn't know the definition of "humble". but that's why i said, it depends on your reader - but in my opinion, Felix is a little too spoilt to have the forethought to marry privately. or maybe he knows it's a fight not worth having with his parents, that no matter what, they're going to do what they want.

so maybe Felix is the one encouraging Reader to just "go with the flow" because resisting is futile. perhaps Reader comes around to the idea of a grand wedding because she knows she'd never have this sort of experience with anyone else; so, why not bask in it?

ah, i love these. they're so much fun! thank you for sending in, baby girl! all my love 🖤

#felix catton #felix catton headcanon #felix catton headcanons #felix catton x reader #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #felix catton imagine #felix catton fluff #fix it felix

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its-vishnu-stuff · 1 year ago

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fishnets-fingers · 9 months ago

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blossoms, big changes & blanket forts

a/n - @harry-on-broadway's short 'n sweet fic challenge inspired me to write a burb from the six months universe. this takes place in the future and hints at storyline(s) for future parts. it's been a while since i'd written anything, so i hope this turned out okay. word count: 2.5k (not proofread) happy reading :)

…

Every Saturday Harry’s alarm blares at five in the morning and every single Saturday he swiftly silences it before it disturbs the other occupant snoozing next to him. This morning was no different. He quietly slips out the bed and heads to the bathroom to change into his running gear.

A dopey smile blooms across his face at the sight in front of him. A foot peeking out the sheet, a hand haphazardly dangling over the side of the bed, and a shock of dark hair obstructing her face.

He smooths the raven locks away from her face and leans down to kiss her sleep warm cheek. A quiet grunt makes him chuckle.

“What ungodly hour is it?” Layla asks, eyes still closed.

“It’s the AM,” he answers diplomatically.

She mumbles something incoherently, turning over on her stomach, face burying into the pillow. He knows better than to ask her to clarify and jolt her from the pull of slumber. He kisses the crown of her head, pulling the bed sheet in place.

And off he goes, running down the same circuit he takes every Saturday. He enjoys this time where their neighbourhood is slowly setting up for the day - the scratches of produce filled pallets being hauled into the restaurants, the beeps of trucks pulling into the warehouses of the supermarkets, the hum of baristas as they begin to ready their spaces, and the soft grunts of runners they start with their stretches.

He relishes this routine; the calm after five days of scrambling around with this Masters thesis, hours in the lab, typing away on his computer into the night. Saturday mornings were his reset. The hour and a half he spends running with no distractions is just what he needs to set the tone for his weekend. The same sights, smells, and sounds. This Saturday however he spots a moving truck along with a couple carrying boxes into the lobby of a highrise apartment and is immediately transported to a wintery evening five months ago. He was lugging bags of groceries from the car when his phone chimed. Once. Twice. Thrice. Followed by a call from Layla all the way from Chennai.

“Hi bab-” He starts before getting interrupted.

“You are speaking to the new assistant professor of San Diego State! Well not really. I still haven’t signed but I just got the email.”

“No fucking way! Really?”

“Really! I read the email three times to make sure my brain wasn’t playing tricks on me. I did just wake up, so there’s a big possibility that I’m dreaming.”

“Congratulations, Layla.”

“Aww, thanks,” she blew out a breath. “You know what this means, right?”

“No more long distance,” he smiled into the microphone.

“Can’t wait. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lails.”

“Say it again,” she said, and he can picture her lips pulling up at the corners.

“I bloody love you, sweet girl.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that,” she added quietly.

He felt her conflicting feelings of anger and longing miles away. She did not want to go to India after what happened during their last visit. After weeks of trying, her cousins convinced her that she was long overdue for a sleepover, pointing out that a full time job would only make flying over more complicated. “Chennai will make me feel at home, my house is just a building,” she’d insisted but Harry had seen the hurt etched on her face on their video call from she hotel she checked into. She had forgone the invite from her relatives to stay at theirs, not wanting cause any conflicts between them and her parents. He’d wanted to go with her but his schedule wouldn’t allow him and which was convenient for her with wanting him far away from her mother. “Have you told your folks? Do you want to?” He’d asked after a pregnant pause.

She sighed. “Not my parents. I called my grandparents. They were overjoyed, obviously. They wanted to meet me for lunch but I told them I’m not coming home. So, I’m meeting them at the restaurant. I explicitly told them that I would leave if Amma and Appa (Mum and Dad) showed up.

“Anyway," she said after a while, "I think my grandparents are going to give me a fat stack of cash, like they did when I got into the PhD program.” She forced a chuckle, signaling that she was done talking about it.

So he changed the topic, “when do you have to get back to them?”

“They haven’t specified anything but sooner the better right. I’ll respond by tomorrow evening” she yawned. “I'm heading over to Chitti's (aunt - mother’s younger sister) for dinner. All the cousins are attending Carom night. I’ll ask her to help me go through the contract before I sign. I’ll have to tell them that I’ll only be coming to the US next week. I think I want to negotiate my salary a little or get more PTOs. I don't want to pass it up though. They are willing to sponsor my visa and I don't have any more offers to be in the same city, so…” She prattled on.

He’s giddy at the thought of not having to resort to scheduling visits when their calendars permit them to. To not have their coursework making them unavailable during important moments. To not have to fit their belongings into a small cabin bag and rush to the gate to catch a flight to each other a few states away. To not have to tiptoe around Layla’s housemates, who barely tolerated each other. To not have to resort to FaceTimes when they wanted to see each other. To not be next to each other - when all they wanted was to wrap the their arms around the other - to help them wind down from an exhausting day.

“Har,” her voice snapped him out of his reverie. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yeah yeah, contracts.”

“Not even close. I was talking about apartment hunting.”

“Why would you look for apartments?” His brows knitted together.

“I’ll need a place to live in, won’t I?”

“You already have a place to live in.”

“No, I don’t. What are you-,” her voice cuts off as she drew in a sharp breath in realisation. “Are you- Would you like for me to- Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’m almost twenty six. You’re twenty seven. We’ve been together for two years now. I’m so in love with you, Layla Sathish. Never stopped for a second since I first laid eyes on you in your Uncle’s house in Apex. Never stopped in the two years we were apart. And I don’t want to waste another second. I want us together. I want to go to bed with you next to me. Kiss you goodbye when we both leave for university. I want to complain about your makeup and skincare taking up all the space in the bathroom cabinet. I want to buy you flowers when I come back home after a run. I want your paints and brushes scattered on the dining table. I want to make space in my closet for your clothes. I want your fingerprints smeared on my laptop screen. Move in with me.”

It didn’t skip past her that he wasn’t asking her but telling her. “I mean I do have the spare key to your loft. Might as well put it to good use,” she teased.

He laughed. “Exactly! You can be the breadwinner of the house and I can rest easy as a kept man and work on my thesis.”

She giggled. “I love it!”

Three weeks later, they were moving her belongings into the loft. He had to pinch himself every few hours to remind himself that he had unfettered access to the woman he loved. But living together posed a few adjustments, like the time she used his coffee grinder to make gunpowder from scratch and he was about ready to rip all his hair off telling her about cross-contamination of the flavour. Living together spotlighted their different cleaning ethos - he lets the mess accumulate and then do a deep clean but soon found out that Layla could not function when things piled up. The different towels and rags of Layla’s system he needed to keep track of: the ‘nice one’ for drying the dishes, the ‘yucky one’ for cleaning the kitchen countertops, the ‘microfiber’ for dusting that needed to be dampened, and the ‘soft one’ for electronic screens. They’d argued about finances and after weeks - much to Layla’s chagrin - they’d settled on a compromise: Layla would take care of the utilities and date nights and Harry would pay for rent, and groceries. She put her foot down about being able to pay for the two of them on their future trips to India and he agreed with the condition that all other trips would be taken care of by him. Their grocery trips were different now, Layla was so focused on giving herself a spending limit since she wasn’t paying for it. This meant standing in the middle of the aisle and calculating down to the gram to figure out what brand gave her the best bang for her buck - whereas Harry just pulled things off the shelf that caught his eye. But all of their spats and differences melt away when he sees her smile up at him, from whatever she was doing, as he walked through the door after the end of the day.

In the home stretch he slows down and walks into the florist. It was early in the day to have the pick of the freshest of flowers straight from the delivery truck. Every single week he would pick out random bunches - today it was different coloured sweet peas and tulips. He’d wake her up with the flowers held behind his back where she’d blink up at him with sleep laden eyes and gasp when he’d present them to her. She gasped every Saturday morning, even if it had become a ritual by now - watching her put together an impressive floral arrangement while he’d make breakfast for them.

He’s surprised when he keys into the loft, usually he’s met with the quiet hum of appliances, today peals of laughter bounce off the walls of the entryway. He smiles toeing off his shoes as he spots two sets of feet - one tiny and one large - sticking out. Their couch pushed back towards the wall and the four dining chairs stood in its place acting as pillars on either side with a fuzzy throw draped over the backs of the chair, cocooning the two.

He tiptoes slowly towards their makeshift fort to find the two sprawled on a quilt on their tummies. Layla in her power rangers pyjamas, hair haphazardly thrown in a bun, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, her head propped on her elbows, and a curly headed girl in a wrinkled nightgown giggling with her as she points at the book that’s propped against the a cushion. Vasanth and Abi had dropped Laya off with them for the fourth of July weekend and had driven up to Temecula Valley for their long overdue wedding anniversary getaway. She was a deadly combination of her parents, self-willed and mischievous.

“Your Tamil teacher has her work cut out for her,” Layla howls.

“Miss. Muga,” the four year old replies.

“Who?”

“Miss. Muga. She’s my Tamil teacher.”

“You're going to be a pain in Miss. Muga’s bum,” Layla breaks into giggles.

Her little body twists around, eyes widening in alarm, hands coming to cover her open mouth. “You said bum!” She sputters into laughter.

“Excuse me, ladies, where was my invite?” Harry asks, crouching down and sticking his head into the opening, making sure the flowers were concealed behind his back.

“Harry!” The girl screams in delight, crawling haphazardly towards him.

“Someone decided to wake up at the crack of dawn with a determination to build a fort and finish her Tamil homework in it,” Layla sighs.

Harry gives their guest a sympathetic smile. “You did promise her a blanket fort last night, baby. It’s a miracle that she slept this long, reckon she might be in Eastern time.”

“What do you have?” Laya asks, pointing at the tulip sprig that peeked out from the side.

“It’s a gift,” he tells her, shuffling into their cosy cocoon. “Can you cover Akka’s (older sister) eyes and close eyes?” He whispers loudly.

With a nod she clambers onto Layla’s back, using her hands to shield Layla’s view while she scrunches her eyes shut. A collective gasp echoes when he tells them to open their eyes, presenting them with his colourful selection of the day. Harry's body permeates with warmth from the radiant smiles coming from the two; the type of light that could rival the sun’s. The warmth makes him smile, feeling content at the sight in front of him, chuffed at the approval of his floral pick, and the singe of tranquillity from being inside the fort.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Layla asks, bringing the bouquet to her nose. “Mmm…Smells good too.”

“Mmmm,” Laya copies her cousin, burying her nose and nodding in agreement. “For me?” She looks up at Harry.

“For the two of you,” he replies, inching closer to them. He twists a purple bloom and tucks it behind Laya’s ear. “A sweet pea for my sweet pea.” He declares, chuckling at the way Laya cheeks tinge with pink and the way she blinks up at him with a shy smile.

“Manners, Laya. What do you say?” Layla prompts.

“Thank you,” she says in a singsong voice, reaching over Layla's head to kiss his cheek.

“You’re welcome, love.” He dramatically clears his throat before picking up a yellow tulip and swishes it around before tapping his girlfriend's nose with the bulb. “And a tulip for my tulip.”

“Thanks. Laya, do you want to help me arrange them in the vase? We can do that while Harry makes us pancakes, okay?”

The little girl nods, clambering off her sister and barrels in the direction of the kitchen, remembering the empty vase she’d seen on the kitchen counter. “I guess homework’s not a priority anymore,” Layla mumbles.

She sits up to follow her cousin before she wreaks havoc but Harry firmly holds her in place with a pointed look. “What?”

“Manners, Layla,” he echoes her statement from earlier.

“I thanked you.”

“Not properly.”

“Huh?”

“Guess you could learn a thing or two from Laya. No thank you is complete without a kiss.”

“Since when?” She smirks.

“Did you not get the memo from the blanket fort etiquette committee?” He teases with a toothy grin.

She rolls her eyes, rocking up on her knees to kiss his cheek. “Happy?”

“Very.” He sears his mouth on her, tongue languidly sweeping her bottom lip, teasing her with a promise of what’s to come. When they pull away, she’s breathless, looking up at him with her tired eyes. And he cannot resist pulling her back in for another, this time his fingers curl around the back of her head, pulling her closer than before. It’s hurried - teeth clanging, noses knocking, tongues caressing, breaths stuttering - never faltering in passion.

“Layla Akka!”

“I’ve been summoned," Layla murmurs against his swollen lips. “Thank you for this,” she picks up the bouquet from her lap and brings it close to her chest. “And all the others.” She presses a quick peck on his lips and they make their out the fort and towards the kitchen.

.....

MASTERPOST (if you wanna read more of Layla and Harry)

#six months #indian!oc #camboy!harry #fishnets-fingers #harry styles fics #harry styles fluff #blurb #blossoms big changes and blanket forts

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dragon-queen21 · 9 months ago

Note

Hey I don't know if requests are okay or not but I have a request,baby Aether and dada Diluc hcs, again I don't know if requests are open for not if not then so sorry

Regressor Aether + cg Diluc Headcanons

Request are most certainly open! (as long as the inbox buttons says “requests” feel free to send me some :D same goes for any thoughts or ideas that you have. I tend to answer those a bit quicker just as an fyi)

Onto to talking about my favorite characters!!!

~~~

~Aether who’s a first like “I don’t regress that small” and normally he doesn’t when he’s with his sister.

~Only he didn’t take in account how stressed he’s been since coming to tevyat and how nice it is to finally be looked after by someone.

~First time Diluc takes care of him: Instantly baby space

~Aether has so many stuffed animals all in an attempt to keep the regressor from carrying Paimon around like one

~If he’s not being carried Aether will simply follow around Diluc like a baby duckling. Something that was definitely pointed out to the two of them when they went out to the city

~Diluc absolutely puts his foot down to Aether taking on commissions when he’s regressed.

~I like to think that in Mondstadt it isn’t uncommon to have people regress in public and when out a couple of times people have come up asking a favor of Aether who is clearly regressed and Diluc just loses it a little. Because really, can’t people solves their own petty issues?

~Diluc trying to teach the little one boundaries and learning how to say no. Simple things like choosing what to have to eat or what activities he wants to do. Because Aether really will go along with anything, and while adorable as it is his caregiver is aware of just how much Aether says yes to on more serious matters that wear aware at his health.

~Aether comes back from Liuye with a makeup pallet the consequences of which lead to Diluc going to work with red eyeshadow and sparkly eyeliner because he promised the little one he wouldn’t take it off for the rest of the day (He totally drags Kaeya into being Aether’s next ‘victim’ when his brother kept teasing him)

~ Aether working himself up into a near panic attack once because he wants to ask Diluc to be his caregiver because sure he hangs around Diluc small but it’s not like the man is his ‘official’ caregiver or anything. He is so scared of rejection. Which he would understand why Diluc would say no, because obviously he's hardly ever in Mondstadt, and the few times he is doesn't mean that Diluc would want to deal with a mentally two year old, let alone see him at all, and he realizes he is a lot to handle and his regression isn't always pretty and...(insert Aether spiraling for the next however long)

~Diluc meanwhile who just, already assumed he was Aether's caregiver. Just kind of took upon the role without asking. Like, he watches over the boy whenever he's around, has a box filled with toys and custom made pacifiers. Does... does that not count or...?

#mayliz rambles #genshin impact agere #agere headcanons #fandom agere #age regression #sfw agere #age regression headcanons #genshin agere #age regressor #fictional caregiver #wow okay I didn’t realize how long this post was #i just love them a lot

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haileybeehappy · 2 years ago

Text

Handy Hardware

Summary : Working at your dads hardware store is a pretty boring job all around. Though you have your regulars who spice up your day to day. Especially your biggest customer, and small business owner Joel Miller.

Word count : 5.2k

Warnings : Older Joel. Rough sex. Unprotected p in v. Hair pulling. Fingering. Throat fucking. Degradation. Praise kink. Daddy issues. Teasing. Lots of teasing.

You’re pretty sure your shoes will leave an engraved mark from how long you stand behind the counter everyday. Fingers dancing with a pen as it unskillfully flips through your fingers, dropping onto the counter with a clang occasionally. You let out a sigh, there’s a clamber, followed by, “I’m okay,” and some more rustling. Your father in the back, ‘doing inventory.’

The pen in your hand fumbles to the ground on the opposite side of the counter and you huff out a breath and move to grab it. As you’re bent over you hear the buzzing of the electronic bell surge through the store. Your body snaps into a standing position and you turn quickly, realizing that the person entering the store probably got a good eyeful of your floral underwear peaking out from your dress.

“Welcome to Handy Hardware,” you squeak out before coming face to face with a very regular customer. “Oh hey Joel,” you smile widely at the man.

“Hey kid,” he smirks and makes him way down aisle three. A red blush rushes up your neck and spreads across your cheeks. Stepping back behind the counter you continue twisting the pen in your fingers. Joel pops in and out of the tall shelved aisles, boxes of screws and other odds and ends piling in his hands. Your eyes finding him wherever he is in the store through the small monitor on your right. He makes his final selections and makes his way in front of you dropping the multiple boxes onto the countertop.

“Will this be all Joel?” He shakes his head.

“I’m picking up a pallet from the back, some flooring your dad ordered for me,” he fishes a receipt from his pocket. Uncrumpling it and dropping it on top of his other purchases.

“Sounds like a plan,” You begin ringing up the small boxes of drywall screws and the array of nails. Your father pops out from the back room.

“I thought I heard my favorite customer!” His voice filling the space quickly. Joel smiles widely at him, reaching out and shaking his hand.

“Always good to see you,” he speaks your fathers name and looks back to you.

“Kid here is just ringing me up and I was gonna swing around and get that flooring,” you father nods. You roll your eyes at the nickname, earning a nudge from your father before he moves on to speak.

“It’s all ready for you on the lift, we can pop it into your truck, you drop Joel’s things into a large paper bag and hand it to him across the counter. The receipt slowly ticketing out of the machine, ripping it off you hand it to Joel. His hands much larger than your own bumping yours.

“Thanks kid,” Joel’s dark eyes squinted in a smile.

“Anytime Old man,” You smile even wider than him. Your dad lets out a gasp like noise. Then scolds you with your full name.

“No, no it’s alright,” Joel speaks to your dad. “It’s our little joke,” he shoots you a wink. They fall into simple conversation and make their way out the door, swinging back to the garage. Joel shoots you a wave before he’s out of view.

…

You’re alone in the store, your father in the much bigger town two hours over picking up a large load of supplies to restock the dwindling shelves. You’re organizing the shelves, making sure everything is neat and easy to find. The bell half chimes before dying out, what it’s been doing all morning.

“Welcome to Handy Hardware, give me a holler if you need anything,” you tell from your seated position on the floor. Joel’s voice echos through the aisles, your name falling gruffly from his lips.

“You guys got anymore of those specialty runs for me?” You stand and brush the imaginary dust off your jeans.

“We may have a few cases in the warehouse I’ll check the computer,” you round the corner and come chest to chest with him. “Ouf,” is the noise that’s pushed out of your lungs as you collide. His hands wrapping, pretty much completely, around your biceps to stabilize you.

“Woah there kiddo,” he chuckles, he’s standing close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your face. He smells like coffee, leather, and wood shavings. His grip releases from you and he steps back. “You okay?” You nod with a tight lipped smile. Quickly maneuvering around him, your feet carry you quickly to the counter. Turning your back to Joel, and the door you begin typing into the ancient box. The green letters ticking across the black background. You can hear Joel humming as he browses through the aisles. A clatter of a shaken box of screws or the clank of tools falling against each other, the accompanying noises of his song. The computer buzzes as it searches for the numbers in the system. The room around you buzzed with silence, you turn to look at the monitor and jump as you come face to face with Joel. His hips resting on the counter, legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over one another.

“It’s searching,” you say quietly under his stare. He nods, his eyes not moving from your frame. No emotion shown as his face, you slowly turn back around and watch the three green dots pulse on the screen. His shuffling feet urge you to look and see what he’s doing but before you gain the courage his arms fall on either side of you. His front pressed to you back as he looks at the dusty screen over your shoulder.

“I think you guys need a system update, could have made it to the warehouse and back by now,” his hushed tone sending shivers down your spine. You don’t move to look at him, eyes finding the reflection of his face in the pixels of the screen.

“Dad likes this one,” you shrug. Your shoulder bumping his chin. He leans into the touch and finds himself at home, chin resting in the crook of your neck. “As old as it is,” you lift one hand and smack the side of the monitor slightly. The green letters on the screen disappear, earning a chuckle from Joel before it springs back to life. The numbers on the screen, followed by a long green line and in a small box a three lays blinking at you.

“Three boxes, you’re in luck,” you smile. Your breath caught in your throat as he sits unmoving.

“Your dad still over in town?” You nod lightly. His hair ticking the side of your face. He nuzzles deeper into your neck. Breathing in deeply. “Mm,” he sighs. “Gonna walk me back to the warehouse?” His hands lifting from the desk, his finger sliding through your jeans belt loop and spinning you around to face him. You let out s childlike squeal, hands coming up to grip the lapels of his flannel.

“I can’t leave the store unattended,” your voice comes out breathy.

“Doors have locks for a reason,” His hands spread over the expanse of your hips. “Just have to run back for a minute. Shouldn’t take too long. You nod slowly.

“I’m due for my lunch break anyways,” he smiles softly. One hand coming up to your chin. Guiding your face to look at him.

“There’s my good girl,” you close your eyes and pull your face from his grasp. Stepping out of his grip and swiping the keys from the counter. Taking in a deep breath to soothe your heart, that you’re sure is beating out of your chest.

“Come on old man,” trying to cover the tension with a joke fails. As you go to pull the door open his hand comes over yours and closes it.

“Kid,” you can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t make me show you what this old man can do,” you turn to look at him.

“Hopefully it’s carrying three huge boxes of specialty trim for some rich guys house. Lord knows I’m not carrying them,” yanking the door open his arm drops. He lets out a chuckle as you prance away, making sure to swing your hips with a little more sass than usual.

“Brat,” he huffs under his breath, smile still rested on his lips. You toss the keys at his as he pulls the door shut behind him. He catches them easily and locks up as you continue to walk around the building to the back warehouse. More so a garage with lots of shelving and a big work bench. You walk backwards as he stalks behind you. Footsteps heavy, eyes tracking your every move. Your back hits the large barn like door with a thud, the medal siding sending an echo through the large space behind you. Like a tape measure being pulled back into its casing. His steps capturing you in, just like at the counter before. His chest a short arm length from yours. His hand comes up between your faces in a fist, fingers opening revealing the keys dangling from his fingers. You hand lifts from your side, electricity vibrating through your fingers as you make a split second decision. Your hand, starting just above his waist band, glides up his abdomen. Palm flattened against his t shirt, slowly up his chest twisting and grasping the keys you turn to the lock. Pressing your back against his front, he lets out a low hum of a groan. Once the old lock is set free, you pull at the door, it doesn’t budge. You pull again, nothing. He pushes harder into your back and his hands rest on your shoulder. Gently drifting down your arms till his hands rear over yours. Finger’s encapsulating yours and he pulls roughly on the door, causing the metal handle to dig into your skin harshly. You let out a hiss at the feeling, the door pops open and his hand keeps a hold on yours as he pulls the both of you through. As you enter the large garage the motion sensor lights flick on, Joel closes the door behind you. His hand turns yours over I’m his palm, one faint red line. Already fading away, lifting your hand to his lips he places a soft kiss on your skin. You hum appreciatively, his hand guides yours after the kiss. Palm resting on the scruff of his cheek. Thumb moving gently over the sparse spot on his jaw. His opposite hand, wrapping around your hips and pulling you to him. Your front pressed snugly against his, hand still resting on his face.

“M’sorry, wasn’t thinking,” he hums. You just shake your head.

“Doesn’t even hurt,” your voice no more than a whisper. Your bodies entangled for so long, and so still, that the lights shut off. A small squeak reaches out from your throat. He chuckles and releases your waist with a wave. Hand in the air waving back and forth in the air above the two of you. Once the lights snap on you chuckle at the absurdity of Joel waving his arm around like a mad man. Your hand now dropped to his shoulder and both his hands drop down to find your waist.

“Let’s find those boxes, yeah?” You nod at his question. Clasping your hand in his he pulls you all around the garage to scan every shelf. A smile bursting on your face as you watch your intertwined hands. Joel had always been flirty when your father wasn’t around but this was a whole new man. It used to be stolen touches as you would reach across the counter to hand him his bag, or he’d tease you and call you kid. Tell you to ‘watch it, or see what happens,” so this Joel. Who kisses your hands, wraps his arms around you, holds you close. Is very different man, not that you’re complaining. You come to a stop and bump into Joel’s back as his feet cease movement.

He turns to you.

“You just can’t watch what you’re doin huh? Walkin into me all the time,” he jokes, a smirk rested on his lips.

“Sorry Joel,” you say meekly. He just shakes his head, smirk still rested on his lips.

“No old man huh?” You just shake your head. He then points to a few large, long boxes. Three shelves above your head. You let out a strangled sigh.

“I can’t use the lift, dad won’t let me. Says it’s dangerous,” the last work having a mocking undertone.

“I use it all the time,” Joel shrugs. Walking to the large garage door where he small forklift sleeps. Dad named her Betsy, the name is scrawled along the side of the old rusted machine. Joel pops himself in the seat and motions you to come over. “Come on beautiful, I don’t bite,” eying him cautiously you approach the side he reaches his hand out and you accept cautiously. You pulls you up onto the machine and into his lap. The small open ‘cabin’ of the vehicle barely big enough to hold both of your bodies. Your head brushing against the roof, his slides the key ring from your belt loop and inserts it into the ignition. His hands guide yours over the steering wheel, his over yours as he uses you like a puppet. Turning switches and pulling knobs, getting the ancient machine to work.

“Nice and easy,” he says under his breath as he releases the break and slowly applies gas. You let out little giggles as you maneuver the compact lift out of its spot. He then, hands still over yours. Speeds across the largest section of empty floor, a surprised squeal, turned belly laugh escapes you.

“Joel!” You yelp as he turns quickly around a corner causing the machine to whine, metal creaking and scraping. He low chuckle vibrates through his chest, one hand lifting off yours on the steering wheel and wrapping around your waist. Pulling you snug onto his lap, onto a very dense bulge. Your center sitting on top of a very hard Joel. You try to ignore the feeling burning a hole through your stomach. His hands leave yours on their own, wrapping one arm completely around your waist and the other finding rest on your thigh. You have full control of the steering around the garage while his foot stays even pressured on the gas. Small giggles erupting from you as you take the sharp turns. As you move to readjust yourself on his lap the seam of his zipper runs along your clothed cunt. You let out a small whine, rewarded with a flex of his hips. A grunt from the man your sat atop causing you to freeze.

“You’re killin me baby,” he groans again. Pulling you back down onto him. His hard cock pushing against the teeth of his zipper as he grinds up into you. “Gotta stop movin,” hold on your hips tight as he slows to a stop in front of the shelf you need to grab the boxes from.

“Sorry,” you whine. His hands find their way back on top of yours. Helping you to adjust the prongs to lift the boxes from the shelf. A smile fighting its way onto your face as his warm, calloused hands cover yours. Hand moving back and forth between the shift and buttons. Finally the boxes are on the floor and Joel finds the key in the ignition and pulls the power from the vehicle.

“Did such a good job for me baby,” he purrs in your ear. Nose ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Such a good girl for me,” you whine at the praise. “You like that huh?” You nod. “Like being my good girl,” you drop your head on his shoulders. His hands gently rubbing at your hips, slipping under your shirt. Fingers massaging gently into your skin. You feel sparks fleck across your skin at his touch. The feeling shooting to your core, your hips begin to move on their own accord. Gyrating against the hardening bulge under you.

“Wanna feel good huh baby,” his hands gripping your hips hard and guiding you up and down his covered self. “I wanna help you feel good yeah?” You nod. “Need your words baby,”

“Please touch me Joel, I’ll be good, please,” words tumbling out of your mouth at lightning speed. His chuckle causing your core to clench around nothing. You whine, his hands unmoving. “Please,” you pout, stomping your foot lightly with impatience. Hand squeezing tightly on your hip.

“Don’t get bratty on my now baby, I’m getting there,” you groan. Grinding down on him harder, moaning out. “Okay baby, okay,” his hand reaches up into your shirt and palms lightly at your breast. “I gotcha,” other hand drifting to find the button of your jeans. You nod fervently.

“Please touch me,” your head still resting on his shoulder. He pops open the button and his hand dives down your pants. Fingers tracing over the fabric of your underwear, tracing the seams that don’t quite cover the flowering lips of your labia.

“Already wet for me huh?” His longest middle finger dipping over your entrance. “Such a good little slut, ready for me already. Haven’t even touched you yet,” the animalistic growl in his voice unlike any noise you’ve heard him make before.

“Yes Joel, just for you, all for you,” applying a bit more pressure against your hole, the barrier of your lacy underwear.

“Fuckin better be,” he then skims past your underwear and runs his calloused finger along your seam. Not quite hard enough to enter you. Your hips move to accept his touch, causing his finger to graze your clit.

“Only for you, only yours,” his finger sliding ever so slightly inside of you before pulling out.

“This is all mine,” a growl catches in his throat. Dipping a finger further into you before pulling out and using it to run lightly over your clit.

“Joel,” you whine lifting your hips again. His hand rips from under your shirt, laying a slap on the inside of your thigh.

“Don’t make me take you over my knee kid,” you gasp at the tingling sensation left in his handprints wake. “Be a good girl,” his hand continues to move in your underwear. Tracing the same path back and forth. Dipping further into your core each time. Your hips jerking slightly at the movements. His erection digging into your ass painfully.

“I’m being so good,” you cried. Wanting more. “Joel please I need you, just wanna feel full,” your hair tousled over your face. You can feel him nod against the side of your head. His forehead pressed to the temple of yours.

“Wanna feel full baby?” Lips drifting across your cheek, barely there. “Want Daddy to stuff your greedy little cunt with his big cock huh?” You nod desperately.

“Please, please, wanna feel you so bad,” the second the first syllable leaves your mouth two fingers find your drenched hole and push in knuckle deep. The moan leaving your lips loud, loud enough to drown out the sound of the buzzing lights and humming generator. “Oh fuck Daddy,” a predatory growl following your moans.

“Again,” his fingers curling up into you, searching for the spongy spot he knows will make you cry out.

“Daddy, f, fuck,” you stutter out. “Feel so full,” he’s rutting up into the crease of your ass and thigh now. His breath uneven. His fingers finally find the soft ribbed walls, and begins circling it slowly. Digging into the spongy wetness, the mewls and whines escaping your lips growing louder and louder with each stroke. Digging his second hand into your jeans, pushing them down slightly. His fingers clumsily find your clit, your head thrown back at the pressure.

“Daddy, daddy,” the word flowing out of your mouth over and over.

“Come on baby, come for me princess,” your vision blurs as a wave crashes over you. Legs twitching and closing around his hands. Your fingers healing at his forearms till your knuckles are white. Jumbles of words and curses fall from your lips, incoherent at best. Body buzzing as you come down from your high. His fingers still sheathed inside you, sliding in and out against your walls. Prolonging your intense orgasm. Using his arms as leverage you lift yourself from his touch.

“Too much,” you whine. You can feel his smile against your skin as you continue to try to pull away.

“You did such a good job for me baby,” the need in his voice not unnoticed by you.

“Thank you Daddy,” you hum. “Wanted you for so long,” you lean back into his touch. His hands escape the confines of your jeans, you watch as he lifts his fingers to his mouth. Slowly licking them clean. His eyes on you, as you watch him clean your taste from his fingers. Your mouth waters at the thought. As his now, relatively, clean fingers are unlatched from his lips your eyes look to his. “You taste better than I ever could have imagined honey,” you smile at the pet name. “Wanna taste baby?” You nod, slightly unsure. Never having tasted yourself before. His hand then quickly wraps itself around the back of your head. He pulls your face to his, lips smashing against yours with a moan. His tongue invading your mouth instantly, you taste yourself on his tongue. Salty and a little sweet, slowly untangling your limbs. Still connected at the mouth you turn yourself in his lap so you’re straddling him. Your hands tangling in his curls while he moves to unclasp your bra. Fingers fumbling as you begin to grind your core onto his pulsing dick. He snaps the bra against your back. Arching from the sting you drop your weight onto him, he lets out a groan. Hands drop to his shoulders you go to lift yourself from his lap. He shakes his head and pulls you back down onto him with the base of your bra.

“Goddamn it,” he groans. Burring his nose into the base of your neck. Lips finding exposed skin and placing peppered kisses across the expanse of your neck. “Can’t wait to feel you,” he mumbles against your skin. You drop your head back, his fingers find their way back to the clasp and undoes the hooks one by one. Once the garment is released from your body. You lean back from him and pull the bra, and your shirt off your torso. Once your vision is cleared of the dark shirt you look to his face. Joel’s eyes are devouring your chest hungrily. Hand coming up to your right breast, slowly grasping at your skin. Hands dwarfing your breast in his hold. Thumb coming up to brush against your peaked nub, a breathy moan escaping you as he makes contact.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful,” his right hand pushing you closer to him, capturing your nipple in his mouth.

“Oh, Daddy please,” you whimper. His hair reaching up to pull at your roots as he sucks and nibbles at your sensitive skin. He releases you with a pop before moving to the neglected breast. Your hands digging into his shoulders. Flannel protecting him against your nails. “Daddy, I wanna feel you,” you continue grinding your core on his cock. He releases you quickly but only one enough to speak out to you.

“You can do better than that for me baby. Come on. Beg for Daddy’s cock,” the whine leaving your lips childlike as the words escape him.

“Ugh!” You groan. Dropping your forehead to rest against his. “Daddy please, wantchotofillmesogood,” the words blending together into a mesh of syllables. “Wanna feel your,” you let out a gasped moan as he lays a seat on your ass. “Wanna fee your big cock stretch me out Daddy please,” he chuckles deeply.

“Okay baby, I’ll stuff that needy little cunt.” A sigh of relief escapes you.

“Thank you Daddy,” you lift your hands from his shoulders and bring a kiss to his lips. Hands rubbing against the scruff of his jaw. Tongue delving into his mouth. He grabs your hips and begins sliding you off his lap. Your feet find the floor once again, stepping off the machinery and onto the concrete ground. You pull back from him and he clambers out behind you. Pulling you to kiss him by the back of your neck, your hands resting at the waistband of his pants. Fidgeting with his belt buckle. Occasionally dropping down to palm his bulge. His hips gently thrusting at the sensation. Hands tangled in your hair, bruising kisses mushing against one another’s faces. Your hand dips into his belt and untangle him from the confines. Quickly dropping to your knees out of his grasp, fly open, belt flapping. You look at him with hooded eyes. His own tracing over your form. Mouth agape, breath heavy, he looks straight out of a porno. You smile at him before yanking on his pants. Pulling them down his thighs, his hands come over yours.

“Slow down baby, I’m not goin anywhere,”

“Yes Sir,” you submit. Slowly pulling him out of his boxers. You can’t completely wrap your hand around his cock. Shakey breaths fall onto you lean forward to kiss him. Lips connecting with the head of his dick releases a groan deep within his chest. Hands gripping your hair tightly, tingles shooting down your spine you hum with appreciation. Mouth taking the head of his dick, lips wrapping around him and tongue rubbing back and forth in him.

“Fuck, you feel good baby,” fingers wrapping around his base and squeezing lightly. “Holy shhhh.” His words fading out to a hiss. Bobbing down slowly. Taking him bit by bit, teasing him the same way he teased you. An irritated gurgle leaves his throat gripping the sides of your head and pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. He lets out a satisfied sigh in the same stretch you moan around him. Pinching your eyes tightly, hand coming to rest on his thighs. His cock glides in and out of your mouth slowly, testing the waters on how far you could take him back. The grunts and muttered praises falling from his lips encouraging you to take more. You push down to him and take him as far back as you can. The tip of his cock fitting snugly inside your throat.

“Holy fucking shit, baby you’re perfect,” slow thrusts pulling in and out of your throat until you gag and he pulls back. You shake your head and chase his cock. “No baby, it’s okay, wanna feel that pussy now, yeah?” You nod with an excited smile. “Comere,” he pulls you up into a quick kiss before spinning you around and bending you over the seat of the forklift. A surprised moose leaving your throat. He quickly tips your pants down, settling them at your knees. As he finds his spot behind you you speak to him mockingly.

“Slow down baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he responds with a smack on your ass. You flinch back before pushing back into him. “Harder, please,” he chuckles laying another spank on you.

“Naughty girl,” you share your head.

“I’ve been good,”

“Have you?” You nod your head vigorously. He tuts his tongue. “I don’t think showing of your pretty flower panties to customers is being good,” your body stills and you gasp. “Yeah I saw your little show baby,” he’s spreads your cheeks apart. Tip brushing against you clit clumsily. “Was that just for me or do you show your pink little panties to all the boys huh,” your mouth hangs agape as you shake your head.

“It just,” you whine as he barely dips his head into your entrance. Pulling back and running back over your clit. “It just happened, just you, just the once, I promise,” your voice breaking through raged breaths. His tip teasing you back and forth.

“Just for me?”

“Yes Daddy, just for you,”

“Mmm, good,” he hums. Snapping his hips to yours in one swift motion. Stuffing you completely, your pussy squelching at the intrusion. You yelp out at the sudden fullness.

“Oh fuck, so fuckin tight,” his hands digging into the small of your back. Supporting his weight on you as he pulls out slowly and pushes back in even slower. “Pussy was made for me huh?” Hands pinching at your skin.

“Yes Daddy, made for your cock,” head twisting back to see him. Hair dangling over his forehead.

“Good fuckin girl,” looking up to make eye contact with you. “So tight,” he thrusts “so wet,” again, “so warm,” harder. You whine out at the praises.

“Thank you Daddy,” his hand finds you hair. The other resting on your ass. “Thank you,” you whine. “For making me feel good,” he pulls harder at your roots. “For letting me taste you,” you get lost in a bought of whimpers as the head of his cock rubs against your g-spot.

“Come on baby, can feel you squeezing me,” his grip on your hips tightening. “Come with me, come around my cock,” his thrust becoming quicker and sloppy. You sigh in relief and release around him. Elbows dropping down to the seat, his hands finding your waist and holding you through your orgasm. His hips stilling not long after your legs begin to tremble. Mutters of curses leaving his lips as he pulses inside you. Bring yourself to rest on the seat, your face pressed against the cool cracked leather. His chest presses against your back, placing chaste kisses along your shoulders.

“Did so good,” his voice grumbly, tired. You sigh appreciatively.

“Thank you Daddy,”

“It’s okay baby,” his hands running down your thigh. “Just call me Joel,” you nod.

“Okay Joel,” the two of you take a few moments to bask in your afterglow, him proceeding to place kisses along any skin he can reach. Then proceeding to untangle from one another and redress. You can’t seem to find your small lace panties and he has a mysterious bulge in his pocket and a smirk on his face. You just pull him to a kiss. He parks the forklift back it’s its spot and finds a hand trolley to push the boxes to his truck. You watch as he lifts the triangular boxes into his truck. Muscles flexing, visible even when trapped in his flannel.

“Thank you for all your help kid,” He smirks at you. You respond with an eye roll, he looks up at the front of the store. Eyes scanning and trim. He pulls toy to him, chin pinched in his fingers. “Thought I fucked the attitude out of you, you need to go again already?” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” you smirk up at him. He lets out a sigh and fishes his hand into his pocket. Pulling out a small paper and slipping it into your hands.

“Text me, I’ll send you my address,” you nod shyly. “See you soon princess,” he places a firm kiss to your lips. Pulling back with a wide smile.

“See you soon Daddy,” he shoots you a joking glare and hips into the cab of his truck. He throws you a wave, you stand watching his truck drive till he turns out of sight. You groan and turn back to unlock the door and open up the shop again. Dull ache on your cervix as you walk. Sending a small smile to your lips.

#Joel miller #Joel miller smut #Joel miller dom #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller fanfic #Joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller imagine #Joel miller the last of us #the last of us #the last of us hbu

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luna-andra · 1 year ago

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The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 8: Compromise

Summary: Andra wants answers, and Ghost has to choose

Word Count: 6.5k

If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!

Content: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence

The clouds on the way home were overcast across the afternoon sky. Johnny left Andra with several things to think over, bringing her back to a familiar train of thought from five years ago.

He gave her the same look that stirred shame in her belly. She didn’t like being on a different level of rationality – or lack thereof – with the people once close to her.

It was declared by the officer that showed up there was no indication of foul play. The possibility of an incompetent and inconvenienced officer being sent to her call was in the forefront of her mind, and also the possibility of any traces of someone’s presence could have been washed away from the thunderstorm by the time they came out to investigate. The whole process of filing the report gave her no peace of mind, but she took the advice of setting up surveillance seriously.

A precautionary that she should have done ages ago.

The quiet, quaint life out on the farm had soothed her troubled worries all of these years, making her forget for a moment what it was like to live looking over her shoulder every moment. She wasn’t naïve, no, she knew how to take care of herself when the seldom case of harassment arose. Andra should have never gotten so comfortable the way she did.

Her foot pressed down heavily on the brake pedal as she waited at a stop light to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. She was just a few more turns from home, she reminded herself. The caffeine she had ingested all throughout the morning was threatening a big crash.

Andra drove slowly down Middleton Lane as she spotted the first right turn to the private dirt road of Ghost’s property. Then her truck came to a full stop. You know what-

Her hand turned the wheel right as her tires skid around the corner.

Andra didn’t know what she was doing, or what she would exactly say to him, but she needed to know what was going through his head.

Andra parked behind his truck and turned the key out of the ignition. She paused for a few seconds to take a breath and gather at least the first sentence that would come out of her mouth.

Her phone vibrated.

I’m in the garage.

Of course Ghost knew Andra had arrived, another sign that she definitely needed to do the same thing to her property. Cameras and motion sensors.

She shut the door behind her as she made her way to the garage off to the right of his house. One of the metal double doors was left cracked open, and she could hear the metal clink of a tool being put down.

The garage was Ghost’s own personal auto shop, with an incomplete classic-looking car taking up majority of the left. The wall was lined with tool boxes, yard tools, and almost a pallet’s worth of army green ammo cans. To the right, a rudimentary gym setup took up another portion of space, with a bench press, a high pull-up bar, seemingly crafted and welded together amateurly, and a rack of assorting dumbbells and plates to complete it all.

Ghost was hunched over the open hood of the car, one hand on the lip of the hood as he kept his attention on whatever he had been working on before Andra’s unannounced arrival.

“Is this your way of letting me know that you’re pushing me away again?” Andra sharply said to the backside of Ghost.

Ghost tossed a tool onto the toolbox on his left side and retrieved a rag, wiping grease from his stained hands. His muscles tensed in his back as he turned to Andra’s direction. “Today has been a really tense day. I wanted to give you some space to come down from last night.”

Andra clenched her jaw. “I don’t need space, I need answers. I feel like I’ve been kept in the dark about something I have no control over.”

“That’s because you don’t.”

She could feel her blood simmering already. Not how she wanted this to go. “I don’t because you never gave me the choice to take control.” Andra couldn’t recognize the person she was talking to. His stare was cold and dark. If his goal was to anger her into cutting her losses with him, it wasn’t going to work. “You didn’t tell me anything because we lost touch the first time, fine, I get it. But you went ahead and told Johnny? That’s what I can’t get passed.”

Ghost trudged out of the garage with Andra following behind him. “He and I had an eye on things. We had it under our thumbs.”

Andra tossed her hands up. “Had what exactly?” Her voice echoed all around them. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He turned back to her, stopping her in her tracks before bumping right into him. Ghost peered down to her, his eyes burning the same heat. “What do you want from me? You want me to take back what I did?”

Her fists clenched hard enough for her nails to dig into her palm. “No, I just want you to stop being such a hard ass and talk to me.” Her carotid artery strained against the muscles in her neck. “Tell me what you think is going on and we’ll deal with it together.”

He flinched as if her hand flew across his face.

“You keep acting like you’re looking for an excuse to push me away, for an excuse to leave.” Andra’s chest rose and fell with a heavy rhythm. “You act as if one morning I’ll wake up and you won’t be here, and you’ll just be a memory for me.”

His eyes squeezed shut as his own breath left him.

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Leaving without another word, taking your shadows with you.” There was a shiver in her voice.

“I have.” Ghost finally answered. “I could leave in a moment’s notice. I’ve done it before.”

Andra didn’t doubt him. She had done it herself, she knew how easy it was to pack a couple of bags and leave. “What’s stopping you this time?”

Ghost opened his eyes to meet hers.

She scoffed and turned away from his silent response. The wind picked up and wisps of her hair flew around her face. She had to squint her eyes at the unbearable overcast sunlight. “I was able to forgive you for cutting me off the first time. I shook it off because there was no expectation for you to keep in contact after fixing my truck. Then you came back, and I thought you wanted me in your life, and maybe we even had something. Cool. Great, even.

“But when you brought up the transpiring events, the person driving up our street and telling me there have been people on my property?” She shook her head. “You think you’re handling this on your own but you’re not. I won’t let you. Either you let me know what’s going on, or you’ve lost my trust.”

His eyes were unreadable when she saw him once more.

Andra reached into her pocket and flipped her keys into her palm, the key ring sitting on her index finger as she clenched them tight. “I’ll see you around, Ghost. If you figure out what you want to do, you know where to find me.”

The screen door smacked the side of the house harder than it should. Andra wasn’t paying attention. Her face still felt hot with anger. Sammy darted outside for her chance to do what she does, leaving her alone in the house.

The air felt thick, charged with energy that wasn’t there when she woke up the morning before. Or maybe it was her mind messing with her. Either way, her house felt compromised.

The tears collected in her eyes out of nowhere, and she quickly wiped them away. This is stupid. She felt ridiculous for letting it get to her. For letting a shattered window re-surface the fear that drove her away to another country.

This was all going to blow over. The tracks in the woods were a random coincidence, the car meant nothing. And the rock flying into her window was just a freakish feat of nature. She’s witnessed some heavy storms in the countryside in her years of living here. It wouldn’t be the first time something has sustained damage on her property, and it was bound to happen again.

“Be kind to yourself.” Andra whispered to herself as she kicked her shoes off, remembering what she was taught in therapy and from self-help reading. However, being kind to herself was proving difficult with the lingering anger from talking to Ghost.

The nerve of him.

But also, the nerve of her. She felt the weight of her corrosive past. An affliction, threatening to dismantle the life she had built. It had to be irrational, she was no one. She wasn’t worth being tracked down, right? That’s the rhetoric she kept force feeding herself. They had succeeded in getting rid of her, she made sure of it. At this point, if anyone wanted to pursue in finishing the job, she would end up burning a hole in their dirty wallets.

And if Ghost was going to play the need-to-know card, two can play that game.

She stopped in her tracks as she walked into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the black trash bag covering her window. It crinkled and swayed inward and outward with the passing wind. The ever-growing chasm in her chest was making itself comfortable, and she couldn’t stand it.

-----

Ghost knew Johnny would stop calling after the second time he reached his voicemail. The third call in a row told him that he better answer the phone. His heavy hand reached out to the nightstand for his phone, swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed it against his ear, eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”

“You broken, Simon?”

Price’s gravelly voice came through the speaker on his phone, and it was like a splash of cold water on him. It was a question he was familiar with Price asking, except he’s no longer checking for missing limbs or hemorrhaging blood loss. Ghost sat up on the edge of his mattress and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “M’solid.”

“When’s the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?” Price asked.

Ghost took a quick glance at the time on his phone before returning the receiver to his ear. “I was getting’ rest before you woke me up.” He was only asleep for two hours, and his pounding head reminded him that it had been a restless 72 hours.

Price doesn’t reach out very often. The captain – along with the other lads – will dedicate an amount of time out of the year to catch up with the former task force in person. It was an annual event of spending the holidays doing anything but celebrating Christmas and New Years. When he hears from Price before November, it’s because he’s been tipped off on Ghost’s concerning behavior.

“Soap tells me you’re acting barmy, you think you’re being followed, son?”

There it was.

Ghost didn’t respond for a few beats, his feet felt like lead against the cold wooden floor. “A couple of events transpired, would put you on edge, too.”

He could hear a deep sigh come from the other end of the line, and it had Ghost clench his jaw. “Get yourself to an appointment or a meeting, or I’ll bring the meeting to you.”

Price’s demand sent a wave of guilt and shame through Ghost. The memories of being pulled up off the living room floor and thrown into his tub flashed behind his heavy eyelids. Price, Johnny and Gaz showed up. Ghost reeked of alcohol and piss. They had him hauling bags of sand back and forth from his backyard to the range on his property for several hours, making him sweat and puke the remains of alcohol in his system.

“I’m still sober.” Ghost gritted his teeth. He made Ghost sound like an addict.

Price clipped his words, “See your doctor, and get out of bed for a sweat.”

Ghost opened his eyes to the void of his darkened room and sighed. “I’ll set up an appointment today.”

“Good lad.” Beep-beep-beep went the line as Price disconnected the call.

Sleep had eluded Ghost once more. He sat there at the edge of his bed and rolled his neck, failing to relax the knotted muscles at the base of his neck. His eyes burned, and his headache pressed down on every surface of his skull. He felt an irritation for Price waking him up, but rationality told him it wasn’t his fault.

Since sleep was out of the question, Ghost stood up and peered out the bedroom window. The sun wasn’t due to come up for another couple of hours, but he insisted to listen to Price’s advice. Get a workout in, then when the office opened, call doc to get that appointment.

His feet were heavy as he shuffled to the bathroom. Ghost always looked down to the basin of the sink before turning on the lights, avoiding the reflection staring back at him. He watched as his hands gripped the edge of the counter. Scars littered his knuckles, the skin over bone splitting open too many times for him to count.

It was when he was sick of looking at the reminders of his violence when he slipped and the person he hated stared back with cold, dead eyes.

You’ve tried killing me so many times, but fail every single time. You need me. You need the mask. You need it to hide so there’s never a chance to hurt again. You don’t deserve her. You try and pretend to be someone worthy of a teaspoon of affection, but you’re not what she needs. You’re filthy. You’re-

The glass shattered against his fist as he struck as quick as an asp. He hissed between clenched teeth, cursing as the reached for a towel and covered his bleeding knuckles.

If one thing was for certain, his reflection was right.

He didn’t deserve her.

-----

Andra flipped closed the back end of the book and placed it on her blanket covered lap to rub her tired eyes. Every night she would read The Operators when it was evident she wouldn’t be getting peaceful rest, or when something had her jolting awake. She had no clue how many hours she had slept in the past couple of days; definitely not enough to keep her from loading up on caffeine and making her debate breaking her years of being nicotine-free.

She could hear the roosting of her birds out in the coop. Andra leaned her head back against the headboard and sighed. There wouldn’t be time to try and fall asleep. Her day had to start.

After the morning chores, Andra headed inside for another cup of coffee. She stared out of her newly replaced window, out into the distance. It was hard not to; it was as if something – or someone – was going to come storming out from the brush and trees. All remained quiescent in those groves, as logic would have it.

The rattling sound of her plastic phone case vibrating against the countertop broke her focus. She swiped her finger across the screen and pressed the speaker button. “What’s up, Johnny?”

“I need to ask a favor.”

His voice was hushed and the words were muddled like he had the phone pressed against his mouth, and she could hear the workings of the auto shop in the background.

“I need you to go check on Ghost for me, he called out of work this morning.”

Andra felt her chest and throat tighten all at the same time. Johnny wasn’t aware of the fallout between her and Ghost from the sound of it. Or if he did, he must be extremely concerned for Ghost’s silence. I figured he would be used to it by now… she thought bitterly. “You need me to go immediately?”

“Take yer time, a mate of ours reached him this mornin’. Just pop over there when you get a chance. Gotta go, text me.”

The line went dead before Andra could say bye. She released a heavy sigh after taking her first sip, her fingers tapped against the countertop as apprehension churned in her gut.

Maybe Ghost took their last conversation as motivation for him to actually leave.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes, and she rubbed them away with her thumb and index finger, pushing her fingers together to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want their relationship – friendship – whatever they had, to end on that note. Fuck, I messed up.

She took a deep breath to regain composure. You don’t know if he’s gone. Andra decided she would go by after her run to the post office to pick up her package. With a quick rinse of her empty coffee mug, she headed to the front door to collect her keys and purse.

The sound of gravel crunching and a vehicle engine made her pause in her tracks. Her heart raced, she could feel her adrenaline dump. Her shaky hand moved aside the curtain to look out the window beside the door, and the sight of Ghost’s truck had her releasing a heavy breath.

It took everything in her not to throw the door open and run to him. She took another grounding breath and unlocked the door, opening it to Ghost preparing to knock.

Andra swore her heart was going to burst. The look in his eyes mirrored the same surprise she displayed. The discernible presence of a bandage wrapped around Ghost’s hand caught her attention in the corner of her eye.

He noticed where her eyes fell to, and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket. “You got a minute to speak?”

His voice sounded like sandpaper. He looked just as sleep deprived as she felt. Andra couldn’t say anything, so she just nodded. She closed the door behind her and opted to sit on the wooden bench, leaving a space for Ghost to sit beside her. He never did, instead he decided to lean against the railing, his ankle crossed over the other.

Seconds passed before anything was said. “I’m not good with words, you’ll have to bear with me.”

Andra folded her legs beneath her and clasped her hands together. Her eyes remained on him as she waited to hear him out.

His head tilted down. “I gave a lot of thought to what you said, about losing your trust.” He rolled his neck, rolling the nerves and giving him a chance to think. “And I realized, taking a bullet is far less painful than that.”

Andra could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat underneath the fabric of his mask as he tilted his head back with closed eyes. She felt her throat tightening, and had to swallow to relieve the ache.

“So, I’ve come to terms with if I want to mend what I had with you, I’m going to have to find a way to tell you what you need to know.” Ghost’s eyes found hers, searching for a response.

She gave him a subtle nod, letting the words sink in. “How are you going to do that?”

Ghost uncrossed his ankles and took the two steps to sit beside her. It was a struggling few seconds for him to begin speaking. “Did you ever pick that book back up?”

Andra was confused by the approach he was taking, but went with it. “Yeah, I finished it actually.”

"Did the author talk about some of his assignments?" Ghost asked patiently.

She recalled what the author was able to talk about and reveal. "Not specifics, but he went in detail with Selection, and then the training thereafter and some events that happened in the 80s in Northern Ireland."

He nodded as he listened. "What did the training entail?"

"Physical training, a lot of sleep deprivation, weapons and vehicle tactics, photography, interrogation..." Andra's words drifted as she continued her recollection. She wouldn't say this out loud, but it was a dry read.

Ghost cut in at the mention of the last topic. "Interrogation, okay." His shoulders rose and fell as he let out a deep breath, and his hands flexed over and over. "I've been on both ends of being interrogated. Not just in training, but out on the field." His red-rimmed eyes aged several decades, and her chest grew heavy. "And there were times the bars and stars – officers that outranked me and my team – had ordered us to let go of the person we had just roughed up.

"They were dangerous people, Andra, do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Andra was piecing together why Ghost had given her that book to read. It was more than just what was on the surface. The selection process, the training, the assignments, the images in the book illustrating the teams with black lines redacting their eyes. It occurred to her then when she was reading it all, Ghost was another one of the SAS operatives that had an alias, he had paperwork with his name on it that contained redacted information on what he and his team had accomplished, but now discussing it all solidified it for her.

Not only him, but Johnny as well, and Johnny had brought up a few other names. People that were also special forces.

It was sobering. She never took the time to sit with all of this information and come to terms that these men had enemies that went deeper than just being from differing nations. Enemies that may or may not still be alive out there, preying on the downfall of the men she had come to know.

“Has anyone ever found you or Johnny?” Andra asked with a tremble in her throat.

“No.” He answered definitively. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

Andra nodded, as she fully agreed with him.

Ghost leaned back against the bench. “I truly never intended to alarm you and bring you to endless conclusions. I wish I could take it back, my foolishness, everything.”

“You can’t help that, though.” Andra defended. “It was a really messed up chain of events.”

There was a pregnant pause. “I have moments like these when there are too many coincidences happening at once. I’ve been working on how I handle it.”

Andra turned to him. “Do you… talk to someone about it?” She felt hesitant to ask.

Ghost’s eyes slid back to her. “Does that bother you?”

She shook her head swiftly. “No, oh Gods, no I didn’t mean it that way.” Her hands covered her face for a moment. “That was wrong of me to ask.”

Ghost reached for one of her hands. “You have every right to know, doll.” The calloused pad of his thumb brushed the top of her hand. She could feel a tremor in his touch.

It would have warmed her heart had it not been for the churning contrite souring her stomach. He had every right to know, too, but how would she even begin to tell him?

His injured hand was holding hers. She took this opportunity to distract herself from the guilt eating at her. “What happened to your hand?”

“Ridiculous accident with some glass.” He answered too quickly. Andra could feel him wanting to recoil, but he continued to let her hold his hand. Her peripheral vision gave her a peak of Ghost studying her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted.”

Andra let go of his hand and rubbed her eyes. “I really haven’t been sleeping. Every little noise wakes me up, and I lay there for hours.”

Ghost’s eyes turned serious. “What can I do to remedy that?” Andra started to shake her head. “No, I’m responsible for this. Name it, I’ll do what I can.”

“I was actually on my way to go pick up a security system I ordered from the post office.” Andra raised her hand with her set of keys jingling.

Ghost stood from the bench, Andra followed in suit. “That I can do.”

Her smile returned. If it was one thing Andra was certain about Ghost, acts of service was how he communicated his apologies. It was easier to demonstrate with his hands than words.

After picking up the hefty box of camera and motion sensor equipment, Andra worked around the farm after her and Ghost discussed where the best places to set up the cameras would be. He got it done in less than a few hours, giving them time to pick up food together.

As they traveled, she remembered Johnny was waiting for an update from her.

Ghost is fine, we’re picking up food.

“So, you read the book in the past three days?” Ghost asked to start up chatter. Look who’s talking more now.

She hummed. “I read when I can’t sleep, and found it sitting there on the table before I locked up for bed.” Andra glanced at him. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?” Her phone vibrated with a response.

Thank you.

Ghost shrugged. “I lay there hoping I fall asleep.”

“I would get so bored.” Andra confessed, tapping her hands on her thighs. “You don’t even scroll through Netflix or something to try and turn your brain off?”

“I don’t have Netflix.” He responded.

Andra shook her head and blinked. “Remind me to give you my login.”

“I don’t watch TV or movies.”

Now she was looking at him like he was crazy. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

He rolled his eyes. “I do watch movies, but they’re all old war movies or westerns on DVD.”

Andra narrowed her eyes. “What are you, fifty?”

Ghost chortled. “I have a while before I hit fifty, thank you for that.”

“How long is a while?” Andra smirked. “Five years or six months?” His mouth opened, but she kept going. “Wait, I bet you have M.A.S.H. all on DVD, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with M.A.S.H.” Ghost defended.

“Yeah, when you’re as old as my dad and watching it on your days off as you doze on the living room couch at eleven in the morning.”

“You’re pushing your luck, doll.” Ghost warned with a grin in his voice. “Let me put it this way, I joined the Royal Air Force after the events of 9/11.”

Andra’s face went slack and her eyes were as wide as saucers. She turned to the passenger window with a hand pretending to scratch the side of her head and wondered if he would be weirded out if she told him she was in grade school during 9/11.

Her silence was loud in the cabin. “We’re not that far apart in age if you know M.A.S.H.” Ghost resumed.

Andra raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying I look old?”

“No.” His accent thickened as his voice dropped. “I didn’t say that.”

She was having too much fun busting his chops. “We have a tad bit of an age gap,” she demonstrated with her thumb and index finger with a small gap, “I’m a ninety’s baby.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Three years is a tad of an age gap, not a whole decade.”

Andra rolled her eyes. “Is this what I have to look forward to in my thirties?” She laughed at the flash of astonishment as he panned a look at her. “I’m kidding! Well, kind of, but I’ll be thirty next summer.”

Ghost smoothed his hand over his covered mouth. “You’re killing me, woman.”

“Best stay on top of those heart meds then – ooh!” Andra shot forward and was caught by her seatbelt from Ghost slamming the breaks harder than normal. “You’re gonna cause an accident, sir.”

After a few beats of silence, Ghost changed the subject. “I hope the camera system will give you some peace of mind.”

“I’m sure it will.” She nodded with a hopeful smile.

Ghost ran inside the chip shop they ordered from while Andra sat in the truck to keep it running. Her head tilted back onto the head rest as she stared up at the roof of the truck. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, and now that there was less of a problem with surveillance around the farm, she felt the muscles in her shoulders relaxing.

The sudden sound of the driver door opening had her jerking back awake. She attempted to cover up the fact that she had dozed off in his truck with a little stretch of her legs.

Ghost handed her the bag of food without noticing her brief second of sleep and drove back to her house.

-----

“I get why you go to this place.” Andra spoke in between eating in the living room with him. “It’s not bad.”

“It’s also because Johnny has been getting us discounts from his little girlfriend.” Ghost wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.

Andra looked over the app on her phone that connected her to all of the cameras on her property. The feed looked really good, giving her confidence that she could point out important details if she ever had to. She switched to the camera that aimed at the dirt driveway with both trucks sitting outside. Her thumb and index finger spread across the screen to utilize the zoom feature; she was able to read off the license plate numbers from each truck.

“Thank you again for setting up the cameras.” Andra locked her phone and placed it down on the coffee table.

Ghost covered the lower half of his face back up with the balaclava as he finished his own meal. “Thank you for letting me.”

Her heart fluttered at the sudden drop in his voice. His eyes were set on her when she turned to look at him. Despite not being able to see his expression, she could feel a softness in his brown eyes.

“Let me get these out of the way.” Ghost insisted as he began to collect the takeout containers. Andra sucked down the last of her drink in her Styrofoam cup and tossed it into the bag Ghost was using.

Andra slipped a hand in the back pocket of her jeans. “You staying for a little while?”

“I can.”

She felt some relief for having to spend less time by herself for the evening.

While Ghost did his thing, Andra browsed her bookshelf in search of a new read.

“Anything interesting?” Ghost asked as he returned.

Andra chose Dune from the shelf. “Maybe.” She returned to her designated reading lounge chair and curled her legs up. “How far did you get with The Outsiders?”

Ghost scratched the back of his head. “Maybe the first fifty pages.” Then, he tilted his head. “How did you know I had it?”

Andra smirked. “It was gone the following morning after you left.”

Did she have him flustered? The indecisive glance to the couch and back to the front door then back to the kitchen was amusing enough to have her grinning.

“I have it in the truck, actually. Be right back.” Ghost made his way outside, letting in a kissing, chilly breeze.

It must have been the book she chose, or the way she receded back into the cushions, but she felt the wave of sleepiness return back. Or maybe it was Ghost’s presence, knowing he was only a few feet away on the couch with Sammy next to him. He emitted an aura that Andra could only classify as comfort. Safety.

She knew he was safe to fall asleep around, she knew he would keep her safe.

Andra flinched out of the sleep she was slipping into and let out a disappointed sigh. Her book was still in her hand, but the pages were damp from the warmth of her fingers holding them in place. She closed the book, not worried about where she left off because she wasn’t paying attention anyway and softened her movements as she looked to her right.

Ghost’s head lulled to one side from the upright position he fell asleep in, his arms crossed over his chest and his own book sitting on the table with Sammy resting in her own bed by the window. The heavy breath he suck in and released told her he was deeper in that sleep than she was.

How is he sleeping with the mask on? Andra wondered.

With light movement, Andra rose from her chair and padded quietly to the hallway closet to retrieve a blanket. He looked as tired as she felt halfway through the day, and she wasn’t about to wake him up and send him home. She unraveled the blanket and moved to lay it over Ghost just above his arms and below his collarbone.

But his awareness was more keen than Andra had anticipated. Ghost reached out, throwing the blanket off and swiped her wrists single-handed. The room went spinning, and she let out a small yelp as her back met the bottom cushions of the couch, his grasp securing her wrists above her head.

Ghost’s eyes were wild with alert, then widened as he realized who he just wrestled down. It startled her at first, but out of nervousness a chortle escaped. Then a chuckle, and confusion wrinkled Ghost’s eyebrows.

She probably looked insane to him. She was supposed to be frightened, but all she was was dizzy. And too aware of how his body hovered over her. The grip on her wrists eased up but remained there. Her giggles dissipated, along with whatever she was about to say. She was too absorbed by Ghost’s eyes darting all over her face, and she wasn’t too sure, but she was almost certain he kept looking to her mouth.

Before Andra could register what she was doing, she pressed her lips against the teeth of the skull pattern on his mask, hitting her mark as she felt his lips beneath. Ghost pulled away like she had put his hand in an open flame, his eyes widened. Oh shit, what have I done –

His empty hand shoved up the fabric of his balaclava and he smashed his mouth against hers. Heat blazed through her face, molten liquid flooding her core as she took in every sensation overwhelming her. The fierce hunger of his kiss. The friction of their bodies pressed against each other. The solid grip Ghost had on her wrists.

She couldn’t get close enough to him. Her leg attempted to hook around his waist, but only succeeded in wrapping around a thigh that nestled its way between her legs.

He couldn’t pull himself away, and instead fed the part telling him to nudge his knee where she wanted it. Ghost freed her hands to grip the thigh pulling him in, giving her free reign to cradle his stubbled jaw. His fingertips worked divots into the fabric of her jeans, earning a small sound from her tightening throat.

Andra hoped there would be marks later left where he was squeezing.

Her tongue slipped out between her lips and playfully swiped across his mouth. Oh fuck, the sound that just came from him… Andra had never heard arousal so delicious before.

All of Ghost was crashing through her like a freight train. His taste, his heat, his sounds. Her head felt like it’s been shoved underwater, and she has no intentions surfacing for air. Not when drowning in all of him felt this good.

Ghost reciprocated her invitation and found his tongue pushing through the slit of her lips. She felt her own arousal winding tightly in her warmth. Anything more was likely going to set her off. There’s no way I’m coming just from this, she cursed herself.

Ghost pulled away, hit hot breath fanning over her face. He moved his free hand to his mask, but it remained there. One second, two seconds. His mouth slackened into a frown, lips parted with labored breathing. The trance had been broken between the two. He retreated from where he had Andra pressed into the couch, his hands ran down his face and stayed there as he battled with himself.

Andra adjusted her shirt as she sat up and gave him a nudge of space. “Hey,” she softly said as she brought his hands down, cradling them in her own. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” He rasped, breathless from their kiss. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay.” She took his hand away from his face and stroked his knuckles with her thumb.

Ghost blinked a few times like he was waking up from a dream. “I shoved my tongue in your mouth.” He stated, a little too forward. His words had heat rushing to her face. “The least I can do I show you who is beneath this.” He gestured to the mask covering half of his face, a bitterness in his words directed to his disguise.

Andra slowly raised her hands to the bottom half of his revealed face. He flinched away from the contact, but settled as she let her thumbs brush against the stubble on his jaw. She made no subtle movements; just exploring the craters and slits across his skin.

Ghost watched her silently, attentively, his eyes flickering back and forth. She can feel the intensity, a man questioning the intentions of the woman touching him, holding the privacy and secrecy he clings to. He sucked in a breath as she took hold of the balaclava and didn’t exhale until Andra had pulled it back down over his face.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready.” She affirmed.

His bandaged hand brushed Andra’s disheveled hair behind her ear. Ghost leaned in and pressed his covered mouth against her forehead. Andra gave him a meek grin as he pulled away.

Andra felt this moment building up to a goodbye, but she took his hand again. “You can stay here for the night. I don’t want you driving back even if it’s just down the street.”

He reached down on the floor and picked up the blanket. “If that’s alright with you, I’ll take up the couch-”

“Sleep on a bed, for gods’ sake.” Andra nodded her head to the stairs. “I have an extra room upstairs.”

Thankfully, Ghost didn’t argue. Heavy feet dragged themselves up the stairs, Sammy following them both. They took pause as both turned to each other from across the hall. There was so much she wanted to say, but the brief, drowsy goodnight that was exchanged had them retreating into their respective rooms. Andra leaned against the closed door, clouds in her head and lips swollen with the phantom sensation of their catalyst.

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