lostinsideourminds - Tumblr blog

lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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Scars and all

"You gotta be kidding, Si. You got this one from your rookie days?"

He hums in agreement. Your finger traces the scar that divides his eyebrow, warm and kind. He can count with one hand the times he's felt that kind of touch in all his life. You sigh, pressing your lips together.

"And this one?" You ask, following the line across his left cheek. He grins, making his dimples show.

"Bar fight."

You shake your head, frowning at him with poorly hidden amusement. "I'm not even surprised."

He hugs you closer, getting your bodies flush against each other and tracing circles on your back. He sighs, closing his eyes and letting you explore the map of his skin. Your thumbs press against his dimples briefly, making him laugh.

"What is this one from?" You trace the scar across his lower lip that goes down to his chin. He gets distracted from your question when you get closer and kiss it.

"I..." he tries, willing his brain to concentrate. "Mission in Russia, I think. Knife."

You hum, kissing it again and completely erasing any thought in his mind.

Your hands move to his hairline, touching a thick scar that outlines almost half of the top of his forehead. He knows you're frowning, even if he isn’t looking at you.

"Don’t ask."

He feels you tense slightly, but you do as he says. With how smart you are, he's sure you figured out what that one is from. But you don’t say anything, and he silently thanks you.

Instead, you touch his nose and trace a line that goes across the bridge of it. You kiss it too. It sends shivers down his spine, he doesn’t think he can answer now even if he tries.

"This one?" You whisper. He can feel your face almost touching his. He swallows.

"I-I'm not sure." He answers instead, not actually even stopping to think. You chuckle.

"Make something up then."

He can't make something up. He can barely remember his name now, with your hands moving down to his shoulders. He's not even looking at you.

"Maybe..." he takes a deep breath, "I broke it?" He tries, even though of course it's been broken before and you know that. You giggle, squeezing his arms slightly.

"You're shit at storytelling."

He actually is not, but do you really expect him to function fully when you're touching him?

He's not wearing a shirt, and it was fine until you press your palms right at his chest. He squeezes your shirt between his fingers, trying to ground himself. He can feel his entire body getting hotter.

"Gunshot?" You ask, outlining a round scar in the middle of his right pec, close to his nipple. He shudders, nodding. He's silently praying that you won’t- fuck.

He almost bolts out of the bed when you press your lips against it. And he will deny it until he dies, but he yelps too. You giggle against his chest, setting his nerves on fire. His breaths are starting to quicken.

Everything is warm and soft. Your skin, the sheets, your clothes. He's covered in softness that he's not familiar with. He'd do anything to not let go, afraid of even opening his eyes again and all of it banishing.

"Answer me," you order him softly.

Wh-what was the question?

"Y-yes," he replies, even though he can't remember what he's answering to. He just hopes it makes sense, that you don’t notice he's saying it just to please you. He'll say no if you prefer, whatever you want. Whatever you need.

"You sure?"

You're teasing, he knows that. Of course he's not sure, he can barely think with you two pressed so close together.

"A-ask me something else," his voice shakes slightly, making his face go red. He's sure his chest looks the same.

"Okay," you accept. "But open your eyes first."

Taking a deep breath, he does. Your beautiful face greets him, soft and welcoming, loving. He almost wants to squirm with how intensely you're looking at him.

Your hands move lower, down to his abdomen. He squeezes his muscles involuntarly, making you chuckle. His face goes even redder.

Your fingers follow a line that goes from the middle to his right flank, and when you kiss it, his eyes burn a little bit. He's almost hyperventilating, overwhelmed by your attention.

"How old is this one?"

He remembers that one clearly, if only because he had met you not too long before it happened. When he had seen you again, it was with bandages covering it and stitches keeping it together. He never told you, and still, you had treated him so gently he had figured you knew. Turns out it was just you being you.

When he whispers his answer, your head snaps up to his level. He sees you figure it out, how the realization comes to your eyes. But you don’t say anything again, and instead press your lips against his.

You didn't touch even half of his scars, but he's sure you know them by memory. He'd pour out every single story if you asked, make up something if he didn't remember. He'd do anything for you, give you everything you desire. He's just lucky it's him you want, scars and all.

"You're so beautiful, Simon."

He swallows your words just as he keeps kissing you, but his dimples show again and his face stays red for a while.

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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“Love and war breed death, Simon.”

He paused, and for a moment all that could be heard was their breaths.

“You need to let this go, let me go.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Been doing some COD oc art! He’s my BABY I love him <333

#cod #call of duty #modern warefare ii #cod mwf2 #my ocs #oc artwork #cod oc #call of duty oc #modern warefare oc #my art #digital art #art #oc art

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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A L𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 H𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖠 𝖲𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖥𝖺𝖼𝖾)

Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Synopsis: It wasn’t often that the OP went wrong, not after all the planning and hours spent pouring over logistics and floor plans, but the darkness often holds unforeseen powers that wait in the shadows to strike. As a result, you end up injured, and Ghost doesn’t take it lightly, his concern mutilated into a body of rage.

Warnings: gender not mentioned, injury, canon-typical violence, blood, gore, reader is injured, insecurity, self-doubt, slight angst

Words: 2633

Notes: my first ghost fic. just tryna get the feel of writing such a complicated man.

call of duty masterlist

If your eyes weren't so heavy, you might have come to appreciate how light flickers across Ghost's dark irises. They're a pretty dark blue, almost black in the shadows that skimper across them, with flakes of silver breathing life into the soulless window. His long ashen eyelashes are sprinkled with black from his eye makeup, fluttering gently as he blinks.

His stare, however, is anything but gentle. Instead, they pierce you, digging beneath your skin to unravel every secret bound in life's coil. Yet, despite his unrelenting eyes, emotions hide behind the cracked veneer of his facade and let you peek at the ever-boiling concern in his chest whenever your gaze is diverted to him.

The tension is palpable, like a tightrope walker balancing precariously between the safety of their starting point and the unknown depths below them. Every movement could shift them off balance, and the slightest misstep could mean disaster. You attempt to swallow the taste of apprehension as it lingers in the air, your stomach twisting into knots.

The cabin groans, its creaky walls offering you no reprieve from the constant whistling of the trees and the slashing of rain against the dingy pain. You didn't dare to move, worried that the slightest twitch was the very thing to crumble away the safety net the stillness had provided you from Ghost. You didn't dare look at him, but you could feel the dark waves riddled with anger roll off him, drowning you in its smoldering intensity.

After all, it's your fault that you're both here.

You didn't see the bullet fly or its infamous wizz as it tore like a wild animal through the tissue in your thigh, embedding itself in your muscle. Initially, the gut-wrenching agony you were promised never arrived nor impeded your ability to move as you shot him down and continued to move up the floors, hostile after hostile, falling victim to your violence. It wasn't until the area was cleared that the beginnings of hot ice began to flood your veins, spreading down your leg like a paralyzing sickness. You stumbled, bolts of lightning splintering up your entire leg. Only when a deafening droplet of blood met the reflective, white floor, splattering over the tile, did both you and Ghost finally address your injury.

Get in, retrieve the package, and get out. That was the brief, in layman's terms, that Laswell had given you not even a day ago. An assignment you had done hundreds of times before. It was all going well, the task force working and adapting to every new command or plan alteration as you and Ghost cleared floor by floor. Synchronization was embedded into every call-out to ensure everything ran smoothly. A perfect plan, too simple to mess up. That's what ran through the floating, gloomy clouds of your thoughts until you failed to notice a soldier engulfed by the buildings shadows, his body fluid with the darkness, his hands grappled on a weapon of death's design. You were preparing to trek the next flight of stairs, your legs heavy with the constant climbing as Ghost radioed Price. A man, the one who proclaimed his life to the cover of despair, took aim at your unaware figure.

You almost wished you didn't, from how the angry, gory flesh flayed outwards from the intrusion, grappling to your blood-stained pants. Your hand had fumbled to the spot, blood spewing from between your fingers in your attempt to stop the bleeding. Ghost's eyes grew large, his dark pupils engulfing the humanity in his vision.

The next part was a blurry, nauseating mess of the rest of the force descending into a frenzied, discoordinated chaos of too many bullets and bodies for a stealth OP as you dragged yourself out of the building and to the nearest safe house. Ghost was quick to comm Price on your condition, despite your admittedly weak protests that it was nothing to waste time on. He didn't take your assessment of your condition very well.

At first, the pain was nothing more than a pang that migrated down your leg, bearable for the time being. It's when you enter the forest, shock and adrenaline having run their course, that you all but collapse in white-hot agony, black spots obscuring your vision. Ghost is at your side before you can blink to drag you the rest of the way to the location. He doesn't give you a chance to resist his effort; his firm grip a reminder that you are in no position to argue.

A steady trail of blood, thick with the poison of age, left behind proof of your borrowed time, of death's notorious hand perched at your door, ready, waiting. She's been a constant shadow in the corners of every room, a fleeting wisp, a reminder of your constant flirting. And as you often toy with her, death knocks now and again, beckoning you on the verge of your demise to turn the door handle. But, no matter how sweetly she calls to bring you salvation from the torture the mortal world offers, the hand that touches the knob only does so with innocent curiosity, never with the firm expectation of your end. So when soft knocks echo in an incessant, dizzying pitch, beckoning you towards the void of black, you had half a mind to let her in.

The safe house Price instructed you to lay low in for the night had blended in with the rustling leaves of the trees that skimmed its roof, the forest around you offering Mother Nature's hospitality. It had been by luck alone that a storm brewed during your trek to the cabin and released its continents over the mud, washing away the tracks of your presence. However, neither you nor Ghost could have anticipated the temperature drop, your joints creaking with every body-rattling shiver that rolled over your back in frigid waves. You were chilled to the point where your skin was numb to the touch.

With your clothes drenched, your vest tried to push you into the slug clinging to your boots so much so that Ghost practically carried your limping form to the front door, your body clinging to the deliriousness of blood loss as he let you clasp the wall for support. Even though it's a safe house, Ghost still checks the cabin, weaving in and out of your narrow sightline while darkness creeps at the edges of your vision. The pain has intensified tenfold, your ragged breathing foreign to even you as a loose hand covers the bullet's entry point. It seems like hours before he beckons you in.

The place was a tiny thing, no more than a single bedroom and bath. The wood floorboards shrieked under each footfall, your blood matching the pitter-patter of the rain as it dripped on the floor. Only seconds later, the blood in your leg turned to lead and crumpled beneath your weight. He caught you at the last second, his sturdy hands gripping your flesh to lower you into a more comfortable position against the splintering wood.

Ghost moved to a cabinet, yanking out the first aid kit and returning to your side in a blur. Within seconds, he had it open and out of its bag, spilling its contents onto the ground and allowing him to search through the various bottles and tools. Before you knew it, he had gathered the items needed and was back at your side, cutting the fabric of your pants away. He functioned with an intensity and purpose that you'd never seen before. His motions were a whirlwind, the vigor of his focus never wavering as he worked to stave off the flow of your life from spilling further from your veins, his calloused hands operating with a gentleness that belied their strength. He had seen enough death to know the importance of time, his hands a haze of action as he fought to save you from the same fate.

You were grateful for the thunderous downpour of rain that stomped at any chance of stillness because now, more than ever, you didn't want to fall victim to the eerie quiet that would have surely settled over you if not for the storm. Yet Ghost doesn't seem to mind it, his hands making quick work over your thigh with sharp pokes of the needle pulling your skin back together. His fingers flex over your convulsing leg, keeping you steady while he finishes up. You watch him, pupils flitting over his hands speckled in white raises, occasionally observing the movement of his stare over the injury.

You bit back every cry of agony as his fingers dug and weaved into the fiber of your being, your blood becoming his second skin. He wouldn't admit it, but his chest ached at the sight of you hunched over, your chest heaving with labored breaths as you fisted your shirt in an effort to ground yourself. Anyone could tell how much pain you were in even without the whimpers that slipped from your lips, and he moved faster, his hands working meticulously to ease the pain.

With the urgency of your injury out of the way, there's the heat of the silent rage emanating from his build as he finishes up, wrapping gauze around it, your lungs burning with the thickness of the anticipation that permeates your senses. You refuse to move to address the silence you are suffocating in.

It's now, your eyes fighting sleep attempts, that you take notice of him, all of him. Even his eyes which carry a callous fury.

"That was fuckin stupid, Dove." You briefly recognize the use of your call sign, hungover from the cold bite in his words hurled at you.

"I know." Your voice lacks its usual conviction, crushed, ground into fucking ashes by the weight of your failure.

"You were supposed to clear the room," he continued, a low growl punching from the depths of his vocal cords. "How the fuck could you have missed him?"

If exhaustion, blended with regret and doubt, wasn't creeping in the back of your mind like a morning fog, maybe then you would have recognized the cruelty he carried in his speech was brought from a place of concern but expressed in a seeming ice bath of bitter wrath. His words are laced with contempt and scorn, every syllable dripping with acidic pessimism, shredding your heart with the thousands of knives he plunges into your chest. It's as if all he sees in you is your incompetence, your inexperience. Whether accurate or not, the unspoken words he appears to telepathically send to you- to recognize what he is truly trying to convey under his hardened exterior, fall flat.

Your downturned gaze is the only indication you heard him.

"Can't bloody believe you could fuck up so badly."

The rain screeches outside.

"'M sorry." The wobble in your pupils must indicate the weakness that permeates you and drowns you in a sea of doubt. The notch in his throat bobs for a moment as he sighs through a flared nose.

His razor-sharp stare roves over you as if searching for something. His throat is choked with words of vulnerability. His mind battles against his heart, the beating organ demanding to let you in, to wipe the chest-crushing look of guilt and cleanse your blood-stained consciousness of regret. His mind, however, the very thing that kept him alive, kept him from a deeper, more excruciating pain emotions offer him, urges him to pull away before he can fall to his knees in front of your altar of his design; to protect Simon and him from what will be his destined demise.

He settles on the middle ground and huffs, an indigent sound muffled by the balaclava. "You're better than this."

You can only swallow the wad of failure and spit in your throat in hopes of erasing the fragility that takes shape in mortar and stone to build up the damaged mask of strength and confidence you once clung to. You nod your head, your tongue too heavy for anything else.

"Don't do that shit again, ya' hear me?" It's a coarse murmur coming from his strained vocal cords, but softer, delicate even. Two fingers tap against the meat of your cheek, tilting your head while your eyes roam over the shell of his pupils. Only then does his hardened shell seem to melt, breaking down brick by brick to reveal a whisper of the man underneath, Simon Riley.

His finger grazes the outline of a scar next to your lips as his body shifts into an emotion akin to tenderness. A subtle scatter of shadows in the far reaches of his gaze holds an unspoken understanding, despite the walls of silence he has built around himself. It was as if he could see the turmoil raging within you, insecurities and remorse crashing into each other as violently as the storm outside.

"Could have died today," he huffs, low and ruff.

"I know," it's a soft murmur, acknowledging the fragility of your life, of the threat the job poses. He releases a low exhalation in response, his attention shifting to the dark corners of the dinghy cabin, lingering there for a second. Then, he returns his focus to you once more.

"Need to be more careful, yeah?" The soft pads of his hands meet your face in a gentle touch, a reminder of the blood that flows beneath the flesh, of the pulse in your skin. Your eyes flutter close, the feeling of bliss blossoming beneath his fingertips. It's all the acknowledgement he needs, knowing too well the loss of any real words. They fell a moment later.

Ghost moves silently next to you, his body your only hope of warmth to combat the frigidness of the night. He's warm, you realize, and a benevolent gooey feeling builds from the pit of your stomach. It's easy- too easy- to fall into the trap of wishful thinking, to hope for a friendship more intimate than the bond you already share with the lines so blurred. Your hope, which very well might be misguided, makes your heart beat impossibly faster at the possibility that he might share an inkling of the intimate attraction you feel.

Your limbs are weighed down by sleeps caress, the pain in your leg now subdued to a constant throb. It's easy to forget about the events that transpired today when sleep beckons you so dearly it feels impossible not to give in.

"Sleep." It's a simple, short command, yet it carries the promise of his protection. It's supposed to ease you and make you feel safe, knowing he will protect you from the dangers of the night, and it works. Your head falls to his shoulder, and Ghost, seemingly anticipating the contact, lets you. You don't have the mental fortitude to dwell on the implications of his actions. Only accept them for what they are. The rain, his warmth, and the promise of safety all ease you into the oblivion where dreams and nightmares dwell, and instead of them spitting you out like most nights you seek rest, they never reach you, not with Simon next to you.

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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about someone, that isn't you

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader

wc: 3.1k warnings: angst. injured reader. whump. happy ending. blood. feelings. jo-angst. summary: memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them away—finding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull.

He finds you in the centre of dust and debris.

You’re painted in scarlet, lying boldly in off-cream ruin. And his heart hurls itself into his ribs—stopping, painfully halting its thump as he takes you in.

You with your eyes open, you’re searching and seeking—lips parted as you gasp and groan. Your hands shakily smother the wound. The hole pierced into you, allowing carmine to flow past your trembling fingers.

The sight such a contrast to yesterday.

When you'd not stopped smirking, laughing, being.

The sand had whipped across your face, and your eyes had glimmered and shone. Almost brighter than the rising sun.

His ink-surrounded eyes watched as you took in the start of the new day, trying to hold back your amazement until you turned, and stared directly at him. Piercing into him with a shade so beautiful, he wasn’t sure there could be a name.

Dense, hefty, unsaid words pulsed in time with the breeze running through the sand. Ones that had been forming for weeks, months.

The mountainside cave you’re both holed in casting you both in slithers of light and shadow. Making your smile closer to a smirk.

Just tell her. Just tell her. Just tell her.

Ghost wishes they were back there.

Desperately wishes it. Wanting life to have a button, one he could slam his gloves fist into—forcing it to restart like a last checkpoint as if this were a game and not real life.

But this is real.

The crimson soaking your hands, wrist and vest is proof of it. Your whimpers are more stacked evidence, layering their pitches on top of one another to create a sound that grates—that he’ll never be able to rid.

It makes his mask cling to his mouth, all claggy and tight—claustrophobic. Worsening as the seconds drag into a full minute.

He knows you’ve lost too much. Ghost doing the maths while Simon begins preparing himself, knowing if he doesn’t move, you’ll be gone, lost to fate and bad choices—ripped from his hands.

Then your eyes find him.

Even in desperation—you dig your metaphorical heels into staying awake, present and alive. Your eyes are full of fire, of fight. Beckoning him, willing him to move closer. It awakens him, kicking the battle instincts in, forcing him over.

He knows if you succumb, you’ll leave a crack in him.

Steal and rip a shred of him, a part which isn’t even truly whole, but whole enough. The thought slides around his emotional instincts, the ones swirling. The ones which are so deeply ingrained inside of him, that he’ll do damage to himself if he tries to unweave them. You did that. Threaded yourself throughout him, clinging to scars—both figurative and literal—holding him up, and wrapping around his organs.

You don’t know it. He’s never told you. Never planned on telling you that.

Now, he wants to spit it at you. Clutch you by the straps of your best and burn you with it. Just like you’d burnt him.

Instead, he takes your hand, watching you watching him. Almost poetic, haunting—sharing a conversation with no spoken words as he grips your fingers tighter. A gesture, a motion.

“I need to look.”

His gloved hand smothers it, feeling it sticky with red, as the other tilts your chin—watching as your eyes go heavy, struggling to fix on him. Memories of moments he’s imagined, where he touches you like this, but you’re not swimming in cherry-red.

Memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them away—finding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull.

He stares all the same, hoping with enough sheer determination he can will you to make a noise or stare more purposefully.

“You hear me…?”

It’s brief, but there’s a nod.

And, while his eyes didn’t need to see it to know it was bad—it is bad. Placing your hand back, wishing to wrench his glove free and feel your warmth against his skin. Just once. Having carried you in his chest for so long, and to not know how soft you feel—to only imagine.

“G-Ghost…”

“I know.”

He feels it between his thumb and middle finger, the sob which rears its head past your lips. Slowly sliding a hand down your side until he’s tilting you, shifting you—his ears tuning into a groan that morphs into a scream. It ricochets around his skull, and vibrates through and around his cranial nerves, until all he can taste is your pain.

Through and through.

It’s something, but not everything.

Slowly tilting you back, resting you in the place you’ve found comfort in—letting his eyes stare over the rest of you. He takes in the swelling in your face, how your helmet is gone—hair in disarray. He notices how your foot is twisted, the boot likely keeping everything in place for now. Ghost also notices the rest of the blood—the amount which has soaked your lap and thigh, knowing it isn’t yours, but hating the sight of it all the same.

“Listen t’me,” he says gruffly, taking your chin again, watching your lashes flutter all heavy and difficult. “Need t’get you to the safe house. Then can radio for evac.”

“Can’t… walk…”

He knows.

Can tell that more than you can. His teeth bite down on the inside of his cheek, staring at you, watching your eyes go from open to fluttering closed.

“I know, I got you.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yes, sergeant.”

You mumble something. Low and muffled by the sound of his heartbeat.

It’s surprising how soft skin is.

Especially yours.

He hadn’t noticed initially, too intent on cleaning and suturing—on keeping you alive. Then, when he’d slid you onto your back, his palm had brushed over your cheek.

Now, he waits. His mask and gloves gone, thrown on the counter, just waiting for the next time you manage to open your eyes. Not that he’ll put them back on.

If he gets the chance to watch you wake, he wants you to see him—all of him. The scars which litter his face. The shit cut he’d tried to give himself—the myriad of shades that make up his lashes and hair colour.

Simon missed your voice. Something he wouldn’t ever admit, even under duress.

He hadn’t known a lot until he thought he’d almost lost it all. Not that he’s out of the woods. The smile you send him, the smirk—the light, playful jabs and understanding nods. Mostly, he missed how you felt like a comfort, when he didn’t understand what comfort was.

It had pelted him the moment you had stopped talking to him. Bludgeoned him somewhere between the first mile and the second. He’d tried to ignore how you’d gone limp, how your head rolled back against the crease of his bicep and shoulder. Focusing instead on imagining you’re simply asleep—tired and bored.

If not for your chest rising and falling, he’d have lost it.

But it kept him sane. The slow rise which stuttered before it fell.

Truthfully, he had suspected you’d have passed out earlier, when he first moved you. It was your surprising determination that made you hold on, murmuring nonsense he couldn’t understand. When weak fingers tried to grip his vest when he pulled you close to him.

Talk. Blink. Do something.

You’d tapped, twice.

Eyes slowly unfurled from being clenched, fingers sliding to the chin of his mask. Tapping again.

You good? P-Pain.

And he knew. Could only imagine how much.

It broke him a little bit, that one word on the puff of breath you’d struggled to find. It made him ache and wish all over again—that he’d never split up from you, that he’d been quicker, that he’d realised sooner that his side was empty and that they were all drawn to you.

His wrist still throbbed from puncturing necks. Not wanting to shoot, to make them panic—make them reckless and stick bullets in you. But they’d stuck one in, all the same—the fucking cowards.

The last soul he had in his grip when he found you, wouldn’t be recognisable. His knuckles are proof of that—feeling them bruising.

It’s in the final mile to the safe house does he realise he’s not any better.

He’s a coward, afraid.

Because your eyes had held his, shining brighter than the sun as you leaned against the mountainside. You looked like you always did—good enough to kiss. Feeling the gravitation to you, the notable pull. It would have been easier to close the gap, to slide his mask up than spend the energy he did on keeping away.

He did, though.

Just like he hadn’t at the last set of drinks when your lips were wet with beer and you’d smiled at him like he was the only person in the place. He wasn’t—not by a long shot—but you made him feel like it. A sensation so rare it made his body warm up several degrees.

There had been plenty of chances, plenty he thinks you’d have reciprocated.

Just like when he pulled you to his chest, a horrid moan leaving your throat as your hand gripped your wound—fingers weakly trying to find his neck. He could feel it, the silent plea—the last-wish you wanted to express, because you thought you’d never get the chance again. Fear and love concocting in a potion which stung the edges of his eyes and made you cling on.

But, you lived. He’d got you here. Used the knowledge he had of combat medical care to do enough to get you stable. To keep you with him.

To watch your eyes now flutter and blink. A whisper and a groan sliding from your tongue, sounding like ‘Ghost’—but he couldn’t be sure.

Convinced it was a trick of the mind. A hopeful wish.

He knelt against the floorboards, making them groan, finding your eyes half-open, panic and something else twisting across your jaw and mouth.

“You’re okay—we’re at the safe house.”

“Hurts… really h-urts.”

He slides his fingers through yours, feeling it again—soft skin, your soft skin.

It’s quiet. You’re quiet. Eyes finding him, carving over each element of his maskless face. He swears he sees you smile—brief and quickly vanished, but there for a second.

It’s all falling down.

His walls keep you safe. His shields keep you out. All of it being placed down the longer he holds your hand—the longer his knee presses against your thigh on the floor. The more he spends staring into your eyes. Slowly unravelling until he’s left with feelings and regret.

“W-w—“

“Don’t… don’t talk, alright? It’ll be soon. Real soon. Hold on for me.”

Hold on to me.

You nod. Brief and direct—the image of the perfect soldier. His eyes fall to your wound, to the bandage that is already stained. He notices the smears, the dried markings across your abdomen left by his poor cleaning.

It had stained his fingers too, his forearms. He’d tried to clean it from his skin, tried to rid your blood from his own—but you’d clung to him as desperately as you were currently doing so to life.

He blinked, staring back up to your face, finding your eyes closed and breaths minimal. No gasping, no wincing—but low, short breaths.

“You still wit’ me?”

Silence.

Nothing.

Yet, your fingers remained wrapped in his.

He’s told you’ll make it when you’re wheeled from his view. The news you had arrived to him from Johnny’s tongue.

He says nothing, making the sergeant's face scrunch when he doesn’t react—offering a nod, turning back to the report. Dismissing him. Needing solitude and thick discomfort.

Time ticks, the hands of the clock loud and annoying. They tick until they tock, they tock until they tick—and then he throws the pen. Hearing it crack, splinter into shards of plastic in the corner.

He tastes it again—your pain. It haunts him, lingering in the back of his throat—a concoction of iron and something bitter. Knowing, deep down, there’s little to rid it.

But, he pulls open the bottom drawer of his desk—pulling out two glasses and a bottle filled with amber. The light catches it, shining through the murky contents, until it gleams when he pours one out.

Ghost ensures the other glass remains an ornament, a reminder.

What’s this? A gift. Usually to make someone happy. Why? Because people do that sometimes. Plus, last time you made me drink out a mug. This doesn’t change ‘nything. ‘Course it doesn’t, Riley. Why would it?

He drains his glass. Letting it burn his oesophagus and light a fire in his lungs. The taste clings, sticking itself into his throat—merging with the taste he’s come to know as hell.

When we’re back from this next mission, you’re gonna pour me one into one of your new glasses and you’re gonna say, ‘you did good’. Y’sure of that? Positive.

He stares at the empty glass. The one untouched and left without the gleam of amber.

If the news had been different, he’s not sure it would be intact. Whether he’d be intact. If there would be as many shards of glass as there is plastic. Whether there’d be pieces of him across his office floor, mask in tatters, soul in shambles.

Something having pulsed and unfurled, slowly coming undone in the Heli back to base. A confirmation, acknowledgement, that something you-shaped had woven in passed his walls.

You didn’t belong there, but he’d done very little to rid you from him. Liking you there—likely having you.

People assumed very little terrified him, when in fact it was normality that filled him with fear. The idea of wanting and having. Ideas of Sunday mornings and bags of chips at the beach.

You especially made him weak at the knees—a threat that could be exploited if anyone were to put the pieces together. How you made his heart stutter, and blood rush to places it shouldn’t—filling his head with the possibilities of looking at stars and waking up for sunrises.

He pours another glass and drowns it. Shoving the bottle away before he considers a third.

And then he waits an hour to visit.

Secretly, he hopes to find you asleep, resting. Able to sit in silence and listen to breathing that isn’t struggled or desperate.

Ghost isn’t sure he has words to say or honesty to share—his body tired, mind frayed. Both running on fumes as the adrenaline and worries had slowly worn off.

Of course, he finds you not asleep.

If anything, Ghost is sure you’re going against all medical advice by sitting up. Your eyes land on him immediately, almost widening and warming as you take him in. As though you’d been hopefully expecting him.

You shift, pulling the blanket up a little higher—smoothing it out across your stomach as if trying to hide what he’s already seen. What is already memorised, difficult to rid.

In the bed, you look small when he’s so used to seeing you mighty. While you appear frail, he still bets you’d try to take down most soldiers. Your unwillingness to bend is the first thing he noticed in you. Your sheer determination is the second.

Walking to your bedside, his heart lurches when you wince, even if you’re quick to reach for him, beckoning him closer as he moves on demand.

The chair lightly protests as he sinks into it, the small metal legs desperate to give out under his size as he slides his hand free from his glove. Just like in the cabin.

This time he receives a smile. Soft and sweet—almost delicate. One you give so easily, and always to him when battle and war isn’t in your sight.

He knows it isn’t easy, not right now. Knows how much strength it’s taking just to stay awake, to sit up in the way you are, to speak and smile.

But you’re safe. Breathing. Alive.

Something blooming inside of him in place usually covered in shadows and demise. Your fingers tighten around his, tilting your head as he surveys—taking in the curve of your cheeks and the bow of your lips. And you feel safe and dangerous all at once. A puzzle, one he wants to commit to his mind and only pretend to undo, because he likes you mysterious.

He likes knowing the things he does, and knowing he’ll learn more if you stick around.

“I’m okay.”

He swallows, shifting the lump which had formed back in the sand. The one that had grown hour by hour, which had been accelerated by stained red and silence. Only now shrinking as you gripped him as tight as you were able to.

You nod, as if you can read his thoughts—as if there’s a transcript being read to you. Then you repeat those two words again, allowing them to slide through his ears.

“I’m—“

“You’re okay,” he repeats, low, just for you.

The silence, more comfortable than before, blankets the two of you. The soft beep of the machine behind you, the idle drip of saline.

It’s so quiet it allows his thoughts to spin. To begin to run around a wheel as they spin a mixture of poison, truth and gold.

You squeeze his hand, firmer than he’s felt since he first did it.

And he lets it fall from his tongue, let it kiss your ears as he drops his masked chin to his chest. “‘m glad you’re alive.”

He feels heavy, even if it’s a partial confession. Feels more begin to weigh on him, regret washing with doubts until they spin and spin—

“Good,” you whisper.

Words forcing his head up, finding yours already on him. Desperately slicing through his walls, past his mask until you drown in his soul.

He lets you. Has done for a while. Let’s you bask in prolonged eye contact and bathe what could be. But, it’s the first time he sinks into the waters himself.

Licking your lips, dragging the tip over your split and cracked skin. “Won’t be mad that I plan on sticking around to bother you some more then?”

“No. Don’t mind at all.”

You shift, wiggling further away as you tug him. It’s weak, barely enough to move his wrist, never mind his body. But, he shifts from the seat all the same, allowing you to think you’re dragging him beside you on the bed.

It’s tight. It’s not made for two people, never mind him being one of them. Yet, he tries to lie beside you—cautious of your ankle, your hip. He finds the scent of army soap greeting him from your hair and an elbow close to his ribs.

It’s not until you both stop moving, does he realise your hand is in his. Palm pressed against palm. Fingers tightening around him.

Then, your head lies against his shoulder. Similar to when he’d carried you when you’d been closer to death than alive. Now, it’s the other way—a funny callback, a reminder of the difference a day makes.

“Did I do good?”

He tenses, turning his head slowly as he finds you half-smirking.

“You almost fuckin’ died.”

“Almost is important in that sentence.”

He says nothing. Cupping your fingers closer as he tightens the hold, almost wanting to feel your pulse through your fingers—even if he can feel your breath dancing over his mask.

“You know what I’d like?”

He grunts, feeling you snort at the sound of it. “Here w’fuckin’ go.”

You nudge him. Barely a poke, barely a sharp pinch. But he smiles. In his half-smile-way, he feels himself do when he's with you.

Something which is usually hidden by his mask. Now on full display.

“When my lips are better… I’d like you to kiss me.”

He flips his eyes open, not daring to move, unsure if you can hear how his heart thunders or whether it’s in his head.

“Yeah?” he says.

You nod. Brief and direct—just like a well-taught fucking soldier.

He lets your head find that spot again, the crease of his shoulder as you take a deeper breath. Knowing, on the surface, he’s not felt the way he does about someone that isn’t you, keeping hold of your hand, sliding his thumb over your skin.

Your soft skin.

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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Some of y’all need to start TAGGING YOUR POSTS CORRECTLY

I got on this app to cool off some steam from stress with fluffy little posts of my comfort characters. Like 3k words into this AMAZING story comes out the most kinkiest smut scene ever!

Enjoy what you want to enjoy but dear god, please put smut and kink warnings BEFORE the story starts 😭

#writerscommunity #ghost #mw2 #writer problems #idk what tags to use

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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"Your eyelashes are really white."

Simon can feel his entire face heat up, and he guesses it's gone red too when you giggle. He can barely think with how close you are, how your entire attention is on him. He doesn’t know how to handle it, he's not used to this.

Do you like them? He wants to ask. Do you like them? They're for you. All of me is yours, if you want.

But he doesn't, and instead just basks in the heat of your touch. Your eyes wander all over his face, shining with awe that he doesn't get. He's not going to question it though, he's not stupid.

"Do you paint them too, when you put on your face paint?"

He blinks a few times, trying to search for an answer that will satisfy you, that will keep you looking at him like that. He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear the fog you've created inside his brain.

"Not on purpose," he mutters softly. You're so beautiful, he can't stop looking at you. He feels something heavy and plush grow inside his chest, fueled by the weight of you on top of his legs. He still can't believe he gets to have you on his lap.

"Does that mean you have a bicolor eyelash now and then?'

He chuckles, but it's breathless. He probably does, he had never thought about it, but who cares? Nothing really matters to him if you're near.

You care though. You seem to care about him a lot.

"Maybe," he whispers, caressing your thighs up and down with both hands. You smile at him, weaving your fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes briefly, smiling without meaning to.

"You have freckles too." He nods. His cheeks go red again, and you laugh for real this time. "Stop blushing, Si! You're making them disappear!"

He laughs too, embarrassed. You make him feel almost giddy, light. He's happy.

Your thumbs brush over the apple of his cheeks, tracing scars that right then, he doesn’t remember how he got. How could he, when your nose is almost touching his?

"You're really handsome, Si. Can see why you cover your face now, you'll cause a crash with that jaw."

He squeezes your legs softly. It's almost too much, his chest feels almost too tight. You're filling him up with something sweet and syrupy that chokes him, that he doesn't know how to breathe through. "Stop."

But he says it so low that you must know he doesn’t mean it. You give him a soft smile as an answer, kissing the tip of his nose with equally soft lips that he dreams of covering with his own.

Objectively speaking, he knows he's good looking, but it didn’t matter to him before you. To know you like that part of him too makes him warm inside, even more so when he acknowledges that you liked him well before knowing his face.

"Your hair is pretty too," you comment, like your words aren’t sending an earthquake all over his insides. Your fingers brush through it, sending shivers down his spine when they graze his skin. He tries to repress them, doesn’t want to scare you. "How do you even have it this soft?"

"Must be the mask," he answers, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

"Maybe I'll start using one too, if it gets my hair this pretty."

He shakes his head immediately, wrapping his arms around you so he can pull you closer. You're pliant, let him move you this way and that. His entire body heats up.

"No?" You softly ask, stopping your moves. He nudges you with his head like a cat, and you resume them. "Why not? We can match."

Because your face is not one that should be hidden. He's selfish, but even he can admit that covering your beautiful face would be a crime.

"I won't be able to see you," he answers just as he buries his face in your chest. He closes his eyes, and breathes in. He's home.

He feels you shake your head, still playing with the curls that are starting to form with how long his hair is getting.

"But I see you, don't I?"

You do. You do.

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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Seraphim [Ghost x Reader]

Summary: You help Ghost relax after an arduous and stressful mission away.

Wordcount: 817 words

Warnings: Fluff, Vague Implications/Mentions of Smut (Nothing Explicit or Shown), just two people in Love :-(((, No Pronouns used for Reader except for 'You'.

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Much like the rest of him, even Simon's hair had seemed to have grown hard - rigid - while he was away. That much was apparent to you as you raked your fingers through it, stitching shampoo through the strands.

"You're too good to me," he sighed, sinking a little deeper into the lavender water, soap suds keeping him modest. His eyes would squeeze shut whenever you found his sweet spot - behind the ears, the reason you called him your "Big Puppy", your "Guard dog."

"You deserve the world, Simon." Your words caught on the steam, sang a soft tune to the man who, like many times before, was rebuilding himself beneath your touch. "And if this is all I can do to bring it closer to your hands, then I'd do it for all the eternities the Universe will allow."

Simon's eyes cracked open, and, sensing the shift in his tone, you lowered your hands to the water, shampoo slipping from your fingers into the cauldron of aroma, and placed them upon his shoulders. His muscles were still tense, his senses tender, his mind raw.

You smiled.

"You've done more than I can ever reward you for," Simon said, and, with a sea serpent hand, he placed his palm atop your fingers, collected them like bird bones, and brought them to his lips. He kissed your knuckles, the chap of his lips disguised behind water, much like the water that gathered in his eyes.

"I don't want recompense, Simon," you said, softly. Your eyes grew doleful. Empathic. "All I want," you leaned down, pressing a kiss to the suds in his hair, "and all I'll ever want," and another to the shell of his ear. Shivers broke out across his back, fledgling wings - Seraphim. "Is your love."

Simon's shoulders raised, and for a moment, your heart squeaked, wondering if he'd jump out the water. He did not, but he was damned close. Instead, his other hand came around your waist, wetting your shirt beneath his aqualine touch. He urged you closer, and you came closer, both thighs sat on the bath edge, the water's edge.

His eyes searched yours, for any trace of fallacy, of falsity, though he knew it was a wasted venture. For now, after having your love palpable in his hands, to have felt your beating heart beneath his fingers during long evenings of just the two of you, he knew he had it. He possessed it, just as you did his. And yet, he searched for it in your gaze, every time he returned; to see if your love faltered when you saw him, to see if your pupils still blew wide whenever they fell upon him.

They did.

Just as they always had. Always would.

"You'll always have me." he said, pressing his face into your shirt, your stomach. He placed a muffled kiss there, and withdrew, looking up into your eyes. A puppy indeed. “Forever.” Simon's words were true. As was the glimmer in his eyes.

"Mind," he pulled you closer, his hand dropping to your hip, "body," he squeezed it, near making you squeal. He pulled you closer still, emerging from the waters, a Prince of the Sea meeting a Monarch of the Sun.

"And soul."

His lips found yours, a light in the dark, and you accepted him unto you. A Holy Spirit, a waiting disciple.

His lips were warm, all-encompassing, the condition of his skin becoming more apparent, rougher, as the water washed off him and onto you. You could taste how much he needed you, feel it in how tightly he pulled you to him, never letting go.

A fragment of eternity passed between you, cutting you loose. And as you pulled away, you pressed your forehead to his, desperately trying to show him the love and life you held for him there, a projector to display all that you could neither say, nor do, to compensate for all that you felt for him.

You smiled, eyes crinkling, half-moons.

"I think I prefer just the body," you said.

Ghost's cheeks lifted, his teeth showing as a laugh rumbled through his chest. He slipped another arm around you and, before you could comprehend, pulled you into the bath, making you squeal and water and suds to spill over the sides as he settled you beneath him.

"Well, then," he said, his consideration, his musings, utterly false, pre-determined. His hands held your wrists, bracelets of blood, bone and muscle. Of Man.

"I'll just have to show you how much this body loves yours."

And with a string of kisses from your ear to your throat, the bath became a mermaid's bed, the scent of lavender curating a scene from pure fantasy, of a love which permeated the very atmosphere, turned it sweet and reduced all hope that anything as pure could ever grasp it in its shaking, gripping, spectral fingers.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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there is a disgusting lack of Captain John Price fanfics on tumblr and this needs to be resolved immediately.

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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The fact that there is NOT ONE, BUT TWO scientists who are EXPERTS in fungi and epidemiology THROUGHOUT the show SAYING there is no possible cure, that it is not even possible to make it, no possible vaccines. This woman literally says bomb the whole country.

And STILL people choose to believe a mf doctor who I quote “thinks it could be a cure” with 2003 medical knowledge, probably fresh out of medical school when the outbreak happened AND with no proper facilities or even decent electricity. And people TRUST him to kill the only person (a minor, with no knowledge/consent from her own father, not even herself) who is immune (THE ONLY PERSON WHO IS IMMUNE) without doing any tests, even, because he wants to do THE IMPOSSIBLE. Something not even us, with our current technology and money, have found a way to do.

This so called “revolutionaries” (terrorists for some) took a child from her father then lied to her to kill her for a delusion they had, with no proof they actually could make a cure. Then told her father, this deeply bruised (at times violent) man, and hoped he would be alright with it?

Joel did the right thing. And any parent who loves their children (not you, absent daddies) would have done exactly the same

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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You can only reblog this today.

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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I feel like we all agree Din whimpers and begs, but have you ever thought of why?

I HAVE!!!

Y’know, because of his Creed and being alone for so long, he is obviously sensitive. So when he finds himself in intimate situations, he becomes a puddle, and I will stand by that!

Ain’t no way his eyes aren't fluttering at any minor brush of the hand or gentle touches to ANYWHERE on his body, As much as he would deny it.

#the mandalorian #i want him so bad #dick me down #din darjin x reader #din darjin #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #he could do anything he wanted #please

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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Writers brain rot is so real, I cannot stop making new stories about new characters rather than finish my other stories 💀

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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Okay hear me out on this one,

If the Mandalorian’s normal voice is Pedro Pascal’s bedroom voice…

What in the world is the Mandalorian’s bedroom voice?! I swear is corpse level

#the mandolarian #din darjin #the mandolorian #mando #din darjin x reader #mando x reader

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

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Jealous Hearts

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x gn!reader

Prompt: "Shut your fucking mouth". "Make me" Requested by @darlingyoureperfection I'm sorry this took so long I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: 18+. Angst. Fluff. Unprotected sex.

"What the fuck were you playing at!"

The door slams shut behind you, rattling the windows of the hotel room but you pay them no mind. Instead your furious gaze is fixed upon your partner who seems to be doing everything in his power not to meet it whilst he packs up the equipment .

"Relax sugar we got what we came for and got out in one piece, now I'd call that another successful mission."

Whiskey's nonchalant attitude has you spluttering in disbelief, eyes glaring holes in the back of his head as words gather like venom on your tongue.

"Successful? That - Whiskey - was a fucking shit show and you know it!"

Finally he spins to face you, eyes darkening from the way you spit his codename at him, a telltale sign that you're enraged with him. Ever since the two of you had become partners he'd always been Jack or if you were in a teasing mood, cowboy or old man. His codename only ever slipped out when you were stressed or pissed off. Tonight you were both.

"That sweetheart" He drawls mockingly as he struts towards you, invading your personal space to point a finger in your face. "Is what happens when you don't answer the comms."

How dare he try to blame this on you.

You shove his hand away from your face, stepping forward until you're almost nose to nose and you have to fight the urge to headbutt the infuriating expression off his face.

"How the hell was I supposed to get the job done with you rambling in my ear every two fucking seconds." You growl.

The mission had been going fine, everything had been going to plan until Whiskey had seemingly lost it. It should of been simple, the plan one you've both executed a thousand times before. Get in, find the target, pretend to be interested in said target until they lead you to where you want to be and you knock them out before swiping what you need.

See, easy.

And it had been, you and Whiskey had entered the lavish building dressed up to fit in with the target's select clientele and the two of you had charmed your way through the crowd until you'd reached the bar. It hadn't been long before your host had come looking for you, whispers of the mysterious and beautiful couple reaching their ears, eyes hungrily sweeping over you as you'd introduced yourselves much to your partner's dismay.

Dark eyes had watched you intensely, a pout on his plush lips and a frown that only deepened further the more your targets hands skimmed over your body. Their touches became bolder the more you laid on the charm and the drinks they'd knocked back seemed to remove any form of discretion, either that or they were just used to getting everything they wanted. You'd had to hide your snort as they'd slid a hand down your side, crooning in your ear.

"What do you say you and I go somewhere a bit more private hmm?" Their grin had made you feel dirty as they turned to your partner. "Your husband wouldn't mind surely, he seems like the type to share."

A dark look crossed Whiskey's eyes and if you hadn't been watching him so closely you'd have missed the way his fingers tightened ever so harshly around his drink but in a blink of an eye he was all charm, making you wonder if you'd truly seen anything at all.

"I'd never deny my love the pleasure." He'd winked. "As long as they're satisfied then so am I."

You couldn't help but frown slightly at the way his usual easy grin seemed strained but maybe that was just you projecting your own unease. No matter how many times these kind of missions came along you always had a moment of nervousness, multiple scenarios of what could go wrong flying through your head until you tighten the reins on your self control and slip back into a calm and calculative sense of mind.

You'd relaxed as your target had dragged you away and the moment your backs were turned the grin had slid off Whiskey's face, his lips twisting in a grimace as he fought the urge to rip their hands from your body and replace them with his own. His fingers drummed a quick rhythm on the bar top as he forced himself to wait until he could pursue without arousing suspicion and he'd drawn out his phone to watch impatiently as the mark from your tracker grew nearer towards the main office.

He'd growled slightly at that, no doubt your host wanted to show off, show how important and powerful they were but you deserved better. Deserved more than a quick fuck against a desk, even though Whiskey had imagined taking you against the one in his office more times than he cared to admit, you deserved the entire world and he was desperate to give it to you if only you'd look at him as more than your partner.

An old fool can dream, he'd sighed, knocking back his drink and peeling himself from the bar as your tracker finally entered the office. He'd began to make his way to you, walking slowly to give you the time you needed to incapacitate the target before he assisted in the search for the evidence but his restraint was being sorely tested.

He'd been able to hear everything over the comms, every moan and sigh from yours or the targets mouth and images had swarmed his head, filling him with a deep scorching rage as he pictured their filthy hands and mouth all over your body. He hadn't even realised that his pace had quickened, long strides devouring the distance between you as anger forced him forwards and his voice a low growl through the comms.

You'd been rather preoccupied when Whiskey's agitated voice had rumbled in your ear.

"Wrap it up sweetheart, I'm comin' for you."

You'd wanted to snarl at him for his impatience but instead your lips moved over the skin of the target's neck and you'd had to swallow your repulsion as their hand slipped to boldly cup between your legs. You'd faked a moan and moved to kiss their mouth, slinging your arms around their neck to fiddle with your ring that housed a miniscule needle that would inject the target with a drug to keep them under long enough for you to find what you need.

"What's going on in there sugar? You're takin' a mighty long time to respond." Whiskey had grit out and your fingers had tightened in silent frustration, he's one to talk, you'd known him to take hours with targets and he'd barely given you ten minutes.

His voice was like rolling thunder in your ear, threat dripping from his words and you were desperately trying to drown him out so you could focus. Something about his tone had your pulse racing and goosebumps breaking over your skin and it shouldn't of been so damn hard to press the needle into the targets skin but Whiskey's voice was too distracting.

"If you don't respond in the next five seconds I swear to-"

You didn't get to hear what he'd swear, anger getting the better of you as you discreetly disabled the comms and breathing a sigh of relief when your partners irate voice was no longer snapping at you.

Unbeknownst to you the sudden cut off of communication sent Whiskey into a panic, his feet moving quicker towards the office and when he'd entered the corridor he couldn't decide whether the quiet he hears was a good sign.

Surely if something had happened he'd hear signs of a struggle he'd thought but his thumping heart had stilled in his chest when he'd suddenly heard your yelp of pain. He was breaking into a run before he could stop to think, revolvers in hand as he'd burst through the doors ready to save you from harm.

It took him only a moment to realise he'd fucked up.

The target had sprung away from you to gape at him in shock and even you were wide eyed with your lips parted in horror. Your lip had been bleeding, caused by your company becoming impatient with how long you were drawing things out and sinking their teeth into the soft skin. You had yelled in shock at the unpleasant action but the throbbing pain was forgotton as you'd stared at your partner, he'd looked frantic, emotions swirling in his dark eyes and his perfectly styled hair was disheveled as if he'd been shoving his hands through it.

You'd been about to step forward, concern temporarily bleeding through you before you'd remembered where you were and concern turns to dread and rage. Before you could ask what the fuck Whiskey was playing at, everything went to shit.

"What the fuck is this! Who the fuck are you people!"

You hadn't been quick enough, not realising what the target was doing before they'd slammed their hand down on a hidden switch. If you hadn't been so aware of how truly screwed you now were you would of laughed in disbelief but you'd had bigger problems.

You threw yourself at the target, landing a quick punch to their nose in order to stun them before stabbing the needle into their skin. One less problem you'd thought, glancing up at Whiskey and frowning when you noticed he still stood in the doorway frozen and staring at you with a lost look in his eyes. You didn't have time to figure out what his deal with, snapping your fingers as you waved your hand in his eyeline.

"Whiskey watch the corridor whilst I find this damn file!" You'd snapped, throwing open desk drawers as you searched and your head shot up as he'd cleared his throat, looking at you with an expression you didn't want to begin trying to understand. Not when you both could die if you took much longer.

"Sweetheart-" He'd whispered.

"NO! Not now Whiskey. Watch the corridor like I fucking told you to and you can explain to me why you fucked up this mission if we actually manage to make it out alive."

By some miracle you both had made it out and rage had burned in your veins the entire way back to the hotel. Whiskey had been silent, glancing at you every five seconds as your body had coiled tighter and tighter with the tension swirling around you both like a storm ready to be unleashed.

You'd snapped as you'd limped painfully towards your hotel room, the knowledge that you had to pack up and make a quick exit instead of being able to breathe and relax for the night making you angrier and now the two of you were in a heated stand off. Your chest brushes against his as your breath heaves and his dark eyes are searing into your skin, gliding over your features as you step even closer.

"You wouldn't shut the hell up, how the fuck was I supposed to do my job with you constantly giving me a timescale!" You seethe and your eyes flare when his plump lips tilt into a smirk, no doubt some disgusting retort ready on his tongue. "Don't fucking say a word."

A small chuckle escapes his throat and you're tempted to wipe the arrogant smirk off his handsome face.

"I gave you plenty chance to get the job done sweetheart, you can't blame your partner for gettin' worried. " He drawls dismissively and now you're sure he's deliberately being an asshole to provoke you.

"Pretty sure it would of been suspicious if I'd answered whilst I was supposed to be fucking them." You spit and if possible his eyes darken even further, lips curling into a snarl as he thinks of someone else pleasuring you that isn't him but you barrell on, oblivious to his anger. "Besides, you take forever when you have to seduce targets, you only gave me ten minutes! What the hell was I supposed to accomplish with that!"

His eyes are predatory as his gaze slides down your body before making it's way back to your face.

"Oh sugar, there's alot I could accomplish if you gave me ten minutes." He rasps, licking his lips as your eyes flicker to his mouth before shaking your head and continuing on your tirade.

"Shut it Daniels. What is your problem?! Put out that they wanted me for once instead of you? Could your fragile ego not handle someone not wanting to hop on your dick the second you flash a smile at them?"

For a moment his eyes flash with hurt as he frowns at you, did you really think that little of him? He'll admit he was originally fuelled by petty jealously but when he'd heard your shout of pain he'd been genuinely worried, terrified even that he'd lose you.

Your anger falters slightly when you take in his subdued expression and the next words out of your mouth are spoken on a whisper.

"Do you not trust me?" You sigh tiredly and his head snaps up to stare at you in shock. "Maybe we need different partners-"

"No!"

Whiskey's shout makes you jump and you inhale sharply as strong hands grab your shoulders and his eyes blaze with a mix of anger, fear and something you can't quite put your finger on.

"I don't want another partner, I trust you with my life." He whispers and you swallow thickly as his gaze urges you to believe him.

"Then what was that tonight Jack? Make me understand what was going through your head because I'm at a loss." You murmur, hands coming to grip his wrists.

He visibly hesitates, his mouth opening only to snap shut as he fights to call upon the words that usually come so smoothly but right now refuse to come at all.

You grow frustrated waiting for an answer, fingers slipping fron his wrists as your hands fall back to your side and you begin to pull away but he follows. His own hands reach for you, heart in his throat as he senses the way you're closing yourself off and desperation bubbles up inside him.

"Sweetheart please let me explain!" He shouts and you whirl around, fury washing away any prior softness in your gaze and turning your features to stone.

"Then stop gawking at me and fucking explain!" You yell and Whiskey finally snaps.

"They were touching you!" The words burst from his chest and despite the stunned look on your face as your mouth hangs open, they continue to pour from him.

"I could hear their disgusting moans through the comms and I could hear you! It drove me fuckin' crazy having to listen, I couldn't stand it anymore." He croaks, hands thrusting through his hair as wild eyes dart around the room before locking on you.

"Then I heard you cry out. D'ya have any idea what it's like thinking someone is hurting the person you love? It was torture sugar, I was just tryin' to keep you safe. Would've put a bullet in their head if you hadn't put them under."

Beneath his anger an even stronger emotion glows in the warm depths of his eyes and you want to slap yourself for not recognising what it was before. Love. Your partner is in love with you. Jack Daniels, statesman senior agent and serial flirt loves you.

Shit.

You need a moment to process but he's still talking, apparently the floodgates have opened and are unable to close until he's revealed every inch of how he feels. Normally you'd be supportive of that but after the day you've had and him just dropping this huge bomb on you, you're a little frazzled.

"Whiskey can you just give me a moment. I need to wrap my head around this." You mutter dazedly but he just steam rolls on and your patience is wearing thin.

"Jesus Jack I love you too but for the love of everything good can you shut your fucking mouth for two minutes!"

Your eyes widen and you freeze as he spins to face you stunned. He's silent now, eyebrows raised high as he stares at you in disbelief before a slow beaming grin creeps across his lips. He's positively radient as his eyes sparkle with a mischief that drains the shock and brief fear from your system and you tentatively smile back, your heartbeat quickening as he strides towards you and pulls you into his chest before his eyes flicker to yours making sure it's okay.

He relaxes when your hands slide up his chest, not to push him away but to twist your fingers into his lapels, and a slow smirk tugs at his lips whilst his gaze not so subtly lingers on your mouth.

"Afraid you're gonna have to make me sweetheart."

It's both a challenge and a plea and you're helpless to do anything but rise to it as you yank him closer and crush your mouth to his.

Jack groans at the first touch of your lips, hands flying to your face to cup your cheeks and tilt your head as he deepens the kiss. His tongue sweeps along your lower lip begging for entrance that you gift him with a low moan, shivering when his tongue tangles with yours and he kisses you so intensely that your knees threaten to buckle and your hands slide up his chest to cling to his shoulders.

He wrenches his mouth from yours as a hand slides into your hair, tugging the strands until your neck is bared to him and he buries his face into the soft skin. He pulls you tighter against him as his mouth sucks kisses into the tender flesh, his teeth nipping at your jaw as your hands plunge into his hair when he returns to devour your mouth and you greedily drink down his wrecked moan when your nails scrape his scalp sending pleasure rippling down his spine.

The fact that people could be coming for you both has completely fled your mind as Jack walks you towards the bed and a breathless sigh escapes your lips as your back hits the soft sheets and he crawls over you. A moan catches in your throat when he lowers his body against yours, the hot, hard press of him igniting a fire in your belly as your hands explore every inch of him you can reach.

When his fingers skim over your clothes molten eyes bore into yours, searching for the reassurance that you're okay with this, you want him the way he wants you. You nod quickly and with an adoring kiss pressed to your lips he makes quick work of both of your clothes, discarding them somewhere you couldn't care less because all of a sudden Jack is naked infront of you and your mouth runs dry as your eyes drink him in.

He bites his lip almost sheepishly as the intensity of your gaze pierces through him, almost as if he's a little insecure that his body isn't as toned as it was in his younger days but your hands come to cradle his cheeks, kissing him gently as you whisper in awe.

"You're so beautiful Jack."

His eyes flutter closed and he swallows harshly before his mouth is on yours and he's mumbling inbetween kisses.

"Should be me praising you baby, you're so perfect."

His hand slips between you, trailing down to where you're burning with need for him and you gasp into his mouth as deft fingers work you with an expertise that soon has you writhing beneath him as his name falls from your lips in choked moans.

"So good for me sweetheart, sound so good moaning my name. You gonna cum for me?"

A whine builds up in your chest but you still his hand, kissing him softly when he frowns at you in confusion.

"Don't want to cum unless your inside me." You pant and Jack swears he nearly cums there and then at your breathless voice begging him to be inside you.

His mouth slants over yours in a bone melting kiss as he positions himself and presses into you, filling you ever so slowly.

Your mixed groans slip between your lips as his mouth worships you with kisses until he bottoms out and he pulls back slightly to rest his forehead against yours whilst you both struggle to breathe. He waits until you begin to shift beneath him, signalling that you're ready for him to move before he pulls out slowly and then buries himself back in you.

His mouth falls open, lips parted in ecstasy as your warm walls squeeze and clench around him and a moan tears through your throat as his pace quickens and he begins snapping his hips against you with abandon.

You feel every vein and ridge dragging against your walls, sending sparks of delicious heat licking through your belly and you see stars when he kneels and moves your legs to rest over his shoulders, his cock sliding deeper inside you and nudging against a place that has you writhing and gasping his name.

"Jack! Oh fuck, I'm close."

He thrusts harder, a whimper escaping your lips as electricity crackles along your spine and he presses a soft kiss to your leg whilst his hand finds it's way between your legs and his fingers stroke you until you're a trembling mess on the brink of release.

"I've got you baby, let go. Want to see you cum for me."

It's all too much, his cock, his fingers and his sweet words send you spiralling and the coil doesn't just snap, it explodes. Heat roars through your veins as pleasure crashes over you and your body shakes with the force of the waves, causing your eyes to screw shut as you allow the sensation to wreck you and leave you limp and satiated.

You feel Jack's movements falter, his hips stuttering as your walls squeeze him deliciously tight and he throbs inside you, a ragged grasp pulled from his chest and your eyes snap open to watch the pleasure splayed across his face as he spills rope after rope of hot cum deep inside your walls.

You moan softly when he lowers your legs and collapses against your chest, attempting to prop himself up on his elbows so he doesn't crush you but you just pull him closer, relishing the feel of his weight on you.

He looks at you then his eyes impossibly warm as he presses sweet kisses to your chest before claiming your lips.

"I love you." He mumbles softly and you smile blissfully as your hand cards through his thick, silky hair.

"Love you too cowboy" You breathe before sighing. "We better get going incase anyone's looking for us."

Jack lets you out from beneath him but grasps your hand as you stand from the bed and move to look for your clothes.

"Am I forgiven sugar?" He asks with a cheeky grin but you can see the hint of sincerity in his eyes so you nod.

"You're forgiven…this time." You warn and he winks at you, pressing a lingering kiss to your wrist and you catch the smug smirk before his lips touch your skin.

"Oh but Jack?." Your voice is mischievous and he looks at you with a light frown when you grin wickedly at him.

"Good luck explaining the mission to Champ."

Taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @ecuadorlady @readsalot73

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lostinsideourminds · 1 year

Text

Jealous Hearts

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x gn!reader

Prompt: "Shut your fucking mouth". "Make me" Requested by @darlingyoureperfection I'm sorry this took so long I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: 18+. Angst. Fluff. Unprotected sex.

"What the fuck were you playing at!"

"Relax sugar we got what we came for and got out in one piece, now I'd call that another successful mission."

Whiskey's nonchalant attitude has you spluttering in disbelief, eyes glaring holes in the back of his head as words gather like venom on your tongue.

"Successful? That - Whiskey - was a fucking shit show and you know it!"

"That sweetheart" He drawls mockingly as he struts towards you, invading your personal space to point a finger in your face. "Is what happens when you don't answer the comms."

How dare he try to blame this on you.

You shove his hand away from your face, stepping forward until you're almost nose to nose and you have to fight the urge to headbutt the infuriating expression off his face.

"How the hell was I supposed to get the job done with you rambling in my ear every two fucking seconds." You growl.

See, easy.

"I'd never deny my love the pleasure." He'd winked. "As long as they're satisfied then so am I."

You'd been rather preoccupied when Whiskey's agitated voice had rumbled in your ear.

"Wrap it up sweetheart, I'm comin' for you."

"If you don't respond in the next five seconds I swear to-"

It took him only a moment to realise he'd fucked up.

"What the fuck is this! Who the fuck are you people!"

"Sweetheart-" He'd whispered.

"NO! Not now Whiskey. Watch the corridor like I fucking told you to and you can explain to me why you fucked up this mission if we actually manage to make it out alive."

A small chuckle escapes his throat and you're tempted to wipe the arrogant smirk off his handsome face.

His eyes are predatory as his gaze slides down your body before making it's way back to your face.

"Oh sugar, there's alot I could accomplish if you gave me ten minutes." He rasps, licking his lips as your eyes flicker to his mouth before shaking your head and continuing on your tirade.

Your anger falters slightly when you take in his subdued expression and the next words out of your mouth are spoken on a whisper.

"Do you not trust me?" You sigh tiredly and his head snaps up to stare at you in shock. "Maybe we need different partners-"

"No!"

Whiskey's shout makes you jump and you inhale sharply as strong hands grab your shoulders and his eyes blaze with a mix of anger, fear and something you can't quite put your finger on.

"I don't want another partner, I trust you with my life." He whispers and you swallow thickly as his gaze urges you to believe him.

"Then what was that tonight Jack? Make me understand what was going through your head because I'm at a loss." You murmur, hands coming to grip his wrists.

He visibly hesitates, his mouth opening only to snap shut as he fights to call upon the words that usually come so smoothly but right now refuse to come at all.

"Sweetheart please let me explain!" He shouts and you whirl around, fury washing away any prior softness in your gaze and turning your features to stone.

"Then stop gawking at me and fucking explain!" You yell and Whiskey finally snaps.

"They were touching you!" The words burst from his chest and despite the stunned look on your face as your mouth hangs open, they continue to pour from him.

Shit.

"Whiskey can you just give me a moment. I need to wrap my head around this." You mutter dazedly but he just steam rolls on and your patience is wearing thin.

"Jesus Jack I love you too but for the love of everything good can you shut your fucking mouth for two minutes!"

He relaxes when your hands slide up his chest, not to push him away but to twist your fingers into his lapels, and a slow smirk tugs at his lips whilst his gaze not so subtly lingers on your mouth.

"Afraid you're gonna have to make me sweetheart."

It's both a challenge and a plea and you're helpless to do anything but rise to it as you yank him closer and crush your mouth to his.

"You're so beautiful Jack."

His eyes flutter closed and he swallows harshly before his mouth is on yours and he's mumbling inbetween kisses.

"Should be me praising you baby, you're so perfect."

"So good for me sweetheart, sound so good moaning my name. You gonna cum for me?"

A whine builds up in your chest but you still his hand, kissing him softly when he frowns at you in confusion.

"Don't want to cum unless your inside me." You pant and Jack swears he nearly cums there and then at your breathless voice begging him to be inside you.

His mouth slants over yours in a bone melting kiss as he positions himself and presses into you, filling you ever so slowly.

"Jack! Oh fuck, I'm close."

"I've got you baby, let go. Want to see you cum for me."

He looks at you then his eyes impossibly warm as he presses sweet kisses to your chest before claiming your lips.

"I love you." He mumbles softly and you smile blissfully as your hand cards through his thick, silky hair.

"Love you too cowboy" You breathe before sighing. "We better get going incase anyone's looking for us."

Jack lets you out from beneath him but grasps your hand as you stand from the bed and move to look for your clothes.

"Am I forgiven sugar?" He asks with a cheeky grin but you can see the hint of sincerity in his eyes so you nod.

"You're forgiven…this time." You warn and he winks at you, pressing a lingering kiss to your wrist and you catch the smug smirk before his lips touch your skin.

"Oh but Jack?." Your voice is mischievous and he looks at you with a light frown when you grin wickedly at him.

"Good luck explaining the mission to Champ."

Taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @ecuadorlady @readsalot73

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