#anyway i know i should wait for the prices on this one to come down because it's absolutely ridiculous
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"Reincarnated As The Cringefail Lord of Hell's Second Child."
Part I Part || Part III
Sequel to this.
Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Morningstar! Reader, Platonic Hazbin Hotel x Reader, Yandere Hazbin Hotel
Word count: 2.7k
Includes: Alastor being creepy, invasion of (your) privacy, bad things are coming...
Synopsis: A straightforward isekai story, you're reborn as the devil's child. With knowledge of your past life and the show your new world is based on, it's clear that you must be destined for greatness. The only question remains: why does everyone around you seem to be acting so...strange?
•~•~•~•~•~•~•
There's nothing better than the payoff that a successful scheme brings. Vaggie returns to the hotel a few hours after your talk with her, and with her is a pair of two gorgeous angelic wings.
“Wait, yer an exorcist?!” Angel exclaims, throwing his top arms up, and using his bottom pair to pull himself up from his position on the couch. “How did I not know about this?!” He looks around, shaking his head wildly. Husk merely shrugs.
“Maybe if you weren't high all the time-”
“Oh, yeah, like yer one to talk, Mr. Hasn't-been-seen-without-a-bottle-in-seven-years!”
Charlie claps her hands together, effectively stopping the two before their banter turns into an actual fight. “Okay, so Vaggie's an angel, that doesn't mean that-”
“Oh yeah, easy for you to say, Princess. I bet ya already knew about this, didn't ya?”
“I mean, I did. But-!”
“Then why didn't ya say anything?!”
“It wasn't my place to-”
Angel dramatically falls back onto the couch. Odd, you think, his reaction wasn't nearly this strong in the show, why is he- “Whatever. I need a drink,” he says getting up. “Husk! Pour me a drink!” Husk grumbles something under his breath as Angel passes you to get his drink.
“I think he's over it,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at Angel, who is drinking straight from the bottle. “So, an angel, huh? How exciting! My dad was an angel, too, y'know?” Vaggie looks unimpressed at your attempt to pretend this is new information, but you ignore her.
“Yeah…I know,” she says flatly. “Anyway, Carmilla agreed to supply us with angelic weapons at a discounted price, should we need them.”
“Why would we need them?” Charlie asks, looking worried. Vaggie looks away, briefly making eye contact with you.
‘Something’s going to happen on extermination day,’ you say, looking oddly certain.
“Just…in case,” she says, offering an unsure smile.
“Well ain't that fuckin’ ominous,” Angel pipes up from the bar. “Care ta enlighten us as ta why we might need em, toots? Something a little less vague than ‘Just in case'?” Angel puts down his drink (which is really just a whole bottle of what appears to be a mix of tequila and vodka—it’s a good thing he's already dead, you think to yourself) to make air quotes with his hand.
“Angel, I think you're drunk,” you say, diffusing the situation. “You're slurring your words.” He's not, but you figure the statement will draw his attention towards you and away from Vaggie. You don't need him prying and accidentally figuring out something he shouldn't know.
“Am not slurin’ my words” He slurs, then slumps over, immediately falling asleep in an almost cartoonish fashion. Well, you suppose you are in a cartoon, you think to yourself, but you know that's not the reason for his sudden drunken state.
No, you're sure the sleeping spell you cast on him was by far the more likely cause.
Alastor, who had been quietly observing the whole time, widens his grin with a look that seems to say ‘I know you did that’ but you ignore his gaze and ask Charlie for help taking Angel back to his room.
While Charlie is busy tucking a grown man into bed, you slip out of the room and bump right into Alastor, who seems to have followed the two of you back to Angel's room.
You have a bad feeling about this. Of all the many characters in Hazbin Hotel to avoid, Alastor probably ranked at the top of your list. You really don't need him getting curious about you.
“Why, hello there, little one,” he says, peering down at you. You think his eyes may be glowing, but you aren't sure.
“Uh, hi?” you say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You glance back at the door. Charlie will be emerging from it soon. She'll save you, right?
“I couldn't help but notice the little ‘stunt’ you pulled with dear Angel Dust earlier—quite amusing, I must say! And I don't say that lightly. Might I ask you to join me on a stroll so that we might…discuss it?” He asks. You swear the room’s temperature just dropped.
“I'm not going anywhere with you,” you say. “Dad told me not to talk to strangers.”
“Ah, still playing the role of an innocent child now, are we?” He says casually. You stand a little straighter. “Not to worry, I'm a good friend of your sister, and besides, we have much to discuss!”
“We don't have anything to ‘discuss’,” You say firmly, moving to walk past him when he grabs your arm.
“You may not have anything to discuss with me, but I have much to say to you,” he says. His tone then shifts to something more dangerous as he says, “And believe me,” he leans down to your level. “You don't want to see me when I get angry.” It's a cliché line and not at all scary. Even with the voodoo sigils floating around him and his radio-knob irises, you hold firm.
“If I scream, Charlie and the rest of the hotel will hear me,” you say. The static around you dissipates, and Alastor's grin twitches in annoyance.
“Very well,” he says, swinging his cane and turning to leave. “But this won't be our last encounter. Sooner or later, you'll give me the answers I want.” And just like that, he walks away.
Once he's out of view, you sink to your knees. Despite your firm insistence that he didn't scare you, it was stressful nonetheless. Having him leave merely sucked the stress out of you, and momentarily took the strength from your legs.
Yes, that's right. That's all it was. Your human nature makes you wary of him, but your demonic side keeps you steady. Soon, you'll be more demon than human, and this so-called ‘fear’ will be nothing more than a fleeting memory.
Not that you were scared.
“[Name]…? What are you doing on the floor?”
“It's comfortable down here,” you mutter, standing to your feet. “I'm going to bed early tonight. Where's my room again?”
•~•~•~•~•~•~•
You flop on to your and Lucifer's bed (king-sized, thanks to Lucifer's magic), exhausted. You bring your stuffed demon bear (Mr. Snuggles—a gift from Lilith, before she left) to your chest and sigh. You close your eyes. A lot happened today, and you could use some rest.
But before that…
You open your eyes and sit upright, swinging your legs over the bed and standing. You walk to the small writing desk by the door and summon your diary from seemingly thin air, and begin writing. Journaling is a habit you formed as soon as you were able to hold a pen (this has left the first few entries of your diary completely illegible, but you were able to transcribe them once you had developed a steadier hand), and something you kept up to this day. You document today’s events, making sure to note Alastor’s suspicious behavior, then close and lock your diary. It’s a rather unnecessary step, considering you’ll be sending it back to the subspace you summoned it from, but the lock puts you at ease regardless.
You’ve just finished clicking the lock back into place when Lucifer walks in.
“What’s that?” He asks curiously, walking over to take a peek. Without thinking of how suspicious your actions may come across, you quickly dismiss the journal back to your subspace.
“Nothing!” You say, a tad too loudly. You clear your throat. “Nothing,” you say, quieter, this time. Lucifer opens his mouth to speak, and you realize you need to change the subject, and fast. “Um, I just realized we didn't bring any clothes with us. If we're going to be staying here, we'll need to get some.” Lucifer seems to hesitate before taking your bait, using magic to summon your wardrobe from the palace to the hotel’s drawers. You pick out a pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom to change, while Lucifer uses magic to change his own clothes instantly. When you return, he's already in bed, smiling and eagerly patting the space next to him.
Wait…what's in his hand?
You take a closer look.
Isn't that…?
Oh God.
Oh fuck.
“Dad, I don't-”
“C'mon, sweetie, let me read you a bedtime story!” He says, opening the book of fairytales, eyes practically shining. It's endearing, in a way, the way he constantly tries to be a good father to you. But it's also annoying. You're a grown adult, for Christ's sake. You don't want to be read a bedtime story.
But it's not like you can just tell him that.
“...Okay,” you say, climbing up to the bed and nestling yourself beside him.
It's surprisingly soothing. A hellish retelling of Cinderella, spoken to you in a soft, rhythmic voice. It reminds you of ASMR, in a way. You find yourself drifting off to sleep before you even realize you're tired.
•~•~•~•~•~•~•
[Name] fell asleep.
It’s not surprising, the story Lucifer read to you is known to make children sleepy. Still, he was half-expecting it to fail, or for you to refuse to listen to a story altogether.
You look so young, curled up like this. So innocent.
You look like a kid.
Lucifer’s stomach churns. What were you writing about? He knows he should respect your privacy, but…
Something tells him it’s important. He’s seen you write in that notebook before. He knows it’s a diary.
He shouldn’t read it.
He shouldn’t but…
Lucifer taps into the subspace you’ve been using (you may be unusually good at magic for your age, but you’re still a novice. You haven’t learned to secure your network yet.). He pulls out your diary but pauses when he sees the lock.
He could open it with nothing more than a wave of his hand if he wanted to (and God, he did want to). But it feels wrong. Like he’s encroaching on something sacred.
If he puts it back now, nothing will change. He’ll stay ignorant. You’ll keep your secrets. But your relationship won’t be affected. The two of you will go back to playing family, and he’ll never know what’s so important to you that you created a private network and a lock to keep it hidden.
He could do that, but…
He opens the diary. The first few pages are impossible to decipher, but pages 6 and onwards are legible.
October 3rd, 20XX
This is a transcription of the following days: September1st, September 9th, September 16th, and September 22nd.
‘September 1st…? They couldn’t have been older than a month old when this was written,’ Lucifer thinks. Demons develop themselves faster than humans, but even by a demons standard, learning to read and write within just a month of being born is…unheard of.
Lucifer keeps reading.
September 1st, 20XX
I’m finally strong enough to crawl around and hold a pen. Thank goodness. Being trapped in a body you can’t control with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company is pure torture. Though, I suppose this is hell. Perhaps that was the point…? No, if that were the case, I’d never be able to walk and write, let alone so fast. I haven’t been able to keep track of the days, and the clocks are all too high to read, so I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but I saw a calendar hanging in the kitchen. I hope it’s up to date.
I was able to pinch myself today, but it didn’t hurt. I’d count it as evidence that I’m in a dream but…well, it could also just mean that I’m too weak for it to work. I’ll try again once I’m a little bigger.
Dreams don’t usually last this long, do they? Perhaps I’m in a coma. I must’ve gotten into a horrible accident, and I’m on the verge of death. This is just my brain spitting out random information from my subconscious. That’s why Lucifer and Lilith are here. That’s why I’m in Hazbin Hotel. It can’t be anything else.
Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. How did you know about the hotel, seven years before its opening?
September 9th, 20XX
Lilith gave me a Teddy bear today. She called it a hell bear. It’s cute, and something I probably would have kept in my room before all this. It’s less babyish than the rest of the things she’s given me. Lucifer named it for me. Mr. Snuggles, he says, in a mock baby voice. It’s bad. I know I’m in the body of a baby right now, but it still feels a little belittling whenever he does that. I used to pay taxes, you know! Sure, I liked cute things every now and again, but I was still a bona fide working adult. …Mr. Snuggles is a cute name, though.
A working adult? Taxes? You thought his baby voice was stupid?
Okay, maybe that last one was less important, but still. Ouch.
September 16th, 20XX
I finally found the library. Goodbye, boredom!
Lack of proper stimulation was slowly killing me. If I were an actual baby, the mobile and fairytales would probably have been enough to keep me sated, but, well, you know.
Anyway, the novels I’ve been reading lately have been pretty good, I think I’m able to more or less pick out which ones belonged to who. Mostly by the way they’re organized. The novels stored in the shelves under the staircase all have happy endings and sappy romance, they seem to be Charlie’s. The stories near the front have badass female protagonists and are usually crime mysteries and thrillers, probably belonging to Lilith. The informationals on various animals and other special interests are likely Lucifer’s. And the books in the very back…are all pornography. I’m not sure whose those are, and I’m not really sure I want to know.
Lucifer’s face turns bright red, and he nearly squeaks, but he manages to reel himself in and continue reading.
September 22nd 20XX
I’m able to crawl up stairs now. The second floor of the library is filled with Grimores. They contain complicated mathematical formulas and intricate sigils. I’ve done the math over and over, but I can’t seem to find any flaws with them. I’m not smart enough to have come up with the formulas on my own, so unless I’m doing something wrong, there’s a pretty good chance that this isn’t a dream after all.
Come to think of it, you’re not supposed to be able to read in dreams, either.
…I just pinched myself. Ouch.
Lucifer’s mind is racing. Nothing about this makes sense, and yet it explains so much, and yet—
He flips the page.
October 4th, 20XX
It took me a few days, but I’ve finally accepted this as my new reality. I’ve transmigrated into the body of [Name], a never before seen and likely nonexistent character of Hazbin Hotel, who just so happens to share the same name as myself.
It’s…a tough pill to swallow. I miss my family, my friends, my home.
I may never be able to go back. But I have to try. I’ll read every grimore in the library, even the ones written in ancient languages, I’ll find a way to translate them, I’ll learn the language if I have to. Whatever it takes, I will see this done. I can’t give up. Even if I have to lose what it means to be human, even if I have to become a demon, that’s okay, once I’m back, I can relearn what it means to be human. There’s so much I haven’t done back on Earth. So much I’ve never seen. So much I’ve never done, never said. I have too many regrets to just sit back and accept this.
I’ll find a way home.
You’re…leaving?
Home? You’re already home. This is your home now. These past seven years, have they all been a lie? Did it really mean nothing to you? Did he mean nothing to you?
Sure, you’ve always been distant, always been a bit too mature, but you were still a child. You were still his child.
Weren’t you?
You’re…going to leave. To throw him away. Just like Lilith.
No, he can’t lose you too. He won’t. He’ll find a way to stop you.
Even if it means you can’t smile the way you used to, even if it means you don’t love him the same. He has to keep you.
But he can’t do it alone.
Tucking the diary under his arm, Lucifer is careful not to wake you as he leaves your shared bedroom.
Taglist: @Halparkebitch @American-idiot21 @Toast-on-dandelioms @Mixplarab @aria-tempest @nirvana5874 @arsonist-on-fire @dollsgate @shoebillcuicui @galaxywing-has-adhd @sakuraluna2468 @luckywitchsong @ibcreations-blog @heather-hutchcroft @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant @bee814 @deadgirldreaming @reikamasama @pandaquick
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin lucifer#lucifer morningstar#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin angel dust#angel dust#vaggie#yandere lucifer#yandere alastor
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My gifts to you
feitan portor x reader
Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't.
tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips
an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k
“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.
He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here.
The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days.
Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.
What's his name again? Feitain?
__________
In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it.
As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.
People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men.
There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.
Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates.
The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.
Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.”
“Tie.”
“I taught you.” You set your plate down.
“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.
“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.”
“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.”
He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”
...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?
Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.
He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor.
“Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!”
The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it.
“Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”
“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.
“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.
You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head.
Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut.
_____________
It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience.
You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.
It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends.
You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.
The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.
The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony.
“G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?
You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.
Same fate.
You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves.
One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.
Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then.
This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.
It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone?
The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.
After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.
Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea.
Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.
You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.
In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.
“Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.”
“It’s not.”
Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?
He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”
“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.
The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”
You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.
As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.
Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”
“Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.”
His fluency isn’t the greatest still.
“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. “Please, Feitan...”
Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?”
He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes.
“As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”
“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability.
He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”
Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?”
“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip.
But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known.
“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.
------
When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up.
Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”
“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear.
“Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit.
“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.
You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?”
You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question.
You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too.
“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion.
“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on.
“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”
“Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink.
“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”
“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”
“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall.
You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.
What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay.
You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”
A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting.
“You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you.
“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”
You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down.
“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”
If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.
You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”
“Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake.
“Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you.
He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”
“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”
Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”
“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”
Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”
Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”
“I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.”
The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”
They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”
“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training. “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”
He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”
Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down.
“I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy…” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep.
Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this.
Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all.
The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years.
____________
“Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”
“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works.
However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget.
Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.
You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.
“Please-”
“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still.
Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box.
Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior.
“Feitan, surely you must understand!”
“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest.
You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs.
“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”
“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side.
“So, you just decide when you want to see me?”
Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”
The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”
Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”
“I didn’t.”
You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”
“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”
“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while.
“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation.
“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”
His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”
You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”
Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”
Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”
“No.”
Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”
You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”
“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?
Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway).
“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now.
Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.
_____
Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though.
For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway.
And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald.
In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed.
The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor.
And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn��t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless.
It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out.
It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house.
The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”
You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway.
“Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him.
He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”
“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”
“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it.
You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction.
“Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory.
“I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor.
“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”
He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”
“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”
He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk.
“How long are you staying?”
“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”
“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”
Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him.
“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.
“How long are we going to do this dance?”
“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”
He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”
“So?”
You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”
“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”
On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”
Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.”
He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”
You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”
“Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long.
“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes.
“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”
Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step.
“If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.”
You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while.
The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.
_________________
You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died!
You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman.
When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on.
Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.
Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.
“Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice.
It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head.
“Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.
“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.”
Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?
“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way.
The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help.
“The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand.
Is he really gone?
You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence.
You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor.
“I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?
Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for.
You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it?
It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?
You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure.
You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real.
You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on.
‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’
You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.
What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone.
You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?
Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself.
'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan.
I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'
You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything.
Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”
You squint, trying to make out the features. “Are you real?”
“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.”
“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”
“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl.
You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs.
He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit.
“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”
He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision.
He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.”
He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”
“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”
Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.
“You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths.
After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?
Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet.
His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot.
Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way.
His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.
Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”
“It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut.
--
You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch.
Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.”
He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch.
“I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat.
He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”
“Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"
He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one.
Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night.
This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him.
___________________
Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there.
Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts.
By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why.
Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place.
“What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”
You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”
“It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.”
Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes.
“Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?”
“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang.
“Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!”
“Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”
“Big babies.”
You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”
Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it.
“Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them.
“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”
“Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life.
“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”
You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone.
“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.”
“Ants.”
“They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”
“Wha-how? What’s going on?”
He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go.
“How’s the other guy look?”
“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”
He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in.
His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”
You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”
“With your boyfriend?”
You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”
“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”
“Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”
At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”
“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?”
“You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”
When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm.
“If we run, we can still make it out.”
“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.
“Because I think they need the room.”
“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”
“Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you.
“That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”
“You’ll always find me, remember?”
______________
Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.
From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again.
Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.
You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price.
Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while.
You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for.
Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home.
“How’ve you been?”
“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face.
“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”
“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”
He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”
You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there.
It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.
“For good.”
You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”
“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”
“But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.”
He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?”
“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”
“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”
He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.”
He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is?
If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.
#feitan portor#feitan x reader#feitan porter x reader#hxh#hxh fanfic#slight yandere#q#phantom troupe#hunter x hunter#hxh feitan#idk what to put here rn
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I absolutely LOVE the Squirtle/Wartortle illustrations by kantaro in Pokemon 151!
The Squirtle jumping so joyfully from the rock into the ocean, the colors are STUNNING! I love the contrast of the Squirtle's aqua blue framed in the vivid orange sky, the soft bit of blue reflecting in its shell and its tail just catching the sun, how little and squishy its body looks as it launches itself towards the water with such tremendous excitement!
The lineless style of the background gives me the feel of a travel poster and I sense the tropical environment around it from the rocks and trees framing the corners, the waterfall splashing with as much energy as the Squirtle!
The layered blues on the surface of the water and the bubbles rising at the corner make me FEEL the liquid rising to meet the Squirtle--I can just feel how the next moment it's going to break through and be immersed in a cool island swim!
And the Wartortle running along the sunset beach, this is somehow everything I always imagined for Wartortle! I adore the way the rich purple melts into the warm red/orange sky, the matching purple clouds and shadows in the foreground, and how the dimming sunlight glows red on Wartortle's deep blues!
I love how the yellow and orange of the sky illuminate the lapping waves, I can just feel the gentle motion of the sea at dusk. The aqua color of the ocean matches Wartortle's ears and tail and sets off the red-orange sand, I just love how the colors are here!
Wartortle looks so round and squishy, I love its happiness as it goes frolicking through the shallows, chasing the bubbles caught in the setting sun! The shine and deep shadow on its shell give it an almost jewel texture like real tortoise shell; I love the silhouetted splash Wartortle leaves as it goes running across the shore. It's so full of energy and delight at the end of a gorgeous day!
The colors in these are SO vivid and harmonized and the style is so cute and bursting with energy and joy. I just LOVE it (also Squirtle is my starter)
#pokemon#pokemon tcg#long post#i have deep affection for bulbasaur as well though and i also love the bulbasaur/ivysaur cards in this set#i SO wish we'd gotten art of the final evolutions in the same style as the pre-evos' standard cards!!#(yes i do love the full art ones but i also love the illustrations on the standard cards!)#from the way the settings in these two were going; i would have imagined blastoise to be set at night (??)#i LOVE pokemon cards. i can't keep up with every set but i started collecting again now and then a few years ago#and 151 has really got me wanting the full set the way i haven't since childhood. SO many beautiful illustrations (but there always are)#it's like having little pieces of art of my favorite characters and it's only.. slightly... less expensive than actually commissioning ....#i KNOW it's less expensive to buy the individuals online but it's so much less fun#part of the fun is having YOUR own pokemon journey ((going to the store)) and seeing what YOU encounter ((when you open the pack))#i do buy them online sometimes but i usually dont form as strong associations with them as when i open a pack in a certain setting or place#i tend to try to save them to open right before a significant event like starting something new or a holiday. so that i form associations#and it's like 'oh that's the galarian obstagoon from when my mom came home for christmas'#and 'that's the snorlax who reassured me when i was hurt'#i don't buy them too often so i've got to make it count#anyway i know i should wait for the prices on this one to come down because it's absolutely ridiculous#i didn't buy anything at release because i was like $6 for one booster pack??? but i couldn't take just sitting and watching them sell out#i really like the poster because i can look at so many beautiful pictures all together#i could say stuff like this about literally every pokemon illustration (if i had time to write it out) and sometimes i've wanted to#i just chose these two because these are a couple of my original favorite pokemon and i just couldn't keep it to myself. i LOVE these
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It All Comes Crashing Down
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
She presses the metal radio against her lips and mumbles her final words, hoping that although he has not spoken, he would hear.
"I love you, Simon.
A/N: The classic 'bomb my location' fic you've all been waiting for! This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks, so I'm glad I finally got it out- I'm thinking about a part 2 where she wakes up and it's some extra fluff, maybe?
Masterlist
She takes a shaky breath in as her hands grip her rifle tighter, but when she speaks her voice is as steady and firm as ever.
"Bomb my location."
The words are acrid on her tongue, but they feel right to her heart. Her mind is in disarray, trying to piece together any other solution that won't have her ending up under dead under pounds of rubble, but she knows deep down that there's no other way out of this.
An entire enemy organisation eliminated at the expense of one soldier.
It was a win-win for everyone but her.
And that was alright. She's made her peace with it, made it the moment she signed her name on those documents giving her life away to the tang of blood and the scent of gunsmoke.
"Level the building." She continues, wincing at another hail of fire that rains upon her. Heavy footsteps and orders barked in Russian move around her location. Steadily being surrounded, there was little hope for a smooth extraction or escape anyway. "Have Soap blow the charges, Captain. Then send in the airship and raze this hellhole to the ground."
"Like hell we're doing that." Gaz's voice comes through her comms, frustrated. "We're not leaving her, Price." They must have rendezvoused successfully, because Gaz doesn't speak through the comms, rather it sounds as if he's turning away his head to speak to the man directly.
It brings a small smile to her face despite the circumstances. Her boys would get out of this, at least.
Simon. Her mind flashes to her Simon and she thanks whoever's above that they had split up before everything went to shit.
It had been fine at first. She was setting the charges they needed to bring the building down while he fetched the intel from somewhere else, and really, she should have been suspicious when it all went smoothly.
She'd planted the last charge before the enemy started closing in.
Like rats, they seemed to emerge out of nowhere shooting her down and pinning her until she had no choice but to slip away and barricade herself in one of the nearby rooms. The entrance and exits were likely swarmed with people and here she sat, in the heart of it all.
Unreachable, untouchable.
She sort of tunes out the muted conversation on the other end, lets the ringing on her head take over. Loud angry cursing, yelling in distinctive Scottish, the harsh rasp of her Captain telling everyone to calm down...it all floats through her mind.
Everyone but Ghost.
She doesn't hear his voice...but he was alive, wasn't he? She'd seen him slip out of the building through the window in front of her, so she knows he must have gotten out. The thought makes her gut curl up, brings her back to the present.
"Negative, Sergeant." Price's voice cuts through her thoughts, much louder than the others. "We're mapping out a route to come get you-"
"Price, it'll be suicide." Perhaps it's the way her voice softens and quiets, the gentle way she talks so different from the harsh way she's spoken earlier. It's as if she's accepted it, is content to lay down and allow herself to be swallowed by the dirt she came from. "I'm one soldier. Don't make yourself visit more than one coffin."
"I'm going to-"
"Set off the charges."
There's a beat of silence, painstaking silence where nobody speaks. Even the gunfire outside the room she's barricaded in seems to fade out for a moment.
"Copy."
A death sentence coming from the man she considered family.
It cracks a smile out of her. She squeezes her eyes shut, lets her head fall against the blood spattered wall behind her.
"Make sure my replacement's just as much a pain in the ass to you, alright?" If the way her voice breaks at the end of her last sentence is noticed, it's not brought up. "Simon's gotta have someone to push around, yeah?"
"There's no replacing you."
There's arguing. Soap and Gaz are yelling, and it's startling because she's never heard either of them shout the way they are, at their Captain nonetheless.
It's comforting to know she was cared for, even if she's about to die.
A sudden bang on her door makes her jump. Muffled Russian filters through the old wood. Someone ramming at it with something, trying to break it down.
But it doesn't really matter, does it? She'll be going out on her own terms even if they find her now.
Ghost...Simon. Where was he? If there was one thing that'd settle her mind right now it'd be hearing that gravelly voice, even if it was merely yelling at her, telling her how stupid it was to suggest what she has.
A desperation claws at her chest, deep down. She wants Simon, wants to spend the night in his bed again, wants to hug him, feel his skin, wants to see those rare smiles of his one more time.
Just once.
Just one more time before she-
"Charges setting off in 5-"
How cruel was the world?
She hopes Simon knows that she didn't mean to leave him. That she wanted him to go on without her, to not fall into the void of 'what-if's.' It wasn't his fault.
Her eyes burn but she refuses to let out the helpless sob clawing its way up her throat. She wants...she wants so much. Wants to do so much more, wants to live, and breathe and smile and laugh and experience and live. Simon. She wants to tell him so much more.
If she could go back in time and fill their silences with all the words she wants him to know right now, she'd do it in a heartbeat.
It's an impulsive decision, how her hand shoots up to grab at her radio frantically. Switching it to the private line between just the two of them, she presses the metal against her lips and mumbles her final words, hoping that although he has not spoken, he would hear.
"I love you, Simon."
The ground crumbles beneath her, the world turns to black.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Slipping out of the small shed, he tucks the papers into his vest. For a multi-national organisation, they sure were stupid as hell when hiding their intel.
Scanning the grounds for any movement, Ghost moves out, keeping to the shadows until he reaches the edge of the field that morphed into the woods farther down.
"Intel secured, moving to rendezvous point now." He says into his comms. He frowns when he doesn't get an answer back, grabbing his radio and speaking again, casting a glance back into the foliage in the distance where he knows the others have staked their place to operate from.
Price, Gaz, and Soap were operating remotely, dealing with drones and distant detonation devices, whereas the other two had infiltrated the building separately.
Plant the charges and secure the intel. Simple tasks made difficult when they both realised that the intel wasn't in the building, but instead in the shed attached to the side of the complex instead. Splitting up had been the most logical thing to do, even when Ghost had refused at first.
"It'll be fine. Quick and easy, right?" She'd told him with a grin. "Get that intel before I'm out of the building and maybe I'll give you an extra treat when we get back." Ghost had rolled his eyes at her suggestive wink.
"Does anyone copy?" He says into the object. He's met with nothing but muffled crackling and garbled speech, tinny and indecipherable. Ghost scowls at the machine, ripping it off of his vest and turning it over. It crackles and pops with bursts of sound but nothing cohesive enough to interpret
"I-...ou...Simon"
"Fucking thing's busted." He mumbles to himself, shoving the item back into his vest, his hand brushing against the folder of intel he's successfully recovered from the shed attached to the main building.
He can spot one of the convoy vehicles near the edge of the woods, but he doesn't let his guard down even as he crosses the field towards it.
Ghost barely takes a step through the dead grass before the building behind him goes up in an explosion that makes even him unsteady with the force of it. Flames lick up the east side of the massive structure and Ghost takes a second to watch as it crumbles in on itself sending up clouds of dust and debris.
Good fucking riddance.
He's looking forward to getting the hell out of this place once he rendezvous with everyone else. This mission had stretched on for far longer than it should have, the elusive bastards slipping away through their fingers time and time again with dirty, underhanded tactics.
The foliage grows thicker as he steps into the woods, rifle at the ready. A click of a safety had him raising his weapon and spinning around immediately.
When he sees a very familiar mohawk, however, he lowers his weapon instantly. "Blue!" He says loudly, bringing up a hand to half Soap. "Just me, Johnny."
Soap follows suit and lowers his weapon, his shoulders visibly relaxing the tiniest bit. "Welcome back." He says, but something about his voice makes Ghost uneasy. "Price and...and the others are prepping exfil." He gestures towards the clearing.
"Everyone else made it back?" He asks as they push through the meager trees and into the open space where soldiers are rushing around tying up loose ends.
"Aye." Soap chokes out.
Ghost would question it, but he's too busy doing a sweep of the clearing, putting names to faces. Price and Gaz were there, going back and forth over something. It strikes him a little odd how furious Gaz looks, Price looking so resigned but he pushes it away in favour of catching a glimpse of the person he's more inclined to spot.
"We tried what we could, but she was pinned down." Soap breaks the silence, misinterpreting the reason behind his silent staring at Gaz and Price. "We didn't...Laswell's insisting immediate evac, but Gaz wants to at least find a body to bury." A bitter laugh that makes Ghost's stomach drop like a stone.
"What?"
Soap rakes a bloody hand through his hair, shakes his head, and continues on like he's in some sort of shock. "I don't want to. I think she'd rather us leave her buried there than dig out bits and pieces and bury her again." His voice cracks.
Bury...?
There's only one woman in their team.
There's only one person he hasn't accounted for in the clearing.
There's only one person he hasn't reached on his comms before they broke.
The world spins, his mind screams and falls silent, a crescendo of noise and denial. The ground shifts beneath his feet, rocking him into a state that makes him feel like he's walking on string.
"MacTavish." His words are so calm and even, it's eerie. "Is my girl still in the building?" He feels detached from himself, perhaps a way to distance himself from the pain of the implied.
Soap looks at him for a long moment, then croaks out one, broken word.
"Was."
And it all comes crashing down.
He's been through torture before. Had his skin marred, his fingernails torn off, been hung from his ribs but nothing, nothing has ever come close to the way his heart twists.
Nothing had ever made him panic in a way that has his throat closing up.
"Christ." Johnny breathes, and it's a sound that drags him back from the brink of something horrible. Soap's eyes are fixed on the empty spot on his vest that holds his radio on normal days, horrified. "You didn't bloody know." He states.
Wasting time answering is useless. Talking, speaking breathing is useless because not a moment later Ghost is sprinting towards the rubble.
The rubble that he had just watched fallen. The building he'd stood there and watched fall down, had felt pride and relief in seeing.
His gear digs into him, the air thickens with smoke and dust but he doesn't stop. Vaguely he hears people yelling after him, hears Price and Gaz and Soap and every other motherfucker who stood by and detonated the charges. Friend or foe it didn't matter to him right now. If someone dared to get in his way he'd mow them all down, grind them into nothing and keep going.
They blew the charges.
The airship would be here any minute to finish the job.
No, he'd get to her by then. Ghost slams down into the ground somewhere near where they split off. He'd find her by then, and he'd bring her back, bring her to medical and she'd be fine in a week or two.
There was no other fucking option.
The debris rakes off the fabric of his gloves, splits the skin on his fingertips as he hauls and pushes and pulls and digs through stone and metal and wood, leaving evidence of his efforts in the form of his own blood behind.
She had to be okay.
Not her. Not like his mother, not like his brother, not like his nephew.
Not her.
He digs, calls out her name until his voice is hoarse, pulls away piece after piece of rubble until his fingers are torn to shreds.
Just as he hears the sounds of incoming aircraft, he spots something that makes the knot in his chest slam against his ribcage in pure and utter terror.
It's been a while since Simon has felt fear this pure.
Hair that he's familiar with, strands that he's gripped and gently soothes his fingers through peek out from under the piece of metal he's just lifted.
Unable to breathe, his attempts at moving the earth increase tenfold. He picks off stone after stone, brick after brick until more of her body is uncovered. Still, unmoving, bleeding. Once he's gotten her top half free, he hesitates for one horrible moment because what if he looks down to see a still chest?
Steeling himself, he bites the bullet and curls an arm around her waist, pulling her out of the debris.
The relief that slams into him when he feels her shallow, breaths against his palm is almost enough to send him to his knees.
"I've got you, love." He mumbles, half to himself as he adjusts her in his arms. She's dead weight, pulse barely there but present.
Cuts and bruises, Ghost can name at least five lacerations and countless other places she's bleeding from, a broken arm, leg, and who knows what kind of internal bleeding.
Alive.
But still alive.
And that was enough because like hell Ghost was going to let the one good thing in his life slip through his fingers ever again. He'd drag whoever he needed to her aid, he'd go to hell and back just to make sure she got to open her eyes again.
With limps that ache and a heart that's heavy, he quickly moves them out of the rubble, just in time to see two aircraft circling their location. They hadn't dropped any explosives yet, which a far part of Simon's brain thinks might be Price's doing.
Uncaring of whoever was watching, because frankly everyone could fuck off right now and it would be preferable, Ghost presses his lips to her hair as he moves into the clearing with her.
"Medic!" He barks out. "Right fucking now!"
He ignores Gaz's strangled gasp, ignores the way the entire team approaches them and tries to help. Ghost is a little concerned that if he let the adrenaline that's pumping through his veins go, he might just collapse as well, and that was unacceptable at the moment.
A weak hand grasps at the front of his vest, his eyes snapping immediately to her at the movement.
"S...'mon?" She says, words so faint he barely hears them?
"I'm here." He confirms, pressing his face to her hair harder. "I've got you, darling." He whispers. "I've got you."
It soothes her, because she nods against him and lets herself relax. It's only then that Simon notices she's holding something in her good hand in a deathly tight grip.
Upon closer inspection, it's a radio.
"I-...ou...Simon"
Fucking hell. His grip on her tightens.
She'd been trying to contact him in what she thought were her last moments, and he'd never have known because his fucking radio was broken.
It doesn't matter, he tells himself, chants it over and over again in his mind. He's got her again, and like hell is he ever letting go now.
When the medics bring out a stretcher, Price has to talk him into letting her go down into him, practically ordering him to let the bloody medics do their jobs. He doesn't stray far, however, keeping a hand on her at all times. Sat next to where they were working on her in the helicopter back, never once do his eyes stray from her unconscious form.
She wakes up once or twice, whines, and fights against the medic's hands with a panic-induced haze. Every time Simon is there, holding her hand, muttering rough, soothing praise and assurances.
It calms her down immediately, the trust in those far away pain-addled eyes when they meet his is enough to make his heart twist.
Simon stays with her the entire time, and then takes residence in a seat next to her hospital bed on base, ready for when she wakes up.
Hell would freeze over before Simon would ever let them be apart again.
If that makes him selfish, then so be it.
Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!
(12/08/2023)
#ghost cod#cod mw ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost modern warfare#ghost mw2#ghost simon riley#ghost x reader#cod ghost#mw2 ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#call of duty modern warfare 2#modern warfare x reader#angst#x reader#x y/n#fluff#simon riley#simon riley fluff#simon riley imagine#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare ii#modern warfare#cod modern warfare#modern warfare 2#modern warfare ii
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One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley
Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.
Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.
Word count: 2398
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader
Warnings: none, fluff.
Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.
For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.
Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.
According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.
My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.
In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.
One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.
Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.
Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.
Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.
His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.
However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.
He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.
“Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”
But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.
“What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.
“Nothing,” he responds bluntly.
“Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.
“Negative.”
“Are you sure beca-“
“Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.
Fine. I won’t try to help.
I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.
When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.
Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.
Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.
He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.
I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.
I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.
When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.
It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.
On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.
“What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.
When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.
I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.
I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.
“Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.
Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.
I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.
At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.
I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.
As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.
The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.
I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.
The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.
Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.
Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.
It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?
Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.
I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.
I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.
“If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.
“Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.
“Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.
“That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.
It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.
“I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”
I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.
“C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.
The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.
I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.
“Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.
As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.
Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.
Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.
Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.
I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.
Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?
Fic based on this concept:
#MWII#mw2#cod mw2#cod imagine#simon riley#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley#ghost imagine#cod ghost#cod ghost imagine#mw2 imagine#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#one bed#Simon Riley fluff#cod ghost fluff#ghost fluff#cod fluff
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Hi, your last post about reader not knowing that it was sa, I saw that and I wanted to request something. What if reader knows that she have been through it but she mentions this as a joke, she says it and just keep going like she said something silly. How would the boys (141 + konig) react?
(I do this sometimes and I don’t like it, but it feels like some kind of copying mechanism)
I’m sorry if this was too much, do not feel that u need to write this.
Anyway, thank u so much and take care
Honestly I make out of pocket jokes about my own trauma all the time, so I feel this
tw: mentions of trauma, brief mentions of sexual assault- nothing graphic or descriptive, humor as a coping mechanism, comfort
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:
Whiplashed so hard his neck is broken
“You bein’ serious?”
You explain what happened but you’re a little too blasé about it, he understands humor as a coping mechanism but this is a little serious
And by ‘a little’ I mean very
“Love, you can’t just drop a bomb like that.” He tries to soften his tone but his rage at what you’ve just told him is starting to seep through
He doesn’t realize he’s being a little hypocritical, we’ve all heard his “army humor” so he really doesn’t have a lot of room to talk. But the fact that it happened to you has blinded him to that fact. It’s not that you can’t make jokes, it’s that you shouldn’t have to because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
He doesn’t even let you apologize before he’s pulling you into his arms, hands shaking, doing his best not to imagine what kind of sick fuck would do that to you
“Simon, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” His tone is firm and he’s refusing to let you go, so instead of arguing, you opted to melt into his embrace. Hands running up and down his back and as he’s kissing the crown of your head he’s wondering how worthwhile it’d be to give the fucker a visit. Maybe teach him a lesson or two.
John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:
Laughing with your joke at first but then it hits him like a ton of bricks
“Beg your pardon?”
You explain the joke and the context with a dismissive laugh before going back to what you were doing and he’s just frozen in place
Someone… hurt you… in one of the most awful ways imaginable, and you’re laughing it off?
He’s not sure if he should be in awe at your resilience or concerned at your choice of coping mechanism, so he takes a gentle approach
“Bonnie, you know you can talk to me, aye?”
“I know, I just… don’t want to burden you with it. I mean, it’s not like it’s your fault it happened.” He’s holding your hands in his, gently massaging the space between your thumb and your index finger,
“Aye that’s true, but it’s you. And I love you, good and bad included.” He gently held the back of your head and kissed your forehead,
“Anytime you feel like talkin’ I’m here. Copy?”
He doesn’t usually bring work jargon home but he knows it gets a laugh from you, and sure enough your little giggle proved him right
“Copy.”
John Price:
The whiplash also broke his neck
“Sorry, what?”
His heart broke when you explained yourself and whined that the explanation ruined the punchline
“Sweetheart, that’s no laughin’ matter.” His tone was gentle as he approached you, hands hesitantly coming to rest on your hips, suddenly unsure of himself
“Honey, I’m fine. It’s how I cope.”
“I know, and there’s nothin’ wrong with that. Just, maybe, talk to me about it instead, yeah?” One of his hands came up to cup your cheek and you closed your eyes and leaned into the warmth of his palm, trapping it between your cheek and your shoulder
“I don’t wanna be a downer, John.”
“Never. I’m more concerned for your well-being than bloody mood. Am I clear?” As you looked in his eyes, you saw nothing but honesty and genuine concern, so you nodded
You closed your eyes and kissed his palm before he pulled you in to a tight embrace.
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:
He heard you say it and weakly laughs before stopping as he chews on the words a little more
“Wait, what was that?”
And when you’re passively explaining it to him in the same way you’d talk about the weather he is in shock
He’s not sure if you’re trying to put on a brave face if you’re as nonchalant as you seem. He’s inclined to believe it’s the former.
“Babe that’s no joke. That’s kind of serious.”
“Don’t sweat it, Kyle. It’s how I’ve dealt with it. I’ve got it.”
He’s unsure but at the same time if it’s really worked for you so far then there’s no harm in letting it continue right? Wrong. He’s a little uncomfortable but it’s more so because it happened to you, someone he loves so deeply and he can’t fathom the idea
“Well yeah, I get that. But maybe we can talk about it when you feel like joking about it?” He shrugs, his words cautious and carefully chosen as he makes his suggestion
“I just want you to be alright. Ok?” His arms are rubbing yours before he’s pulling you into a hug, “I’ll always be here for you, babe.”
König:
Not a single chuckle from this man as he’s chewing over the words in his head
“Schatz, what’d you just say?”
When you explained what happened with a shrug and an all too casual tone, he’s tasting iron in his mouth from how hard he’s biting his cheek
He doesn’t want you to think he’s angry at you, never in a million years, but jesus christ schatz, surely there’s no way?
It’s not that he doesn’t believe you, he just can’t believe it happened to you, you’re the light of his life, his reason for existing, you’re the morning sun and the midnight moon, he’s truly in shock
“König?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts and in two short steps he was in front of you, sinking to his knees and hugging your middle. He’s buried his face in your shoulder as your arms wrap around his shoulders and you run your fingers through his hair.
“Liebling, please don’t make those jokes anymore, ok?” His voice is so small and fragile, you almost felt like it was a child talking instead of the 6’ something behemoth at your feet, “I can’t stand to hear that you’ve been hurt like that.”
“König it’s ok, really. Humor is how I cope.” You kiss the crown of his head and your chin against it,
“I know, liebling, I know but I’d much rather you talk to me ok? Please? For me?”
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#soap mctavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#captain price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#konig x reader#könig x reader#cod x reader#mw2 x reader#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod headcanons
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Retirement Party
Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.
Chapter One - The Perfect Gift
Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Stalking, Drugging, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Threats (open-ended), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real.
~3.2k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above
"I told ye, she's perfect," Soap said, eyes on the window across the street. They could see you puttering around your living room, wearing a pretty flower print dress as you tidied up. "Good with bairns too, met her when I was pickin' up the niece and nephew from school. She was workin' for some rich family, an' they let her go because the wife found a pair of her knickers in her husband's briefcase." He snickered. He'd been the one to put them there, although, in his opinion, he’d been pushing the bounds for a long while anyway. Sure he’d essentially cast you adrift, jobless and with no one looking out for you, but, well, they were looking after you now, weren’t they? So it wasn’t all that bad.
"Good job, pup," Ghost said fondly, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Captain's gonna love 'er."
"How do you lads want to play it?" Gaz asked. "Could go in tonight. Won’t take much to knock her out, pack up her things, take her to the cabin. Get her nice and situated for when Price gets back."
"No point in waitin', is there?" Ghost asked. "Nice she's on the ground floor. Makes takin' 'er things easier. I'll go round 'n' check the windows in a bit. Should wait till after midnight. Don't want to be spotted by the neighbours."
"No' much risk o' tha'," Soap said. "Knocked over a bunch of bins last I was here and the cunts didna even turn on a light. Just the bonnie thing worryin’ while the rest of ‘em sleep sound."
Gaz lit a cigarette, nodding thoughtfully. "Small apartment too. Is there much to move?"
Soap shook his head. "Nah, no' much. Sweet girl lives simply. I told ye, she's perfect for the captain. He'll be able to spoil the fuck out of her, once she's broken in, aye?"
"Know 'e'll like that. Man needs a wife to dote on. ‘e’s been goin’ a bit crazy, all alone. An' 'e can train'er up nice."
"Think he might share?" Gaz asked wistfully, exhaling a stream of thin smoke as he sighed. "Nice soft girl like that-- Plenty to go around."
Ghost laughed. "Thought we'd 'ave trouble gettin' Johnny to keep 'is 'ands to 'imself, and you're the one droolin'."
"Scuse me for having eyes, mate. Just think she looks sweet."
"We'll get to see first 'and soon.” Ghost clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on lads. Let's get ready."
You wake up on the hard metal floor of a moving vehicle, your pounding head cradled in someone's hands. That's what you notice first, and the thumbs rubbing circles against your neck soothingly.
It has the opposite effect. Your eyes fly open.
“Hi, bonnie,” a somewhat familiar face grins down at you, blue eyes smiling, but too intense, glittering in the low light that filters in from the windows at the front of the truck. “How’s yer head?”
You grimace, trying to make sense of what’s going on around you. The back of the van seems to be filled with boxes. “Aren’t you Finn and Rory’s uncle?”
“Aw, ye remember me? Knew ye were a sweetheart.”
You try to sit up, but Johnny puts a strong hand on your shoulder and keeps you where you are. Your head feels too heavy to try and fight him, your muscles weak. “What’s going on?” you ask. “What— Is this a kidnapping?”
“Tha’s an ugly word, bonnie. We’re doin’ ye a favour, really. Settin’ ye up with someone respectable. Captain’ll take good care of ye.” He pats your cheek. “Whyna get back to sleep? Still a ways to go, aye?”
Maybe it’s just a bad, weird dream. You do feel foggy, like you’re not fully attached to your body, and keeping your eyes open is a struggle. You’ll wake up back in your own bed, and have a funny story to tell if you ever bump into Johnny again. He’s definitely too nice to be a kidnapper, right? Like, people don’t really do that sort of thing. It has to be a dream.
“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes close again.
As you suspected, you wake up again in bed. The headache’s receded some, and there’s warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. You bury your face into the pillows, and then bolt upright. The pillow smells weird, like sweet tobacco and spice, and you don’t get morning sun in your bedroom. The window faces a brick wall across a narrow alley.
The room you’re in now is not your room. It’s sparsely furnished, just a dresser under the window and the bed you’re tucked into, and two doors, one that’s clearly a closet, and one that must lead out into the rest of the… house? Judging by the sound of birdsong outside, you’re out of the city.
You pad to the window and look out. There’s a van in the driveway, and three men carrying things in. One of them looks up and spots you in the window, waving cheerfully.
Not a dream. Fear grips you, ice sliding down your spine, shards settling in your stomach, needling and uncomfortable. Your sinuses prickle like you’re about to cry, but no tears come. You’re too dehydrated to summon them. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out— It’s fully daylight outside, but you have no idea what time. A second look around the room finds a digital clock sitting on the nightstand, 3:05 glaring back at you in red.
There’s a knock on the door, and it pushes open. The man who walks in is handsome, smiling at you so beautifully that your automatic response is to try and smile back, although you feel that it’s flimsy, unsure. There’s no chance that this man is here to help you, but you at least hope he’s not here to hurt you either.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice is as pleasant as his face is, smooth and cheerful, although it makes you wary about him on principle. “You hungry?”
You shake your head. It’s not true, but you can’t trust that there wouldn’t be drugs in anything they give you.
“Well, come on downstairs, hm? Get some water at least. Maybe a tea?”
Your stomach churns. “I might be sick,” you manage to squeak out. He quickly ushers you out into the hall and into a bathroom. You don’t make it to the toilet, but you do manage to make it to the sink. If you had a little more fire in you, you might have tried to vomit bile onto the pretty man’s shoes, but it’s hard to shake the instinct to be good, not to make any trouble, to hope that they’ll just let you go. You’re not even sure what they want. You have no family to ransom, you don’t have any money to speak of, you’re just a fat little ex-nanny still paying off an English Literature degree from a second-rate college.
You turn on the sink to wash away the sick, and rinse your mouth out. Your hands start shaking when you realize your toothbrush is sitting in the holder next to the sink, like it belongs there. Your makeup bag is sitting on the counter too, and when you look down, you realize you’re standing on your own bathmat, taken from your home and arranged here, as if effects from your own house are supposed to make you feel comfortable. You look at your reflection in the mirror, and then at the man still standing in the doorway, his brown eyes all concern, as if he wasn’t party to a fucking nightmare.
You straighten up, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “What the hell is this?” you ask, trying to inject some authority into your quaking voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“I’m Gaz. Nice to meet you. Johnny had lots of nice things to say about you.”
So that hadn’t been a dream either. You look around the room desperately, looking for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, but Gaz seems to know exactly what you’re doing, and he steps into your space quickly to grab your hands.
“None of that. Come on. You’ll feel better after a tea, yeah? Then you can get ready to meet the captain.”
He leads you downstairs. Questions spin around your head, but you’re not sure if it’s worth asking. Gaz only bothered to respond to one of the three you’ve asked so far, and it wasn’t the one that you were most interested in an answer to. So you stay quiet instead, taking in the layout of the big room. A front door and a back door, and windows that look out onto a forest on one side of the property, and more forest on the other side, beyond a large cleared space with a neat garden and a few fruit trees. There’s a second building that you can just see the corner of from the kitchen window, more likely a garage than a neighbour.
Gaz backs you up against the counter and leans down slightly, his hands gripping your thighs. You panic, the touch surprising you, and slap him across the face. The sharp sound makes you freeze, like it wasn’t you that had done it. He takes advantage of your surprise to shove you up onto the counter and grab both your hands with one of his, all the friendliness draining our of his eyes in an instant as he points a scolding finger at you. You feel like you’ve done something naughty that you’re not fully aware of the implications of yet, a badly trained dog or a child. “I’m going to let that one slide, because I understand that this is a big change for you. But you’re not going to like what happens if you try that again, understood?”
You nod quickly, your own eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry,” you say, the instinct for appeasement rearing it’s skittish little head.
And then the smile returns, as pretty as before, storm clouds blowing away as though they’d never been there to begin with. “It’s alright, doll. Just don’t do it again. And definitely don’t try that attitude on with the captain.” He taps the pointing finger against your nose playfully, and lets your hands drop back into your lap.
The rules seem simple enough. Be good and sweet, and get friendly faces in return, to a degree. No matter how cooperative you are, you doubt they’re going to let you go home. Fighting back means consequences, and you’re not sure how far those consequences will extend. If you’re too much trouble, it’s not a stretch to imagine that they’ll just kill you outright and try again with a meeker woman. You don’t yet know if death would be the more preferable outcome.
You pull your sweater down over your thighs. The black zip-up hoodie isn’t yours (the word Riley is stitched onto the front of it), but it’s big, and even though it smells faintly of cigarettes, it affords you at least a little modesty and comfort, more than the tank top and the sleep-shorts you’re wearing underneath do. Riley must be the third man. Was he the captain? Or was there a fourth one somewhere?
Johnny comes through the door carrying your suitcases, and he grins widely when he sees you, the charming, boyish one that you’d thought was handsome before. It’s only unnerving now. “Didja have a good sleep, bonnie?”
“You drugged me,” you accuse.
“Weel, of course. You were no’ goan ta come all peaceable, and LT wouldna be patient if ye were cryin’ the whole way here.” He trots upstairs, and you can hear him drop the bags with a thump, before he’s clattering back down the steps and leaning against the counter next to you. “How’d’ye like yer new home, bonnie? S’a nice place, aye? Better than tha’ little shoebox back in the city.”
“I like my apartment,” you protest.
“Psh, ye’d say tha’. Puttin’ on a brave face since yer such a good girl. But it wasna verra safe, was it? No’ a single neighbour paid us any mind while we were loadin’ up yer things. No’ a good place for a single girl, aye?” He reaches out and puts a big hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Now ye’ll be taken care of, like ye should be.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of.”
“Nonsense. Ye’ll be glad, once ye get used to things. Already looks real homey in here, don’t ye think?” He gestures at the living room.
You twist to look, and your stomach sinks. Your throw pillows are on the couch, one of the afghans you crocheted hanging over the back of it. You recognize the titles of your books on the shelves. These men were nothing if not thorough, surgically removing your entire life and transplanting it to this house in the woods, with it’s wood panel walls and big, overstuffed leather couches.
He continues blithely, like he’s not delivering some of the most horrifying news you’ve ever heard. “Most of your furniture’s in the garage, ye can sort tha’ out with Price, aye? But we brought all yer clothes and decorations and whatnot in. Figure ye should wear tha’ pretty black sundress, an’ those long stockin’s with the clippy belt, ye ken the one? Cap’ll like those.”
They’d been through all your things. If you had anything left to throw up, you might’ve again. Gaz sets a glass of water on the counter next to you. “How d’you take your tea, doll?”
“Milk, two sugars,” Johnny answers for you. “Our sweet lass has a sweet tooth, aye?”
“How do you know that?” You can hear the quiver in your voice, and it doesn’t slip by either of them.
“Come oan, hen, ye ken I didna jus’ pick ye off the street. Did my research. Wouldna pick just anyone for the captain.”
“When he said he’d found the perfect girl, we didn’t believe him at first,” Gaz says, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen while the tea steeps. “But Ghost and I knew he was right, soon as we saw you.” He nods at the glass. “Drink your water. You haven’t had anything since last night.”
“Is it drugged?” you ask flatly.
“No, want ye awake for when Price gets here. Yer a real cute thing asleep, but we want him ta hear yer pretty voice and see that smile, aye?” Johnny reaches past you and picks up the glass of water, taking a big swig to demonstrate it’s harmlessness.
You take a careful sip when he hands it back to you, and then another, resisting the urge to just gulp the whole thing down. The door opens again, and the biggest man you’ve seen in your life walks in, wearing a black t-shirt and a mask with the jaw of a skull printed on it, pulled up over the lower half of his face. He looks at you dispassionately, and then at Gaz and Johnny. “What the ‘ell have you two muppets been sayin’ to the poor thing?” he asks, his voice rumbling like an avalanche. “She looks like she’s gonna faint.”
“Figure she’s just peaky,” Gaz says defensively. “I’m making her tea.”
The big guy swats Johnny’s hand away from your knee impatiently, and cages you in against the counter, one huge arm on either side of you. “How’re you feelin’ bird? Be honest.”
“Terrified,” you admit.
He chuckles. “Sensible, considerin’. But you don’t need to worry, olright? No one’s gonna hurt you, so long as you’re good. And you want to be good, don’t you, bird?”
You nod. You’d thought Gaz and Johnny were big, but this one’s huge, broad and tall and even scarier. It’s clear why they started off introducing themselves to you in the order they did. If this man had been the first thing you’d seen after waking up you probably would have gone into hysterics.
“Use your words, pet.”
“I want to be good,” you say obediently, because you don’t see any other options, at least for the moment.
“Good girl,” he says, and there’s the slightest hint of a smile in his dark eyes.
Somehow, this is the most comforting thing that you’ve experienced all day. You won’t be hurt if you’re good, and you are being good.
He pushes back from the counter slightly, giving you more space, takes the mug of tea from Gaz, and hands it off to you. “Small sips,” he instructs. “And maybe a biscuit, if you think you can keep it down.”
“Are you the captain?” you ask nervously, gripping the mug with two hands.
“Hm? No. ‘e’s still about an hour out. I’m Simon. Ghost to these two.” He fishes an open package of biscuits out of the cupboard and sets them next to you. “Once you finish your tea, we’ll get you ready. Want to make a good first impression, right bird?”
“Not really,” you admit. “I’d like to go home.”
He laughs, at least finding your honesty amusing. “That won’t be ‘appenin’. If Price dun’t want you, I’ll keep you myself. But I’ll tell you right now, you’ll like Price better. If you’re good for him, he’ll be real good to you, understood?”
You bite your tongue. It won’t do you any good to point out that a man that would accept a person as a gift is probably not capable of being good to anyone. Good is subjective, and the three men in front of you are lunatics. Their captain probably has the slightest bit stronger a grasp on his sanity, or a consistent moral code, if not a particularly righteous one. So you just keep your mouth shut, and drink your tea, and eat two chocolate digestives while Gaz and Johnny start collecting things to make dinner.
As soon as you set your empty mug to the side Ghost pops you down from the counter and ushers you upstairs with a big hand placed a little too low on your back. He tells you what to wear (down to the lingerie), but blessedly doesn’t insist on watching you get dressed. He does sit on the edge of the tub and watch you put on makeup, however, requesting red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Your hands are still a little shaky, but you manage to do as he asks. His eyes smile at you just a little when you’re obedient. You feel pathetic for not making a fuss, but you’re not sure what you can possibly do, except something stupid that will make them angry enough to hurt you.
He helps you into a pair of strappy red heels that had been languishing in the back of your closet before they dug everything out, and straightens the seam of your stockings, running his big hands up your calves. It’s like you’re a doll, dressed just how he wants, something to look pretty and say less than nothing, a gift for some other man you’ve never met to keep on a shelf.
Or worse, to play with.
You hear Johnny and Gaz greet someone downstairs, their voices loud and excited, and your heart skips nervously.
Ghost rises to his feet, smiling so big you can see it even with the mask. “Wait right here, pet,” he says firmly, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed while he goes off to greet his captain. “Want to introduce you proper.”
So you sit, and you wait, shaking and nervous, for what feels like eternity, until you hear Simon’s surprisingly light footfalls on the stairs again. He offers you a hand, and hoists you over his shoulder as soon as you’re on your feet, carrying you down into the living room.
“We all pitched in,” Gaz says, as casually as if he meant throwing in five dollars for a card. “But she was Soap’s idea.”
“Picked ‘er out special, Cap,” Johnny says. “She’s perfect for ye.”
“She?” an unfamiliar voice asks. “Don’t tell me you got me a dog.”
“Better than that, skipper.” Ghost laughs as he circles around the couch, and drops you carefully into the man’s lap, stepping into line with the other two. “We got you a wife.”
I've been low-key thinking about this concept since I read ohbo-ohno's Don't Leave Me Locked in Your Heart a while back (If you haven't read and you like a good dark fic, you should click that link, you may enjoy it). I think getting someone a person as a gift, or being given as a gift, rather, is a fun fucked up fantasy to explore. I'm not entirely sure where I'll take this but I promise to put in content warnings. Let me know if I miss something, I don't want anyone to be surprised by what they find!
Image Credits: Banner
Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune
#cod mw fanfiction#cave writing#John Price x Reader#x reader#dark fic#Price please keep your dogs on leashes they are terrorizing women#The boys missed the real retirement party because they got emergency deployed and they've been trying to reschedule all year long#Good thing they've got such a good gift to make up for it#The homies in discord agree: These guys are unsettling
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Eddie x Fem! Reader [vol ii]
Summary: you were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.
W.C 3.8k
Trigger warning: enemies to lovers trope, eventual smut, language, crude behavior, Eddie is a fucking menace 🖤 this will be a series 💋
{a/n} I probably should have added this when I originally posted it. But I’m a little dumb— anyway, this is my submission for @newlips ’s milestone of love hope you all enjoy it 💋 I truly enjoy writing and I wouldn’t be here without the support you all as readers/ fellow writers bring to me every single day! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart ♥️
He wasn’t your first option for a roommate, in fact he was so far off your radar for a potential housemate, you damn near shrieked when you saw him. But when nobody had showed up besides him to view the small two bedroom house that you were forced to sublease after your roommate got married— you didn’t have a fucking choice. It was too expensive to run another ad in the Hawkins Post and summer was coming to a close. You were fucked.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” you snarl as you throw open the door to see his stupid grin. Always too toothy, too goddamn endearing. Made your stomach bind up. “No, no way.”
Standing in all his sadistic leather glory was Eddie fucking Munson. He’s taller than he used to be, still a long haired asshole, reeking of weed and cheap deodorant. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Did you really piss off mother karma that bad that you have to live in a separate, more fucked up layer of hell? Fuck you Dante, and your inferno. There’s not a single other person in this town who needs somewhere to stay?!
He pushes his way into your home, leaning forward with a shit eating grin, eyes hooded and winking as your lips curl in disgust. “Nice to see you too sweetheart.” He taunted. Licking his lips as he stalked past you, his filthy work boots tracking dirt onto the carpet.
“Yuck — do not— call me that,” you hissed, you stand with your hand still on the knob, not fully committing to wanting to shut the door— praying that he was some sort of a hallucination.
“You gonna show me around, or should I raid your panty drawer while you sulk?” A dimple dips into his cheeks as his stupid grin grows wider on his face.
You slam the door with a thud, “kitchen, living room, my bedroom, the other bedroom, bathroom, garage, laundry in the basement.” You’re practically shouting, as you stomp around the small space, pointing to the direction of each room, taking a grand total of twenty seconds to point everything out, not giving a fat rats ass if he was following you or not. His laugh echoes off the walls, taunting you, making your skin crawl and your ears itch. You turn around to find him quick on your heels, your face almost smashing into his grease covered work shirt.
He doesn’t move, or make any attempt to step away from you, forcing you to put the space between you both, stepping back and smoothing down your hair. His eyes kill to yours, dark swirls of muddy browns searching your own, he asks, “Why do you get the bigger room?”
The fucking audacity of this man. You could wring his neck right now and nobody would even know.
“Excuse me?” You question, peering into his chocolate eyes, waving a finger in his face, “maybe because It’s my fucking house, you’re lucky if you’ll get a room at all.”
He leans his head back with a laugh, letting it slam forward as he deadpans, creeping forward and stepping around you, waiting til he’s behind you to whisper in your ear, “I’m lucky? That ad was in the paper for over a week,” he seethes, “I bet I’m the only one who showed up to view the place, so nice try, Tooty— but you’re desperate for the cash.” He wasn’t wrong, you were desperate, the salon paid okay but Josie just upped the price on your rental chair, making your mortgage almost impossible for you to pay on your own.
“…I’m doing you a favor. So, if you want me to pay rent and utilities, then I’ll, so graciously, be taking the bigger room.” His breath fans across the back of your neck, making the hairs stand up, and goosebumps riddle your skin. You turn to face him, hands on your hips trying to show how serious you are.
“I know it took you like four times longer to graduate than anyone in United States history, but you can’t possibly be this damn dumb.” It was a cheap shot and you know it, but who does he think he is? Barging in here with demands like a fucking A list celebrity. Not today, mother fucker.
A comment that would have normally made anyone else burst into tears, or at least leave hollering ‘bitch!’ as they stomped out to their car, only fuels Eddie’s perverted fire, “Ooo, an insult and a scolding, what’s next a spankin’?”
Your hard-ass facade drops, your face faltering to one of disgust instead of stern, don’t-fuck-with-me, boss lady, “Get out, Munson.”
“Nah, I think I’ll stay.” He saunters towards the kitchen table and pulls out his wallet, of course its a chain wallet, you roll your eyes as he starts forking over an impressive amount of bills and sets them down, one by one.
“Here’s my first month, last month and deposit.”
The total is way more than what you’d even told him but you're still tongue tied from his comments, he lives for this shit and you had fallen for it—rookie mistake.
“I’ll be back in a few hours to start moving stuff in.” He smiles widely, moving towards the door, “See you then, roomie.”
His figure haunts you for the next few hours you have left of peace. His smell lingers around the house, you shove open every window you can, including the one that was painted shut by the previous owners. He was so fucking annoying. Is that supposed to be charm he was throwing at you? Fucking barf. The only thing you were feeling was rage, and that you needed to shower after feeling his breath on your skin. Lighting every scented candle you can find, Sugar cookie and beach sands will do— the smell slowly wafts out of the windows. You shower quickly, figuring better do it now than after he arrives, the dreaded walk in a towel from the bathroom to your room was something you hadn’t thought of until this second. Hot water sprays against your skin, assaultingly hot, almost blistering the skin on your back.
You are seething, raging mad. If you were a cartoon, smoke would be funneling out of your ears. Mocking him, you think of better comebacks than you had thought up earlier. Scrubbing your skin until you resembled a lobster, and angrily scratching your scalp. “What’s next a spankin?” GOD he’s so nasty, the sheer nerve of him makes you want to throw a toaster into the shower with you. Nothing a few volts can’t fix. You towel off, looking at your reflection in the mirror as you wipe away the condensation. The stress of the day slowly melted off as it was rinsed down the drain.
You’re applying your eye cream when a—loud as fuck— knock on the door shakes the walls.
“Honey, I’m home!” Eddie hollers as you peek through the glass. He’s carrying a duffle bag and a 30 pack of Busch Light. 3 smiling idiots are behind him, two passing a joint back and forth while balancing a very worn mattress, the other swaying on the sidewalk holding a guitar, most likely already drunk.
Tucking the tail end of the towel wrapped around your head into itself, you fling open the door, “Jesus Christ Eddie, will you shut up! I have neighbors you know!”
“Oooo— first fight!” One of the idiots with shaggy blonde hair preens.
Your glare could compete with lasers against his skin, prying through his epidermis and burning the vessels.
Eddie lets out a laugh, “aww sweetheart, I didn’t know you were planning a slumber party!” he says gesturing to your towel and pink robe. “Give me about 30 minutes and I’ll be braiding your hair and you can paint my nails, give me all the hot gossip!”
You turn with a huff half closing the door behind you. The gaggle of idiots roaring with laughter at Eddie’s joke.
He pushes through the door into the house, tossing his bag onto the table, knocking over the napkin holder and the stack of mail, letting out a loud sigh. He rips the thirty pack open on the side, making the beers crash to the floor. You still your eyes and cross your arms, unamused by his stupid antics. He cracks one open, slurping up the spray of suds as it puddles around his hand and down onto the carpet. He kicks a beer towards you and raises his up in triumph. “Here’s to you roomie, Home Sweet Home!”
You’re so fucked.
-
“Robin, I’m seriously going to kill him. I don’t care if I have to go to jail—anything would be better than this!” you whisper-yell into the phone, you watched Eddie and his band of misfits bring in box after box, most of his stuff was in black plastic garbage bags. They formed a line throwing the bags to one another and the last one haphazardly tossing them into his room.
“Oh relax! A hunk like him moving in and you don’t even have to pay him? You just hit the jackpot!” She giggles on the other end of the phone, smacking through her licorice.
“More like jackass with all the shit he’s moving in.”
You’re hunkered in your room, between the wall and your bed, twirling your bedroom phone cord through your fingers, “Seriously the place smells like weed so bad I’m probably getting a contact high as we speak.”
Robin lets out a throaty laugh, “Might do you some good, you’re so fucking tense all the time.”
“Sorry—” you say, twiddling the blue carpet fibers through your fingers, “I’m just stressed after Nancy moved out is all.” It wasn’t a lie, Nancy moving in was a huge relief to you, she took care of almost everything. Organizing bills, scheduling pest control when needed, she even wrote the garbage pick up days and hung it on the garage door. With her gone, this all falls on you. “What if he steals my stuff in the middle of the night and bails?”
She curses your full name, “He may be a lot of things, but a thief is not one of them—seriously you have nothing to worry about, calm your boobies!”
“Boobies!” Steve yells, joining the room Robin was in, “it’s Eddie, he’s a total nerd, you’ll be fine.”
“If he’s so great Then you can live with him Steve!”
“Nope, no can do,” he says around a mouthful of food,
“I gotta keep this clumsy oaf on a short chain”
“Oh, you’re dead Harrington.” The phone drops and all you hear is squealing and thudding of feet running around.
“Robin! Not my shampoo! ”
“Steve? Robin?” You wait in silence as the line goes dead, “Uhh!” Slamming the phone into the receiver you hear Eddie and his leather clad Barbarians holler goodbye to one another. One too many “see ya later man” ’s and you’re practically puking. You open the door to your room and poke your head out. Watching closely as Eddie tears through garbage bags, unloading heaps and heaps of clothing, an entire bag dedicated to just band shirts, another revealed bedding that was quite literally rolled up and thrown into the bag. A quick sniff test has him turning up his nose.
The kitchen is taken over by Eddie’s stuff, more bags, more boxes, a cookbook titled: The Dungeonmeister Cookbook is sitting on the stove. A stack of Burger King collectible Disney cups is cluttered around the microwave. Along with an impressive amount of neon twisty straws and a bowl with a straw connected to drink the milk.
It’s like a small child moved into your home instead of a grown ass man.
Opening the fridge to get an apple, you can’t help but notice Eddie also moved some refrigerator items with him as well. Two big bottles of hot sauce, more beer than the local bar probably holds, a half drank carton of orange juice, and a giant jar of pickles, without a lid. Huffing with annoyance you step over Eddie’s bags of shit and get a knife from the drawer to slice the apple. The loud shrill screeching of 80’s metal almost makes you cut your finger. Stomping into Eddie’s room with your fuzzy slippers you don’t bother on knocking before you look for the plug to his cassette player, unhooking it from the outlet and pointing the knife in his direction, you all but scream in his face, “I almost cut my fucking finger off! Turn it down or I’ll cut the goddamn cord!”
He’s sitting crossed legged on the floor, cassettes littering his lap, his eyes almost bored, “aww Tooty I’ll play with you in a little bit, daddy just has to get some things done first, ‘kay?”
You roll your eyes in disgust, did he seriously just refer to himself as ‘daddy’?
“God you are foul,” you retort, throwing the cord down onto the carpet and placing the knife on a nearby box, “wouldn’t surprise me if you were a dad.”
Eddie throws his head back with a chuckle, “why? You into dad bods? Listen sweetheart, my metabolism will slow down eventually, gimme three—four years max and I’ll be all gut.” He flashes his pearly whites towards you and winks.
Ignoring him completely, your nose scrunches. “Stop calling me that!” your heart is pounding in your chest fury on high, “what the hell is that?”
“That,” Eddie says batting his eyelashes, “would be my masculinity wafting from my aura to yours, why does it turn you on?”
You fold your arms over your chest, and shift your slippered feet beneath you, “Do you have a certain amount of disgusting phrases you have to get out throughout the day or are you just naturally this nauseating to be around?”
“No idea, anyway,” Eddie continues, standing to his full height and shucking off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, “I’m gonna order a pizza you want in?”
“Maybe you should finish unpacking,” you say taking a quick glance around the clothes strewn everywhere around the room, “it’s a fucking mess in here.”
Eddie leans in close eyes ghosting over your features as they gawk over your lips, “well, sweetheart, maybe if you had given me the bigger room— like I had asked for— I would have enough space to put my stuff, besides,” he says, standing up and leaning backwards to crack his back, a small trail of hair peeking out from his waistband makes your breath hitch in your throat, “I bought dressers and they’ll be delivered on Monday, so my clothes don’t have a place to go right now, unless you wanna split your closet?”
“I’d rather drop dead.”
“Aww don’t do that, far too pretty to be dead, and what would the neighbors think?” He strips off his shirt and throws it in the corner of his room, your eyes dart away but not before catching a glimpse of his pale skin.
The small tattoos he had in high school are slightly faded with time, new ones are inked down his arms, across his chest and down his side. You can’t help but notice the silver hoops pierced through his nipples as they reflect light and draw you in towards his chest. He’s lean but built, no defining abs but the muscles in his arms could be carved from a sculptor, replicating a greek statue. Surely minutes have gone by but in reality it has only been seconds, you don’t even realize he’s still talking.
“…don’t need to give the cops more of a reason to watch me more than they already do.” He drops his eyes to your face, seeing you peek at his body. A grin is plastered to his lips as they curve upwards, he stretches his arms out wide, the veins in his arms protruding further out, oh what you’d give to just touch it with your hands, your tongue— wait what?—“Shit,” he says, drifting forward, your body pulling away from him, “looks like you aren’t into dad bods after all.”
Your cheeks flare red as you stomp out of his room, his joker laugh vibrates the walls as you slam your door. Throwing yourself on the smooth purple cotton of your comforter, and screaming into your pillow.
Nobody ever got under your skin the way he is. Why are you allowing him to frustrate you this much? He’s a boob. A pimple on your ass. That annoying twitch that your eye sometimes does when you don't have enough sleep. Yes, the festering wound, the bad rash that kept coming back, the burn in your belly, the thorn in your side— is now your roommate. Fuck.
A knock on your bedroom door, brings you back to your current state of throwing a hissy fit. You launch your cup of pens that adorns your nightstand at the door.
“Does that mean you don’t like pineapple on your pizza?”
-
Thank God you showered before Eddie started unloading his stuff, because he has been in the bathroom for at least a half hour. You’re sitting on the couch, the same rough, itchy upholstery that used to take up way too much space in the Wheeler’s basement. But a $20 bill and Nancy promising her dad that she would mow the lawn for the entire summer of ‘91, and it was now yours. Karen would sigh with relief that the ugly furniture was leaving, meaning her living room would get an upgrade as their now living room furniture would find solace in the basement. No longer stinking of cheesy pizza farts and bad B.O., or screaming threats from middle school boys about the inner demons of DnD, Mrs. Wheeler would come to miss the yelling, and the rotten stench of boys running amuck in her house. Nancy parted with the under stuffed, well loved, hideous piece of furniture when she moved in with Jonathan. So now, the outdated, wagon wheel patterned couch, was all yours.
The smell of finger nail polish fills the living room as you attempt at painting your toenails a shimmery blue that you had gotten at the mall with Robin. A fuzzy navel wine cooler tucked between your legs, you’re trying hard to get it finished before a new episode of “The Nanny” comes on. Eddie is singing in the shower, loudly. You recognize the tune as “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. Not that you were admiring the way his voice sounded. You were just surprised that a twenty six year old weirdo actually knew good music. The doorbell rings, snapping you out of, yet again, another strange spiral of thinking about Eddie Munson.
“Eddie!” You holler from the living room, “door.”
“Money’s in my wallet, just pay the dude quick and I’ll be out in a minute.” He yells back from the shower.
“Eddie, I’m busy— get the fuck out here and do it yourself.” There is no way you are walking around with wet toenails, what the hell was he thinking?
“I’m in the middle of washing my ba— “
“Alright! Fine!” You walk on your heels to the door, opening it quick to find a Hawkins High student in a red hat with the pizza logo on it.
“That’ll be $19.50,” he says with a less than enthused remark.
“Hang on,” walking back to the bathroom on heeled feet you knock on the door, “where’s your wallet?” you ask in a hurry through the door.
“Uh, my jeans I think,” Eddie yells back. You cross into Eddie’s room, looking around the mess he made, realizing the only thing he managed to make an attempt at organizing was his never ending cassettes, a few records, and an old record player. Posters decorated every wall. Metallica, Nirvana, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, and White Zombie. The clothes were piled high in a mountain of leather, flannel and white cotton socks. Not a single pair of jeans that you could see. His bed sat on the ground, cluttered with notebook papers, dice, and tightly rolled joints.
“Eddie!” You yell from his room, “where the hell are your jeans?”
A chuckle echoes in the bathroom, muffled slightly by the spray of the shower head, “they’re in here, sweetheart.” His voice dripped with smugness and sweet notes of laughter.
Fuck it, we don’t need pizza. I can eat cereal. I’ll just tell the pizza kid to leave and Eddie can fend for himself. Fuck this.
“Tooty?” He calls from the shower, enunciating every syllable. “Come on,” he sings, laughing to himself, “I promise I’ll stay behind the curtain. You won’t see a thing— unless of course— you want to.”
You barge through the door, fumbling through Eddie’s jeans pockets, finding the black leather of his chain wallet and yanking out $25. An idea crosses your mind and you can’t help but go through with it. A flick of the lights had Eddie cursing every word imaginable as he was cast into darkness.
Thrusting cash into pimple head’s hand and shutting the door, you walk into the kitchen to get some plates. Eddie emerges from the bathroom. His hair is dripping in long strands, and your robe is wrapped right around his body, barely covering his southern region. The pink terry cloth material lined with lace looking absolutely ridiculous on his tattoo covered body.
Oh— this mother fucker.
“Are you seriously wearing my robe?” You ask, hands on your hips, nails digging into the cotton pajama shorts you’re wearing.
Eddie does a spin and swings his hips in a circular motion, his dick swinging like a helicopter.
“Well sweetheart, when you so rudely turned the lights off on me, I was forced to find the first thing I could to dry off with, and besides— you can’t deny how good I look,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, smiling the widest smile you had ever seen from him.
A lump of anger and sheer rage catches in your throat, “you’re repulsive,” you say, turning away from him and tossing pizza onto plates.
“And you,” Eddie says sliding beside you, his breath fanning your cheek, the cold drops of water from his curls pressing into your shoulder as he grabs a greasy slice of pizza straight from the box, “are extremely uptight.” The whites of his teeth bite into the cheesy triangle and chew loudly as he smacks his lips, licking the orange grease from his lips.
Anger boils in your belly, filling your veins with agitation so thick they’re bound to clog up. “I. Am. Not. Uptight,” you seethe through clenched teeth, and closed eyes.
“Yeah, sure sure,” Eddie says, mouth full of pizza, and his eyebrows raised, “whatever you say.”
You weren’t always this high strung. But having everything ripped away from you, would make anyone pretty goddamn bitter to the lemonade life had to offer.
vol ii
volume ii
A/N: thank you to everyone for reading this and continuing to support my crazy ideas. Thank you to everyone I had beta this story—@agentmarvel @pinkrelish + @sweetsweetjellybean you all push me to be a better writer and I am forever grateful for that ♥️♥️🖤💋
Taglist: @luna-munson83 @tlclick73 @idkidknemore @joejoequinnquinn @newlips (omg, they were roommates)
#newlipsmilestoneoflove#eddie x you#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#enemies to lovers#eddie munson x you#eddie x reader#mechanic!eddie#eddie munson#eddie fanfic#eddie fanfiction
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Whose Wife Is This?
Pairing: John Price x F!Reader
Summary: John comes home and finds out that he somehow has a wife.
a/n: lmaooo I just had this idea before I went to bed the other night. Kinda wrote this in a hurry so it isn't organized at all and the story is all over the place, yada yada. Bare with me... Bear with me? *shrugs*
word count: 1k
***
John tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes to no avail. There was no way of hiding that the long nights he’d been putting in at the office were weighing on him. But with no reason to go home, why would he? He’d just have to complete the mountain of paperwork the next day anyway. His eyes strained from hours of reading, his wrist ached from writing.
Young John Price would’ve never imagined the amount of paper pushing he’d be doing as an operator. His naive young self lived for the chaos of the field, sometimes even putting off his less-than-exciting duties.
“Sir?” John’s head shoots up. The boys stand at his door huddled around the small entrance. “You staying here all night, Captain?” Gaz asks with concern mixed into his voice. John looks over to the now significantly smaller pile of papers littering his desk.
“I was just finishing up. You boys need something?”
Gaz shakes his head, “No, sir.” A smirk plays on his lips. “Just tell your wife we said ‘hello’.”
“I’ll let her know.” He replies absentmindedly. The boys leave the captain alone once again, he continues looking at the papers, shuffling them around before he stops abruptly.
“My wife? What the bloody hell were they talking about.” He mutters to himself. He takes it as a sign that he should call it a night since he is now imagining things. “I don’t have a wife. Why would he say that?”
***
The drive home is silent. At the end of a long day, he couldn’t stand to listen to anything, his mind was too exhausted to think about anything but a beer and his bed. Not many knew about his personal life. Ghost was the only one who knew he’d been married before, but the marriage occurred when he was younger and undoubtedly more immature.
He made it to selection, began his career, and fell into the same pattern many men in his profession did: Partying, one-night stands, etc. He would be the first to admit that he’d been a piss-poor husband and he was now missing the touch of a woman in his life. His bed was lonely, his house devoid of life, reflecting how often he was actually home. He’d become a hopeless romantic, dreaming of someone he could hold in his arms. He yearned for someone to memorize. Their little habits and quirks, someone he’d share moments with, even have arguments with.
He pulls into his driveway barely remembering the drive home. He groans as he steps out of his car, his back aching from the day of training and being hunched over. He moseys his way to the front door and unlocks it while letting out a deep breath. The hallway is lit by a single dim light, the brown floral wallpaper looks like it came from the 19th century and gives the home a depressing look. He unties his boots and kicks them off leaving them next to the door. He removes his uniform top tossing it on the chair on the opposite wall before his feet pat softly against the hardwood floors leading towards the kitchen, towards a beer he so badly wanted to have.
He briefly glances at a photo framed on the wall and continues onward-
Wait a second?
He takes a couple of steps back and his head snaps towards the photo. His eyes scan it knowing for a fact that it had not been there in the morning… Or any time before that. A woman in a white sun dress sat smiling in a field of flowers. He rubs his eyes, unable to believe what he is seeing, she’s wearing his bucket hat.
He looks further down the hall and sees another picture frame, this one on top of the entryway table next to a pot of plants he either forgot to water or wasn’t around to. He rushes over to it and his eyes almost pop out of his head. This photo was of him smiling down at the same woman. He reaches for it, holding it close to his face. He looks around trying to make sense of what was happening only to realize the pot of dead plants now had vibrant green leaves pouring out of it.
Maybe he’d entered the wrong house? That couldn’t be, the furniture was in the same place as it had been before. And he couldn’t deny that the man in the photo looked exactly like him. Just as he was certain he was losing his mind a feminine voice calls out for him.
“John?”
He puts the picture frame back on the table and swings around towards the voice. Small bits of light flood into the hallway from the crack in the kitchen door. He slowly pushes the door further, his eyes trying to adjust to the bright light.
“There you are! I thought I heard you come home.” A woman rushes towards him wiping her hands on her pink apron. She pulls him into a hug but he’s too stunned to react. She pecks his cheeks and pulls him towards the dining table. “Sit, honey. I made you dinner. You stayed so late today, you’re probably starving.”
He lets her drag him to the table and plops down on a chair. She flows around the counter and returns with a plate of food. She places it in front of him in between the cutlery already on the table. The meal looks far better than what he’s been putting together for himself the last few weeks. He usually cooked or meal planned but work this week just didn’t let him and he expected to come home tonight and sleep for dinner.
He blinks at her for a few seconds unsure of how he ended up in this situation.
“Love, what are you doing in my house?”
“I’m your wife silly,” You giggle at him while leaning over to give him another kiss on the cheek.
If he had the energy to argue he would, but instead he decided to eat. He licks the plate clean and brings it to the kitchen sink.
“C’mon, honey. You’re so tired, let’s get you in bed.”
He follows quietly trying to figure out if he should accept this or if he should ask questions in the morning. There’s only one thing he knows for sure in his exhausted state: That’s not his wife.
#captain price#captain john price#john price#john price x reader#john price fluff#captain john price x reader#captain john price fluff#cod fluff#cod drabble#john price drabble#captain john price drabble#myfic
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Civilian Soap x Ghost
Ghost is in the Scottish Highlands for something, everyone else only knowing him as a visitor. He bumps into Soap a few times and is invited to stay for a round of drinks whenever he wants a break.
Something goes wrong and there is no safe house, so Ghost has to ask Soap if he can stay.
Ghost promptly gets a family meal to welcome him. He ends up being well clothed, shelted and fed as he slots perfectly into their dynamic. Rather close to Soap as the night goes on.
By the end of the stay Ghost is freely cuddling Soap on the couch like a happy cat and might as well be purring.
Ghost doesn’t exactly remember when or how he met John MacTavish, but in this moment, he’s never been more grateful.
Stranded in Middle-of-Nowhere, Scotland, with his only option for a safe house being barely less than 200km away when a low-stakes operation had somehow gone to shit, Ghost is sitting in a decrepit phone booth, praying for John to pick up his phone.
There’s finally a click on the other end of the line, as painfully early in the morning as it is, followed by a sleepy, “H’llo?”
“Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. His initial checks had told him he hadn’t been followed, but just in case. “It’s Simon.”
John seems to brighten up at this. “Simon! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I—“ Ghost grimaces beneath his mask. “I need a place to stay. But I can’t… tell you why.”
“‘S no biggie,” John says, then yawns. “Can you tell me where you are? I assume you need a ride.”
Ghost rattles off what he thinks is the location after squinting at some yellowing and torn flyers pasted on the sides of the booth, and for a long moment is met with silence.
He begins to worry the line’s gone dead when John exclaims, “Oh! That’s closer to my parents’ than my flat. I was actually goin’ up for a visit soon but I’m sure we can rearrange some things. I can be there in… say two hours?”
“Sure, yeah,” Ghost agrees before be can give it any more forethought. Because, yes it’s a place to stay—but with John’s parents?
He can almost hear John’s smile through the line. “Perfect. See you soon, Si.”
John hangs up, and Ghost puts the phone back on the hook with a sigh. Now, he waits.
And definitely doesn’t worry about meeting John’s parents more than he should. He’s friends with John—why should it matter? It’s not weird.
It’s not.
Ghost slumps against the side of the phone booth and lets his eyelids fall shut.
* * *
It had taken maybe two and half hours for John to arrive, but the drive to his parents’ is only forty or so minutes. John happily chats Ghost’s ear off the entire way, catching him up from the last time they’d talked, skillfully avoiding any mention of the situation Ghost is in.
John does his best to reassure Ghost over and over that he had talked to his parents, they’re fine with him staying however long he needs to until something more official comes along, and it helps a little.
Ghost still feels guilty for intruding.
But true to his word, John’s parents greet him with friendly smiles and welcoming words, ushering Ghost into their home with the familiarity of old friends—or perhaps even family.
The guilt does wear down little by little, as pleasant conversation is made, and, just as John had, no questions are asked about Ghost’s circumstances. Ghost wonders if that’s John’s doing, or if John had fed them some story just to avoid it. Either way, Ghost appreciates it.
He’d rather not think of his next steps for just a little while, as Price is surely piecing some of it together for him.
Ghost is made dinner later in the evening, and all three MacTavishes present insist there’s no issue in Ghost occupying John’s room for the night (he’d already promised to leave the next day, even if that means he winds up in a hotel instead).
He takes the couch anyway. He ignores the look John’s parents share when Ghost says, “It’s Johnny’s room, and I’m only here for one night,” ignores the blush that spans from John’s ears down his neck when they mouth ‘Johnny?’ in his direction.
And now, Ghost stands in the emptied out living room, just taking a moment to breathe. Because while he’s eternally grateful for the hospitality, he’s just a little worn out.
“You’re allowed to sit, you know.”
Attention pulled away from his thoughts, Ghost glances to John, who’s smiling crookedly as he holds an armful of pillows and a thick blanket. He dumps them on the sofa, plops himself down, and pats the seat beside him.
Ghost sits, and as he sinks into the cushions, realizes just how exhausted he is.
“You don’t have to tell me,” John is saying, “I mean, I know you can’t—but is this… was it a work thing that brought you here?”
Ghost hums an affirmative. His body is taking over before his mind can think twice, leaning over enough to rest his head on John’s shoulder. Tired, is all he can think. John laughs.
“There, there,” he teases. “Big scary military man’s a little sleepy, is he?”
Ghost swats at John with a mumbled shut up.
Civilian or not—there’s always been something different about him. With him.
John snorts. “Well, c’mere, then. Don’t be shy.”
Ghost complies easily, tucking further into John’s side like it’s second nature. Like it’s been months since he’s last seen the man.
Friends, is how Ghost has thus far labelled them. How Price would laugh his ass off hearing that.
At some point John begins to card his fingers through Ghost’s hair—he’s never worn the mask around him, never felt the need to—and between that moment and the next, Ghost is fast asleep, curled up with John like something a little more than just friends.
Fleetingly, Ghost thinks, just moments before his brain shuts off—I should visit him more.
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Misfire (John Price x Reader)
A little snippet of a scene came to me and made me laugh. John Price having a crush on a long time friend and finally working up the nerve to ask her out. Kinda.
less than 1k words
John Price x fem! reader
SFW
feedback welcome
I know almost nothing of CoD other than fanfic so go easy on me
I wouldn't know how to write shy and retiring if my life depended on it.
You’ve known John forever. Like, forever, forever. The friend group he originated from disintegrated years ago, but the two of you remained thick as thieves. He’s moved in and out of the country, and you’ve changed careers a few times, but through it all he’s been a reliable shoulder to lean on. He’s the first person you call when you need help moving for the millionth time, and he, good man that he is, turns up with beer and willing hands as soon as he’s available. If he grumbles about your proclivity for changing apartments so often you know it comes from a place of concerned affection. If anything, he’s pleased you’re closer to his bachelor pad now, negating the need to drive across town twice on game nights. God forbid you ride a bus for twenty-five minutes when he could deliver you to your doorstep in fifteen. He's retired from the Army, and still takes safety a little too seriously for your tastes. You indulge him though, because who actively chooses the bus when other, more pleasant options are available?
When he asks you to dinner, you agree without even blinking. You reason there must be a rugby game on or something he wants to see. You don’t even ask where to meet him, assuming, correctly, that he will pick you up. So, you are caught off guard when he turns up in your entrance way wearing a button-down shirt, suit jacket and dress pants. He too, is caught off guard. You look down at your outfit in unison. Bootcut jeans, well-worn Blundstone boots and a ratty but beloved faded t-shirt that cheerfully proclaims “IDAHO? No, you da ho” across the chest in cursive script.
“Uh… what are you wearing?” He asks, cautiously.
“Me? What are YOU wearing?” Totally confused now, you can’t help but feel a little saucy about being put on your back foot.
“I asked you to dinner, didn’t I?”
John’s accent gets stronger when he’s caught up in strong emotions. That really should have been your first clue. But this is John. John.
“Yeah, why are you all dressed up for beers? What game is on tonight anyways?”
You throw him a look like he’s gone slow on the uptake as you reach for your coat. When you turn to look at him with your purse strap slung over your shoulder, he’s looking as confused as you feel.
“Game? Love, who said anything about beers?”
“Wait, we aren’t going for beers?” Disappointment creeps into your voice and you can see you have managed to flummox the normally unflappable John.
“Bleedin’ Jesus, I mean, we can have beers if ye want, sure. I just uh…”
He lets the sentence hang, clearly uncertain.
“You what?” You prompt, vaguely concerned at his out of character behaviour.
“I made reservations at Stella del Mare.” He admits in a rush.
“You did what? This isn’t… beers? Is this… are we on a date?” The slow realization finally takes hold and a spiral of panic begins to descend through your body. “They won’t let me in like this!”
“Uh, no. No. They sure won’t.”
He agrees easily with the second half of your statement while staring at your chest and dodging the first. You narrow your eyes at him. This isn’t your first rodeo with John’s evasiveness.
“How much time do I have?”
“Including travel time, or…?”
“John. If this is how you start all your first dates, I can see why you don’t have many second ones.”
“’Bout 15 minutes love.”
He answers seriously, properly chastised.
You whip your purse over your head and slap it against his wide chest, catching him off guard. He holds it in place while you sling your coat off and dash upstairs again.
He’s still in the same position when you return back down the steps, having swapped jeans for a black skirt and your (hilarious but wildly) inappropriate t-shirt for a silk, V-neck emerald blouse with cap sleeves. You’ve pulled your hair back into a simple bun and slicked on a light layer of neutral makeup and a deep red lip. John’s eyebrows climb as he catches a glimpse of you but he waits until you’re picking up your coat again before he speaks.
“Listen, you look beautiful. I – “
“Can it, I’m still annoyed at you for the moment.”
You take the purse out of his hands and slide the strap over your shoulder, smacking his big bicep playfully as you push him out the door and into the night. You resolve to question him thoroughly about his poor communication skills at dinner as you lock up. Wasn’t he in charge of people in the army? Christ.
#john price#john price x reader#john price x you#call of duty#long time lurker first time poster#captain john price#john price cod#fanfic
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no but like. dealer!ellie would be so loving and understanding with a really sensitive (crybaby) gf. like she’s at a party making great business and she gets a text from u saying that you miss her and you’re not feeling well and she drops everything to visit and make u feel better
:(((((
i’ll be your honey, if you’ll be sweet
🎀 dealer!ellie being a cutie, fem!reader being a crybaby, mentions of not feeling well, mentions of weed and alcohol. title is taken from mazzy star— give you my lovin
♡ ♡ ♡
Business was booming, as they said.
Another party at another frat house, where the guys knew nothing about the regular price of weed — and Ellie wasn’t above not pricing her stuff up to take advantage. Her stuff was good, she thought. They should be paying this much.
“How much you made so far?” Jesse yelled over the music to her, having made his way back over from doing shots. He was actually the one who got Ellie in, having friends from the house — that and the fact that no guy throwing a party was going to turn down a cool and discrete dealer with notoriously good product to keep the good vibes going.
“No idea, they keep handing me wads of cash — all I know is they’re way over paying me.” She chuckled, wiping her warm hands down her jeans. “Not complainin’.”
She’d usually be at these kind of ordeals with you on her arm, getting to watch over you having fun and dancing whilst she did her business. It made the evening go by faster, and the routine of the two of you going to grab greasy food from the nearest takeout joint was always something to look forward to. She pulled her phone out her pocket to text you, seeing you’d already left her a message.
‘how long until u come home?’
She glanced up, but she didn’t have to look to know that the party still in full swing with no signs of stopping.
‘Not for a while baby, you ok?’
Ellie watched the three bubbles on iMessage appear as you type, then disappear, then reappear, then disappear before you finally replied.
‘mhm’
A call came through on your end, Ellie walking out onto the porch with her cracked screen pressed to her ear, wandering away from all the noise for a moment to check on you.
“Hello?” You croaked, voice small and quiet.
“Tell me what’s wrong, babe.”
She wasn’t expecting you to start crying, not so soon anyways. Her stomach swirled in anxiety at the sound of you upset and her brows furrowed as she picked at her nail, waiting for you to tell her. “Why’re you crying?” Her voice was soft and sympathetic.
“S’nothin’ Els, just d’nt feel well and I tried everything but nothings making it better— n’I just miss you and I’m sorry cos I don’t wanna worry you whilst you’re out but—”
“Woah, hey hey hey.” She pacified you gently, trying to hide her concern. “Don’t stress. M’leaving now, gonna be with you soon okay?” She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders, leaning over to the window to see if she could flag Jesse down. The raven haired boy was too busy losing at beer pong so she turned away, spotting a back gate to leave out of.
“You don’t have to leave, I don’t want you to lose money.” You sniffled miserably, the sadness in your voice making her own frown deepen as she pushed open the creaky back gate onto the street, locating her car.
“Got plenty of money tonight babe. Hold tight okay? I’ll be with you soon.”
You were in her bed in her dorm when she arrived back, curled into a ball with a look of sleepy distress on your face. She shut the door behind her, slowly approaching you.
“Hey babe.” She whispered, her slender fingers pushing your hair back around your ear before placing the back of her hand on your forehead. Her hand was cold and it was soothing, blinking up at her in the dimly lit room.
“Think m’sick.” Your bottom lip wobbled and she shushed you gently, not wanting you to make yourself worse by crying. She perched down on the bed beside you, cold hand now stroking up your shirt (her shirt.) and rubbing circles on your back.
“Yeah, you’re burning up a little. Can you tell me what’s hurting?” She lilted, squinting a little in the low light to try and gauge how your face was looking.
“My head, and my throat too… and everything.” You groaned tearfully, rolling over to stuff your face into the bedsheets. She shuffled a little closer, hating seeing you in distress.
“Have you had any water?” Her hand moved up to stroke your hair, massaging your head slightly.
“Mm—mm.” You moaned into the sheets and she nodded, fetching your bottle.
“I’m gonna help you sit up, alright babe? C’mon, y’gotta help me out a little, yeah?” She scooped her hands beneath you, ignoring your whiney muffled protests. You used some of your energy to push yourself up with her help and she held you in her arms sat up. Burying your face into her, she held you letting you cry a little. “I know. Fuckin’ sucks huh, sweet girl.” Ellie sympathised before holding your pink water bottle to your lips. “Sip, don’t gulp it down.” She advised, her free hand that was wrapped around your shoulder stroking your arm. “Look, you got nothin’ to worry about okay? Not only am I the worlds best dealer… I’m also a nurse. And I’m gonna make you feel all better.” She smiled making you furrow your eyebrows, moving your mouth away from the bottle to cuddle her again.
“You’re not a nurse.” You accused and she blinked into space, continuing to hold you tight.
“Well. I am now.”
The night went on, and Ellie continued to soothe you well into the night, not being able to sleep or get comfortable — often bursting into tears and needing immediate assistance. “I just wanna sleep.” You sounded devastated, and she truly pitied you— nothing was making you feel better and she knew you were just going to have to ride it out.
“I know baby. We’ll get there… when we get there.” She huffed, almost frustrated with herself for not being able to help you more. “Y’want me to read to you, might help you get some sleep? Worth a try, right?” She leant down, persuading you in a hushed tone. You didn’t open your eyes, just nodded weakly giving her the green light to get up and grab one of her books from her desk. It was the Jurassic Park novel — always having it on her being one of her favourite books.
She settled down on her bed, letting you clamber up to lay your head in her lap. She had changed into her sweatpants around two hours ago, and you found comfort in the softness against your cheek. She began reading, book pulled close to her face to be able to read the words in the low light — not wanting to turn any lights on as to aggravate your headache. Halfway into Chapter 2, she finally heard the soft snore of your eventual sleep against her leg— and Ellie felt herself relax, knowing she’d completed her girlfriend duties for now to a satisfactory level. She knew you hated being sick, and that you were miserable — but Ellie would still choose to be here looking after you than dealing at some random party any day.
♡ ♡ ♡
#anon#dealer!ellie#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams prompt#ellie tlou2 fluff
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happy holidays! siat asim and lucius please
There's a soft trilling coming from his fireplace and Asim almost doesn't answer it. It's late and he's just come back from a shift that was hell and sometimes he wonders if he's doing any good at all or if he's just there so people can suffer differently before dying painfully.
There are so, so many ways to hurt people and often only one way to save them. He knows too much of the former and not enough of the latter.
His fireplace makes another enquiring trill and he taps the brick with his wand.
It's Lucius.
He only ever calls him for one reason.
Asim accepts the call and is unsurprised to see his fireplace empty. He's likely not in any condition to be crawling on the floor, not that his sort ever do that sort of thing. There's a reason that fireplaces tall enough to stand in are almost standard in magical homes - no one is interested in getting on there hands in knees when they could just lean forward.
He steps into the flames, finding himself spit out in the townhouse in France that Lucius started living in after graduation. It's not much distance from Abraxas, but he'd been glad of it anyway.
There can never be enough distance from Abraxas, which he's reminded of when he looks over to see Lucius laying shirtless on his stomach on the chaise, his head resting on his left arm and his other arm drags to the ground where his hand is gripped around a glass of firewhiskey.
His back looks like hamburger meat.
It's nothing but long cuts and blood, more exposed muscle than should exist outside of a butcher.
"Sorry," he slurs, eyes hazy as they slowly meet his. "Potions took care of the little stuff."
He's known Lucius long enough that he flinches at the idea of what he considers the little stuff. He's more than aware enough of what it has to be, considering the caliber of healing potions he has access too.
Broken bones take a lot. After that, healing potions can get a little confused. There's a reason bones are better healed by a spell. It was probably that, but he knows better than to ask.
Asim shoves down familiar anger and says, "How long were you waiting? You could have called another healer."
Lucius doesn't say anything even as he starts, running a diagnostic spell then beginning the time consuming process of healing every laceration separately. If he doesn't, Lucius's body just stops accepting the magic, not reacting well to broad application.
Overexposure, probably, but it's not like he can just be left bleeding. Abraxas wishes Lucius would let him add it to his chart.
His breath hitches at a particularly deep wound, then he says, "You're the only one that doesn't talk."
Asim hates people sometimes. There are trustworthy healers out there, but he supposes they don't do house calls without asking questions. He probably shouldn't, either.
But he just can't leave him bleeding.
"You should be more careful," he says instead. He knows it's not an accident, that this can't be an accident, but they never talk about what it really is. They never talk about Abraxas.
Lucius smiles, which is shocking enough that Asim stops mid-spell. "I knew this would happen. It's a price I'm willing to pay."
This is more than he's ever gotten from him before. It's oddly disconcerting. "Lucius?"
"I got engaged," he says.
Asim waits for more, but when Lucius just keeps silent and smiling as he continues to work on his back, he says, "Congratulations."
A wife of Lucius's choosing rather than Abraxas's. Maybe she can do some good.
Anyone he loves enough to go through this to have won't sit back and watch as her husband suffers. He hopes.
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DROWNING IN LUST
JOY X MALE READER
Tags : Blowjob, Throatfuck, Throatpie, Swimming pool, Lifeguard, Hardcore
You were currently enjoying your vacation here in Jeju. Being a hardworking college student definitely gives you some stress... Thankfully your friends are good enough to ask you out on a vacation for a week in Jeju.
At first you didn't really agree with them, mostly because you don't really have a lot of money in your bank account... Not to mention the pressure from all of the exams and tests that are coming closer. But.. Your friends didn't give up... And they definitely should be thanked, because if you never went out... You're probably gonna miss the greatest vacation in your whol life.
After arriving at Jeju, you and your friends immediately went to the hotel room before unpacking all of your bags and luggage. Your friends just couldn't wait to eat some of the local delicacies here in Jeju.. So without waiting.. You all immediately leave the hotel and search for a restaurant.
After looking around many places on Google Maps, You all finally picked one place. It was a traditional restaurant that serves 제주흑돼지 ( Jeju Pork ) and 해물탕 ( Spicy Seafood Hotpot ). Not to mention pairing those beautiful dishes with a few bottles of Soju. Definitely hit all of the good spots in your body.
After a few more bottles... All of you are basically tipsy and started chattering weird languages and words. Thankfully you all made it back to the hotel room. After taking a nice nap on the huge bed, it's easily one of the greatest naps you've ever felt in your life.
The next day arrived. You were currently having a bad hangover... But you could still do some basic things. After taking a cold shower and getting yourself done. You immediately went with the boys to the buffet. The food is not the greatest but it definitely filled your empty stomach.
After eating a ton of food starting from Savory dishes like American Food, Asian Food, Japanese food followed by some cakes, jelly and other desserts. You're basically done for the morning. After going back to your room... You immediately went back into the comfy bed, and immediately fell asleep.
"Oi... Oi... Y/n... Wake up... We're going to check the swimming pool... Are you in"?
"F-fuck... *yawn* What time is it...".
"It's 12pm bro... Come on... You're missing out on all of the fun".
"Okay okay... Hold on".
"Aight... Let's go guys".
In the end, you followed what your friends wanted. That is swimming in the hotel's pool. For a 3 Star hotel you were definitely expecting something way way more worse. But to your surprise... It is actually pretty decent. Some might say pretty good for the price.
Not to mention you could definitely see some beautiful girls swimming there. Heck even the lifeguards look sexy as hell. Shit... This is not good... I don't want to get a boner right now.. That will be bad... Fuck.
Shit where is everyone anyway.. Aghh.. Fuck... At this point... It's just me that's gonna swim.. Aghhh that motherfuckinh morons.....
"Are you lost kid"?
"O-oh... N-no... It's just that I'm supposed to be here with my friends.. But... I think they trolled me on this one".
"Awww that's so mean... ".
"It's okay... It always happens to me... *sigh* Do you know a place to get some drinks maybe".
"Ohhh boy you sure I do... You know what... Since all of your friends did such a mean thing to you.. How about I give you something cool"?
"R-really... You'll do that for me"?
"Why not... Let's go come with me".
"O-okay".
You don't really know if this is a good idea or not. But there's no denying that this woman is pretty as fuck. Her face and smile are so beautiful yet so mysterious. It made you really curious.. So you trusted her at least for now.
But for a surprise... You wouldn't ever think of being surprised in a changing room... Especially in the woman's restroom. But the more she took you deeper and deeper inside the restroom... You immediately know that shits about to go down.
After finding an empty small room... She immediately pinned you down... And started making out with your tongue.. Her warm and slippery tounge started touching your lips.. Before giving your mouth a warm welcome.
"Heheh.... I'm so fucking horny right now... Do you know how long I've waited for a nice looking man such as you to come"?
"R-really... You think I'm nice looking"??
"Mhmmm of course honey... You're my style... And I can't wait to finally fuck this body of yours hehe".
"Hmm... Ahhhh".
"Hehe don't worry... I'm good at this".
And just like that She started undressing her swimsuit, revealing her petite body. Her small waist and perky breast is definitely a worthy sight to see. She started smiling and giggling before doinh the same thing by undressing your swim trousers.
"Omo... What a big cock....".
"T-thankss".
She started gripping your cock, before pumping it up and down.... Her smooth hands easily glides through your stiff rod. The pressure of her stimulating grip started to make your cock harder and harder. To the point that you wanted to explode.
"Now now... Don't cum just yet... ".
"I-'mm trying my best.. ".
"Good boy".
After she released her grip from your cock. She immediately kneels down. She then put your cock in the entrance of her lips and started lickinh your cock. At first it was a subtle lick and kissing on your cock. But that soon turned the opposite direction.
She started sucking your cock. The way her tounge wrapped around your cock was truly magnificent. Not to mention her tight mouth sucking your cock up and down was very stimulating.
"S-shit... Your mouth is so tight Noona".
" *Gulp* *Gulp* Mmhmmm.... So big... ".
"If you keep this up... I might cum already... ".
"Mmhmm *Gulp* not yet... I want you to fuck my fucking throat... I want you to make it sore.... ".
"Fuckk.... ".
" *moan* Mhmmm.... *gulp*.
After hearing that... You immediately wrapped your hands around her neck and started thrusting deeper inside her throat.. At this point... Your cock has reached the deepest part of her mouth... Even though she started choking.. You didn't give a fuck... And started fuckinh her throat properly.
" *gulp* *gulp* Mhmm.. Mmm.. *pat your thighs*.. Mhmm".
"Shhhhh.... Be a good girl Noona... I'll fuck your throat just like what you wanted".
" *gulp* *gulp*... Mhmm... Mmm".
"Fuck... Fuck... I'm gonna cum.. Aghh I'm gonna cum deep inside your throat Noona... Take it all... Aghhh".
"MHMMMMMM..... *moan* ".
And just like that... You released all the cum that you have stored inside your balls. Releasing a ribbon of cum... At this point all she could do was drink and swallow all of your hot and warm cum. After you make sure that she's done swallowing all of that cum... You slowly release your cock ftom her mouth.
"Fuck... That was so Good Noona".
" *cough* *cough* G-glad... You liked it... ".
"I've never done something like that... It was amazing".
"Hehe... H-here... Take my phone number... I think I would want to fuck you again in the future... ".
"R-really".
"Mhmm... Of course baby... ".
In the end, you went back to your room. Before getting surprised by all of your friends who were actually planning to give you a birthday suprise. But you don't really give a damn. cause all you know.. You already received a better surprise. A surprise that will never be forgotten.
~ THE END ~
#kpop#sexy content#kpop x y/n#kpop x reader#x male reader#kpop smut#smut#joy red velvet#joy#joy smut#red velvet smut#sooyoung red velvet#beautiful
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Give ‘em hell. Pt.2(Captain Price x Reader.)
!CW! NSFW, Angst, Smut, pregnant reader, birth, unprotected sex, so sweet you’ll cry.
Part 1
I put as much thought into this as I possibly could. I hope enjoy.
Someone did ask about part 2, here’s that :)
Once you and John had gotten dressed, you knew it would be a fight to get out of there and to the exfil point. Captain Price called for help in the early hours of the morning, and they came as soon as they could. He let you sleep in as much as he could, knowing that your body would be more exhausted than his.
After the short conversation you had shared together, you’d fallen back asleep. He watched as you slept, so peacefully despite the shitty situation you’d been in. He was worried. The both of you would potentially have a child together, this would take away from your jobs, from your lives. It would ruin your chances of meeting someone your age and living a peaceful life with them. You wouldn’t want to be with someone like him, you had a large age gap. You had so much potential. He didn’t want you to feel like you would waste your time with someone like him. He was quiet as the both of you hiked to the exfil point. You were exhausted and sore. You had a million things going through your head, just as he did. You were stressed, nervous. Everything. When you reached the exfil helicopter, you sighed in relief. These last 24 hours have been eventful. Everything that had happened, should have happened in some kind of sci-fi/romance book or movie. It didn’t seem like something that could happen. Especially not to you.
When you returned to base, the both of you were berated with questions. What happened? Are you injured? Why was there a building lit on fire? Why were you both silent on the radios? Captain Price had to come up with something. Telling them some story about being held hostage.
When everyone finally laid off, he took you with him to see Laswell. She would know what to do. She asked a lot of questions. Luckily Captain Price had the paperwork, it gave her more insight, within the span of an hour or so, she’d been in contact with an agent from the CDC, someone who specializes in drugs like this. They knew what to do. “John, can I speak to Y/N in private?” He looks at you, seeing the nervousness in your eyes. Tears gathering at the waterline. You were nervous. He was too. He nods his head, standing up. He waits just outside the door, but unfortunately can’t hear anything. “Since you and Captain Price destroyed all of the evidence, there’s nothing else for us to collect to see what the lasting effects of this could be. You’ve both submitted blood, and hopefully that will give us enough. But in the chance it’s not… there’s only one more option.” She sighs.
“Yeah? And that is?” You ask.
“The fetus.”
“I’m sorry?”
Laswell bites her lip. “You’re pregnant Y/N. That’s why you’re cured. There’s a fetus in your body, and the drugs are still it in.” Your mouth goes dry, eyes starting to water. “You wanted to abort this child anyways, right?” She asks. “What? No.” Your body is starting to shiver in panic. You don’t want this. “Y/N. You can’t have this baby. You have no idea what you’ll be getting yourself into. John doesn’t want this baby, it was merely by chance that this happened to the both of you.” You shove your chair back away from her desk, the feet making an awful screeching sound along the floor. You slam it forward, tears starting down your face. Upon hearing the commotion, John opens the door. Just in time for you to stare daggers at Laswell. “Fuck you.” You growl. You storm past John, rushing down the hallway, wiping your eyes. “What the hell did you say to her?” He asks. “The truth.”
“And that is?”
“The CDC needs that fetus for testing John. She’s delusional, thinking she could have some ulterior life with this.” Laswell knows she’s made a mistake when John starts to grit his teeth. “That child, is none of your concern. It’s not anybody’s property, it won’t be used for testing, and she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do. If you want to find out what that stuff is so badly, go sort through the burnt rubble of the building it came out of.” He seethes. His words are laced with venom, and Laswell can’t believe he’d have taken your side. He rushes out of her office to find you, and when he finally does, you’re upset. He sits next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “It’s okay.”
“Do you want me to do it?” You look up at him.
Your face shatters his heart right in his chest. Teary, puffy eyes. Your nose and cheeks have turned red from you crying. “Of course not.” He sighs. You swallow down another sob. “Y/N.” He sighs. He grasps your hand in his. “I want you to do whatever your heart tells you to do. Not what you think is right.” He squeezes your hand. “If you want to keep this child, than you do it. You don’t let them persuade you or pull you in any direction you don’t trust.” He breathes. “What do you want me to do?” You sniffle. “I want you to do what you want to do, but if you’re asking my opinion, or what I would do.” He bites his lip slightly. “I hope you’ll keep it. I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to be the dad I never got to be. I hope that.. in some way, we’ll be able to make it work.” He laughs. He knows he’s delusional. You’ll never go for it. “But I know you’re young, and I know you don’t see yourself with someone like me. And that’s okay, I want you to do what you want. No matter what. And I’ll support you every step of the way.”
You’ve got your hands wrapped around his neck, taking him off guard in just a second. Your lips are on his. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around waist and pulling you tighter to him. “I think you deserve to be a dad.” You look at him. He smiles. He can feel tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away. “I think you’re just saying that.” You laugh, looking down. “It’s true. And I want you to know that I wouldn’t cheat you out of this just because I’m scared. I am scared. But you’ll be a great dad. And.. if you think for a second I’d wish for something different, to be with someone my age or under different circumstances, you’re wrong.” You mumble. He chooses to say nothing. He give himself a minute to really let what you’ve said sink in, sting him to the core.
He pulls you back into him, not caring if anyone happens to pass by.
—
“Y/N. No.” He breathes. “John. I can’t miss this. If I miss one more mission, they’ll know what’s going on.” You seethe. You’re trying to be quiet. He pulled you into his room for this.
“Y/N. You are pregnant. I’m saying no.” He breathes. He picks up his radio, and turns his back to you so that you can’t snatch it out of his hand. “Y/N isn’t feeling well, she won’t be accompanying everyone for this mission.” He announces. You stand there, unimpressed. The fight you have put up isn’t going to be enough, and you know it. “You don’t get to tell me what to do John.” You breathe. “Y/N. This isn’t about you.” He breathes. “Yes it is!” You raise your voice. “It’s my baby too goddamnit!” You flinch as he yells at you. “It’s my baby too. And I care about you okay? These last couple months have been nothing short of stressful and you’re the only goddamn person here keeping me sane. I love you, and I love this baby. I don’t want you out there on the field anymore and if I have to, I’ll stop lying about it. I’ll tell them you’re pregnant, and you won’t be able to go anyways.” He breathes. His chest is heaving, and you’re stunned.
Your eyes are wide, lips slightly parted. It takes him a second to calm down enough to try to apologize. “I’m.. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you.”
“You… you love me?” You ask. He swallows hard, only just now realizing what he’s said. He sighs. “Yes. I love you.” He slides his hat off. He’s still in his full gear from earlier. You’re in complete shock, and he knows he’s fucked up. It was too soon. “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have said that.” He breathes. He’s starting to panic, he didn’t want to scare you off. “I love you too, John.” Your admission is small, it takes him by surprise. He can’t believe his ears. The way that he’s staring at you, it’s pure need. You can feel the intensity between the both of you, and whatever god put you both here, you wanted to thank them. A hiccup leaves your lips, knees feeling weak as he creeps closer. “John.” You whimper. He closes the gap between the both of you, knowing exactly what you need. Being a little more rough than he intends as he pushes you back up into the wall behind you. His lips move against yours fervently. Kissing you like you’re about to turn to dust right in his hands. He’s panting when he pulls away, attacking your neck. He holds your shirt tightly, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes are screwed shut tightly, knuckles turning white from the grasp he has on you. “I love you. I fucking love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I will do whatever it takes to keep the both of you safe, until I die. I swear to god.” He breathes. He lets go of your shirt with one of his hands. Pushing his hand up your shirt, feeling the slight bump that’s begun to form. Tears spill from your eyes, how the hell did you end up here?
“Make love to me John.” You pant.
He wastes not even a second, lifting you up and laying you down onto his bed. He’s tearing off his gear as fast as he possibly can, not even bothering to see if the door is locked. He doesn’t care anymore. The only thing he even gives a shit about anymore is you and his baby. When he slides into you, your freeze, the air leaving your lungs. You didn’t realize just how much you had missed it. Your eyes filled with tears again, and you clawed at his back, taking in a sharp gasp with every deep thrust he took into you. Each one showing you exactly what you meant to him. Proving everything he’s just said 100% correct. He loved you, and he was going to show you just how much. You’ve got a hand wrapped in his hair, head tilted back into his pillow. Your legs are wrapped around his back and he’s panting into you, his room feels at least 20 degrees hotter.
The both of you have beat red, hot sweaty skin. Teary eyes. His dog tag dangles in your face, rattling as he thrusts deep inside of you. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing hard. “I love you.” He breathes. “I love you too John.” A gasp leaves your lips as he thrusts a bit harder. “So goddamn much.” He breathes. His teeth are gritted, he needs his body on yours. If he wasn’t the weight holding you down, surely you’d float away. He was Captain John Price, he didn’t deserve nothing like this. No happy stress-free life. No happy ever after with a baby, and a woman who loves him. He deserved nightmares and flashbacks. He deserved anti-depressants that kept him sane, he deserved to take ambien just to help him sleep at night, to stop the constant screaming, smell of burning flesh from his brain. He didn’t deserve to feel comfortable or good. He didn’t deserve to have a baby that called him Dad, someone he could take care of and spoil. Someone he could treat ten folds better than he was ever treated as a child.
He holds back his tears, but you can’t. He kisses them away as he makes love to you, keeping his thrusts steady, you deserved to feel good. After all of the stress and discomfort. You deserved to be underneath him, letting him worship you. “You’re so beautiful. So fucking pretty.” He breathes. You’re clutching at his sides, and he groans as he feels you clenching around him. “John- I’m going to-“ you pant. You cup his cheeks with your hands, pulling him down into you. You kiss him hard as you cum, reaching your high. You moan into his lips, the only thing keeping you grounded is the scratch of his mustache. He screws his eyes shut, deepening the kiss when he reaches his own high, holding himself up with one hand, holding your jaw a little harder than he intends. So that he can kiss you hard, so that you couldn’t shy away from him. He needs you to know what you mean to him. You gasp into his mouth when you feel his warmth filling you, painting your walls. He keeps you still, when he finally pulls away from you, it’s only for a second, so he can lay next to you. Pulling you into him again. He pulls the blanket over the both of you.
Later that same night, he’s watching you as you’re getting dinner. You’ve told him over and over again, don’t make it look obvious but the protective side of him just can’t. You’re carrying his baby, he watches you like a hawk. Even when you don’t know it. “Cap, have you got a crush on her something?” Gaz laughs. John forgets he’s even there. He’s so focused on you. “Uh.. no. Of course not.” He laughs. “I don’t believe that for a second.” He laughs. “Yeah, even I’ve seen it. You watch her nonstop.” Soap laughs, taking a bite of his food. “No.. it’s not like that.” He mumbles. “Than what’s it like?” He asks. Everyone quiets immediately as you sit down at the same table. Right next to John. “Hey, Y/N. Are you sparring tomorrow?” Another solider asks. “Oh.. um. No unfortunately not.” You mumble. “Why not? You haven’t sparred with anyone in months.” She complains. “Yeah, you haven’t gone on any missions either, you keep saying you’re sick.” You sigh, getting annoyed with everyone bugging you. “Come on, you need to spar with us more or you’re going to get out of shape.”
“I can’t spar with you. Not anyone.” You mumble. “Oh come on, why not?”
“Because I’m 4 months pregnant.” You say it louder than anyone expects and she jumps a little bit. Everyone is staring at you wide eyed, you roll your eyes, standing up and walking away. “Um.. she didn’t mean to be so aggressive. You know.. hormones and whatnot.” Captain Price tries to console the girl you’ve just blown up on. Although he doesn’t really care how she feels. “Wait. Why aren’t you surprised, you knew?” Gaz asks. “Of course I knew, it’s mine.” The words have left his mouth before he even has time to think about it. Flinching when he realizes. “Look.. it’s a long story. We’ll have a meeting on Monday.” He mumbles. He picks up the both of your trays of food, walking away to find you. Everyone is still stunned, too shocked to move or say anything for a few minutes. “Holy shit. Did I just hear that right?” Gaz laughs. He’s still in complete shock. “Believe so.” Soap laughs. “Cap is going to be a dad.” He smiles.
“Hey..” John smiles when he sees you. “I was mean wasn’t I?” You mumble, tears gathering in your eyes. “Ah, I’m sure she understands Y/N. Nothing to get worked up about. But you and I definitely have some explaining to do.” He raises his eyebrows, smiling. You smile at him. Taking the tray from his hands. “S’alright sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.” He sits on the edge of the bed, passing you a plastic fork. He’s always trying to get you to eat, and when you like something, he offers you his. Saying he doesn’t want it or doesn’t like it. Even if he does, just so that he can see you smile. You are eating for two anyways. He doesn’t mind.
After that Monday morning, everyone is kind to you. They heard about the mission, what had gone wrong. Everything. You’re still on base for the time being, until everything gets settled. You apologized to everyone for your outburst, but of course they understood. They liked watching you and their Captain, even if it was a bit awkward at first. They liked watching him open things for you, stopping you when you were overdoing it. He caught you standing up on a step stool, and they couldn’t help but laugh as he scolded you like a small child, reaching up for something. He got you anything you asked for, he was kind to you.
He always gave you your favorite things, and when it came to MRE’s, he always gave you his vanilla pound cake. Which resulted in everyone giving you their vanilla pound cake. When Soap passed you his for the first time, you smile at him. And before you knew it, there were 3 more packages getting placed onto the table. “Gonna be one happy baby huh?” Soap smiles. You blushed and took them, John helping you open each of them.
Anytime Soap was around you, he’d gently fist bump your growing belly. Mumbling on about how “real soon he’d be able to fist bump your baby for real.”
It was a beautiful thing really. Until you had to leave the base of course. You’d hidden your pregnancy for long enough.
—
When the day comes, you’re drenched in sweat. Your eyes are heavy and tired and you can hear crying. The sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. When they pass you your baby for the first time. You can’t help it as the tears start to spill from your eyes. John watches teary eyed too, determined to not let them fall. But the moment his son is in his arms, he loses it. Turning his back to everyone as the tears start to spill from his eyes. His son is perfect, absolutely amazing. John nearly melts when he wraps his little hand around his finger.
Once they take your son and get him all cleaned up, leaving the both of you alone. The last thing you expect happens.
A knock at your door before it opens. “Hope everyone is decent!” You hear Soap call as quietly as he can for you to still hear. You smile when you see everyone coming in. The rest of task force 141, your brothers. John’s brothers. The best people you ever have had the pleasure of being around. “Had to convince everyone to let us get off base to come see ya.” Soap smiles. “We’re all sanitized and clean by the way, we wouldn’t have come in otherwise. Ghost even prayed his mask.” You smile. “You want to hold him?” You offer to Gaz, who’s standing by your bedside. “Oh.. uh. Sure.” John stands up to help you. Letting Gaz sit down in his spot before passing him the little baby. “Damn, you’re kinda heavy for being brand new.” Gaz smiles, the little baby sighing in his arms. “Must be all that pound cake huh?” He smiles. You roll your eyes.
They each take turns holding him, and he starts to get a little fussy right as John is about to pass him to Ghost, and you can sense him getting a little nervous, but the moment he’s in Ghost’s arms, he relaxes. “He likes you, lad.” John smiles. He grasps hold of Simons finger, like he had with John, and Simons eyes widen. “Damn.” He mumbles. “I’m not giving him back now, he’s mine.” Simon jokes. You smile.
“Well. What’s it like huh?” Gaz asks. “What?”
“Being a little family?” He smiles. “It’s uh.. it’s pretty cool.” John smiles. “She did amazing, I don’t know anyone can handle that.” You roll your eyes. “Didn’t have much of a choice.” You laugh.
After visiting for a couple hours, and everyone is gone, John is sitting near your bedside. You’re holding onto your son, tired eyes. He grasps your hand in his, placing a kiss on the top of it. “You’re a great mum.” He smiles. “You’re gonna be a great Dad.” You giggle. “I love you.” He mumbles. “I love you too, John.”
#call of duty mw2#soap mw2#cod mw2#ghost mw2#captain john price#price mw2#alejandro mw2#captain price#johnny soap mactavish#mw2 smut#john price x reader#john price#price x you
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Going Undercover with Noah Wynknight
Pairing: Noah Wynknight x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, undercover, fake relationship, catching feelings, sneaking around, pretending to be drunk, sex against a wall, quickie
A/N: I made him go from slightly manipulative to very, but not to the Reader.
Noah buys you the best, most beautiful dress, just because you're not actually his lover doesn't mean you shouldn't dress like it
Going to an enemy kingdom to find evidence of their frauds comes with a risk, so of course he took one of his best guards but he couldn't rouse suspicion so he introduced you as his lover
He was chatty and approachable, bragged about you and made up stories of how you met and started dating
It almost seemed real, the lovestruck way he looked at you so you had to remind yourself that he was your boss, you were here for a mission, not to have a good time
Pretends to have had a bit too much to drink and that he needs to go on a walk, to which you will follow him of course
He's deliberately leaning against you so you have to carry most of his weight
Made a mistake by leaning a bit too much and pressing you against a wall of the office you need to break into
The target is right there but Noah seems to have forgotten what this was about
"Sir, we don't have a lot of time." You gasp as his wet lips find your neck. Maybe he wasn't faking as much as you thought but you were under the impression that he could handle his drinks. "Do you need me to walk you to your bedroom? You may have had too much tonight."
"And leave you by yourself? I know you're more then capable of taking care of yourself but in this dress you're nearly irresistible." His tongue drags to your ear slowly, then you feel his teeth lightly nibbling, his hands caressing your hips. It's clear that he wasn't just here for fulfilling the mission, or that he didn't ask for you just because you were one of the best.
You'd kissed him a few times through the night to keep up appearances but there wasn't anyone who would see or doubt your cover up. Noah was doing this because he wanted to.
"Tell me if I should stop." His gloved hand pushed your dress up and looked for approval. Could you be honest and tell him that you've had a crush on him? No, that should stay a secret at least. But you could do this, you could use this cover up to cover up your feelings. "No?" He checked with you again as his hand got closer to your underwear.
You hooked one leg over his hip and pulled him closer, "Don't stop." Deep down you felt like this was wrong, you had a mission to do, you shouldn't be letting the Price of your kingdom fuck your brains out in the hallways of an enemy castle. Yet that was exactly what you did.
He didn't want to stall for time, you didn't have time to stall for anyway, you needed to get rid of this horniness now before someone came looking for you. When his fingers found your wet panties he simply moved them to the side, thumb on your clit and his throbbing cock pushing into your pussy, opening it up for his length.
"Would it be out of line for me to confess something to you, Your Majesty?" You sighed as his cock sunk in balls deep.
"And what might that be?" Noah's golden eyes looked deep into yours, somewhere deep down you felt like he knew the truth. He already knew beyond what you were about to say.
Should you tell it all? Perhaps another time, for now you should test the waters. "I always wondered what a royal cock would feel like. Yours to be more precise."
"And what do you think of it?" He smirked, pulling out and waiting. He only left the tip in, breathing in deeply as your pussy clenched around it.
"It's much like yourself. Worthy of every bit of praise I've heard." There was so much gossip going around the castle. A few were brave to speak of the lust of the Prince, you always kept your mouth shut but now you'd have something over all of them.
His thumb pressed over your clit, rolling the pad over the small bundle of nerves and making you moan into his neck. "Now you'll have first hand experience with it. And as long as we're confessing I guess it's time for my own. There's a reason I asked for you personally. I've too have always wanted for something. To know if you want me as I've wanted you."
Those words carry differently for him
He was royalty
He could lust for you no matter what your station
You tried not to let the unfairness of that show on your face
But you were happy when you heard it
You pulled Noah into a open kiss, not so much answering as avoiding the answer but with how your pussy kept sucking him in, trying to drain his cock and balls you suspected he didn't care much
You should have ended it with one kiss, yet you kept going back for more, demanding more of royalty like him
It was selfish but so was he, pounding away into your cunt, loud slaps echoing around the hallway for all to hear
His balls smacked into you every time, each time getting wetter from your pussy juices dripping from your cunt. Trying to stifle your moans you hardly ever parted from his his lips, you kept your grip on his hair, savoring his taste, smell, feeling, warmth.
Warmth that only intensified when it exploded at the pit of your stomach, soon after followed by Noah grunting, whining, his cock pulsing inside your tight pussy.
He managed to pull out in time to shoot his load across your stomach, "You... understand... I can't risk..." His sweaty forehead feel against your shoulder as he struggled to catch his breath.
"I understand. I can't risk it either." For him it would be a scandal. For you it could cost you your job and maybe more. You were both being selfish right now. You let lust blind you. "Perhaps it's best not to speak of his again." How quickly you changed your tune now that you got what you wanted.
"If that is what you wish." Noah tucked his cock back in his pants and put on a mask of indifference. He wanted to talk about it, by god he did. But you had a point this wasn't the time or the place. You knew Noah well enough to know that when this mission was over you would have a very long talk.
#why raeliana ended up at the duke's mansion#kanojo ga koushaku-tei ni itta riyuu#noah wynknight#manhwa#noah wynknight x reader#manhwa x reader#manhwa x you#manhwa imagines#manhwa smut#noah wynknight smut#x female reader
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