#the road to venom 3

[movietimegirl]

Toxin: Grandpa!

Eddie: Grandpa?

Venom: Grandson!

Patrick: You have got to be kidding me.

[jennrypan]

..the urge to have two endings for Roxanne and Miguel is so. Strong like the angst of.

"I love you but we aren't suppose to be together " IS SO FUCKIGN SJA MUAH CHEFS KISS.

But also I want Miguel to be happy for once and get loved on by someone who's been through shit but prefers to see the light side of things ithsjsja sigh--

(I just. Wanna make more content of them fr..finna start posting text posts and incorrect quotes of them.)

(..they're ship name is Miganne and I think that's literally perfect idc-- lmao-

[loveswrites]

Rainy Road Part 3 Poly! Cullens X reader

Rainy Road Part 3 (Final part) Poly! Cullens X reader

Word Count: 2644

Time it Took me: A long time ngl

To My Love's: Here you guys go! I know you've waited so long for the last part of Rainy road. Some of y'all are gonna be real mad at me but the last part (paragraph) of this is kinda what went on with this part of rainy road. I was trying to make it something it's not. I hope you guys like it! Tell me how you felt! Y'all know I don't do these but TW!!

Love <3

Whatever trash that was on the radio played in the background as you drove away from Seth’s house. You’d like to say that you had a good time but the longer that you sat there and tried to pretend that you were having a good time the more it hurt. You couldn’t take it anymore. So you weren’t going to. Focusing your eyes through the rain on the windshield you finally saw the sign “Leaving Forks”.

 Letting out a breath of air you felt relaxed. Free. For the first time in months you felt some peace. Laughing to yourself you rolled down all the windows not caring that the rain was pouring into the car. This made you happy. This brung joy to you. For the first time in a long time you didn’t see the rain as some tragic reminder of the Cullens leaving you to fend for yourself. You saw it as a way for you to cleanse yourself of this pain. For good. It felt a sign from the universe as your favorite song started playing on the radio. 

“This couldn’t get any better!” You laughed to yourself as you started to sing along to the song. Letting the music take you away you felt the rhythm in your body flow freely. Feeling your phone buzz you looked down ‘Unknown’ It read. Rolling your eyes you let it go to voicemail. This was the fifth time they’ve called. Turning your phone off you did your best to not let this ruin your wonderful mood you were in. 

Thirty minutes passed and you had made it. The waterfall. You loved it here but you would never get too close to the edge because you thought that somehow you’d fall off. I guess you always knew you would fall off in a way. No matter the tight grip on your- one of the Cullens would have on you you always feared the outcome. But not today. 

Shivering as water sprayed on you from the waterfall and the rain you couldn’t help but feel cold. It made it all feel surreal. Walking closer to the edge you felt a surge of adrenaline run through your veins. Jasper had shown you this place. Out of all the waterfalls the Cullens had shown you, This one was your favorite. Maybe because of the way you found it or the memories that you made here. Either way you were happiest here. Reaching the edge you looked down all you saw were rocks and water and.. A small rainbow at the end. Letting out a final sigh you closed your eyes. ‘Finally some peace.’ You thought.  You wouldn't have to feel the void the Cullens had created in you. You wouldn’t have to wallow in your pain anymore. You wouldn't have to do anything. But let go.  

Leaning forward you let yourself fall. The wind that swept across your face made you smile. No longer will you be the girl who loved you dearly. 

Feeling yourself jerk back you snapped your eyes open, stumbling you fell. “What the hell?!” You yelled out with so much anger. Looking up to see who or what the cause of this was you froze.

“Jasper?” You breathed out.

“Why are you trying to kill yourself?” Jasper questioned as venom filled his eyes. He looked like shit. His clothes didn’t match at all. It was like he just threw on whatever was laying on his floor and put it on and called it a day. His eyes were gloomy like a big gray cloud was covering them. His hair was all over the place, it looked like he hadn’t brushed his curls in weeks.

“WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF!” Jasper yelled, making you jump. Jasper had never yelled at you. Looking at him.. He didn’t look human. 

“Why do you care?” You rolled your eyes picking yourself up from the wet hard rocks.

“I care because I love you!” He yelled.

“No you don’t you don’t love me none of you do because if you did you wouldn’t have left me! You wouldn’t have left me to rot in my own hell that you created for me! The hell that you left me in! The pain you caused!” You screamed at him.

“You're going home.” Jasper said sternly.

“I’m not going anywhere besides hell, Oh wait I’m already there!” You yelled walking back to the edge of the cliff. 

“Do you really wanna kill yourself?” Jasper whispered, making you pause in  your tracks. 

“I want to not feel the way I do now ever again.” You whispered looking down at the water hitting the rocks at the bottom. Letting out a sigh you felt the best you have in a while. Your eyes grew heavy. So heavy you couldn’t keep them open any longer. So you didn’t.

Hearing whispers you tried focusing on them. 

“She hates me.” You heard from far away but at the same time very close.

“No she doesn't, she is just going through a hard time. We all are.” Who is that?

“You don’t know the way she looked at me Alice, She hates me” Alice? She's here?

“We broke her heart. What did you expect? Her to accept us with open arms?” A different voice sounded.

“Yes. That's exactly what I expected.” Another responded. 

What's going on? I can't open my eyes? It hurts. This hurts. Everything hurts. Wait. Where am I? Why am I not dead? That question hurt more than anything else. Why can't they let me go?

Let me go, I try to say.

 Nothing comes out.

Let me go! Please! Let Me go! I scream and I claw at my throat until sounds come out of my mouth. Tears roll down my cheek. Tears of sadness or confusion? Another emotion I can't seem to explain but what's new?

"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" I scream repeatedly once I find my voice. Once I found it I didn't let it go until I was hoarse. My eyes snapped open hurting them as they were dry but wet with tears? How can that be? The burning in my eyes only proved to me how real the scene in front of me was. 

There stood the very ones who brung this pain upon me in the first place. The Cullens. Every single one of them. They looked terrified. Like they didn't know what was the cause of this. Even Carlisle even though he  looked like he hadn't rested in a thousand years. He looked at me like I was something he didn't know how to fix. Pity. "I'm not yours to fix!" I scream and scream in anger. Eyes strictly on Carlisle. You could see him break a little bit more each time. I felt a small Crack. 

Rosalie held onto Emmetts arm and she looked.. Scared. That's a first. She said she loved her human life. I didn't. She ruined that for me. "Sad pathetic human life!" I yell and yell, staring her down as tears continue to roll down my face. She slowly let go of Emmett's arm. She looked back at me like I was a monster. How can I be a monster?! Rosalie shook her head in disbelief as she stormed out of the room. Another crack? 

A monster wasn't born. They were made.

Looking towards Emmett the wanna be big bad wolf. "You're weak. You're useless. You're powerless. You're nothing!" I scream and scream. I reach for anything to throw. That anything just happened to be a lamp. A very expensive one. My favorite one. It hit Emmett's chest and Shattered. Just like my love for him. Them. He didn’t try to dodge it. I knew he could've. They could've stopped it from happening but they didn't. They didn't do anything. They didn't do anything. Another Crack? What is this?

Turning to Jasper he looked like he was concentrating. Like he was trying so hard to fix something that shouldn't be broken in the first place.

Muffled to my ears I hear Edward's voice say "That won't work Jasper, She's breaking it.." Breaking it? Breaking them like they broke me? If that's how you word it, yes. 

With those words it looked like Jasper was finally coming to realize what was happening. "Please stop. Don't do this, you can't fix it if you keep going. Please, I love you." Jasper pleaded with a panicked look on his face. He took a step closer but Alive stopped him. "Please let me go." He begged Alice to which she looked at Edward who just slowly shook his head. 

"Let me go.. Let me go sound familiar doesn't it. Doesn't it!? You Jasper, You're nothing but an addict that will never recover. Itching and  Aching for just one drop of blood. Your miserable existence is an abomination." I repeat over and over so much that I find it funny. Laughing I couldn't help myself but to add another thing. "Blood.. There's no AA meetings for that one Jasper." He looked like he could die right then and there. He looked sadly at Alice as if to say I told you so. Crack. I gasp softly grabbing my chest but as soon as I acknowledge it goes away just as quickly as it came. 

Turning my attention to Esme I couldn't help but frown my face up in disgust. She was kneeling in front of Carlisle who was now sitting on the floor tapping at his chest. What, it hurts? So sad. You hurt me first. Esme took her eyes away from Carlisle and turned them to me. "I understand that you're upset but you can't break our bond, That will practically kill us. Please sto-" I cut her off. Who wants to listen to begging when you've been begging for them to come back for months now? I'm sick of it. 

"Toy. I was a Toy right? That's what you said. You know if a toy is  Delivered to a child in perfect condition and the child breaks it, the child has no one to blame but themselves. Because that toy did nothing to deserve the abuse the child yield upon it. But who cared right? It's just a toy! It's just a toy! Toys are made to be used and thrown away like trash because who cares it's not me- Oh wait it was me! I was the toy!" 

"Please stop, you can't undo it." Esme pleaded as her voice broke mid sentence.

"I trusted you. We made promises to each other! 'I'll hold your heart in my hand and I won't crush yours if you don't crush mine.' I won't crush yours.. I always keep my promises. So Consider your heart crushed." Esme visibly flinched with my last sentence. Crack.. 

Tearing my eyes away from Esme's shaking figure I locked eyes with Edward. The one who drove me to this heartache. It's only right if he was the last one to break. Getting out of the bed I was in with shaky legs I walked towards my final destination.

Coward.

"You know what you're doing, I've told you about it. And I've told you what will happen if you break us all.. Please rethink your decision.." Edward begged as his eyes followed  me as I walked up to him. 

Liar.

"We can still fix it but we won't be able to if you keep going. No matter if we want to fix it later in the future we can't. It won't be the same.. I know you still love us. Don't do this. I love you, I always have and always will. We left to prot-" You cut off Edward's attempts to save himself with one word. What was he afraid of most? Why was he afraid to show his true colors? It's all simply because he is a-

"Monster."

Edward's face dropped. You dug into your memories but not too deep as it always lingered on the surface. He was always scared you'd see him for who he truly is. A monster. 

"A soulless monster. You see Edward you were always so worried about your 'soul' you shouldn't worry about something you just don't have. Humans have souls. You're nothing but a cold hollow shell of something that used to be. Just embrace it. You'll never make it out of this hell you've made. It didn't have to be like this. You could've turned the car around that night. You were in full control. So you Edward have no one to blame but yourself. Why don't you go add yourself to your collection of victims you think you've saved." You sneered with venom. Crack.

With those last words a sharp pain felt like it came through your heart six times, And left the same way it came in. You didn't even flinch. It's like you were numb. The best way you could describe it was you were stabbed in your heart front and back six times. A few last tears ran down your check but you weren't crying anymore. You had stopped crying a long time ago. It was like your tears acted as the blood that would've spilled if you had actually been stabbed. 

Edward's faces twisted in pain and soon after behind you you heard the gasp of the rest of the Cullen's. They were feeling all the pain you felt and then some. You couldn't help but feel proud of yourself. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you could breathe again. 

"How could you go through with this?! It will feel like we've died!" Rosalie stormed into the room the best she could, hunched over in pain. The throbbing in her heart was something she never thought she'd  experience. You couldn't help but roll your eyes. They thought they were the only ones who could break hearts and not blink an eye?

"Well die then."

Rosalie's eyes widened at your words. She tried to look into your eyes to see if you were just putting up a front but no. This was all you. Your head was clearer than ever. 

As you looked around the room you searched for your keys but then thought 'I don't want it anymore.' Anything from the Cullen's gets left tonight. Cars.. Feelings.. it's all the same to you.

"Enjoy my gift. It's the closest thing you will ever get to feeling human." 

You spoke dryly.

Walking away from Edward you stepped over Emmett who was curled into a ball on the floor clawing at his chest. "It hurts." He whimpered. Get over it.

With your back turned you felt the eyes of every Cullen on your back. "Please stay." Carlisle whispered. You paused and hope flooded the heart broken vampires. You continue your journey to the front door. On your way you spoke knowing they could all still hear you very clearly.

"Don't call me. Don't come by my house. Don't make it seem like you've died. Just die." I said before I slammed the door shut. And it was never opened again.

Walking down the long driveway of the Cullens house you felt light as a feather. You felt like you were on top of the world and nothing could bring you down. As you walked you came to a realization. You were trying to make a happy ending, you were begging for one. And that's what took so long that's why they never came back. Because there was no happy ending. A love that breaks you like that will never have a happy ending if it's with the same one that took your heart and stomped it out. The only way out is to make a trade. Eye for an eye. Soul for a soul. Heart for a Heart.

[ddejavvu]

Omg omg bodyguard!anakin taking care of you when you get carsick in long car rides!!! He lets you sleep on him and brings a lemon for you to sniff when you feel sick and a water bottle too :( and he gets mad at your driver if he’s going too fast on the windy roads :((

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

okay wait i did this within the star wars universe so they are not in a car but they are in a speeder <3 thank you for your prompt and please send me more anakin requests <3

--

There are two words that Anakin Skywalker never expected to be saying in a moving speeder: Slow down. But they come out venomous and rough towards the pilot that's steering you through a narrow canyon, over a less-travelled route to your destination. He's perhaps taken the mindset of bodyguard a tad too serious, and he's ordered your pilot to steer clear of any populated areas to avoid potential danger. It means, though, that you're not rewarded with the straight-shooting lanes of the city that you're used to, and instead you're hurtling through winding passageways and bobbing up and down through any available gaps in the rock face.

"I can't go much slower than this," Your pilot has clearly never been spoken to with such malice, but Anakin has little time for pleasantries as he pulls you tightly into his side. He keeps his grip pointedly off of your stomach, not wanting to aggravate it any more than the ride already has, his hand resting on your shoulders rather than your waist.

"Unless you want sick on the back of your head and a demotion from the Princess's personal staff, slow down." Anakin snaps, hand rubbing broad strokes down your back.

"No, it's-" You choke on a barely-concealed gag, breathing heavy where you're hunched into Anakin's side, "It's okay. It's not his- fault."

Anakin chooses to ignore the way you so easily spare your pilot; he thinks that if he were on your permanent staff he'd live every day making sure you never had to suffer from things like motion sickness again.

"Anakin," You breathe against his shoulder, somewhat of a pant as you try catching your breath without turning your stomach again, "I'm sorry. I know this is not what you signed up for."

"Shh," He hushes, reaching down to dig through the bag that you'd helped him pack. You'd been nervous about getting sick on the way so he'd loaded every nausea remedy he could think of, including a citrus fruit to relieve your symptoms.

"Here," He unwraps the cut fruit from its container, his palm molding around the curved, bumpy skin as he brandishes it beneath your nose.

"Breathe this in," He instructs you, voice calm and soothing despite your iron grip on his leg. You do as you're told, and he makes it easy for you by keeping the citrus close to your face. You find that you really don't have to do anything around him; he's always got it covered.

"That's better," You mumble, head hung and stomach still upset but not churning as it was before. He rubs that same soothing hand over your back and you relax further into his hold, no longer imminently afraid of spewing vomit all over the nicest man you've ever known.

"Give me your hands," He murmurs, carefully re-wrapping the fruit so that the juice doesn't stain anything, "There's pressure points on your wrists, and if I squeeze them, you might feel better. Can I try?"

"Mhm," You squeeze your eyes shut, holding back tears as the speeder tilts to the left, your stomach once more violently angry with the movement.

Anakin's hands are soft but firm as he takes your wrists into his grip. His large thumbs roll pressure against a spot just beneath your wrist, the thin skin there bending to his will. He massages them carefully, craning his neck up to fit his chin over the crown of your head where you're slumped against him.

"Is that working?" He asks, once more in that same smooth, careful murmur. You nod almost imperceptibly but he feels it against his shoulder, and he has to fight himself to not press a kiss to your scalp while he's nestled into it.

"Okay. Close your eyes, Princess." He instructs, teeth clenching as the speeder winds down a narrow passageway. He doesn't want to disturb you, but he wants to snap something fierce at the pilot. Next time, he'll drive.

"Try to sleep the rest of the way. I'll keep pressure on these," He breaks his rhythm against your wrists to press steadily into them, "And I've got bags if you need to be sick. Okay?'

"Okay," You whimper against his shoulder, and the sound strikes him deep in the chest. He wishes he could ease your pain, he hopes his impromptu acupressure is enough. You're more than happy to take his orders, and Anakin is acutely aware of every single rise and fall of your chest as you slowly doze off against his shoulder.

He wants the ride to be over, because he wants your pain alleviated, but he lets himself indulge in the thought of doing this all day. Of being stuck to your side for eternity, your bodyguard, healer, and pillow all at once.

Once the speeder is docked safely at your sanctuary he lets the pilot disembark with one last scathing glance, and settles into the seat. He can't bear the thought of waking you, even if you would be happier in your bed as you sleep off the nausea, because he's happier here, with your face squished against his shoulder blade, and your hands in his own.

If he has to spend all night in the cramped speeder bay, he happily will.

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 3

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.7k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to friends to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction. 

Chapter Synopsis: The great 141 road trip is fine in the beginning, but being on the road for eleven hours clearly gets to everyone, especially you. For once, Ghost tries to show you some genuine compassion without any ulterior motives. 

A/N: Thought that this would not only be a fun part to write, but also a breather to get to develop more character dynamics. Feel free to comment what you think each member of the 141 favorite music genre is! Including your own~

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Such a long drive was new territory for the boys. They were so used to helicopter rides, armored cars, and jets to take them where they needed to go fast. For their size and stature, the minivan was cramped, slightly rough on the road, and just plain weird. It took a few seat adjustments before everyone was as comfortable as they could be. Save for Gaz. He just prayed that a pit stop was coming soon and someone would be willing to switch seats with him.

For the first hour, the ride was noisy with conversation. Conversation that tried to reel you in. Price, looking through the front windshield, asked you a question. “How do you know where you’re going, Hex?”

“I’ve spent time memorizing road maps around the area. We’re taking a back road. A scenic route. Any other cars on the road would further see this minivan as a family road trip through the country.” You elaborated, your eyes steady on the road ahead. There were a lot of twists and turns on this route, but you knew that it would pay out in the end.

“Hidden in plain sight.” Soap added, his tone showing that he was a bit impressed with the logic of it all. Perhaps you knew what you were doing after all. Without you meaning to or doing anything extraordinary, the group was slowly starting to trust you and your judgment as evidenced by your creative planning. You were becoming quite the leader as well. But, you weren’t completely out of the woods yet. They still kept some of their guards up, just in case.

“There’s a method to the madness. Don’t underestimate the power of assumptions.” You advised, a word of advice that would hopefully stick with them after all of this was over. If they listened, perhaps some problems the world was facing could actually be solved. 

Soap pulled out his phone with the intention of making this trip more enjoyable. Making sure that his VPN you required was turned on, he began to browse through songs using his music app. Once he added his favorite songs, he passed it to his captain. “Whatever you want, Cap. No genre limits.”

Price took the phone and rubbed his chin for a second in thought, his brick-brown beard moving with his fingers. Eventually, he added some songs to the playlist. Once he was satisfied, he passed the phone to Gaz who lit up at the idea. “Now it’s gonna feel like a real road trip!”

A few more songs were added before the phone was passed all the way up to Ghost. Hesitantly, Ghost added his own favorite songs. His teammates knew him decently well. They’re even seen his face before under the mask. However, there were still things they were learning about when it came to his personal life. One of which was his favorite kind of music. Thankfully, he was willing to share that information, trusting his team more and more with each passing day. 

He looked at you when he was done, wondering if he should even offer. Having watched the interactions from the mirror, you decided to stay out of it. When Ghost was done, you just shook your head for a silent “no.” Simon imagined that you were rejecting the idea in your mind based on the warning look you gave him. Don’t even try. That made him really wonder what kind of music you liked. The records back home were incredibly diverse. But what was your favorite? Jazz? Metal?

The phone was passed back to Soap. It was quite a diverse playlist. He didn’t realize that his team had such different tastes, but it just made him excited to give it a listen. He connected it to the car’s bluetooth and hit the shuffle button. Ghost went ahead and switched the car to bluetooth mode for him. Almost immediately, the car filled up with music, starting with one of Price’s songs. 

Instead of tuning out, you tuned in. Very much so. Small details, even favorite songs, could say a lot about a person. You were learning about the men now. Not for the sake of potential friendship, no. For the sake of information for potential future manipulation if things went sideways. You always prepared for the worst, even when times seemed like the best. 

The discussion carried forward, now with the ease of real music in the background. Gaz decided to take the plunge and ask you a question. “So. . . Hex. . . You lived a long time out in the woods. How did you survive on your own? There doesn’t seem to be a grocery store for miles around.”

You adjusted your sitting position, trying to get comfier in the driver’s seat. If you were going to deal with this for most of the trip, you might as well get as comfortable as you can. You answered, one hand on the wheel and one arm resting near the window. “I have an acquaintance who’s a farmer that gives me whatever I need. In return, I pleasure his wife, which helps save their marriage.”

His eyes got huge, not expecting the answer. He nearly tripped over his words. “Really?!”

“No, Kyle. You really think I would do such a thing?” You scowled. Internally, though, you were cracking up at his bewilderment. Soap and Price began chuckling in their seats. Even Simon was cracking a smile that no one could see. Kyle’s embarrassed blush that matched the falling red leaves outside made them even more amused. Who knew you had a sense of humor? A crude sense at that. 

He muttered an apology. At least he was a good sport about it. A part of him found it quite funny too. After the chuckles died down, you answered his question truthfully. “Kate does supply drops for me. Not all the time, just when I need more meat than the woods can provide. Everything else I grow.”

It was an answer that made sense and didn’t reveal much about yourself. Nothing too fascinating about it. At least, to everyone save for Ghost. He took note of your truth, pictured you growing fruits and vegetables, hands in the dirt and sweat dripping down your temple. He imagined you hunting too. A heavy rifle and camo. Patience, aim, fire. He thought that some of the foods he had from your kitchen tasted a little gamey. 

“Didn’t you ever get lonely being out there all by yourself?” Soap inquired, not afraid to ask the question that was on everyone’s mind. All eyes were on you as you took a deep breath.

“No, Johnny. Never.”

This was partially a lie as well as partially the truth. There were times where you did feel alone. Like the only human left on the planet. Kate’s calls every now and then help curb it a little, but it wasn’t the same as actually being in the same space with someone physically. Yet, when you were surrounded by people on a classified mission or watching disaster after disaster on TV, it made you glad that you weren’t a part of any of it. The flurry of different emotions coming from all different sides when with civilization was often too much for you. You needed control. More control than what you could usually get when you were on the outside again.

Simon was watching you carefully now, trying to pick up any indication of a cracked resolve. A twitch, a change in breathing, anything to read into further. There was no way you never felt lonely. Yet, you said it with such conviction that it startled everyone. Ghost just couldn’t believe you.

Having killed the conversation, the boy awkwardly tried to change topics. Now excluding you. Good. You preferred it this way.

~

A few hours in and the car was quiet. Light, easy music played now from the car speakers as everyone took a nap. Except for Ghost, of course. Fortunately, he did keep himself occupied by reading the book you lent him. The first couple of chapters were a miss in his opinion. After a couple more, it started to get good. It didn’t take him long to actually get invested in the story, reading between the lines as you had done when you read. You had good tastes.

Enjoying the quietness of the trip was something you didn’t think you would be able to do. Especially with Simon in the front. Surprisingly, he was being good which you hoped would like for the rest of the trip. Unfortunately, you jinxed it in your head. Out of the corner of your eye, he bookmarked his spot and took a break. Now, he wanted to talk to you.

“You didn’t play your own music.” 

“So?” You shrugged, wondering where he was going with this. Nothing good probably.

“Why not?” He simply asked, himself not knowing what the big deal was. It was just music. You could have even lied. Picked out music you hated. Instead, you just opted out, not even willing to risk three minutes of any particular melody.

You suppressed an annoyed groan. Not this shit again. “What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand, Simon?”

There you go again, saying his name with such disrespectful ease. It still made his heart beat faster hearing it from you. It still made his muscles tense in vexation as well. You noticed this from how the grip on his arms got tighter, his arms crossing his chest. “How much could music taste actually reveal about you as an individual?”

“A lot! God damn it, when are you going to drop this stupid shit? Quit playing your stupid fucking game?!” You spat, trying to keep your cursing at a low volume lest you wake up the rest of the team. Your knuckles were turning white with how hard you were gripping the steering wheel, desperately trying to keep your cool.

However, he didn’t drop it. He didn’t want to, so he wouldn’t. Simon could be just as stubborn as you which made you want to punch him. Have his teeth fall out of his mouth and get caught in his skull mask. “You mean to tell me that you’ve learned a lot about us based on our favorite songs alone? That’s just ridiculous, Hex.”

He could use your name as a curse too. Anything to get you to keep talking to him. Anything to keep your attention. To figure you out. As much as you didn’t want to give him what you wanted, you did anyway out of sheer aggravation. “It’s called Music Psychology, you fucking ass! Do they do anything besides tell you what to shoot in that god forsaken military?! Do they really keep you all fucking braindead?!”

“Watch your mouth, Hex! You don’t want to say anything you don’t mean.” Simon warned, his voice low like a bass about to snap its strings. He had to remind himself that you weren’t like them when it came to combat approach to cool down. The 141 employed leadership, strength, swift execution. An assassin like you employed other values, one being the art of psychology apparently. 

He wasn’t going to let you badmouth his team and those back home that don’t deserve your slander, though. Many people back home were plenty capable with their own skill sets. It wasn’t fair to put them all in one box just because they followed the orders of the government.

“Watch my mouth?! Have you even heard the shit that’s coming out of yours?! Or is your head so far stuck up your own ass that you can’t hear what you say?” You antagonized further, making the situation worse with each passing insult.

“Why are you so fucking defensive?! You cracked a joke earlier, but now asking about your music tastes is too much? You don’t make any fucking sense, Hex. What the hell are you so afraid of?” His own voice was rising with volume as he spiraled out of control as well.

You were practically yelling at this point like the rest of the world didn’t exist except for you and Simon. A personal bubble where you could really try to rip him a new one. You didn’t hold back. “I’m not afraid of anything, Ghost! I just want you to leave me the fuck alone! Why are you so desperate to know me?!

“You’re part of this team, whether you like it or not!  Whether you want to be an enemy or not! Part of that is trusting us with your life. All of it!” He argued, trapping himself in this conflict bubble with you.

Your temper was boiling over to the point you could cry. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just let this go? “Why can’t you understand that I am never going to be part of your team?! I never can and I never will!”

At that he paused. There was something about your last retort. Never can? It was oddly specific. What did that mean?

Just then, the light for gas lit up on the dashboard. You clenched your jaw, cursing more profanities that would have anyone blush. A couple miles down was a gas station. A wave of relief washed over you. Now you had an excuse to exit the car to get away from Simon.

You didn’t realize it before with how provoked you were, but the 141 in the back was awake and clearly heard the two of you bickering. The tension thick enough to choke on made it hard for them to interfere. This pit stop would hopefully let things settle down again.

As soon as the car was parked near an empty pump, the doors slid open to let the men out. It felt good to stretch their legs and breathe in some fresh air. It was about time Gaz was relieved of the back seat too. Price, Soap, and Gaz headed into the convenience store for a moment to pick up drinks and snacks, something that was essential for their road trip experience. You leaned against the car, waiting for the gas pump to finish. The entire time, Ghost sat silently in the front doing his own breathing exercises to get his temper under control. God, you were venomous. Troublesome, irritating, infernal, a million other words. Yet, you were beautiful when you were pissed. He couldn’t understand it.

Finally, the car was loaded up once again, now complete with drinks, snacks, and a full tank of gas. The seating arrangements changed, Price now in the back to allow Gaz a chance to let his legs stretch out more. Besides that, he didn’t really want to be up front with all of the conflict. He would normally break it up, but he still didn’t know enough about you to feel comfortable doing so. It was better for this to just play out. It wasn’t like Ghost couldn’t hold his own.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Soap ripped open a bag of chips followed by a joke. “Looks like mom and dad are fighting again.”

The smirk on his face was quickly wiped away as a pair of keys jingled right near his ear, embedded in his head rest. You had turned from your seat as soon as you registered his distasteful joke, thrown the car keys like a knife, and narrowly missed pinning his ear against the fabric. The car was dead silent as you stared daggers into him. Despite being a strong man with plenty of experiences with danger along with close calls, this experience had Johnny near pissing himself. If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under already.

What was worse was the fact that you missed on purpose. 

“Shut the fuck up! You are not to insinuate that again. Ever! Now, I don’t want anyone trying to talk to me or talk about me for the rest of this fucking trip. Talk to each other, I don’t give a shit. But no more dragging me into any conversation. Are we fucking clear?!”

You were met with quick, obedient nods followed by Soap gingerly handing you back your keys. Before you all knew it, you were back on the road like you didn’t just nearly kill Soap.

Simon was speechless, not expecting you to be so. . . dangerous. His feelings about what just happened were conflicting. On one hand, he wanted to fight you to defend his trusted sergeant that meant no harm, even if he didn’t really like the joke either. On the other hand, he’s never been more attracted to a woman in his life.

The car ride was silent for the next several hours.

~

Your muscles ached from your stiff position. You’ve been driving this whole time, only allowing gas breaks to be your time to stretch out. The boys have rotated seats every stop, now including Ghost who was finally giving you some space by being in the back. Last stop, though, he moved right up to the front with you once again. 

You were getting the dreaded road trip tunnel vision. After so many hours of driving, you couldn’t see anything except for the road ahead. You weren’t so much as driving anymore. You more like just looking out the front windshield, barely keeping up with the surrounding area that passed by. What you normally would recognize as trees, road signs, and roadkill were now just a big blur.

“You’re tired.” Simon commented, treading very carefully. He didn’t want to start another fight. Far from it. He just couldn’t bear to see you so exhausted from driving. 

“I’m fine.” Your voice strained, having lost some of it from the screaming match earlier in the trip. You weren’t used to talking so much as you have been for the past week, let alone fighting with words. A warm cup of tea with honey sounded so good right now.

Ghost took a deep breath in before he gently settled his hand on your shoulder. The fact that you didn’t shrug his touch away was very telling that you were really out of it. “Come on, Hex. Just for a bit. Pull over and I’ll take over the drive. We can switch back after you recuperate.”

It took you a minute to agree. Pulling off to the side of the road, you switched places. The room to stretch out in the passenger side was very much needed. Your bones cracked as you really gave yourself time to take it easy for a moment. “Just an hour. Then, we’ll switch.”

He nodded, finally agreeing with you on something out loud. “Just an hour.”

~

You ended up dozing off for longer than intended. Despite the agreement, Simon let you rest. The trip was already almost complete anyway. What was two more hours to add to your much needed rest?

When the car slowed to a stop, the gang woke up out of their naps, eager to exit the minivan and head into the average-looking hotel you had designated as the new checkpoint. It was nearing dinner-time, the city bustling with people heading to enjoy their meals. Price was ready for something other than chips. Soap and Gaz were already discussing potential food spots as if they were tourists. 

As they unloaded the car to carry their things into the hotel, you stayed asleep. Dead asleep. The deepest sleep you have had in what felt like a lifetime. The men were careful to not wake you up as they unloaded luggage after luggage out of the trunk. When everything was squared away with checking in as well as bringing luggage up to the rooms, you were still snoozing away, much to their surprise.

Price opened up your door, ready to wake you up to get a move on. However, Ghost stopped his hand from touching you. “I’ll take her up. Just go ahead and grab some grub.”

Well, John wasn’t going to say no to that offer. He would rather not be bit by such a feral woman. Though, he did feel like he had to warn Ghost of what he was really doing, having observed just about everything he was trying to do in regards to you. “You’re playing with fire, you know.”

Ghost unlocked your seatbelt and picked you up out of the minivan in a princess carry. Miraculously, you still didn’t wake up. “I know. . .”

The hotel staff were concerned with him carrying you into the hotel. A large man with a skull mask carrying an unconscious lady certainly didn’t look good. In order to avoid interference, Simon had a lie ready for when a bodyguard approached. “I know the mask is scary, but it hides some burn scars. I’m just taking the missus up to the room. She fell asleep in the car.”

Not being paid enough to question the lie, he allowed the both of you to pass by. 

You were heavy in his arms, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He could feel the softness of your skin, the firmness of your muscles. He could make out each individual eyelash that just barely kissed under your eyes. As much as you drove him crazy, you truly were beautiful.

The ding of the elevator reaching their floor knocked him out of his trance. Using a room key, he headed into your space for the next couple of days. The room was pretty basic. A bed, a dresser, tv, bathroom, nightstands, a desk. The only thing that really made it stand out was the original art of the wall made by local, Italian artists. 

He settled your sleeping body down onto the queen-sized bed, brushing your hair out of your face as you settled into the mattress. Looking at you like this was a breath of fresh air for him. He didn’t think he would be able to see you like this so soon. 

Sleeping around others was a sign of trust. Were you just really that exhausted? Probably. Ghost would still take this as a sign of victory anyway.

For a few moments longer, he studied your features. The sound of his stomach grumbling for a meal encouraged him to leave you be for now to which his brain protested. Then again, you probably wouldn’t like it if you found out that he watched you sleep.

Before he left, he took one last look at you, burning the image into his mind. “You said you didn’t sleep, kitten.”

[roosterm3attrash]

101 ways to kill Barney Calhoun

I ended up making this list by going through multiple servers and people so here cuz I found it in my phone notes

Anyway the brilliant minds of the half-life fandom

1.) Waited pressure plate with tnt under it

2.) im going to leave mines under his mattress

3.) i’m setting a rake on his floor so he steps on it and whacks his face

4.) I'm giving him a bomb disguised as a cigar

5.) barney death 3: he ate what elvis presley ate….

6.) I would kill Barney Calhoun by slapping him so hard on the ass that it gives him cardiac arrest

7.) I drop him onto a pit of venomous snakes

8.) Im going to give Barney a beer but instead of beer it will be filled with deadly neurotoxin

9.) “now gordon, ive been keepin an eye out on this combine hideout for a while. they seem to walk in a certain pattern when crossing over to the entrance, which makes me think theyve buried mines all over the place. now, ive memorized the pattern, so im just gonna sneak on over, and you follow my lead, alright? dont worry, i know exactly where all the mines are.” and then he explodes

10.) that one episode of sponge bob where he eats the exploding pie and explodes

11.) set up tripwire then he falls into a tiger pit

12.) I type kill npc_barney into console

13.) slap the boobies off his chest so hard them fly around the world and hit the side of his head like water balloons

14.) i could marry him and slowly feed him mercury over a span for 3 years until he dies of mercury poisoning

15.) He tries to become a wwe wrestler but gets killed in a freak accident mid match

16.) I would kill him by making him a pizza but it’s covered in big chunks of lead but it’s hidden in the sauce and it’s a Chicago style pizza

17.) bring him to a highway and kiss him so hard he gets knocked onto the road and gets ran over

18.) Peeling him apart by the dna strand and eating it like spaghetti

19.) barney gets trampled by a stampede of horses

20.) giving him under the counter off brand viagra

21.) put him in a washing machine and turn it on

22.) shark attack

23.) pit of sharks

24.) barney gets criticized so badly he dies

25.) barney sits in an uncomfortable chair for too long

26.) He gets his arm caught in a bear trap w a beer used as a lure

27.) HE BECOMES THE CAT THAT TRAUMATIZED HIM. HE….YKNOW…..

28.) he gets stuck in a swimming pool like hes in the sims and dies from getting exhausted and drowning

29.) barney roasting marshmallows but his stick ignites into flames and he burns to death

30.) ATTACH SO MANY BALLOONS TO BARNEY HE FLOATS AWAY INTO THE SKY NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN

31.) barney gets rejected by gordon and he gets so sad his body shuts down

32.) I kiss him so tenderly on the lips that he melts into a puddle and dies

33.) i throw him in to a volcano so that he melt into a puddle and dies

34.) "I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I’ll put that flea in a box, and then I’ll put that box inside of another box, and then I’ll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives…I’ll smash it with a hammer!"

35.) stick a bottle of beer into his throat, the whole bottle

36.) give Barney Calhoun a beer can full of poison

37.) hang a piano over the toilet and wait

38.) i think barney should have his spine ripped out through his mouth

39.) he goes to a bar and tries flirting with the bartender and the bartender takes out a shotgun and kills him on the spot

40.) punch him so hard in the penis that he shatters like a brittle glass

41.) bite him in half

42.) I'm grinding him in a giant shredder

43.) bro took a bath in hot mac 'n cheese

44.) i put him ina giant caldron full of water and i begin boiling him down to gelatin and broth

45.) barney accompanies the crew to the borealis and he steps over thin ice and gets dunked into the below zero water and freezes to death

46.) barney calhoun gets carried away by a tornado

47.) took barney on a vacation to Hawai’i and pushed him into a volcano

48.) He dies and he's never mentioned again and nobody cares

49.) died of tummy ache

50.) Stepped on by a strider

51.) shrinked until he disappeared completely

52.) blasted into the sun

53.) Stab him with 300 pencils made with real lead

54.) slip and falls and dies

55.) put him into a Minecraft furnace

56.) Barney ignores the wet floor sign and slips and cracks his head

57.) while swimming in the swimming pool he swims to fast and smashes his face against the pool's wall

58.) he gets a concussion and drowns

59.) i want to put him through a lunchmeat slicer

60.) He falls off a dumb huge cliff

61.) he lives his life to the fullest and at his deathbed at age 93, June 29th, 6:12 am he passes away

62.) he eats a burgie with too much grease and gets a heart attack

63.) testicular cancer

64.) He should get sucked into a fan while trying to fix it at Black Mesa and literally no one comes looking for him

65.) The Pita Bread Room

66.) slipped on a Banana peel

67.) ran over by a crap ton of shopping carts rolling down the hill

68.) barney overheats in a fursuit

69.) he has sex so bad that he dies

70.) Barney dies because i fucking kill him with a shovel 🖕

71.) barney eats the gas station sushi

72.) barney faints via twirling around and holding his hand in front of his forehead, and then slowly lying down with a flower in his hands to indicate death

73.) When they turn off the suppression fields he just blows up

74.) barney gets crushed by a giant boulder thats all i got son

75.) barney goes to the beach that makes you old

76.) His head spontaneously combusts and pops like corn

77.) erectile dysfunction

78.) we should also have him get carbon monoxide poisoning

79.) barney gets gaussian blurred into nothingness

80.) he eats 20 year old expired mcdonalds burger and contracts the worst case of food poisoning youve ever seen

81.) Have we done tying him to a train track like a damsel

82.) he dies in a glue trap

83.) barney develops lactose intolerance over the years of combine occupation and he drink milk and then dies from shitting hinself to death

84.) he should chocke on his favourite food

85.) barney gets lead poisoning from a 1990s garfield glass mug

86.) he chokes on plastic

87.) barney gets thrown throw a glass window from a 15 story building

88.) gordon gives barney a wedgie so bad that he splits in half and dies

89.) gordon and barney divorce and barney dies from heartbreak

90.) alyx and gordon have enough of barney’s snoring so they smother him in his sleep with a pillow

91.) he trips while walking with gordon and impales himself on gordons crowbar face

92.) if he were the size of an ant he'd be ok instead he blows up like a watermelon and his remains are fed to lamarr by a very delighted kleiner. he fucking hated barney

93.) dog roughhouses with barney and accidentally obliterates his spinal cord

94.) barney gets poisoned to death by his own chumtoad

95.) coats him in eggs and flour and fries him

96.) snatched by a hawk and eten alive

97.) barney gets to participate in a danganronpa killing game and gets executed

98.) barney opens the love-letter-for-you.txt.vbs file and it kills him

99.) elaborate rube goldberg machine to drop an anvil on barney

100.) barney dies in an Iron Maiden

101.) we should put barney under those old timey stone tablets meant to squish and torture people and make them talk

[hobiebrownismygod]

VENOM - Part 3

Venom!Hobie x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Having a symbiote is a canon event, so Hobie brown must've had one of his own, right?

~1.6k words

TW: Blood, Cursing, Angst

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @s6onder @@d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @lauryn2558 @choccymilkdrinker @fiepige (concept credits!!)

Concept art by @levionok!!

Navigation

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Where the fuck is he?

You'd been calling Hobie nonstop, the contents of the video file flashing through your mind as you searched for him. You drove around the city on your bike as quickly as you could, eyes scanning the roads and alleyways for any sign of your best friend.

After you'd kicked him out yesterday, you hadn't heard a single word from him. He hadn't picked up any of your calls, and you hadn't found him anywhere. Usually you'd at least see him swinging around the city, doing his thing as Spider-man. But you hadn't.

Not a single glimpse.

So where could he be?

"Excuse me, miss, this is gonna sound really weird but...have you seen Spider-man anywhere lately?"

"Spider-man? No..I actually haven't."

"Alright, thank you. Sorry for the bother." you nodded at the woman before zooming back onto the street, joining the traffic as your head began to hurt with worry.

Nobody else had seen him either.

You didn't know what to do. How were you supposed to find a man that obviously didn't want to be found? Or what if...what if something had happened to him? What if that symbiote had done the same thing to him that it'd done to all the other 'volunteers'?

You sped up, panic settling in the depths of your stomach. You felt like you were going to be sick. The thought of Hobie...losing himself to that thing...no, no, he was too strong for that. He wouldn't.

Right?

Suddenly, you slammed on the brakes, the bike coming to a halt as a flash of black flew right in front of you, too fast for you to make out what it was. You squinted as it moved farther into the distance.

Could it be?

"Hobie?" You whispered to yourself, eyes wide with fear. The flash had been a figure, a human figure, pitch black with snow white eyes, mixing into the rest of its body like running mascara. Without a second thought, you kickstarted the bike, following the figure as it swung through the city, in a pattern eerily similar to the movements you'd seen Hobie practice so many times as Spider-man.

It was him...but it wasn't him.

You were struggling to keep up with the figure, already accelerating past the speed limits and having to swerve between lanes and other vehicles. But you couldn't lose him...if you did, you might never find him again.

The figure swung onto a tall building, hitting it with a powerful crash, causing some rubble to fall down to the pavement below, eliciting yells from those situated under it. You took your eyes off the figure for a moment to get out of the way of the debris, but when you looked back up, the figure had disappeared.

"No, no, no!" You exclaimed, stopping in your tracks, looking around furiously as you scanned the sky for any sign of him. "Fuck!"

Taking your helmet off, you threw it onto the ground in frustration, breathing heavily as you tried to calm yourself down. You couldn't make a scene. Taking a deep breath, you looked back up at where the figure had made contact with the building. Claw marks.

That's a start.

You got off the bike and began to walk down the street, looking up at the other buildings. "Come on...there has to be more" you muttered under your breath, turning around in the middle of the street. Your gaze landed on a building, maybe a 100 feet in front of you, with the same large gashes on the side.

You approached the building, and then you saw more, these ones on the edge of the roof of an apartment. A girl was standing outside on its balcony, looking utterly confused. You gave her a nervous smile before you continued to search.

You found yourself following a trail of, not only claw marks, but holes that looked like they were made by spikes, and faint footprints...but could you really call them footprints? They didn't look like footprints. More like giant dents in the pavement, always coming in groups of four, two in the front and two in the back.

As the scratches and dents increased, you realized you were approaching an alleyway, a skinny, dark one, with a few larger garbage bins blocking the entrance. You were about to continue your search down the street, but then you noticed the scrapes on the concrete below the containers.

He was here. He had to be.

Using all your strength, you pushed the bin to the side with a grunt, making space for yourself to squeeze through.

At the end of the alleyway was that figure, huddled up and facing a corner. You watched in horror as the darkness covering the figure disappeared, as if it was just melting away. Underneath it...was Hobie.

You were about to call out his name when you heard something. Sniffling.

"Please, please stop doing this" he whimpered out.

You walked a little closer, staying as silent as humanly possible. He hadn't seen you yet. As you approached him, you noticed he was talking to something. A...head. But it wasn't a human head, no, it was the head of the figure you'd seen jumping through the city, with its giant white eyes and midnight black skin, except this time you could also make out a mouth full of sharp white teeth, pointed like those of a dragon.

"Get out of my head-"

"We're not in your head...we're real."

You froze. What was that voice? It was like a hiss, the kind of voice a snake would have if animals could speak. The kind of voice you'd hear in your nightmares. And it looked like a nightmare, smiling up at Hobie, trying to convince him of...whatever it was trying to do.

"We're hungry..." it hissed. "We should eat another"

Another?

"No" Hobie sobbed, falling to his knees. You'd never seen him look so defenseless before. Whatever this thing was, it was hurting him. Badly. "Just get out, GET OUT!" He yelled out, grabbing at the thing. The head, you realized, was connected to Hobie's chest by a long, pitch black neck, for lack of a better word. It dodged out of his grasp and elongated, wrapping around him tightly.

Hobie struggled, and you watched in horror as the face held him up, squeezing him so hard he looked like he'd break. "We can't get out now...we are one." The face opened its mouth, revealing a long, disgusting tongue, licking at Hobie's face as he sobbed. "One."

It hissed before closing its mouth, knocking its head against Hobie's and throwing him back. The head slithered back towards him, sinking into his chest and disappearing, leaving Hobie shaking. He curled up against the wall, hands over his head.

You decided this was your chance to approach him. You slowly walked towards him, staying slightly crouched. You could hear him crying softly, face hidden behind his arms.

"Hobie?" you whispered out.

He looked up and you jumped. He looked horrible. His face was stained with blood, lips cracked and bleeding, dark circles under his eyes and oh god...his eyes...they looked so big and watery and miserable that you just wanted to hold him and tell him it was all going to be okay.

But you couldn't promise that.

"No...no y'can't be here" he whispered, backing up as you approached him, eyes darting to the side as if he was looking for some sort of escape. "hey, hey its gonna be okay" you replied softly, kneeling down in front of him.

"What happened to you?" You asked softly, reaching your hand out towards his face. He leaned in to your touch, hot tears beginning to form again. Suddenly he jerked back. "You have to go." He said nervously, pushing you away as he struggled to stand up, shaking. "You have to go!"

"What?" you stood up with him, putting your hands on his arms and looking up at him concernedly. "Hobie, I know what's going on, I know what that thing's doing to you-"

"Its gonna hurt you" he sobbed, falling back against the wall for support. "Please, it's gonna hurt you, you need t'get out of here, please" he cried.

"Hobie, I know what it is, I know what it's doing to you-"

"I-I can take care of m'self, you need to go-" suddenly, he clutched at his head, letting out a yell. You backed up out of fear as he convulsed, clawing at his hair. "Hobie!" You grabbed his hands to stop him from tearing his own skin, "-There's nothing there, there's nothing!" You told him, trying to hold him down.

"NO-NO-" He yelled out, punching and clawing.

Suddenly, he stopped. He fell silent, eyes closed.

Then he crumpled to the floor.

"Hobie!" You fell to your knees next to him, turning him over and trying to shake him awake. Tears were beginning to form in your own eyes as you begged him to get up. "Please, wake up, Hobes please" you whispered, cupping his face in your hands and shaking him.

Then you heard a quiet hiss. Strands of black began to cover him like vines, wrapping around his arms, legs and chest. You tried to rip them off, but you couldn't stop them. Stumbling back you watched as the darkness covered him completely, morphing him back into that same figure you'd seen before.

Except this time...there was more.

The black skin erupted in spikes, covering his shoulders, spine and hands, sharp as crystals. His eyes opened slightly and he looked over at you, a tired look on his face. "Y/N..." he croaked out, lifting his arm to reach out towards you.

The black crawled up his neck, vines enveloping his mouth and face until it was like he was wearing a mask, not a single inch of skin visible.

"Hobie..." you whispered, shaking your head as you pushed yourself back.

"Y/N..." he repeated, eyes closing.

Suddenly, they swung open, the whites of the mask having covered them completely.

"Run."

A/N: Lol cliffhanger. Next part will probably be the last one. Hope y'all enjoyed this <3 Also it's taking me a lot longer to get posts out cuz midterms are kicking my ass so sorry for the delay :(

[beybaldes]

i'd go back in time and change it, but I can't

summer sleepover masterlist

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary : “why are you avoiding me?”

content warning : Jamie’s history of being a prick and cheater??, angst because idk blame the economy, hurt with super delayed comfort for reader, hurt with no comfort for Jamie, brief mention of Roy x reader but it has no impact on the story, bestfriend!colin because he’s my fave. I change the timeline. A bit to fit the plot.

The first time you show your face at Nelson road again is when your hear the news of Jamie’s recall to Manchester City. He’s halfway across the country, and the boys were your friends first, so it’s weird to say you feel like you’re allowed to finally go back there.

When Jamie had called your relationship quits by fucking someone else in your apartment, in your bed, you knew you had to get away. You quit your job at the dog track, moved in with your favourite auntie and fucked Roy 3, or 4, or 12 times on the basis of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Altogether, it made for quite a good method at getting over Jamie.

Unfortunately, that method also included leaving everyone else at Nelson road behind.

The only person made aware of your departure had been Higgins, but only because he had to file the paperwork and send over your transfer form to the new company you’d been working for - everyone else was left in the dark until Colin came storming into the changing room on the following Monday morning.

“What did you do?” All heads turned to face Colin as he slammed open the doors, ignoring the concerned stares of his peers as his only focus was on Jamie.

“I want to say I don’t know, but I get the idea that’s not the answer you’re looking for.” Jamie’s mask broke for a second when he saw the genuine anger and upset in Colin’s eyes. They reminded him all too much of yours from only nights before. “But I’ve definitely not done anything to piss the likes of you off, mate.”

“I don’t know, boyo, I’d say cheating on your partner and forcing them to leave Richmond is enough to get a fella rilled up.” Venom laced every word that came from Colin’s mouth, and for a brief moment Jamie considered never pushing his buttons again incase this was the reaction he got.

“You fucking what?” Roy seethed, his head turning to face the Welshman from his seat on the changing room bench.

“Went to pick them up to come to work this morning and there was a ‘for sale’ sign outside their apartment. I spoke to Higgins about it when I got here and he said that they handed in transfer papers Friday night.”

“Transfer papers to where?” Roy asked, slowing rising from his place on the bench and moving to stand next to Colin, glaring at Jamie with just as much disgust.

“I don’t know! He won’t tell me.”

Jamie could feel every single pair of eyes in the changing room on him. He’d never once considered that you were at Richmond before he was. He’d never had to consider that before. Wherever he went he was Jamie Fucking Tartt, and that meant nothing else mattered; until now. Every person in this room had been your friend first, and it was highly likely they had liked you more then they’d liked him - especially considering he was a total prick, all of the time.

“Is this true?” Roy asked, and Jamie couldn’t place why. It was not like Roy had ever cared about your relationship when the two of you were together, so why care now?

All Jamie knew how to be was a prick, so a prick he was going to be. “What’s it to you, old man? You can finally fuck them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You fucking prick.”

Both Roy and Colin had lunged for him, and if it wasn’t for the fact the team needed his right foot, he wasn’t sure that Isaac, Jan Mass and Richard would’ve intervened. The three fought to hold the two back from throwing punches and kicks in Jamie’s direction and for a moment he considered letting them loose.

He deserved it, that was the one thing in this whole mess that he was sure of. If news had hit the changing rooms, it was only time before news hit the tabloid of his inability to keep it in his pants and who his new flavour of the week was. That meant it was only time before his dads contact lit up his phone screen with a two line message;

‘proud of you son, don’t let that whore keep you tied down. never do, us tartt’s.’

The disgust is coating is skin like dirt; he can feel you underneath his finger nails and he can smell you in his bed sheets, and he feels like he’s never going to be clean again. Definitely not when he knows everyone here is going to hate him a little bit more and his dad is going to say he’s proud of him.

The obvious decision to a hurt Jamie, then and there, is that if everyone is going to hate him anyway, he may as well give them justified reasons to. “You ever consider that the prick wants you to be mad at me? Huh? Why else would they ask you to pick them up from work today when they’ve already gone, yeah?” Jamie calls out to Roy and Colin as they are dragged away from the changing rooms. Jan’s hold on Colin lessens as Roy becomes more volatile and angry at Jamie’s words, allowing Colin to slip from his hold and cross back across the room, pressing a finger firmly into Jamie’s chest.

“Not that you ever cared enough about them to notice, but I’ve picked them up every morning for the past 3 years - long before you ever came here and long after too, if you hadn’t fucked everything up.” Jamie can feel his heart beating louder and louder with each word that’s punctuated with a jab to his chest. Roy’s calmed down, but only because his anger has melted into disappointment, and Jamie wishes he would just get angry again because he can’t stand the silence right now. “Quite literally too.”

“You fucking Welsh prick.” Jamie finds himself lunging at Colin and the changing room descends into chaos once more.

Your name had not dared even been thought in the changing room since, well, at least until today.

“Hey there darling, you looking for the press junket?” Ted lasso was standing behind you with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His face softened when he took in the nervous demeanour; your eyebrows pinched, shoulders tense and hands wringing each other out. “Or are you here to see someone?”

“I’m here to see everyone, um, mainly Colin and Roy. To be totally honest, I’m a little nervous.”

“And why’s that?”

“I didn’t really say goodbye, I’m afraid they won’t want to see me again.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were spilling your heart out to someone you’d just met, but something about ted told you it was perfectly okay - the right thing to do, even.

“Well, if I know anything about those two - and I’d like to say I know a little - they are stubborn.” Your nervous demeanour had immediately returned, for the worse, and you couldn’t shake the fact this was a bad idea. “But, they care fiercely about the people they love. They won’t be mad, okay maybe a little at first, but the love they have for you will overcome it, even if it takes some time.”

“You’re right, I should just-“

Roy Kent was whispering your name so quietly under his breath that you’d have thought he was scared you’d shatter. And despite his hushed tone, the whole changing room had been silenced by it.

Colin repeated your name, louder then Roy had, and sprung from his seat, crossing the room in 3 long strides and standing at Roy’s side breathless. “You’re here.”

Ted had been right so far, no one had been openly mad at you: Colin looked like he wanted to wrap you up in a hug, and Roy, well, Roy looked like he wasn’t going to hit you which you took as a good sign.

“I’m here.”

You have two pairs of arms wrapping around you before you can get another word out and it’s like you’ve never left Richmond. Ted retreats into the coaches office and calls on Nate to catch him up to speed on what was happening and who you were; his jaw tightens and he wishes he had been able to get through to Jamie better but he knows that it’s too late now he’s back in Manchester.

Transfer papers are brought to Higgins office and he drags you up to see Rebecca, who greets you with a smile, your old job back, and an introduction to Keeley - the both of you immediately bonding over Jamie’s shitty behaviour while you’d dated and your love for Rebecca.

The rest of the season and summer passed by in a blur of good friends, good drinks and good times. Jamie didn’t cross your mind once and if it weren’t for the Mancunian shaped hole in your heart, then you would’ve forgotten he’d ever even been part of your life. Someone like Jamie wasn’t so easy to forget.

When August finally rolled around and the new season was starting up, you were extremely surprised to hear murmurs of Jamie coming back to Richmond.

In an instant the entire life you’d rebuilt from the ground up in Richmond had crumbled, and you were throwing clothes in bags and typing out a text to your aunt. Something landed in your bag with a crack and the reality of it all came crashing down on you. You uprooted your life for Jamie once, you weren’t going to do it twice.

When you showed up to work the next day Jamie was there and you walked right past him - and continued to walk right past him everyday for the first three months of his return to Richmond. Come Christmas, even Colin was trying to convince you to forgive Jamie, promising that he truly had changed and that he was finally someone worth knowing. Despite all your love for Colin, you couldn’t find it in you to forgive him. At least Roy was still on your side.

“He’d the prince prick of all pricks. People like him don’t change.”

And yet, everyone else seemed to think he had. Even Keeley, who’d been hurt by Jamie in the most similar way to you, had forgiven him and reformed a friendship with him. But you still couldn’t find it in you to do the same.

It had bothered Jamie to no end. He’d come back from Manchester desperate to be a new man, and while he knew that it would be hard, he was prepared for that. What he hadn’t been prepared for was seeing your face around Nelson road again. He avoided you at first, figuring you wouldn’t want to see him as much as he wanted to see you, and decided he’d wait for others to start warming to him first before he tried to talk to you again. People had warmed to him while the summer heat still filled the concrete floors of the stadium, and now the snow outside only reminded him of you.

He couldn’t place why you wouldn’t acknowledge him (as though breaking your heart wasn’t reason enough) because he was sure everything he did, every breath he took and every word he said since returning to the dog track had been a cry: ‘I’VE CHANGED, I’VE CHANGED, PLEASE NOTICE I’M NOT THE SAME PERSON I USED TO BE, I CAN BE BETTER, I AM TRYING TO BE BETTER.’

It all came to a head the last day at the dog track before the Christmas holidays. Practically everyone else had cleared out of the building, and with no upcoming football matches, had made a head start on going back home for the holidays. Jamie dragged his kitbag into the hallway and was surprised to find you at the water fountain, talking in whispers with Roy about something he couldn’t quite hear. He didn’t dwell on it, waiting for Roy to leave before making his presence known.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Jamie made his presence know with his voice, startling you and causing you to restart filling up your water bottle. It was the same one you used when you were with him, he noted. “Fucking Christ Jamie, what happened to hello? How are you?”

“Hello would’ve been more appropriate 4 months ago when I came back, wouldn’t it?” Jamie kicked the tips of his shoes against the floor, finding a speck of dirt to focus on instead of your face. “But every time I try and say it to you, you run the other way. Thought I’d try a more direct approach.”

“By asking me a question you already know the answer to?”

“That’s the thing.” Jamie sighed, running his hands through his hair and absentmindedly making you think about him with that loving gaze you’d had when you were together. A part of you screamed he was different now, a louder, more insecure, part told you that he would always be capable of hurting you like that again. “I don’t understand why you’re avoiding me.”

The louder part was right, and so was Roy, people like Jamie don’t change. Even when you hope and pray and want them to. They just don’t change. “Un-fucking-believable.” You scoffed, folding your arms defensively across your chest. “You ever considered that it hurt when you cheated on me? That it absolutely ruined me?”

“But that was ages ago.” It wasn’t that Jamie was being a dick, he just truly didn’t understand. He was trying to change and he thought that was enough. Of course he regretted what he did, but the past was the past, and he wasn’t sure what he could do to fix that now it was behind him. “And I’m sorry that I did it, but I can’t change it. I would, if I could, but I can’t. So why can’t we be friends again?”

“Because accountability matters, Jamie.” The words felt like a dagger to his chest. He’d heard them before, in an all too similar context, and his heart was aching like you’d walked in on him in your apartment that night. He couldn’t tell you why he did what he did, and he knew that that was what you needed to hear the most - an apology and an explanation. Jamie knew he could only ever give you one, and that that would never be enough to fix the damage he’d done. “And you don’t get to fuck someone else, break my heart and then be my friend again. It just doesn’t work like that.”

You packed up your bottle into your bag, zipped up your coat and pulled your scarf tighter around your neck. “Don’t try and be my friend when we come back in the new year. Have a good Christmas Jamie.” And just like that, you’d slipped through his fingers again.

an : sorry there was such a delay in fics my lovelies, I’ve had a very busy week starting my new job (!!!!!!) and starting rugby training again now the season has begun (!!!!!!!) here’s a fic! More to come! Possible part 2 to this too? What do we think? Love you all! mwah <3333

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Based on the poem Wishbone by Richard Siken. Lines taken directly from the poem are in bold. If you're interested, you can read the full poem here.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - 18+ - blood, cursing, guns, sexual content. this is a little dark. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Word Count - 3617

Author's Note - my god I had fun writing this. wishbone is my favourite poem ever, and I reread it a few days ago and had a vision of nomad steve and bucky on the run and just had to turn it into something. if you haven't read the full poem, I'd highly recommend!! this is darker and a bit more jagged than my usual fluff but you know, versatility and all that. I strongly believe that Steve was feral while on the run - he has to crack at some point. I mean you can only be squeaky clean for so long, right? as always, thoughts, questions or requests, send them my way! feedback is massively appreciated always <3

Masterlist. Requests.

You saved my life he says I owe you everything. You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just get gone.

You met them on a bridge in the middle of the night somewhere in Europe.

All three of you running from your sins.

Steve and Bucky had bolted the minute they refused to sign the accords. They were under the impression they’d all go together – Team Cap, side by side.

Wanda and Vision left them first. Natasha next. Lastly, Sam.

Steve and Bucky were the only ones remaining. It started with just the two of them. It would end with just the two of them.

Your ankle cracks and splinters as you barrel forwards over the bridge. Gunshots rain down around you, like some sort of lethal meteor shower. You don’t know how they found you. These remainders of the past won’t leave you alone. They’re shooting at you, four of them, these grown men firing their guns at this runaway girl.

The broken bones finally give way, and you slam into the concrete, head bouncing off the surface. The road is warm under you, and you relax into it, ready to surrender to your fate.

A fate which never comes. A strong, metal arm grabs you by the bicep and pulls you up, your ankle sending strokes of pain lashing through your whole body. You’re screaming, and you’re thrashing, and there’s blood pouring into your boots. Your cries for help are ignored as the man throws you over his shoulder and starts running at an inhuman speed.

He keeps sprinting, heavy shoes hitting the ground with every step, the impact rattling up into your bones. Everything is hazy and nothing makes sense and the lights of the city are blinding you as you’re carried by the stranger. You don’t know if he’s saving you or kidnapping you or both or neither.

A blond man appears, running next to the brunette with the metal arm. You’re thrown from one man’s shoulder to the others, as if you weigh nothing. As if you’re worth nothing. Just a girl caught in the crossfire. A victim. If only they knew.

Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood.

You passed out sometime on the journey, the men’s heavy steps lulling you into unconsciousness.

One minute, you’re being thrown around like a ragdoll, and the next you’re waking up on the floor of a dingy motel. You think you might be in Berlin. Or was it Brussels? It didn’t matter anyway. Doesn’t make a difference.

The carpet is sticky and caked in dirt and patterned like it was made in the 70’s. You wake with a jolt, gasping for air. The blond man is nowhere to be seen. The brunette is sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with careful blue eyes.

“Why am I on the floor?" you ask, venom dripping from each word. “You couldn’t throw me down on the fucking bed?”

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Your boots are filled with blood,” he spits. “Better on the carpet than the sheets.”

He crosses the room and kneels down in front of you. He cautiously unties your left boot and pulls it off. Then he unties the right one, the broken one, and yanks it off with a careless hand. You grit your teeth and hiss, hand flying out to fist into his shirt.

“Asshole,” you mutter. “That fuckin’ hurts.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he replies. “It’s fractured. Smashed to pieces, actually.”

He grabs your boot and walks over to the tiny sink in the corner of the room. Turning it upside down, he watches as your blood pours out.

“Shit, girl,” he mumbles. “How are you still fightin’?”

You think you hear a New York accent. Brooklyn, maybe. It seems to come out in waves, a slight twang every now and again. His raspy drawl vibrates through your stomach, right into your core. He’s handsome. He’s battered and bruised, clothes ripped, hair mussed. But he’s handsome.

“I’m tougher than I look,” you retort.

He chuckles, and it makes you want to rip your clothes off.

He comes back to your place on the floor and yanks you up by your arms. He throws you onto the bed unceremoniously, ignoring your groans and protests. He grabs you by your chin and forces you to look at him.

“Stop fuckin’ wincing,” he snarls. “I’m trying to help you.”

You figure his help is better than nothing. You go pliant, and let him assess you, only whining when he presses his thumbs into a sore spot.

I’m always saving and you’re always owing and I’m tired of asking to settle the debt.

Steve has always loved playing the hero. It’s the role he falls into naturally. Bucky does too. After everything he’s done – been forced to do – it makes him feel good to save people now.

Maybe that’s why they saved you.

They watched you run from those men, four vigilantes out for blood. Bucky and Steve had gone out to kill them, to get them off their backs. As soon as Bucky had seen you fall, he was moving at the speed of light, barrelling across the bridge to scoop you up and out of the crossfire. Steve just watched, shaking his head. Buck had always been a sucker for a pretty girl.

They don’t question why you were out there, fighting men with your bare hands. They don’t wanna know. Frankly, they don’t care.

“What the fuck?” Steve asks when he swings open the door to the motel room. “She’s still here?”

“Her ankle is all messed up,” Bucky replies. “There’s no way she’s walking. We can’t throw her onto the street. The rest of them will come for her.”

Steve’s rolling his eyes as he walks over to where you’re unconscious on the bed. He grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you up level with him. You startle awake, and stare daggers into his pretty face.

“What did they want with you?” he spits.

You glare at him for a solid minute, but he doesn’t crack. He wants answers.

“Pissed them off, I guess,” you snicker. “They tried to hurt me. Hurt them right back but harder. They didn’t like it.”

Bucky’s watching the two of you interact, his head tilted to the side. He’s not quite sure how this is going to play out. He can’t wait to see.

Steve surveys you, eyes scanning your face methodically. God, he’s tired of playing nice.

He grabs your chin firmly, forcing you to open your mouth. He stares into your soul, as if daring you to defy him, before he spits onto your tongue, never once breaking eye contact. You swallow, holding his gaze – goading him into making another move. He slams his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth, claiming you as his. You suppose you owe him this, at least. He did save your life, after all.

I say I want you inside me and you hold my head underwater, I say I want you inside me and you split me open with a knife.

This is how it always goes. Your new normal.

The three of you run from city to city, country to country, never staying in one place for too long.

They marked their claim on you that day. All of you without a place to call a home – so you found it in each other. And what a fucked up home it was.

Somewhere along the way, you realise you’ve changed. Not just mentally, or emotionally. But physically. You’re taller, stronger, able to run faster. You’ve gone through some sort of metamorphosis and you don’t know what it is but you like it.

You’re in Colombia, in a motel room, naked from the waist up and sat in Bucky’s lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins. Just the way you like it.

“I’m different,” you tell him, and he nods his head.

“Why do you think we saved you?” he replies.

He straightens up to sink his teeth into your shoulder, right next to the bite mark left by one of them the day before.

“You are different,” Steve tells you as he walks through the door. “It’s our fault. Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, with no real apology in his voice.

Both you and Bucky turn to look at him. Where did that cut on his cheekbone come from? Blood is dripping down his face, and your mouth waters. You want to lick it off.

You crawl to the end of the bed and rise onto your knees, before grabbing Steve, both hands twisted in the front of his shirt. You run your tongue from his jaw to his temple, savouring the taste of copper. Fuck, he tastes so sweet. They both do. You’d drink it if you could.

Steve moans, and the sound makes your legs weak. He fists a hand into the back of your hair and yanks, exposing your throat to him. Then, with no gentleness whatsoever, he scrapes his teeth along the side of your neck, bruising as he goes. You’re purple and red and tender and sore and your big doe eyes are looking at him like you want him to eat you alive. It takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

Bucky doesn’t possess the same amount of self control.

He yanks you back by your wrists, pinning you underneath him. He crawls along your body, and catches your underwear in his teeth, dragging them down and off. He looks hungry. No, he looks feral. It’s animalistic, this connection the three of you have. It’s sharp and bloody and jagged and raw and it makes you want to cut them open from head to toe so you can live inside them forever.

You hate this life and the fact everything is temporary and you hate that you have nothing. Not really. You’re not even one hundred percent sure that these two men wouldn’t leave you if they got offered something better.

But for now, you let them get lost in you. In each other. It’s all you can do to stay sane, in this life spent running and hiding.

Will you let me kiss your neck, baby? Do I have to tie your arms down? Do I have to stick my tongue in your mouth like the hand of a thief, like a burglary like it’s just another petty theft?

You’re in another motel room. This time, Argentina.

The three of you are sat on the bed. The wound in your side is gushing, and Steve has his hand practically in your rib cage, trying to quell the opening.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs. “It’s alright, it’ll stop soon. The advanced healing will kick in any minute now.”

Advanced healing.

It’s something you’d known for a while. Something you’d never brought up with them, just in case. But here he was, telling you like it was nothing.

“I’m a super soldier, aren’t I?” you gasp out between raspy breaths. You’re not actually in that much pain, you’re just panicking. No one should be able to lose this much blood and heal like nothing ever happened.

Bucky nods his head from where he’s sat behind you, chest pressed to your back. His strong arms are keeping you still while Steve plays doctor.

“We didn’t mean for it to happen, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear.

“It was probably Brazil that did it,” Steve chimes in.

Brazil.

Bucky had been shot and you’d been stabbed and Steve was bleeding for some reason too.

You’d crawled to Buck, throwing yourself on top of his body. Your wounds were both open and your blood was mixing together and you couldn’t tell whose flesh was whose.

You’d stuck your tongue in his mouth and he drank you down, blood and dirt and sweat be damned. Steve yanked you both up and threw an arm under each of you, practically dragging you to safety. You were painted in crimson and dripping with the evidence of your love.

Yes. It was definitely Brazil that did it.

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” you utter in disbelief.

“Honestly, neither did we,” Steve replies.

“But now you’re one of us,” Bucky murmurs. “The three of us. The same.”

He’s kissing your shoulder and you’re squirming because you can feel your skin healing, patching itself back together slowly.

“Let him kiss you, baby,” Steve urges. “Do I have to tie your arms down?”

“Yes,” you beg. “Please. Do it. Please.”

Bucky twists your arms behind you and locks them into place with his metal hand. You can’t go anywhere. You don’t want to.

Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in? 

One day, somewhere in Alaska, Steve finds you crying in the bathroom.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognise what you see. You have scars scattered across your face, your hair is darker than it’s ever been, and it’s shorter from where Bucky took the scissors to it. Who are you? What have you become?

“Now isn’t the time to have an identity crisis, darling,” Steve says when he enters the room in his boxers.

You nod, and smile, and sniffle, taking a deep breath.

Steve walks over to you, placing you effortlessly to sit on the counter. He stands between your legs and cradles your face in his gun calloused hands.

“Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he reassures into your mouth.

Leaning forward, he runs his tongue up your cheek, catching the tears as they fall. He grabs your chin with one hand, and tugs your pants off with the other.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry.”

It feels like love when he sinks his teeth into your neck so hard, he draws blood.

and with this bullet lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because it’s all I have, because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.

You crack on a random Tuesday afternoon in Bulgaria.

You’ve been shot at one too many times. It’s not something anyone should ever have to endure. The bullets have carved you out and left you hollow. There’s only so much blood you can lose.

The three of you are sat with your backs against the door of the dingy motel room. Just minutes prior, there had been men banging on the wood, demanding to know where Captain America was hiding.

You hadn’t heard that title in a while.

America’s Golden Boy. If only they knew.

If only they knew how he craved the taste of blood now.

If only they knew how he’d lick the sweat from your neck and keep on going.

If only they knew how the fear turned him on.

Being on the run had taken Steve’s golden blood and turned it black. He didn’t mind. Neither did Bucky. Neither did you.

This was out of your wheelhouse, though. Bucky had gone through wars, been on the run more times than he could count. Steve, too. You, however, were different.

You weren’t 100 years old. You’d been a super soldier for a matter of months. You’d gotten into trouble, pissed off the wrong guys, and it had spiralled out of control. Now, you’re hiding from six armed men with Captain America on your left and The Winter Soldier on your right. How times change.

It all explodes suddenly, and you can’t contain it anymore. You jump up, gun in hand, tears sprinting down your cheeks. You’re pointing the weapon at them, and you’re not sure why. But you’re angry. And upset. And so in love with the both of them it’s driving you crazy.

“Tell me you’re not going to leave me,” you threaten, pressing the barrel of the gun against Steve’s chest.

“Sweetheart-“ he starts, but you cut him off.

“No. Tell me you’re mine. Promise me you’re not going to leave me.”

You’ve still got the gun pointed at Steve, but now you’re grabbing Bucky by his hair, forcing him to look up at you.

“Both of you. Promise me.”

They aren’t looking at you like you’re crazy, or unhinged. They’re looking at you like they’re proud of you. Like they want you. Like they love you.

Steve kicks you hard in the shin, making your legs give way. You’re flat on your back now, and Bucky’s moved to pin your arms above your head. His full weight is pressing into you, and his blond counterpart has crawled to yank your head into his lap.

“We’re yours, baby,” Bucky murmurs against your lips.

“We’re not leaving,” Steve adds from where his forehead is pressed against yours.

“And you look really fucking hot pointing a gun at Steve,” Bucky smirks as he kisses along your neck, sucking a bruise as he goes.

“Asshole,” Steve retorts, but he’s smiling. Not that golden, Captain America smile that everyone’s used to. No, this is different. This is a dark, jagged smile, that’s equal parts cunning and broken. It makes you shiver. But you’re not scared. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this bullet inside me ‘cause I couldn’t make you love me and I’m tired of pulling your teeth.

Somewhere in Croatia, you watch Steve and Bucky almost die.

Bullets are raining down, and you’re surrounded on all sides. You can’t see past the swarms of armed men, and you’re bleeding but you’re not sure where from. Steve and Bucky are trying their best, but they’re losing. You’re all losing.

You don’t know where it comes from, the rage. One minute, you’re down on your knees, breathless and sweating. Next minute, you’ve elbowed a man in the face and stolen his machine gun. You’re gunning down men left and right, ignoring their pleas for mercy. The ceiling is raining blood and you’re dripping crimson. You’ve never looked more beautiful.

By the time you get to Bucky and Steve, the abandoned garage looks like a slaughterhouse. You’re stepping over bodies like you’re in a cemetery, your eyes glued to the two people you did all of this for. They’re looking at you like they’re scared of you. Finally, you think. They see me.

If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand. Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now? There’s a bottle of whiskey in the trunk of the Chevy and a dead man at our feet staring up at us like we’re something interesting.

The three of you hijack a cabin in rural Canada.

You’ve been walking through the forests for days when you come upon a small wooden lodge with smoke pummelling out of the chimney. Respite.

Bucky shoots the man point blank when he answers the door. You leave him dead on the porch and make your way inside. It’s cosy, all flannel patterns and fur rugs. You could get comfortable here.

You shower while Steve cooks you dinner. Buck finds decent whiskey in a cabinet, and the three of you take turns drinking it straight from the bottle. You all sit on the floor, legs tangled, warming up by the fireplace. Steve falls asleep, and you step outside to get a breath of fresh air.

The dead man is still on the porch, staring up at you.

“He looks peaceful,” you say to Bucky, who’s appeared silently behind you in the doorway.

“He probably is,” he replies. “God knows anything is more peaceful than this life.”

You charge at him, and bite his lip so hard he whimpers. He takes you right up against the front door, frosty cold biting into your back. Steve watches through the window.

This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish.

When Steve and Bucky get called back to SHIELD, you get scared.

You’re not exactly an upstanding citizen. You’re the furthest thing from an Avenger. SHIELD are going to take one look at you and lock you up for the rest of your life, you’re sure of it.

The boys won’t let that happen.

The two of them argue about going back for days. You get caught in the crossfire. You’re used as an excuse, a bargaining chip, a distraction. You’re a tactic, both of them trying to use you against the other.

Eventually, Bucky cracks. Maybe it’s because your lips are on his neck and Steve’s are on his stomach. Maybe it’s because he’s tired of fighting.

“Fine, Stevie. Fine,” he sighs. “But if it all goes wrong, I’m taking her, and we’re running. I ain’t dealing with all that shit again.”

Steve nods in agreement, and shoves his tongue in Bucky’s mouth.

The three of you decide you’ll go back together. You make a deal – you’ll refuse to be separated. If you have to fight, you’ll fight as one. No one’s going to tear you apart. Not even death.

Steve cuts his palm first, then yours, then Bucky’s. You join hands, and promise that no matter what happens, you’ll always choose each other.

Blood drips down your wrist, and Steve catches it with his tongue.

Both men look at you with their big blue eyes, and you know nothing is ever going to hurt you as much as love does.

[zombiedumbie]

late night ride! [with Law]

summary: just... a late night ride with law.

playlist: youtube

content: tooth rotting fluff, no pronouns used, law is driving (be careful)

pairing: law x gn!reader

word count: 545

an: I'm trying to work up the courage to post some smuts I have here. I've been posting content anonymously on the internet for a while now but for some reason when it comes to *cough cough* smut *cough cough* I start blushing and shy. btw, i've made a playlist for this one, you can see it above. It's kinda emo, I'll understand if not everyone likes it, but it's how I imagine the music Law listens to.

Riding in the car late at night with Law can be a unique situation;

He may not admit it, but that is one of the happiest moments he has had in a long time. There's something about that moment that is entirely intimate and romantic, and he never wants it to end;

If he's driving, his hand will be on your thigh the whole time, occasionally making small circles with his thumb. You blatantly admire him, watching his cheeks warm up when he notices your gaze;

If you're driving, he'll be sitting comfortably, pretending to pay attention to the road while actually admiring you, with a heavy heart in his chest, wondering how he managed to win someone like you;

Either way, you'll have to listen to his playlist, filled with melodramatic and emo songs, which isn't bad because you're having a great time with him;

The conversation between the two of you arises eventually. You both laugh at inside jokes, share moments of intimacy where each one shows their most vulnerable self to the partner they love so much. But when the conversation dies down, leaving only melancholic music and the sound of the AC, you don't feel the need to say anything more;

Law feels his body warmed by the tranquility of your love as the car cuts through the silence of the nighttime streets;

It's in those moments that you see the real Law, the Law who doesn't wear a mask, always tough and serious. You see him truly, the Law you fell in love with, the Law who holds your cold hand because of the AC, who smiles before leaning in and kissing you at traffic lights.

"Hey, Law," you call out, sitting sideways, your body and head resting against the seat, observing his focused figure.

"Hm, yes?" You had noticed this before; he always pursed his lips when he was concentrating, but today it seemed even more adorable than usual.

He was casual, wearing a black short-sleeved shirt and his usual jeans. The tattoos were visible on his arms and hands, while the V-neck of his shirt revealed a small part of the tattoo on his chest. You took a moment, observing his features.

Until he quickly turned to you; you had been silent, watching him for some time, deciding whether you should say what you wanted to say. Such moments between you were rare, so you couldn't miss the chance.

"I love you," your voice didn't come out louder than a whisper.

You saw him pause, as if he was shocked. He knew you loved him; you had already demonstrated that many times. You shouted it with every movement, every word, every look directed at him. But spoken? There were very few times those words had left your lips and hit his heart like a venomous arrow.

Your words were delicate, loving, comforting, warm. Law held onto them in his ears for a while, breathing as little as possible, trying not to inhale the air that came out of your mouth with that sentence. He counted the beats of his heart, "1, 2, 3..." wondering if he hadn't flipped the car and was now listening to an angel speak.

"Law?" you spoke, clearing the last words from the air so tenderly that he didn't mind. "Love, don't crash the car," you laughed.

He's a little dramatic.

[konigbabe]

the five times you meet phillip graves

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Phillip Graves x fem!reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: cod mwii campaign spoilers; swearing; enemies to those who tolerate each other; kissing; blood and injury; minor violence; cursing; pet names; gunshot/knife wounds; inaccurate military procedures/terms; inaccurate cia procedures; use of codenames/callsigns

Summary:  The five times you meet Cmdr. Phillip Graves and the one time he surprises you.

Inspired by the book The Five Times I Met Myself by James L. Rubart.

masterlist • request • faq • taglist • AO3 • ko-fi

01 ˚✧ ┊ The first time; he irritates you.

A guttural grunt escapes your throat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the car before you speed up. A series of fucks and dammits leaves your mouth; foot on the accelerator, you follow the asset on the dirty road.

Where the fuck are they, you curse internally, barely missing the rotten fence as you near the end of the farm; this is the only chance to stop the asset with air support Shepherd sent to help you—that be if they were actually here.

The car never slows down, drifting through the abandoned farm, away from you. A static cracks next to you, before an unknown, rather casual voice comes through, “Echo 3-6, this is Shadow-1. Engaging the silo north of your position.”

Finally, you reach for the transmitter next to you, “Shadow-1, you’re free to fire but do not engage near the car, I need him alive.”

“Roger that,” the man says before all hell breaks loose; and to your dismay, you watch in horror as your asset’s car turns right towards the silo, intended to drive right past it the very same second the Shadow Company opens fire. A loud explosion blinds you momentarily as you slam the brakes.

Almost none of the men manage to exit the plane before you storm into the vehicle, rage surging through your veins; the red lightning matching your emotions.

“Which one of you is Shadow-1?” you stop a masked man about to leave, hand on his shoulder as you look around; and your eyes land on the only man without a mask and uniform—dirty blond hair, narrowed eyes shining with blue ice, lips pressed tight. He stays leaning against the side of the aircraft, hands clutching the top of his vest; and you know, even without anyone answering, that this must be the commander.

“Commander, you have a visitor,” the man next to you announces, shaking your hand off his shoulder.

“I can see that,” his voice is vexed, displeased. His men flow by you, leaving only the two of you in the confined space. Face to face, you feel a mix of frustration and confusion while he walks toward you.

Hand tugging at the side of his vest as he nears you, he takes it off.

“You must be the officer, echo 3-6.”

“And you must be the jerk that disobeyed my order and killed my asset,” the words come out like a hiss, voice laced with venom.

With a whoa, his hands shoot up in a defensive gesture, eyebrows raised, “but you gave me good to go, officer,” the commander takes a tentative step towards you, “I can’t foresee the future.”

Standing before you, his gaze sparkles with a mischievous twinkle, only inflaming the boiling rage that churns within you.

“You should’ve double-checked before firing, commander,” you remark, a touch of poignancy in your voice.

Opening his mouth to answer, his radio abruptly interrupts, calling out his name. As he strides past you, he adds, “I’ll remember your sage advice for the next time, officer.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” he stops by the opening, hand gripping the loose rope on the side, “the name’s Phillip Graves, not the jerk.”

 02 ˚✧ ┊ The second time; he offers you a helping hand.

The tight bindings on your wrists sting, the beige material becoming stained with your blood as you squirm in the corner of the small, stuffy room. A moan escapes your lips while you try to find some reprieve from the uncomfortable position, only to be reminded of the dire situation you are in by the fresh wound on your leg opening up; more wet, sticky red substance turning the white camo pants into violet.

Foreign voices can be heard outside the room; malicious content behind the words. Ears perked for potential incoming, you attempt to stay alert; the soft light of the dark room and the throbbing pain in your leg makes it difficult to do so.

The sound of gunshots ricocheted through the building, reverberating off the walls; the voices behind the door go quiet for a split second. Air stills as tension fills the room. There’s a distant sound of a helicopter flying over your head. Someone starts throwing commands; three men to the rooftop, two to the north of the building and—

—the door is bashed open. Back pressed to the wall, your eyes follow a masked man, white camo matching yours. All you can see is his eyes; young, too young to be in this situation, the forest green projecting his worry; something isn’t going according to their plan.

Breath hitched, he strides toward you, handgun pointed right between your eyes. It feels like your heart is pounding so hard that it's going to burst right through your ribcage, his finger dancing dangerously close to the trigger.

“Who did you call,” he barks, accent thick, voice shaky, “tell me!”

“First you tell me who sold the weapons to your boss,” it’s a shot in the dark but there isn’t any other way now; you need to find out and this man—this boy might have the answer.

His hand isn’t steady, he’s hurried, impatient. Restive.

“I’m gonna die anyway, who does it matter if I die knowing or not,” you press further. Gunshots grow louder, closer. Multiple boots hit the hardwood. Ash and dust raise as men keep running around, shouting and shooting.

Eyes flickering between the soldier and the door, you keep pressing, urging him to answer. Both of you are aware of the fate awaiting you; just a matter of time and the right (and wrong) decision.

Through the smoggy air, a dark figure creeps into the room, the crimson beam slicing through the fumes with the precision of a sniper; a killer. Within a second, the no, stop makes it just to the tip of your tongue before a click is all that could be heard.

A warm, wet substance splatters over your cheeks. Clenching your eyes shut in revulsion, you let out a moan of displeasure. The soldier's body collapses to the floor with a heavy thud, his vacant eyes gazing up at you.

“Bleeding all by yourself, sweetheart,” the shadow nears you. Blue pools of larimar running over your sitting form before Graves crouches before you. His gloved fingers touch the tender skin around the open wound, examining the damage in the dim light.

“Seriously,” you hiss at him, “what’s with you and killing my intel? And don’t—”

A groan cuts you off as Graves presses a gauze against the oozing gash, applying more pressure than needed while wrapping a bandage around your thigh; the pain radiates through your body like a searing fire, teeth clenched and putting on a stone-cold face in front of the commander himself.

“—don’t call me sweetheart, Graves.”

“Well,” he finally looks up at you, tying the last knot of the bandage securely, “you didn’t tell me your name, and I gotta call y’ something.”

Standing up, his form looms over you, enveloping your figure in his shadow.

“Think you can walk?”

Your eyes burn into his as you raise your still-tied wrist, silently demanding him to free you.

A corner of his lips turns up, knife still tucked up in his vest as he says, “I think I prefer you tied up.”

“Not funny,” you remark but it gets him to bend down to your level again; the cold of the blade grazes over your irritated skin, gloved hand enclosing one of yours in his, steading your wrists. Few slices later, pain shoots up the whole length of your arms upon the freeing; soothing the wrists for a moment, Graves gets up and with a “Let’s go” walks toward the open door. It takes some willpower to stand up.

Once you steady yourself, just a simple step throws you off balance as you put your body weight onto the wounded leg. A hiss alerts Graves, who turns his head to look back at you. With an annoyed huff, he offers you a hand to help you get balanced again before throwing your arm around his shoulders.

His grip around your ribcage is firm but somewhat tender, fingers splayed over your side like a protective shield while he guides you to the door; the other hand grasping his weapon as he walks you out of the building.

03 ˚✧ ┊ The third time, he takes away your breath; quite literally.

Months of rehabilitation and a psychological evaluation later, you find yourself at a military compound. Shadow Company’s provisional base, covered in snow, in the middle of nowhere as the European winter fell upon all of you.

Simple intel mission, that’s your job; what makes it harder is the utter finesse skill of avoiding the commander by all means—so far successfully.

Since the last time you saw him, back when he killed your intel (again), managed to burn down a whole building just to get you out and almost pushed you out of a Shadow company’s helicopter while taking off (which you firmly believe was on purpose), you haven’t stopped hearing about him, especially from general Shepherd. It’s evident that he’s taken a liking to the company, to your dismay.

The hard mat underneath your bare feet squeaks with each slip, hard thuds and thumps spread through the room with each blow. The heat of the room is stifling, sweat dripping down your back, hands wrapped in tape to protect the knuckles.

Focusing on your breathing and the moves, letting the rhythm of your body drive you through the kata, every movement precise and each strike purposeful, you can feel the energy of the room around you and the strength of your own presence growing within.

With each repetition, you take down the imaginative opponent with more ease. A dull ache pulsating in your leg, the gush already healed but your subconsciousness still bringing it up.

Eyes close, focusing on each move, feeling every muscle in your body flex and contract, the silence is cut short by someone clearing their throat. With only the ceiling light above you being lit up, the intruder steps into the light only for you to huff in annoyance.

The man you’ve been successfully avoiding for days has finally found you.

His blonde hair is ruffled as if someone was running their fingers through it, cheeks tinted with a pinkish hue, Graves stops at the edge of the mat with raised eyebrows, lips tightly shut. Jacket open, the combat shirt outlines his dog tags, exposing the taut body hidden underneath; arms resting in his pockets, he takes a look around before his eyes land on you again.

“Most people spar during the day,” he notes, “and with a partner.”

Nearing where Graves stands, you glowered, “I don’t need a partner. I’m done anyway.”

Graves takes his hands out of the pockets, arm extended in front of your body like a tollgate, firm and unyielding. Looking at him, his eyes stern but form relaxed. It’s admittable that even at this moment, him being less than a foot away, he radiates an air of authority, his commander showing.

“I can show you a move,” he says, losing his arm back to his side, “one that’ll take your breath away,” he specifies.

A huff leaves your lips, “That’s childish.”

He sighs, hand running across his cheek as his eyes stay focused on you, “I’m serious. It might come in handy in combat for you.”

It takes a silent moment for you to think; to weigh whether to give in or not. Graves doesn’t show any signs of making fun of the situation as your eyes scan his face, eyes heavy-lidded, tired; but still, he offers to give you a piece of his knowledge—and even if your dislike to the commander outgrows your sense of authority, he still possesses more field experience than you and who are you not to take advantage of his offering.

When you accept the proposal, he nods in return; jacket and shoes off, the mat narrows as the man walks to stand in the middle of it, motioning you to stand before him. Face to face, he directs your body into the appropriate position.

“Pretend to kick me in my side,” he pats his ribcage, feet apart and ready to defend. The moment your leg is in the air, his hand grips the back of your thigh, just behind your knee, the other gripping your shoulder to firmly stop you in motion.

“When you push against here,” he squeezes the leg twice, “you squat down a little,” his body follows his words, “and the other hand goes for either the knee,” the hand on your shoulder leaves the moment he’s sure you can still stand and listen before gripping your other leg, still on the mat, “or the ankle, depending on the size of your opponent,” his cold fingers wrap around the exposed flesh of your ankle, “and you go back into the standing position, pulling your opponent’s body up and forward.”

This time, he doesn’t follow his words; instead lets go of your body, stepping back.

“Sometimes it’s better to not only pull but slam into the opponent as well, disrupt their center of gravity,” he adds, “it’ll send you both down but you’ll still have the upper hand.”

A mental image of his words replays in your head. Nodding along his words, you reposition yourself and motion for him to come closer, “I need to see it in full force.”

Looking at your leg, where the healed wound left its scar, Graves makes sure to understand your demand, “You want me to take you down?”

“I want you to throw me against the mat, yes,” you reassure him, “my leg’s all healed up or I wouldn’t be here, commander.”

Even with doubt painted on his unshaven face, he steps closer to position himself as well.

“I’ll probably hurt you if I do it.”

“Like you haven’t dreamt about that before,” you snark.

“My dreams tend to differ.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, resulting in a leg high up, aiming straight at Graves’ ribcage, the same place he patted before. It’d be an admirable attack if all this wasn’t prepared beforehand.

The commander does exactly as he described earlier; all you manage to do is yelp as his fingers sneak around your ankle. Strong pull forward, up, and back. The next thing you know, the heavy mat feels like an unforgiving surface beneath her.

Using enough force, the air pushes out of your lungs completely, throat closing when you try to take a breath as if a lump blocking the airways. Muscles tight, you sit up. Graves stands over you, starry eyes following your movement as you finally inhale, short and shallow but the air fills your lungs delightfully.

“Told you I’ll take your breath away.”

04 ˚✧ ┊ The fourth time; he saves your life.

The embassy is in flames; searing hot, ever exploding, and growing with every passing second. The sound of gunfire and shrieks of terror echo through the halls, smoke billowing out of the windows. Passing multiple bodies, your group moves in unison. Scouting each hall, each room and every single corner for the target—nowhere to be found.

Passing a windowed hall, glass shattered all over the marble floor, your eyes take in the outside scene, the utter chaos; crowds of people, shouting, crying, fighting. Praying. Their families might still be in this hellish building and as much as you wish to help, the diplomat remains the priority number one. You notice the familiar hooded figures of Shadows exiting multiple cars and heading towards another entrance, clearing other sections of the embassy as you work.

Reaching the end of the hall, all of your team stops next to the stairs as one of the soldiers clears the remaining room, returning to you with empty hands; nothing.

“Echo 3-6 to Watcher-1,” you turn on the mic when the last room is cleared, “target’s position unknown, moving the fifth floor. Over.”

“Negative,” the mechanic voice cuts through the static, “regroup with Shadow-1 and move back to the rendezvous. Over.”

The men around you remain still, their eyes fixed on you as you stand there resolutely, gaze trained on the top of the stairs; the flickering flames of the fire dancing like a sinister symphony. A heavy sense of dread clings to you, the crackling of the fire cutting through the momentary silence before you speak again, “What if the target is there?”

“Negative,” another refusal, “fifth floor’s completely taken over by the fire. Regroup and fall back. Over.”

“Roger that, over and out,” you nod to the group. Turning around, a step behind everyone, a sound pulls you back; silence follows before a distant Help! reaches your ears. It’s weak, merely audible but still enough confirmation that someone is still there.

Eyes on the group, none of them seem to notice you falling behind. Fingers tightening around the handle of your gun, a mere second passes before your body turns around on its own accord; one leg follows the other, and stairs pass by as heat envelopes you in its scourging warmth.

Flames kiss up your skin as you move through the remains of a hall, fire closing you in; stupid, stupid idea and stupid me. The heat is unbearable, each crackle sends shivers down your spine. Dread settles in your bones over the realization that this might be the way you go.

Another Help! throws your thought away. Stopping by the closed door, you bang your hand on them, eliciting a shout from the other side; no matter who’s there, you already know you’re gonna get that person out. Going through all this inferno, it’s the least you can do.

Bashing the door open with the butt of your gun, a figure rams straight into you, slamming your back against the burning wall for a second.

“Oh my god, thank you,” a man bellows straight into your face; the target. Before you notice what’s happening, he reaches towards you and snatches your mask from your face, holding it to his face to inhale.

“Wait,” you try to stop him but it’s too late, smoke and ash fill your lungs upon the unexpected moment. The radio on your neck crackles but nothing comes through. Frantically gasping for air, you focus on the mission; bring the target to the rendezvous, that’s your only way out of here—preferably still alive.

The air is thick with the smell of acrid smoke. Gasping frenziedly, hand wrapping around the target’s thick arm, you drag the diplomat towards the staircase. Heart racing, head becoming dizzy, it doesn’t help that the man slips through your weakening hold, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck,” you curse; breathing shallowly, nausea and headache start to creep on you as you try to move the mass of a man on your own. Everything spins, the flames licking and nipping at your skin like fiery fingers, the heat of it all pressing down on you.

The smoke clogs your lungs, air deathly still; your consciousness gives up on you, darkness succumbing you to the all-consuming fire. Eyes watering, swallowing feels like drinking molten lava, the roaring flames devour all in their wake.

A sharp slap jolts your eyes open. A masked man hovers above you, the larimar blue shining through the mask; Graves.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he hisses, tapping at your cheek harshly, “not dying on me today.” The blonde turns his head around. That’s when you notice other Shadows hovering around, two of them carrying the hopefully unconscious (and not dead) body of the target while Graves stays by your side; hand on your shoulder blade, he helps you sit up.

“Don’t kill this one or I’ll shoot you,” a guttural cough creeps up your throat as his gaze bores into you. Wrapping a piece of clothing around your lower face, a makeshift mask, his arm sneaks around your waist, effortlessly lifting you up to the point your feet don’t even touch the ground.

“What, he’s intel?” he remarks; one hand guiding your arm over his shoulders, his fingers securely wrapping over your wrist to keep your weight onto him while the other arm stays around your waist—basically carrying all your weight on his side, he adds, “if yes, might shoot him them.”

05 ˚✧ ┊ The fifth time; he kisses you.

Everything is going smoothly, too suently to your comfort, causing a shivering sense of unease creeps up slowly on your spine. The pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol fills your nostrils, chatter surrounding your lonely form in a dull hum as you sip at the drink in your hand.

A group of men and women sit across the confined space, closer to the exit door than you, talking in hushed voices; the deal going according to the plan, except they don’t know about the closeness of sneaky ears encompassing this place.

Observing the ongoing deal, another man joins the group, whispering to one of the men; your eyes firmly on them, fingertips dancing on top of the full glass, you watch as—

—”Echo, your cover’s blown,” a static voice of a Shadow comes through the second two more men enter your peripheral vision, eyes scanning the area; for you.

“Roger that,” you whisper, earpiece barely picking up. Taking one last sip of the drink, feeling the cold liquid cool your burning throat, the chair squeaks as your feet touch the ground.

Before the men manage to look in the direction of the noise disruption, you slide into the shadows of the nearest hall; too bad the only exit was behind them. Now it’s time to come up with plan b. Swiftly moving along the building, you look out from the window, too high. No stairs. No escape route. No fight; instruction clear—don’t get caught, don’t cause a scene.

Heavy footsteps echo from behind you, enclosing you like a wild animal being cornered; slight panic starts settling in your abdomen. You’re a professional, pull it together. Pull. It. Together. Deep breath in, shallow breath out. Looking to your right, then to your left; first doors locked, second as well.

Footsteps growing heavier, closer, faster; deep breath in, sha—

—hand over your mouth.

A firm figure pulls you backward, calloused fingers wrapping over your mouth, digging into your cheek as he drags you into the third door. The smell of suede, the taste of leather, hot breath fanning over your earlobe as a quiet Shhh echoes in your ear; Graves.

The commander guides you into the guest closet; turning you around, you’re faced with the same wide, larimar oceans of eyes, finger over his tightly shut lips as his hand remains over your mouth. With a reassuring nod from your side, he drops it, looking at the open door, the sound of incoming footsteps filling the confusion and tension surging through your body.

“What’re you doing here?”

What are you doing on this mission? In this city?

“Graves,” you hiss, finger digging in the middle of his chest, feeling the metal of his dog tags beneath the fabric of the blue shirt that only enhances the color of his eyes.

“Check the second room, I’ll check the third,” a man’s voice orders. The third—the third, the third where you are currently stationed, hidden.

Graves’ jaw twitches, eyes fixated on the door; a shadow is cast over the light from the hallway. It feels as if time has stopped, and your breath hitches as the anticipation of being discovered takes hold of you. Heart pounding, breath bated—

Lips on yours; rough, wet. Needy. Hands enclosing your face, covering every inch of your head, fingertips diving into your hair. Graves’ body presses against yours, hips flushed together, a leg between yours. A whimper escapes your bruised lips as his tongue swipes along the lower one before biting, tugging at it, drawing a desperate, humiliating moan out of you.

A hum reverberates in his throat, tongue pushing inside you. It’s wet, sticky; messy. His tongue explores the depths of your mouth. He’s aggressive and impatient. Hunger seers through your touch-starved body, jolts of electricity awakening your desire. Bringing your leg up and around his hip, you push him into you, hips grinding into yours.

Groans, grunts, moans; a mess of two people, air filled with desperation.

Your brain goes completely blank, kiss drunk and empty. The heat of his flesh is searing through the material of his shirt; squeezing his bicep, you feel the muscle flex as he angles your head for better access.

He’s the first one to pull away, your lips following his for a split second before the realization hits you; breathless, confused, and way too eager, you shake your head. Eyes staring at his flushed face, the darkness of his pupils overtaking the blue oceans of his eyes like a stormy night, you can feel the raw tension between the two of you. Not good, not good at all.

Graves’ hands slide from your cheeks at the same time you put your hands on his chest, the tight muscle contracting, heart racing; and you push, leg falling from his hip.

“Why did you kiss me?” you hiss at him. The pink hue that decorates his nose and cheeks only adds to the allure of his pale skin; and if it was anyone but Graves, you'd be finding it hard not to reach out and brush your fingers gently against his flushed cheeks. You’d even say it looked slightly adorable (and immensely attractive).

“Why did you kiss me back?” he bites back gruffly. He takes a step back, his gaze shifting towards the door as if he's trying to make a run for it.

“Why did you use tongue?” Not letting him win this, you continue to press into him. He stands at your arm's length, fingers wrapping around your wrist that still rests against his chest, fiercely putting it away before he shoots you a smug look.

“Why did you moan?”

“Stop it,” pushing him one last time, Graves takes a step to the side, letting you go and head toward the door; the hallway clear.

01 ˚➶ ┊The time he surprises you; and it hurts.

The car ride is silent, a sense of relief settling inside you while you return to the Los Vaqueros’ base. That’s before your phone starts ringing, and Shepherd’s code name appears on the screen. From the peripheral view, you notice Graves shifting, the two shadows at the front seats sitting quietly.

The call is rather informational, Shepherd impatiently collects your report before you even arrive at the base to follow the proper procedure.

“What about the third missile, did you manage to locate it,” he asks, voice calm but concerned. Graves’ eyes meet yours, conveying a strange mix of fear and guilt.

With an exhale, you say, “no, sir, but I’m getting close to identifying the source.”

“Say again,” Shepherd’s voice turns stern.

“I have a meeting with an asset of mine, after that—”

“I did not give you the order to search for the source, officer,” he cuts you off, “give me Graves.”

The man next to you watches with confusion as you hand him your phone without much question. Eventually taking it, he talks with Shepherd for a brief moment; eyes flickering to you, you notice his rigid posture and hand lowering to the zip ties in his vest.

Something is off.

Hanging up the phone, Graves’ attention is now fully on you, freeing the zip ties from their restraints.

“I’ll need you to extend your arms, officer,” he commands formally. As the realization hits you, a chill of dread creeps up your spine. Everything after that happens in less than a minute; from reaching for the radio to inform Ghost and the others (who are currently obliviously riding the car behind you) to inform them of the situation to Graves’ fingers wrapping around your wrists, tugging forward. With your face a few inches from his, you kick up your leg, fighting not only the commander but the confined space of the back of the car.

The element of surprise and strength isn’t on your side as Graves takes out his handgun, one hand gripping both of your wrists.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” the bitter words grate through his clenched teeth.; taking his handgun out, the handle lands harshly against your temple, sending a dull pain throughout your body as he knocks you unconscious.

A loud thud jolts you awake, shaking you from the depths of darkness. Eyes heavy, your head spinning and a throbbing ache radiating from the side of your face; a low groan escapes your chapped lips.

Heaving a groan, you muster all of your strength and spin to the side, outstretched arms seeking the door handle. With a click, the door opens. Pushing forward, the rain pelts your skin, eyes squinting to protect themselves from the onslaught.

As you stumble out, the hard thud of your body hitting the wet asphalt sends jolts of pain through you. The echoes of voices seem to linger in the air, blending with the night as it pours down. A dark figure slumps against the car - a shadow. Reaching for his pulse, you can feel the sickly warmth of the blood that’s already soaked through his mask.

That’s when you notice the man looming before you. Back facing your crawling form, hunched, gun ready to fire as he walks to the side of the car; Graves keeps talking, his voice taunting Ghost (who's nowhere to be seen).

You know what you have to do. Heart pounding, you slowly raise your hand to the shadow's thigh, groping for the handgun in the holster.

It takes you a moment to stable your stance and focus your gaze to aim at the back of Graves’ head, pouring rain blurring your vision but this moment, this second is all it takes for a nearby shadow to notice the imminent danger of his commander, to aim his weapon and pull the trigger.

Like a powerful force, a sharp impact sends you crashing to the ground with a pained groan erupting from your throat. The handgun clatters to the asphalt with a hollow click, Graves turns around sharply; eyes wide, finger on the trigger.

Lowering the gun, he walks over to your groaning figure. Calloused fingertips brush back the wet locks of hair from your face, he crouches down; the butt of his weapon resting over the oozing wound on your chest, face solemn, eyes dull and lethargic.

“Now that was a big fuckin’ mistake, sweetheart.”

BONUS ˚✧ ┊

The heat of Adal’s sun burns into your clothing, seeping through the thin layer of fabric and biting into the skin of your arms. Throat dry, licking your lips, you walk in Ghost’s footprints, the city of Al Mazrah behind you.

Snatching a bottle from Ghost’s backpack, the feeling of cool water running down your parched throat brings a wave of relief.

Reaching the cliff, Ghost stands a step before you, looking through his scope; handing it to you the moment he pinpoints the target’s position.

As you search the area with his instructions, your eyes fall upon the familiar face. Commander Ghorbrani stands surrounded by both Quds Forces and Russians, the ongoing deal going according to plan it seems.

Five words; that’s all it takes for you to get involved in taking the lives of dozens of men - “Visual on General Ghorbani confirmed.”

With Laswell’s last confirmation and Shepherd’s orders, you hand Ghost his weapon back. Securing the sunglasses on your face, you listen to the communication; crouched down, barely reaching Ghost’s mid-thigs as the lieutenant hovers above you, providing the much-desired shadow.

“Echo 3-6, Ghost, you are danger close to the zone,” Graves’ voice whispers into the earpiece, “this arrow’s gonna pack a punch.”

Veins thrumming with adrenaline, looking up at Ghost, an affirmative nod is sufficient enough for him to respond, “Copy. Approved.”

“Send it,” you state into the mic around your neck mic before holding onto the top of the body armor Ghost basically bullied you into wearing.

“All stations, Shadow-1. Missile is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch,” Graves continues talking as you hold the mic frequency open for possible communication.

Ghost straightens his back the moment Graves announced that the missile is loose, both of you mentally bracing for the impact as the Shadow commander continues informing about the missile’s actual coordinates.

The blinding light fills your vision as the missile strucks its target, the deafening roar of the impact overpowered by an immense shock wave; grains of sand stung your exposed cheeks like tiny droplets of glass; the sensation of the sharp needles nicking at your flesh rather awakening.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Ghost’ voice cuts through the sound of destruction. Both of you watch as pieces of metal and flesh fly in the air; a dance of death. A pungent, sweetish smell fills your nostrils as you get up to stand next to him again.

“Direct,” you confirm, “target destroyed.” As you watch the last remains falling to the ground, you add, “one would say it’s raining men.”

“Fuck sake, Echo, keep it professional,” Graves’ voice echo in your earpiece, a hint of amusement present in his tone. Ghost shoots you a look of disapproval.

Shrugging, arm extended to what was a meeting ground just seconds ago, you state, “What? It’s true.”

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC | Retired AU | Chapter 6: The Cage

Summary: Ghost and Andra's first not-date

Author's note: This chapter was so fun to research and write, I hope you guys enjoy! ✨️

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

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

Word count: ~6k

The ideal way to see Andra bright and early in the morning would be with a smile on her face for once. Ghost was just relieved that he wasn’t the cause of her anger this time. His truck rolled to a stop in front of her house, and he could see her pacing back and forth on her front porch, her phone pressed against her ear. He couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of her in black sportswear, her hair pulled up in a hair tie with spindles of curls flowing from the pony and two free curls framing each side of her face.

She noticed his arrival and gave him a subtle “please wait” gesture to him.

Ghost sat tight in the truck, tapping a finger against the steering wheel nonchalantly. He observed her body language as she strolled down the 3-step landing, taking slow steps to the front of the truck. He wasn’t that good at reading lips, but he didn’t have to be to know that she was saying ‘no’ venomously. Everything else was lost on him, and her voice grew loud enough for him to realize she was yelling in Spanish.

Andra approached the passenger door, her last words being “Good luck figuring it out” before hanging up and slamming the door behind her.

He took the risk of trying to lighten the mood. “Got a habit of slammin’ doors, do we?”

Andra groaned as she scrubbed her clean face with shaky hands. “Sorry, my mom knows how to push my buttons.”

This is the first time he’s heard her talk about her family since they met. “That bad?” He also realized since it’s crack-of-dawn early here for them, it was late over there in the states.

Andra set her phone to vibrate and shoved it into her back pocket. “She tried starting with the whole ‘hi, mija! How are you doing? We miss you!’” her voice went up a few pitches to reflect an imitation of her mother, “And here I am thinking ‘it’s eleven at night over there, why is she calling that late?’ so I let her play her little game until she finally came out with it.”

She took a breath along with a hand gesture as if she’s trying to compose herself in front of her face. “She asked me to help her bail out my cousin Andrew.”

Ghost, focusing on the road, felt hesitant to ask anything about the situation, but he took the bait. “Are you close with your cousin?”

“No!” Andra exclaimed. “I don’t talk to that side of the family because they deal – “ she interrupted herself to omit a bit of information. “They run the streets with the wrong people, and I told her several times before that I couldn’t care less about that side of the family.

“And does she ever bother my brothers with that bullshit? Oh no, never,” she sneered, “Not her precious mijitos.” Andra crossed her arms over her chest and let out a heavy sigh, followed by a sarcastic chuckle. “I’m only family when they need something.”

Ghost sympathized with her, but he didn’t know what to say. What was that part about them dealing? Dealing drugs?

Andra melted into the passenger seat and eyed him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you when we’re supposed to be having a nice day out.”

All he could do is play it off. “I think I have to draw the line at family baggage.”

A silent snicker had her shoulders bobbing. “That would be my hard limit, too. So tell me now if I have anything crazy to look forward to so we can call it quits now.”

He knew she was joking back, but he couldn’t help but think how she had no clue.

Her head relaxed against the headrest as she looked out the windshield to the morning sunrise melding with the skyline. “I guess I should be thankful that she bothered me early in the morning rather than in the middle of our not-date.”

Ghost shook his head at that with a hidden grin. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“Speaking of, where are we going?” Andra turned to him again.

The truck stopped at the next stop light and took a left, taking them away from Disley and the little civilization they lived nearby. “A park.”

“A park?” she questioned. “We passed up plenty of other parks.”

Ghost eyed her for a quick second before looking back to the road. “This one’s different.”

“Is this a park where notorious killers dump the bodies of their victims? Because that’s the vibe I’m getting.”

He rolled his eyes. “If I was a killer, don’t you think I would’ve done it a long time ago?”

Ghost could feel the grin she was trying to suppress. “That was honestly my first thought when we met.”

“Gee, thanks.”

With the sun only halfway peaked over the horizon, the truck drove down a narrow, one-lane road lined with beech trees shedding their red and yellow leaves. The wind was mild, and with each passing breeze the leaves were picked up in a wistful, arbitrary direction, creating flurries of autumn colors.

Andra looked out the window with a young, whimsy sparkle in her beautiful browns, and the sight of an ancient and well-maintained estate came into view. Ghost wasn’t sure if she even knew that she whispered a ‘whoa,’ but he wouldn’t ruin the moment.

The road split off into two directions, and Ghost made a right turn to the near-empty parking lot.

“The estate is closed until 0900, but the grounds are open to the public to roam about.” Ghost shifted the gear into park and killed the ignition. Behind him, he reached for a small pack that he prepared with a few water bottles and some protein bars in case they were peckish on the trail. “Ready?”

Andra was already opening the passenger door to hop out. “Absolutely.”

From the parking lot, they took the trail that would lead them directly to the front gates of the estate. The weather was mildly cool, but Ghost was wearing a jacket in case he found Andra feeling cold. Her skintight, long sleeve athletic zip up looked thin, but so far on the stroll she was managing.

The front gates to the estate were closed, but a quick cross over the road would lead them onto another trail. Andra observed the castle-like mansion. “Why does this place look familiar? I swear I’ve never been here before.”

Ghost stepped up to her side. “BBC’s Pride & Prejudice was filmed here.”

“No shit.” Her eyebrows shot up. “You watched it?”

He shook his head. “You?”

“Nah, just seen a few minutes here and there when friends would watch it.” Andra turned to continue the trudge along the trail lined with aged half-walls of cobblestone.

Ghost followed in tow. “I figured that would be your type of thing to watch.”

She snorted. “Why, because I read the occasional romance novel?”

“Romance? You read downright smut.”

Her face blazed crimson at his retort. “Jeez, thanks for saying it out into the wind.”

The wind was fresh and crisp every time it blew through the fabric of his balaclava. It had been a while since Ghost had been out on a nature hike, probably since the last time he and the lads went camping. This trumped staying home all day doing annual house upkeep or working out for a few hours.

The manor faded beyond the rolling hills, and further they followed the trail. Ghost knew exactly where this trail would lead them, high up on a hill overlooking Disley.

The silence between them was comfortable, Ghost didn’t feel the need to fill the time with talk. Andra was enthralled with the scenic tour of the countryside. Yet, Andra found herself being disrupted by the occasional vibration from her phone. Alerting her to unwanted messages by the expression darkening her eyes.

“Still getting loving messages from mother dearest?” Ghost assumed.

Her ponytail whipped around as she turned to look at him. “Yeah, at this point I’m realizing I should’ve left my phone in your truck.” Her finger held down the power button, and the phone’s screen went black.

“Did you leave the states to get away from them?” It was not like Ghost to go prying into people’s personal life, but he had always been curious about what brought her all the way over here in his own backyard. Or rather, next door down the road.

Andra slowed down to a sloth’s pace before she sat upon the cobble wall beside the path. “That’s not the entire reason, but it’s some of it.” She looked down at her dusty shoes. “I lost my scholarship. I had a four-year ride to Texas State, and a year in I blew it.

“My mother was pissed.” Andra’s gaze lifted to stare aimlessly amongst the fields of yellowing grass. “Not because I squandered my future, but because she thought she would never get rid of me. She didn’t want a daughter, just boys. And I worked my ass off all throughout school to make sure I had a way to leave home as soon as possible.

“So, when she found out that I was getting kicked out of the dorms, she told me I wasn’t welcome to come back.”

Ghost clenched his jaw. “And your dad? Was he present?”

Andra’s hands rubbed the tops of her thighs as she swung her feet. “He was, but he was completely oblivious to my mother’s vitriol.” Her eyes met his, that sadness he couldn’t bear to see swirling in the mocha of her irises. “My dad was at work the day I came back home, I’m sure if he was there, he would have opened the door for me and asked if I was hungry.”

A flash of his mother’s face manifested in his mind, her kind, ageing face opening the front door to his childhood home to greet him. He couldn’t fathom anything but love from his own mom.

Ghost had to look away from Andra and blew out a breath. “What happened after that?”

“I couch surfed while working multiple jobs.” Andra leaped off the cobble wall. “I got fed up one day, bought a world map, darts and a bottle of tequila,” Ghost shuddered at the mention of tequila, “Got piss drunk, and threw some darts at the map. That part was true, and that’s why I had lousy aim. The other two landed on Australia, and I wasn’t about to move there, scary ass bugs and all. And the other one landed on Russia, and I didn’t feel like learning a new language so Disley, England it was.”

Ghost couldn’t help but be amused by how cliché the decision was. “Safe to say you did good for yourself by moving.” The two of them continued their walk on the trail.

“Oh yeah,” she vehemently agreed. “I got a chance at life again and I don’t have to see my family? Win fucking win.” Her grin fell once more. “I miss my brothers and my dad. But I know Ivan is doing well for himself in the Marines, and Orion will be graduating high school next summer.” Andra’s eyes narrowed to the building in the distance. “What is that?”

Ghost looked at what Andra was questioning. “That’s The Cage.”

“The what now?”

The hill was getting steep, and Ghost noticed how Andra was struggling to trudge up the slope. He took her hand and led her to the smaller stone keep.

The Cage sat atop of the highest hill, looking over groves of shedding trees and endless, quiet pastures for kilometers. The closer they got to the Baroque-styled standalone structure, the louder the wind blistered all around them. A heavy, iron gate locked with chains and a padded lock restricted access to the three-story keep. Iron bars were installed on the first floor windows to keep visitors and vagrants out. And the windows on the floor above are too frosted with age to get a look of the interior of the building. Thin patches of moss speckles over the bricks and archway of the entrance, giving it color and character. The bricks have been discolored by centuries of rain running off its surface.

“It’s a historical landmark, built sometime in the 1500s.” Ghost assisted Andra as they reached a leveled out plain of gravel path, holding onto her hand even while they approached the keep. “It was originally a hunting lodge, and the wives or ladies of nobility would sit inside to watch and observe the hunters nearby.

“It was actually part of a larger structure, but they built this part of it a couple centuries after the original keep was demolished.”

Andra gave Ghost an astonished look. “I didn’t take you for a history buff.”

He laughed. “I took a field trip out here when I was still in primary school. I remember a few of the details from pamphlets we got. We were expected to take an exam on the history of the landmarks, and this one was the more interesting one to me.”

Andra pulled her hand away from Ghosts, leaving an absent sensation in his palm, to touch the withering stone. “1500s you said?” he hummed in response, and she was in awe in a way he wasn’t expecting. “Wholly shit, this might be the oldest piece of architecture I’ve ever seen in person.”

“This is nothing.” Ghost stepped closer until he was a step behind her.

She scoffed. “Yeah, that’s easy to say when your country is over a thousand years old.” Her surprised expression when she turned to face him, hand pressed firm on the wall, told Ghost that she didn’t know how close he was. She had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

Ghost fought the urge to place his brawny hand over hers. The air felt thicker than it has all day.

“Should we start heading back?” Ghost suggested. He figured by the time they got back, the estate and other shops were open to the public now; there was so much left he wanted to show her.

Andra nodded and followed Ghost carefully down the steep hill. “I realized something.”

Ghost hummed, “And what is that?”

“I don’t even know your last name.”

It was an innocent inquiry, one that Ghost felt comfortable sharing with her. “It’s Riley.”

Andra made an interested murmur. “Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.”

She said his name like she it was an answer to one of life’s many questions. His name rolling off her lips made his knees weak. The way she held so much power over him should scare him. His feet began to carry him at a slower pace, walking a few meters behind that swaying ponytail, the breeze carrying the jasmine and vanilla essence that once haunted him.

-----

The estate had groups of people filing into the entrance, and the discomfort was apparent through Ghost’s body language. “It looks like the café is separate from the mansion, let’s hit it up first and get something.”

Andra’s suggestion was a relief. Ghost didn’t feel like bringing attention to the both of them and potentially ruin the experience for her. It would have been less packed if they had shown up on a weekday, but what could he do now?

The gravel crunched beneath their shoes as they approached the café. Andra hesitated, then turned to Ghost, blatantly looking at his masked face in concern.

Before she could say anything, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure- “

“What do you think I do when I gotta eat on my lunch breaks?” He opened the café’s door, the bell over the threshold chiming to announce their arrival.

Andra didn’t say anything else about it, yet Ghost was moved from her worrying about him. The café barista greeted them warmly, fighting the urge to give Ghost a questionable look. He let them know if they had any questions, they just needed to ask. Andra tilted her head up to look at the menu displayed on the wall. “What are you getting?”

“Just tea.” Ghost answered.

She scoffed. “Typical.” Before he could quip back, she started ordering for the both of them. “I’ll have a flat white and a tea.”

“Cream and sugar for the tea?” the barista asked politely.

Andra looked to Ghost for the answer, and he nodded. “Yes, please.” She chirped.

The barista announced the total, and before Andra could fish her wallet out of her pocket, Ghost handed payment over. He wasn’t about to let her pay for anything today.

A bashful grin crossed her mouth and she muttered a thanks.

With coffee and tea in hand, Ghost led Andra out of the café and chose a table with an opened umbrella shading them from the morning sunlight. Its vinyl material whipped and cracked with the wind. Ghost took the seat giving him the advantage to see anyone passing by and Andra sat directly across from him. She clasped the warm to-go cup in her hands, gauging the temp of the coffee with a gentle sip.

Ghost took the lid off his cup and dunk the tea bag a few times in the milky water and watched Andra’s satisfaction at her hot drink. “You cold?”

She waved her hand in a so-so gesture. “I’ll be fine after the coffee.”

“Here.” Ghost shucked off his jacket, leaving him in his black long sleeve shirt. Andra tried to protest, but stopped after he draped the jacket over her shoulders and returned to his seat. It was too big on her, but she didn’t complain.

Her cheeks went carnation pink. “Thank you.” Her attention turned to their surroundings, observing the other buildings nearby. Ghost took this as a chance to lift his mask up enough to drink his tea, gulping nearly half of the small cup. Shit, it burned going down.

With how Andra’s pupils flared, Ghost knew she was fighting the urge to look his way. Not that she had to; he made the choice to reveal a bit of his face, yet it was endearing. After concealing himself once more, Ghost broke the silence with more questions to ask her, such as what she was majoring in college, which led to her asking if he went to school before joining the military.

“No,” Ghost answered, “We were just required to have high marks on our assessments.”

“Oh.” Andra nodded; her eyes glanced down at her coffee. “In the US you have to complete college in order to be an officer.”

“Is that what you were trying to do?” He continued.

She glanced back up at him once more. “Yeah, I was in their ROTC program and was going to join the army after graduation.”

There was a thick energy around the topic. She was only giving out information that he directly asked her for. “Even though you lost your scholarship, you didn’t want to try enlisting afterwards?”

Her body went rigid, he didn’t know if it was from the cold wind blowing through or from his prodding. “I couldn’t.” A forced, halfhearted grin tried to conceal her sadness.

Ghost wanted to know more, but he was all too familiar with avoiding certain topics. And it probably had been years since she talked about this with anyone. He might be the wrong person to be asking forward questions about her past, but as much mystery as he gave off, so did she. And he wasn’t used to being in the dark about the people in his life.

With another lift of his mask, her eyes darted away, only to look back at him again as he finished off his tea. “There’s a second-hand bookstore nearby, wanna check it out?”

Andra’s eyes brightened. “For sure.”

-----

There was a particular smell about second-hand bookstores that Andra always enjoyed, a scent that she never gets anywhere else. It’s the telltale sign that these books were loved by all different kinds of people, and they were waiting to be taken home to its new owner to take them on a new adventure.

The bookstore was warm and inviting, and so was Ghost’s jacket. Andra had to fight the urge to lean her face into the lapels of the jacket to inhale his scent. Gods, she was a creep. She had done it once when he draped it over her and a second time when he walked ahead to open the door of the bookstore for her.

An orange tabby hopped down from its cat tree and approached the two of them as if to greet them, like it owned the bookstore instead of its owner. It chirped as Andra gave its back a gentle touch, earning her the honor of the cat rubbing itself against her leg. Sammy’s not gonna be happy about smelling cat on her when she gets home.

A woman in her late 30s peered her head from behind one of the many tall shelves with a smile. “Welcome, let me know if you need help finding anything particular.”

“Thank you.” Andra smiled back as she sauntered down the main corridor, scanning the aging labels for each genre.

Ghost followed closely behind her, hands at his sides. He stopped a few inches as he realized she had turned to face him. “I have an idea.”

An eyebrow disappeared beneath the fabric of his balaclava. “Should I be concerned?”

She grinned with an eye roll. “I promise, it’s not painful.”

Ghost stuffed a hand in his pocket. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“Pick a title that you would be interested in reading and I’ll have to read it, and I’ll do the same for your read. Nothing lengthy, something less than… let’s say three hundred pages.”

“That’s not lengthy to you?” Ghost retorted.

“I’ve read thousand-page books before, but I won’t make you endure that. You interested?” Andra rocked back and forth from her heels to her tip toes.

Ghost looked around and nodded his head. “Let’s see what we can find.”

“Great!” Andra left Ghost to search for his own book while she went scouring the store for some ideas.

From non-fiction to culinary, fiction to religion, the bookstore had variety. Andra went looking for the woman running the store, finding her behind the register counter. “Excuse me, do you have any American titles?”

The woman with blonde hair tied up in a bun looked at Andra with a friendly smile. “Yes, miss, it’ll be down that way.” She gestured down to the right of them. “On the lefthand side of the shelves.”

Andra thanked her and made her way to the section. From where she was at, she could see Ghost slowly stalking some shelves, his head was blocking the view of the sign that would have told her what genre he was browsing.

She didn’t know if it was the espresso in the coffee she had or excitement she felt from the day, but her heart warmed with joy. She didn’t expect the day to go the way it had. A walk on beautiful trails, sightseeing historical landmarks, coffee and books. Ghost was laying it thick, and she was eating it up.

It was enough to make her forget the morning call with her mom. Nearly enough. Andra knew she would have to call or message her brother to see if he got the same sob story from mom. It wasn’t a priority, but she hoped Ivan was smart enough not to lend the bail money.

Andra shook the thoughts away as she found the book she was looking for. The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton.

“Find your book?” Ghost’s voice penetrated her focus.

She nearly jumped a few inches off the floor. “Aye dios mio.” Her hand pressed against her racing heart as she took a breath as he chuckled. “Yeah, I found something.”

“Me too.” The book hung at his side in his hand, she could see the title in bold, capitalized letters. The Operators. “Want to exchange now?”

“Sure.” They handed off each other’s book, both a mirroring image of inspecting the cover of the books. His illustrated a man in a ski mask aiming a pistol at an unknown target with a helicopter flying over his head. “The Operators: On the Streets with Britain’s Most Secret Service.” Of course he would pick a book like this.

“The Outsiders?” Ghost turned the book over to read the backside of the book. “Didn’t they make this into a movie?”

Andra nodded. “I’ve read and watched the movie.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes on her. “You chose a book you’ve already read? That’s hardly fair.”

“We’ll call it even since you probably know half of the knowledge in this book.” Andra strolled up to the counter and laid the book gently on the counter, Ghost placing his on top of hers. “And I’ll pick up the bill this time-“

Ghost laid out a twenty-pound banknote, maintaining eye contact with her. “I don’t think so, doll.”

She felt the heat rising in her face, again. “I’m gonna get you back.”

The nice lady witnessing what might be the second most sexual tension they have had between the two of them slid Ghost’s change across the counter and bagged up the books in silence.

“No you won’t.” Ghost picked up his change and the bag, thanking her as he headed towards the front door.

Andra and the woman exchanged glances, the woman telling her get it, girl without ever saying a word. After a polite goodbye, Andra caught up with Ghost.

He was looking at his phone that was blaring an emergency alert alarm quite obnoxiously, and he muttered a curse under his breath. “A severe flood warning has been posted for our area; we better get home before we can’t.”

“Oh shit, yeah let’s go.” Andra was on Ghost’s heel as they both picked up speed to head back to the truck. The clouds were noticeably darker off in the distance, in the direction that they had to go. Wind was blowing fiercer as well, the temperature dropped a couple of degrees during the time Ghost and Andra were inside the bookstore.

Her hair whipped around her face wildly, and Andra almost wished she had a balaclava to keep the chilly air from hitting her face. By the time they arrived at the truck, cold droplets were falling onto the windshield.

The two of them slid into their respective seats, and the engine roared to life as Ghost threw the gear into reverse. Andra was turning her phone back on to check the local weather app to see how close the rain was. Her knee bobbed impatiently as the phone took its sweet time booting back up.

For the first time, Ghost turned on the radio and immediately a broadcast played on the speakers inside the cabin.

“A flash flood warning has been issued in the following areas…” the spokeswoman rattled off several town names, including Disley. “This development is uncommon for this season; we advise our listeners to seek shelter and stay indoors until further notice.”

Once Ghost was out of the parking lot, he punched the gas pedal, sending the truck careening down the road. Andra could see other vehicles behind them; they must have gotten the message as well and are trying to get back home.

“Just our luck, huh.” Andra murmured as her phone completed its boot-up, and opened the weather app. The radar showed a huge wave of orange and red and a small outline of green making its way south to Disley. They were going to definitely be pelted with some heavy rain by the time they get back.

“We’ll get there.” Ghost assured her, taking a sharp right turn onto the main road.

Andra gripped onto the hand rail as her heart leaped into her throat. “Hopefully with all our limbs and blood inside us.”

Ghost shook his head. “You gotta stop listenin’ to Johnny, I’m a good driver.”

“I mean, tell that to the speed trap you busted some tires on but I wasn’t there…” Andra braced herself once more as Ghost braked hard at a stop light.

The rain was pelting the truck hard now, and she was starting to worry about hail coming along with the rain. Did I lock up the chicken coop? Andra started to worry for her animals, going over her morning routine in her head. Yeah, the chickens should be okay, she prepared to be out for a good portion of the day.

Lightning streaked across the sky, earning a gasp out of Andra. It was never the lightning that scared her, it was the boom of thunder afterwards that bothered her. Well, no, that was a lie. She remembered watching her dad take off for work one time in the early hours, the car took off just in time to miss a strike of lightning. It hit the asphalt with a crack, and the thunder was so loud it rocked the house. She could not possibly imagine what could have happened if her dad hadn’t started driving away at that very moment. So yeah, lightning bothered her, but the thunder was worse, even at her adult age.

Andra started to recognize where they were through the torrential downpour as the windshield wipers worked double time to keep the view clear for Ghost. He took the turn onto Middleton Lane, their shared street. A breath of relief left the both of them as they realized the road wasn’t flooded nor blocked off by any debris. Ghost turned into her driveway, and got as close as he could to the front of the house without ruining any of her flowers.

As Andra was taking off his jacket, Ghost stopped her. “Give it back to me the next time we see each other.”

Andra beamed a smile at him. “You’re already sure that there will be a next time?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners; a smile was beneath that skull pattern. “If you’ll allow me.”

Another flash of lightning had Andra flinching. She pulled the jacket back onto her and lifted the hood. “Shoot me a message or a call when you get inside.”

Ghost grunted in agreement before she opened the passenger door and made a run for the covered porch, making it inside with minimal moisture. She watched the truck reverse and turn around, driving down into the brutal rain.

Andra closed the door, and a boom louder than just the thunder rocked the house. She fell to her knees and covered her head with a scream. Sammy ran up to her and licked her hands covering her head in a frenzy; she was just as afraid of the unforgiving weather outside those walls.

Andra gave Sammy loving rubs. “Poor baby, I know you need to go outside.” Sammy licked her face before Andra got back up onto her feet, heading to the kitchen storage to see if she still had leftover puppy pads. Thank gods, she saved them. Andra put a few down by the back door, and Sammy whined. “It’s just in case if you can’t wait, once the rain lets up, I’ll let you out babygirl.”

A heavy knock at her front door made her want to jump out of her skin. She could see the top of Ghost’s masked head through the frosted glass of the door. Quickly, she went to go open it and let him in. “Everything okay?”

Ghost was soaked. His long-sleeve shirt clung to his skin, leaving nothing to the imagination, and a black backpack was slung over his shoulder. “That loud bang you heard was a tree falling in the middle of the road. I tried to see if I could hook it up to the truck, but there’s no getting it out of the way by myself.”

“Shit…” Andra closed the door. “Well, obviously I don’t mind you crashing for the night here.” Ghost didn’t respond to that, and the air grew thick. “I have a spare bedroom upstairs; the couch also has a pullout bed so you have options.”

“I’ll stay down here.” Ghost declared.

Andra realized she was making him stand there with dripping wet clothes. “Oh my gods! Y-you can go ahead and use the downstairs bathroom to dry off.” She led him to the bathroom, forgetting that he already knew where it was. “It’s stocked with towels and everything else.” She assumed his bag had clothes in them, like an emergency bag she had stashed in her truck as well. Great minds think alike.

“Thank you, I won’t be long.” Ghost shut the bathroom door behind him, and Andra darted upstairs to her own bedroom. With the door closed behind her, she felt her heart racing in her chest.

Ghost is staying overnight.

-----

Any interaction with my story is always appreciated! Thank you if you've made it to the end of this chapter 🖤

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

If you still want prompts, how about someone saying 8 to Jaskier? <3

Here's some Geraskier! Can be read as gen or pre-slash.

8. “Put your head on my shoulder.”

Geralt grits his teeth as he hauls Jaskier back to their camp, the bard a limp weight in his arms. Jaskier appears to be awake, but in shock; his wide eyes stare blindly upwards. His doublet has a tear in it, the gash left by the grave hag’s tongue traveling from the center of his breastbone to his left shoulder. It will probably scar, which is the least the idiot deserves after strolling up to a grave hag to “get a closer look.”

“Geralt, I can’t see,” Jaskier says again, his unseeing eyes darting about frantically. “I can’t see.”

“I know.” Geralt is more gentle than he would like to be as he deposits the bard on his bedroll. “That’s because you didn’t fucking stay back when I told you to.”

“I thought it was dead! It was on the ground!”

“It was injured, not dead. That made it even more fucking dangerous.”

“Is it permanent? Oh gods, Geralt, I can’t lose my sight! That hag’s hideous maw can’t be the last thing I ever see! Why couldn’t it have been a comelier monster, like a succubus or a—”

Of course that’s the first thing he thinks about. “It’s the venom from the grave hag’s tongue. It almost always wears off in an hour or two.”

“Almost always?” If possible, Jaskier’s voice gets even pitchier.

Geralt thinks about lying, but the bard needs to realize how easily carelessness could get him hurt or killed. He thought Jaskier learned that after nearly getting his throat cut by elves a month ago and then nearly getting carried off by a wyvern a week after that. Not to mention all the times Geralt's had to haul him away from an angry father or husband. “Occasionally, the blindness is permanent. It’s rare, but it happens. Mostly to the sick and the elderly.”

“How sick? Because I was feeling a bit sniffly this morning.” Jaskier’s heart rate is getting faster, his breathing growing quick and raspy. “And how elderly?”

“Jaskier, you’re eighteen.”

“Almost nineteen!” His voice rises to practically a wail. “And I like to think I have an old soul.”

“You have an almost-nineteen-year-old soul,” Geralt says with his last scrap of patience. “I told you, you’ll be fine in an hour or two.”

“I’ll most likely be fine in an hour or two! What happens if I’m not? You won’t leave me here, will you? Geralt, you probably haven’t noticed, but I have no fucking idea how to survive on my own.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to hear him. “I can’t light a fire! The last time I tried to set a snare for a rabbit, I got caught in it. I get sick at the sight of blood, so I can’t hunt! Please don’t leave me here on my own.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” Geralt has tried to lose Jaskier a couple of times, but quickly realized that abandoning the bard in the wilderness was practically a death sentence for the lad. He’s been tempted to reconsider a couple of times, but he doesn’t actually want Jaskier dead in a ditch.

“Gods, I’ll have to return to Lettenhove, won’t I?” Jaskier’s blank gaze is fixed somewhere over Geralt’s shoulder. “Cordelia is never going to let me live this down. She told me I wouldn’t last a year on the road and I didn’t even last a season.”

Geralt goes to his saddlebag to get supplies to clean and stitch the wound. When he comes back, Jaskier is enumerating all the things that he’ll never lay eyes on again. It’s hard to tell what he’ll miss more: sunsets or tits. As Geralt dabs the dried blood and venom from the wound, Jaskier seems to settle on tits.

“And yes, I know I’ll still be able to feel them, Geralt, but it’s really an altogether different—”

Geralt can hear the hitch in the bard’s breathing that tells him that Jaskier is perilously close to hyperventilating. Fuck. He puts aside the supplies—the wound has stopped bleeding, stitches aren’t a necessity—and pulls Jaskier into his arms. Jaskier makes a startled noise, but comes willingly.

“Put your head on my shoulder,” he says.

“What?” Jaskier squeaks.

“Just do it.” When the bard complies, settling his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder almost tentatively, like he thinks it’s some kind of trick, Geralt adds, “Listen to my breathing. Match it with yours.”

Jaskier’s quick, panting breaths slow down, bringing his hammering heart rate down a notch.

“Just concentrate on breathing.” Geralt keeps his voice low and soothing, like he would if it were Roach startled by an unexpected noise or a rabbit in her path. “You’re going to be fine.”

“What if it is permanent?” Jaskier whispers.

“It won’t be.” With the arm that isn’t holding Jaskier against him, Geralt cups the back of the bard’s head, stroking slowly with his thumb. “But if it is, we’ll figure something out. You’ll still be able to play the lute and sing. Still be able to talk.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky laugh. “You say that like you think it’s a good thing.”

“Hm.” Since the bard can’t see him, Geralt lets himself smile. “Better than listening to you shriek about tits.”

“I don’t shriek.”

“You sound like a grave hag in heat when you get worked up.”

“Thank you for that horrifying mental image. Really, today hadn’t been trying enough.”

“Your own fault.”

“And here I thought you were being nice to me for once.”

“Saved you from the grave hag, didn’t I?”

“Not in time to save my eyes.”

“Your eyes will be fine, Jaskier.”

“So you say.” But the anxiety is slowly seeping out of Jaskier’s scent as he curls closer to Geralt. Geralt will probably regret letting him get this touchy feely, but that’s a problem for later, once the bard can see again and his heartbeat is back to normal.

“You’ll be able to see again by sunset,” Geralt tells him. “But I don’t think you have any chance of seeing tits tonight, not with the shit job you did flirting with the alderman’s niece.”

“Shit job? Geralt, she was charmed!”

“Have you ever met a woman before, Jaskier? One that you’re not paying to put up with you?”

Jaskier is so indignant that he spends a good part of the next hour telling Geralt about the people of various genders who have been won over by his charm and good looks. He doesn’t even seem to notice when his sight comes back.

(And Geralt doesn’t notice that he’s still holding Jaskier until the bard pulls away.)

***

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue 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

[winniethewife]

You never call me sober (Miguel O'hara x Reader)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: Angst, Alcohol consumption, cussing, google translate Spanish.

“It's 1:08 wide awake when I hear that Special ring stomach sinks 'cause you know I'm already pullin' out the drive I'm up and I'll be there in five I'm turnin' right at a light when it hits me You feed me lies to put your hands on my body I'm helpless in the morning light Knowin' I fell for it a hundred times”

Her phone rang, it was 1:08, and she was already in the car. She knows who it is by the ringtone. Its Miguel again. She sighs and answers the phone.

“Where?” she doesn’t even bother to ask the whole question. She was tired of doing this, tired of being the person he calls when he’s too drunk to drive home.

“You know where Hermosa...” he slurs as the pet name falls off his tongue so naturally.

“I’ll be there in five.” She grumbles as she pulls out of the drive.

“Gracias.” He manages to say before she hangs up on him… she sighs and turns up the radio as she drives. She just wants to scream.

As she pulls up to the bar in question she can’t even find it in herself to look at him as he manages to climb into the passenger seat. He mumbles some kind of thanks as they pull away from the bar she drives to his place.

“I hope I didn’t wake you Hermosa…”

“Nope, I was up.” She says annoyed as she keeps her eyes on the road.

“Well… that’s good. I think.” He says quietly the slur of the alcohol on his voice toning down a little as he looks over at her. She sighs slightly as she keeps driving. The car is oddly quiet with the music in the background. Miguel reaches over and carefully takes her hand.

“What’s on your mind Bebeita?” he murmurs as he caresses her knuckles

“You don’t want to know Mig. I promise.” She says with venom in her voice.

“Now I just want to know more.” He replies quietly, not fully understanding why she’s being defensive. She sighs and tries to ignore him as they are almost to his place. Just a few more moments.

“Come on, Hermosa. Please. Just tell me.” He sounds pathetic when he’s drunk.

“Why do you never call me sober?” She asks in an accusatory tone

“What?” He was startled slightly by the question

“Why do you never call me sober?” She asks again slowly

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says quietly as he squeezes her hand softly

“Bullshit.”

“¿disculpe?”

“Oh shut up Miguel, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m tired of avoiding the subject.” She feels the tension in the air. She knows she’s asking for a fight she can’t win but she doesn’t want dance around this again.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“The truth preferably.” 

“You wouldn’t like who I am sober these days.” He says quietly

“Why make that decision for me? Don’t I have the right to choose?”

“I know what’s-”

“Shut the hell up, stop acting like you know what’s best for everyone in the damn multiverse Mig.” She sneers as she pulls up to his apartment complex. After putting the car in park she turns to him. A fire in her eyes that Miguel had never seen before.

“Bebeita please… I don’t want to fight about this.” He says waving his hands defensively in front of him.

“Oh really? I definitely want to fight about this.” She says challenging him.

“Come on…”

“No I’m done! Either give me a real fucking reason that you do this or get out of this car and lose my number!” She’s yelling now, He’s definitely not used to her yelling.

“I don’t need you when I’m sober!” He yells. They both freeze looking at each other with regret, there’s no taking that back. Miguel silently climbs out of the car and wanders inside and up the elevator. She drives away her worst fears confirmed…

~

Masterlist

[loudblonde]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader Mafia AU (Chapter 15)

SummarySimon and (Y/N) get close before getting some unfortunate news

Warnings: Oral sex, mentioning of boundaries and people not respecting boundaries.

Author note:

Heyoooooo, it has been a while, things have honestly been mundane here, I just started school and bought Baldurs gate 3 which I have already gotten almost 400 hours in it since august, so sorry for not really posting but I kinda forgot midst school and gaming. I was stuck on where to take this story for a good few weeks, again so sorry. I cant in any way promise consistancy but I will try and post more often.

Thank you so much to the folk who were concerned and all your kind comments that you have left, it truly truly makes my day so much better whenever I read any comment you post.

Word count 1.9K

Ghost awoke feeling the spot in bed cold. He sighed, this was by far a too-common occurrence over these last 4 days, they would be leaving soon. (Y/N) would have Simon fully at his mercy again. Ghost knew he had to fight against it, and so did Simon, yet neither of him wanted to, no matter how much Ghost screamed and yelled that (Y/N) Price was nothing more than a slippery snake with venom-coated fangs, neither Simon nor Ghost was particularly eager to displease this new owner. 

John Price himself had been strict but Simon always knew there was some part of him that regretted what had happened that night, it didn’t take a fool to see just how much he was being shown that he really shouldn’t be shown or seen, even for the bodyguard of John Price. 

Simon opened his eyes as (Y/N) entered the bedroom, he sat up slightly, propped up on only his arms, his back ached from this position, but he wasn’t going to sit up further. “Did we get the go-ahead?” Simon asked, his voice deep and groggy, betraying any calmness he may have hoped to not show. 

(Y/N) slipped into bed, Simon found himself lying down with his head on (Y/N)’s chest, he was far too comfortable in this position, far too exposed but that didn’t matter, this was… well he couldn’t call it safe, but it was nice. 

“Hmm, we leave in the morning, I said goodbye to Arthur, he leaves on a small trip towards the store to stock up on bulk buys. He won’t be there in the morning.” (Y/N) said with a slight sigh. 

“You sound almost sad at that, love,” Simon said.

“He is an old friend. He is my Soap.” (Y/N) said and Simon fully understood that, a bond he couldn’t explain to no other. Not romantic despite desperately trying it. He hoped (Y/N) wouldn’t be another Soap. “I am happy to see him and sad to leave, but we both know we won’t see each other much if at all after this.” (Y/N) said, disappointed. “Maybe at the opposite ends of a gun.” 

“You think he will kill you?” Ghost asked. 

“If he gets paid a lot, maybe, I won’t fault him for that. It’s the business.” (Y/N) said with a slight shrug. He absentmindedly ran a hand through Simon’s hair. “Your hair is getting long, I like it.” 

Simon leaned into his touch, slowly getting lulled to sleep by it. When he awoke again, (Y/N) was sleeping as well. Simon closed his eyes and felt sleep embrace him for a few moments before (Y/N) woke him up.  

Getting back onto the road meant one thing, medical attention. (Y/N) took over as driver and drove up towards northern Europe, (Y/N) took backroads and at times they slept in the car or in shitty cheap cash-only hotels, whatever the route was, they were not hurrying for time. It was almost a week later of this, when they finally arrived in their Swedish cabin, having almost completely blown past Denmark on the way up, only stopping a few moments for his wrist to be checked and taken care of. Simon looked to where (Y/N) was making a fire and yearned for them to get away from this life of running, but they were finally here, fully just alone and for once, without anything or anyone to worry about, a mutually distant place in a mutually distant country. 

The cabin was small and comfortable, though without running water or electronics, they had a generator for their phones and a small camping stow, all they would ever need. Simon laid his head down on the pillow of the queen-sized bed, it was tugged in the corner of the small cabin, only one room, perfect for laying low. 

(Y/N) glanced at him and smiled. Simon sat up as the other walked over, his arms found a way around his waist as he pulled him in. Simon kissed his stomach before looking up at him. “You haven't pushed yourself onto me,” Simon said softly. 

“Why would I?” (Y/N) asked. “You are a person, no one deserves that and if I must cum, well I have a perfectly fine hand that can get me off.” 

Simon chuckled at that, a small smile on his face. “You are making me more confident by the hour, that's a dangerous thing.” 

This time it was (Y/N)’s turn to chuckle. He placed his arms around Simon’s shoulders. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm, once I realise I am a handsome bastard then there is no stopping me,” Simon said. 

“Well, that just means that my Simon will be the fiercest and most dangerous man around.” (Y/N) leaned down and kissed him passionately.

Simon groaned against the kiss. “You want me to be that? To be confident and not just another thing like that König you fucked?” He asked before standing up, his arms still wrapped firmly around (Y/N). 

“Aye, I do. I love a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid to either ask for it or take it.” (Y/N) said with a smirk. 

“My hand is still busted,” Simon said before backing (Y/N) up against the wall, (Y/N)’s back hit it roughly before their lips met. 

(Y/N) groaned lightly but returned the kiss, he didn’t fight this display of confidence that Simon was showing, despite (Y/N) being a power top, this confidence was very attractive and very different from what he had seen so far from Simon. 

Their kiss lasted a while as they let hands roam and map each other's bodies, both seeking comfort in the movements. 

(Y/N) pulled away and bit his lip before looking at Simon. “How far?” 

Simon hesitated before walking over and sitting on the bed, he spread his legs. “I don’t feel comfortable with penetration….” 

(Y/N) walked over and hummed. “Oral?” He knelt down, gently rubbing Simon’s legs. “You on the receiving end.” 

“If I say stop at any point, will you stop?” The confidence washed away to vulnerability. 

(Y/N)’s smile softened. “Of course, Si, if you ever get uncomfortable, even with kissing, tell me and I will stop. Even just holding your hand or touching you in any manner.” 

Simon smiled at that and nodded. “Okay, let's try.” 

(Y/N) reached up and cupped his cheeks before kissing him, his eyes fluttering close as he felt Simon respond to the kiss. He felt him kiss back, their lips parting easily, (Y/N)’s tongue explored Simon’s mouth, Simon didn’t fight against it, his trust in (Y/N) was unwavering. 

(Y/N) pulled away only to kiss down Simon’s neck, leaving behind faint hickeys. They pulled apart for just long enough to discard the shirt and remove the belt. (Y/N) looked up at Simon as he palmed his growing erection, there were no signs of hesitance so far. “You are doing so well for me.” (Y/N) praised, his head tilting slightly before he undid the pants button. With some combined effort they managed to pull the pants and underwear down to Simon’s ankles. (Y/N) situated himself better before grabbing some lube from the bag next to the bed. He coated his hand before giving Simon’s cock a few strokes, getting it erect.

(Y/N) wasted no time before wrapping his lips around the head, he hollowed his cheeks out before slowly going all the way down, his tongue working expertly to hit all the right spots. Simon felt the wet warmth of (Y/N)’s mouth and moaned, his body was growing hotter by the second.

(Y/N) didn’t hold back, he bottomed out expertly, his nose hit Simon’s pubes, causing Simon to moan even louder, he was suddenly glad they were miles away from anyone or anything. 

As (Y/N) moved up and down his tongue massaged every pleasurable part. He removed a hand from Simon’s thigh to fondle his balls, causing Simon to moan even louder. 

Simon was in the clouds, no one had ever just focused on his pleasure, he placed a hand in (Y/N)’s hair, though he didn’t push down in any manner, the pleasure was too good, he was lost, no matter what he wanted to say it never came out. 

Simon felt a familiar knot form in his stomach. He moaned even louder as he struggled to find his words to warn (Y/N).

(Y/N) saw him and hummed in satisfaction, ignoring his own throbbing cock. Simon groaned at that, causing (Y/N) to feel pride in his own ability to please Simon. 

Simon didn’t hold out much longer, the vibrations, the warmth and the way (Y/N)’s tongue moved was pure bliss, he tapped (Y/N)’s head moments before he came. Simon’s salty hot cum sprayed down (Y/N)’s throat, which (Y/N) drank down without a problem. He pulled away and kissed Simon. “You did so well, I am so proud of you.” 

Simon barely registered the words, he was still riding the high from cumming. “You are amazing.” He chuckled cum drunk. 

(Y/N) chuckled and stood up, he helped Simon get dressed again before laying down with him. “Are you feeling less stressed?” 

Simon nodded. “Yes, thank you and thank you for not doing anything I didn’t want.” 

“Si, I would never, I may be an assassin, but I am not a monster.” (Y/N) said.

Simon chuckled and leaned his forehead against his. “You are painfully hard against my thigh, may I?” Simon asked. 

(Y/N) hummed. “Sure, if you want.” 

“I would love nothing more~,” Simon said.

—

The first few days of the cabin were quiet, almost exactly like their initial cabin but this time more intimate, neither man initiated anything sexual beyond those initial blow jobs, they were content with each other's company, and they needed nothing more. At least not for now. They had each other. 

(Y/N) awoke to find his phone blaring the British national anthem. He rolled over, ignoring the way Simon groaned before picking up the phone. He hummed as sleep still had a hold on him. “(Y/N).” 

‘Hey boy, we have this mess cleared up faster than we intended.’ His father's voice would normally have been a welcomed tone, yet it was like ice filled his veins. ‘Are you able to fly home as soon as possible?’ 

His mouth felt impossibly dry. “Yeah, no yeah, that’s good, I will see about booking some tickets home, we shouldn’t have any problems.” He said. 

‘Good, we need to get you up to speed on everything.” Price said before hanging up, undoubtedly very busy despite it being ass o’clock in the morning. Simon wrapped his arms around (Y/N). “Hey?” 

“We have to go home.” 

“Oh.” 

(Y/N) laid down and wrapped his arms around Simon. “I don’t know the situation or how open we can be.” (Y/N) said before placing a hand on Simon’s cheek, his thumb brushed across the scars. 

“No matter what happens, my loyalty is to you,” Simon said, fully just closing his eyes. He had thought there was no other choice but Price, that he wasn’t worthy of living unless he served Price and attempted to work off his debt, yet (Y/N) had branded Simon as his own with the necklace and had shown him more kindness then he had ever experienced before, no matter how much Simon knew that in the end he was simply being used, he was still going to worship the ground (Y/N) walked on, he would burn the world for (Y/N) if asked, fully loyal like a dog to its master. 

(Y/N) smiled at that, he kissed Simon’s forehead. “And I will do anything in my power to protect you, Si. I won’t let my father hurt you.” 

“I love you too,” Simon said softly. 

“Now, let's get some breakfast and catch a plane.” (Y/N) chuckled. “We can handle whatever England throws at us, no matter what, we have survived everything so far, eh?”

Simon chuckled. “Yes, yes we can.” 

Tag list

@rasberry-jupiter

@one-green-frog

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 8

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 5k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction. 

Chapter Synopsis: You’ve arrived in Paris and have successfully infiltrated the catacombs. However, things take an unexpected turn for the best and worst.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

The train approached the station right on time, the brakes smoothing out right onto the platform. By now, the train station was busy with people. It wouldn’t be hard to lose someone within the crowd. That was why it was so important to tag the targets instead of relying on eyesight alone. 

From a suitable distance, the 141 tailed Makarov’s men, making sure to blend in when necessary. It wasn’t hard to look like one of the many groups of tourists in Paris. An odd group, but a group nonetheless. Soon enough, you halted the chase, allowing the targets to head to their destination. If you followed them all the way to their secret entrance, you all would be spotted immediately. For now, it was wise to head to a hotel spot nearby and track the targets by computer. The men weren’t used to hotel hopping so much. According to you, it was much less conspicuous to stay in a hotel rather than a guarded building on behalf of the United States government. 

Not that they were complaining. They were grateful to have comfortable beds while on a mission. There were many, many missions that required them to sleep on the ground. Sometimes they didn’t have sleeping bags or cots with them. The actual beds have led to most of them getting better rest than normal.

This hotel looked just about the same as the last one. Pretty generic, clean, and only local art on the walls that looked similar to the many artists on the streets. The room pairing was the same as well. Soap and Ghost in a room, Price and Gaz in the other, and one all to yourself. You didn’t mind bunking with any of them if it was necessary. Right now, it just wasn’t.

Ghost was a little disappointed that you didn’t invite him to stay with you, but he wasn’t surprised. Admittedly, a part of him did love the chase. He also had a new motivation when it came to you. Complete the mission and convince you to stay. He knew that you were wavering when it came to the possibility of going back off the grid after everything was over. While he wasn’t sure what you would end up doing if you decided to stick with him, he didn’t care. He just wanted you by his side.

Perhaps if you could see how capable he was during the final stages of the mission, you would.

You all sat in a bedroom, carefully tracking the targets and their luggage. On a large map, Gaz began to trace the trail for Paris on the surface. Price was going through local cameras as well to determine their secret entrance. Soap was looking at a laptop that kept track of them with red dots. All of it took coordination and relying on each other. When it came down to it, the 141 was like a well-oiled machine.

As soon as Gaz noticed that the tracking route didn’t match the Paris roads and Price lost sight, Ghost and you began tracking the targets on a different map. A massive map of the catacombs. When men went one way while the luggage went the other, you both picked out a focus and traced them on the map. The targets went deeper into the catacombs each minute, amplifying just how dangerous this mission was going to be.

The targets were far from where tourists were allowed to be. It seemed like they were venturing into parts that haven’t even been discovered yet. If the 141 wasn’t careful, they could get lost or die. Whichever came last.  

The team spent hours mapping it all out. By the time you all had a better grip on the labyrinth layout, it was nightfall. 

You’ve skipped lunch with the team in order to memorize the route. Worst case scenarios, you lose light or lose the map. Memorizing the routes could save you if the worst happened. It took you a long time, though. By the time you did, you were starving for dinner.

Thankfully, Simon saved a room service plate for you. He didn’t like the fact that you skipped lunch, but he decided it wasn’t worth the fight. All that mattered was that you had something in your stomach for dinner. Not that you were completely engrossed in your meal to really enjoy it, though.

During dinner, you went over the plan with the team. It was proving to be much too dangerous to have all of you enter the maze of bones. There needed to be backup on the surface. It was finally decided that you, Ghost, and Gaz would go into the labyrinth while Price and Soap tracked you from above. Before leaving, you would plant trackers on yourselves. Then, after entering the maze, Ghost and Gaz would separate from you to head to a different part of the catacombs for standby. You would follow the target route, refine the map with new discoveries, and find Makarov to assassinate him. 

If Makarov wasn’t there, you would call him there. However, that meant spending a night underground. 

As everyone geared up in their rooms, you sat alone in yours. You’ve never been nervous about a mission before. You have always kept your cool, confident that you would be able to finish the job no matter what happened. In and out. Undetected. The fear of death never even had you anxious. Now? Now it was different. There were actually many things on the line for you. Too much at stake to make any mistakes.

There was a soft knock on your door before it opened up. Simon stood in his full gear. Bulletproof vest, helmet, boots. Everything that told the world that he was a soldier. As much as you wanted to admire it, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, your gaze focused on your twiddling thumbs.

“Hey, you alright?” He came closer, kneeling in front of you to see your face better. Having you be nervous was making him nervous. What could possibly have you, the greatest assassin in the world, rattled?

In response, you shook your head. “I never feared death because I never had a life. It’s different now.”

“Oh. . . Hex. . .” He called out, his gloved hand caressing your cheek. For the first time, you leaned into his gentle touch. It nearly had his heart explode for you.

“Sorry. This won’t be a problem once I’m down there and I find my groove. I’ll be okay.” You reassured him and yourself. Giving yourself a pep-talk was new too. 

Just for a moment, Simon wanted to share this short time with you. To be the one to calm your nerves. He lifted his mark partially up, kissing you deeply to break your anxious thoughts. When his kiss finally registered in your brain, you couldn’t help but kiss him back like it was the last kiss you would ever share with him. If things went wrong, it may very well be. 

When he pulled away, his eyes were sharp. Confident. “You’ll be perfect. I know you will.”

Your chest stung painfully at his words of encouragement. Focusing on what could go wrong wasn’t helping you believe in yourself. All you needed to believe in was Ghost. With a resolute nod, you accept his support. “Yeah. I’ll be perfect. Thank you.”

His heart swelled at your quick recovery. If he could, he would follow you all the way through the catacombs and back. 

Simon gave you one last kiss before pulling down his mask again, already missing the feeling of your lips pressed against his. You felt that absence as well, hating and loving that you could now never imagine a life without his kisses. That just made you more determined to finish the job with grace just how you’ve always done. 

~

In the dead of night, Ghost quietly peeled back a manhole cover, revealing nothing but sewer at the bottom. Gaz raised a brow at the reveal, expecting to see bones on bones already. You double checked the map to make sure this was the correct entry point. Unfortunately, it was.

One by one, you climbed down to the sewers, careful not to land in the waters. Ghost spoke into his earpiece. “Entry successful. Can you read us?”

“Crystal clear, Lt. Be careful down there. Who knows just how many of Makarov’s men are there.” Price stressed, carefully watching the monitor from the safety of the hotel bedroom. Soap was tasked with coordinating a mass arrest and seize of weapons once Makarov was confirmed dead. He was on the phone coordinating the plan while Price focused on his team under Paris. 

Carefully, you made your way through the sewers, following the same path as the targets from earlier. The walk already felt long as it was dark, cold, and quiet save the sound of water dripping every so often. No chit chat. No small talk. All focus.

Eventually, you all came across a dead end. Gaz and Ghost began to feel the wall, trying to determine if there was a secret they were missing. You checked the map to confirm your positions. Just as Gaz swiped his hands over the left side of the wall, he felt something out of place. A piece of brick that jutted out just slightly compared to the others. When he pressed down on it, the wall popped open, waiting to be opened like a door. Gaz relayed the information to his captain while you marked it on the map. On Price’s end, he marked a similar map, wanting to match yours with each new discovery. 

Beyond the wall was nothing but pitch black darkness. There was no light for what seemed like miles. When you all turned on your flashlights, you were met with the remains of people from floor to ceiling. Bones dating back hundreds of years surround you. It was eerie. It was somehow a little worse than being surrounded by freshly dead bodies. Perhaps it was the more profound sense of death that made the endless halls feel grim. 

Ghost couldn’t help but feel a bit creeped out as well. Skulls were his signature icon, wearing one right on his face. Yet here, it didn’t feel right to wear his mask so blatantly. It was like all of his kills were haunting him now through the bones of thousands. 

Gaz let out a shuddering breath, trying to get himself under control. It wasn’t a pretty sight, being down there. He wondered how the hell tourists felt so excited to visit this place voluntarily. 

For you, it all just felt like a bad omen. 

“Let’s go. We don’t want to linger for too long.” You announced, trying to shake the heebie jeebies off your shoulders. The others followed closely, listening for human life when their flashlights didn’t reach far enough into the depths. 

After walking for a few miles, you finally approached the anticipated fork in the path. It was time to go your separate ways for now. As you stared down your path, you took off your jacket along with your tracker. Ghost’s eyes narrowed, a fire already erupting in his chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The stagnant air was cold, already giving you goosebumps beneath your long-sleeved shirt. “They may search me if we need to go with Plan B. As soon as they find the tracking device, radio, and earpiece, they’ll kill me. Or capture me for interrogation. Either way, that’s not ideal.”

“How are we supposed to know where you are then? How are we supposed to communicate?” Gaz question, growing worried about your sudden decision as well. 

You threw your jacket to Kyle, him catching it with his fast reflexes. Ghost clenched his jaw tight, almost cracking teeth. He didn’t like this one bit. But, if this is how you perfected your craft, he had no choice but to accept it.

From your pocket, you took out a small bobby pin that matched the color of your hair. You pressed the button on the end, causing it to start connecting to the 141’s earpieces. A new dot popped up on the monitor that Price still watched as well. Through the bobby pin, you spoke softly, your voice coming through their ears. “This is a new piece me and Kate have been working on for a while. It’s more discreet. This will be hidden in my hair and less likely to get spotted even with a search. Any complaints?”

“Hear you loud and clear, Hex. Good thinking, bringing a discreet backup. I’ll have to ask Kate to get me one of those.” Price praised, lightening the mood. Ghost still had complaints, but he kept them to himself for now. There was something heavier weighing him down.

Simon didn’t want to split up. He thought that he would have no problem with it back in the hotel room when he was comforting you. Right at the moment, however, he didn’t want you to go. Especially without your jacket. 

Before you could go off on your own, he pulled you in for a tight hug, not caring if Garrick saw. Kyle, being pretty intelligent about these things, pretended that he didn’t see anything and turned around. Simon would have to treat him to a drink later. 

“Be careful, kitten.” He squeezed you tight, the hug almost crushing your lungs. In response, you wrapped your arms around him too. Well, as much as you could with all that gear on him.

Reluctantly, he let you go, allowing you to look up at him once more before turning to disappear into the darkness. When Simon turned to go on their designated path, he heard a familiar voice snicker in his ear.

Soap was having a little laugh. “Kitten?”

“Can it before I decide to add a new set of bones down here.” He threatened, something that even you heard from down your skull-decorated corridor. 

In the cover of darkness and a faint flashlight, you made your way down the catacombs. At this point, you were completely relying on your map and instincts. The halls never seemed to end. It was so difficult to determine how much further you needed to go as well. Taking a deep breath every step, you moved forward. 

Suddenly, there was a yellow light in the distance. One that casted haunting shadows on the walls. There were voices too. Voices engaged in casual conversation like it was a regular Tuesday night at work. This was it. You were finally close to finding the main center of this operation. 

Hiding in the shadows, you waited for the men to pass before going down the path behind them. More light illuminated the way, ensuring that even Makarov’s men could come back safely. The confidence Makarov had in this secret was amazing. Few guards, a few too many lights, and footsteps standing out on the dirt floor. It didn’t take long for you to figure out the guards’ path pattern either.

You lowered your voice to a whisper, the bobby pin coming in clutch. “Found their hub. Preparing to infiltrate now.”

“Copy that. Ghost and Gaz are in position as well. Keep us updated, Hex.” Price answered back, carefully watching your new dot enter the heart of the operation. Hopefully, if things went well, he was planning on trying to convince to stay with the team as well. You’ve been a good influence on the group. You’ve challenged them to think outside the box, take the time to think about unexpected possibilities, and to rely on the psychological aspects. 

John couldn’t remember the last time they were so close to catching Makarov since his escape from prison. It felt like they’ve been chasing after him for forever. The fact that you were able to get a step ahead of him, something the 141 has failed to do until now, meant a lot. The fact that you were willing to put yourself so close to danger spoke volumes about your character too. 

The team could really use someone like you.

For now, Price would table that conversation for later. He needed you to come back safe first. 

Sneaking around the operation was quite easy for you. The guards were pretty lax in terms of security. With how narrow the catacombs were and how many boxes of weapons they had, you were able to get pretty perfect cover. On your map, you marked down where you were as well as the amount of weapons were down with you. You relayed the information to Price and Soap, them also take note of it on their side.

Everything was going smoothly. Except, there was no sign of Makarov anywhere. Not even a mention of his name from his men. You had a bit more area to explore, but that seemed like a waste of time. There was no evidence in knowing if Makarov would come personally within the next hour or the next week. You were genuinly hoping that it wouldn’t have to come down to this. “No sign of Makarov. No evidence of future arrival. Plan B.”

From Ghost’s position, he and Gaz looked to each other. It looked like they were going to be down there longer than planned. They did have the option to leave and come back later when Makarov does finally arrive, but they would never do that to you. Not after all that you’ve done for them. They were going to stay down here with you for as long as it will take. Ghost confidently spoke into his earpiece. “We’ll be here.”

“Plan B is a go.” Price confirmed, his muscles tensing up more than they were before. Everyone was feeling more tense. They were nervous for you.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was going to happen. Then, you emerged from the shadows, hands up in surrender. It took a whistle to get someone to notice you. Once someone did, everyone was pointing their guns at you. Questions were yelled out to you in different languages you couldn’t understand. It wasn’t until someone big and burly came over and spoke to you in English that things could get a move on.

“You! Who are you?! How did you come down here?” He growled, his finger hovering over the trigger of his pistol. 

Calmly, you explained yourself, careful not to make any sudden movements. “I’m an assassin. I wish to speak to Makarov for employment.”

“And you infultrate our operation to do so? How do I even know that you aren’t lying to me? Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now and save everyone the trouble.” He argued, his muscles aching to fill you with bullets. Something about you didn’t seem right to him. However, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t impressed that you had found their operation.

“I consent to a search if it will make you feel better. All I have is a knife in my boot and a twin pistols on my hips in terms of weapons. Take them. I figured that sneaking in like this would catch attention. I’m pretty good at my job. I can be a very valuable asset.” You promised, hands still in the air, not even flinching to defend yourself. 

The men looked between each other, silently trying to decide what to do with you. Their boss gestured to your body, prompting a few men to take your weapons off your person. Paranoia of more was quelled thanks to you wearing tight clothes. “She’s clear.”

“Anyone follow you down?” The boss asked, his tone becoming more relaxed. 

You shook your head and chuckled a little. “I wouldn’t be a very good assassin if there was. Search me for communication tools.”

They were buying your performance, not even realizing that they were taking orders from you like dogs. The 141 listened carefully through your bobby pin, fists clenched as they tried to keep it together. They couldn’t help it. They were protective of you now. 

Ghost heard the shuffle of clothing, imagining how those men have their dirty fucking hands on you for a thorough search. He wanted to storm right through the catacombs to you like a demon from hell to cut their hands off. Doing so would compromise the mission, but it would probably feel worth it. He had to bite his cheek when he heard you hiss.

Someone got a little too handsy with their search, your tone biting as if you really will bite. “Hey! Watch your fucking hands!”

“Just being thorough, girl. Follow me.” The leader finally said, his men ushering you along right behind him. Price and Soap carefully tracked your position, making sure that their map would be able to lead them right to you when the time came as you were unable to update yours. 

You were led to a more open corridor that was divided into sections almost like rooms. In one of them was a small table, two chairs, and a small battery lantern, much like a makeshift interrogation room. You were guided to have a seat, to which you complied. Across from you sat the one in charge around here while a couple of men with rifles manned the exit. The rest dispersed, business as usual. 

“So, you’re telling me that you want to help Makarov. Why?” He questioned carefully, his eyes scanning you for any kind of slip up. Any indication that you weren’t who you said you were. 

You leaned back in your chair casually, arms across your chest. “I’m only interested in going through an interview with Makarov himself.”

He have a mocking laugh, not knowing that he was eating right out of your palm already. “What makes you think he’s gonna come all the way here just to interview you? What do you think this is? A cooperate job? Why do you think you are so special?”

Smirking, you shrugged your shoulders. “I found and broke into this operation, didn’t I? You may have the rest of the world fooled, but if I can waltz right through your skeleton entrance, it won’t be long until your enemies do. You guys need help. I can provide that.”

He raised a brown and stroked his chin in thought, his brain mulling your words over. You had a point. By the time they noticed you, you were already right in the middle of their big secret. There was obviously a loose end somewhere. Makarov wouldn’t be happy with that. Perhaps they could use the support of a skilled assassin.

“What’s your name, girl?” He asked, interest piqued. 

“Don’t have one. Wouldn’t be a good assassin if I did.” You lied effortlessly like it really was the truth. 

A few seconds passed before he finally took the bait. If anything, Makarov would kill you instantly the moment he suspects something wrong. The ghost weapon parts were going to need a final approval too before being shipped out. 

With a heavy sigh, he caved. “Alright, girlie. I’ll leave this business you have with Makarov. You have to stay here, though. Unless told otherwise, you will not leave this room.”

You were left alone in the open room, obeying the order for the sake of the mission. You could hear some sighs of relief from the bobby pin close to your ear hidden within your hair. First part was over. However, that didn’t mean that the hardest part was done with. Things were only going to get more tense from here on out.

You spend hours sitting and doing nothing. You couldn’t even engage in any conversation with the 141. If you weren’t going to die from a bullet, you were going to die from boredom. When the boss of the catacombs operation came back, you nearly sighed in relief. “Makarov will be here within the next twenty-four hours or so. Until then, you are confined here. Good luck, girl.”

After that brief interaction, he left once again, leaving you to wait out even more. No food. No water. Little light. Nothing to do but wait.

The same went for the 141. At least they had each other in closer proximity, though. You, on the other hand, had no one by your immediate side. Hopefully, this would be the last time you would have to be alone like this. 

~

There was no telling if it was still night or day. There was no telling as to how much time has actually passed. Ghost and Gaz had been quite on their end, cutting of communication briefly to avoid you or them being discovered. Soap and Price were silent too, trying to work out final steps on their end. After a certain period of time, you truly felt isolated. This wasn’t like being alone in your cabin. There, you had the sounds of nature surrounding you, books to read, things to do. You could see sunlight and moonlight from your windows. 

Here, there was nothing but bones, dirt, and the tiny light of the lantern. Even the men guarding you decided to turn in for some rest, situating themselves further away from you, but still in close enough range to notice an escape attempt.

A chill ran through you, making you rub your arms with your hands. You were beginning to get tired and hungry. Just as you tried to slip into a cat nap to pass the time, a low voice woke you back up. Hearing it felt like you were being brought back to the land of the living. “Hey, kitten. How are you holding up?”

You didn’t say anything back for a moment, listening for eavesdroppers. Your voice dropped to a whisper so faint that it was like a spirit speaking. “Fine. You sure you want to keep using that nickname right now?”

“I had Price patch us for a private line for a moment. Gaz is sweeping the areas around us. It’s just you and me.” Ghost reassured, grateful to hear your voice like this. He didn’t like you being isolated the way you were. At the very least, he hoped that his voice would provide you with enough company to tie you over for several more hours. 

Your heart felt lighter already just hearing his voice through the pin. Quietly, you go up from the chair to lay on the floor, not caring if you were getting dirt all over yourself. You just needed to stretch your back and legs out. Try to relax as best as you could. “What time is it out there?”

“Nearly noon. It doesn’t feel like it.” He groaned, hardly believing that there was sunlight somewhere himself. It was way too damn dark under Paris.

“Tell me about it. I can’t tell if only a couple minutes have passed or a couple hours. Time seems to stand still down here. The skeletons aren’t helping.” You half-joked, causing Ghost to actually chuckle. The dark sense of humor that you were demonstrating now made him miss you more than he already did. 

A moment of comfortable silence passed between the two of you, both of you feeling more secure in the dark now that you have heard each other’s voices. Yet, an unsettling feeling began to take over your stomach, tying it in knots. “Ghost?”

“Yeah?”

“If anything goes wrong, you’re prepared to say goodbye to me, right?” You shakily breathed out.

The nature of your whisper still nearly knocked the wind right out of him. The way you said it, like it was an absolute, an unavoidable inevitable, scared him. Genuinely. “I won’t let something like that happen. I’m not gonna lose you.”

Suddenly, you bolted up from the floor, ears trained on a sound you heard further down the catacombs. You almost thought that it was just the illusion of darkness getting to you until you heard it again. Faint chatter from afar. A familiar voice that you have only heard through tv speakers. 

“Y/n.” You confessed your real name to him with a heavy heart. 

Simon almost didn’t register it. His heart nearly stopped beating. “What?”

“Y/n. My name is Y/n.” 

Before he could say anything, let alone find the words to say, he heard the chattering too from your end. The voice was undeniable. Quickly, he radioed Price to reestablish the communication lines again. “Captain. It’s Makarov. He’s arrived early.”

You returned to your chair, dusting yourself off just before the man of the hour entered your line of sight. With a sinister smile, he entered your room and took a seat across from you. “It’s not every day that I have someone demand to go through an interview with me. In fact, I never held a formal interview before. Nor took demands from anyone. This better be worth my time.”

“Trust me, Makarov. The information and help I have for you is gonna be worth both of our time. I would be lying if I said that their was something out of this for me too.” You faked a gracious smile, something you weren’t sure was selling it enough.

Thankfully, you had Makarov’s attention. For now. 

“I’m listening.”

-

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