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mockerycrow · 1 year

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Frozen Fingertips [1/2] (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist - part two

Summary: You and Simon are in an extremely cold and snow covered area of Russia and manage to get separated from everyone else when a blizzard comes out of nowhere. Ghost helps keep you alive.

[WARNINGS: Light descriptions of developing hypothermia and frostbite, angst, hurt/comfort, ghost is actually worried.]

THE EXTREMELY COLD air bit at the little skin that’s exposed on your face and invades your lungs, nearly feeling like it’s sending frost to bite at the most inner corners of your esophagus. Dressed in snow boots, a snow suit as well as a snow jacket with a bullet proof vest, a thick scarf, two layers of gloves—a pair of thin gloves and then your snow gloves—as well as a beanie with your hood up. You tried to tie your scarf in such a way where it covers the lower portion of your face, but movement has made the fabric crumble down. The conditions of the snowy forest you’re trudging through are harsh; the snow is several feet deep, nearly up to your mid-thigh, causing you to have to quite literally pull your leg through dense snow, and of course you forgot your sunglasses for this trip. The bright sun is shining onto the snow surrounding you, successfully blinding you, causing you to squint until you give yourself a headache.

You have no idea what temperature it is, but all you know is that the fact that you’re moving through the snow is the only thing getting you through this. Your nose burns from the cold and so do your cheekbones, and any other skin that is exposed. You hold your rifle tighter to your chest in an attempt to maintain warmth, and despite all of your protective clothing, you don’t feel warm at all. You’re traveling with Ghost, while Soap, Price, and Gaz are infiltrating a nearby safehouse, owned by Makarov. You and Ghost are making your way to the exfil point after providing overwatch—the weather was beginning to pick up, blocking your line of sight. You shudder as some snow lands on the tip of your nose and melt, but nearly immediately freeze due to the temperature.

You keep dragging your feet through the snow, one foot after the other, trying to think warm thoughts to keep you going. Your radio crackles to life and Ghost’s muffled voice comes through; he’s only in front of you, but the snow can act as a sound muffler. “Doin’ alright?” His voice is like a wave of warmth washing over you, and you close your eyes for a moment as you walk. You open them and mumble, “Freezing my ass off, sir.” Ghost lets out a huff that almost sounds like a chuckle. “Keep moving, sergeant. You’ll keep your strength and warmth up.” You don’t bother to respond as you continue to trudge on. The wind begins to pick up as well as the falling snow slowly turns into a mini blizzard. “This is Price to Ghost and [Name], how copy?”

You don’t bother to respond as you’re focused on keeping yourself upright—when did you begin to feel so tired? “Loud and clear, Price. The weather’s pickin’ up.”

When did you begin to feel so.. warm? ..What?

You blink and suddenly you find yourself collapsed into the snow. You don’t question it, because you’re quite comfortable. The coldness of the snow feels good against your suddenly warm skin. You’re violently shivering, but you don’t mind. You’re warm. A pair of hands grab your coat, flipping you over so you’re no longer face down into the snow. You whine and weakly try to push whoever is touching you because their gloved hands are on your face, brushing snow off of your skin. “Stop,” You slur, your voice wobbling. Your hearing tappers out for a moment, and apparently so does your vision because the next thing you know—you find yourself in a cabin.

The first thing you feel is warmth—and then extreme coldness, and then numbness, and it’s a repeating cycle, causing you constantly shiver where you’re laying. Your limbs feel so heavy and you just want to stay laying down, but you’re hit with the thought of Ghost. Did he bring you here? Or did something happen, causing someone to take you? Your thoughts are in disarray, that much is clear. You can’t even form a coherent thought. You blink slowly as to focus your gaze, and you see a tall and bulky figure bent down by a fireplace, which you’re laying near. Huh. You’re somehow stuffed inside your sleeping bag. The figure’s back is turned to you, so whatever they’re doing, you’re unable to see. “C’mon,” The rough voice hisses. Oh, it’s Ghost.. Duh. You let out a choked noise as a weird pain of blistering pain radiates through your skull, and you’re vaguely aware of the feeling of your blood quickly rushing back into your fingertips, the humming sensation in your fingers nearing painful. They were lightly tingling before.

You blink again; time has passed. There’s a fire going now, a steady one, but it’s clearly not enough. Not with the way Ghost’s intense eyes are staring into yours, him saying something about you staying awake, something about how he knows you want to sleep—which he’s right about—but you can’t, and that you shouldn’t. You nearly wanna reach over and smack him about that, and you would have if you could move without the sluggish and heavy weighted feelings in your limbs. Who is he, to tell you, what you can and cannot do?? “I’m tired, Ghost.. Lemme sleep.” You croak out—your voice is trembling and you don’t understand why, but your body doesn’t give you enough energy to properly question it and you lay your head back down, trying to turn it away.

“Need you to keep those eyes open, [Name],” Ghost’s voice is suddenly.. very, very, very close to your ears. Your eyes flutter back open—you don’t even remember closing them—and you’re face to face to his mask. His brown eyes burrow into yours, nearing unreadable, but one thought pops up when your head allows it; he’s worried. Ghost is worried. “M’here,” You mutter, feeling yourself shake in your sleeping bag. “I’m here.” You watch as Ghost gets up from his position, which was looming over you, to add more fuel to the fireplace. The fire cracks and sparks alive once again, and you never noticed it died down. Must’ve been a while, of you being in and out. Your head is finally allowing you think more clearly. “How..” You lick your dry and cold lips before continuing. “How long has it been?”

Ghost looks over at you, pausing for a moment before poking at the burning wood with a fireplace poker. “You don’t know?” He questions, his voice tense. Bad sign. You not remembering how much time has passed is a very bad sign. You shake your head, tugging your sleeping bag closer to your body in a sluggish manner. Ghost’s quiet as he moves back over to you, grabbing his own sleeping bag which is tightly rolled up and attached to his backpack. Ghost begins to unravel the fabric and unzip it, in an attempt to make a blanket. “Well, a big blizzard started up as we were headin’ to the RV. Found you face down in the snow a bit behind me, and knew you..” He trails off as pulls the zippers down, hesitating in his movements. “..knew you needed to rest, needed help.”

You press your lips together because it’s so clear Ghost is avoiding what he wanted to say; what you both know what he meant. A harsh shiver rolls out through your body, harsh enough to make your vision spin, causing Ghost to huff. He drapes his unzipped sleeping bag over your body, tucking the extra fabric under your body. You groan quietly and you shut your eyes for a moment. Ghost is shifting stuff around and you his gloves fingers push your hat up ever so slightly and then you feel.. skin pressing against your forehead?? Your eyes open sleepily to the sight of Ghost’s mask pushed to above his nose, exposing his scarred lips and cheeks. You open your mouth to say something but a quiet whimper leaves you as your vision swims again—not giving you a moment to think about his kiss against your forehead. “Cold.” He mutters as he grabs the edge of his mask and pulls it back over the rest of his face, down to his neck. You watch as Ghost takes off his scarf and wraps it around your neck instead, and then he lays down next to you and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. You try to question why he’s doing this, but Ghost is already three steps ahead of you. “You’re not of any help if you’re dead, love.” His voice is steady, but it’s on edge—like he’s scared.

You shut your eyes and you lean into his everlasting warmth, and you decide to not point out how his gloved fingers are stroking the exposed skin of your face in a soothing manner.

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tarjapearce · 8 months

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Ok, ok, ok, hear me out….

Tarzan Miguel…

Ahh, nonny. Casually just saw this scrumptious fanart of him as Tarzan by @Miuworm in X 🫠. And yeah. (Kinda amazed at how you guys manifest these things 🤭)

Like Me

Tarzan! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: nothing too bad. Depictions of violence, a bit of implicit gore and animal death. No proofread.

Summary: Your savior from a certain death is quite touchy-feely.

Another for Miguelverse ❤️✨

The furious waves of the sea clashed over your body, submerging it in the freezing and alive water.

Arms moved, swimming your way back up, gasping for a much needed gulp of air as soon as you reached the surface.

Peeking around you, trying to find something to get a hold of or climb on, exhaustion was crawling up to your limbs, like hypothermia.

Fuck

Mind cursed with every foul word you could've imagine. How did trip ended up like this? In what moment the clouds turned so grey they darkened the sky, announcing a downpour with a loud rumble? It all took minutes to go sour and south.

You were there to do a land recognition, and see if you could get home some new species. Sergei Kravinoff, or Kraven The Hunter, was the lead of your expedition, all financed by a man named Kingpin.

Your name was called, echoed in the distance.

"Over here!!" You flailed your arms in an attempt of being seen, and hopefully the debris wouldn't blear their sight to find you.

You swam in the direction of the voice, teeth clattered, tool belt heavy on your hips, but you knew if you lost them, any possible chance of getting another were impossible. Plus, Kraven hated it when you lost your equipment as they weren't cheap.

Every paddle of your arms felt heavier, like if your wrists had been tied up with iron pounds, dragging you down. Lips turned blue and trembled. Salty and cold water doused you, but you weren't to give up.

You had fought your way to get a spot in this expedition and a pathetic ending like drowning wasn't an option. You spotted a wooden board floating nearby.

C'mon!

Your hands stretched towards it anf finally managed to keep yourself afloat. Panting, groaning and shivering, letting the cold to finally sink in. Feet had started to numb out, ragged breaths turned laborious.

Once more someone called you, this time you recognised the voice. Peter, the other nerd according to Kraven. You two were the ones selected to be the scientist that would lead Kraven to a certain victory in Nueva York.

Ever since Norman Osborn and Otto Octavius had discovered new species of spiders and reptiles, everyone proclaimed them geniuses ahead of their time, leaving the hunting behind.

Kraven was set into getting either a new species or something alike to regain his forlorn glory. He refused to be forgotten.

But everything pointed that the island you were now had a mind of its own. As if preventing anyone to delve in further into it's secrets.

You were pulled out from the board by Peter that immediately covered you up in a raggedy blanket. Despite the fabric being old, it gave you enough warmth to avoid death taking a hold on you.

Kraven cursed in russian, but was hopeful y'all be found soon. The ship's black box was ruined, your luggage at least was minimal, and it was enough to be saved by ether Peter or anyone kind enough.

A powerful and enormous wave had turned the boat upside-down. Knocking everything loose out of the board. The guns and other tools were the only things that survived.

But, you hoped, the whole fiasco was just temporary. Fisk wasn't a careless man, he'd probably send help soon. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting your bones to freeze.

----

You woke up nearby the makeshift fireplace, relishing the heat your body had lacked. Clothes were humid, but no longer soaked and freezing.

Sighing, you stirred awake, letting the tension leave your body with a groan.

"Hey, wake up." Peter approached, concern etched into his features as he helped you on your feet.

"Where's everyone?"

"I... We uh, got lost. One moment Kraven is here and the other he's not. Left us behind. Or, he also got lost."

"Kraven? Lost?" Peter could sense the deadpan in your voice and he sighed, exasperated.

"I'm just trying to light up the mood. He was pissed. So I assume that he just thought he'd do it himself." He shrugged and you sighed, rubbing your neck.

"Great! now we're lost, my luggage is nowhere to be found but at least we have tools, right?"

The faltering in Peter's face made yours to fall as he shook his head.

"God, I swear... Fuck him. If I'm discovering something, Ain't sharing with him!"

"Let's focus on surviving first. The soil is rich, meaning the jungle is nearby."

"And so is the wild life." You sighed and Peter groaned.

"Look, thinking negatively won't take us anywhere. I'm not saying either let's throw a party for being stuck in an unknown place. But we gotta move. It's about to get dark."

"Right... You're right" You rubbed your face, exhausted, at least you weren't freezing anymore. But being at Nature's mercy wasn't pretty either, yet again. You were selected by none other than Sergei. If he trusted your judgement to be valuable enough, why couldn't you?

With a new resolution in mind, you took the raggedy blanket and other little tools Peter managed to salvage and soon ventured yourselves in the thickness of the jungle.

-----

Sun had long disappeared in the sky leaving a faint trail of golden and orange in the clouds, and you were certain that it had been hours since you walked in the jungle. No signs of Kraven or the caravan of people.

No signs of society or at least his stupid russian jokes that you were sure people laughed at by sheer convenience.

The only advantage Kraven possessed in his favor, was him being an avid hunter. You only studied species, animals and flowers to be more precise, and had a little knowledge of mechanics. Enough to fix your own machines and trinkets. Peter was an expert in mechanics and soil. You followed him.

"I think I've seen that rock before" Peter sighed as he slouched against a tree.

"Don't say that, Parker." You wheezed as you followed him, resting your aching back against him. "I'm definitely finding some poison and put it on Kraven's drink."

"Relax. Without us he's going into unknown territory."

"In case you haven't noticed, he's a professional hunter. And I hate with passion skirts."

The distant rumble of a storm approaching echoed through the sky.

"A hunter, not a geologist. He acts like an animal to get animal bodies."

"Still, he knows his way around these places, Pete."

"Shooting things till they're dead isn't knowing about things"

Peter stood and offered his hand.

"Uh-uh I just sat down."

"We gotta at least go upwards. This area is prone to flooding."

With a vexed groan you took Peter's hand and he pulled you up. You were tired of walking, but if he said you needed to advance, you obeyed.

"Fuck..."

----

Despite the soaking rain pouring around you, Peter had found an amalgamation of trees and branches supported by a hollow tree.

Birds chirped and cawed, bugs joined the concert once the rain subsided, the distant flapping of the birds and the rustle of leafs prevented you from lowering your guard. The only comforting thing besides Peter's company was the petrichor smell, pungent in the air.

You'd spend hours inhaling the gift of nature, if it wasn't for your belly grumbling, and Peter had ran out of cashews.

Even crickets sounded tempting to eat. With the right spices, they tasted crunchy. But all you could do was to imagine their taste as it was time to move again.

"Knowing Kraven, he'd go up to the mountains, probably they've sent a camp nearby a river. So let's look for one."

"Yeah, even better so I can drown that fucker in. He better pay us good for this stupid prank."

Peter chuckled and looked around for a minute, his blue eyes narrowed upon setting his sight in a tree trunk. Broken in half, but what truly made his... whatever this unpleasant feeling to rise within was the vicious marks indented on the tree bark.

Powerful scratches filled with bloody chum and crimson liquid, paw like marks painted in the trunk. The source of such gruesome spectacle laid in whatever pieces was left a couple of inches away. He could make out a tail, and small hind legs. A baby monkey, or rather half of it.

"Uh... We better hurry."

Peter swallowed, and the urgency in his tone only made your worry to shoot heavenwards.

You both walked, speeding up the step. Unaware of the keen eyes, hidden in the bushes that followed your every moves like a hawk. A low growl filled in the space he occupied.

---

You were certainly to die.

Undeniably, and it didn't matter how fast you managed to run, the jaguar quick paced trotting had you pushing your limits. Tears blurred your sight, as a garbled sob escaped your lips.

Scratches adorned your arms, decorating your flesh with fresh oozing wounds, dirt and leafs stuck to your marred flesh.

Chest heaved with deep and ragged pants, wobbly legs menaced to give in under the pressure at any second

You were going to die.

Even though life had been incredibly dull and the only comfort was your investigation, you didn't want it to end so soon. Not whenyou were about to accomplish a promise to yourself.

Peter had gone lost and separated once the chase began. One minute he was before you, and the other, your friend was gone, out of sight and reach. But the relentless giant feline behind you preferred you. An easy prey.

Your wails and cries for help fell upon deaf ears, who would listen to you in the middle of the jungle? For once you wished to have Kraven's gun expertise.

You didn't care if hypocrite defined you right now. You took a thick branch, swinging it with difficulty and pain at the euphoric beast, like a demotivated baseball player. But the jaguar's claws swatted the useless weapon away from your hands, and making you stumble on the ground.

This was it.

Oh God, oh my god, no, no no

The animal pounced and by instinct, you shielded your body with your shaky limbs. But no harm came.

You could feel the beast's warm and bloodthirsty breath on your head, snapping it's maws at you, desperately trying to reach for a bite of your supple flesh.

Eyes wide in horror, and disbelief. The jaguar was held by his tail, earning whoever that was holding it back from devouring you a couple of swings with it's sharp claws. But the animal was set into getting to you. It pounced on your boots, claws sinking on the back of hour ankles, earning a sobbing and painful wail.

A gruesome crack and a roar echoed behind you, and only then you were able to see your savior.

The tallest man you've ever seen, even taller than Kraven, strong and well built physique, a rich tanned skin full of scratches and long healed wounds. Hair long, reaching a bit past his shoulders, muscles that heaved and rippled in every breathing you did. Body hair etched beautifully in his skin.

Covered in nothing but a loincloth.

If it wasn't for you being at the death's gates, you'd take your time to study him.

You gasped as he held the oversized cat with his hands and slammed it on the ground. They circled eachother, shifting between the roles of hunter and prey.

The feline hissed, and the man returned the threat, a cold sweat ran down your spine upon watching two overgrown canines, on his mouth. Fangs. He had fangs. Brown eyes stared at the four legged monster, defying it.

And soon the jaguar took his invitation. The two majestic creatures fought, enraged, proving their prowess to eachother, disputing the role of Alpha within the jungle's hierarchy. They rolled on the ground, biting and clawing at eachother.

With a lurid snap the man cracked the beast's neck, earning an agonizing wail from the mean cat. He staggered before slamming his fist on the animal, forcing the last breaths out of the beast.

His nose flared, proudly, while his hands slammed his chest.

Terror was still taking a hold of you, and there was nothing you could use as a weapon. Your hands braced your shoulder as you tried to carefully stand, but your clumsy feet stepped in a branch, snapping it in half, like the jaguar's neck. Brown eyes were immediately on you.

You swallowed hard.

He approached, hunched and prowling over, his knuckles and toes supported his hulking frame.

"S-Stop!"

He quirked an eyebrow, curious and within seconds he was before you.

Breath hitched on your throat, face so close to yours, he could feel your breath blowing on his chin.

You hissed as he took a hold of your arm, examining the damage. There wasn't rage in his features but nothing more than untampered curiosity.

His hands reached for your hair, sniffing the strands, you couldn't help but giggle when his nose hovered over your head, sniffing you, a bad moment to be ticklish, really.

Breath caught again as his nose nuzzled your neck.

"W-Wai-" His fingers prodded at your lips, rubbing the calloused thumbs on your soft mouth. A satisfied grunt rumbled in his firm and hairy chest

He toyed with your face, examining it with child like wonder. He turned, prodded and licked your cheeks, reminiscing in your taste with a confused look.

"U-uh, sir-"

What is he doing? oh god.

He hunched even closer to rest his ear on your chest. Heart pumping violently inside your ribcage, eyes darted towards the covered mounds, he sank his face in between them, taking a deep inhale. A low growl came from within and your cheeks flared in a deep flush.

Oh shit, shit

His hands cupped your mounds, sending a shiver through your body, but you slapped his hand away. He looked taken aback before baring his teeth to you.

"No!" You covered your chest and backed away, but his nose flared to then grab your head and placed it on his chest a tad forcefully. Warm and plush skin met yours. You gulped again.

Powerful echoes boomed through his chest.

The natural musk of him tickled your senses, his hands roamed your lower back and your alarms flared.

"H-hey, hey!"

He pulled your feet up, sending you tumbling backward, skirt rolling down your thighs, exposing your legs to him.

You tried to cover your skin by gathering your skirt up. His nose again sniffled as your wriggled underneath him. Hands prodding and picking at your toes, earning a clumsy giggle

His touch was like molten lava, it sent a shudder down your spine.

His fingers were having a good feel of your flesh, as if confirming you were real.

With each discovery his interest only grew. He then cupped your face again, smooshing your cheeks together, giving a deliberate lick on your lips.

"T-The polite thing to do is to take me out before that happens!" You mumbled nervously while trying to get yourself free.

His eyes narrowed once more as he lifted up your skirt completely, revealing your panties.

It gave you little to no time to prepare you for his next move. He sunk his face in between your thighs taking a good whiff of your scent, another pleasant growl came from him, by reflex, your hand slapped him. And this made him look at you, confused but clearly upset while holding his cheek.

"No! Stop it!" You warned while gathering your skirt underneath your knees and pointing at him. Cheeks impossibly red

He seemed to understand as he crouched before you. Muscular thighs flexing as he sat, mimicking your actions.

"Uh, uh. No. Don't do that"

"Uh Uh, No. Don't do that"

He repeated with the same authoritarian tone. Voice surprisingly rich and alluring. Your eyes went wide.

"You can speak!"

He repeated like a parrot.

"Can... Can you understand me?"

His brows furrowed then quirked. He was about to come up with a reply when the rustling and your name being called echoed behind the foliage.

"Over here!!!" You shouted, this alarmed the man as he stood, backing up from you with a mistrustful glare.

"Wait! No no! Don't go!" Your hands wriggled, but it was futile.

He left before anyone could see him. Climbing the trees like it was another playground game, until he disappeared out of sight.

None other than Kraven showed up, machete on hand, swinging it the weeds and plants that dared to cross his way.

A shit eating smirk plastered on his face.

"See? I told you, she'd be fine." Kraven patted Peter's shoulder as they kept moving to find a perfect spot for the camp.

Kraven crouched to where the jaguar's body laid and looked at you.

"What happened?"

"I... don't know. I-I panicked. Was running from a snake and I found that there."

Sergei just hummed, as he watched the body, eyes raking the feline's carcass before beckoning two of his men closer.

"Skin him. Don't have this type yet."

Kraven took a deep inhale. Death's stench sparking alive the hunter in him.

"Whatever killed it, needs to be in my personal collection of trophies."

Peter in the meantime cleansed your wounds with water, to then apply some clean bandages on them.

The whole group moved, upwards to the mountains.

"What the heck happened!?" he whispered aggressively

You made sure for Kraven to be within a reasonable distance to speak again.

"You won't believe me if I'd tell you."

Cause in truth, how would you explain a man, taller than Sergei, killed with his bare hands a wild animal and got way too touchy with you but is able to speak?

The road was long. You had time

Peter sensed your discomfort and pressed no further. However, the feeling of being watched never waned. It was the group, against the jungle's secrets.

----

Taglist:

@fayeofthenightingale

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #Miguelverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n

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ghostandsoap · 2 years

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Call Signs

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader (Ft. John “Soap” MacTavish)

Tags: Angst. Gunshot wound. Blood loss. Shock. Hypothermia. Major injury. Mentions of death.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: So I’m not totally sure how accurate some of this is. Also, I’m not sure if parts of this are canon? Read with caution LOL.

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

Military call signs. Clever, crafty, and specific to the person they’re associated with.

There was one main, golden rule when it came to call signs: don’t complain about your own call sign, or else they’ll give you something worse.

Yours wasn’t exactly one that you were thrilled with in the beginning. It wasn’t as badass as you would’ve liked. If you had been given the opportunity to choose, you would’ve chosen something a little more…tough. But once the name stuck, you were stuck with it. You didn’t dare let even a single word of distaste fall from your mouth. If anybody caught wind of you complaining about it, they’d give you something to really complain about.

Over the years, you had heard some good ones — some more creative than others. Depending on the person, sometimes it was easy to tell the reason behind their given name — other times, not so much. You had some friends that you still didn’t know the reason why they were given their call sign.

For example, Soap was just Soap.

In the time that you had known him, you had begged Soap to tell you where his call sign came from. You had even rattled and poked at Captain Price a bit to get him to give it up. But both of them always gave you the same answer.

It’s classified.

With that answer, you refused to tell anyone the reason behind your own call sign. If they weren’t going to tell you about theirs, then you weren’t telling them about yours. It was only fair, you weren’t telling anybody. Nobody knew.

Well…nobody except–

“Gecko. This is Ghost. How copy?” The syrupy-thick voice seeped through your ear that was still ringing from gunfire.

You were cold – miserably cold. You were chilled all the way to the bone to the point where your skin was numb to the touch. The sound of rain registered with you. The sky was pouring buckets, which explained why you were so freezing. There was no telling how long you had been passed out and exposed to the elements. Not a single part of you was dry, despite all your layers underneath and over.

There was pain somewhere. Your groggy state made it difficult to figure out exactly where you were hurt. To be honest, it hurt just about everywhere. A searing sensation settled in your side, but it was migrating all over. Based on the large red spot leaking through that area, you had a really good idea then of what it was.

“Gecko, do you copy?” Another voice spoke that you knew to belong to Soap.

His voice sounded a million miles away, even though it was literally right in your ear. When your eyes opened, you were eye-level with the ground. You were met with a harsh pavement underneath you, muscles trembling with exhaustion and low temperatures. It took a few seconds for your vision to clear, and it took even more effort for you to raise yourself up even to make it onto your elbows.

When you were able to take a glance around, it wasn’t any less unsettling. The slick streets of Las Almas weren’t very pleasant in the dead of night. Even worse, you didn’t know where Soap and Ghost were.

It all came flooding back to you. Graves turned on the team. He tried to kill all of you. You, Ghost, and Soap managed to split up and narrowly escape. It was chaos, the kind that shaved about 15 years off of your life.

“C’mon. Where are you, Gecko?” Ghost asked in an aggravated, yet worried way.

His question was more out loud and to himself more than anything, but it occurred to you that it probably would be nice for him to hear you.

“I’m here,” You groaned, throat dry and scratchy. “Just barely.”

“Oh shit. You’re alive!” Soap replied, and you swear you could feel Ghost relax from wherever he was.

“What’s your status?” Ghost demanded.

You were not telling Ghost that you were hurt if you could help it. It was certainly against protocol, but you didn’t need Ghost getting all worked up when the three of you needed to find one another and get the hell out of there. You knew how he could get whenever you were hurt.

“Where are you both?” You rolled onto your knees, ungracefully managing to get on your feet.

You felt any and all blood rush from your face, an overwhelming feeling of nausea taking over your stomach. The bleeding in your side was definitely a problem. You stripped your outer jacket off, wrapping it around your waist and tying it as tight as you could possibly stand it. It wasn’t like the jacket was useful any other way, considering it was soaked.

“No fuckin’ idea. I’m in and out of these shops,” Soap grumbled. “I’m soakin’ wet.”

“Me too,” You managed to laugh, but it came out as more of a struggled exhale. “Ghost, what’s your location?”

“The church. Soap’s finding his way here,” Ghost said. “What’s your status, Gecko?”

You knew he’d ask again. He always knew when you had dodged a question.

“Just a little rattled,” You lied. “Where’s the church?”

“It’s in the square. Navigate through the shops, they’ll lead you there,” Soap said. “Stay sharp. Shadows are everywhere.”

Survival mode has kicked in for you. You had one objective.

Find Ghost. Don’t get killed.

“Will do. Ghost, I’m coming to you.” You announced, beginning to take the first few steps to get yourself moving.

There was a brief moment of silence before he answered – and he gave an answer that you knew had Soap raising a brow.

“Please be safe.”

A shudder vibrated down your back, and it wasn’t from the bitter cold rain.

Being involved with Ghost was…complicated. It was a forbidden love in a lot of ways. There was a certain disapproval when it came to 2 members dating within the force. It caused drama sometimes, tension other times. Not to mention, it would be painfully awkward for everybody else if the two of you were to break up.

But the connection was undeniable. It astounded you just how in touch you felt with him. He did everything he could to protect you, to make you feel safe in an otherwise dangerous world. He spent every spare moment with you. He spilled all of his most pressing thoughts to you, knowing his words of vulnerability were safe with you. Talking to him was easy, spending time with him was easier.

Loving him was easiest of all.

Despite your likeness toward each other, it was a mutual understanding that no one was to know. Ghost didn’t fancy all the teasing, and you wanted at least one part of your life to be private. In front of others, you were Gecko and Ghost. When alone, you were Simon and [Y/N].

In a lot of ways, the secretive aspect of it was fun. You liked sneaking around with Ghost in the late hours of the night, tip-toeing around sleeping comrades in an attempt at a moment to yourselves. The nonchalant glances…the discreet, yet lingering touches…the whispers of words of affection. It was all something you couldn’t help but get a kick out of. Anybody in their right mind would find it even a little bit entertaining.

But in all honesty, suspicions from the rest were becoming more and more.

Price had known immediately. Not even three days after you and Simon decided to give it a try, he could sense that something was different. He couldn’t really explain it. He could just see it in Ghost’s behavior that he was preoccupied with something…someone else. Something that had been sprouting for a long time was now beginning to blossom in front of the captain’s very eyes. Price was a respectful man. He wasn’t one to get in the way of something that wasn’t his business. He kept an eye on the situation here and there, more for a status update than anything.

It took Gaz about four months. He suspected nothing in the beginning. He managed to miss all the signs at first. Who could blame him? He didn’t know he was supposed to even be looking for them. He didn’t catch any real changes in behavior or attitude. In all honesty, if he hadn’t witnessed it with his very eyes – he might’ve never known. It had been a quick gesture. So quick that Gaz might’ve been able to convince himself that he was mistaken if it hadn’t been so blatantly clear.

Gaz had passed by a bit quicker than he normally would, catching a quick glimpse inside the room he hadn’t planned on entering. What he saw was a kiss being planted on the cheek of Ghost’s mask, and a light laugh from the man as you did so. Gaz had stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at what he had seen. He was tempted to turn around and question you, but he knew better. Gaz figured if he hadn’t been told outright, then it probably wasn’t for him to know. He kept it in the back of his mind, however, and after that, he began noticing everything.

And as for Soap, the poor lad had yet to connect the dots. He had heard some chatter here and there about Gecko and Ghost “getting it on.” Soap didn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen it or heard it for himself, so in his mind, the rumors were null. That didn’t mean that Soap didn’t like the idea of his lieutenant and one of his closest friends seeing each other. He entertained the thought here and there. He supposed that Gecko and Ghost had a nice ring to it, and it was something that he liked to snicker about. Overall, Soap didn’t think about it too much. There was no way that “LT” and the infamous Gecko were together. Almost a year into it, and John MacTavish was oblivious.

It hadn’t taken you long to develop feelings for Ghost. Suddenly, you were worried about where he was and him getting hurt more often than not. This was one hell of a career to be in when you were an anxious worrier. This job had changed for you. Before, there was no fear of living or dying. It was just you. It was all you. But when there was someone else in the cards?

That changed things. That really changed things.

That seemed to be the only fight that you and Ghost ever had. It was always the same one. One of you fell ill or became injured, it was due to defying an order, the other was scared to death that something worse could’ve happened, and most of all – you both wished that the other would be more careful.

“Careful” was a funny word in this business. No matter how careful you were, that didn’t automatically make you safe.

Roaming the streets of Las Almas while lethargic, unarmed, and bleeding was a definite reminder of that. You followed Soap’s advice, weaving in and out of the stores and getting whatever supplies you could get your hands on. A homemade weapon was better than no weapon, in your mind. Avoiding any and all Shadows was your main goal. There was no chance of you getting out of that alive, if this bullet lodged in your side didn’t kill you first. You hoped that Soap had made it to the church by now. It made you feel better to know that they were together.

The rain showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. You figured it was fine. It wasn’t like you could get any more wet than you already were. It at least made enough noise to conceal your footsteps, which you didn’t have much control over due to the splitting pain in your core.

You just had to get to the church. Get to the church, get out of here, and get patched up. You’d be fine. You’d survived worse. You weren’t going to-

There was a flash of white over your vision. While brief, it was enough to startle you to a complete halt. You staggered out of the coffee shop, leaning against the back door for support. This was bad. This was really bad.

“Ghost…” You squeaked.

Breathing suddenly became overly difficult. Every gulp of air was a struggle to get the next one. There was a significant wobble in your knees as you stumbled into the nearest alley for cover, knowing your legs were close to giving out. It was notably colder in the space between the two buildings, but the feeling of your soul being slowly sucked back into the universe made that seem minor.

“Talk to me. Where are you?” Ghost asked.

That was when you collapsed, landing on the wet ground with a thud. A whimper escaped from your throat at the impact. Clutching your wounded side was all you knew to do. Your jacket used as a makeshift way of putting pressure on it was proving ineffective.

“The alleyway,” You strained. “Left of the coffee shop.”

Ghost and Soap both heard the trouble in your voice. Ghost had only heard that tone once before — and it was when something was really, really wrong.

“What’s your status now?” Soap questioned.

Lying was no good to you now. They were going to know one way or the other.

“I’m down,” You swallowed. “Must’ve been hit at some point when we got away.”

There was no way you were making it to the church. You were as good as gone as long as there was still a bullet in your torso. Bleeding out in the streets of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t how you had envisioned going out. That was a conversation you had held with Soap more than once. Everybody had their preferred way of dying. You had always hoped that you’d meet your demise in a more memorable way. Maybe in a missile explosion or getting ejected from a helicopter in a hot pursuit.

Dying alone was the part and the possibility that always scared you the most.

This wasn’t what you had in mind. Bleeding to death by yourself in an alleyway in the middle of a run-down town in Mexico wasn’t what you had wished for. You knew the day would come…and the day had finally come.

But not if Ghost could help it.

“I’m coming to get you, Gecko. Don’t move,” Ghost remarked sternly, and you could hear that he was on the move. “Soap, we’ll meet you at the church.”

“Copy.” Soap confirmed.

“N-no,” You coughed. “Ghost, don’t leave your location if you’re secure.”

“None of us are secure. I’m not leaving you,” Ghost said sternly. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

Arguing with Ghost was usually a lost cause. When Ghost was set on something, he was surely going to stick with it. It was a waiting game now, and it was one of the most helpless feelings to know that you were relying on somebody else to save your ass. You knew that Ghost would be there in half the time that it probably should’ve taken him, but when you’re dying, the minutes feel like eternity.

This wasn’t the first time that you had been in situations like this. Everybody had their fair shares of “I almost died” stories. But this was different for you. This was the closest you had ever been to not living to tell this story.

Panicking was most definitely not the way to handle this situation. Very rarely was panicking ever helpful in a dire, critical scenario like this. It was the most eerie feeling – literally feeling yourself dying. The blood loss was becoming less, but only because you were running out of blood to lose. Your heart was beating slower and slower by the second. Breathing was now a voluntary action. As the adrenaline wore off and the reality of the situation set in, your anxiety crept over you and infiltrated any room for collectedness that you had left.

“G-Ghost.” You sighed, a layer of tears pricking at the base of your lashes.

Ghost heard the near sob in your words, putting an even faster pep in his step.

“Almost there, Gecko. What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I’m scared.” You admitted, hot tears mixing with the fresh rain water on your cheeks.

Ghost’s heart shattered into a million pieces, catapulting into every vessel near it like the strongest of shrapnel. He couldn’t stand the thought of you alone and scared.

“I know. Just keep talking to me and Soap,” He breathed, trying to stay calm for you. “I’m coming, G.”

‘G’ was a nickname inside of a nickname. Ghost only used it sparingly, and it was usually when he was trying to be supportive or sympathetic without giving your secret romantic endeavor away.

It felt silly to say. Generally speaking, you didn’t really have the right to be afraid. It was the pure passion for your job and your own willingness that put you in dangerous situations. It was your own free will, your own decision that you made the same choice on every single time. It was one thing to be scared when you ended up here accidentally. It was another when it was a consequence of your choices and actions. Courage and strength were supposed to be your strong suits. They were the characteristics that you were supposed to fall back on every time.

Yet here you were. Scared to death of dying – something that you had thought about and been preparing for since you started this gig.

“Simon, I-I…I don’t want to d-”

“It’s ‘cause I clean house quickly.” Soap’s voice echoed in one ear and out the other, suddenly and abruptly.

What?

Even in a near unconscious-like state, you were still well aware of how that needed some clarification.

“S-say again?” You stuttered, the corners of your vision beginning to go foggy.

“Soap. ‘Cause I clean house and buildings with speed ‘n accuracy,” Soap repeated. “That’s why they call me Soap.”

Soap!

It made so much sense. You were almost embarrassed that you didn’t think of that yourself. You knew it was Soap’s way of distracting you – keeping your mind off of dying.

“That’s a good one,” You nearly wheezed. “Thought it was because you were a bath man.”

“Thanks for that image. Won’t be able to unsee that one,” Ghost piped up. “Almost there, Gecko. Hang on for me, yeah?”

Ghost’s voice was strained as if he were running. Using every ounce of speed and stamina that he had to get you as fast as possible. He couldn’t lose you like this.

He refused to lose you like this.

“It’s because I’m quick on my feet, and because I can scale a building faster than anybody.” You croaked.

“Ah. That’s why they call you Gecko?” Soap chuckled, and you could hear the amusement in his words.

“Came up with that one myself.” Ghost smirked.

“Some people might even say geckos are kind of cute.” You joked, but didn’t quite have the energy to laugh.

“I’d agree with that,” Ghost countered, and you could sense Soap’s internal confusion from forever away. “I have a visual on Gecko. Almost at the church, Soap?”

“Affirmative, Lt. Meet you there.”

Sure enough, Ghost appeared from seemingly nowhere, like a sent guardian angel. Your vision had tunneled, so you couldn’t see much out of your peripherals. He had never seen you so weak and close to going out on him. His eyes behind the mask were wide and dark, focused on getting you out alive.

“Nice to see you, Lieutenant.” You shivered.

“Glad you’re not a goner,” He returned, removing the glove from his right hand and pressing his fingers against your cheek. “Shit. You’re freezing.”

“How bad do I look?” You slurred, and you fought to keep your eyeballs from rolling back into your head.

“Probably not as bad as you feel. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Ghost said, working quickly to get himself arranged to carry you.

“Did you see any Shadows on the way?” You gulped, eyelids beginning to flutter.

“They’re everywhere. We need to get going,” Ghost scooped you up effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing and weren’t dripping wet through multiple layers. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you out of here.”

The journey from the ground to up into Ghost’s arms felt like an airplane takeoff. You were close to slipping out of consciousness.

“We’ll get to Soap and get a vehicle out of here,” Ghost explained, readjusting his arm underneath your knees. “You’re going to be fine, Gecko.”

“G-Guess I wasn’t quick enough this time, huh?” You gave the faintest grin, and Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at your stupid joke.

“Shut up.”

There was relief in knowing that you were with Ghost. Your chances of dying hadn’t changed, but if you were going to die, this was a better way of going out.

The fog in your vision became thicker and thicker until you couldn’t see or hear a thing. The darkness surrounded you, sucking you deeper and deeper into nothingness.

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

The next time your eyes opened, you weren’t met with the dim streets of Las Almas. There was no smell of rain or taste of blood and sweat. The smell this time was sterile air and cheap (but clean) bedsheets. You couldn’t taste anything due to the worst case of cottonmouth that you had ever experienced. The beeping music of an EKG reader and distant chatter was the real giveaway.

The muscles in your legs were stiff, mainly because you hadn’t moved them in so long. A grunt was all you could manage as you shifted, a new type of discomfort erupting where you had been shot. It was all wrapped up now (professionally and medically wrapped), clean and taken care of. There was an IV in each arm, one administering fluids and the other what you could only imagine to be some kind of pain medication. The white walls and tan floors were weirdly comforting…a sign to let you know that you were safe for now.

The best sights of all were the ones seated to the left of your bed.

Ghost’s arms were crossed, ankles crossed over each other, and his head lowered and his breathing steady. His outer skull mask was nowhere to be seen, but his balaclava was clinging to his face as always.

Soap was also snoozing, but less peacefully and quietly. His head was tilted back as far as it possibly could go, his arms draped at his sides, legs stretched all the way out, and snoring so loud that you were surprised you hadn’t already heard it.

You were gentle as you called to Ghost, considering he didn’t always react calmly when being woken up.

“Hey…” You rasped with a dry throat. “Ghost.”

His eyes snapped open, flickering up to you instantly. A monumental wave of relief visibly crashed over him, filling his veins and relaxing his heart.

“You’re awake,” He leaned closer, taking your hand into his. “You’re okay.”

“What…how long has it been?” You asked, bits of your memory coming back to you.

“A few days…four I think, ” He answered with a nod. “How do you feel?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure. Physically you felt terrible, but better than when you were dying of shock, cold, and blood loss. Mentally you felt fuzzy and groggy from being out so long. Emotionally…well, only time would tell.

“Like shit.” You admitted.

“Not surprised.” He grinned under his face covering.

There were a few beats of silence. You took a few glances around, getting familiar with your new setting. Ghost, though, never took his eyes off of you. They were a light shade of red, and even his balaclava couldn’t hide the dark circles under them.

“Have you slept at all?” You asked, knowing good and well he hadn’t left your side.

“A little bit here and there,” He said, motioning his free hand towards Soap. “This is the most sleep Soap’s gotten this whole time. He’s been out for about 30 minutes.”

Soap was indeed out like a light. You couldn’t imagine how tired the two of them were. There was another stretch of silence. This one lasted longer and was much more tense. This wasn’t an easy encounter. How were you supposed to act when you had barely scraped by with your life?

“Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“How close was it?”

Simon stared for a moment. No formation of an answer to your question occurred for a second or two. He didn’t like that question. He had avoided thinking about it until now. Ghost knew that he’d have to do his own mentality check in with himself in a few days. He had almost lost the most important person in his life…he’d need to deal with that.

“Too close.”

Another silence. Another silent thank you that you were here to see another day.

“You were…hypothermic, in shock. You lost a lot of blood before and during surgery,” He said. “Doc said if it had been any later getting you help-”

“Hey,” A groggy voice piped in, unaware that he was interrupting. “Gecko’s up.”

Soap’s eyes were just as bloodshot as Ghost’s, but Soap’s personality was wide awake.

“Happy to see you again, Sergeant. My apologies for being absent from our reunion at the church.” You grinned.

“Yeah, yeah. Left us to do double the work,” Soap chuckled. “Feels weird callin’ you Gecko now that I know where it comes from.”

“Soap doesn’t have the same ring to it, I have to say.” You fired back.

“Agh, I’m crushed. Right in my pride!” He shrieked.

The three of you shared a soft laugh. Nothing like Soap’s comedic relief to break the tension. You felt okay. This was just one of those things. One of the things that you signed up for with this job. It didn’t make it any less unnerving, but now you felt like you could really move on from this.

And you were thankful that you had lived to tell the story.

There was a sudden itch in your throat. An annoying tickle that reminded you that you hadn’t had a physical sip of water in four days.

“Do you think that I could get some water?” You wondered aloud, nearly choking on your own words from the parched feeling.

Ghost hadn’t left your side when you were knocked out, and he surely wasn’t leaving now that you were awake.

“Johnny, could you-”

“Yep! On it.” He scurried out and down the hall without another word.

That left you and Ghost. The man that saved your life by risking his own to come back for you. You didn’t even want to think about what you would’ve done if Ghost had gotten killed at your expense. At least you would’ve died together, but that hardly sounded right or fair. Ghost deserved so much more.

“You scared me.” Ghost confessed, not even hiding the worry in his voice.

“I know…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, doll. Just…” He sighed. “Just really thought that I had lost you this time.”

There wasn’t anything you could say to make him feel better. You knew that because you had been in his shoes. His head wasn’t in the best place. You knew that even better. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that you loved him more than anybody else ever could.

“Thanks for coming back for me.” You whispered, a sudden set of tears slipping down your cheeks.

Ghost raised his balaclava. The material stopped just under his nose, his bare lips coming to press a kiss to the back of your hand. He made a solemn swear to himself in that moment that he’d never take you for granted again. He’d never get too comfortable with having you around and at his disposal.

Because fate was far too cruel for that.

“Always.”

8K notes · View notes

strlingsav · 1 year

Note

May I request reader being saved/ rescued by ghost, then maybe otw home they're stuck at a safe house for the night and it gets spicy? Like ghost is infatuated w her and she w him cus he saved her 😳

Yes ofc 😌

Saviour

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— You're stuck in a safe-house with Ghost.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

You'd already stripped from the sopping-wet, outer-layers of your gear, letting it sit in front of the wood stove to dry out. The weather was reaching the negatives, frost forming on the windows of the safehouse, a howling wind pushing against the crumbling walls.

Your extremities were numb, tingling as the cold seeped into your bones. The run-down building didn't help; cracks in the foundation and decaying floorboards let in the cold.

You were seated on an old wool blanket, one you'd found while clearing the house, which you'd wrapped haphazardly over you. Your elbows rested on your knees, thighs tucked against your chest to try and contain the little body heat remaining.

The heat of the fire warmed you, superficially, but you hoped it might ward off hypothermia. Your teeth chattered, the pauses of warm flames sending short bouts of shivers up your spine.

Your eyelids were heavy, half-shut as you stared at the fire, crackling wood that had embers landing by your feet. You didn't bother to move, merely watching the glowing pieces of charcoal as they fizzled out in front of you.

Ghost was hunched over on a rickety chair to the side of you, sitting in silence, cleaning his rifle. Your eyes would shift to his form every so-often, watching, studying. You were almost envious of the gun in his hands- he handled it with such care, knew it like the back of his hand.

Your mind hadn't stopped running through the entirety of the evening. You were grateful; he'd saved your life without a moment's hesitation- but you hadn't spoken since. It made things more tense than usual, especially once you'd realized you felt a bit more for Ghost than just respect.

He would sneak glances your way, wondering if you were still frozen. He'd pulled you from the river while escaping when evac couldn't make it in time. You'd slipped, fallen into the icy water and clung to the bank all while avoiding enemy fire. There was a rainfall of bullets pouring down on the two of you, yet he still managed to yank you from the freezing water.

He dragged you along, despite your adamant pestering, demanding him to leave you and continue. Adrenaline was pouring into every cell in your body at that point, hell-bent on making sure at least one of you made it back alive. He ignored you, as any sane man would, and ordered you to rid yourself of the soaking-wet clothes once you'd stepped inside the old building.

You were too cold to feel shame or embarrassment when you stripped down to your undershirt and panties. Though once you started to thaw out, your rational mind returning in pieces, you did feel a bit insecure. There was no place to hide, to find modesty while trapped inside the four walls with him. Even the wool blanket didn't allow for much coverage, it was nearly in tatters.

You didn't notice him staring, didn't see the quick glances up at you. He was concerned for you, of course, though the sight of your bare skin had his chest in a tight grip, his breathing in shambles. He'd never seen you so vulnerable. He had to hold his breath when you tugged your tactical pants down your thighs, look away when he could see the curve of your backside hugged by your panties.

Though, your eyes did meet, through the smoke-filled room, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to break the silence.

"Thanks," You muttered, your jaw managing to fight off the chattering for a moment.

"What for?" He asked, gruff and unwelcoming.

"Saving my ass," You looked over your shoulder. "You should've left me, though."

"Wouldn't be easy to explain, you goin' missin'."

You furrowed your brows. It was a disappointing answer, one you weren't expecting- but you weren't delusional. At least not entirely. You didn't think you'd get a warm, heartfelt response, though something more personal, intimate- which was highly unlikely, would've sufficed.

He was silent as he stared at you, hands slow as he continued polishing the barrel of his rifle. Your teeth still chattered, and you pulled your wet hair from your face in an attempt to feel the warmth of the fire a bit better. He let out a sigh, his shoulders falling when he realized you weren't warming up as quickly as he would've liked.

"Christ," He muttered, standing from his position to sit behind you.

His massive thighs encased yours, his chest meeting your back with a huff. He'd taken off most of his gear when you settled in, but lifted his shirt over his head to press his bare skin to yours. He wrapped an arm around your chest, pulling you back into him.

"You're bloody freezin'," He murmured in your ear.

You listened to the breathing in your ear, basked in the warmth that radiated off his chest. You let your head fall back, resting on his shoulder, and hour eyes glanced up at the mask on his face.

He grew more distant, a bit hazy as you felt drowsiness threaten to pull you under. Your eye lids began to flutter shut, the rhythm of his breaths lulling you to sleep.

"Stay awake," He said, tugging you back from the brink of sleep. "Not in the clear yet."

You sighed, shifting to your side as you cuddled into his chest. It may have been the tide of sleep pulling you back and forth, or pure delusion caused by early stages of hypothermia, but you didn't care how desperate you looked. He was radiating heat, allowing you to fold yourself against him- it was an opportunity you couldn't resist.

"You're warm," You uttered, punctuated by a soft sigh.

"Skin-to-skin'll warm you up faster."

He studied at you, as inconspicuously as he could, watching your chest rise and fall. The curve of your lashes, cheekbones highlighted in the orange glow- he'd always found you beautiful, even more so as you laid against him. A part of him was glad he'd stripped down with you, been able to feel your skin against his.

"Should I take off my shirt?" You asked, innocently enough, though you felt the pause, the hesitation in his words.

"Might have to."

You reached for the hem of your T-shirt, lifting it over your head before falling back against him. He was right, it was warm- like lying against a furnace. You exhaled, relief flooding through you.

"Better?" He asked.

You nodded. Your hands had come up to cover your chest, folding your arms. Your curled yourself up into a fetal position.

"Thanks," You muttered again.

He'd struck your confidence down, unintentionally, but his eyes on your body reduced you to hiding from him. Even in a life-or-death situation, it wasn't ideal to be nearly naked in front of your Lieutenant, especially not after coming to terms with your feelings for him. It didn't make it any easier that he'd saved your life, and didn't expect anything in return. You hadn't quite caught up to the reality of the situation and likely wouldn't until the feeling in your toes returned.

Your hands pressed to his chest, desperate for more heat, yearning for it while your body still shivered intermittently.

"You just nervous or still cold?"

Your eyes lifted to his, "Why would I be nervous?"

"Don't be daft," He replied.

He'd seen right through your attempt at playing innocent, trying not to open the door for anything other than professionalism. You couldn't afford to let your feelings be known, not with your entire body on display- you were far too vulnerable already.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," You brushed him off.

"Don't think I've seen you naked before, Sergeant. I'd remember."

It slipped out- a moment of weakness while he gazed down at you. He'd crossed a line, an inadvertently risqué remark that caught your attention. Though he could see your lips part, your eyes dart between his, it didn't stop his heart from racing, choking back the urge to push you away.

"Didn't realize I was so memorable," You whispered.

"Cold's gettin' in your head."

He tried to turn back, revert to the abrasive man you knew him as, but it was too late. You'd already stuck your foot in the door, caught a glimpse of how he really felt.

"I don't think so," You muttered, curling into him further, your hands landing on his thighs. "You said it yourself."

He sighed, shutting his eyes as he tried to ignore how hot your hands were over his thighs. The sultry tone of your voice, your eyes glimmering in the light.

"That right?" He asked, a teasing cadence to his words. He wasn't one for falling into a trap.

"You did tell me to strip," You said, letting your head fall to his shoulder again. "Am I on your mind, Lieutenant?"

He clenched his jaw, watching your chest rise and fall from below him, your head tilted up to watch him. He couldn't resist, in any imaginable scenario you'd always get the best of him, whether he liked it or not.

He wondered if it was the cold, making your words out to be sultry and inviting, but when his hands met your waist and you fell into him, your beautiful eyes gazing up at him, he didn't care what it was; he just wanted you.

"All the fuckin' time," He said, low and harsh in your ear.

You swallowed. His words had immediately brought the remnants of heat in your body to the surface. It rushed over your face, settled between your thighs- everywhere you didn't particularly need it.

"Anything in particular?"

Your voice was reduced to a whisper, though you still had enough energy to pursue whatever it was going on between you.

"Fishin' for compliments?" He retorted, a smug tone to his voice.

"I want to know what you imagine when you think about me."

He slid his hands down to your thighs, cool to the touch, but under his palms it felt nice. He was burning up- from desire or the fire, he didn't know.

"Be easier to list what I haven't thought about, sweetheart."

You shivered again- this time, because of the callouses scraping against your smooth skin, the honeyed words that dripped out of his mouth. His rough hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs, moving slowly across your legs. You whimpered, a deep expression of impatience, and he chuckled in your ear.

"I've thought about you," You confessed, watching his head tilt to see you better. "Especially now."

He paused, "I ain't lookin' for a reward, if that's what you're gettin' at."

"No," You shook your head, your hands landing over his. "I've just been waiting for you to touch me."

"Hypothermia ain't enough to keep you subdued," He stated, watching you wriggle yourself back against him, desperate for more.

"I want you to touch me," You whispered.

It was a tie between wanting to stay within the norm and let yourself fall into the abyss of your desire. The threat of hypothermia was a good excuse, one you'd relied on to give you the edge you needed to admit to your feelings.

Your confession sent a rush of blood to his groin, enough that you could feel him hardening, pressing into the small of your back. You could hear him muttering curse words under his breath, especially as his hands ghosted over the seat of your panties.

"I like seein' you spread out for me like this," He said, leaning forward as his masked mouth brushed against your ear. "You want me t' touch you?" It was a rhetorical question, one spurred by the desire to hear you admit it again, words he'd only imagined you saying.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin, your hand leaving Ghost's thigh to rest over his. You pushed it down, finally, enough pressure over your pussy to make you whine.

"Please," You said, staring up at him.

He let out a short groan, hooking his legs under your ankles to pull them apart, spreading your thighs wider over his. Without your guidance, he stroked two fingers over your clit, still clothed, but it made your head fall back.

You let out a short breath of relief, planting your palms on either side of his legs as he moved his fingers in small circles.

"Yes," You breathed, arching your back into him.

He took your praise and continued, pulling your panties aside to press his fingers directly to the hot flesh of your pussy. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, swallowing down groans of satisfaction upon feeling how slick and soft you were.

His fingers slipped down, two finding your seeping entrance while his thumb continued rubbing over your clit. He pushed his fingers deeper inside of you, his free hand wrapping over your chest again, reaching blindly to squeeze and palm your breasts.

"You warm yet?" He asked, the rumble of his baritone in your ear. He knew just how to rile you up

"Don't-" You stuttered, "Don't stop."

"You're soakin' my fingers," He said, mostly to himself, though he heard the whimper that left your lips. "Listen to that."

You weren't oblivious to the sounds of your pussy as Ghost's fingers hooked inside you, coaxing your orgasm with patience and consistency. Usually, you would flushed with embarrassment, but Ghost's heavy breathing in your ear, his hand clinging to you, you didn't care.

"I told you," You said, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "I've been waiting."

He hummed, using his free hand to lift his mask over the bump on his nose, pressing his lips against your neck. Your lips fell open, moaning softly, panting into the cool air.

"Been waitin' on you, sweetheart."

Your stomach tensed, your fingers digging into the floorboards as you rolled your hips against his fingers. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, feeling the beginnings of your orgasm.

"Ghost," You slurred, your hips rocking into his hand. "Right there- please," You whined.

He nudged your cheek with his nose, forcing you to leave your neck vulnerable to his lips and tongue. He slid his tongue over the tendons, following with a kiss to your pulse.

He sucked in a harsh breath when he felt your pussy constrict his fingers, wrapping around him with a tightness that nearly halted his movements.

"You cummin' on my fingers?" He asked.

You nodded, holding your breath as your abs tightened. Your body twisted in his grasp, gasping for air once the overwhelming pleasure had passed and you were left weak and boneless.

You turned on your knees to straddle his thighs. Your eyes were drawn to the sight of his flushed lips, wet with saliva. You leaned forward, engulfing his lips with yours, immediately throwing yourself against him as your tongue slid into his mouth.

He moved his hands to your waist, holding tightly while you unintentionally ground your hips into his erection, making him moan quietly into your mouth.

Your fingers slid down his chest, reaching his belt. You pulled away to look at his eyes- dark, nearly unnoticeable beneath the charcoal paint, but you could see his light eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. You'd never seen his face; up until now it was a well-kept secret, but the lower-half of his face was intoxicating, enough to keep your attention.

He offered you his lips out of pure lust; in awe of you, how your body reacted to his touch. He wanted to feel you with his lips, his tongue, glide it over every inch of your skin- he'd settle for the restrictions holding him back now, but made a promise to himself to taste you, all of you.

"You want more?" He asked you, a bit surprised that you'd reached for his belt.

"I want all of you," You whispered.

Your words hit his ears with genuine desire, making him clench his jaw. The vision of you beneath him, his cock penetrating the walls of your pussy- it made him shudder.

"Go on then, sweetheart. Take it."

You freed his cock, shifting upwards, your chest against his jaw as he guided his cock to your pussy, sliding back against your clit to find the tight walls inside you.

You lowered yourself, choking back a loud moan, your heart battering your rib cage.

"Can y'take it all?" He asked, his voice strained.

You forced yourself down, effectively stretching your walls as he opened you up. You settled on his thighs, his cock buried so deep inside you it felt like he was shifting your organs to make room.

He let out a satisfied groan, praising your efforts with a grin.

"There it is," He grumbled.

Your groans made his cock twitch inside you, and as he inadvertently tugged you forward you grunted.

"You're big," You whispered, your forehead falling against the hard material of his mask. "S-so big."

"You're too fuckin' tight," He said. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."

You lifted yourself, perching forward ever-so slightly just to bring yourself back down on his cock.

Once you were comfortable, you set a slow pace, one that allowed you to feel just how deep he could go, how good he felt as he massaged your walls.

"Just like that," He uttered, his eyes falling to your chest, watching your breasts recoil with every bounce.

Your eyes shut, burying your face against the side of his, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as you held him close.

"No," He said, his hand reaching your throat with a firm hold.

He pushed you back. "Wanna see how you look ridin' me."

You shivered again, your pussy squeezing around him, making his lips part with a groan. His hand offered a gentle squeeze, moving up to hold your jaw while you lifted yourself up and back down on his cock, before grinding back and forth.

"Oh my God," You drawled, your eyes shutting as you devoured the friction of his trousers against your clit, the head of his cock dragging through your walls.

His other hand slid down to your ass, taking a handful and forcefully pushing you over his lap to grind against him.

"Bloody hell," He grunted. "Been waitin' for you," He said again, in the midst of a lust-induced haze. "For a long fuckin' time."

"I'm yours," You replied, sweet whimpers hitting his ears. "All yours."

"Christ, sweetheart. Keep talkin' like that- g'na make me cum."

His words drew your orgasm from you, built up from the friction and irresistible feeling of his cock filling you- you collapsed against him with a faint cry, your hips still as your pussy fluttered, contractions shooting through your pussy and lower back.

"Fuck," He cursed. "Better move."

You whimpered as you lifted off his cock, watching as he ran his hand up and down it.

Your hand reached out to replace his, a firm fist squeezing his cock- his warm cum landed over the expanse of your stomach, dripping down over your pubis.

Your head fell back, taking in deep breaths, still reeling from your high as he tucked himself back in his trousers.

His hands reached out to grab your waist with a firm hold, heavy breaths fanning over your sticky skin.

"I meant it," You said, your hands sliding over his shoulders. "Thank you."

"Couldn't leave you behind."

"I know," You nodded.

"You're too important t'leave behind."

A small smile grew over your face.

"I think I'm warm enough now," You said.

"I know," He said back. "Just want you here."

You fell forward, hanging onto him while his hands wrapped around your waist to hold you against him.

Taglist: @mxtokko

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley smut #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you

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dxxdhood · 9 months

Text

cabin fervor

pairing: jason todd x gn!reader

summary: fed up with your life, you go on a trek through the woods in the dead of winter. When you pass out in the middle of a snowstorm, jason rescues you and brings you back to his cabin.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, hypothermia mention, frostbite mention, food mention, reader with poor self preservation, implied mental health issues

wc: 1.9k

The cold feels sharp, like a thousand pinpricks attacking your skin all at once. When you decided to go on this pathetic excuse for a trip, you thought you knew what you were getting yourself into. Bundled in your layers and snuggled in a puffer jacket, you felt decently protected from the cold when you first left home. But now, when faced with the expanse of winter forest, you feel hilariously underprepared.

The woods you decided to go on a hike continue forever, stretching off into the gray sky no matter where you look. For the first hour or so of your trek, it was actually fairly enjoyable. The mounds of snow covering the ground shimmered in the morning light, and you had no trouble walking through it with your sturdy boots.

But even though you felt the cold was manageable at first, you quickly start to realize your fingers are numbing through your gloves. Periodically, you shake them out, trying to coax life back into them. Nothing seems to work, so to warm yourself up, you keep walking down what you hope is the trail. There’s about six inches of snow obscuring the ground, so you really can’t be sure if you’re screwing this up or not.

Your phone doesn’t work out here, but you think at least an hour has passed since you started. Every tender nerve in your body is screaming at you to turn back, to go home and make yourself an instant hot cocoa and pretend like everything’s completely fine, but you stubbornly keep walking. It’s nothing but inertia and your fear of returning to your lonely home that keeps you going.

Brushing the slice of skin between your sleeve and glove against your nose, it’s like a block of ice. You don’t have a mirror, but even if you did, you’d be too afraid to check it. What if some of the skin cells have died by now? What if frostbite is already setting in? You can sense you’ve given yourself goosebumps just from your own panicked thoughts. Slowing your pace down, you take a few deep breaths, counting each second. Stupid. It hasn’t been that long yet. No way you’re getting frostbite already.

Turn back. Your body is screaming at you. Your legs are cramping up along the outer edges like they’ve done too many lunges in one session, but you keep pushing them further. The trees around you are devoid of color, twisted ash like the sky, and you think unreasonably that you deserve better scenery for having come so far. Oh god, you’re losing it.

It’s snowing now, just small flakes being carried by the wind, but you continue to trudge forward despite the wind buffeting against you. You will not go back to your empty house, tinged in bad memories. There won’t be a job you hate anymore, not out here. No stressors, no panic fueled by the fact that you’re all by yourself. Here, in the woods, being alone doesn’t matter. You don’t have to be anyone out here, you’re safe.

At some point, you’ve started to get warm. The realization has you cackling, and unfortunately there are no birds around for you to scare away. Realizing you just wished to torture birds makes you laugh even harder, and you take a bad step which causes you to fall forward. You’re face first in the snow, your entire body laying flat into it like it’s a mattress.

Honestly, you feel calm. You’re not afraid. In fact, you wish it would snow a little harder so you would have a soft blanket to cover you. There’s more giggling, which you recognize as yours after a delay. Oddly enough, there’s also footsteps, but those can’t be yours. You’ve stopped being able to feel your feet a long time ago. You think you feel a warm hand gripping your shoulder, but you black out too quickly to tell.

You’re awoken by your own heart rattling in your chest. There’s heat, so much heat and the scenery around you is all burnt yellows and dark oranges. It’s so warm in here, you almost have the urge to throw the quilt that’s covering you off, but then you remember this morning’s adventure.

Opening your eyes further, you realize you’re in a cabin complete with a fireplace. There’s a combination of modern furniture, like a dresser and the bed you’ve been sleeping on, with some furniture that looks distinctly homemade, like a log bench and table. And thankfully, there’s plenty of thick fabrics. There’s a push rug beneath you and blankets folded on the shelves. There’s even an old, possibly fur-lined overcoat spread out on the couch across from you. It’s heaven.

“Finally awake, huh?” a gravelly voice calls out. You turn towards the sound, seeing a man stirring a pot on a wood cookstove. He’s very tall, only missing the ceiling by a few inches, and combined with his bulk, you wonder how he manages to look so at-home in the small cabin.

“Yeah,” you say, helpfully.

“You wanna tell me what you were doing out there in the middle of a snowstorm?” he takes his gaze off of the stew for a moment to look at you. His eyes are intense, strong like the rest of him.

You open your mouth to respond, but you find yourself gaping. There really isn’t a good explanation, is there? What were you even trying to do? Walking out into woods that go on for dozens of miles in the dead of winter– even you have the self-awareness to know how outrageous that sounds.

“I like the forest.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, grabbing a ladle from the hanging rack. “Me too, that’s why I live here.”

You cringe at yourself, and you can only hope he doesn’t also find you embarrassing. There’s only the steady sound of the fire crackling and he fills two bowls with stew. You continue to peer at him from the bed, watching as he sits down at the table. After a moment, he gestures you over with an arched brow, like he’s confused you even need an invitation.

“Thank you,” you say as you sit across from him. The stew smells rich and vibrant, and even though you wouldn’t have guessed you were that hungry, you eat the first few bites rapidly, not caring that you burn your tongue.

“It’s true, though,” you say after you manage to slow yourself down. “I like the forest. It makes me happy in a way that I don’t really understand. Like, it’s just trees. I know that, but… I don’t know, something about me coming here when I was younger, just getting to see squirrels running around, smelling the sap and the moldy leaves in the fall– it’s great. You get lost here, and you never really know the place no matter how many times you visit.”

He nods, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep.”

“Isn’t that a poem?” you say as you swallow another mouthful of stew.

From up close, you realize he has scars running along his face and neck, disappearing past the collar of his sweater, “Robert Frost. You read poetry?”

“Not really. You?”

“Sometimes. It gets better when you’re in a worse mood,” you swear you see the ghost of a smile grace his lips.

“How’s that work?” your eyebrows knit together.

He takes a big gulp of stew and chews on it as he gathers his thoughts. “It’s all emotions, that’s all poetry is.”

He continues, “If you’re already vulnerable, everything the poet’s saying and all the weird analogies they’re using to get their point across are going to land much better. The poet’s feelings are so much more raw when you already understand them.”

And there, in his warm, homey cabin with the flickering fire light, you see him. His hair curls like ink written on parchment, gently brushing against his forehead. His gaze is soft even though he politely keeps it off of you, allowing you to eat in relative privacy. All you want is to get him to talk books to you, maybe for hours, maybe forever.

“Who are you?” is what you say because you can’t say anything else.

“Jason,” and he smiles full-out this time. He’s clearly capable, probably toughened from surviving the winter out in this cabin alone, but his expressions are still so delicate, like he’s a ripple in a pond.

“I’m–”

“Someone who thinks they’re immortal, someone who thinks knit gloves are good enough to stop hypothermia, should I keep going?”

“Hey!” you shout, trying in vain to smack his shoulder. “Come on, my winter outfit wasn’t that bad.”

“You weren’t even wearing a scarf,” he says as he finishes his stew. You follow along shortly after, and he walks a few paces until he sits on the coach.

You join him, sitting on the other end. Being closer to the fire, you shiver as you realize how cold you still are, even after the nap and the stew.

His eyes widen and he gets up immediately, “Wait a second.”

Jason drapes you in the quilt from before, arranging it so no part of your body is left uncovered. “How’s that? Do you want another one? I have more.”

“I think I’m good,” you give a content sigh. “I don’t want to start sweating.”

He nods and sits down beside you, leaving less distance than there was before. The two of you chat over nothing and everything, you point out the knick knacks and books on his shelf and he explains them to you, his face lighting up at getting to talk about things that mean so much to him.

At some point, you become thirsty and ask if he has any water. He says he needs to get it “the old-fashioned way” and you watch as he grabs a bucket near the door and fills it with snow from outside. You patter over to the stove, still cloaked in your quilt, and watch as he melts the snow in a pot right in front of your eyes.

You thank him a bit too enthusiastically, seeing as all he did was melt snow, but what can you say, it was a new experience for you. He pours a mugful for you and one for himself a little later once the water is hotter. Placing a spoonful of leaves from a box on his kitchen shelf into his mug, you realize he’s making tea. Grimacing, you demand a trade. He switches your mugs, no questions asked, and you dig your nose into the quilt at your shoulder to hide your sheepish expression.

When you settle back on the couch and you feel the tiredness finally set into your bones, you tell Jason you have something to say. He listens.

“I was out there because I was alone. I didn’t want… to feel so empty anymore,” you whisper, your eyes already closing.

“I know,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around you as you lean your head on his shoulder. “I get it. I understand.”

You drift off, his words finally instilling you with a warmth you’ve needed for so long.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #gn reader #jason todd x gn!reader #dc comics #dc #dcu #red hood x gn!reader #red hood x reader #red hood #angst #hurt/comfort #food mention

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ddejavvu · 8 months

Text

pairing: daniel x reader (love actually)

summary: your neighbor is very enthusiastic about his new hobby, and you're tired.

a/n: there is no last name that i could find for daniel which really sucks </3 anyways i want to smooch him

You're going to kill them. You're actually going to commit homicide, perhaps you'll even take one of those damn drumsticks and use it as the murder weapon. One through the eye would be a good start, right? You'll stick the other one where the sun doesn't shine.

Your slippers scratch noisily against the pavement leading up to your neighbors' front door, and you hear the incessant drumming grow louder the closer you get to their house. Finally you're on the porch, and you think something in your ears may have ruptured by now.

You raise a fist to the door, but quiet, polite knocking won't be heard over the racket inside. You have to pound against it instead, and you'd cringe at the aggression if it weren't necessary.

Ten seconds pass, and you're almost convinced that you've gone unheard despite your frantic knocking. The chilly winter air stings your ankles where your pajama pants have rucked up near your thighs, and you shimmy them back down your legs to rid your skin of goosebumps. Your sleep shirt is warm but not snow-worthy, and you seriously consider giving up to dive back into your warm bed. But sleep won't come unless the drums cease, and you're determined to get your rest.

You're nearing the twenty second mark, close to driving your car straight through their front door just to be heard, but you hear the soft click of a lock, almost inaudible over the drumming, and the door swings open. A rush of warm air hits you and your bones ache with cold, but you're quickly distracted from any trivial concerns such as hypothermia when you see the man standing in front of you.

He's nearly as tall as the doorframe, but he's got an air about him that's so gentle you'd have expected him to be a mouse in a kids' cartoon. His face is kind and his smile only helps, a soft, welcoming curve that feels just as cozy as the inside of his home.

Suddenly, the drumming doesn't seem so bad.

"Hello," He greets, his voice a deep timbre that carries warmth but not heat, a lilt to it that's not common in your region, "Can I help you?"

If you'd known you would be faced with the human embodiment of a crackling fireplace, gentle and cozy and irresistible, you might have chosen more respectable attire than pajamas. As it stands, you're on his front porch in slippers and flannel pants, so you inhale and square your shoulders, powering on regardless.

"Hello," You return the formality, desperately searching for some of the guiding fury you'd felt only seconds ago, "I know it's broad daylight, but I worked the night shift last night, and- well, I was trying to get some sleep. I was wondering if the aspiring musician could postpone their practice for a little while?"

When you get to the point of your visit the man's face drops, his lips turning down and his eyes glinting with something akin to worry. It's sweet and undeserving of the rage you'd wanted to inflict on him when you'd first set out, and you tamp down guilt that tries stabbing at your heart.

"Uh, give me just a moment," He chuckles weakly, still supported by background percussion, "I'd call for him to stop but he wouldn't hear me. Wait, uh- y'can step in if you'd like," He steps away from the door, holding it open for you. You feel awkward accepting the invitation, but you'd feel worse declining it, so you let him usher you inside, relishing the warmth that surrounds you as he shuts the door on the cold outside.

He starts down the hallway and you linger in the entryway, stuck between looking around and keeping to yourself. You finally give and glance to your left, catching sight of a framed picture on a table in front of a trinket tray.

"Sam-o," The man calls, but despite being right outside his door, the drummer doesn't hear him, "Sam! I'll-" He turns back towards you, a sheepish grimace on his face, "I'll go in."

"Right," You nod, happy to turn back towards the photo you'd seen earlier while he wrangles who you're sure is a very surly, very rebellious teenager in the midst of his rock 'n' roll phase.

The picture is of the man and a little boy, presumably his son, taken on a dock overlooking a lake. The boy is holding a fish that's almost too small to be seen, but his grin is wide, making up for the less-than-impressive catch. He's clearly proud of himself, and the man looks to be as well, holding him up with an equally large smile.

They look like a very happy family, and your heart beats faster at the endearing display. The drums cease from the other room, and you hear muffled voices take their place.

You notice more photos of the boy scattered around, but no other children; perhaps he's an only child. You don't have time to evaluate much more, though, because the man returns, and tucked beneath his arm is the boy from the pictures.

Where you were expecting a jaded seventeen-year-old rockstar, you see a four-foot batman, the black-and-grey hoodie zipped up over blue jeans. His apologetic grin is very unlike the surly protector of Gotham, though, and you consider telling his father to buy him a CareBears sweatshirt next time.

"Hello," He nods, voice soft but polite as his dad stands beside him, "I'm sorry my drumming woke you."

"He's practicing for a big showcase," His dad informs you, a large hand squeezing the boy's shoulder encouragingly, "But he can practice tomorrow."

"Oh," You're nearly lost for words, caught in a whirlwind of unexpected fondness for the pair, "I- I don't mean to slow you down, I'm sorry. It's just that the Christmas season is very busy at work, and I need to be in tomorrow morning. So- uh, my schedule is a little thrown off."

"It's alright," The man smiles, kindness etched into every crease of his face, "Sam has plenty of other opportunities to practice. And I'm- Daniel, by the way."

Daniel holds his free hand out, the other still comfortingly closed around Sam's shoulder. You're quick to join them and the handshake is firm, Daniel's hand much larger than your own, and much warmer to boot.

"My goodness, you're frozen," He chuckles sympathetically, a chill surely lingering on his skin the same way his warmth does on yours, "Would you like a cup of tea? I can brew chamomile, it'll make you sleepy."

Basic etiquette would be to kindly refuse, to not overstay your welcome, and to thank the boy for postponing his drum practice. But your still-racing heart is not one to listen to logic or etiquette, and you find yourself bashfully accepting his offer.

"Oh- um, if it's no trouble. Chamomile sounds nice."

"No trouble at all," He smiles, patting Sam on the shoulder, "Would you like some tea, Sam-o?"

The boy's button nose scrunches, and he shakes his head, "No thanks. I'll be in my room."

Daniel chuckles, and you find yourself grinning with shared amusement as the boy retreats.

"No drumming!" Daniel calls after him, and Sam turns in the doorway, teasing exasperation on his features.

"Alright, no drumming. Y'know, I'm trying to get a girl to fall in love with me," Sam informs you, speaking with the matter-of-factness that you'd expect from a professor, not an elementary schooler, "But I think learning to play the drums was a waste of time."

Daniel's brow furrows, probably lamenting the hours of noise he'd endured for nothing "Oh, why?"

"I could have just offered her tea instead," The boy grins, slipping into his room before either of you can stop him.

His childishly brazen comment leaves you and Daniel stiff with awkwardness, and you feel his eyes upon you. You meet his incredulous gaze with one of your own, and a breathy laugh escapes from his lips as he lingers near the kitchen.

"Well. Perhaps I've shown him Titanic one too many times as of late. But if you're going to fall in love with me, I think I should know your name first."

His smile is cheeky and you run with it, letting him lead you to a kitchen island. You sit at one of the stools as he occupies himself with a kettle, retrieving a box of chamomile tea from a nearby cupboard.

"I'm Y/N," You laugh, "And if you're able to help me get some sleep before work in the morning, there's a very good chance that I will fall in love with you."

#tagging this seems pointless i think everyone interested in this is already here #but i will do it anyways #love actually daniel x reader #love actually fanfiction #love actually x reader #daniel x reader #love actually daniel fanfiction #liam neeson fanfiction #liam neeson x reader

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calimelontea · 1 year

Text

it's just not the same!

❥❥i tried to be a little more descriptive in this one, so i hope you guys enjoy! (and hopefully my writing style doesn't sound completely ridiculous :'D)

❥When a cold front hits you and your boyfriend's shared home, how will he react when you come to seek warmth with him in his room? And how will he react if you try to return to yours?

Category- Fluff ☀

Content- Tighnari and Wanderer, GN!Reader, ever so slight hurt/comfort? (you're super cold and he warms you up), a few mentions of death, but nobody actually dies.

❥❥ I was gonna make some more bullet points for Baizhu and Albedo as well, but my job has me working all kinds of extra hours and it's giving me writer's block 😵 so for now I'll just post these ones so I don't leave you guys with nothing this month, and if you guys like it I could do a part 2 for those two as well?

Tighnari

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➼When the other forest rangers said there would be a cold front coming in, you weren't expecting it to be THIS cold. Whereas you were expecting a little temperature drop, some sweater weather and maybe a bit of frost, the cold front in reality was enough to freeze the rivers running through the Avidia Forest.

➼Needless to say, you regretted not taking the advice of your boyfriend when he told you to prepare accordingly, and now here you were, curled up in your bed, shivering as the cold air seeped into your skin.

➼You had tried your best to tough it out, but at this rate, you knew you were going to get hypothermia if you didn't do something soon. So you did the first thing that came to mind. You bundled up in some blankets, put on some slippers and shuffled your way to your boyfriend's room.

➼With some hesitance, you knocked on the door lightly and waited patiently as you heard some movement inside the room. In just a few moments, he was there at the door, an eyebrow raised as he looked at your shaky form.

➼"well well, what's this now? Is it the consequences of your actions coming back to bite you?" he chastised, crossing his arms and seeming to understand immediately the reason you came to his bedroom door. "Nariii" you pouted, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself to try and shield you from the cold. He could tell by how the color was drained from your skin and how blue your lips were that you must've been like this for a while now, so despite how much he wanted to scold you for not heeding his advice, he knew there was no time to waste in warming you up.

➼"Alright, get in here you big lummox" he sighed before grabbing your hand, leading you into his room and closing the door behind him. He hardly wasted any time gathering up some extra clothes from his own wardrobe before unearthing you from the large blanket you cocooned yourself in, layering you up in some proper attire before dragging you off to his bed, both of you laying down together while he rubbed your hands and blew hot air onto them.

➼It was only when he felt confident that you were no longer knocking on death's door that he started to scold you, although based on the concerned look in his eyes, it seemed he was more fretting over you if anything. "You really should take my advice seriously, this could've ended a lot worse for you if you didn't get here when you did" "I know.. Sorry Nari" even though you knew he said this out of genuine worry for your well-being, you couldn't help but shrink a bit when he got like this.

➼He noticed this fact and sighed, "just please don't hesitate next time, I don't want you to get hurt, okay?" he carefully wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, the warmth emanating from his body beginning to sooth your cold skin. All you could let out was a soft "mhmm.." as his comforting embrace had already begun to lull you to sleep.

➼It didn't take you long to pass out in his arms, and while he stayed up just a bit longer to monitor your condition, he couldn't help but feel the corners of his lips turn up in a smile as he looked down at your sleeping form. Despite how forgetful you were, he couldn't deny he loved you deeply. He knew he would have to help you find some proper winter wear soon, but perhaps he could be selfish for just a tad longer. Seeing you in his clothes admittedly made him melt a bit for you.

➼And so, for a while afterwards, he would use the cold front as an excuse to pull you into his room and have you sleep comfortably in his arms. Not only because he had secretly been craving this step forward in intimacy, but also because he genuinely never wanted to see you that cold again, it had scared him a bit.

➼But when the cold front had begun to die down and the temperatures had finally became suitable for regular clothing again, he was a bit surprised when he saw you walking towards your room instead of his. "Where are you heading off to?" he had asked with a flick of his ears, and when you had responded with "oh, I thought I may as well sleep in here since it's warmer, I don't want to overstay my welcome", he frowned.

➼"overstay your welcome? Don't you think we're a little past that point? Come on now, let's get to bed, or would you rather we sleep in your room tonight?"

➼You couldn't help but smile at how insistent he was in both of you sleeping together. He truly couldn't get enough of you, and it was quite telling in the way his tail swished lightly when you agreed.

Wanderer

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➼You were honestly a bit anxious to try and ask at first. Sure, the puppet loved you, he had professed so himself, but he wasn't exactly known for being accommodating. Even to his beloved there would be the occasional sharp slip of the tongue, though a bit less harsh than he would give to most.

➼You worried that maybe bothering him so late at night would make him angry at you, but the way the frigid air bit at your skin and numbed your fingers and nose was far too harsh. You thought it was at least worth a try. So here you were, standing at his doorway with the thickest blanket you own draped around your shoulders, your breath visible in the air as a fog.

➼You lightly creaked the door open just a crack. "Kuni?" you whispered into the dark room, only the moonlight from the window illuminating what was inside.

➼"What is it?" he asked with a sigh, sitting up. He was a relatively light sleeper, considering he technically didn't need to sleep, so he had woken up a good while before you even reached the door.

➼Ofc his ever grouchy tone was present, though slightly muddled by the grogginess of waking up, it had almost deterred you from asking the question, but the cold was seeping into your bones and making your joints ache, you couldn't make this trip be for nothing.

➼"H-hey, is it okay if I sleep here with you tonight..?" you asked with a shiver. "it's.. Really cold"

➼He almost had half a mind to scoff at you and tell you to just deal with it, but as his eyes scanned your shaky frame, he knew he couldn't bring himself to do that. After all, humans could get sick if left in the cold, and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if you had died because of something he did.

➼"fine, get over here" he grumbled. He was glad it was so dark in the room so you wouldn't see the way his cheeks flushed red at the thought of sharing a bed with you. You smiled happily and hurried over, burrowing your way under the sheets, thankful that they were at least a bit warmer from his presence (although that may or may not have been due to his blushing.)

➼He reluctantly placed his arms around you and held you awkwardly at his side in an attempt to share body heat. You really weren't kidding about being cold, he couldn't feel an ounce of warmth in your skin, and he wasn't even human. But compared to the emptiness of your bed, he felt like a welcoming candle flame in your eyes.

➼You had passed out almost immediately once you began to warm up, however he could hardly get an ounce of sleep for a good while. Your sudden intrusion had his mind racing and butterflies in his stomach. He hated it, but he also couldn't help but feel something warm inside, looking down at your sleeping form. How ridiculous.

➼This went on for almost a week, you would come peeking into his door asking if you could spend the night with him, he'd begrudgingly comply, and the two of you would wake up the next morning in eachother's arms. At some point he told you to just "stop asking and get over here already", so some nights you would just slip into the bed with him and he would curl around you almost immediately.

➼Once the weather warmed up enough though, you had decided it was time to return to your own room. After all, you didn't want to overstay your welcome and make him angry with you. So, you began to make your way to your room.

➼He noticed this almost immediately and furrowed his brow. "Where do you think you're going?". "Ah, I was going to sleep in my room tonight since it's warmer now. I didn't want to inconvenience you too much" you explained, giving him a light smile. "Tch, whatever" he grumbled before making his way to his own room.

➼ "Whatever" indeed, because that "whatever" caused him to spend almost all night tossing and turning in his bed without a wink of sleep. He didn't understand why, but his bed felt.. Empty, almost too empty. It was agitating him to no end, why was he acting so childish over some human???

➼Eventually he decided enough was enough. He got up out of bed and marched straight to your room, opening up the door much similarly to the way you once did. "Hey, are you up?" he muttered into your dark room. He could just barely make out your form curled up in bed around one of your pillows, and upon hearing his voice, you looked up at him before sitting up with a "hm?"

➼He carefully shut the door before making his way over to your bed, practically inviting himself in under your covers and clinging onto you tightly. Immediately, his mind felt more at ease. This is what he was missing.

➼"Kuni, is something wrong?" "… I'm cold" "… Kuni, it's 58 degrees outside" "shut up"

➼Needless to say, you're probably never sleeping alone again <3

#Genshin x Reader #Genshin Impact x Reader #Wanderer x Reader #Scaramouche x Reader #Tighnari x Reader #Wanderer x GN!Reader #Tighnari x GN!Reader #Scaramouche x GN!Reader #Genshin x GN!Reader #Genshin Impact x GN!Reader #x reader #genshin fanfic

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shyvioletcat · 5 months

Text

I love this au, you love this au. Let's just get to it.

~ Masterlist ~

~~~~~

Today Aelin was only booked in for a half day at the aquarium. It was off-peak, middle of the school term and the usual slow Wednesday crowd. There weren’t many visitors to the aquarium besides the odd school group and to keep it fair the mermaid shifts were split. Aelin had the morning and Lysandra would do the afternoon.

There was about an hour between performances and Aelin had just finished shedding her tail along with all her other mermaid accessories. She was only dressed in her swimmers and was on her way to the showers when Lysandra walked into the dressing room.

“Hello, hello,” she greeted brightly.

“Hey,” Aelin replied, pulling out her clothes to make sure she had everything she needed. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d accidentally left her underwear on the bed.

“Isn’t that the sweatshirt Mr Hot ‘n Loaded lent you?” Lysandra said, sighting the jumper that had just been unloaded from the bag and flicking the cuff.

”Maybe.” It was all Aelin was willing to admit, and quickly stuffed it out of sight, diverting the conversation away from it. “Speaking of, I could have died.”

Despite the seriousness of the words, Lysandra laughed. “You were not dying. We’ve been over this. And you had a far better saviour than me, let it go.”

“Not the point,” Aelin deflected, “and you know I know how to hold a grudge.”

“You’re just jealous,” Lysandra said with a casual shrug and a self satisfied smile.

Aelin huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m very proud of you for taking the opportunity of casual sex in a bathroom.”

“It was a bedroom, actually,” Lysandra corrected. “Apparently there’s at least three guest rooms.”

“Semantics. What I’m saying is that there is a time and a place, and that was neither.”

Lysandra dropped her bag onto the chair in front of the vanity mirror. “The way I see it, thanks to my little escapade with that very handsome blond you were able to get your own dose of flirting in, you just aren’t game enough to do anything about it.”

Right, because when Rowan had undressed Aelin in that pool room, desperately trying not to look, and really except for one teasing line she had missed her opportunity. She had been too cold and frazzled to take advantage of the situation. Aelin could feel herself blushing even though she hadn’t been shy in the moment. Maybe it had been because of the onset of hypothermia or maybe it was because she had found Rowan’s own embarrassment so entertaining, either way the pink in her cheeks was damning right now.

”I have no idea what you're talking about,” Aelin tried to bluff, even though on the drive home while yelling I could have died every five minutes, she had gone into heavy detail about what had occurred. Right down to how soft Rowan’s fingers had felt as they brushed over her skin.

“Yeah, huh. You still have his number, right? Call him, text him,” Lysandra pulled her tail from the wardrobe. “Do something about it.”

For good measure Lysandra flicked the centre of Aelin’s forehead, like that would banish the remains of the hesitancy swirling around in her brain. Swatting the hand away and hissing, Aelin scowled after her friend disappeared into one of the cubicles to start getting ready.

What Aelin couldn’t figure out was why she was hesitating. It was clear there was mutual attraction ignoring the lack of tact Rowan seemed to have when interacting with her. She had busted him checking her out more than once. And it seemed like he was a decent guy when he wasn’t accidentally propositioning her for shifty sounding private events.

On the other hand, there was a vibe that Aelin had got from the woman she assumed was Ivy’s mother. She had never addressed Aelin directly but there was a definite feeling that she wasn’t happy with a mermaid being in attendance. Rowan had been very clear that he was divorced, so that came with the implications that his ex-wife wasn’t entirely in his life. There was obviously some kind of coparenting situation going on but Aelin didn’t know much more than that. There was so much falling into the unknown category, and there was only one way to fix that and find out.

Aelin grabbed her bag and left the dressing room. She didn’t need Lysandra hovering and goading her into action. When she got to her car Aelin dug out her phone from where she’d thrown it into her bag and scrolled to the message thread with Rowan. She just needed some kind of opening, something casual to test the waters. The cuff of the borrowed jumper slid over her hand, almost swallowing the phone. Since the party it had lived in her car and she had worn it more than once. It was insanely comfortable and had that nice male kind of smell about it. And it was her ticket.

Going off their previous conversations, Rowan didn’t seem like much of a texter, so Aelin took the plunge and hit the call button instead. It rang for longer than she expected, and then she realised he was most likely at work, working a real job with real hours. Aelin blushed again and was about to hang up when it connected.

”Rowan Whitethorn speaking,” his tone professional.

”Hi, this is Aelin Galathynius, mermaid extraordinaire,” Aelin said, hoping her quickly summoned bravado covered her nerves.

“Aelin, hi,” his tone immediately dropped into something more casual. “What can I do for you? Did the money not go through?”

”No, no that’s all fine,” Aelin replied. “You were more than generous.”

”You went above and beyond. Ivy had the time of her life.” She could swear there was a smile in his voice.

”I’m glad.”

Aelin was leaning on the car, fiddling with the too long sleeve on her free hand. She was grinning as well, pleased with herself for doing such a good job.

“I don’t mean to be rude or rush you, but I’m in between meetings,” Rowan said, breaking into her thoughts.

”Oh, yes!” Aelin blurted. “I wanted to return your jumper and maybe say thank you for helping me not freeze to death after I was left for dead by my friend.”

Rowan chuckled and Aelin ignored how it skittered over her skin.

“What did you have in mind?” He asked.

Aelin’s confidence had returned and she went for it. ”Dinner, Saturday,”

“Just give me one second,” Rowan said and there was some clicking in the background. “I don’t have Ivy, this weekend. She’ll be sad to miss you.”

And he’d gone and missed the point by a mile. “I meant just you and me, Rowan. Like a date.”

There was a heavy beat of silence, then Rowan laughed again, this one astounding significantly more self deprecating. “You should see how red my face is right now.”

”I’m sure I can imagine.” Aelin had already had the privilege of seeing it before and could picture it perfectly.

“That sounds wonderful, Aelin. We’ll text and work out a time?”

”Sounds great,” Aelin said, nodding even though Rowan couldn’t see.

“Bye, then.”

”See ya, Rowan,” Aelin replied and hung up the phone.

For a moment she stood there, smiling, proud of herself for getting a date so smoothly. The whole misunderstanding of Ivy being there would be forgotten and never spoken of again. This was a triumph and Aelin was ready to celebrate, which would start with some polite bragging.

>> I got that date you were bugging me about. Now you have to help me figure out what to wear.

When Lysandra sent back an emoji of a smiling devil Aelin knew they were about to cause some havoc and Rowan would be their target.

~~~~~

I already have Aelin's outfit planned and she'd gonna wreck him

#fish are friends #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction

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herehavesomeheadcanons · 2 years

Text

Listen, I know I should be cracking down on the requests cluttering my inbox, but I felt the need to be petty today. Being caught up with the latest chapters of BSD, I feel just a bit angry at Fyodor for his crimes against my sweet, beloved Sigma. So, without further Ado, I present:

A List of Embarrassing Things Fyodor Dostoevsky has Done

Yeah, I got this off Pinterest. Look at him, he looks so worried that I'm about to embarrass him in front of his fangirls >:3

🖤🐀 Forgot to sleep for three days straight, and fainted at the dinner table as a result. This really isn't uncommon for him. He's such a workaholic that you've had to actually carry him to bed more times than you can count (Don't worry, he weighs, like, nothing.).

🖤🐀 Forgetting to take his iron supplements. This one is usually the culprit behind most of his other mishaps. When he gets really busy, he often neglects to take the one thing that keeps his anemia symptoms at bay.

🖤🐀 Lost to Nikolai at hide-and-seek. Multiple times. Despite Fyodor's infinite genius, he can't ever seem to beat Nikolai at hide-and-seek. Nikolai loves to hide in places that Fyodor physically cannot get to, such as up a tree, and laugh when Fyodor can't find him.

🖤🐀 Accidentally called you 'Nikolai' when you pestered him while he was trying to work. He gets a little snappy when he's lacking sleep, and he's used to Nikolai pestering him. He apologized afterwards, he knows it must be terribly insulting to be mistaken for that damn clown.

🖤🐀 The amount of times he has fainted in the shower is ridiculous. It's a good thing you're there to catch him, otherwise he might accidentally drown! That would be quite an embarrassing way for the great Fyodor Dostoevsky to die!

🖤🐀 Every time you steal his ushanka, he stands up too fast and almost blacks out. He has to sit back down to avoid fainting. He sits there for a solid minute with the dizziest expression on his face. It's hilarious!

🖤🐀 Almost died of hypothermia because he insisted that he "is used to the cold." He thinks he's a lot tougher than he actually is, and part of that is because he wants to impress you. The other part is that he's usually cold because of his anemia, but that isn't going to stop him from catching hypothermia and dying.

🖤🐀 Dunked his head in a bucket of ice to get rid of a migraine, instead of just taking pain meds. This one was Nikolai's suggestion, the absolute bastard. For all his genius, Fyodor can be a real dumbass sometimes.

🖤🐀 He keeps trying to eat things that aren't food! This is one of the lesser-known side effects of his anemia, and usually only happens when he forgets to take his iron supplements. Half the time he doesn't even realize that he's chewing on his pen until you point it out to him!

🖤🐀 He has the weakest immune system, but he refuses to rest and take care of himself. You've had to legitimately tie him to the bed and spoon feed him soup to get him to rest. He insists he's fine, but he really isn't.

🖤🐀 He blacked out on the stairs and just sorta laid there like a rug for a solid two minutes. This happened because he was chasing you after you stole his hat, and he ran up the stairs too fast.

🖤🐀 Despite what you might think, this rat bastard is very much a blushing virgin. As such, it doesn't take much to get him excited. If you can convince him to let you sit on his lap, you're gonna feel him not even seconds later. He gets very grumpy when you tease him about it.

🖤🐀 The longer he goes without sleep, the more he mixes up his words. He also swears a lot more than usual, which is pretty funny in its own right. Nikolai knows this, and loves to pester sleep-deprived Fedya. One time he called Nikolai a "fucking society on tumor, and a fothermucking holy and good to all things disappointment." If you record him while he's sleep deprived, he's going to threaten you to hell and back (but it's worth it, lets be honest.)

🖤🐀 You startled him while he was working and he almost smacked you across the face. He's actually really easy to jump scare while he's engrossed in his work, but proceed with caution because he gets really jumpy and might almost kill you before realizing that it's you.

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd fyodor dostoevsky x reader #bsd fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodor dostoevsky

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standfucker · 8 months

Note

If I have read your pinned post correctly, your requests are open! (If I've read it incorrectly please ignore this (HAPPY BIRTHDAY MONTH) ).

I would love a Marco x afab they/them vibes either bullet point or drabble as you see fit based off this prompt:

You stow away on The Moby Dick –and get discovered. You stowed away because your island was going to sacrifice you!

Thank you very much if you decide to write it 🥰SFW or NSFW is fine, however the words take you =3

(hides word count) I'm not biased, I'm not biased Dx Working on this during a particularly bad day was very therapeutic. That's my reasoning for it being so long, and not because I'm obsessed with Marco.

Stowing Away to Save Yourself - Marco x Reader

CW: mentions of ritual sacrifice, questions of self-worth

The weather changes abruptly in the New World. It’s only been half a day since the Whitebeard Pirates sailed from the last island they stopped at, a cheerful summer island, and since then the snow has been falling for a few hours now. Despite the chilly wind, Marco’s in a good mood; the island natives had been friendly and let the crew participate in their harvest festival.

Whistling to himself, Marco goes to retrieve medical supplies from a crate. His tune dies as he finds you hiding inside, huddled down on a stack of boxes. Wearing practically nothing, just thin clothing that appears ceremonial, your skin is ashy and dry from exposure, and the snot is frozen to your upper lip. You’re shivering badly, one arm wrapped around your knees, the other clutching a scalpel you’ve scavenged. You point it at him, eyes wide with fear, teeth chattering.

“Oh,” is all he says at first, caught off-guard. Stowaways just don’t happen on the Moby Dick–no one would dare. But Marco quickly pushes past his surprise and analyzes the situation. Your breathing is slow and shallow despite your visible alarm; he recognizes that you’re approaching hypothermia, if not already there. He shrugs off his coat, the icy wind immediately cutting through his light clothing beneath and making the hairs on his arms stand up. “You need to get warmed up, yoi. How about we trade? That scalpel for my coat?”

You flinch when he holds his coat out to you, then eye the garment. Slowly, you scoot forward, glancing between the coat and him, like you’re waiting for him to grab you. You reach out–then snatch his coat and retreat, still gripping the scalpel. Marco watches as you hold the scalpel between your teeth while you struggle to get the coat on, then go back to pointing it his way with both hands. Oh boy. He needs to handle this delicately, as you clearly don’t trust him, which is fair enough. You likely know which ship it is you’re on, after all.

“You need to get warmed up,” he repeats. “You’re going to freeze to death. Come with me, yoi. I can find you proper clothing.” When you don’t move, he adds, “you can keep holding onto that scalpel, if you’d like.”

Marco offers you a hand. You stare at it for a second, then at him. Slowly, you try to get up, but don’t quite manage it. “I…I c-c-can’t stand up…” you say, words slurring slightly.

The slurring is a bad sign. He needs to act quickly without freaking you out. Marco holds up his hands in a passive gesture. “I’m going to come closer and pick you up, yoi,” he explains. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m a doctor.”

He takes a step, and you don’t flinch this time. Now confident, he closes the distance and bends down to lift you. Your skin has no warmth to it, and up close, he can see the ice forming at your tear ducts.

Marco carries you like one would carry an infant, an arm tucked under your bottom and another supporting your back. You cling to his shoulder, shivering. He emits healing flames from his body to jumpstart the rewarming process, and you make a small noise of shock, grip on him tightening.

“It’s okay. They aren’t burning you, see? I ate the Bird-Bird Fruit: Phoenix Model. My flames have healing properties,” he says.

The whole way back to the infirmary, he can feel the freezing metal of the scalpel pressed against the back of his neck, but he doesn’t take it personally. You must be panicking inside, you’re just too cold to show it. He describes what’s going to happen as he walks, both to break the silence and to help keep you calm.

“I’m going to call some nurses, and they’re going to use the infirmary shower to get you warmed up. They’ll strip you, but they’re all women,” he says. “In the meantime, I’ll get something hot for you to eat. You’re going to be okay, so just hold on a bit longer, yoi.”

Once he’s reached the infirmary and set you down, he uses the emergency transponder snail to notify Tate, the head nurse. Then he takes your temperature while you both wait for them to arrive. It’s far too low for you to even be conscious, which is impressive–you must be holding on through sheer will. Marco rests one hand on the back of your neck to continue to apply healing flames. The other, he holds out to you expectantly.

“Sorry, but you can’t have the scalpel around the nurses, yoi. They’re not pirates like the rest of us, though. You’ll be safe with them.” To his surprise, you hand him the scalpel without any fuss. He smiles. “Thank you, miss…?”

You give him your name, and he repeats it before introducing himself.

Three nurses burst into the room, making you jump. They already know the situation, so Marco reassures you. “They’re here to help. The infirmary shower is over there,” he points, “I’m going to step out now. Is that okay?”

You nod, and Marco leaves you in their capable hands.

The news of a stowaway has already spread like wildfire, his crewmates continuing to stop him to ask about it as he walks down the hall, and Marco continuing to tell them he’ll update them later. Thatch has a bowl of piping-hot soup waiting for him by the time he reaches the galley, and Marco can’t help but feel proud of the crew’s efficiency.

Meanwhile, the nurses have you under a stream of warm water, slowly bringing your temperature back up. Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are drifting through molasses. They gradually float faster as your core temperature increases. It’s probably better that way, you think. If you tried to process everything you’d just escaped at once, you’re pretty sure your head would explode. You don’t even want to think about your island, your people, and how awful they seem right now. Instead, you focus on everything else: the kind doctor, who spoke soothingly and moved slowly, who smiled at you instead of throwing you overboard. The nurses, who were fussing over you and monitoring the thermometer in your mouth. The ship, which seemed like a potential death trap, but was still the better alternative than certain doom.

Once the nurses are happy with your temp, you’re dried and dressed in borrowed clothing. You tell the nurses they can throw your old clothes away, that you never want to see “those rags” again. When you come out of the shower, Marco’s waiting for you with a tray of food. He has you sit in a patient bed and sets the tray down on the extendable table, double-checking your temperature for himself. One of the nurses gripes at him for doing so, he sheepishly apologizes, and then they leave the two of you alone.

Your first sip of the soup is cautious, but once you taste it, you lift the bowl directly to your mouth and chug, nearly burning your mouth in the process. Marco smiles.

“Our ship’s cook does good work, doesn’t he?” he says. “Eat as much as you’d like. There’s plenty more, yoi.”

You don’t reply. Now that you’re all warmed up, your thoughts are moving a mile a minute, and you’d rather stuff your face than dwell on any of them.

Marco perks slightly when he hears you sniffle. You should be warm now, but–oh. You’re tearing up as you eat, hands quivering just a little bit. He leans his head on his fist, watching you.

“I suppose the only reason you’d escape that beautiful island of yours is if you had no choice,” he guesses. “Still, you’re brave to stow away on an Emperor’s ship–”

“I’m not,” you cut him off, swallowing hard. The tears begin to run down your cheeks. “I’m a coward and a disgrace.”

“What makes you say that?”

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and look down. “...I was supposed to be a sacrifice.”

Marco’s eyes widen. Such practices are exceptionally rare nowadays, and the island had seemed so peaceful and prosperous, all the villagers kindly and energetic.

“We always have a bountiful harvest after,” you explain, eyes distant. “It happens on the last night of the festival. I was chosen as the next virgin maiden sacrifice. I’m not even a maiden! It’s…It’s not fair…” Your bottom lip quivers. “I didn’t want to die.”

“There’s certainly nothing wrong with that, yoi,” Marco says, shocked.

“There is! Now my family will be shamed, and they’re just going to kill someone else,” you covered your face, your next words coming out through sobs. “I couldn’t do it and someone else is going to die in my place. I’m such a coward! Such a coward…”

“Hey now, hey,” he says softly, unable to stop himself from reaching out to you. He rests his hands on your shoulders, bending down to your level. “It’s okay. You were right to run. It’s okay.”

Rather than flinching, you lean toward him, desperate for any sort of comfort, and he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly and letting you cry and blubber on about how sorry you are.

“Don’t worry about your village anymore,” he says, rubbing your back, “you’re safe now, and that’s what matters. You did the right thing, and now you get to have your whole life ahead of you, yoi.”

“But I…” you hiccup.

Marco cradles your face in his hands and gently lifts it so you’re looking at him. “Defying one’s fate is the bravest thing that anyone can do.”

You stare back into his eyes. Somehow, despite having just met him, you know that he means what he says. To not hang onto his words is impossible, and to not be a little taken with him from then on is even more so.

At first you don’t muster up the courage to leave the infirmary, even though you’re given the all-clear to move about. You do puzzles and draw venting, angry pictures with the things Marco provides you with. Eventually, he manages to convince you to come out with a little coaxing and reassurance. You stay glued to his side, trusting no one else, and stay firmly behind him when meeting new crewmates, peering out from his arm with a death grip on his jacket. Your legs shake when you meet Whitebeard.

The crew is friendly enough, and once Whitebeard learns your story, he gruffly reassures you that you can sail with them. You slowly begin to relax, though you still don’t leave Marco alone. He’s frequently busy, so you follow him around as he goes about his day. He doesn’t seem to mind, even teasingly calling you “duckling” for it. The only place you leave him be are in his own quarters, letting him have his privacy. You sleep in the womens’ quarters with the nurses, having decided it’s the least intimidating option.

As each day goes by, you gain more confidence. You start letting Marco out of your sight for periods of time, opting to stay by the people he hangs out with the most instead. Anyone he seems to have a high regard for, you’re willing to be around–he trusts them, so you begin to trust them, too. Each of them finds some common ground with you. For example, Thatch asks you about the food customs on your home island, though he quickly notices it’s a sore subject and changes the topic. The galley is under operation 24-7 to feed such a large crew, so he doesn’t mind letting you help out to give you something to do. When he has the time, he shows you some knife techniques and tricks. You try to mimic a complex trick, flipping the knife between your fingers, and end up slicing your index finger. When you tell Marco about it that night, he asks to see.

“It’s not bad,” you say as he peels off the bandage. “Just a little cut. Thatch said I need to take it slow...He’s nice.”

“Don’t let his charm fool you. He can be a real wiseass,” Marco chuckles, inspecting the thin scab. “Do you like to learn new things, yoi?”

“Mhm. Back home, I hadn’t picked out a trade to learn yet, because I couldn’t decide. So I just worked.”

He places his index finger over the scab, and a small, blue flame flickers out from the point of contact. It lights up the surrounding darkness with soft, cobalt light. You’re transfixed, having not seen his ability since you first met him a few weeks ago. You start to feel funny in your chest, and aren’t sure if it’s a side-effect of his ability, or if it’s because he’s holding your hand so very gently right now. His hands are warm.

“What did you do?” Marco asks.

“Farming stuff, mostly. Harvesting the fields. Sometimes I watched my neighbor’s kids, or helped out at the local market. I tried to do what I was supposed to, which was experiment and figure out a path. But I guess my problem is that I didn’t know what I wanted, even at my age. I stagnated…” you voice lowers. “That’s why…”

“Don’t think about it like that,” Marco interrupts. “I can’t say I know what your elders’ decision-making process is. But there’s never a good reason to take a life, and definitely not because it helps everyone else prosper, yoi. You deserve better.”

“They’re not bad people,” you say, sighing. “They’re… I don’t know. I don’t know why they would do that. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I don’t blame you for feeling conflicted. They treated you well until then, I assume.”

You nod, feeling your throat get a bit tight. “Yeah.”

Marco lifts his hand from yours, and to your amazement, the cut is gone, not even a scar left in its place. You gasp, having never actually seen his powers work in such a tangible way.

“It’s healed!” you say, rubbing at the spot as if it would dispel the illusion. “No way! Marco, you’re amazing!”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aw, shucks. It was nothing, yoi.”

“What a wonderful devil fruit! I was always told they’re bad news, but that can’t be true for all of them.”

“It’s more that the people who eat them are usually the ambitious, power-seeking type.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. Why did you eat it?”

Marco looks up at the stars for a moment, reminiscing. “My home island was in shambles. Couldn’t pay the heavenly tax, so it was complete chaos. When I came across the fruit, I didn’t know what type it was…but I hoped it could give me a better life, somehow.”

“Did it?”

He smiled sadly. “No, but Pops docked at my island not long after, and forcibly adopted me…And my power helps my brothers, so I can’t say I regret it, yoi!”

You smile. “Well, I’m glad you were the one who ate it. To help others…it suits someone like you. You deserve that devil fruit.”

A faint tinge of pink colors Marco’s cheeks, and he awkwardly thanks you for the comment, rubbing the back of his neck again.

The days pass by, and you see less of Marco as you spend more time with the crew. Ace immediately takes to treating you like a brother, and decides to teach you how to defend yourself, showing you how to handle a dagger. The crewmates watching all give their input on which weapon you should learn to use (theirs, usually) until Vista says a dagger makes the most sense for you and quiets them down. Though his towering size is a bit intimidating at first, Vista is just as warm and open as most of them, and he becomes the third person after Marco and Whitebeard in which you divulge your story.

“What a daring escape!” is his response, which warms you up to him right away.

Vista lets you sit on his shoulder to look out over the sea. So does Jozu, who shows off his devil fruit power afterward just to enjoy your marveling. Jozu insists that you try and stab him while he’s all “rocked out,” and laughs when your borrowed dagger glances harmlessly off his diamond hide. Right after his demonstration, Blamenco insists that his power is even more astounding: Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he pulls a comically large hammer out of his own body. And once one crewmate starts showing off, they all want in, and that afternoon is spent with various displays of weaponry, skill showcasing, and a lot of posturing. The crew bickers as easily as they laugh together.

Marco stops by to see what the commotion is, and finds you laughing, too, in the middle of the crowd. He smiles to himself.

“Everyone’s so much fun,” you tell him that night, huddled next to him in the crow’s nest. It’s your first time being there, having braved the climb with Marco’s encouragement that he could fly down and catch you if you slipped. Now that you’re within it, you’re not as tense, but the height makes you nervous, so you sit right against Marco. “Crazy, but fun. I didn’t know pirates could be like this. Especially not an Emperor’s crew.”

“Life is funny like that, isn’t it?” he responds. “You can never be sure about anything in this world.”

“I’m sure that you have a great crew.”

He chuckles. “I think so too.”

“I really thought you guys were gonna kill me, you know? I only stowed away on the small chance I could hide away until the next island.”

“Better for you that your plan fell through, yoi. Speaking of which… We’re due to arrive at another island soon to restock.” He tilts his head at you. “What do you want to do?”

You think about it for a minute. “I’m not sure…I guess I have to disembark, right?” You’ve helped around the ship where you could, your practical skills coming in handy for many small jobs. If you weren’t cleaning, you were helping the cooks in the galley, or making repairs to weapons and armor, or doing maintenance on the ship. “To be honest, I still don’t know what I want to do.”

“Nothing wrong with that. That just means you can keep on trying new things.”

“You’re pretty optimistic.”

He pauses, looking at you. “Was your indecision looked down upon before?”

“Shouldn’t it be?” you ask. “It’s healthy to have a path in life.”

“Is that a saying from your home village?”

“It is.”

He smiles wryly. “Coming from a place that makes ritual sacrifices, I’d question their wisdom, yoi. Wouldn’t you?”

You blink, a bit stunned by his words. You’d never really thought about it like that. “...They’re not bad people.”

“So you’ve said. But I wouldn’t want you going back there, myself. Good people can make bad decisions.”

“I…” you fall quiet. After a minute, he looks at you and is surprised to see you tearing up. “Sorry. I’m just…I’m so relieved.”

“Don’t apologize, yoi.” Marco drapes an arm over your shoulders. With his other hand, he wipes away your tears. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your heartbeat picks up from the contact. “Um! No. I mean, yes?” You avoid his gaze, looking guilty. “I kind of…I kind of miss them. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“Of course not. It’s still your home.”

A few more tears run down your cheeks, and you giggle nervously when he wipes those away, too. “S-Stop that. I can wipe my own face.”

“Ah, let me fuss, yoi,” he says, pinching your cheek. “It’s good for you.”

“What is?” You bat his hand away.

“Being taken care of. I take it you’re not used to that, either.”

You shrug. “I’m an adult…I’m usually the one taking care of others. Especially since I’m unmarried.”

“You mentioned not being a ‘maiden’ once. Is that why you remained single?”

“Kind of. It’s not normal to be…like that where I’m from. I was expected to get married and have children, and if not, then to at least choose a trade to work in. But since I couldn’t do even that, I, uh…” you laugh awkwardly, avoiding his gaze, “I’m kind of considered useless…”

Marco doesn’t respond. After a minute, you glance his way nervously. He’s staring off, and there’s a dark look in his eyes. “You were chosen for that reason, then. It wasn’t random.”

“Yeah.”

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?” you say, and he looks at you intently.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Suddenly your throat gets dry, and the tears come straight back. Overwhelmed with feeling, you lean your head against his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Marco tilts your chin up to look at him. “I know this is all unfamiliar. The crew is rowdy and rambunctious, and the ship is crowded. You’re both brave and resilient to have endured it thus far, and I’m proud of you for getting along with everyone.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “It’s really not so bad,” you say. His gaze is intense, so you look up at the sky instead. “At least the stars are familiar, even if our constellations are different.”

He nudges you. “Tell me about them.”

You point up at the night sky, explaining how the northern section of stars form a constellation of a great bird. The Crow, it’s called.

“That one, above the cloud?” Marco points, and you shake your head. Taking his hand, you point it to the correct star, moving his hand to trace out the imaginary line between them. Below that one is the Farmer, eternally on the lookout for the Crow, and next to her, the Plow, and the Oxen that pull it…

The ship rocks gently, the night air cool and comfortable, and Marco is warm against your side. You name constellations until your eyelids grow heavy and your hand drifts down. Marco asks you about the next one, but you no longer respond. Looking down, he sees that you’ve fallen asleep.

That night, you dream of being carried by the Crow, made of soft blue starlight, descending from the heavens to carry you in its talons, and gently drop you into bed.

The rest of the week flies by, and soon, the Whitebeard Pirates dock at the next island. It’s one of Whitebeard’s territories, so everyone is relaxed and upbeat. You sit on the railing and watch crewmates go to and from the ship with boxes of supplies.

“It seems like a nice place,” you tell Marco, who looks up from his checklist. “I have to make a decision now. Figure out where I go from here…”

“Do you want to stay longer?” Marco asks bluntly, making you gape at him.

“Is that even allowed?”

“I doubt anyone would oppose it, but you still have to ask Pops.” The thought of asking Whitebeard is scary enough to make you hesitate, and Marco chuckles. “I can go with you, if you’d like.”

“No,” you say, surprising him. “I'll do it myself.”

At Marco’s suggestion, you wait until after dinner, by which time Whitebeard’s had a few enormous mugs of beer in him. Still, you have to resist the urge to shake in your boots. Whitebeard hasn’t talked to you much in the month you’ve been on board, and while he’s never been cruel, he is loud, brash, and seems to take up even more space than he already does with the grand aura that hangs about him.

“What do you want, squirt?” he asks before you can even say anything, brows drawn together like he’s read your mind and already made a decision.

“Uh…Um, I…” you stammer.

“Speak up.”

You swallow and raise your voice. “I…I wanna…Um…”

“Louder. My ears aren’t what they used to be.”

You step forward, close your eyes, and shout, “Pops, can I sail with you a while longer?!”

The deck is silent. Not a single crewmate makes a peep. Whitebeard’s eyebrows raise, and slowly, the corner of his lips curl up, just a little.

“You may,” is all he says, but you nearly fall over in relief, all your tension lifted in a second.

You turn away, but go rigid when he adds, “What do you say?”

“T-Thank you!” you bow to Whitebeard, who grunts and waves a hand dismissively.

You get to know more people as time passes. Jiru and Kingdew teach you the basics of working the rigging to haul in sails, and with some direction and careful observation, let you help out the crew in hoisting them one day. It's a strenuous activity made easier by many hands, but you still work up a sweat. They both pat you on the back after. “As you get stronger, it gets easier,” Jiru says.

You do get stronger over the weeks. Faster, too. Ace has gone from teaching you to handle a weapon to straight-up teaching you how to handle yourself in a fight. You get a lot of physical activity on the ship, and always fall asleep easily as a result. You rest well…most of the time. Your escape from your island still eats at you on occasion, crawling up your back at night to linger at the edges of your mind. During the day, you’re too distracted by action and others to think much of it, but there’s no stopping it when you’re alone with your thoughts.

One night, Marco finds himself unable to sleep. Rather than fighting it, he gets up to go for a nighttime flight. He finds that the freedom of the sky sets his mind at ease–perhaps it has to do with his zoan instincts. He perches on the railing of the ship, transforms, and spreads his wings, letting the wind catch him and lift him up. With no heat in the night air, he has to flap hard to gain some altitude, but once he gets up higher, he’s able to soar beneath the stars, the wind whipping his crest and tail feathers.

Though the crew’s used to him in this shape, he still doesn’t fully transform all that often, so some crewmates working the night shift stop to watch for a while. He doesn’t mind, angling his wings to fly in a wide circle around the ship. It’s then that he notices who’s in the crow’s nest–Rakuyo, and huddled up next to him, you. Rakuyo’s flask is in your hand, you’re holding onto his arm, and with Marco’s sharp zoan vision, he can see the tear streaks on your cheeks. He’s immediately concerned, and a bit bothered. You’re not normally touchy with anyone but him, and while he trusts Rakuyo, Marco isn’t fond of how his drinking habits can cloud his judgment–and yours.

Marco tilts his wings and cuts a sharp, neat curve, landing gracefully on the edge of the crow’s nest. You stare at him, eyes huge, and he can’t help feeling a bit conceited at your obvious wonder.

“Hey, Marco,” Rakuyo greets him.

“Rakuyo,” he nods. “Y/n. Is everything okay, yoi?”

You sniffle and nod.

“They couldn’t sleep,” Rakuyo says. “Had a bad dream.”

“Is that right?” Marco can’t help the annoyance in his tone, and Rakuyo notices, looking suddenly uncertain.

“Nip of whiskey always helps put me back to sleep,” Rakuyo explains quickly.

“And how did you plan on getting them back down the mast afterward?” Marco tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

“Uh…Well, I could carry them?”

“You’re drinking too, yoi.”

“Er…”

You speak up then, still wide-eyed. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Marco doesn’t know if phoenixes can blush, but he feels the heat rise to his cheeks all the same. Rakuyo glances at you, his grimace flipping into a grin. “Okay, maybe they’ve had enough.”

Marco transforms most of his body back, leaving his wings out for a moment just to watch your awestruck expression. He hops into the crow’s nest.

“Well, if you’re here, I’ll leave them to you,” Rakuyo says, plucking his flask from your hands. He pats your shoulder and stands up fast, eager to avoid Marco’s ire. “Chin up, kiddo,” he says to you, then hurries away down the mast, leaving you two alone.

You hiccup.

Marco sighs, sitting down next to you. “Bad dream, huh?”

“Yeah.” You look up at him with those big, sad eyes, and Marco feels his heart clench. “What about you?”

“Just restless, yoi.”

“But you work so hard.”

“Heh, thanks for noticing. I can’t say why I’m unable to sleep right now.” He reaches to wipe your tears away, and you let him, leaning your head on his shoulder afterward.

“You felt my pain and came out. Now you’re here.” You close your eyes. “You’re such a good doctor…”

Marco laughs. “I think you need some water, yoi.” He pats your head, and you look up at him. “If I go get you some, will you be okay up here by yourself?”

You nod. “I won’t be scared. Well…maybe a little…but I’ll be okay!”

“That’s my little duckling,” he smiles. “I’ll be quick.”

A few minutes later, Marco’s back with a canteen. He settles back next to you as you drink.

“Do you want to talk about it, yoi?” he asks.

“Talk about what?”

“You dream.”

Your face falls, and you seem to deflate a little. “...Yeah,” you say. “Even after that whiskey, I couldn’t forget it.”

“I’m all ears.”

You chug some more water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I had a dream that my friend was sacrificed in my place.” You sink even lower, curling up.

“Oh, love.”

“I know a sacrifice was made after I left. Some poor girl, who had no idea her time was suddenly up. And I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Like if only I accepted my fate, things would be better for everyone.”

Marco drapes an arm around your shoulders and hugs you to his side. “Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it.” You settle against him. “Everyone here is so…so content. So free. So sure of themselves.”

“Maybe on the surface, yoi.” He rubs your arm. “Nobody’s perfect.”

You look up at him. “Do you really think I’m brave?”

“Do you really think I deserve my devil fruit?”

The question catches you off guard. “Oh. Well, yeah, of course. I’ve always believed that, since I’ve met you.”

“I feel the same way. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met, yoi.” He smiles softly. “It’s no easy feat to go against the wishes of your entire village.”

You drop your head to hide your smile. Marco reminds you to keep drinking, and you do so, sipping at the canteen until the water’s almost gone.

“Marco?”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me about the constellations you grew up learning?”

Marco points up to the sky. “You see the Crow up there, like you showed me a while ago? Take the star forming the tip of the wing, and go south…”

“There?” You point.

“Close.” This time, Marco takes your hand, guiding you to the correct star. “That triangle of stars that connects to that square–back home, we called it the Forge. And that one, the one your people called the Farmer? We called the same formation the Hunter.”

With a gentle voice and a gentler touch, Marco points out a few more constellations. The Unicorn. The Sickle. The Loom. As he points out the last star forming the Chariot, you both fall silent. He doesn’t let go of your wrist. Slowly, he slides his hand up your wrist to hold your own, interlacing your fingers together.

Your heart skips in your chest. The both of you lower your intertwined hands, until you’re just sitting there holding hands. You look at each other. Marco’s blushing.

Carefully, gradually, Marco lowers his head, and softly presses his lips to yours.

The ship rocks gently, the night air cool and comfortable, Marco is warm against you, and you know right then there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

Breaking the kiss, Marco cups your cheek and presses his forehead gently to yours.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

#marco x reader #x reader #marco one piece #zen writes #replies #finished requests #quinloki

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lou-struck · 10 months

Text

Ice Spectating

Kei Tsukishima x reader

25 Days of Ficmas Day 2

W.C: 1.4k

~ It may be cold outside, but the joy of watching other people fall on the Ice Rink warms both yours and Tsukki’s hearts.

The city certainly outdid itself with this year’s holiday lights display at the park. Every tree and naked shrub is adorned with hundreds of little multicolored twinkly lights. Giant glass ornament sculptures line the walkways between the playgrounds, fire pits, and picnic benches, making it look extremely festive.

A paper cup of coca attempts to warm your mitten-clad hands as you try to match your boyfriend’s long strides, passing the delicate snowflake sculptures that rest upon the frozen lawn.

Like a giant marshmallow, Kei Tsukishima is bundled up in layer upon layer of winter outerwear. But somehow, he still shivers as he moves. You think it has to do with that lanky frame of his that you love, but it also could be that he, unfortunately, is the one getting the brunt of the winter wind as you walk.

The two of you have seen most of what the park has to offer, but you haven’t made it yet to the spot you have been wanting to check out the most: the ice skating rink.

“It’s getting colder, y/n,” he shivers, clutching his coffee cup even tighter. And looking down at you with ruddy cheeks, “If we stay out here much longer, we’re gonna catch hypothermia and not make it to Christmas.” Despite his words, you see the way his eyes crinkle in amusement at his own sarcasm, so you know not all hope is lost.

“Could we check out the Ice Skating Rink before we go?” you ask, looking up at him with big eyes. You know that once the two of you find a cozy spot to spectate next to one of the mini fire pits, he won’t be complaining about the cold for much longer.

“We’re not going skating, are we?” he asks, the cogs in his head turning inquisitively.

“Not at all,” you smile, “I just thought it would be cool to check it out, maybe watch some people fall on their butts in the ice.”

There is a light of hope behind his eyes as he stops in his tracks. The smile on his face is nothing less than joyful as the realization of your words wash over him. “People slipping?”

“Not just people,” you grin, leaning over to his ear and whispering into his ear. “Children.”

He snorts and turns away from you quickly. You know your boyfriend well, and there are only a few things funnier than watching little kids faceplant on the ice. Whenever you play those try-not-to-laugh challenges, it’s the five-second clip of a child running into the door that sends him over the top in ugly laughter.

“I guess we could watch for a little bit,” he says happily, taking your hand and leading you down the lighted pathways toward the Skate Ribbon. There is a spring in his step that wasn’t there as he walks, and you can’t help but wonder if the promise of people eating shit will convince him to go out more with you.

It does and It will.

Rounding the bend, you are amazed by the scene in front of you. What you knew in the summer months as the park’s roller skate ribbon has been transformed into a little winter wonderland. Blue and purple icicle-shaped lights are secured to the park’s metal poles and drape above the ice, illuminating the ground in color.

The little skate rental spot has been transformed as well. Gone are the roller skates and blades, and now all you can see are slightly worn ice skates on the long shelves.

Most people in the area are on the ice skating along the ribbon loop or gripping the railing for dear life, but there are a few more confident individuals in the center of the ice spinning around like they were born to do it.

It’s impressive, for sure, but not what either of you came here for.

“There’s a spot over there that looks warm.” Kei comments, pointing his cup of cocoa towards an empty seating area. The flames of the little bonfire burn lowly next to a cushioned metal park bench.

“It’s warm over here.” You sigh in relief as the heat from the flames permeates the air around you, warming your wind-chilled face. Now that you have another source of warmth, you are finally able to take a nice long sip of your hot chocolate. The rich liquid is still warm but not boiling, as it tingles your tongue.

“Very,” he nods, sitting right next to you on the bench. He follows suit and takes a polite sip of his own hot chocolate that quickly turns greedy. Sometimes, you forget about that little sweet tooth of his until he indulges it properly.

The two of you have the perfect view for people watching as people skate past your bench. Chuckling as children and adults alike fall onto their bottoms and drink your hot chocolate until only a bit of foam remains at the bottom of the cup. You toss it into the trashcan behind you as Kei downs the rest of his. It’s funny how the both of you forgot about the chilly air around you as you enjoy the warmth the wipeouts of the skaters provide.

He looks just beyond you at the park’s concession stand. “Do you want another cup?”

“Not yet, check them out,” you say eagerly, spotting a young couple skating side by side; one girl looks much more skilled on the ice than her date as she occasionally lets go of her hand to twirl a bit on her own, with movements as graceful as a swan’s. Her date, on the other hand, wobbles in her skates like a Bambi on ice, reaching for the railing for support.

“I bet you another hot chocolate that she’s going to fall as they go around the corner,” Kei says mischievously. His marshmallow-scented breath tickles the shell of your ear as you chuckle.

“I counter that and say that she’s not only going to fall, but she’ll take her date down with her when they try to help her,” you say confidently as the pair approach the corner together, once again hand in hand.

“I love you,” he sighs, craning his head down in your direction to kiss the crown of your head. “You make me feel like less of a jerk when I’m with you.”

“And I love you. You make me feel more able to say these kinds of things out loud without feeling bad,” you declare as the couple reach the corner.

Just as you predicted, the less skilled skater lose their balance on the turn. Her legs seem to flail around as she trips, still holding her date’s hand. They crash to the ground in a bundle of limbs and padding as other people try to get out of their way. You wince and try to stifle your snickering into Tsukki’s jacket sleeve at the rather funny fall.

It’s much funnier when you realize that no one was hurt.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he whispers, trying to hide his own amusement. “You gotta keep it to yourself until they’re gone.”

You’re still staring at a loose thread on his padded winter coat as you respond. “Are they gone yet?”

“Still on the ground.”

You bring your attention back to the ice rink and see the two women laughing at themselves before helping each other clumsily off the icy ground. They link hands once again and skate off like nothing ever happened.

“Now, can we laugh?” you ask as they go out of sight.

“Not yet, look over there.” he nods his head to the left side of the rink, where some more experienced skaters are twirling mid-air before landing on the ice with one foot. It’s fascinating to watch, but you realize that your observant boyfriend is looking beyond the figure skaters and at a group of middle schoolers who look impressed by their movements.

Two of the boys separate from their group, bumping shoulders on the ice as they begin to skate toward the two of you. Gathering speed for what you assume to be a jump of their own.

“That’s not gonna end well,” you murmur, noting that the teens are proficient at skating in a straight line but clumsy on the corners, gripping the railing and propelling themselves around the bend.

Tsukishima, like the magnificent bastard he is, never takes his eyes off of the impending wipeout and gives your hand a squeeze. “Double or nothing, they cause a pile-up.

You can practically taste the next round of hot cocoa as you meet his gaze. “You’re on.”

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#haikyuu!!#kei tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #hq x reader #hq #x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff

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celestial-jazzie · 16 days

Text

Hypothermic Health Risk (sdv)

Pairing: Harvey x farmer OC

Summary: Farmer Maia stays out too late during the coldest months of winter and her husband Harvey has to come to the rescue

The sun had started setting hours ago, and the cold had made its way under her gloves and into the very bones of her fingers as soon as she'd stepped outside that morning. Tending to the animals and the garden alongside her husband had stopped her feeling it so much, for being around him was warming in itself, but Harvey had now gone back inside to finish up the week's patient notes under the shelter of the roof. The rest of their land still needed clearing, and only one of them had the axe experience to complete the job. She wouldn't have minded at all if it wasn't the coldest day of winter, or at least felt that way. Hands locked around the axe, she felt her eyes closing with the setting sun. The six o'clock start was getting to her more than usual, but the patch she was working on was so nearly done. Another swing at the tree and it fell, leaving the trunk to be chopped up and collected to either allow Robin to build something out of at a later date, or firewood. Likely the latter, for without worrying her husband too much, winter on the farm didn't allow for excessive spending. That being said, he'd seen how small the crop hauls were at the moment. Just a few more trees and then she could call it for the day, despite the heaviness of both her arms and her eyelids telling her that it just wasn't possible to keep going.

Harvey was onto his seventh reading over of his notes, onto the third spellcheck and grammar review of them to the point where they were no longer simple notes. It felt impossible for him to do the next task of making dinner before his wife came home, or at least until he knew where she was, that she was safe. And right now, he knew she was outside chopping wood, but she was taking far too long for him to feel content. He fought with himself, was he being too worried? Would she start finding that annoying rather than endearing, especially when there was only so much he could give back to the farm? After getting too distracted by his own anxiety to continue his eighth re-read of his notes he came to the decision that even if she was absolutely fine, checking on his wife wouldn't change anything for the worse, and would certainly allow him to continue with his own day. She probably just needed a reminder of the time, it wasn't unlike her to get distracted in her work and forget to stop. It wasn't unlike either of them to be so absorbed in what they loved, and it was why they became so close in the first place. He half expected the door to open and for her to appear as he moved his pile of papers to one side and buttoned up his coat in preparation to face the weather outside, so when she didn't, the pressure to make sure she was okay only doubled.

She'd stopped for a quick break, she'd told herself, and had tried to count the seconds but was slowly forgetting how to string the numbers together in a sequence. Leant over her axe, she'd found closing her eyes was incredibly comforting, and the chill of the season was slowly leaving her almost so suddenly that the urge to remove her coat had started creeping up on her. Following it immediately was a sense of dread. She'd stayed out too long.

What had started as a calm walk out across their land had ended as a terrified run as he spotted her right against the cliff edge, lethargic fingers struggling to undo the zipper of her coat. He was trained to be accustomed to the signs of hypothermia, which was very valuable knowledge in such a rural town.

"Honey, you need to keep that on, it's below zero out here," he gently reminded her, taking her hands and moving them away from her coat.

"Doesn't feel like it," she mumbled, falling easily into his arms and instantly giving up on anything else. It was safe there, and dark, and so incredibly comfortable.

"You need to come inside, I'm already worried about you," he gently told her, but without saying a word it was clear she was reluctant to leave. It didn't take him long to realise that her collection of tools was what was keeping her back, they weren't cheap. One arm still in contact with her, he began to collect them up. "Let me take these, we can leave the wood for tomorrow." Taking the axe from her last, she snuggled against his left side with her arm around her as he carried her tools against his right. The walk back might be longer than it needed to be, but as long as she was okay, that didn't matter too much.

"I'll teach you how to chop it," she muttered to the snow immediately in front of her, unable to lift her line of vision much higher. While her husband guided her back to their house, she didn't need to.

"You'd be most welcome to," he softly smiled, seriously entertaining the idea for a moment. "Come on."

Frustratingly, most of his equipment was in the clinic. He only kept the more basic versions of his equipment on him, and they were certainly high quality enough, but they weren't the highest and giving his wife less than perfect treatment felt jarring in his mind. It was his best option while reluctant to leave her on her own, and feeling it unfair to call Maru to run such a small errand for him so late. Besides, his wife was in such a condition that the ear thermometer he kept with him would give out an accurate enough reading.

Her worst and most obvious symptom was easily how quiet she was. During every other medical exam or procedure, both things he'd performed for her or occasions prior to moving to Pelican Town she'd told him about, she'd talked throughout. As he processed the numbers on the thermometer, Harvey realised she hadn't said a word since she'd come inside. The only thing that reassured him was that she was still clinging onto a healthy enough number for her state to not technically yet count as hypothermia.

"If you were any colder I'd be calling an ambulance out here," he told her, packing his own equipment away and returning to hold her, all the covers and blankets they own wrapped around themselves while she held onto a mug of hot chocolate. "Maybe even driving you to the nearest hospital myself." Brushing her hair away from her face, he kissed her temple, hopefully making it clear he wasn't just in doctor mode and that if he was, he'd come out of it now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't feel that bad," she said. How much effort talking took was obvious. "I thought I could do it."

"You don't have to apologise, love," he told her. "I'm only worried about you. I worry about you a lot."

"I know." She took another sip of her hot chocolate, more out of her own want, rather than just to please him. "I appreciate it. I appreciate you."

"And I, you," Harvey told her. "Can we have a slightly lazier day tomorrow? You can help me tend to the animals and crops, and then we can spend the day indoors?" He realised the question he really needed to ask. "Can the wood wait a day?" She looked at their fireplace and the stack of wood beside it.

"One day," she agreed, emotionally coming around to the idea far faster than her logical brain was. "If you'll cook for me."

"I assumed that went without saying," he smiled. "I'd like to keep you awake a little longer, make sure you're warmer before we go to sleep, if that's okay? Tomorrow we can do nothing but sleep if that makes up for it."

"You're the doctor."

#stardew valley #stardew valley fic #sdv #sdv fic #sdv harvey #stardew harvey #farmer maia #harvey x farmer #sdv fanfic #stardew fanfic #stardew valley fanfic #stardew oc #stardew farmer #jazzie writes #oc #oc fic

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

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23 for any combination of geraskefer please? 💖

23. Cold feet warming each other up under the blanket

Geralt is nearly back to camp, holding a werewolf’s severed head in each hand, when Jaskier’s shriek cuts through the stillness of the night. Dropping the heads to the ground, Geralt starts to draw his sword, only pausing when Jaskier shrieks again and he notices that the sound is entirely lacking in fear.

“How are your feet so fucking cold?” the bard whines. “Ye gods, is your icy heart spreading to other parts of your body now?”

There’s only one person who brings out such dramatics in Jaskier. Jaskier was alone at camp when Geralt left to hunt the werewolves, but Yennefer must have portaled in to join him at some point. Too pleased to be truly annoyed by the shrieking—though he can't count how many times he's told Jaskier not to start screaming unless there's actual danger—Geralt retrieves the dropped heads.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” Yennefer’s voice is quieter, but still audible to Geralt’s witcher hearing. “It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s almost winter.”

“Stop pressing them against me!”

“You’re warm.”

“Yes, and I’d like to stay that way, thank you. Is this your plan to finally do me in? Will Geralt return to find me blue-lipped and silent, frozen to a block of ice?”

“He should be so lucky.”

With a snort, Geralt resumes his trudge towards camp.

“I offer you the warmth of my body,” Jaskier says with the gravity of Lebioda facing his final martyrdom. “And in return, I’m treated like… ack, Yennefer, are you well? I don’t think feet are supposed to get that cold.”

“And I don’t think anyone is supposed to get so annoying, and yet here you are.”

“It’s an art that I take—Yennefer, your hands are worse! How are your hands worse? What sorcery is this?”

“I don’t know what you’re whining about.” Yennefer sounds smug. “I’m comfortable.”

“Dreadful, horrible, blood-sucking…”

Geralt clears the trees and finds the two of them curled together on Geralt and Jaskier’s pushed-together bedrolls, cocooned in enough blankets to keep a small village warm, even though the night is mild for being past Saovine. Despite his protests, Jaskier has Yennefer wrapped up in his arms, doing little to hide how pleased he is. From the musky scent in the air, they’ve been busy while Geralt was gone.

“Geralt!” Jaskier looks up at Geralt with beseeching eyes. “Oh, thank the gods, my savior. Yennefer is freezing me to death with her horrid paws. I’m seconds from expiring of hypothermia.”

“Hm. From the way you were shrieking, I thought another werewolf got you.”

“At least werewolves are warm and fuzzy.”

“You’re fuzzy enough for both of us, bardling,” Yennefer grumbles.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Geralt pats Roach’s neck—she, at least, is being quiet and well-behaved—and starts shucking off his armor. “Now you know how I feel all the times you decide to use me to warm your hands and feet, bard.”

Jaskier gasps. “But you have witcher body heat! Surely, you aren’t selfish enough to keep it to yourself.”

“I’ve been letting you use my body heat for twenty years, Jaskier. Doesn’t mean having your cold fucking feet against my legs feels good.”

Yennefer guffaws. “So you have cold feet and you snore, bardling. What a prize you are.”

“I do not snore!”

“You do,” Geralt and Yennefer say at the same time. To Yennefer, Geralt adds, “First time I shared a bedroll with him, I thought a grave hag had slipped into bed with me during the night when I woke up and felt his feet against my shins.”

“I can see how you could make that mistake,” she says.

Jaskier yowls in protest, wiggling away from her the best he can while wrapped from chin to toes in blankets. “Unhand me, you cold-hearted harpy! You can’t slander me and then use my body to warm the icy depths of your soul, you fiend.”

Shaking his head, Geralt slides onto the bedroll behind Jaskier, slipping under the blankets and putting his arm around Jaskier and Yennefer’s waists, pulling Jaskier flush against him. Jaskier gives a token grumble of protest, then melts back into him.

“Thank the gods,” Jaskier breathes. “Geralt, your witcher warmth saves the day again. Now I may not freeze to death during the night.”

“I’m going to portal you to an iceberg somewhere,” Yennefer says.

“I don’t think I’d notice the difference.”

“You both have fucking cold feet,” Geralt says. “Now go to sleep.”

He’s unsurprised to find four icy feet pressed against his shins and thighs.

“Hers are colder, right, Geralt?” Jaskier asks in a stage whisper.

“Maybe,” Geralt grumbles. “But she doesn’t snore.”

He drifts off to sleep to the familiar sound of Yennefer laughing while their bard squawks in outrage.

Twenty-four touches prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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whumpbug · 3 months

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whumperless whump event day 7: accidental cryotherapy @whumperless-whump-event

this one is a bit longer than i usually write but i had so much fun writing it I LOVE THESE GUYS

falling through a frozen lake / hypothermia / “hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake."

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Simon

whumpee: Archie

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Archie really should have been used to the cold by now, considering he’d lived in the city for his entire life. Despite that, he couldn't help that it somehow seemed to catch him by surprise every year.

The snow fell gently around him, making the usually bustling streets seem just a little bit calmer. No one wanted to be out in this kind of weather, after all. He could even see his breath come in puffs every time he exhaled. It was kind of.. mesmerizing.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a sweet voice coming from below him.

“Thank you so much son!” The little old lady he had rescued from a mugger said, while viciously shaking Archie’s hand. It was gloriously warm, a welcome contract to his numb fingertips. Still, the strength behind it was surprising for how frail the woman looked.

“Oh, it’s really no problem ma’am, none at all! Just doing my part!” He said cheerfully. “I can escort you home if you’d like—”

He was cut off by police chatter coming in through his earpiece. He listened in with a grave expression for a few moments before his jaw set in determination. There had been an accident. One involving the frozen lake in the city park.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, but I have to go, I’ll make sure one of the officers escorts you home, okay?"

“Oh that’s alright dear, you’ve been more than enough help.. you get on home and warm up, okay?” She hummed, patting Archie’s cheek.

Archie laughed a bit before setting off. He wouldn’t be warming up anytime soon, that was for sure. Still, at least that lady would be able to. That was what made the job always worth it. Someone got to go home safely now because of him, and that was enough.

Now, back to the issue at hand.

He ran the situation through his mind as he began his sprint to the city's park. Luckily the mugging had happened only a few blocks away, so he would get there before emergency services.

Apparently, a couple of high school students had been messing around by the lake and one of them had fallen in. None of the others were able to get him out and he was trapped under the ice. The kids said it had only been a few seconds before they called the police, but still, the thought of a kid losing air while simultaneously freezing to death disturbed Archie deeply. It made him run just a little bit faster.

It was actually getting rather difficult to run. Archie's Vigil suit wasn't very weather friendly, and he found himself faltering every few steps from the lack of feeling in his toes. Still, he braved the cold and soldiered on.

Eventually, 2 silhouettes came into view as Archie approached the lake. The 2 kids were scrambling at the river bank, panicked, and he could hear their argument from twenty feet back.

“You were the one who dared Henry to do it!”

“Yeah well you egged him on! You encouraged it! It's both of our faults!”

“Don’t you dare try to blame me for this!”

Archie walked right up to them, holding up a placating hand.

“I don't care who's fault it was. I need you to show me where your friend fell through. Now.” He barked. Usually. he’d take the time to calm the bystanders and reassure them that everything would be okay, but the seconds were precious and there was a kid drowning.

Both students shut up and shakily pointed to a spot about 8 feet from the river bank.

Archie sucked in a breath.

He quickly scanned the area for anything he could use, but unfortunately he was quite ill-equipped. He knew it was dangerous to go out on the ice, lest it breaks again, but it was looking more and more like it was his only option.

With a sharp exhale, he got down on all fours, then lowered himself to his belly as he began scooting across the ice towards the break. It was times like these that he was immensely grateful for his heightened vision, because he was able to see the outline of a squirming body through the ice. Good, he thought, he’s still partially conscious, at least. It's not too late.

Finally, his fingers found purchase at the edge of the ice, and not a moment too soon as his front was starting to sting from the contact with it. A shudder his frame as he inhaled deeply to steel his nerves.

In he goes.

He slipped head-first through the hole in the ice and immediately his vision when white with the sheer cold. He fought the urge to gasp. God, who knew the cold could hurt this bad. It was like every cell in his body started seizing up at once, and his head was going to explode.

He clenched his jaw and brought his focus back to the present. He didn’t have time to dwell on the pain. He had a job to do.

He forced his eyes open, which stung viciously from the frigid water, and scanned the murk for the kid. Henry, he heard them say. He saw a limb flail from a silhouette a few feet away.

He kicked towards Henry and reached out. His stiff fingers wrapped around the thrashing arm and held it steady. Got him.

He pulled Henry tight to his body, and looked down to see wide eyes looking up at him. Despite his own compromised state, he forced himself to flash the kid a soft smile to put him at ease. Henry vaguely returned it.

He kicked up towards the surface, again, using his enhanced vision to scan for the hole they both came in through. He reached up and finally found the jagged edge of the ice. Bingo. He and the kid breached the surface with a gasp.

Archie coughed wetly as he pushed Henry up onto the ice.

Henry coughed just as violently, letting out a weak cry as he scrambled for the edge, trying desperately to pull himself up. Archie had to physically restrain his arms to keep him from breaking more ice and drowning them both.

He wanted to explain that the ice would only hold one of them, so they had to be strategic about how they got back to the bank. He tried to explain that the kids on the bank had to grab Henry’s feet and pull, but his teeth were chattering too violently to even form a word. Not to mention the bitter, unrelenting cold was all his mind could focus on. If things weren't bad already, he was treading water to hoist the kid up but his legs were rapidly losing feeling. He had to act fast.

“Pull!” he managed to shout, shoving the kid up and onto the ice. With an adrenaline-induced feat of strength, he managed to slide him across the ice and towards the bank.

Luckily, the students were able to catch on. They grabbed Henry’s ankles and dragged him to the grass, all collapsing in an exhausted and shaken heap once he was on solid ground.

The ambulance sirens rang through the night air a few moments later, and Archie vaguely felt panic bubble up within him. If the ambulance found him, they would take him to the hospital. At the hospital, they would take off his mask and people would see his face. His identity would be revealed. He couldn’t have that happen.

But he was still halfway in the freezing pond and rapidly losing sensation all throughout his limbs. He needed to get out fast.

With fleeting strength, he managed to yank himself up onto the ice as wheezing coughs wracked his body once again.

The adrenaline must have had a second wind, because he was able get himself to his hands and knees and shuffle across the ice. Once he made it to the riverbank, he hauled his himself to his numb feet and began staggering towards the trees.

He kept going until he was sure he was out of view. Those boys would never know who really saved them, but maybe it was for the better. He wouldn't want anyone to see him like this anyways.

He vacantly wondered if he should be shivering.

Things started happening in short bursts. He was so cold, and his vision was starting to blur at the edges. His suit was sopping wet and his feet were completely numb as he trudged through the falling snow. Suddenly, his foot caught on a divot in the ground and it sent him unceremoniously crashing to his knees. He couldn't even register the pain of the bones knocking against the pavement.

His entire body was numb. He wasn’t shivering. Snow was falling on him and stayed perfectly intact, not even beginning to melt.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that this was bad. Very bad. Needed-to-call-someone-or-he’d-die kind of bad.

It took great mental effort, but he somehow pulled out his phone and watched as it nearly slipped from his clumsy hands. He wasn’t even registering the feeling of the phone in his hand at this point. This confused him.

It was painfully slow, but he managed to open Simons contact. If anyone knew how to help him, it would be Simon. Simon was always there for him. He was steadfast and warm. Yeah, Simon could help him.

He tapped out a message that simply read, “cold. help” before letting his phone fall to the ground.

He sank to his knees and hugged his arms close to his body, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. Everything was viciously numb and he felt himself blink dizzily. His mind suddenly felt as if it was moving through molasses.

..What was he doing out here again?

Oh right. Highschoolers. Frozen lake. That was stupid of them. He remembered his mother's voice telling him to stay away from the edge of the riverbank when he was a kid.

He distantly wondered if their mother's told them the same thing.

He missed his mom. She would always make him hot cocoa and puff warm air on his hands and fluff his blankets in the drier when he came in from playing in the snow.

Why wasn't she here now?

Was anyone coming for him?

Was he going to freeze to death in this park? Alone and scared?

He was starting to regret hiding from the paramedics.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, mind a million miles away, but suddenly, he heard the rapid crunching of snow in front of him. He wanted to look up, he really did, but he found his muscles wouldn’t respond to his demand. He must have been dreaming.

“Archie! There you are!” Simon breathed, kneeling beside his friend. "Shit.."

Simon fumbled with his gloves, but eventually worked his hand out and pressed his fingers to Archie’s neck to gauge his pulse. He nearly gasped at how cold the skin beneath them were. He gently lifted his face to get a better look at him. His pulse was there, but it was alarmingly weak.

His lips were sickly blue and his eyes were hazy and unfocused. He didn’t’ even seem to recognize Simon right in front of him. The worst part, though, was the eery stillness. Archie was too silent and too unmoving. Simon needed to get him shivering and quick.

Simon brushed his fingers across Archie’s cheek, to which Archie let out a pained gasp and recoiled away.

“Burns..” He slurred, letting his head loll to the side.

“You’re just frozen, Archie..” Simon muttered, shrugging off his own coat and buttoning it around Archie’s limp form. He chafed up and down his arms, attempting to coax warmth into his frozen friend.

“We need to get you to my apartment.. can you walk?”

“Simon..” He finally whimpered, blinking blearily at the other. Simon could have sworn he saw a glint of desperation in Archie's eyes.

“Right, stupid question. Onto plan B,” He huffed, hooking his arms under Archie's legs and around his shoulders. He let out a stifled gasp at just how cold he really was.

As soon as they were in the car, Simon blasted the heat as high as it would go, and he still saw no improvement in Archie’s condition. On the contrary, Archie just seemed to grow even more drowsy. Simon gently shook Archie’s knee, hoping to get him to stir.

“Hey, c’mon.. you gotta stay awake.. at least until we’re home..” He pleaded, speeding up the car just a bit.

Archie gave a wet cough and let his head fall forward, still seemingly unaware of his surroundings.

“We’re almost home.. I promise..”

Once the car was parked, Simon made quick work of carrying Archie up the stairs and getting him situated on the couch. He helped him peel off the wet clothes, and then covered him with mounds and mounds of blankets. He then plugged in every space heater he owned, safety concerns be damned, and pointed them right at the heap of bedding.

He recalled everything he had ever learned about treating hypothermia.

Bring out of the cold. Check.

Remove wet clothing. Check.

Insulate with blankets and towels. Check.

Apply warm compresses.

Right.

Simon jogged to his closet in the hallway and rummaged around before finding some old hot water bottles. They were a bit rudimentary, but they would have to do. He left Archie on the couch while he swiftly boiled water and filled them. He then wrapped them in hand towels and returned to Archie with his arms full of glorious warmth.

Archie blinked up at him, and Simon noticed, with great relief, the tremors that wracked his body. They were violent and all-consuming, but at least he was shivering.

“C-Can.. can I t-take a hot ba-bath..” He slurred, looking up at Simon with pleading eyes.

The sight shattered his heart into a million pieces. Simon sighed softly.

“I’m sorry.. we can’t risk you going into shock.. we’ll warm you up other ways, okay?” He murmured, carefully peeling back the layers of blankets.

At that, Archie gave another intense shudder as his pale skin was exposed to the air. A soft cry escaped his lips as he instinctively curled in on himself.

“H-Hurts..” He whimpered, clawing at the blankets.

“I know, I know..” Simon whispered, leaning over to place a heat pack on Archie's chest. He then laid one on his neck and groin and replaced the blankets around him.

"There.. that should help you feel a bit warmer," Simon explained softly, giving Archie another once-over.

The shivering only got more vicious as Archie seized up with every small movement. His teeth were chattering violently and the force of the trembling even shook the couch.

“S-Simon.. Simon I’m so cold.. c-can’t.. can’t take it,” He sobbed, trying to sink further into the fabric around him.

Simon felt his heart shatter even more. He’d seen Archie come back from having a building collapse on him, and he still didn’t look as pitiful as he did now. Even though he was more lucid now, his eyes still had that far-away look at made Simon just want to hold him close and tell him he'd be alright.

So he did.

He vaguely remembered hearing in one of his classes that body heat could be effective at warming someone up and.. well, no time like the present.

Simon lifted the covers and carefully slid in beside Archie, getting himself settled before turning towards him and opening his arms.

“C’mere.. this will help..” He muttered, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feign annoyance. Not when Archie was looking at him like he just told him he’d won the lottery.

Archie immediately latched himself onto Simon’s side, and now Simon could really feel how much Archie was shaking. His entire frame was convulsing with ferocious shakes that had to hurt. Archie would definitely be feeling it in the morning.

Still, Simon wrapped his arms around Archie and drew him closer. He gently smoothed a hand up and down Archie’s back in an attempt to soothe him, and if the way Archie leaned into it was any indicator, it was working.

After a while of comfortable silence, save for the soft chattering of Archie’s teeth, the shivers finally began to ease up. They were still there and rather exhausting no doubt, but they weren’t so intense anymore.

Simon thought of his mental checklist again, and recalled something about a warm drink to help with the chills. He'd been laying with Archie long enough, and surely he would appreciate a steaming cup of chamomile.

Simon moved to get up, easing Archie off his arm, to which Archie let out a panicked yelp and all but yanked him back down.

“Woah! I’m just gonna go get you some tea! It’ll help! I promise!” Simon pleaded, huffing a soft laugh.

“No! No.. p-please just.. just stay for a f-few more minutes..” Archie begged, weakly grasping at Simon’s sweater.

Simon playfully rolled his eyes and leaned back, letting Archie snuggle right back up to him.

“Alright.. just a few more minutes..”

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#whumperless whump event day 7: accidental cryotherapy #whumperless whump event day 7 #whumperless whump event #cold whump #hypothermia whump #shivering #whump #whumpblr #whump fic #whump community #your honor allegedly they're just friends #this was one of the first fics i did for these 2 as well #hopefully i don't get hypothermia today somehow #looking at you seth /j

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