#ONLY TEAM TO FUCKING SWEEP
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I love it when another Medic do-si-dos w me... peace and love on planet earth
#medic tf2#tf2#my art#medic is just a guy to me i love him sm hes so weird#also i slay at playing him i love being a topscoring medic it makes me feel like one mean son of a bitch#(i say as though i dont just get all of that from being good at healing)#(and maybe killing spies with my bonesaw a lot)#anyway this is based off of a round where there were only three people on both teams so we just fucked around until more folks joined#and me and the lads were doing the MEDIC SWEEP play#which is just. everybody hop on and play medic and itll turn out great we swear#also he is wearing a yarmulke in case you dont know what that is on his head
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logically I don’t even think I’m doing horribly (the guy training me told the manager I was doing “pretty well” about handling a “mini-rush”) but mentally my mind keeps telling me oh he’s just lying because we keep getting out breaks at the same time and since I’m practically tailing him of course he’s say that to be nice during the only opportunity to speak to the manager. Only since I’m around and can listen in is he saying something nice.
#I keep trying to rush myself because I don’t want to make the customers wait#The first time I grabbed the popcorn myself I didn’t lift it high enough when I turned back around and knocked some onto the counter#Unless someone orders a large popcorn (which is a bucket) I feel like I’m taking too long fumbling trying to open up the bag#And then another TOO LONG scooping it in with the handle in there instead of just scooping the whole tub in there#One time I tried to rush too much and ended up lifting my hand too high and burned it on the popper#Twice actually once on my pinky knuckle and another larger spot on the other side of the back of my palm#One customer specifically I couldn’t understand and asked them to repeat like 5 times#And I could’ve SWORN they said ‘temp’ like I thought they were referring to ME as a temp or something#So I responded like ‘no I’m in training’ like a fucking idiot when it turned out they were asking for a motherfucking cup of water#Of all things.#I still keep getting confused and forgetting that hi-c and lemonade are the same drink#Instead of filling a cup with the proper fountain which is right there right text to the register oh no I turned around and went and got#Team before fixing the order and doing the right thing. And the tea machine has like 3 buttons for different flavored iced teas#So I just pressed a random one too like! Look at this idiot !!!!#Oh god and I still don’t know what’s in what drawer for refills. As in when we run out of cups for the sodas or icees or popcorn buckets#I still don’t understand how to make the popcorn. You press a button to hear it up? Wait until it beeps I think?#Then put it into the popper and let it keep popping even when it beeps again? Until it stops popping then you can pour it out? I think????#Could be completely fuckinb wrong for all I know#I work til past closing hour (cleaning. Roughly until midnight so go to bed around 1-2am) on Friday then have to be in again by 10.30am#Even if I’m lucky that will only be maybe 5 or maaaaaybe 6 hours of sleep. Ending and starting the day the same way wtf man#Why did I apply to a place that’s half an hour drive away when they only pay minimum wage#Why did I think a movie theater job would be manageable for me#Well actually that one I can answer it’s bc I thought I would be put to cleaning (sweeping theaters between shows) not customer service#It’s. Almost 5am now. I feel like my schedule has gotten even WORSE since applying here.
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Three Rocket goons stand at the top of the Lavender Town Pokemon Tower, hassling Mr. Fuji. They can hear the screams and cries of ghosts from under them, but they don't understand why the tower keeps shaking. A shadow passes over them, and they hear footsteps on the stairs. The first of the three looks to see Red, fire in his eyes. They can't possibly know that he just beat their leader in team combat. Yet here he is. He doesn't even have a sylph scope in his hand, the ghost of Marowak was appeased by a doll he bought from Celadon Department Store.
"Yous ain't gettin' no further, chump!" says the first, throwing out his pokeball. The beating of wings accompanies the clack of the ball hitting the ground, but... It doesn't seem like there's anything coming out of that pokeball. "I- Huh?" He looks around, and then eventually up. Just in time to see the lifeless body of his Ratata dropped from the rafters above them. Something great, dark, and winged is there.
Red doesn't even pay attention to the Rocket goons. He simply walks past them, towards Mr. Fuji. In turn, each of them attempts to bring forth their pokemon. In turn, each of them is annihilated before it can even do anything. One of them has the forethought to already be crying out a move when the ball leaves his hand. "Raticate! Quick attack! You're our only hope!"
Blood. For a moment, lightning flashes outside the tower and illuminates a great brown bird. A beak long as a saber, and a madness in its eyes that shakes the Rockets to their core. In the next moment, a pair of wet thumps are heard as the two halves of that offending Raticate slide to a stop on either side of its trainer. The victorious screeching caw of the fearow drowns out the sound of their feet as the goons high tail it back towards a headquarters that is currently still on fire from the very trainer they're running from.
Its job done, Javelin allows itself to return to its pokeball to rest. And wait.
#this post brought to you by my current Red 100% run#where my fearow used Fly to solo sweep the entirety of the pokemon tower#including like half of rival's team (and even then only because it was third on my lineup so the first two slapped him around a bit)#Javelin is a force of nature#back when he was a spearow he solo'd Lt. Surge's team#even though he's flying type and Lt. Surge's pokemon are all electric#He just doesn't know how to give a fuck#This isn't like over leveled either#part of the 100% run is beating the bosses without leveling anyone on your team past the strongest pokemon on the leader's team
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I love nuzlocks you get forced to use pokemon you would never use otherwise (especially in randomizers) and then you can chose out fun naming themes and have a fun little lineup of guys that you may or may not get to use and then there's the horrors
#rat rambles#anyways guess who started a white 2 randomized nuzlock and immediately got its ass handed to it by roxie#is this me being punished for not campaining for her harder on the fictional band bracket? Im so sorry roxie </3#I straight up was preparing to have to reset like it got Bad#for some context; she had a brave bird spamming ho-oh#at the time my team consisted of a virizion blastoise tangela sableye and gligar#now I had planned on having my virizion (named nene) do most of the heavy lifting since most of my team was pretty pathetic still#but ofc with that fun 4 times weakness I had to change plans and since I had gotten volt switch tm early due to randomized items I had#already taught it to a couple of my pokemon so I was like ok. I will pull out an (my gligar) and volt switch into rui (my sableye)#in hindsight that was already a bad plan but yeah it outsped and killed an which I was distraught abt since I love both an and gligar#I wasnt quite panicking yet but I was worried but I still sent in rui since he knew volt switch too and I wanted to get a least a decent#bit of damage off before switching to haruka and playing the chipping game#it outsped. rui died. so I was like fuck fuck fuck is this thing just gonna sweep my fucking team#it didnt one shot haruka but it was critting range. I tried my best to heal stall but alas crit it did#at this point I needed nene to somehow kill this thing in one turn with only pathetic or not effective moves#I pull out double kick. it crits one hit and the other brings it to 1 hp. not dead. it kills nene#at this point I fully think Im fucked. I only have one pokemon left and its my weak ass tangela. I am fully prepared to reset.#I send out mafuyu the tangela. I see that last brave bird go off. and then I realize that I had forgotten something#I had randomized pokemon abilities#mafuyu had sturdy#and just like that. with 1 hp. I somehow managed to make it out of that gym alive.#in hindsight if I had known mafuyu jad sturdy I could have definitely avoided a lot of those deaths but welp. I didnt so.#and of course its fucking mafuyu that survived and that I am now unreasonably attatched to#I managed to rebuild a bit of a team before burg tho since they kindly give 3 encounters so now I have kanade the shelgon airi the pignite#and saki the whiscash which admittedly not ideal for me rn due to some miscaculations on my part of when mafuyu would evolve#and kanade has. the camoflague ability. like fuck man not on the dragon type#airi isnt bad tho as long as I dont kill her instantly she should make for a pretty reliable pokemon in these trying times#saki isnt. the best. but she isnt necesarily bad right now she just will probably fall off a bit later on#if kanade can survive to level 50 tho thatll be great I could use the power even if camoflague salamance isnt. great.#from my limited understanding of pokemon meta anyways dhdmgskdh
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omfg i love your fics they’re so funny 😭😭 i had an idea for a max fic that i think you would do so well 🫶 so like she’s his teammate and she has a bf (no idea who but prob another athlete or something since they tend to kinda be fboys 👀 but not another driver please because those dynamics make me cringe in second hand embarrassment 🙏) then he like cheats on her publicly, but she decides to live in idgafistan and max helps her make her ex jealous 😝 but he’s like actually been into her for a really long time and everyone ships them and stuff and then he bags her with his irresistible chronically offline awkward white boy rizz 💋
summary; cheaters deserve to get cheated out of their career, or at least that's how max justifies destroying your ex's life
pairing; max verstappen x fem! red bull driver! reader [ no faceclaim ]
warnings; suggestive language, swearing
a/n; DISCLAIMER the boyfriend is made up and also a sims 2 reference, if by chance there is a real tennis player by the name of Dominic Lothario im so sorry sir this was not written with you in mind ALSO this is my VERY sneaky way of telling everyone my favorite song is trophäe by paula carolina so naturally i had to shove the word trophy everywhere to justify using lyrics as the title I HOPE I DID YOUR PROMPT JUSTICE also i skipped over singapore because we don't talk about singapore
liked by ynln7, charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 2,104,962 others
maxverstappen1 The only time I've cheated.
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feeltheorange WHAT DID HE SAYYYY
meepshoemaker the double take i just did cracked my neck
yukinator22 NAHHHHHHHHH
albogeant BRO DIDN'T EVEN GIVE HER TIME TO RECOVER LMAOOOOOOOO
ynln7 everyone has permission to laugh i came up with the caption
pierregasly Thank god
charles_leclerc I'm going to hell I laughed before I saw your comment
pierregasly Me too
ynln7 assholes (affectionately)
liked by christianhorner, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 4,592,577 others
ynln7 anyway
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christianhorner This is not the team bonding I was talking about
charles_leclerc Shut up, some of us have waited years for this
pierregasly Seconded
danielricciardo Third...ed?
simplyclerc LET HIM COOK
lionkingseb max verstapprizz
mcmango he saw an opportunity and he took it
redbullpapaya i manifested this with magic beyond the human comprehension
liked by maxverstappen1, ynln7, christianhorner and 2,102,094 others
redbullracing An immaculate performance today from @ maxvestappen1 and @ ynln7 that’s a 6th Constructors’ Championship for the team!! 🏆 CONGRATULATIONS, WORLD CHAMPIONS!!
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super_max they know they ate
staraikkonen the blueprint for all powercouples
shadownorris LET'S FUCKING GOOOOO
angelricciardo talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference
dominic_lothario 👎
redbullracing Shouldn't you be looking for a job? What are you doing in our comments.
kirbyvettel MAXY/N SWEEP
maxverstappen1 The trophy is not my only win this week @ ynln7
ynln7 ok now let me pass you
maxverstappen1 No 🧡 You're pretty in p2
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, christianhorner and 693,420 others
ynln7 celebrating the win the RIGHT way (playing f1 2023)
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easportsf1 Amen
ynln7 LMAO
maxverstappen1 I let you win
ynln7 bruised ego alert
christianhorner Such a RESPONSIBLE team, aren't we?
orangleclerc THE T-SHIRT
strawberryrosberg Did they turn down the afterparty invite for this because mad respect
charles_leclerc Tell me your record, I'll beat it
ynln7 in your dreams, leclerc
maxverstappen1 Beat us in real life first
charles_leclerc First of all.
pic credits: instagram and pinterest
#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#f1 x reader#f1#f1 imagine#f1 instagram au#f1 smau#f1 social media au#instagram au#social media au#max verstappen au
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Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.
I’m also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because it’s been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.
Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture
Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds — but that’s no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.
He’s a great partner, a great teammate; you’re sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.
“You did good today,” he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.
“So did you,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return.
“Stay with me tonight?” He asks.
You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That he’s asking you to come to his tonight…
“Absolutely,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I just need to see the captain first. Okay?”
He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian — some insult about goats and mothers you think.
“Yeah, exactly,” you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.
A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasn’t helped the anger. You don’t spar any of your team with anger; they don’t deserve.
Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when you’re feeling a bit… aggressive.
“Cap?” You call, still holding Nikto’s hand. “Could I stop by for a nightcap later?”
His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, babygirl. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.
“Showers. Now,” the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. “Double time. I need to have a word with Price still.”
—
Long after the sun has gone down, you’re standing outside your captain’s door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and he’s going to take care of you.
Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.
One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.
“There you are,” he rumbles. “C’mere.”
You flash your teeth, “No.”
He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. “Alright then.”
There’s no real fight. You’re not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And he’s not looking to actually make you submit. That’s not the point of this game.
He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.
“Settle,” he orders.
“Fuck you,” you snarl back, nipping his lip.
He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.
“Brat,” he rasps in your ear.
“I’m not,” you snap.
“Oh, yes you are, babygirl,” he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. “But that’s alright, I like you bad.”
He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesn’t indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.
He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesn’t stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.
“Gonna say please like a good girl?” He teases.
“No,” you hiss back.
He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (It’s supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.
“Pretty noise,” he coos. “Do it again.”
When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your “efforts” to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but that’s what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.
He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now you’re fucking throbbing for it.
“Gimme,” you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.
“Give you what, brat?” He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. “My cock? You think you deserve it?”
Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that you’ve soaked through your shorts.
“Yes,” you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.
He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.
“Yeah?” He growls. “Alright then.”
He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then he’s plunging into you. It’s too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.
“Fuck.” His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.
“How does that feel, babygirl?” He murmurs in your ear. “You needed daddy’s cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?”
You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.
He lets you — could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely — but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.
“Fucking move,” you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than you’d like.
“What was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?” He teases, rolling his hips.
Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.
“Daddy, move,” you cry, voice going up in pitch.
“There’s my brat.”
He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesn’t even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.
Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.
“Gonna ask daddy to make you cum?” He goads.
“Earn it,” you reply.
He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while you’re still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but that’s fine by him, he’s plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.
“Fuuuuck,” you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Daddy…”
“Feel like being good yet?” He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.
“N-no,” you whine, fight gone out of you now that you’re getting exactly what you want.
Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet you’re dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.
“S’alright, doll, don’t need to be good to be mine.”
He’s barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.
“Daddy, daddy,” you sob. “Fuck, I wan’ it.”
“Want it, huh?”
“Mhmm,” you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.
“Oh, right there, huh?” He coos. “Did daddy find your little sweet spot?”
A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, he’s wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.
“‘M gonna… f-fuck, fuck,” you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if you’re trying to urge him on or get away. Doesn’t matter, he’s in charge, has been since the beginning. “Daddy, I wanna…”
“Whenever you want, babygirl,” he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. “Squeeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”
Didn’t realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.
“Daddyyyy,” you whine.
And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.
“That’s it, easy,” he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. “Easy, doll.”
He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.
“C’mere,” he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.
The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didn’t, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.
“You did so well, babygirl,” he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. “Such a good girl. Even if you think you’re being bad.”
You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you can’t handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.
“I still want you,” he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. “Always will. You’re mine.”
You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.
“Love you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?”
You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.
You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.
(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldn’t just touch at will. And afterwards… well. It’s not like he didn’t do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not… not ideal. Not like this.)
Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.
Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.
“M’okay, baby,” he says before you can ask. “Feels good.”
You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.
When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.
You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows you’re taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.
Only when it’s over does he ask if you’re ready to go to Nikto’s. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But you’re looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.
At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.
You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.
The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.
“Evening, Nik,” you coo.
A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.
“Love,” he rasps in Russian into your hair.
You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how you’re touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.
“Smell good,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?” You giggle. “Showered just for you.”
He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re dehydrated.”
He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like he’s about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.
“Get a glass please? I could use some water myself.”
Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.
“Thank you,” you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.
And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while you’re still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else it’s miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.
“This is nice,” you coo. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
You wiggle around until you’re chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like he’s trying not to close his hand.
“Okay?” You ask.
“Yes.”
You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. You’ve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.
“Here next,” he says when you dip to go to his chest.
He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize that’s all skin too.
“Oh,” you breathe. “Can I…?”
“Yes.”
You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust he’s showing you.
“I love you,” you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Don’t mind.
He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.
You don’t pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesn’t lead, doesn’t rush or pull or press. But there’s tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You don’t ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.
“Still okay?” You ask.
“Still okay.”
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#the captain#cod nikto#the captain x reader#specgru reader#former 141 reader#nikto x reader
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something something middle school steve trying to form a crush on somebody because it seems like everybody has crushes. he tries some girls in his grade but loses interest quickly for silly reasons.
then, at lunch, he sees a girl with long brown curly hair and forehead bangs in a leather jacket, head ducked and legs pulled up to her chest. she must be an eighth grader because steve’s never seen her before. she’s headbanging to the music coming out of her headphones and is sitting all by herself. she doesn’t dress like girls in his grade. she’s rougher, edgier. steve likes this. it makes his stomach swoop.
she’s way across the cafeteria so he can’t make out a lot of her features but he decides leather girl is his new crush.
he never points her out to his friends. he wants to keep her to himself. doesn’t want tommy or anybody else sweeping her up.
not that he actually makes any moves to talk to her. no, instead, he stares from across the cafeteria every day and tries to figure out something new about her.
steve thinks it’s funny the way she picks the skin off her apple slices, eats the skin, and then eats the slice.
she usually gets two milks bc she pockets one of them. a bad girl, steve thinks giddily. she always waits until the bell rings to chug both of them which is odd but entertaining.
she has pins on her jacket that steve assumes are bands. no other girls really talk about bands outside of the beatles. leather girl doesn’t scream beatles fan to steve. he wonders if they like any of the same bands.
he makes up little scenarios in his head of walking up there and handing her a mixtape and the two of them sitting very close so they can both listen out of her headphones.
he throws away notes he writes her because they all sound lame. he also doesn’t know where her locker is. or what her homeroom is to send her candy grams on holidays. or even her name.
this all proves to be a challenge. so he gets comfortable with just admiring her from afar.
one day, he’s seating himself at the table with tommy and them when he hears boys from the football team shouting things like “finally, the freak got rid of the stupid hair!” and “how’s that breeze feel, munson? finally feel like a man?”
steve whips his head around to see the boys towering over leather girl’s table. only…it’s not leather girl. or, it is but all of her hair is gone. buzzed to her scalp. there are tears running down her face and steve realizes his mistake.
he wasn’t crushing on a mysterious eighth grade girl. no, he was crushing on eddie munson.
whom he’d never actually seen but heard a lot of nasty things about.
his stomach feels like it drops to the floor. he can no longer hear the ridicule or general noise of the cafeteria because his ears are ringing. he finally had a crush and he still messed it up. steve felt shame riddle through his body so he abruptly got up and went to the boy’s bathroom for the rest of lunch.
as the bell rang, steve couldn’t get himself to move from the stall he was hiding in. he knows he would get in trouble if one of the hall monitors found him but his body remains frozen. the door opens and steve holds his breath. steve sees white sneakers underneath the door and immediately, he knows it’s leather girl…no, fuck. it’s eddie.
eddie is stomping around, grumbling about his stupid dad and how he looks ugly now, obviously not realizing there is another person in the bathroom. steve hears sniffles and his heart breaks. tentatively, steve gets up and opens the stall door. eddie jumps and clutches the sink behind him.
his eyes are brown, steve thinks. and really pretty.
“jesus, kid, shouldn’t you be in class?” eddie rasps.
“shouldn’t you?” steve retorts, defensively.
“touche,” eddie deadpans. he wipes his tears furiously and sticks his head into the sink to splash water onto his face. steve observes quietly, finally seeing all the features he’s been staring at for months in full detail.
eddie pats his face down with a paper towel and notices steve is still there.
“do you want something?” eddie seethes.
steve chews on the inside of his cheek. he knows he can’t be crushing on a boy. still, even without the beautiful curls, eddie makes his heartbeat faster. he’s still so beautiful. he doesn’t want to go to class anymore.
“have you ever been to the football bleachers?” steve asks.
eddie narrows his eyes. “uh yeah, who hasn’t?”
steve stands up a little taller and tries again. “no, like, the concession stand. when there’s not a game going on.”
“no…” eddie gestures for steve to get to his point.
“i know how to get inside. there are snacks and sodas in there. they never notice a couple missing,” steve smiles as he feels more rebellious sharing this information. “i don’t know if you wanna…”
eddie raises an amused eyebrow. “play hookey?”
steve nods excitedly. he loves the way eddie grins in response.
“lead the way, kid.”
and if steve’s first kiss is a few weeks later by a pair of clumsy, sour candy tasting lips, he’ll never tell.
and if steve gets caught that day and gets detention through the end of the school year, it’s totally worth it.
because eddie is right there with him. crushing on him too.
#emily writes#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie fics#steve harrington/eddie munson#stranger things
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ok this is the video i mentioned, like imagine könig in this, i want to tie his hands and feet and make a mess out of him :((( imagine him crying out of frustration that he can't touch you (and he makes a mental note to punish you as soon as he gets released), so overwhelmed and trying to scape the entire time, so cute :(( you make the context, my brain isn't creative enough to think of how we end up in this situation. sorry if i misspelled something and again i love your blog it's amazing !!*:! also i'm sorry if this make you unconfortable somehow idk?
Enemy pt 1
pt 2
TW: porn
and I strike again with another questionable scenario
this is just... I... uhm... well...
there's no such thing as crossing the limits with me I'm a fucking whore
Summary: you interrogate an enemy soldier in a different approach.
Word Count: 1,5k
Warnings: smut, König x female!reader, they're both a bit crazy, male overstimulation, edging, knife play (if you squint), glove kink, no use of y/n
masterlist
Recently, your team had brought an enemy for interrogation, and you were the one assigned to get the job done.
"Make him talk, we don't care how." They said.
You got in the cell, hands sweating nervously as you saw the man you were dealing with. You've met before, a long while ago, and he didn't change a thing. He's still arrogant, like he wasn't far within a hostile environment, his hands and feet in chains, in a cell that has never seen daylight. The only thing in the room being the chair he was sitting on and a fucked up mattress.
You crossed your arms as you entered the room, not knowing if he was able to recognize you from the mask you wore. But your voice, he could never forget the sweet melody of your voice moaning his name a few years ago when he fucked you senseless at an abandoned house, in the middle of war.
It happened fast, you were sweeping the place and he was there. You missed your shot when he pushed your gun upwards and tried to strangle you, but soon backed down when saw you were a defenseless damsel in distress.
And you found yourself pressed against a wall being fucked by an enemy soldier, just because he felt like it.
You try to shake off the thoughts that creep on your dirty brain, and as soon as the door gets locked behind you, his body relaxes on the chair.
"So, we meet again." He cleared his throat. Pretentious prick.
"König." You start, raising your eyebrows. "I guess you won't be using your free will to tell me what the code is, will you?" You walked towards him, he was still tall, even when he was sunk on the chair with his legs spreaded.
"My free will has better things to do than to hand out codes like candy at a parade. I prefer keeping my secret to myself. Yours too." You could feel the creepy smile that lit up his face. How could you ever do that to yourself?
"They won't believe you." You shrug, slowly walking from side to side on the cell, arms behind your back, your heavy boots hitting the concrete floor. "They're too busy torturing your general for info." His eyes widened and he straightened himself on the chair, tensing up. "So, what are you hiding, pretty boy?"
He flexed his muscles in response, trying to get rid of the chains that kept him restrained. But the praise, coming from your lips, it was impossible for him to contain an enormous wave of heat that destroyed any ounce of self respect he had. He lowered his head, but looked at you through his eyebrows.
"I assume we'll have to do this the hard way then." You took the knife from your belt and stood in front of him, running it along his collarbone and stopping at his chin, lifting it up. "Such a beautiful pair of eyes you got, 'wonder what you hide behind that hood." You say, lifting the fabric of his mask.
"Gonna use flirting as your way to get around this?" He chuckles, looking away.
"I'm offended." You fake a gasp and hold a hand to your chest. "Wasn't that what you did to me?" You're just able to get a laugh from him.
"You wanted that to happen." He looked at your eyes again.
"And you're wanting, too." You stick the knife in the wooden chair between his legs and he jolts in panic.
"Fuck, are you insane?" He looks down and at you again, and you laugh.
You crouch in front of him, spreading his legs further, and laying your elbow on his thigh. The tip of your finger touches the end of your knife and plays with it, watching how his thighs tense.
"I might be." You say, looking at him. "But I always get what I want."
"You're fucking crazy." He chuckles and looks to the sides, trying to contain his embarrassment as a bulge slowly shows up on his pants.
You take the knife from the chair and put it on your belt again, moving your gloved hands towards his belt and pulling him up. He's heavy as fuck, it was almost impossible to do it if he didn't stand up, towering over you.
You pushed him back, and because of his feet tangled in chains, he fell back on the mattress, bucking his hips up as you eagerly unfastened his belt.
"You weren't this straightforward when we first met." He chuckled and looked up.
"What can I say? 'Guess your taste is addictive." You remembered the bitter taste of his release when he ruthlessly fucked your throat back in that house.
You pulled his hard member out, lifting your mask just below your nose to spit on it, and he whines as you wrap your gloved hand around it, jerking it up and down slowly. He pleads, trying to fuck your hand, but you pull away chuckling and he sighs.
"Let's make a deal, shall we?" You ran your finger along his length, stopping at his tip.
"I won't talk." He gritted his teeth.
"Then you won't cum." You give him a sly smile as you pull the mask down again.
Your hand grabs his dick, jerking it roughly, and he can't help but whine as he tries to get away from your touch. He's so desperate it's pathetic, and he moans as you set the pace.
He tries to move, to get away from the chains, he thinks about how bad he wants to be free and pin you down on the mattress and fuck you until you're begging him to stop, knowing he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied.
Your touch becomes too much on him, almost too harsh to bear, and he cries as he feels his cock throbbing as hard as it could, knowing that he wouldn't last long if you kept going this way.
And suddenly, as he's about to cum, you pull away again, leaving him whimpering at the sudden loss of contact.
"Fuck, why did you do this?" He whines desperately.
"It's simple, you give me what I want and I'll give you what you want." You shrug, grabbing his member once again and going fast on it. He cries, feeling his high approaching once again.
"I'm not talking." He shakes uncontrollably.
"Aww, stubbornness only turns me on." You say. He's too overwhelmed to think about an answer, trying to get away from your grip.
You feel his body tensing up again, his hips bucking up, chasing his so wanted release. Your hand keeps its pace, but your other one blocks his tip just as he's about to cum, watching his vein twitch. He's crying and cursing at you in german, his heavy balls filled with cum as he was being denied once again.
"Come on, I'm not gonna let go until you tell me, and it's only gonna hurt more." You say, letting his dick fall back to his stomach, and one of your hands grabs his balls. He's still shaking, completely overstimulated, and you use your thighs to make him stay put.
"I only know part of it, alright?" It comes out high pitched as his voice cracks, you could feel the pain in his eyes. "The general too, and your team is going to need more than just us for the full code if you want to stop that damn operation." It's almost impossible to understand his german accent at how fast he speaks, his chest rising up and down.
His cock twitches, his tip was red and leaking, and you decide that's probably all that he's going to say, and plus you needed him for his part of the code.
"That's it, please, maus, it's hurting." He cries. Maybe he deserved to get his award now.
"Such a good boy you are, huh, see? It wasn't hard." You stroke his dick, the praise enough to make him see stars.
As you increase your movements, he becomes a whimpering mess once again, and deep in his brain he's thinking of how pretty you would look with his cock buried in your pussy, and how bad he will ruin you once he has his hands on you.
It's too much to take, he's trembling, making it hard for you to keep him still. And he can't hold back any longer, his thick cum spouting on your gloves and his shirt.
"Maus, please, stop." He pleads, his body giving in. You clean your gloves on his clothed thighs and get up, leaving him there, covered in white. You stand there, looking down at him and his softening length, and slowly walk towards the door. "Where are you going? Don't leave me like this."
You knock two times on the door and one of your men unlocks it. You open it, looking back at König, still there, still messy, still panting and angry, spitting out as you leave.
"You're gonna pay for this."
#cod mw2#cod fanfic#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#konig x reader#konig#konig call of duty#konig mw2#konig cod#könig mwii#könig smut#könig x reader#könig cod#könig#könig mw2#könig call of duty
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𝙾𝙷 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺
description: lauren is fine, she is completely fine. she is definitely not dating sam kerr's younger sister. and sam kerr definitely hasn't just walked into y/n's flat with her spare key. lauren is completely fine
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lauren james x kerr!reader
disclaimer: this is all fiction remember that and have fun ;)
warnings: idk where to begin, smutttt - cunnilingus, thigh riding, fingering, slight breath play, choking, marking, fluff, swearing, cute sisterly relationships
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SMUT
MINORS DNI
18+ (At start and at end.)
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y/n's head span as she gasped, hand reaching down to clasp with Lauren's as the woman grunted into her, tongue darting in and out of y/n, nose brushing her clit as she spasmed.
"Ah, Lauren. Close." y/n gasped, hand gripping Lauren's tighter as her breathing sped up, back arching as Lauren's tongue did nothing to slow down.
Lauren moved her head, pushing her nose harsher against y/n's clit which caused a moan to escape her lips as she tensed, her stomach spasming.
"Come on." Lauren said gruffly, her tongue going back to work as y/n finally came, a cry of relief leaving from her lips as she does so.
Lauren's tongue does not completely leave y/n, instead using lazy strokes to calm the girl down from her orgasm, only once Lauren felt as if she had tasted her girlfriend enough did she come up for air.
Lauren pushed upwards, arms flexing as she came to lie next to y/n once again, leaning down to press a long kiss to her lips, her tongue sweeping through y/n's mouth.
"Taste yourself." Lauren all but grunted into her mouth. "Taste what I did to you." She continued, y/n's eyes rolled into the back of her head at the words.
The two pulled away, a lazy grin on Lauren's face at the red cheeks of y/n as she pecks her lips once more, smirking at how flustered the Australian was.
"Hmm, that's a way to wake up in the morning." y/n smiles, leaning into Lauren's shoulder who smiles and wraps an arm around her girlfriend.
"Wake you up like that anytime." Lauren shrugs and y/n grins liking the sound of it.
Just as Lauren goes to say something there is the sound of the front door opening and the two tense, both knowing that other than Lauren only one other person had a key.
"Squirt?" Sam calls out and the two spring into action.
"One sec Sammy!" y/n calls, Lauren rushing and grabbing her clothes, throwing y/n her own.
"Oh fuck." Lauren whispers.
"Oh fuck." y/n agrees quietly.
Sam Kerr, Australia's sweetheart, best striker in potentially the WSL and a ground-breaking personality in the world of Women's Football and sport as a whole.
Sam Kerr. Also known as Lauren and y/n's team-mate, mentor and y/n's older sister.
Lauren sent y/n a wide eyed look, both of them as worried and panicked at the other as Lauren slid into y/n's ensuite, y/n tugging on her joggers as she darted out of her room and shuts the door.
"Sammy!" y/n grins racing at her sister who hugs her. "What are you doing here?" y/n asks and Sam shrugs.
"Thought we could go get some breakfast." Sam says and y/n nods, knowing they had late training today.
"Of course, let me just shower." y/n smiles and Sam pauses, knowing her sister was a natural early riser.
"You slept in?" Sam asks.
"Yeah, late night, stayed up binging doctor who." y/n lies easily and Sam chuckles, rolling her eyes.
"You and that fucking show." Sam snorts and y/n lets out a small fake laugh as she moves back toward her bedroom.
y/n enters and Lauren is lent against the wall, scrolling through Instagram as y/n grabs her and drags her into the bathroom. Lauren smirks slightly as she quickly strips herself of her joggers.
y/n finally rids herself of her clothes, quickly ridding Lauren of her own as she drags her into the shower and turns it on, looking toward the bathroom door which she quickly makes sure is locked.
With the shower on and making noise y/n finally feels safe enough to let out a relieved breath as she knows Sam will have turned her X-box on to play a few FIFA games knowing her younger sister took ages to shower.
"Careful baby, your sister is in the other room." Lauren smirks teasingly and y/n glares at her.
"You ain't getting shit James." y/n warns as she washes herself clean.
"Are you sure?" Lauren asks lowly, hand squeezing at y/n's waist as she slides it down, her dull nails scraping at her hip. y/n lets out a stuttered gasp, the Australian naturally tipping her head back onto Lauren's broad shoulder.
Lauren can't help but let out a small chuckle at the power she knew she held over y/n, leaning down to press a series of light kisses down y/n's painfully unmarked neck.
Lauren's teeth pull at the skin under y/n's collarbone, both of her hands gripping at y/n's hips now, tilting her pelvis back into her as she grids lightly against her.
"Lauren." y/n warns breathily.
"What baby?" Lauren asks, grateful she had kept her braids in as she was now stood under the stream of water which would have been a pain to dry her hair from.
"Squirt?" Sam asks, the door handle coming down but the lock doing its job and stopping her entering.
"Just coming!" y/n calls quickly as she turns off the shower and steps out.
The girl wraps her hair in a towel, glaring at Lauren who was stood smugly against the shower door, eyes raking down y/n's dripping thighs which were scattered with marks.
"Since when do you lock the bathroom door?" Sam asks from the other side.
"Must have done it on reflex." y/n calls out. Not bothering too look in the mirror as she quickly moisturises her face. "I'll text you when we're gone." y/n whispers to Lauren, before pressing a peck to the woman's lips.
y/n then quickly slides from the bathroom and into her room, turning off the light as she wraps her towel around her. She could hear the FIFA game coming from the living room and rolls her eyes as she changes quickly.
y/n tugs on a top, pulling her jacket over the top of it and then grabs her bag and phone, cursing herself at the text Sam had sent her an hour ago warning her she was going to appear.
y/n then leaves her bedroom, smiling at Sam as she pulls her socks and then trainers on. Sam finishes her game and switches the TV off as y/n snorts.
"You only come here to use my games." y/n teases as Sam grabs her car keys.
"Shut up." Sam snorts as they get to the front door. y/n looks down, eyes widening at Lauren's trainers which were on the rack and she positions herself in front of them, hoping Sam hasn't noticed.
y/n follows her sister out, locking the door knowing full well Lauren would use her key once she left for training. y/n hops into Sam's car and her heart finally slows down as they pull away from her home.
y/n switches on her phone, instantly connecting to Sam's car and blaring some music out which makes Sam groan mockingly, y/n rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out.
"Shut up." y/n snorts.
"No you." Sam counters.
"No you." y/n says back and Sam rolls her eyes.
"Annoying dickhead." Sam says and y/n chuckles as they pull up to their usual breakfast place. y/n sends a quick text to Lauren.
to lauren <3: All clear xx
from lauren: I'll see you at training x
y/n doesn't reply, knowing if she does Sam will get suspicious on who she is talking too, so she shuts her phone and follows Sam out of the car and into the cafe.
"Isn't that LJ's top?" Sam asks as y/n takes her jacket off. If y/n's heart had stopped, she wouldn't have been shocked, because that is what it felt like.
"Oh yeah, I borrowed it a few weeks ago and she said I could keep it." y/n shrugs easily and Sam's eyebrows furrow.
"I could have sworn I saw her in it the other day." She says before shrugging and looking at the menu.
"I don't know why you bother looking. You always get the same thing." y/n teases, trying to get the topic to move on.
"Shut it squirt." Sam snorts before proceeding to order the same thing with their usual waitress.
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y/n just posted on her story x2
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y/n turned up at training a lot calmer than she had been that morning. Throughout her breakfast with Sam panic was flooding her and guilt was creeping into her heart.
What she and Lauren had started was good, great even for them both, Lauren was calmer, y/n was happier, and no one knew that it was the other making them so.
But y/n and her sister had always been close, y/n had always wanted to be like Sam and while the midfielder had slightly taken a different football route, she had ended in the same place, repping Chelsea blue.
Lauren and y/n were still relatively new, only 4 almost 5 months in to being official having started seeing each other just before the beginning of the World Cup.
No one on social media suspected anything, none of their teammates seemed to notice, so they had just kept quiet when they returned and continued falling in love.
And y/n was sure that was what was happening. The 21-year-old was sure she was falling in love, if not in love with Lauren. She had never felt so seen, so understood by someone.
With Lauren she wasn't Sam Kerr's sister, she wasn't the future of Australia. She was just y/n, and it made her feel so special being looked at by Lauren.
The woman could tell if she was angry, upset, happy or nervous with a single glance, and she could calm it with nothing but a look, a glancing touch.
y/n had never been powerless, she was filled with attitude and delight, but she had never fell apart for someone as easily as she had for Lauren, she had never let anyone see her or understand her the way Lauren always had.
Training had started well, the sister duo pairing up for the pre-match games and then the group of players sunk into their usual before lunch match.
y/n was running down the wing, looking toward Erin who was trailing with her, Lauren tracked back, following her girlfriend as she tried to tackle, y/n turned, dragging the ball with her.
But Lauren knew her, knew her tricks and instead of sliding past bounced off her toes and followed left which made y/n sigh. She passed out to Erin, Lauren sending her a smirk.
y/n followed Erin down, trying to get past Lauren who manages to intercept Erin's cross out for a corner. The two teams lined up as Emma called out a warning saying this would be the last kick of the game.
y/n stood strong, her sister grinning at her due to the fact her team was currently 1 goal above Erin's and went to mark her sister, however Lauren had already covered her, easily slotting behind her girlfriend.
Sam furrows her brows for a second but then shrugs and goes to mark Johanna instead. Lauren's hand brushes y/n's back and the woman pushes her elbow back, rolling her shoulders as she watches the ball fly in.
y/n races forward, Lauren right behind her as she jumps and her head fires the ball into the corner. y/n slowly comes down, the bodies around her pushing her off balance.
Lauren quickly wraps her arms around her y/n, stabling her as she comes down by pulling y/n tight to her chest as y/n's feet finally settle on the floor.
y/n sighs out in relief, relaxing back into Lauren's chest in relief as she rests her head onto Lauren's shoulder, the two looking so natural that Millie does a double take.
"Nice catch LJ!" Emma calls out as lunch is called.
"She was a fairy." Millie teases, y/n laugh as she grins at Lauren in thanks who squeezes her waist briefly before y/n runs at Millie, jumping onto her back.
"y/n!" Emma calls waving the girl over.
"Oooh someone's in trouble." Millie teases as she drops y/n next to Emma.
"Shove off Bright." y/n laughs pushing her captain away who gasps mockingly.
"I'll have you benched for that!" Millie gasps dramatically.
"No you bloody won't." Emma warns her, before everyone trudges away and y/n follows Emma to her office where the woman sits her down. "I'll let you go to lunch in a second." Emma promises.
"It's okay." y/n promises her manager who sits on the edge of her desk.
"I just wanted to ask." Emma begins, handing y/n a water bottle she had picked up. "Does Sam know?" She asks as y/n takes a sip, instantly choking on the water in shock.
"Holy shit." y/n gasps out, swallowing her mouthful of water. "Know what?" y/n asks as Emma sends her a dry look.
"That there is something clearly going on between you and Lauren." Emma says and y/n sighs.
"Is it that obvious?" y/n asks.
"I'll take that as a no." Emma sighs. "But it isn't obvious, I just know you both too well." Emma explains and y/n sighs.
"I swear boss, I'll tell her, it won't be a big deal." y/n promises Emma who sighs and runs a hand over her face.
"If that was true, you would have done so already." Emma warns her.
y/n shoulders sink. If she was honest, she had no clue how Sam would react, she could be happy, she could be mad, she could be shocked, hurt the list was endless.
"Why haven't you told anyone?" Emma can't help but ask and y/n sighs, knowing full well someone did know.
"Technically, Lucy Bronze knows." y/n says and Emma hums, knowing y/n and Lucy were close as y/n had played at Lyon for a season and a half before making her jump to Chelsea last year.
y/n had stayed with Lucy during that time, having been taken under the defender's wing who really helped her in the time away from her older sister.
"World cup?" Emma guesses and y/n nods.
"We had kind of began just before and continued during the world cup. Lucy walked into Lauren's room one night when we actually near the same place." y/n explains.
"And the reason?" She asks.
"I see how the media just tears everyone apart. Relationships, confidence, I mean I missed that shot a few weeks back and I just got annihilated for it." y/n continues.
"But you cannot let that get to you." Emma tries and y/n sighs.
"I know, but it does Emma." y/n says angrily. "And I just know, the second anything comes out about Lauren and I..." y/n sighs trailing off.
"You have to tell the team." Emma states and y/n throws her arms up in annoyance.
"Why?" She asks.
"Because I will not risk the chemistry I have created. You can't do it, I'll bench you." Emma warns.
"Emma!" y/n calls but the woman folds her arms. "I'm scared." y/n then sighs, folding her head in your hands.
"The girl who played for Australia at 16, scored the winning goal for the champions league at 17, is scared?" Emma asks and y/n nods.
"Terrified. All the time." y/n sighs and Emma's face drops her cold mask.
"Oh kid." Emma sighs and y/n looks up at her, heart in her throat. "Do you need to talk to someone?" She asks and y/n sighs.
"I don't know." y/n admits and Emma then sighs again.
"You've got until Friday to talk to Sam. We'll forget about the rest for now, eh?" She asks y/n who nods, trying to swallow the butterflies climbing her throat.
"Okay." y/n nods. Emma claps her on the shoulder and nods to the door and y/n nods. "Cheers boss." y/n says, and they both know it was meant deeper than just one way.
"Go get some lunch." Emma orders and y/n nods, walking into the lunch room where Sam already had a plate for her, just deepening the bite of guilt.
°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。
y/n just posted on her story x3
°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。
y/n sat with Lauren, the two comfortably pressed together on y/n's sofa as they watched Match of the Day, both fed and showered after their day of training before the Brighton game tomorrow.
y/n had been quiet, Lauren had noticed it, her eyes were glazed over, as if she wasn't really in the moment and so Lauren pressed a kiss to her head.
"What's wrong?" Lauren asked softly.
"Emma knows." y/n says simply, her voice void of emotion as she expected Lauren to yell, to freak out.
"Okay." Lauren says calmly and y/n pauses, her stomach knotting in shock.
"What?" She asks.
"Okay." Lauren repeats calmly. "What do you want to do?" She then asks.
"We need to tell Sam." y/n says, again expecting Lauren to end it, but her grip just tightens.
"It is probably about time." Lauren agrees calmly and y/n sits up and turns to look at her.
"You're not mad? You're not going to yell? Leave?" y/n asks, her voice quiet and shocked. Lauren smiles softly, pecking y/n's nose as she sits up also, bringing the girl onto her lap.
"No baby. I'm not going to leave." Lauren promises and y/n moves her legs so she was straddling Lauren's lap.
"Why?" She asks softly and Lauren sighs.
"We've been together since May in my brain, and even if not, we made it official in September. It's now January, I think that's enough time." Lauren states and y/n smiles softly.
"Okay." y/n says with a breath of happiness.
Lauren chuckles and her hands cup y/n's jaw, bringing her in for a deep kiss which makes y/n's head spin as their lips collide, tongues infecting each other's mouths.
"I think you should speak to someone." Lauren says as they pull away. "About your anxiety, your overthinking." Lauren continues and y/n sighs.
"I know." She says softly and Lauren nods before diving back in for another kiss, ever since their first one she had found the little Australian completely addictive.
Lauren's hands chased y/n's body, running down her back, up her thighs, squeezing her waist before eventually stopping at her arse, squeezing at the skin and pushing her closer.
y/n gasped as Lauren's lips traced a pattern down her neck, the woman quickly throwing y/n's top over her heard and somewhere onto the sofa.
Lauren took y/n's nipple into her mouth, sucking harshly as y/n's back arched and Lauren's name fell from her lips in a breathy plead to continue the pleasure.
Lauren continued her actions, switching to the other breast, leaving the first nipple, red hard and painfully sucked as y/n slowly started to grind against Lauren.
The woman moved y/n to straddle her thigh so the pressure was more pleasing for the Australian and bit at y/n's nipple when she moaned at the move.
"Turn around and take these off." Lauren ordered quickly, snapping the waistband of y/n's joggers.
The woman nodded and jumped up, stripping quickly, leaving her underwear on as she lowers back onto Lauren's thigh backwards.
Lauren's hands landed on her hips, pushing y/n into a grind, at the feel y/n moaned and fell forward, hands landing on Lauren's knee to stabilise herself and she continued to ride Lauren's thigh.
Lauren stretched back, hands coming to rest behind her head as she stared at y/n's ass, thong pulling over her thigh as the wetness of y/n's arousal spilled through it.
"That's it, chase it baby." Lauren ordered lowly, hand coming to squeeze at y/n's cheek as her moans became breathier, desperately trying to push herself over that edge.
"Lauren, please." y/n begged, her whine making Lauren chuckle.
The woman pulled y/n back to her chest, one hand coming to squeeze her throat and keep her against her chest as the other held her waist stopping her grinding.
"Can't even cum without me anymore, huh?" Lauren asks, y/n whining in response. "What do you want baby? Huh?" Lauren asks.
y/n can't answer, too wound up and Lauren's hand slides from her waist and dips underneath the band of her underwear, fingers sliding through her slick folds.
"Need me here?" Lauren asks smugly when y/n jolts.
Suddenly Lauren's fingers rub at y/n's clit quickly, pushing the woman over an unexpected orgasm which Lauren continues rubbing her through it.
Only when y/n is writhing in her hold, begging for a moment does Lauren give y/n a break, her fingers sliding up her toned stomach and pushing her slick past her lips and into y/n's mouth.
Lauren abruptly stands up, y/n letting out a shocked shout as Lauren carried her to the bedroom and throws her against the bed, the girl bouncing.
"Weeee." y/n says and Lauren chuckles as she strips and slides the strap on, making sure it was harnessed properly before kneeling on the bed.
y/n leans up, pressing a kiss to Lauren's cheek before she spins them, pushing Lauren to sit against the headboard.
"Wanna ride you." y/n mutters, Lauren nodding her head dumbly as she watched y/n slowly lower herself onto the cock.
Lauren groaned out in relief, y/n's hands resting against the harness to make the pull on Lauren's clit feel better as she slowly pushed herself up and back down.
Lauren hands grabbed at her waist, pulling her closer and connected their mouths in a heated and deep kiss, moans tangling as y/n continued to push herself up and down on the cock.
As the knot built in y/n's stomach once more, she rocked while feeling full of Lauren's cock, the rocking pushing Lauren to the edge and her hand came to slap at y/n's ass.
The two gasped, cumming together as their mouths continued blending their noises together while they slowly came down, eventually parting as the room filled with slow pants and deep breaths.
y/n slowly sat off the cock, gasping slightly at the feel of her walls clenching around nothing as she laid back next to Lauren who un-clipped the harness from herself.
y/n couldn't help but smile into Lauren's bare shoulder as the two stayed tangled together in a mess of sweaty sheets. Lauren's lips were against her forehead as they caught their breath.
"I think I'm in love with you." y/n says softly and Lauren chuckles.
"I think I'm in love with you too." Lauren promises her and y/n hums.
"Oh." She says, not really expecting to hear it back. "That's good." y/n says softly. "That is really good." y/n repeats and Lauren chuckles.
"Yeah baby. It is." Lauren promises and they both smile into each other's skin.
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END of part one
#woso#woso x reader#woso x y/n#social media woso#woso community#woso soccer#lauren james#lauren james smut#lauren james x y/n#lauren james x reader#lauren james imagine#chelsea fcw#chelsea fc#chelsea women#sam kerr#womens football#auswnt#wsl#emma hayes#millie bright#johanna rytting kaneryd#erin cuthbert#guro reiten#aggie beever jones#hannah hampton#eve perisset
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~Ghost of the Past~
=Part Two=
Warning: Violence, death, graphic scenes.
Cleared area your ass. You saw three of your former team. Jamie was standing out in the open. He was dazed stumbling around while holding his gut. He didn't see the enemy, but you did. You crash tackled the poor lad behind a piece of felled debris as bullets rained down upon you. You felt a hot pain travers up your arm. You checked to see only a bullet graze. Jamie on the other hand.
“Fuck,” You whispered seeing his spitting shoulder hit. And the hole in his lower stomach. Readjusting you gun you peeked over your cover taking out a few of the advancing enemies. At your returned fire they all moved for cover. It gave you a really short amount of time to bind Jamie shoulder with a pressure bandage. You checked in the bullet had gone straight though his stomach only to see it hadn't. You returned fire again before stuffing gaze into the hole. All the while Jamies head rolled around with disoriented pained grunts.
“This is Doc. Requesting medevac,” you spoke into the coms. What greeted you was static.
"It's gonna be ok Jamie, I got you mate," you said.
“This is doc, is anyone there?” you spoke again. Your eyes widened when the click of metal got you attention. A grenade had landed beside you. Faster than your brain could comprehend you grabbed it chucking it back over, throwing your body on Jamie. The blast rocked you slightly, throwing all manner of barbies and dust over you.
“THIS IS DOC! IS ANYONE THERE OVER!?” You yelled into the comm. Across the way you saw your other old team members pinned behind a building.
“I NEED assistance. Im pinned down,” you spoke again.
“Well, this sounds familiar,” Adam's cold voice invaded your ears. Turning the swirling storm of panic into a sharped edged blade. He had cut your comms of from everyone else's. Set up a line just for the two of you.
“The fuck is happening Adam. You said this area was cleared,” you hissed.
“Oh did I. Must have been my mistake,” he muttered.
“I need assistance. Jamies down,” you hated him, you wanted to kill him. but you hoped that he still had some good in him. if not for you then for Jamie.
“Pity, sorry can't help you. It looks mighty dangerous over there,” your eyes wafted over the battlefield. You found Adam standing a way away. With a shit eating grin on his face. Half of your team was with him. They were moving away from the action, towards the exit. the panic stabbed right through your heart at the all to familiar sight.
“What the fuck are you doing Adam?” you asked. They were leaving you.
“We got orders to retreat. But it seems like they have a comm blocker. Can't get into touch with team bravo,” your blood ran cold, panic sweeping the breath from you lungs. Bravo team. The boys.
“Looks like our intel was wrong to. Seems to be a lot more bogies than originally thought,” he stated a cackling chuckle leaving his lips.
“Good luck Maddog,” he smiled giving you a mock salute before turning and leaving. If it was any other situation you would have taken a moment to let the situation sink in. But this was battle, one moment could mean the difference between life and death.
“GET OVER HERE!” You yelled across the way your old team members grateful for the sanctuary of orders in their blind panic. Rising up you provided covered as they rushed towards you.
“Mad dog,” Anna greeted your briefly. She swallowed unsure of what you were about to do. She was surprised when you placed you hand on her shoulder.
"You hit?" you still wore the same concerned frown you always had. She didn't understand why you still cared for her. Not after what she did. She numbly shock her head the other doing so as well.
“Take him and get your asses out of here,” you ordered nodding down to Jamie.
“Yes ma'am,” she nodded. You pulled a pin of a grenade and threw it.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you sprinted down the hallways. Everybody you passed you searched for familiar features. Soap's mohawk. Ghosts mask. Prices hat. Gaz cap. It was a brutal game of tag between dread and relief. Then you saw them. Standing around a group of captured soldiers like it was a Tuesday lunch.
“Comms are on the fritz,” Gaz announced.
“Anyone got Doc's location?” Price asked.
“I'm here!” You announced. They all turned to you taking in your appearance. you were covered in dust. Sweat lines dragging through it like art.
“You look like shite,” Price grinned at you. Relife, utter relief filled you. They were ok. They were alive.
“Your hit,” Soap took notice of the blood first as they moved towards you.
“Just a scratch. We've got orders to retreat,” you stated. The boys frowned.
“But we completed the mission?” Gaz stated. They had. Lucky bastards cleared out the whole base themselves.
“Those are the orders. Comms are being blocked,” you stated.
“Alright, let's get going lads,” Price announced. You quickly made your way from the base and back to the transport. As you drove back you couldn't help but stare at the boys. Your heart was still pounding. The boys were joking about something or other. You looked down to Ghost hand that rested against his thigh. You were suddenly overcome by the need to see if it was real. If they were real. To make sure it wasn't some fantasies you had conjured up in your head. Ever so slightly your fingertips took ahold of the lose fabric. A deep breath left your lips as you held it tightly. He was there. They all were. Throwing you head back you rested it against the side of the truck tears glistening between your lashes. Ghost looked down at your hand, at your spaced breathing pattern. At the slight pinch of your brows as you finger clung so desperately onto his sleeve. Feeling pressure on you left side you opened your eyes to see Ghost had pressed himself against you. Your relished in the warmth and reassurance it gave you. It was subtle, unnoticed by the other boys. But it grounded you. Pulling your head out of the 'what ifs' to the now.
When you got back to base your eyes locked in on Adam. He was laughing with his team. When they noticed you guys, they seemed shocked. Understandable, not many could do what your boys could.
“So, they weren't joking when they said you guys meant business. Gotta say I'm impressed,” Adam stated with a wide blown smile. Your team stopped in front of them.
You didn't.
It took three large strides to close the distance between you. And only a second for you to pull your knife from its holster and shove it against Adams neck, your other hand gripping his collar to hold him stead.
“THE FUCK YOU PLAYING AT HUH!?” You screamed.
“Whoah hey hehehe,” he held his hands up in surrender.
“DOC STAND DOWN!” Price's order went over your head.
“I swear to god, anyone touches me, and I'll cut his throat,” you threat was real. You wanted them to give you an excuse to do it.
“Its alright Maddog. The fights over. Your safe,” Adam went to put a hand on your shoulder. His movements only stopped when you pushed the knife flush against his neck slicing the skin ever so slightly.
“How fucked up in the head are you? What makes you think you can get away with this huh?” you asked. The sly smile pulled over his lips.
“I dont know what you mean,” he said innocently. Fury, utter fury raged within you. You could feel you hand wanting to move. Wanting to slice his neck open and watching him bleed out infront of you.
“Y/N,” Price called softly. You were breathing erratically as you hand shock. Most thought you would actually do it. You flinched lightly as a hand encompassed your own. You looked to the side to see Ghost. His gaze soft.
“Its alright. We got you,” he whispered softly. His hand trailed up your arm. to your hand which he gave a soft squeeze before pulling it back. He gently took the knife from your grasp. And you let him.
“Good choice,” Adam swallowed. Your fist snapped out cracking into his face sending him on his ass. Ghost wrapped his arms around you pulling you back where Soap took the other side of you.
“Enough!” Price yelled stepping between you two.
“I don't give a fuck what you do to me. But the next time you throw my boys under the bus like that again it will be a bullet I put though your face. Not my fucking fist,” you seethed glaring dagger at him. He chuckled whipping the blood from his broken nose.
“And that's why she's called mad dog,” he uttered getting to his feet with the help of his men. Some which held guilty looks.
“Keep that one on a short leash captain. She can tend to wander,” you tried to get a second hit in, but the boys held you back.
“Walk it off sargent!” Price deamned pointing you in the opposite direction.
“Yeah, walk it off,” Adam tainted. Price turned to glare at him.
“You stay the fuck away from her you understand boy," Price got into his face talking to his as if he would scold a child. And Adam hated that. Ripping yourself form the boys grasp you turned on you heel and stomped away.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You were all informed that another mission would take place the day after. After the whole ordeal the boys had looked for you. They were worried about you. You had completely disappeared. Nobody knew where you were. You hadn't signed out of the base. So, Gaze tracked your phone.
So there you stood hidden in the bushes as you stared at a certain grave not to far from you. You heard the boys walk up to your side. You were wearing a hood an a medical mask to cover your features.
“Visiting an old friend?” Price asked. They had all lost someone special to them. Whether it be a fellow soldier or family. You had hardly talked about your past, so they didn't know who you lost.
“You guys shouldn't be here,” you whispered softly. Then from the hill emerged two people. And older man in his late fifties. Under his arm sat a bottle of whiskey. He had lanky legs and a beer belly. With a kind old smile on his face.
“Come on. You know how she gets when were late,” he called behind him.
“Coming dad,” a teenage ran up to him. He had tosseled brown hair and stood just about as tall as his dad.
“Who are they?” Gaz asked.
“My family,” you whispered.
“You sure lass. Height dosent really add up,” Soap joked softly.
“What can I say. I lost the gene lottery,” you shrugged.
“You gonna go say hi?” Price asked.
“No,” you whispered solemnly. Getting the message that you wanted to be quiet they all slipped into silence.
“Still ordering me around huh?” A woman with olive skin and black hair walked up to them. A steak of silver shone in her perfect updo.
“We were married for eighteen years. I think I deserve some penance for my sentence,” the two smiled at each other. The divorce had been amicable, and they had become good friends after it.
“Goodmorning sweetheart,” you father called softly a solemn smile gracing his features as they approached the grave.
“Sup cunt,” Your brother stated earning a slap from your mother.
“Dont be mean. Go on tell her what you did,” she encouraged him.
“So rember when you said I had a knack for engine and stuff. And I laughed and said I was just gonna become a millionaire,” he trailed o scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I got a scholarship to this really good school. Everything paid for. Dad was really happy about that,” the joke had your family smiling.
“It turns out you were right. I'm doing well. Really well. Skipped a grade. And I'm really enjoying it,” he stated.
“Got his cherry popped to,” you father said earning a blush from you brother.
"Her names Ella. Sweet little thing. Shes got him by the balls," your mother stated.
"Mum," he groaned with a heavy blush.
“I meet a man. His name is Greg. I think I'll being him next time,” your mother said.
“He's a cunt,” you father stated.
“He's better in bed than your father,” she stated. You smiled as they slipped into their usual banter. The insults having the weight of jack shit.
“Found this hidden in your little secret compartment,” you dad tapped his nose with a knowing look. The boys watched on as they talked to the grave like it was an actual person.
“Have a drink with your old man yeah?” he suggested. The drink was passed around as they all poured some in their cups. An extra cup was set atop the grave.
“To our little girl. Shortest little shit I've ever meet,” they cheer.
"Happy birthday darling," you mother said. It was silent after that. Your family moved to hold each other as they mourned. Tears falling to the freshly cut grass.
“She would have been so proud of you,” you mother whispered running her hand through your brothers hair.
“She would have been proud of us all. Thats just how she is,” he whispered back. You watched as they drank and talked about there lives. What they had been up to. The sun had begun to set when they decided to leave. Your bother lingered slightly tears rushing down his face.
“I miss you bitch,” he mumbled knocking his knuckles on the edge of the grave. The boys knew that move. You would do that to them wherever they went in for a fist bump. He turned and walked away. With a heavy heart you watched them leave.
“Why didn't you say hello?” Soap asked. You didn't answer, instead you walked up to the grave and took the drink in hand. You swirled it around watching the car pull away. The boys slowly walked up to you examining the grave.
Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.
Beloved daughter, friend and soldier.
“The fuck is this?” Soap asked in shock. They were all shocked, but they quickly put two and two together.
“It was part of the deal,” you rolled the words on your touge.
“What deal?” Price asked. You wanted to tell them. No, you needed to tell them. You couldn't go on another mission with the bloody hells. You had gotten lucky. Extremely lucky. Sure, telling them the truth might put you in a dangerous situation, but you would do it to protect them. And you trusted them.
“Way back there was a mission. Things went south. Adam got his hands on some valuable information. I stayed behind to make sure everyone was safe. And when I went to regroup with them,” you trailed off your throat becoming tight.
“They didn't wait for me. They left. Leaving me in a deep hole of shit. I was captured. Tortured for the information Adam had stolen. When they realized I wouldn't break they proposed a deal. The information for me. Adam didn't agree,” you recalled the events.
“The information wasn't intergyral, but it did make him rich. I don't know what he did with it. Probably sold it to a third party. When I realized, nobody was coming to save me, I got myself out. Came back here only to find out that they had all given reports that they had seen me gunned down. That they confirmed I was dead. Head office chucked it up to some bull shit Mirical. Having escaped I had a lot of heat on me. I had fucked around with some pretty important people. Friendly and otherwise. Turns out a lot of important people had their hands all over that mission. They went after my family. I made a deal with the military. In exchange for my families safely I would become there lacky,” you said nodding to the grave. “If I stayed quiet about it all,” you added.
“By all official records I am dead. Only a few choices military know otherwise. They thought I was a nifty little card to hold. Someone they could send where every they want to do whatever they wanted. No red strings attached. Someone that technically didn't exist. A ghost,” you chuckled bitterly.
"I was actually doing their dirty work when we first meet. I was surprised when they gave the green light to join the 141," you took a sip of the drink.
“In the end I was supposed to die on that mission. They used my family as leverage to insure I had,” you whispered looking deep into the dark liquid.
“Why are you telling us now? Wy not before?” Price asked solemnly.
“He threated you guys, told me to behave,” you admitted.
“So why tell us?” Ghost asked.
“Because I'm scared,” you admitted honestly. Your breath shock as you turned to them your eyes welling with tears.
“On that mission. He cut the comms. He lied bout the numbers. He sent you guys into a trap and he fucking smirked at me while he did it,” your hands trembled as they gripped the drink.
“I was so scared I had lost you guys,” you said.
“I was scared to lose another family,” you cried. It meant a lot to the boys to hear that. That word. Family. That exactly what they were to you. And that's exactly what you were to them.
"But were here love. Were all alright,” Gaz tried to lighten you up.
“By sheer dumb luck!” you snapped.
“I know I might lose you one day. I've known that for a long time. Were soldiers. That comes with the uniform, but I'll be dammed if I let that fucker be the one that does it,” you huffed. Silence washed over you as you looked each of them in the eye stopping at Ghost. “You guys mean too much to me,’" you added. "So please. Don't send us on another mission with him,” you begged turning to Price.
“He can't know I told you about it ither,” you added. Price walked up to you his expression deathly serious.
“Then why would he risk you coming back here?” he asked. You shrugged frustrated with it all.
“I-I don't know. I don't know if he's goanna hurt my family. If he's gonna hurt, you. If he wants to finish the job he started?” you gestured to him. There it was again. That anxiety. Seeing the start of your panic Price stepped forward again.
“Come er,” you were slightly surprised when he pulled you into his chest. He held you firmly as he tucked you head under his chin.
“It's gonna be alright love. You've done well,” he whispered. It felt like the hugs your father used to give. You reached up gripping the back of his shirt and hugging him tightly the tears free falling.
“We got you,” he whispered.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
On the drive back you were sandwiched in the back with Ghost and Soap. You had been silent since the graveyard. Which wasn't like you.
“Can we get hungry jacks?” You asked. It was a relief to the boys to hear that. At least you were still hungry.
“Yeah, we can do that,” Price nodded. It was quite funny watching price try and order for the whole car. Especially because the drive thru guy couldn't understand there accents half the time. And Soap yelling from the back just made it worse. After getting the food you picked away at it happily as you drove back to base. Ghost paused as he felt a wight drop against his shoulder. He looked down at you to see you fast asleep. You mouth open mid chew. A burger in one hand and a drink in the other. Soap smiled when he noticed taking a quick picture before taking the food from your hands. When the car stopped, they all piled out, except Ghost and you.
“Coming?” Soap asked bending down through the door.
“I'll stay a little bit,” Ghost whispered. Soap smiled knowingly giving a nod and silently closing the door.
It was two hours before you stirred awake.
“We here?” you asked finishing chewing the remnants of the burger.
“Yeah,” Ghost murmured getting out of the car. You followed after him frowning when you saw a wet patch on his shoulder. Whipping the dribbled form the corner of your lips you shrugged.
"You got a wet patch there," you stated.
"No I don't," he stated.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The next day you and the boys sat down decided on what to do. When you explained in more detail about what went down in the mission the boys were furious.
And lets just say that the 141 gets even.
The mission involved clearing out a safe house of sorts. A back up base. During the next mission you walked into a room, gun raised with Gaz on point. You were right behind him. Everything was going perfectly. Till it wasn't.
The movement was so quick you only saw what had happened when you turned. Gaz stood, with Adam behind him. A gun pressed against his temple. Terror took ahold of you as you mad eye contact with Gazs own fear filled pupils. You paused in the doorway. Adam didn't know the other two were there.
“Let him go Adam, lower the gun” you demanded. Price and Ghost pressed themselves against the wall.
“Come on Maddog. You know I can't do that,” he stated. You glanced out the doorway as Price held up five fingers. He was asking how many were in the room. You glanced around. It was only Adam.
“Looking for your friends?” he asked. Price had told him the team would split in two. It was part of your plan. Price slowly put his fingers down.
“Of course,” You answered when Price got to one. Price turned to Ghost giving him hand signs before nodding him off. He looked back at you tapping his watch.
Buy some time. They were your orders. The comms was open so you could hear Ghost rapid footsteps.
“Unlike you I know they have my back,” you said.
“Cute. Drop the gun,” he ordered.
“Or I can shoot you,” You suggested.
“I know you're a good shoot but that's cutting it a bit close huh?” he asked sliding further behind Gaz. He was right. You ran the risk of hitting Gaz.
“Get him Doc,” Gaz encouraged you. Your face scrunched up as Adam shock him slightly pressing the barrel painfully further into his skull. Chucking you gun to the side you glared.
“Good girl. Now on your knees,” he demanded. You obeyed.
“Put those on,” he kicked forward a pair of zip ties.
“What are you doing Adam? Whats your plan this time huh?” you asked.
“Well, this plan is a little more brutal than my last. After all I tried so hard to make it look like an accident. I knew you bleeding heart wouldn't leave that kid. I even told then to target you as well. But no, you just won't die huh? You should have just died Y/N,” he hissed. You stared at him.
Adam was more than just your former commander. He was your best friends since diapers. You had grown up together. Your bond used to be the strongest in the world. You had entered the military together, built up your carrers and skills side by side.
“What happened to you Adam?” You asked. The man before you was a shadow of the one you once loved so dearly.
“I got smart, that's what happened,” he spat.
“This isn't like you. The Adam I knew would have never sold me out for a lousy paycheck,” you were buying time. But you were also trying to reason with your friend.
“Would you just quit it. I've always been on the bottom run. Always poor. Do you know how differently they looked at me with my raggy shoes?” he asked.
“So you sold me out to get rich then?” you asked.
"Wow. Smart you are. And no, I didn't sell you out. You were just a chess piece. A tool to get what I wanted” he said.
“You know that's not true,” you murmered. You could see it, the conflict inside him, however small it was it was still there.
“Please, just put down the gun,” you begged. For a second he saw you, only a younger you. And instead of begging to put his gun down you were begging him to stop shooting you with a water gun. You wore such a bright smile. Perhaps he had loved you once. Along time ago. But that side of him had died a long time ago.
"I really should have killed you that day," he admitted.
"Then why didn't you?" you asked.
"Because I was weak. I let you live because I didn't have the guts to kill you myself," he hissed.
"Thats not a problem now," Your eye's widened as the gun turned to you. The window shattered as Ghost emerged from it having sung down from the higher level. The distraction allowing Gaz to shove Adam back. All the while you pulled your handgun from its hoister and pulled the trigger.
Two shots' still rung out.
Pain split through your left chest as the bullet cleaved through you.
“GAH!” you hit the ground. Adam body following shortly after a bullet hole sizzling between his eyes, his brains splattered over the wall.
“DOC!” Your vision blurred with tears as you hand was forced away from your wound.
“Fuck,” Ghost grunted as he ripped you vest from you. With your luck the bullet had just missed the vest. Since you were still gasping for breath, you gathered it hadn't hit your lungs or vital organs, but it stung like a bitch. You were jostled up into a seated position. Where your sanity somewhat returned to you.
“Theres and exit wound,” Ghost stated.
“FUCKING HELL!” you yelled as they started to shove gauz into the hole.
“Gaz?” you blindly searched for him.
“Right here Doc,” he said giving your leg a squeeze. You gaze focused to see them crowded around you. Price standing guard while Soap tended to the wound and Ghost held you up.
“That really hurts,” you chuckled a laugh before grunting again.
“You are one lucky little fucker,” Price huffed.
“Who me?” you asked.
“Can you walk?” he asked as Soap finished tying off the bandage. His eyes glanced down at the bandages that quickly became soaked in blood. He didn't like how fast it had happened.
“Walk? I fell like a running a marathon,” you joked.
“Ghost,” he nodded to Ghost who nodded back.
“Let's move,” he said. With Ghost taking most of your weight you started making you way from the base. With a fleeting look to the dead corps, you felt your eyes close.
You had passed out somewhere between leaving the room and getting back to the transport.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
While you were unconscious Price made some bullshit excuse for Adams death. The excuse worked well. Nobody questioned anything. After all missions go south all the time. He was simply listed as a casualty. That was all the respect he deserved.
When it was time to go home you at in the plane your shoulder in a sling. You were on strict orders not to use it for a bit. Your mind reeled with Adam dead gaze. At the moment you took aim and pulled the trigger. Did you want to kill him. Never. Would you have done it save on of your boys. Defiantly, without a moment's hesitation.
“Y/N,” you stood as you saw Jamie run towards you stopping at the plane ramp. Well waddle as best he could in his state.
“What's up kid?” you asked.
“Thankyou, for everything,” he yelled as the plane started up. He was a good kid.
You gave him one of your signature smiles. The one you always gave him before everything went to shit.
“Look after yourself alright,” you yelled.
“You have friends here Y/N. Whenever you need. We owe you that much!” he called. You nodded.
“Goodby Jamie,” you called as the ramp lifted. Silently you walked over to your seat struggling with your buckle.
“Need help?” Ghost asked. You nodded. Reaching over he quickly buckled you in pulling the strap tight.
“You know I've been wondering. Why Maddog?” Soap asked. A melancholy smile graced your lips.
“I bit the finger off the doctor that was giving me a shot. Adam was there for it. The doc called me a mad dog. Name kinda stuck,” you shrugged.
“So you did bight his finger off?” Ghost asked.
“I did. Rember that next time you fuckers try and give e a shoot,” you said clacking your teeth together in a biting motion.
“God help your future partner,” Soap shock his head. You all chuckle.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
When you were back at base you sat out on the little patio a beer in hand. You were simply thinking. about it all. You wondered if you had done something different if it would have changed everything.
Ghost silently walked out stopping by your side to offer a cigarette. You shock your head.
"He was more than a team leader to you, wasn't he?" Ghost asked.
"How did you know?" you asked.
"The look of regret you had when you saw his corps," he stated simply.
"We grew up together. Thought I was gonna marry him for a bit," you whispered.
"You did what needed to be done," was he trying to reassure you?
"Doesn't make it any less painful," you whispered.
"I faced something similar. Had to end two of my teammates. Their brains had been corrupted. They had changed," he began telling his story.
"Did you ever forgive yourself?" you asked.
"I'm not sure," he answered honestly.
"Well, I have no regrets," you stated.
"Really?" he asked.
"I'll never forgive myself for killing him. But I'll never regret it," You stated standing up and finishing your drink.
"Whys that?" he asked.
"Because no one messes with my boys and gets away with it," you stated with a cheeky smile patting his should.
"Thats for trying to reassure me. Ya big softy," you smiled brightly.
"I'm not soft," he grunted.
"Yaha of course you're not," You cooed in a baby voice.
"I will end you," he threated making you laugh.
That night you and Ghost would drink till the early hours of the morning, simply talking.
"We should get to bed Ghost," you stated standing upon your wobbly legs.
"It's Simon," you head snapped around to him.
"What?" you asked.
"My name. Its Simon. You can call me that if you like. But not in front of anyone that's not the team," he said.
"Well Simon. Its officially nice to meet you. My names Y/N," you said holding you hand out for him to shake. He shook took you hand covering it completely from view.
"Big ass hand mother fucker," you grumbled drunkenly before trotting off. Simon following after you making sure you didn't run into anything.
================================================
--COD Master List Here--
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#141 x reader#141 x you#cod ghost#cod 141#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#tf 141#task force 141#simon riley x reader#mw fics#cod mw2#cod mw3#ghost mw2#cod
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omg stop a cap mactavish drabble where they're caught 'n he's gotta keep the reader calm would feed my soul
—Listen To My Voice
⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ
╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞
“Jus’ keep your eyes open and listen to my voice, eh?” The heavy Scottish drawl snaps you back into focus, your head pounding awfully and pain ricocheting up and down your limbs. It’s a stiff and unyielding order. “C’mon now, Sergeant.”
Coughing, you hack up splatters of blood onto your cargos—hands and arms tied down with rough rope that skins you every time you shift.
“Fuck,” you mutter, blinking rapidly as the footsteps walk away from your holding cell and disappear with the slam of a far-off door.
The Captain ahead of you grunts, his hard blue eyes sliding down the wreckage of your uniform; the open wounds and torn fingernails. He doesn’t look much better, truth be told. Your captors had taken pleasure in making you watch the other get brutalized—the vile rage in your eyes yet the inability to do anything.
It was mental torture as well as physical.
“Oversight ought to know we’re gone,” Soap slides out smoothly, tilting his mohawked head to the side to study the room in casual sweeps, as if not bloodied and broken. “—they’ll be sendin’ out recon teams to scout the area in little under a day. Standard protocol.”
His voice trails, seeing your gaze locked onto the door of the cell, pupils nothing but tiny dots in your burst veins of the once white sclera. Blue finds the way your body shakes, and the man’s large fingers twitch along the arm of his chair.
In the back of his throat, he lets off a rumble and resets his stubbed jaw; the scar along his left eye shifting with his expression.
“Sergeant,” your face twitches, but you don’t look at him. Inside your chest, your rattling lungs can nearly be heard aloud.
Captain MacTavish’s lips tighten. “Didn’t I tell you to listen? Pipe up! This is important.”
Your mind dances between hysterics and the numb oblivion of shock. While Soap had years to adhere to the idea of bare torture—even going through it before—you had no such luck. Experienced with weaponry, yes, but One-Four-One had only taken you on with the idea that you could become better than you already were.
You’d never gone through an actual interrogation beyond training.
Fast flinching eyes dart to your superior, chest heaving and adrenaline coating your expression. Blood drips to the floor.
Soap grinds his teeth and sighs through his nose.
She won’t last like this, he tells himself—blunt and honest. He’d told Price it was a bad idea to let you tag along, and without the reassurance from his fellow, he would have straight-out denied you coming. Too inexperienced.
This was exactly what he had been worried about.
But, hell, if that fear in your eyes didn’t make his stomach knot; a heavy rage at the image of your broken skin as all he could do was watch. But it was a silent kind of fury. Weighted with the knowledge of revenge.
While the man hated dogs, he sure acted like a loyal one.
“One day,” the Captain tells you—hardened; inflexible. His orbs are like hard steel and his stiff body like rock. “You can take one more day. Just need to focus on me…Copy? I don’t want your eyes to leave me. Not through any of it.”
You push through your haze, staring into his eyes with the vile stench of fear in the air. It was human nature to not want to be harmed. To dread pain and suffering in all senses.
This man seemed apart from that.
The Captain grunts, harsher now, “Copy?”
“I-I,” you stutter, lashes fluttering. “I copy, Sir.”
“Relay.” He barks, watching you closely.
“One day.” Answering immediately, you clear your throat and stifle your whimper of agony—a few of your ribs are broken. “I can make it one more day.”
“Good.” Soap’s accent makes the words clipped and true. Taken as law. “Nothin’ll happen that won’t be repaid. Keep that close, it’ll help.”
“How many times have you been through this?” Talking helped with the nerves, your focus leaving the sounds in the distant hallways and the loud voices wafting in the vents. The room was cold; you shiver and grimace as your body moved.
“Too many.” Soap huffs, pulling at his restraints with a heavy hand and growling under his breath when nothing happens. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”
You lick your bloodied lips and feel the cuts in them. “...Is that a good or a bad thing, Sir?”
His lips twitch into a low smirk, shooting you a sly narrowing of his lids. “Well, I’d say that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”
In the grimness and the barbarity, you huff what can be described as a dead woman’s laugh.
The Captain, still trying to find a loose area of the rope, grits his teeth and utters, “There’ll be no deaths here ‘cept the ones outside this cell, eh? Like I said—focus. When I tell you something, I don’t care how hard it is, you’ll be listenin’ to me. Got that?”
Footsteps sound up again from beyond, and you tense, eyes flinching wider. Soap grunts out an order and you keep your feral gaze locked on his. Blue eyes bore into you, flaying their meaning deep into your body like you’re made of clay. The uptick in your pulse makes you shake wildly.
“Keep those eyes right on me. Nothing’s goin' on that’ll kill you, aye?” The door turns and the unlocking of the barrier snaps like electricity up your spine. You want to run, but you know you can’t.
And through it all, you stare straight into Captain MacTavish’s frozen eyes—his strong brow pulled in with authority. He nods his approval with a quick jerk of his head. When the door opens, you can’t help but fear he’s lying.
TAGS:
@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast
#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#mw2#x female reader#call of duty x you#call of duty x reader#call of duty mwii#cod mwii#captain mactavish#john mactavish#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish x you#captain mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#soap mactavish x reader#modern warfare x you#modern warfare x reader#modern warfare 2009#cod x female reader#x fem!reader
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Checkerboard
Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader
Summary: You’re not a supe. You’re breakable. Soldier Boy sometimes forgets that.
AN: A more reformed Soldier Boy (AU post-season 3) has to come to terms with his strength.
Word Count: 1,000
Warnings: 18+ only for nudity. Also language and fluff.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks.
You’re still half-asleep, because Ben had been absently stroking a thumb across your back. He sits up against the headboard of the bed you so often share, already drinking a cup of coffee. He looks damn-near domestic…
Until he actually looked down at the bruises peeking out at him from beneath the sheets. He sets down his mug and pushes the sheets down.
He then stares at the marks that litter your back, waist, hips, and ass. You shoot him an annoyed look at being bared so early in the morning.
“What’re you doing?” you ask.
He manhandles you just firmly enough to turn you over so he can see your face—out from where it had been buried in your pillow. Despite yourself, you greet his annoyingly handsome face. It's covered with neatly trimmed stubble, and with the back of your hand you touch his cheek in affection. He pushes it away.
“You got something to tell me?” he says, more of a demand than a question. “Answer me. What the fuck happened here?”
He gestures at a prominent dark-bluish mark on the inside of your thigh. You sigh and give him a patient look (and that is an effort in itself).
“Nothing,” you reply. A cheeky smile starts to play at your lips, but Ben’s brows furrow in irritation. He knows you’re messing with him, and he doesn’t appreciate it.
“You work at a damn desk. Unless you’re getting nailed by the mail guy—”
“Get fucking serious, Ben.” You dismiss that with a roll of your eyes. He tilts his head at you. His mouth works, and his gaze becomes suspicious. But you notice an edge of worry behind his eyes.
Has someone hurt you? Threatened you?
It hasn’t been the first time the latter had happened. Even though Soldier Boy was officially pardoned and now works as a contracted ally with Supe Affairs, he still has plenty of hated enemies. It doesn’t help that you also work in the thick of it—running surveillance for the team.
So you decide to put him out of his misery.
“You really don’t remember?” you ask wryly.
At Ben’s raised brow, your lips quirk at the corner.
“You don’t remember two days ago? When you met me at my office for lunch, which consisted of you rudely sweeping all my hard work to the floor and ultimately breaking my new desk?”
Realization lights up Ben’s face, and his mouth edges into a smirk.
“We were breaking it in,” he corrects you.
Good times, he thinks, before another, less fun realization hits him: his hands are responsible for the patchwork quilt of bruises that litter your skin.
And he remembers, yet again, that he has the very real capacity to hurt you.
You notice how he takes pains to be gentle, slowly brushing the back of his hand across your thigh.
“It’s not the first time,” you remind him.
“It could be the last,” he reminds you. Your face doesn’t change.
You won’t take compound V. Not for him. Not for anyone.
But with shit like this, he wonders why you stay with him.
“It’s good for you to remember your own strength,” you say, only half-teasing. He turns away from you.
Ben grumbles, “You wanna gamble with your fucking life, that’s up to you.”
You shake your head.
“Don’t do that.” You lean on his shoulder from behind and caress his back—smooth of any scars. You can’t help but prod at him again. “Real men don’t sulk.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder. You giggle at his green-eyed annoyance.
The truth is, you make it difficult for him not to care. Not to be a softer man.
He fucking hates soft.
But…just for you, he could do it. Just a little.
He closes his hand over yours, which rests on his chest.
“Sorry,” he says. His voice is deep and holds the weight of his sincerity. That one word also encompasses how much progress his relationship with you has made.
Instead of answering, you kiss his shoulder, the back of his neck. He turns around and strokes your cheek, knowing from your eyes that you don’t hold anything against him.
“You don’t have to treat me like a porcelain doll, but I don’t need to look like a checkerboard either,” you tease.
Ben rolls his eyes and slides his arms under you, pulling your naked body onto his bare chest and making you squeal. You meet his eyes as his hand soothes down your back.
“How about this,” he says. “Come up with a safe word.”
You laugh. “We already have one.”
“That’s for other shit,” Ben says, grinning. “Let’s have one just for this. Whenever you wanna remind me to tone it down.”
His hands are careful when they grasp a non-aching portion of your hips. You look down on him fondly, and you consider his suggestion.
“Hmm…pineapples,” you decide. It’s the first obnoxious thing that comes to mind.
“No,” he says. “Veto.”
“What? You can’t veto. It’s my safe word.”
“I’m not gonna be balls deep inside you hearing pineapples in my ear.”
You shake your head at your boyfriend and frame his face with your hands, squeezing his head in exasperation.
“Fine. How about…checkers,” you suggest. A teasing smile comes to your face, even if it pulls his lips into a frown. “So you remember we had this conversation.”
You can tell he doesn’t entirely like it, but he nods in agreement.
“Good. Now, care to join me for a bath?” you ask. Ben is reluctant; he knows you’re going to pour in a shit ton of frilly-smelling soap and bath salts that feel uncomfortable to sit on. But he’s open to the bath time shenanigans that usually ensue.
“I am still a bit sore,” you say, giving him an imploring look. He levels you with a knowing frown. Using his guilt against him is a dirty tactic, and you always employ it well to your advantage.
“Fine. But we’re using regular fucking soap,” he says. You smile and press a lingering kiss to his lips.
But you both know that the second his back is turned, you’re going to dump in your lavender-scented bath bubbles anyway.
AN: I found this basically sketched out in my files and decided to clean it up and put it out there! Let me know what you think. I know it's a much softer Soldier Boy than we're used to seeing. ;)
Read the Prequel:
If you liked this, check out the prequel series to this one-shot:
Series Masterlist: Break Me Down
Soldier Boy Masterlist
Main Masterlist
#soldier boy#the boys season 3#the boys tv#the boys#the boys amazon#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy/ben x reader#soldier boy x you#soldier boy x female reader#zepskies#zepskies writes#reformed!soldier boy#the boys au#fluff
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Make It Better
Leah Williamson x Reign!Reader
Word Count: 591
A/N: Just a short blurb because I'm sad and apparently I like writing when I'm sad
[WOSO Masterlist]
You’re sitting on mahogany seats when she calls.
Your head’s dropped down against your hands, a duffle bag thrown on the floor underneath your feet.
You’re tired and cold and just so fucking sad when she calls.
“I just saw what happened. What can I do to help?”
What can I do to help. Not are you okay or any attempts at consoling you.
What can I do to help.
Because Leah’s a footballer just like you. She knows exactly how it feels to lose a championship game. To be so close to achieving your dreams and then having them crumble to dust right in front of you.
You wipe roughly at the tear trekking down your cheek. Your face hurts from the number of times you’ve wiped at your face the past couple hours.
You know Leah can hear you silently crying over the phone. You try to keep it quiet, but your girlfriend knows you almost better than you know yourself.
The people around you pretend not to stare but you can still feel their gaze occasionally sweeping past you. You must be a sight to see, red eyes, stuffy nose, oversized t-shirt and sweatpants on, traces of grass still sticking to your arms from where you missed them earlier.
“Can you give me a hug?”
There’s only one thing that would make you feel better. Spending the majority of the year away from your girlfriend sucks, but not being able to feel her arms around you, breath tickling your skin as she murmurs how much she loves you, especially after a hard fought lost like today, just makes the distance hit even worse.
“I’ll give you as many hugs as I can when I see you next.”
Tipping your head back, you finally let the headrest do its job and let the chair support your body. You all but sink into the chair, hand tightening its grip against the phone pressed to your ear.
“I miss you,” you murmur, trying to focus on the sounds you can hear through the phone.
There’s some rustling as you assume Leah is settling back against her bed. You feel guilty that she’s calling you with how early it is in England, but the selfish part of you doesn’t want her to go.
Leah also doesn’t seem like she’s in any rush to leave, as you hear her soft hum over the line. “I miss you too. When is your flight out?”
A soft smile rises to your lips at the knowledge that Leah still thinks you’re in San Diego. You slip open an eye, taking note of the various conditions of the passengers around you, many having earplugs and eye masks over their eyes as they brave the late-night flight over to London.
“I’ll be home for dinner.”
You can practically hear how wide Leah’s smile gets. God you couldn’t wait until you could see that gorgeous smile in person.
“You might have to settle for confectionery stand hotdogs, darling.”
You can already picture it. You wrapped in Arsenal red, Leah’s arms snug tight around you. A small hotdog and drink in hand as you watch her team play in their own league game.
So similar to how your first date went.
As well as many others that followed.
“I can’t wait. It’s a date.”
And when the clock strikes 7 in Leicester, the sting from your championship loss hasn’t faded yet, but wrapped up in the arms of Leah Williamson, finally home at last, you know everything will be alright.
#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson imagine#woso x reader#woso imagine#uswnt x reader#uswnt imagine#Ace writes
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Short Days, Long Nights: 13
Joel Miller x f!reader
Series Masterlist
Rating: E (pregnancy sex, lactation, grief)
A/N: Thank you endlessly for being so patient with me while I've been on hiatus ❤ I'm gonna stay off for another couple weeks, but I didn't want to leave you hanging for too long. I appreciate every single person that has stuck with me on this! Thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @the-scandalorian for helping me with this one - you both are the biggest brains and the most wonderful writers and I am insanely lucky to have you on my team. Enjoy! ❤
--
Jackson.
The image of the map is burned into Joel’s mind, always present.
More concerned with your safety than anything, he knows you should leave, but as the weeks slip by, what picks at him more is that he didn’t have an answer to your question that day.
“Where are we gonna go?”
He should be one step ahead. He should be on top of the potential outcomes. He should have a plan, since that’s always been his role. Stepped up with one when he had Sarah, took care of Tommy before the Outbreak, and after, led their way in the QZ. After Tommy left, he still did it, even if he was going through the motions more than anything. Doing it has always been second nature, a means to survive.
You’d let his lack of answer drop because he knew you didn’t want to leave, and of course, he knew you shouldn’t. Not right now. But still - still - he should have had a plan for something he knew was bound to happen sometime. Blinded by the light of your fierce optimism and wanting so badly to believe in it, he simply…didn’t think about it. The first time that’s happened in decades.
You’re depending on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an answer ready.
“Where are we gonna go?”
He doesn’t fucking know.
Wood dust floats to settle on the floorboards around his boots, and he runs a piece of sandpaper over the beam of rough lumber that rests across his lap. The rhythmic sweeps soothe his nerves, and he tries to focus on how good it feels to do something useful with wood again. Something familiar, the dry grain sliding against his palms. A task done because he wants to, instead of as a means to get by like so much else in his life.
This…this was for him, and for you.
The late afternoon sun streams through the window in the shed, not quite enough to dissipate the chill. Crisp air breezes in through the open door, the sweet smell of damp leaves blending with the wood and the tips of his fingers are cold enough to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to make the most of your nap times if he wants to get this done before next week.
Before Christmas - or the closest approximation to the date anyway, using your rudimentary calendar. Celebrating the holiday had been your idea, and like every other time when it came to something you asked for, he couldn’t say no. He said yes when you asked him to cut you a tree, nodded when you pointed to the one you wanted after a trek through the woods, helped you rip strips of red, moth bitten flannel that was worthless for clothing just to watch you tie bows to the end of the branches, as a means to decorate it.
He was impressed by your constant resourcefulness and ingenuity when it came to the things you’d been given, and at night, when the lantern shone on it and bathed the living room in a cozy glow, it almost did feel like Christmas time. The closest thing to it that he’s felt in years, anyway.
Placing the sandpaper on the floor and picking up a knife, his mind follows the trail marked on the map. Winding through woods and across open swathes of land, it passes right through your area and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone else follows the first. He knows that man can’t have been the only one with a map.
He frowns, gouging the wood a little more forcibly as he works through a knot, and he pictures the curve of your cheek, the delicate line of your neck, the bright happiness in your eyes here. That Christmas tree, in the front room. Torn between the idea of the unknown being just as unsafe as being a sitting duck at the cabin, he is restless with the need to move. The urge to keep you tucked away and protected from the world spreads beneath his skin and grows stronger every day, along with your stomach.
It’s large enough that it strains against the shirts you’ve borrowed from him, and though you’ve started choosing large sweatshirts instead, it’s begun to push against those too. You’ve begun to sway when you stand in place, an unconscious rock as a means to relieve pressure on your lower back, and he pictures you doing the same with a baby in your arms as you stand next to the cradle that he’s been building.
When he thinks about leaving it behind only to gather dust as he drags you somewhere else, the image eats at him, reminding him too much of another room, left behind to rot.
Another life, upended by abrupt violence.
Guilt has always gnawed at him for so many things, and following the mental image of you holding a baby, he adds to the growing list: the idea of another child replacing the one he had.
He fixates on all the things he couldn’t do for her on that last day but also the things time has robbed from him: the image of her face, the sound of her laugh. The books she liked, the order in which she lost her teeth, the weight of her infant body in his arms. How much of that time he spent without her while trying to provide for her, and how here, he’s got all the time in the world for this new child. His new child.
More feelings; the knife gouging deeper. Looking forward to a holiday that can’t include her, nervously anticipating holding a baby that belongs to him, looking at you and what you’ve built together and being so fucking happy he missed his mark on that bleak day ten years ago.
Is it betrayal to feel joy?
He’s not replacing her. He knows that. He knows, and yet the guilt never stops and so neither do his hands nor his mind, both working on fixing other problems that can be fixed.
Jackson.
A bed for the baby.
–
“I know it would be cold, but I think I’d rather have snow.”
You look out at the sodden garden, the neat, large borders that surround it blending in with the damp landscape. The fence that Joel built the only visual marker of where it’s at, it’s prepped for winter, buried in a dense layer of leaves and compost. You absentmindedly finger the leaf of a plant you brought inside with you, sheets of rain sliding down the window.
“Not me,” he says. “Might look pretty, but it would be a whole lot more dangerous.”
The blurred, muted mash of colors outside all blend together, the world a canvas of dingy brown and bleak gray. Everything soggy and limp, everything saturated with wetness: at this very moment, you’d take danger over another day of this.
Turning away from the depressing sight, you watch him sort through a pile of loose screws and nails on the coffee table. His head bent in his task, his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he hunches over and nudges each piece of metal with the tip of his finger, sorting them. Listening to the pleasant clink of them being dropped into glass jars, you go back to watering the plants.
After a process that had you pouring over the gardening book for days, you left what you could in the garden in order to have a good base for the spring, but took the rest inside, to see if you could keep growing anything through the winter.
Mismatched buckets and pots, an amalgamation of anything that would hold enough soil to plant a seed in, it was an experiment for sure. Enough was stored in the pantry to get you through the winter if you stayed lean enough about rations, and Joel had been pushing his portions upon you like there was no tomorrow, constantly assuring you that he had plenty.
“What is this?”
Stopping to stretch his back with a groan, he’s picked up a loose, shapeless scrap of fabric off the couch.
“Wait –” you protest, setting the watering can down.
He frowns at it, turning it in his hands, and when you make a hasty grab for it, he keeps it out of your reach with a chuckle.
“This my present, honey?” His facial expression still puzzled, he tries to work out what it is.
“It’s for the baby,” you explain. Coming to stand next to him, you turn it upright. “See? This is the neckhole, and the arms go here.”
“.......And the legs?”
“I’m not that good at sewing, okay?” you defend yourself with a laugh. “I thought maybe their legs could just hang out in this little…sack area.”
You make a self deprecating face, looking to him for a reaction, and he fingers the bottom of it.
“That ain’t bad. You should see if you can tie up the bottom, you know, for a draft or somethin’.”
“I used all the spare laces on the pants. I tried to make some, but of course I don’t have elastic and I don’t know how big to make them around the waist for a button, so I thought I could just cut two holes and make like, a little belt so that it would grow with the baby and...”
Your words taper off when you realize he’s staring up at you with an amused expression and you let your shoulders drop in defeat. “This kid is gonna look like they’re from the eighteen hundreds, aren’t they.”
“I guess you would know, with the books you’re always readin’,” he says with a grin, and the stack of historical fiction next to your side of the bed comes to mind.
“Oh God,” you moan quietly to yourself.
Standing with a soft grunt, he bends to press a kiss to the crown of your hair.
“Don’t worry about it, honey,” he murmurs. “You about ready for bed? I’m gonna go do a final lap.”
Checking the perimeter of the cabin while you bank the wood stove for the night, he eventually joins you in the bedroom, bringing in the smell of cool night air with him. Already in bed, you’re propped against the headboard with your book in hand, and you admire him as he gets ready for bed himself: the edges of his curling locks catching the light in a glowing chestnut, the warmth held in his tanned skin as he peels off his shirt, the soft give of his still trim stomach as he pads over to bed. He climbs in, adjusting the covers around the two of you.
“What about Mae?” you ask absentmindedly, skimming the book in front of you.
He shrugs. “Not bad.”
You make a face at the reception. “What about….Lauren?”
Stretching out on his side to face you, he rests his hand on your bump, smoothing the fabric of your sleep shirt down. A small movement nudges underneath his palm, and the corner of his mouth lifts. An intimate, quiet moment, you keep reading while he chases the constant movements with his touch, his fingers splayed wide, searching.
“Always so squirrely at night,” he says, the words rounded with softness.
“Tell me about it,” you sigh.
You set your book to the side and slide down next to him as he reaches to turn off the lantern, and the two of you lay facing each other, your belly between the length of your bodies. His hand finds your stomach again, and you let yours rest over it, guiding his touch lower. Lower, until the tips of his fingers brush against the band of your underwear and also right where a set of feet (or hands) slide underneath your skin. The taut skin shifts with rapid movement, a sensation that never fails to mesmerize you, but it’s something else when he’s the one who gets to see it. Watching him experiencing it is your favorite.
“What about Margaret? I’ve always liked that name.”
He makes a face, telling you all you need to know. “What makes you so sure it’s gonna be a girl?”
You shrug, lifting the hem of your shirt so you can feel his skin on yours, and his hand slides right back into place.
“Have you thought of any names?” you ask quietly.
“I, uh…I was sorta thinkin’ about June.” His dark eyes flit up to yours. “After June Carter Cash. Or Pearl, after –”
“You wanna name my baby after Pearl Jam?” your eyebrows raise. You’ve heard him humming “Future Days” while working outside, you know the band is a favorite of his.
He grins at your reaction. “That a no?”
“I should have guessed it would be music related,” you tease with a smile, scooting closer. “I like June. It’s pretty.”
The gentle exploration of his touch soothes you, and you close your eyes to savor it.
“What about boy names?” you ask. “I can’t really think of any. It’s actually what makes me think it’s a girl, like she’s trying to tell me something.”
“I haven’t thought of too many either. Thomas, for my brother, maybe?”
“That’s a good one.” You yawn, and sleep softly rounds the edges of your words. “Are you ready for next week?”
The preparation of his gift has your hands aching and grasping one with the other, you rub the tender knuckles, working some of the soreness out. Wordlessly, he reaches for your hand and takes it into his own, kneading the joints.
“I think so. S’kinda nice, havin’ a Christmas.” His touch lingers on the tips of your fingers, warming them. “Too cold in here? I can put another log on if you want.”
“No, it’s just…they ache. They're so swollen they get stiff sometimes. I don’t think the damp is helping.”
You hear it now, peppering the window in the dark. The steady drum of rain on the window, the sound makes the room all the more inviting: warm and safe, his body heat radiating underneath the quilt. He keeps rubbing your fingers, his own larger hands cradling your smaller one, and akin to someone rubbing your back to sleep, the touch lulls you, your eyes fluttering shut.
“This good?” His mouth brushes lightly against your knuckles, his lips pressing against your fingers before he breathes warm air on them.
“Mmmm, yea.” Silent for a moment, you speak. “Joel?”
He hums in acknowledgement of his name, and you voice the nightly request you started asking him weeks ago.
“Tell me what you know.”
A prompt he’s seemingly ready for, he shifts to get comfortable, letting out a sigh. The motion similar to someone getting ready to tell a bedtime story, your reaction to curl tight next to him is the same.
The first time you asked him this, he barely remembered anything. Other memories taking their place, the finer details of pregnancy and birth were buried deep, most of them forgotten. He remembered the doctor's visits but not the frequency. The general concept of birth but not the stages. The pain, but as someone who didn’t go through it, he couldn’t tell you what labor actually felt like.
All guesses and long ago recollections, you took them because they were better than nothing. Tonight, he tells you about the night feedings.
“Babies, they uh…” he begins in his gravely, lowered voice, trying to speak softly in the darkness. “You know they eat every couple of hours or so for a while after they’re born. Weeks of it.”
You nod against his shoulder, listening to his deep drawl.
“I don’t remember much because when you don’t get a lot of sleep it all tends to blur together, y’know? But I do remember some of them. Peaceful, sometimes. Everything is so quiet and still, and there ain’t nothin’ but you and them, sittin’ together.”
He stops, and you reach up to brush your fingers along the edge of his jaw, just enough to let him know you’re listening. He sighs, a heavy, contemplative thing.
“They are so small in your hands. So small it’s scary. I remember bein’ so careful, always feelin’ like I was gonna accidentally hurt her, or –” his breath hitches, and he swallows hard. He’s silent for a moment, and your breath slows and evens out. “Anyway, they don’t let you get any sleep, not for a few months, but sometimes….sometimes, you don’t mind.”
Your body loose and relaxed next to his, you’re on the edge of sleep when the words tumble softly out of your mouth.
“Joel?”
“Yea?”
“I’m scared.” The confession is whispered into his bare skin, and you breathe in his comforting, familiar smell, the steady drum of his heart beating underneath your cheek. His hand is a weighty drag down the line of your spine, the feeling of it steadying you.
The wind blows outside, rain pelting the glass.
“I know, honey,” he answers. “Me too.”
–
Long after you’ve fallen asleep, he stays awake, his mind lost in a memory.
Her tiny body rigid with deceiving strength, he struggles to force her arm into a small sleeve. His hand is huge compared to her fragile arm, her skin downy soft under his palm, and moonlight shines through the window in her bedroom just enough to light the features of her scrunched, upset face. A small wail pierces the darkness, and succeeding in dressing her, he lifts her up.
One hand cupping her entire bottom with the other covering her back, he makes low shushing sounds with his mouth to soothe her, inhaling the milky sweet smell that clings to her skin.
“Hey baby girl, shhh. I got you. I got you.”
Her tiny face burrows into his chest, her body squirming until she gets comfortable, and he keeps soothing with low hums, his hand rubbing a slow circle over her purple pajamas as she settles.
Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he sits down in the rocking chair and continues to hold her; the carpet plush under his bare foot that gently pushes off the floor. His sleep blurred eyes focus on the small turn of a glass butterfly that hangs from her window, the rounded curves catching the moonlight as she sleeps on his chest.
He lets the unearthed, vivid memory wash over him as his chest constricts, the pain suffocating. Finding himself in this position more and more since you started asking him about what he remembers, he closes his eyes and succumbs to the pain: worth it, to see her face again. To remember things he’d thought he’d forgotten.
The edges of the memory blur and crumble, his mind losing its focus on that purple room and on the cusp of sleep, he tries to grasp and hold on tight to the details until they fade away.
–
“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Wasn’t much to wrap with.”
Anticipation thrums through you, your features lax with fondness as you wait patiently on the living room floor with your eyes closed. A fire crackles in the wood stove next to you, shadows pooled in the corners of the living room where the light doesn’t reach, and you scoot a little closer to absorb more heat.
Never one to linger in bed, he’s been up since dawn, and when you awoke alone, there was a weighted, peaceful stillness in the air—a significance to the day that was at best, a guess. Still, you felt it all the same: through drinking tea with him on the back porch this morning, through reading on the couch this afternoon, through helping him prep the small feast you allowed yourselves for dinner.
You hear and feel a shift in the air when he comes to sit in front of you, setting your present at your feet.
“Okay, you can open ‘em.”
Laughter bubbles bright and loud when you see what it is.
“Joel Miller, you shouldn’t have.” Picking up the bottle of vinegar, you tilt it in the light to see how much is left: about half, which is a find indeed. “How long have you been hiding this?”
He shrugs, looking pleased with your reaction. “Not too long. I found it when I went to check out that last cabin. I know it’s not a lot, but I thought it would be useful.”
Vinegar means pickling, means cleaning, means acid for the soil of your plants that you moved inside for the winter, and even though the label is half peeled off and the contents might not be as potent as they once were, you have never been so happy to see a bottle of the stuff in your life.
“Thank you,” you say softly, leaning forward as much as you can, presenting your lips for a kiss. He gives you one, and you pull back, your mouth twisted in an apologetic pout. “This is a way better gift than what I got you.”
“That’s not true,” he argues. “You fixed my favorite jacket. Feels brand new.”
After snagging it on a tree branch while hunting, he had been so disappointed when he inspected the size of the rip when he came home. Handing it to you, he had declared it no good anymore and told you to use it for something else, but knowing it was his favorite, you’d been mending it in secret while he went out for the day. Textiles being a scarcity aside, that jacket was also your favorite: it’s the one he’s been wearing since you first started out; the sight of it comforting to you.
“I actually got you somethin’ else, but you’ll have to close your eyes again.”
You automatically squeeze your eyes shut, your hands playfully grabbing the air as you squirm on the floor, and the sound of his low chuckle makes you smile wider. Hearing the front door open and then close, you frown when the object he places at your feet sounds heavy.
“Okay, open em’ up.”
It’s immediate, the way your expression drops from delight into something more reverential. Your breath frozen in your lungs, you reach out and touch the smooth edges of the cradle. Tracing the perfectly fit together corners, you take in how small it is – so small - but perfect.
Your eyes lift to meet his, tears blurring your vision. “Did you make this?”
“Yea,” he replies softly. “I kept in the shed, workin’ on it when you were napping. I knew we needed somewhere to put her, so I thought –”
“Her?” Your fingers brushing along the neat edges, you look up at him with a small, watery smile, and he matches it with a soft one of his own.
“Sure, why not. You’ve convinced me.” Affection is open and obvious on his face, the lines that normally crease his forehead softened as he watches you look it over.
“This is…so much, Joel. It’s beautiful. I don’t even know how…I was thinking we’d have to put her in a dresser drawer or something, and I –” Overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness, you’re at a loss for words. “Thank you,” you eventually settle on, hoping the sincereness in your words expresses everything you feel.
“You look so surprised,” he says, teasing laced in his tone. “Did you really think I would get you just a half bottle of vinegar for Christmas?”
“I don’t know!” you laugh, a hitch in your breathing as you settle your emotions. “We can’t exactly go Christmas shopping, so I figured you did the best you could.”
He reaches to swipe a tear from the round of your cheek, and you chase the heat of his palm, leaning into it. “It’s been so long since I gave anyone a Christmas present. Glad I’m not totally out of practice.”
Gently sliding the cradle out of the way, you rise to your knees to give him a kiss.
“I love it.”
You kiss him again, his lips tinted red from the wine at dinner, and the bitterness sweeps through your mouth when he gifts you a slow slide of his tongue. The tentative heat held in his response passes to you, and swallowing his hunger, it spreads through your limbs to pool between your legs. Pressing forward, your hand reaches out for his shirt, and you deepen the kiss.
You hope it conveys everything you want to put into words but can’t: appreciation, love, gratitude. Keeping your mouth on his, you slip your hand around the back of his neck and threading your fingers up through his locks, you hold him in place, his hand grasping your elbow to steady you as a soft sound rumbles from his throat.
“I guess you really liked it.”
You just nod, pulling him in for another kiss, his familiar taste and scent filling your senses as he presses himself closer, and when you let out the catch of a moan in your throat, he pulls back just far enough for you to see hooded want in his eyes.
“We done with the gift exchange?” He presses a kiss to your your throat, his lips warm and delicate over the skin he finds and you nod, letting him taste.
“Here,” he asks, his mouth moving just below your ear, “or in the bedroom?”
“Here,” you breathe, cupping his whiskered cheeks to pull his mouth back to yours. Your hand slips between his thighs, finding him half hard under his jeans, and groaning into your mouth, he shifts on the floor to kneel in front of you. Your fingers work the buttons of his flannel open, pushing it from his shoulders at the same time he grabs the hem of your shirt to work it over your head and off. Undoing your bra, you fling it onto the floor as his hand reaches back to tug his t-shirt off in a smooth, overhand motion, and your hands drop to his belt buckle, tugging it open.
The back of your knuckles swipe through the line of coarse hair that leads under the waistband of his jeans, a slight shakiness to your movements betraying the need you feel, and it’s something he sees and rewards with another consuming kiss.
The rest of your clothes tugged off in a rush, he rests his back against the couch and guides you onto his lap, the soft inside of your thighs straddling the outside of his firmer ones. One of the only comfortable positions you’ve got left, it’s been your favorite because it gives him unfettered access to your breasts and when he palms them in appreciation, anticipation sends a warm thrill up your spine.
Using both his hands, he cups the sides of your jaw to draw you in, holding you in place while he opens your mouth with his, his tongue sliding smoothly against yours. His fingertips dig into the nape of your neck, one hand dropping to palm the plush weight of your breast, and you kiss him back even harder while he delicately teases your nipple with his thumb.
The calloused pad skims over the top of it, the contrast between the tender touch and the fierceness of his kisses making your head swim with arousal, and pulling back, he takes in your kiss-swollen mouth only for a moment before bending his attention to your breast.
Using the cradle of his hold, he pushes it up to draw the peak of it into his mouth, and your head tips back, a broken cry coming from your throat.
“Please. Please.”
He would give you anything – anything – you ask for, and this is no different. He laves his tongue over the peaked bud, dragging firm pressure over it as he draws it into his mouth, and when you dig your fingers into his hair and pull with a moan of pleasure, his hand cups the underside of your breast to push more in. Frenzied, rough, desperate for more, a deep groan slides out of his throat at the same moment you feel a strange, tingling sensation on your nipple.
Surprise shows in his brown eyes when they flick up to yours, and pulling back, you both stop.
“Was that –” you ask, and he looks down at your breast, his thumb dragging delicately along the peak.
“Yea, I think it was,” he answers, slightly mesmerized.
A drop of milky liquid hangs from the tip of your breast, and he wipes it away, smearing it on your soft skin. Another one takes its place, and his eyes flicker with interest.
“Holy shit.”
The words slip out faster than you can stop them, and the corresponding lift of his eyebrows makes you laugh, his own deeper chuckle joining your lighter one. He pulls you in for a kiss right as you’re leaning down for one, and you find there was no hunger lost while the moment was broken; instead it comes back even stronger as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he holds onto your back with a splayed grip so fierce it makes you squirm.
Unsure of when you started grinding your hips against his, you work them slightly faster. Spread and wet on his lap, you’re so achingly empty right over where you can feel the heft of him pressing between your bodies, and fire lights under your skin with how much you want him to just take.
He’s been so careful with you, so considerate in his handling of your body these last few weeks. Always taking care of every need that you have, he’s done so with no less attentiveness, but you can tell that he’s been holding back—a telling rigidness to his muscles when he moves above you, a tightness to his strokes every time he fucks you as if he’s keeping his body in check to make sure he doesn’t lose himself. Missing the sharp edges to his love, you kiss him harder, and he groans as if in pain, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth. His beard rubs your chin raw, the pressure of his response forcing your body to tip back slightly in his hold.
“Fuck me,” you whine, the words breathless against his lips, and he groans again, breaking your kiss.
“Christ, honey, turn around.”
Desperate to follow anything he tells you to do, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself as you turn yourself around, your back to his front. His mouth is an immediate brush against the nape of your neck, a heady sensation that has you melting back into him, and his hands travel up your sides to cup your breasts, pulling at the peaks.
Your ass grinds in his lap, the thick, stiff line of his cock trapped between your bodies, and when you arch your back and lean forward in a silent invitation, he reaches down to line himself up. Easing yourself back down, the stretch is delicious but so tight it’s almost unbearable.
“Goddamn,” he groans over your breathless whine.
Wrapping your smaller hands around his thick wrists for purchase, you pull at your bottom lip with your teeth as you sink all the way down to the base, and when he’s fully seated inside you, he bands his arms just under your breasts in a tight hold, keeping you in place. You can feel how hard he’s breathing between your shoulder blades, his beard rubbing against your skin, and squirming in his lap with a soft sound, you start to roll your hips.
He’s so deep this way, so much deeper than he’s been in weeks, and taking a moment to get used to it with a couple of slick strokes down, you chase the thick, filling stretch of his cock. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his knees, and the deep groan you hear from behind you makes you wetter; your body physically reacting to his wordless praise.
“You feel so fucking good, honey. So good.”
His hands traverse your back—one splayed wide to drag heavily down your spine, the other curled around your hip to guide your movements–and when you bend forward as much as your stomach allows, his hand drops to your ass, spreading you from behind.
“I wish you could see how wet my cock is. I want you to see how you’re soakin’ it.”
“I can feel it,” you moan, your hips working faster.
You can: every down stroke is smooth and audible, the tight walls of your cunt stretching around him to take him perfect and fluid every single time, and when you start to pull him deeper, he sits forward with a cinch, pulling you back towards his body. The solid, warm wall of his chest cages you in, his arm looping around your hip so his hand can reach your clit, and when he finds it, everything spreads warm and thick from your center outwards, your head tipping back to rest against his shoulder.
“There’s my girl,” he smiles when your body drapes pliant and loose against his, your hips chasing the pressure of his fingers. Forward into his touch and backwards onto his cock, you can hear him breathing heavy and low into your ear and your hands find his forearms to hold on tight, your nails digging into the thick muscles as you work yourself faster.
He rubs your clit in quicker, more precise circles, just right with the firm slip of two calloused fingers, and your thighs tighten in their tremble, your release a bright, shining edge that beckons.
When it happens, it breaks you – clamping tight around him as you’re suspended in a state of strained rapture, his hand comes up to cradle the base of your throat in a possessive hold while his other hand keeps working, and a second wave takes you by surprise, washing over your skin as you cry out. You can feel the wetness that soaks his fingers when he reaches down to feel where you’re stretched around him, letting out a groan against your skin.
His hand smears damply across your hip as he lifts you from his lap, slipping out as he guides you on to your hands and knees, and loose and pliant, you let him position you anyway he wants.
“Just a little more, honey. Just a little longer,” he coaxes.
Resting your cheek on the floor, you arch your back to put yourself on display for him as you catch your breath, but it’s stolen just as quickly when he gives you a rough, open mouthed kiss to your cunt. He eats you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue flattening against you as he keeps you open with his hands splayed on your ass, and a deep rumbled groan is felt against the inside of your thighs when you reach back to tug on his hair.
His tongue dips deep inside you for a taste, and just when he pulls back, he goes in for more, like he’s changed his mind because he can’t get enough. Harder this time, more forceful, the action pushing your hips forward, and when you cry out, he’s dragging himself back, pulling away to position himself.
The heat of his body radiates along the back of your thighs, the thick tip of his cock notched against the slick dip of your entrance only for the barest of moments before he pushes himself in with a stroke of his hips, and you hear a hiss behind you, one you almost don’t catch over the low moan that spills out of your mouth.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips fitting neatly along your ass. He slides out and then back in, giving you time to adjust to his size. “I want – Christ – I want…can you take it harder for me?”
“Yes. God yes. Please.”
He answers with a rougher slide in, an audible muted pound of his hips against your skin. “You tell me if it’s too much, honey, okay?”
After turning your head and nodding so he can see you, he gives you another rough, smooth stroke in and then another one, each one filling you until the air feels like it’s being pushed from your lungs, and then he picks up his pace, letting out a low, heavy breath for every thrust. It sounds obscene: his rumbled, low groans and grunts, but you can barely focus on it for how sensitive you are to his thickness. Everything tighter, the fit is a snug, slick slide in every time, and you squeeze around him, earning you another hiss of appreciation.
“This pussy is gonna kill me,” he groans and then holds nothing back: his hips snapping against you with his hand resting flat on your tailbone, every jolt rocking your body forward.
Exactly what you asked for and what you’ve been missing, you let him know.
“It feels…it feels so good. God I’ve missed this.”
“Yea?” The word is a breathless growl, and you clench down on him again. “What about this? Did you miss this too?”
His hands wrapping around the inside of your elbows, he tugs you back and up until your back is arched with your ass in his lap and then he’s pounding into you.
“Joel!”
Faster and harder, his hips work ceaselessly behind you for a dozen strokes and when he comes, his fingers dig tight into your skin, your arms aching as he holds you in place to take every last drop. Panting behind you, his strokes slow into a rhythmic grind and sliding out, he eases you gently down onto the floor where you slump, your cheek resting on the fold of your arms.
Dazed and loose, with a content smile on your lips, you lay down on your side and he joins you, dropping to the floor. His arm slung over his eyes, you watch his pulse pound in his neck as he tries to catch his breath.
“So…was that also a Christmas present, or….?” you tease, the question coming out slow and saturated with contentment, and he laughs, a breathless thing that’s carefree and deep.
“Sure,” he answers, rolling onto his side. “Merry Christmas.”
The light of the flames dancing across your bare body, shadows slide over his tanned skin and the bluntness of his reply makes you laugh.
The two of you look at each other for a moment, his hand coming up to brush away an errant lock of hair from your temple. His hand glides down the length of your torso, coming to rest on the swell of your stomach and leaning in, his mouth meets yours.
Still smiling, you cup his cheek and with a slick slide leaking between your thighs, pull him closer to deepen the kiss.
#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller/you#joel miller/reader#pedro pascal character fanfiction
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Alive
warnings: angst, sad Simon Riley, reader dies, gender neutral reader, no pronouns used for reader, mentions of death, no use of y/n, proofread but I’m human and might’ve missed something
summary: Simon loses you.
author’s note: simon deserves the world.
Simon Riley understood the risks of enlisting. He understood that he was one small cog in a machine, and although valued, he wasn’t crucial. He was a soldier, just like thousands of others that decided to put their lives on the line for something they believed in. If he had to lay his life down during his service, so be it. Maybe his sacrifice would make the world a little bit better.
Simon didn’t know what he believed now.
You were like him in the way that you understood the risks, but that’s where he thought the similarities ended. He was quiet. You were outspoken. He was harsh. You were empathetic.
He was your lieutenant. You were one of his sergeants.
It was against all logic for him to fall for you, yet he had. From the moment you’d been invited to join Task Force 141, Simon knew you would cause him trouble.
He knew by the way you threw your head back and laughed at one of Soap’s cheesy lines. Knew by the way you bested Gaz at pool. At the way you’d tried Price’s drink of choice, bourbon, and swallowed it down without any fuss.
He knew by the way you saw him as he was— not just as your superior or as ‘Ghost’— but as Simon. Simon, who cared deeply for his teammates, his family, beyond what his title required. Simon, who made shitty jokes at shitty times. Simon, who bickered with you over how to properly prepare tea.
He didn’t understand why you’d shown interest in him at first. He surely thought Soap would be the one to sweep you off your feet— but you shut the Scotsman down. You only had eyes for Simon.
He found out later that it was because the two of you were more similar than he’d previously believed. You were fiercely loyal, just like him. You never backed down from a fight, just like him. You dealt with shit quietly, just like him.
You understood him, and you didn’t push. You trusted him so completely, too. Fuck’s sake, you took a bullet for him.
“Ghost, move!” You had shouted, diving out of cover to shove the Brit behind a wall.
“What the fuck?!” He yelled at you, drawing his breath in shallow pants as his eyes narrowed at you from under his mask.
“You don’t listen for shit sometimes, LT,” you were shouting to be heard over the gunfire surrounding you. “There was a fucking sniper— you were gonna be shot!”
“He was a shit shot, Sergeant. I knew he was there—”
“Ghost, just say thank you,” you rolled your eyes and straightened.
“Bloody hell,” he grumbled as his eyes scanned you, and you looked at him with confusion.
“What?”
“Maybe tha’ sniper wasn’t shit after all. Gotta get you to a medic, c’mon—” he began, reaching a hand out to grasp your arm and tug you away from the firefight.
You furrowed your brows in confusion, you had no clue what he was talking about. You looked down at your body as you allowed Ghost to drag you along. That’s when you saw the crimson peeking out from the edge of your vest, and the first pang of pain finally hit you.
“Oh, shit. Didn’t even notice,” you grumbled, and you could hear Simon grunt ahead of you.
“Adrenaline. An’ the fact tha’ you were mad at me.”
“If I was mad at you, you’d know it. Just think you should show more gratitude since I saved your life and all.”
“I’ll show gratitude when you ain’t bleedin’.” He huffed.
Fiercely loyal. It was a blessing to the team and a curse to you. Loyal to the men you called your family. Loyal to the cause. Loyal to the mission, no matter the personal cost.
Simon wished you would’ve let him take that bullet. Maybe then he wouldn’t be here with the remainder of the 141, holding the urn containing what was left of you. The gold-colored metal felt cool against his bare hands. It was almost soothing, but it would soothe him more if you were still by his side.
He knew that he’d never get the image of you laying there lifeless out of his head. It had been quick. Shot right in the fucking head, execution style. Simon hadn’t even realized what had happened until the gunfire had subsided and Soap was yelling.
His heart had nearly stopped. He knew this happened all the time— a soldier’s death. But he never expected it to happen to you.
The task force had been on so many missions together. You’d all survived so much shit, and Simon realized that up until the moment he saw your lifeless body, he’d felt that the team was somewhat invincible. Yes, he knew the risks, but all of you had gotten out of worse before. It was naive to think nothing would happen, and Simon cursed himself for it.
He knew that the abruptness of your death was the reason he couldn’t quite comprehend it. One second you’re there, warning him of a shooter to his left, and the next you’re on the ground with a bullet in your skull.
“Bravest fucking soldier I ever knew,” Price’s voice is gruff with emotion as he speaks. One of his hands rests atop the urn. “Most loyal, too. Took a bullet for all of us, one time or another.”
The other men nodded their heads.
“Kindest person I knew,” Soap spoke with a soft voice. “Outspoken, but kind.”
“Fought until the end,” Gaz said with a frown. “Rest easy, love.”
Simon knew it was his turn to say something. Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to spill and smudge the black paint around them. He knew how to be alone. He’d spent years alone. But this wasn’t just being alone— it was being alone without you.
He didn’t think he could go back to the way things were before he met you. He didn’t want to go back to the way things were. He wanted to fight and yell and get you to come back, but it wasn’t possible.
The hand he had in the pocket of his hoodie curled into a tight fist. The hand he had on the urn didn’t waver.
He didn’t want to say goodbye, to make this final. To close the door you’d opened when you stepped into his life and turned things on its axis.
“Rest in peace, love.” He spoke at last, his voice full of barely contained emotion.
There were too many things to say, but those were the words he settled on. ‘Rest in peace.’ He truly hoped you were at peace. Simon didn’t know what he believed came after death, but he hoped that wherever you were now, you were serene.
‘Rest in peace.’ It wasn’t goodbye, not explicitly. You’d always be with him— a dagger in his heart he couldn’t bear to remove. He’d carry the pain for the rest of his service, the rest of his life.
It wasn’t goodbye. You’d always be with him.
Price removed the lid of the urn. The men slowly removed their hands from the object, allowing Simon full possession as he drew his other hand out of his pocket.
He held the metal as delicately as he would hold you. You’d always laughed and told him you weren’t glass— you wouldn’t break. Simon knew that. Of course he knew that, he’d witnessed firsthand how tough you were.
But you were precious to him, and he treated you as such.
His fingers shook the slightest bit as he turned his body to face the edge of the cliff. It was a truly beautiful place, and Simon knew that if you could’ve seen it, you would’ve loved it.
A breeze picked up as Simon slowly tipped the urn. He watched the last bits of you flow through the wind. The other men of Task Force 141 turned and walked away quietly.
Simon remained there, rooted to the spot, until he could no longer see the scattered ashes of you floating in the breeze.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley angst#angst#ghost#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost x gender neutral reader#ghost x gn reader#simon riley x gn reader#call of duty fic#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#ghost angst#johnny soap mactavish#john price#kyle gaz garrick#task force 141#cod mw2 fic#cod mw2#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#cod mw3#cod mw3 fic#call of duty#call of duty angst
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Anhedonia 1/2
Word count: 5,5 k (part 1) and 4,4 k (part 2)
Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader
Tags: SMUT 🔞🔞🔞 Literally just unadulterated, deranged filth, plot is there for decoration. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mutual pining, sexual tension (duh), blood & injury, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), mutual masturbation, cum all over the place, light humiliation, dirty talk, some praise, swearing, mask stays on, fluffy/reconciliatory ending.
Summary: Reader is a Task Force 141 operator and a terrible brat (and suffers the consequences of it later). Enemies to lovers/toxic relationship that takes a healthy turn in the end.
"Think you're smarter than your lieutenant? Is that it?"
"No sir."
You coat your voice with steel. Stainless, similar to the knife he has strapped to his thigh. You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle. You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets.
He only has soldiers. Subordinates.
- - - - - - - - -
He's a mountain you want to climb.
A peak you wish to conquer.
But there's no basecamp, nothing to hold on to. You learn that relatively quickly, during your first weeks under his command.
And he's good. You find yourself wondering how on earth the man's not a captain by now. Perhaps they want to keep him on the field, because he earns his alias every day. He's a shadow no one sees before it's too late, he impregnates his enemies with bullets. Dead silent as he does it, or if he's in the mood, prefers to drive thick, sharp steel between the soft spot behind the collarbone.
It's ridiculous how your eyes steal their way to his left hand as soon as he rids himself of those skeleton gloves. To catch if there's a ring, a warning sign that he's taken.
He's not.
He notices – you're caught red handed. Caught like a fly in a web.
So you decide to go cold on him. Prove that it was just a sweep of a gaze, not a probe, a giveaway.
"Think you're smarter than your lieutenant?"
You're doing it now as he questions you, tries to bully you into submission. You guide your eyes right behind the top of his head, which makes it seem you're looking at him although you're not.
And it drives him crazy.
"Is that it?"
It's the first time you're here, in a silent office booming with his barks. But you know you're under scrutiny from now on. Caught his attention, just like you wanted to with that little stunt of yours.
"No sir."
You coat your voice with steel. Stainless, similar to the knife he has strapped to his thigh. You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle.
You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets. He only has soldiers. Subordinates.
You pull your gaze down to his at last, allow him to see the yawning hunger in your stare before you blink it away.
He draws air through the mask, and you wonder if the skull he's sewn onto the black textile came from a real human.
"Dismissed."
- - - - - - - - -
At some point, you notice that Ghost isn't just a good commander. He's a man on a powertrip, and a fucking bully.
He treats you different, like you’re made of glass. You’re a fresh arrival, but you’re also the only woman on his team, so you figure your Lt is just a good old “gentleman”. You’re always the last to enter a stormed building and the first to get back on the plane. You almost hope there would be some hazing, a rite of passage, but there’s only plentitude of cold shoulder, a roaring lack of trust in your abilities.
You pull more stunts. Clear his upstairs, take some bullets for him - and he doesn't even notice. It’s just that you didn’t know there would be a bomb planted in there as well. The warning comes right after you’re done cleaning.
"Wha' are you doin' - get outta there…!" He does forget to swear, and you notice too late that his accent grows thicker when he's worried. To the marrow of his bones, you would say, but that assumption would be even thicker than his Mancunian – to expect that he cares a single flying fuck about you.
He only wants to stay out of it. Doesn't want blood all over his hands, go to sleep with the knowledge that some kindly relatives get a death notification of a soldier that used to belong to him.
Maybe that's why he's the first to arrive - how the hell is a man so huge capable of being so quick? - to assess the damage.
"What the fuck have I told you-" he starts before he sees the state you're in. Half of your left sleeve blown and burnt off, revealing second-degree burns and jagged skin. The side of your hip bruised by shrapnels, some of the fragments tickling inside the flesh, ugly debris that will soon cause an infection or worse. You'd still say you got out lucky.
"I dunno. What have you told me?"
I did well, didn't I?
You lie there like it's nothing, back against a half crumbled wall and a spoil of bodies around you. Victorious, because your body is the only one that's still breathing. If anyone else had done this, he would praise them on a job well done, on the site, on the spot. With a lighter tone to that charred voice. Then call for a medic.
But inside, you're feeling cold. You disobeyed orders, so there will be no praise for you. Creeping shock takes you with it as the ice seeps further into your chest and your arms start to tremble.
By the look of it, you'd say he's infuriated.
But that doesn't stop you from laughing when you see the look in his eyes, the only part of him that shows skin, shows emotion behind all that gear and ombre of his mask.
Blood bubbles on your lips, coating pearl white teeth in crimson froth.
Shit… Things are far worse than you thought.
And he blinks. Scans what you can't force your own eyes to look at. The reason why you're gurgling blood.
A tiredness spreads through your limbs, so profound that it surpasses even his usual state of exhaustion. You barely discern how beautiful those pale, almost white eyelashes are against all that darkness.
Something inside you breaks, gives in to the cold. It allows his stare to pass right through. It grips your heart and soothes your wounds.
You almost tell him he would be a fine leader if he wasn't such an asshole.
"Haul me back, will you, Lt?"
He's struck silent, like the blood on your lips and the manic laughter had weaved a spell that binds him mute.
His arm twitches, disguises the jolt into a motion to reach and lift you up, not in a fireman's carry, but close to his chest; bridal style, like you're his heart's chosen one.
You tell yourself it's only the shock speaking. He carries you like this because of the gut wound.
- - - - - - - - -
"You tryin' to get yourself killed or you just wanna end your career?"
He sits next to your bed while you wake up, high on opioids and tied to an IV.
Nice to see you too.
He leans on his elbows, legs spread wide, and with an annoyingly soft look inside the sockets of that skull. It almost fools you: that he might actually care. And of course he does. Just not about you. Only about his own reputation as a superior who almost had their KIA count crawl up by one soldier.
"Hey? You still wi' me?"
You know you passed out in his arms. Only to wake up to the sound of his voice: in a bed less staunch than his embrace, as you notice to your horror.
You wonder whether he had ever even left you. Whether he had sat on that chair as a hulking sentinel for hours. Or days. The thought makes you more drowsy and content than the morphine running through your veins. The odd intimacy falsely makes it seem that this is not an interrogation, but a hushed discussion between teammates. Friends, dare say.
"What have I done wrong this time," you sigh, more as a statement; but he answers a question.
"You didn't obey orders."
"I did, I tried to get out as soon as-"
"Don't get me started on how ya ended up there in the first place." He raises his voice, an order for you to stuff your explanations up your arse. Under his breath, he continues. "A fuckin' poor excuse for a soldier..."
Bright, searing light flashes before your eyes as you hear what he never even meant to be a silent whisper for his ears only.
"You're a fucking bully," you croak a weak, dry rasp, voice coated with tension like a string about to snap in two.
And it shuts him up. For a second or two, at least.
"If that's what it takes to get you to obey orders then I'm happy to be one."
"Happy?" You feign a laugh, then wince when you feel a blunt pain between your ribs. "Do you even know what happiness is?"
He leaves.
- - - - - - - - -
"You feelin' better?"
He stops you at the base as you brush past him like he doesn't even exist. He's standing wide and tall as you turn, hands clasped in front of him. Over his cock, you can't help but notice.
Some distant voice tries to tell you that he only tries to offer you a truce. But even the idea of Ghost worrying about your health makes your stomach turn.
"Yeah, had a nice little vacation from your barking. I'm feeling splendid."
He gives you a once over with a gaze turned steel.
"You better quit with that tone, soldier."
"Or what?"
You take a step, and notice he has to fight some urge – to back away, or to take a step forward to meet you, you cannot say. It encourages you to start some shit. It makes you want to throw caution to the wind and rip out his throat.
"You better quit with the fucking bullying 'cause it doesn't work on me. Try something else for a change. Sir."
The hallway echoes with your piercing spurt of words. You sound childish, but he takes it all in like a sponge. Stands taller still, looks down at you like a dark, unwavering maw.
You expect more barking. Furious shouting, spit flying if it wasn't for his mask. You expect a slap – no, a fist to your face, or a giant hand clamped around your throat to remind you of your place.
You expect him to threaten you with being dismissed for fucking good.
But instead, the wide blown eyes get half covered with heavy lids, smudged paint running to the creases to reveal how pale his skin is under all that black. The liquid in his stare turns to solid glass, but not before you catch a flash of chutzpah.
- - - - - - - - -
The following week is horrid.
He treats you like a princess. And not just when you're alone with him – precious few seconds, barely a minute every now and then – but when you're at work. On the field.
He humiliates you in front of your teammates. Showers you with attention and praise.
Tries something else for a change.
You come back soaked and shaky, barge into your room only to send fingers down as soon as you're out of your gear and cleaned up. You think about his hands, the forearms covered in faded ink and bulged veins and the muscles that bunch as he tucks a gun against his shoulder. You think about his stare that locks gazes with you as he leans back against the hull of a plane, you replay his voice in your head, the thick smoke that loses all blaze and cools down into soft embers as he asks if you're in position.
Everyone else can hear his purr, everyone is thinking by now that the two of you got something going on. Everyone else gets unemotional distance and professional sharpness.
You come against your fingertips, so wet that it's difficult to rub through the afterwaves with precision. You're near the point of tearing up as you stifle the moans which threaten to echo all the way to the hallway, betraying your desperate longing for his cock.
You would get in position for him if he was just a tad nicer, if there was any promise of those cruel arms holding you after.
After only a few days of hearing his feigned care and concern through the comms, you march into his office.
"I'm fucking done with you," you slam the door shut so no one else has to hear how you unload weeks of frustration on him.
"Is that so?"
You feel like you're a storm, an entire tornado in one woman, but he remains calm, doesn't even bother to get up from the leisurely position he's in – on a chair far too small for him. Plucks you like a chord, nibs at you like a wound that tries to heal into a scar but is not allowed to.
"You just want me to quit this shit, don't you? Is it because I'm a girl?"
You hear yourself breathe, know he's thinking you're hysterical. He asserts dominance simply by not taking any part in this absurd little fit of yours.
"What the fuck have I ever done to you?"
You think it's a reasonable enough question, that he is a man who would welcome tearing down every last scene of this stupid charade too. But he merely stares at you, calm as he ever can be. Spreads his legs further apart, and you catch a bulge – it's difficult to tell, because he's wearing field pants and not jeans, but you can almost swear the motion is meant to disguise a swelling erection.
And even the concept, the idea of him getting off on you screaming at him and making yourself a fool after he has just humiliated you, causes something to crash and burn.
"You're just a psycho," you accuse, not being able to come up with anything better. His eyes narrow with a smile, tired pools of brown that tell you he thinks the exact same thing of you, especially when you're the one who's freaking out here. Getting wounded and losing your shit during the first few months on the job.
The look could be mistaken as affectionate, but you know he's just tired. The smile makes him look slightly drunk – and not with love.
"Then what does that make you?"
You blink and stare, blink and stare, just like you have always done with him when he's being a dodgy asshole.
"The fuck do you mean?"
"No need to play games with me, luv."
Your chest is heaving. Your heart is pounding. Saliva pools into your mouth before you send it down with a throat-wrenching swallow.
Luv.
You're caught, wrestling and strangling in his web, and you know it – he knows it.
"What games," you still try, try your all to make him break first although you already know that's not going to happen in a million years.
"I know ya want my cock."
"Huh- wha-..." You stutter like a moron at first, then find your English again. "Excuse me?"
"Want it so bad I bet you're wet even now."
It only adds to your shame that it takes you a moment.
"I'm out of here."
He laughs.
He fucking laughs as you go.
The waves of darkness follow you to the door. And the thing is, you're unable to leave. You march away with horror in your chest, with weak legs and an aching cunt and a burning heart, but none of it makes you turn the knob.
"You forgot something?"
His voice is molten, burning velvet, and your stomach lurches, your pussy throbs.
"It's right here if ya want it."
You quiver a sigh, turn slowly, the sound of squeaking boot soles on the vinyl floor being a fitting melody to how your will finally breaks in half.
Everything bends under his searing gaze, and you're still breathing like you had just run a mile, your heart pounding in your ears instead of your chest where it belongs.
"What happens if I do? Want it?"
Your heart can be heard in your question which shimmers between you until he drops one giant hand on his thigh, just a fingerbreadth away from the thick tent between his legs.
"You get fucked. Hard."
You're not smart enough to suppress the faint breath before it escapes through your teeth. The creases at the corner of his eyes deepen, they reach under the mask.
"What if I want you to be gentle?"
You sound pathetic. Weak. He doesn't buy it, doesn't understand that what you're asking is actually part true… No, your most secret wish.
"As if."
"What?"
"As if you wanted it gentle." He mocks you over and over again, and it pricks at the back of your neck, like an itch you cannot reach.
"You don't know shit about me."
"You're making it pretty hard to get to know you, sweetheart."
The term he uses eats its way through your skin like a worm, starts to fester like a spreading plague right beneath your heart.
"I'm not your sweetheart."
He cocks his head, only slightly. A gesture that reminds you of an anaconda trying to decipher whether the animal in front of them is a plaything or prey with teeth.
"Hurts my feelings when ya say that."
You don't take the bait: ridicule or point out that he has no feelings.
You just wait. The time of prancing and dancing is over, and you're tired. Worn out.
The tension of weeks, the restlessness of sleepless nights and adrenaline induced faps do not end with a seize of a wrist, a hungry kiss or him smashing you up against a wall. It all ends with him rising from the chair with a rustle of fabric and a creak of wood, and you hear yourself swallow.
I never meant to hurt your feelings, the little girl in you whispers with a puny voice, the girl who believed in fairytales as a child.
But the grown ass woman knows the man before you is only here to take what he wants, which is nothing more than to drive his cock inside your cunt. There's nothing romantic about it, he just wants to empty himself into you like he would empty a gun into unsuspecting flesh.
Still, you search for some emotion as he walks to you, some cue or clue that he has feelings too – and you want to slap yourself for it.
You square your shoulders and bring yourself down to his level, which means you have to transform yourself into a cock thirsty slut. Not that it requires much of an effort. It comes fluidly, far too easily, especially when he looks at you like he has already stripped you. Like he has done it a hundred, if not thousand times before: took your clothes off with his eyes. Traced the way your ass and breasts swell inside camos and field shirts and how they press against concrete as you take support for your aim or sit down on a plane, how the fabric stretches to curve and hug the flesh he wants to sink his hands and teeth into.
He stops a breath away, the breadth of his shoulders looming over you like a tower. A summit you can't reach.
You remember a name, something not uttered around the base, even if everyone knows it.
"Simon," you breathe, and he staggers – takes a ghost of a step as if answering a call. It turns into switching his weight on the other leg, but technically, he's closer now, close enough to drown into. "Why are you so mean?"
You can hear his teeth clash together as he clenches his jaw. You're walking on a tightrope, and you're faltering, far more wobbly than he. That question is tender meat, it allows him to see a glimpse of the girl, silken soft, innocent and plush, trusting. It causes a glitch, confusion he's not familiar with.
Then he lifts his chin, just a hair's breadth.
"Thought you wanted me to be."
It's almost sentimental, what he says. How he says it. Equally soft… Tentative, inquiring. He's still bone and steel and tendon, but his eyes and voice are not. They're a relic from a distant past, and you stand there, agape.
You dare to hope that there's more to this man, that he isn't here to retaliate. That you're not here to be punished. You risk a flutter of lashes as you scan his face – his bone charade, a prison – up and down, then swallow a decision with a solemn intake of air.
"Where do you want me?"
You're sanguine, almost flirty, but your offer hits nothingness.
There's no additional giveaway to him having any kind of longing, other than the longing to insert himself inside you and take whatever sick pleasure he gets from torturing you. The brief slant was just a fish hook to be sinked into your lungs and carry you to the shore for him to gut and roast. Feast upon.
"Desk."
It's too late to back down now.
Not that you even want to.
You stuff your heart down your throat before it spills up in tears, then slip past him, to the furniture he wants to be your marital bed.
He watches, shoulders rising with heavy breaths as you undress. Shoes and pants end up in the same heap you soon step out of. You enjoy the flash in his eyes at the notion of you wearing strings – something so impractical and uncomfortable yet sultry under all that durable, heavy canvas. A woman emerges from the waves of thick fabric meant for a soldier. Some Aphrodite.
Well, it's something for him to think on after this. Something to torment himself with while on missions if this is to be just a one time only slip.
The bulge in his pants is even more visible now. Demanding, and it adds to the warmth already pooling down below as you set yourself up on that desk, near the edge, for him to feast upon.
You don't spread your legs for him, though. You want to make him work for it. You simply shiver as the cold wood meets your skin, but even more shaky you get when he doesn't have to go through the same ordeal as you. He simply opens the front of his pants and tugs the fabric down, just enough to allow the hefty thickness to spring free.
And it doesn't exactly spring, because it's so immense that you have to do a double take. It simply vaults, bounces up once when seeing you on that desk. You throb at the sight of him, even if he doesn't give you much – he's still fully clothed, with his mask on, only cock jutting out and hands liberated from black gloves with bones printed on them.
His balls hang heavy beneath the veined weight of his cock, and you instantly think about how you're going to fare with at least a week load of cum about to be stuffed inside you. You've had a hand down your pants almost every night for weeks on end, while he has been staring at you with a thickening haze of lust and what seems to be a pair of heavily encumbered nuts.
You don't even notice how your mouth drops open in hungry astonishment.
"Have seen that look before," he brags, and you snap your mouth shut.
Fucking manchild.
He grabs the veined girth like it's his favourite weapon, something he's proud of, and your legs part by themselves for him to step in between. He doesn't have to work for it after all.
"Knew you wanted it," he rubs it in your face like someone who has passed an IQ test with genius scores.
There's nothing ceremonial about the way with which he spreads your lips with the thick tip, slides up and down to coat himself with your wetness, ample amounts of it. It only takes a probe or two for him to find the right angle, and you help him instinctually, offering yourself to him as he slips inside.
The hungry clench grips him immediately, making it a long, arduous journey for the both of you as he has to practically force himself in. But it's worth every thick inch, and your head tilts back with a moan.
"Yeah… Sing f' me, just like that," he cheers you on, and you feel a trickle of hot, wet cream run down your ass. Your slickness is probably running down his shaft by now, too. He adjusts his stance, comes closer, so close that you feel like you are sheltered by his upper body, the shoulders that form a warm cave around you.
And your body betrays you. His praise makes you tight around him, and he groans. You bite your lip at the sound while he takes his time with a few exploring thrusts, then settles fully inside, like you're his new home.
"Nice 'n' snug, just like I thought," he turns toward your ear, the edge of the jarred skull brushing your cheek and making you flinch. He sounds appreciative, relieved, like you're his little treat after a hard day. He's been thinking about you, imagining how tight you'd be for him…
"Didn't take long for you to spread your legs for me."
And he has to be an asshole about it. Has to tear you down a bit for every inch of vulnerability. Your teeth sink in the inside of your lip from the sheer heartache, a little too hard.
"Didn't take long for you to offer your cock to me," you cut back, tasting blood on your tongue. He chuckles.
"An offer you couldn't refuse," he muses, satisfied with himself.
His hand comes to cradle your shoulder, then slides down your back. It feels… feels like a caress. A fond, loving touch. Paired with the thickness spreading you open for him, it also feels like hell.
You grab hold of him, fingers curling around the slippery fabric of his jacket. He allows you no skin, and you try to hold on to the sleek shield you can't get past.
"No," you admit with a panted sigh as he slowly glides in and out of you. "Is this how you break in all your new recruits?"
He doesn't offer a witty comeback, but the silence is stretched further by the fact that he stops moving.
"’S not about breakin' in," he finally answers, resumes to thrust slowly. Agonizingly slow, like he wants to commit this moment deep into memory. Not a quick rut then, as you had expected, hoped, even. But the feeling of thick heat, the brush of his pelvis on your clit, has you clinging to him like he's your knight in shining armor.
And he's gentle with you.
Gentle.
It makes you want to kiss him, lift that mask just enough to have a taste of his neck, see his mouth just before it opens to devour yours.
"You didn't- ah- answer the question." Your shaky breaths must be music to his ears, but you decide that's all he's going to get. He knows now that you're jealous of his attention and his cock.
"Not here to answer your questions," he says, but you hear a lacing on top of it: amusement. "Just wanna hear your pretty cries."
Even if he's far more tender than you had expected, his cock soon pounds into you seamlessly. Fat, urgent. You stretch around him, hear the slickness and an occasional squelch guide him through the thrusts with ease. A lewd fucking that has his shoulders shaking as he reaches for a better hold of you, almost enough to call it a hug. His tightening balls hit against the hard edge of the desk instead of your flesh, but he doesn't seem to care at all.
"C'mon… Let's hear 'em," he coaxes, begs, almost, but you don't sing on command. Much less cry for a man who's tormented you for weeks on end.
"I'm not giving you anything," you utter while giving him loads of hungry cunt and tugging of clothes. If he was naked, he would have scratches all over his back by now.
"You drive me fuckin' insane. 'N' that's sayin' somethin'..." His hiss of an outburst causes you to recoil from him, or perhaps it’s the cause of his hands which thieve their way under the hem of your shirt. But he doesn't probe or squeeze. The touch is far from carnal, even if the palm hovers warm near your breasts. It settles against your ribs, a featherlight caress across the healed wound you suffered not too long ago because of him.
Tears burn at the corners of your eyes.
Fuck… You might open your legs for him, take gunshots for him, but you're not going to cry for him.
"Good, then we're both crazy," you whisper while trying not to choke on a flood. He hums – it's a rumble that rises from his chest and ends in his smoke-burned throat. And for every bit of weakness, he allows you a peek of his own fragility. It's a transaction, you assume, only used to trap you further into the abyss.
"You've dreamed of this, then?" The shadows sigh into your ear, ravenous.
"Mh," you nearly sob. You tell yourself it's just a noise that happens to erupt, not a confession. But he's the jury and the judge, decides your whimper is a full-scale avowal.
"Mmh…" he mocks with a satisfied rumble in your ear, overjoyed with the bare minimum of a moan you just gave him.
For a moment you fear you're dealing with a starving narcissist. He's praise-starved, love deprived, but good at what he does, and you feel yourself clench around him again. It's an increasing grip this time, not a throb or a suck. The first sign of an approaching orgasm, and it drives him over the brink far too soon.
"Fuck– I'm close," he pants, slightly alarmed. "What about you luv?"
"Not yet," you lie, and he believes you because it dips right inside his deepest fear, like a finger poking an open wound.
"My cock's not good enough for you?"
He discloses something precious: women are usually writhing in his arms by now, but you're not screaming, you're not crying and coming. You're not coming at all, because he's too greedy, too lost in the solace of you.
It's kind of sad, how fiercely you've masturbated at the thoughts of him, only to get the real thing and have it end too soon. You want to surrender and lean back on the cold desk, show him how good you can be as you wrap up around him and make lots and lots of noise just for him, only for him…
But your fingers find an opening, they steal their way under the mask and trace his blood heated neck, and you know he's not going to last – and you have to tear him down while he's at his weakest.
"It's good enough..." you give him the truth and a Judas kiss, knowing he will gobble it up like cake. Slowing down isn't going to do shit, the man is a split second away from heaven, and you tell him what's the matter with a whisper.
"...but you're not."
He comes right then and there with a throaty moan, the most agonized wail you've ever heard leave him. His back arches as he tries to bury himself deep, sweat breaks upon your fingertips from the shame and fury – caused by your words or the fact that he came before giving you your peak, you can't tell.
You feel him throb inside you, like a pulse of a powerful heartbeat before his shoulders cave in, rendering him fragile. A crumbling colossus, too heavy to bear his own weight.
He allows himself only a breath or two. They break upon your skin, somewhere between neck and shoulder, the humidity of his torment nestling in the valley behind the collarbone where he usually shoves knives in. Then he withdraws like a wounded soldier, leaves you emptier than you were before you even knew him, leaves only a fat trickle of combined cream and cum behind. It begins a steady trail down your perineum, ends up on the desk, like a proof that this is all you two are good for.
You're on display, your destroyed and hungry cunt winking against cold air, mourning the loss of his thickness. Your skin aches for the callus of his palms, the touch of them far more reverent than you had ever imagined.
He tucks himself inside his pants without sparing a single glance your way. An injured animal that needs to seek shelter to lick his wounds.
You feel terrible pity, a sinking fear and a blast of guilt upon noticing you might've been wrong. You want to apologize, not as a heartbroken, scorned woman – but as a girl who only wanted everyone to be happy.
"Simon…"
He zips his pants – an audible hint meant to tell you that he got what he wanted, and nothing more. It's like witnessing a giant's limp, and you want to fall on your knees and beg forgiveness.
The voice that follows cuts deeper than the bullets you took for him.
"Dismissed."
#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost x female reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x female reader
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