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When V and Johnny burst back into the Afterlife, they begin to be known as the Cockroach. Affectionately, of course, anyone who sneered out the moniker would quickly find they weren’t able to eat solids for months or find welcome at the club.
Johnny didn’t like it at first, his ego sliced by the realisation that the people in his life did better without him in theirs. V threw humour over it when she reminded him of how he had pulled through to the other side of a nuclear devastation, and it was impossible for him to keep a straight face at any mention of it afterwards.
V was proud as fuck that her reputation was of someone difficult to kill, in spite of all the odds. Flattered as well, she took more care than was due to style and maintain her vibrant ‘ganic copper hair. Her whole schtick was being the fiery femme, the ruthless red-head, a babe serving brutal beat-downs.
Individually, they were pests. Forced proximity turned them into a fucking menace. Clair started stocking twice as much centzon as before, and Emmerick had to invest in cyberware to stabilise his blood pressure. If it had been anyone else, Rogue would have banned them long ago. As it stood, V was her best contractor, and life had become just a little bit brighter with them in it.
#cyberpunk 2077#johnny silverhand#female v#cyberpunk#the afterlife#rogue amendiares#night city#kerry eurodyne#fem v cyberpunk#fem v#silverv#cyberpunk 2077 fanfic
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All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms. Words are very unnecessary, they can only do harm.
ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ
ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ
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I love him so much. He's my favorite (probably) mass murderer with Christmas tree hair ❤️❤️❤️🧚♀️✨💅🏼
I have even more pictures of him on my Instagram 💀💀💀 My brain is mush.
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Withers is in his happy place and I love that for him.
BALDUR'S GATE 3 — they all deserve a little slutty sitting session
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Gale loves his wife.
Gale had never met anyone like Maral before. Every story she shared would make his brows rise higher and higher. Her time in the underdark as a Seldarine drow after humans chased them away, her time on the surface when Lolth-sworn were on their tail from the underdark. Her time aboard the ships crowding the docks of Waterdeep, and her exploits as a storm sorceror with a duty to be a vessel guardian out on the water. Her confidence, her wit as sharp as her rapier.
Her beauty still hauls the breath from his chest, her skin an elixir of twilight dusk and freckles falling like stars across her nose and cheeks. Long silken alabaster hair, that he loves to wash and dress since she shared that it was a luxury never affordable in her youth. Lips of plum, that generously share their hue to her cheeks when she laughs, or as her own breath is stolen by his clever hands and lips.
Their rivalry has never relented however. Back when they were fighting for survival, there were pockets of humor in battle that may very well have been what pushed him to keep fighting. Moments where Maral's magic would gather and charge around her, and she could seize control of this power to push herself through the air to a more advantageous position.
It still left him awestruck, but he would likely never share that. Not after she got in the habit of blowing him smug kisses as she launched herself through the air. He would respond with a demonstration of a new spell, one that was outside of her repertoire, and watch the plum flush spill like wine under skin and her hair begin to gain volume as static prickled on her body.
A body so sculpted, so perfect it was as if the very gods carved the scars on there too. A body she was not considering worth a cover. To Gale and Wyll's horror, the gals would gather together the afternoon of rest days, and spend hours under the sun along the riverbank. Bodies bruised and blooded, wincing from wounds as they scrubbed their laundry and armors clean. Karlach's presence was greatly appreciated in colder dips, nothing quite like having your own personal furnace to float beside and bask in the warmer temperatures.
Gale and Wyll would become less concerned with conserving decorum. It only took months of teasing and streaking through camp for them to barely bat an eye at bare bodies racing towards the shore, leaving echos of howls and hysterics behind them.
It was Maral who coaxed Gale to accompany her down to the river to wash off the blood and grit of a particularly draining encounter. His eye had swollen shut, his hair matted with crusted gore and gods know what else. She folded his robe over a rock, coaxed his tunic off, and gently mopped the dust and sweat from the bruised skin. She, who sponged the blood from his split brow, had laid a kiss as gentle as a butterfly upon his forehead. Whispering coos of frost across his swollen, violet socket to ease the throbbing and aching.
How could he feel anything but devotion for the woman who made him feel truly desired, that precious moment in the weave where he swore he could feel her hands cradle his head, and her lips taste his. His woman, who continues to soothe whatever ache wherever he may have it, whenever he might let her. His personal favorite is to be cradled between her thighs, he thinks. Well it's usually quite a tight clench if he's doing his job right, but those are semantics to be argued another time.
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Ghost has to attend mandatory therapy, and the receptionist is about as happy to be there as he is.
*In Ghost's opinion, this is an utter waste of time. Of all the horrors and monstrous things he had done in his enlistment, one disobedience was all it took for the higher ups to send him to talk about his feelings. As if they hadn't demanded that he terminate and bury them for nearly 20 years. The other option was prison, and they knew better than to stick him in a cement casket with abusers and scum. So the next best option was to shove him through double doors he had to turn slightly sideways to enter, and into a shitty little waiting room. He walks through the parallel rows of skeletal folding chairs and right up to the tall desk. He's not quite sure who he was expecting to greet him, but it sure wasn't her.*
*A young woman sits on a swivel chair. Her black hair is teased up into a 60's updo, bordering on a mess but it looks good on her. Long sharp nails, like gleaming red apples. A cheeky diamond is inlaid where a beauty mark might sit on her upper lip, and eyes with lashes like a fan neglect him for her computer screen. A name tag reads 'Nettie'.*
Ghost *is quiet, that partly how he got his bloody name, but he knows that she knows he is there. Women generally do, they have a sixth sense for when someone of his size and nature are prowling in the shadows nearby. He's not quite sure what to do in a situation where he needs to draw attention to his own presence.*
Ghost *clears his throat*
Nettie "Yeah I see you there mate, kinda fuckin' hard to miss. Just gimme a sec, I need to flick off this email..."
Ghost *says nothing. His jaw twitches and he shifts himself to keep the exit within sight. This was ridiculous, he couldn't remember the last time he experienced something as civilian as waiting for a pesty receptionist.*
Nettie *pops a bubble with the gum she's been idly chewing. Half-heartedly pushes herself away from the desk, and unfolds her legs to stand.* "Right, why are you here then?"
Ghost *knows that she's expecting details for the appointment, but today has been a drag. The only thing that could make it better was to make it another person's problem.* "I killed someone."
Nettie "This is a service for veterans love, you're not going to win any bingos here with that. Who are you here to see?"
Ghost *shrugs and hands her the referral, a strong desire to get this over with as soon as possible.*
Nettie *clips it from his hands quickly. Popping another bubble, she raises an immaculately groomed and arched brow.* "Dr Martin eh? You must have been a very naughty boy."
Ghost *had been idly watching her mouth as it worked the gum. It was driving him a bit mad, something about it was goading. Odd woman to pick for reception, someone as cheeky and infernal as her. His glare snaps back to her eyes at her last sentence. He narrowed them, who the fuck did she think she was talking too?*
Nettie *had already moved on. She moved back to the computer and tapped away. The printer in the corner whirled awake, and she returned with warm, crisp forms printed on the stark white paper clamped to a clipboard.* "Right, I need you to fill these out, shouldn't take more then two or five minutes. I'll find you pen, well, hopefully anyway. You lot always take 'em with you, and now it's a pain in the arse to find one that isn't drier than my nan's crack. Anyway, you can use this one. Please give it back once you're done love, cuz that's my favourite. If you don't, swear on my bleedin' Louboutin's I will hunt you down and pester you till I get it back."
Ghost *takes the clipboard shoved in his direction, remaining silent and quickly scratching through boxes with ticks and answers with monosyllables. This woman is fucking loony. He slides it onto the desk surface, and speaks up for the first time.* "Here, your preferred pen, safe and sound. No need to ransom the rest of my sanity for it."
Nettie *plucks her pen back up and twirls it with a sweet grin.* "Some girls' just wanna watch the world burn, Skelly." *She ends with a playful theatrical wink. It pulls an amused huff from his chest. A corny batman reference is more reassuring than anything he would have expected in this linoleum purgatory.*
#simon ghost riley#cod mw2#ghost cod#original character#sassy receptionist#cod fanfic#simon riley fanfic#bad fanfiction#fanfic ideas#one shot#She has a light cockney accent#Amy Winehouse vibes#I think Ghost would go for pinup hotties#call of duty
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