#ch. study ✧{simon} | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daisies-daydreams · 1 year

Note

omg okay so I just found out about your blog and I've been bingereading your fics, and I really want to make a request hehe 🤭. I was thinking of a ghost x fem!reader where the reader likes ghost and tells him but because of him being avoidant when it comes to romance and his fear of getting close to people, he rejects her. But when he eventually realises that he loves her, he notices that someone else is already making a move on her and gets jealous. I just really want to see a jealous ghost😭 and I like the whole idea of ghost having an avoidant attachment style, it seems realistic and fitting for him. But I would like to see him overcome his insecurities and fears when it comes to getting close to people. The poor guy deserves love🥺 Thank you so much!!💖💖

The First Step (Ghost x F!Reader)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader Category: Fluff & Angst, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Jealous!Ghost, Descriptions of Physical/Emotional Abuse, Descriptions of PTSD/Trauma, Rejection, Cheating, Swearing Word Count: 3.9k+

Song Recs For This Fic: What You Know and On Melancholy Hill

A/N: Hello! Thank you very much for your request and for reading my work! I agree, Ghost does seem like the person who would have an avoidant attachment style. He definitely deserves to have someone to hold and cherish him. 🥺 I hope you enjoy!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

The First Step (Ch. 2)

Ghost’s breathing stuttered as he clutched on the edge of the sink. A sharp sting radiated from his shoulder, stitches lining the curve of his muscular arm. A more dull ache rang through his chest as he swallowed thickly, avoiding his own gaze in the foggy mirror.

(1 Week Earlier)

Your brows were knitted together as you tilted your head. Your hands worked deftly to curve the last stitches through the lieutenant’s skin. His flesh still burning with pain from the knife wound he received during his most recent mission.

“How many stitches have I given you now?” you asked as you finished your work.

“Too fucking many,” Ghost grunted. The corners of your eyes crinkled as you released a soft chuckle. Ghost felt something faint stir in his chest at the sound of your laugh. You stepped back, eyeing him up and down.

“Alright, Lt. You’re good to go!” you chirped. Ghost gave a nod as he gazed over his wound. Impeccably stitched together, as always. He huffed as he slid off of the medical table. His eyes studied you carefully as you busied yourself with cleaning up. For some reason, he just felt stuck, as if his body refused to move forward. You finished washing your hands before you turned to him. You pulled down your mask, revealing a cheeky smile.

“Need something, Ghost?” you jested. Ghost blinked, snapping out of his daze.

“No. Thanks…doc,” he said as he clasped his hand over your shoulder. Your cheeks instantly flushed red at his contact. Ghost raised a brow as he slid his hand off of you. “Well, I’ll be seein’ you around,” the lieutenant nodded as he made his way towards the door. He froze when he felt you grab his hand. He shifted slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours. Your whole face was a deep shade of red.

“Doc?” he asked. You gasped and slipped your hand away.

“I-I’m sorry! I just-” you bit your bottom lip and shuffled in place. His chest grew tight as you stepped closer. “I…” you released a shaky breath as you fiddled with your hands. Ghost felt like his whole body was turning to lead.

“C’mon, (Y/N). You can tell me,” he said. You hesitantly met his gaze.

“I wanted to ask you…if you want to go out for drinks sometime this weekend?” you squeaked out. Ghost’s eyes widened slightly as time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace. A clash of hope and dread instantly filled his chest as his mind went completely blank. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Y-You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just-”

“No,” he quickly spat out. Your lips drew into a tight, pale line.

“What?” you breathed, shoulders falling. Ghost’s hands shook as he balled them up into fists, his heart mercilessly pounding against his sternum.

“I said ‘no’. Trust me, you don’t want to make that mistake,” Ghost muttered. All of the color left your face as you stumbled back.

“But it’s not a mistake!” you suddenly shouted. Ghost tried to avoid your gaze as you trembled before him. “Sorry," you quickly apologized. "I just-I like you, Ghost, and I want to get to know you more outside of just sewing you up or making sure you're not bleeding to death," you explained while nodding towards the medical table. Ghost gritted his teeth as he felt his heart sink into the churning pit of his stomach. He flinched when you brought yourself mere inches from him.

“Please, just give me a chance...Simon,” your voice cracked.

His throat hitched at the sound of his name spilling from your lips. Ghost tried to hide how his chest was heaving as he quickly spun himself around.

“My answer is final,” said as he quickly strode towards the door. He heard you choke back a whimper as he approached the threshold. Ghost’s hand trembled ever so slightly as he pushed against the surface of the door. He was tempted to glance behind his shoulder, yet compelled himself to look forward.

The door soon swung closed with a deafening thud.

(Present)

Ghost’s knuckles were turning white as he clenched his jaw. He slowly drew his attention up to the mirror. All he could see was a man torn in two staring right back at him.

“Fuckin’ git-she was right there pourin’ her heart out to you and you just fuckin’ brushed her off,” he thought to himself. Ghost gritted his teeth as he pushed himself off the sink. He ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair before grabbing his mask. He stared down at the empty eyeholes.

“It’s fine. She’s a big girl-she can handle it,” he rationalized. His nostrils flared as he tugged the balaclava over his head. "She doesn't need me," Ghost told himself.

“You didn’t really mean those words you said, did you?” his internal voice rang. Ghost gritted his teeth. He shook his head as he walked over to his locker, throwing on a fresh pair of clothes.

“You actually feel-”

“Stop it,” he scolded himself as he harshly pulled his shirt over his damp upper body. He ignored the weary glances of other soldiers as he stomped out of the locker room, making his way towards his quarters. All he wanted to do was sleep off the nonsense that was stewing inside of him.

Whatever feelings he thought he had for you, it was nothing more than a fantasy. Something to help him feel at ease whenever he was overcome with boredom. That’s all you were to him: a distraction.

A distraction when he heard your warm laugh when he would tell his corny jokes. A distraction when he imagined holding you in his scarred, hefty arms in his bed. A distraction…wondering what your soft lips would taste like when he returned from a long, grueling mission.

His footsteps slowed before he eventually came to a halt. That warm, strange feeling writhed in his chest again. Ghost felt it spread and course through every inch of his being as thoughts of you flashed through his mind like a film in full-color. His breathing stuttered.

“You actually feel the same way about her,” the voice inside him echoed.

He collapsed his hand over the place where his mouth would be. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ghost felt his eyes sting as tears glazed over them.

He loved you...he loved you.

Ghost let his hand fall from his face. He balled it into a tight fist as a renewed sense of boldness bloomed inside of him. He couldn’t just stand here dumbstruck with this realization. Ghost felt his heartbeat quicken as he rushed towards your office. This wasn’t the end of the line-he’d be sure to set things right.

A small smile graced his face as he rounded the corner. A slit of light shone through the crack of your door, and that’s when he heard it: another man’s voice reverberating from the room. Ghost’s blood ran cold as his movements slowed to a crawling pace. A flicker of your laughter spilled out of the room not long after the man’s. Ghost narrowed his eyes as he inched forward, his footsteps barely making a trace of noise. He peeked through the crack in the door.

He recognized the man-a newer recruit, Sergeant Johnson. He’s seen him before, and despite his usual friendly demeanor, something just felt off about him. Ghost’s jaw clicked as he watched the Sergeant hover near you.

“You’ve got a cute laugh,” Johnson drawled. Ghost felt a sudden feeling rip through his heart. It wasn’t anger…no-it ran deep like an open, festering wound. You tucked a strand of frizzy hair behind your ear, avoiding Johnson's gaze.

“T-Thank you,” you said sheepishly. The man wore a wide grin as he leaned his hand onto the wall, boxing you in. Your eyes widened.

“Are you free tonight?” the man lilted. Your blush rushed up to your ears as you held your hands together in front of you.

"P-Probably not. I'll most likely be busy with work," you stated. Ghost felt relief wash over him, only to feel the jealously flare up again as the Sergeant leaned in closer.

"Tell you what- why don't I get some dinner from the mess hall and bring it back here? That way you won't have to worry about leaving your office," he suggested with a smile. Ghost waited with bated breath for your answer.

"Okay," you finally replied. Ghost heard the sound of his heart cracking as Johnson leaned away from you.

"Great. I'll be back so don't go anywhere!" he said. You nodded and gave a small wave.

"Okay. See you soon," you grinned, though Ghost didn't miss the misty look in your eyes. Fuck...you were still hurting. Johnson strode towards the door, blinking when he met eyes with the lieutenant.

“Oh! You must be Ghost. Heard a lot of stories about you-good ones, don't worry," Johnson chuckled as he held his hand out. The lieutenant raised a brow before clutching the man's hand. Johnson winced slightly. "Oof, got quite a grip there," he laughed nervously.

"So I've heard," Ghost rumbled. Johnson awkwardly looked around the hallway before giving a firm nod.

"Sorry for keeping you from the Doc. I'll get out of your hair," Johnson stated as he brushed past him. Ghost grunted as he followed the man with his eyes until he disappeared around the corner. He turned back to see you standing stiff as a board against the wall. Ghost cautiously stepped towards you as if approaching an untamed animal. He paused a few feet away from you.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," you replied. Both of you avoided each other's gazes. The silence only seemed to emphasize the tension growing between the two of you. Ghost cleared his throat.

"Listen, Doc-(Y/N)," he quickly corrected himself. You rubbed your arms as you poked at the inside of your cheek with your tongue. Ghost sighed as he nervously cracked his fingers. "I just...I'm sorry for being such an arse last week," he grunted. You remained quiet, the only sound being the humming from the fan in the corner of the room. "It wasn't fair to you, and-"

"It's fine," you curtly replied. Ghost closed his mouth, his skin crawling with goosebumps. He's never heard that kind of tone come from you, the kind that cuts deep into someone like a knife.

"But-you see, I-"

"No, I see perfectly well, Ghost," your voice cracked with bitterness. Your eyes were glossy as your mouth was curved into a deep, sullen frown. Ghost felt his heart turn to stone as you stepped forward.

"(Y/N), please listen to me. I came in here because-" he suddenly choked on his own words. You released a shaky sigh as you gave him a dejected look.

"Because of what, Ghost?" you asked. He screamed at himself as tears began to pour down your red cheeks. Ghost suddenly felt a wave of dizziness crash over him, a cacophony of his own internal monologue mixing with the fragmented voices from his past piercing through his mind. The walls around him felt like they were growing closer with the intent to crush him. Everything felt like it was going too fast for his own mind to catch up.

"I..." his gruff voice trailed off. You sighed as you clutched your hair, your eyes puffy and red.

"Please, don't do this to me again," you murmured beneath your breath. Ghost's throat tightened even more.

"Just tell her! She's right there!" the internal voice screamed at him. He unclenched his fists.

"I just came to tell you that you...shouldn't go out with Johnson," he spat out. Your face shifted from a look of anguish to confusion.

"You should be with me instead," he said internally. But the words remained lodged in his throat.

"I've seen him around the base. He doesn't seem-" The sound of thudding footsteps cut him off. Johnson stood in the doorway, a bag of takeout in his hands. He frowned when he saw you wipe tears from your cheeks.

"Everything okay?" he asked as he rushed to your side. You nodded, tearing your eyes away from Ghost.

"Fine," you huffed. Johnson stared between the two of you.

"I just got some pizza-I hope that's okay," he beamed. Ghost felt like he was already being shoved out of the room. You glanced over at him one more time before looking back to the Sergeant.

"Pizza's great," you smiled as you accepted the food. Ghost slowly stepped out of the room, the tendrils of jealously encroaching into his heart. His body felt cold as he walked down the hall, a bitter taste coating his tongue.

"It's just one little dinner," Ghost told himself. But no matter how hard he tried to rationalize the situation, he couldn't stop the poison from leaking from his heart and through his entire being.

+++

A whole month has passed, and you were still dating Sergeant Johnson. Ghost told himself that it didn't bother him at first, that the whole "love realization" was just wishful thinking. But the more he saw the two of you and Johnson together, the worse the jealously inside of him festered. It corroded his heart each time he heard you laugh at his jokes, saw you holding his hand.

He was talking with Soap and Gaz in the mess hall one evening. His dark eyes followed you as you walked into the room and leaned down to Johnson's ear. He couldn't see your face, but he could tell you were whispering something to the Sergeant. He watched with clenched fists as both of you left the mess hall in a hurrty. Something inside Ghost snapped into a thousand pieces, his veins bulging in his temples.

Ghost immediately rose from his seat, ignoring Soap's barrage of questions as he trailed not too far behind you. Other soldiers looked at him like he was a bat out of hell as he stormed towards your office. His nostrils flared as he grabbed the doorknob, only to hear a harsh wail crack through the air. Ghost hesitantly shuffled at the door before cracking it open ever so slightly. Johnson stood in front of you with his arms held up as if in surrender.

"Babe, please! I can explain," Johnson said. You scoffed.

"I saw your tongue down her throat, Logan!" you shrieked. Your voice dripped with anger as you growled. Johnson huffed as he straightened his posture.

"It's not my fault you've refused to sleep with me this whole time," he spat. Ghost heard you gasp quietly as he opened the door slowly. He held his finger up to his lips and you swallowed, shifting your gaze back to the man before you. "You're a prude little bitch, you know that? Maybe if you had done what I asked of you, I wouldn't be running off to see other girls," Johnson hissed as he raised his hand. Ghost instantly launched himself forward, grabbing the Sergeant's meaty wrist.

"What the fuck-" Johnson was cut off when Ghost quickly grabbed the man by his shirt and threw him against the wall.

You yelled as you slid behind your chair, your hands clutching onto it as if it were your shield. Ghost felt satisfied with the way the Sergeant's head snapped against the hard surface of the wall, nearly putting a dent in it.

"Don't you ever treat to her that way, you fuckin' git," Ghost snarled as he shook him by his collar. Johnson's eyes popped out as he shivered in his tight grasp. You muttered a few incomprehensible words as you peeked around. Ghost's heart was pumping as the veins in his hands threatened to pop. He lowered Johnson enough so he'd remain face to face with him.

"Here's what's going to happen: because I witnessed you abusing (Y/N) and threatened to strike her, I'm going to write a very, very detailed report," he explained with a cold tone. Johnson swallowed a lump in his throat, his legs still dangling above the ground. "You’ll most likely to go to jail, Sergeant. When you do, I can guarantee that whatever happens to you there will be downright merciful compared to what I have in mind," he rumbled lowly as he curled his fist. The Sergeant's lips quivered as he shook his head vigorously.

"I-It won't happen again, I promise," Johnson wheezed. Ghost scoffed as he dropped him onto the cold, linoleum floor. The man scrambled up to his feet, his legs knocking together as Ghost pinned him against the wall, pressing his tattooed forearm against the Sergeant's throat and his legs against his.

"You should be glad I'm just a Lieutenant. Price is the one who makes the final calls around here," Ghost said as he subtly grabbed at his phone in his back pocket. He shook at it gently, hoping you'd get the message. You paused for a moment before slipping beneath your desk. He narrowed his eyes as he loosened his grip on Johnson.

“Y-yes sir! I understand completely. I-I'm sorry, really, I didn’t-”

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to, you fuckin' twat," Ghost scoffed. He looked over towards you. You whispered a few more things into your phone before pressing a button. You glanced up and nodded at him, your face still pale and wet with tears. "Apologize to her," Ghost said gruffly. Johnson's mouth snapped open in protest. "That's an order, Sergeant!" Ghost snapped. Johnson huffed before slowly turning towards you. Large streaks of tears fell down your face as he straightened himself.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he said with a lowered head. Ghost strode up and placed a hand onto Johnson's shoulder.

"Go on," Ghost commanded with a tight squeeze. Johnson licked his dry lips.

"I'm sorry...that you don't know how to attend to a man's needs," he snarled maliciously. Your eyes widened as you gasped. Ghost sneered as he grabbed the man by his short hair, readying to slam it against your desk.

"Simon don't!" you cried with outstretched arms. Ghost froze, his eyes falling on your weary face. Johnson laughed bitterly.

"Simon? What, were you cheating, too?" the man derided. Ghost's fists shook as he threw the man across your desk with a loud thud. You gasped and shuffled back before Ghost tossed the man onto the floor, his body crumpling like a ragdoll's. Johnson groaned as he rubbed a sore spot on his chin. He scowled as he wound up a fist to strike.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Price's voice boomed. All of you froze as he stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and eyes lit with pure rage. He shifted back as a few military police officers filed into the room. Ghost made his way towards you as they surrounded the Sergeant. You were still hidden beneath your desk, your body curled into itself.

"(Y/N)," he called softly. You peeked up at him, your eyes red and puffy. He knelt down on one knee and slowly held his hand out. "It's alright. You're safe now," Ghost whispered. You cautiously took his hand as he guided you to your feet. The cuffs clicked across Johnson's wrists as one of the officer's kept their hand on his neck.

"You can't do this to me! Do you know how hard I've worked to get here?!" he shouted as he was being roughly escorted out of the room.

Price had no words to offer, only a cold gaze that could make any person shiver. Johnson's face turned red as he protested wildly before one of the officers told him to shut it. A sense of relief washed over the room as he was finally dragged out. The Captain shook his head before setting his attention on the two of you. Price's brows furrowed when he saw a red mark on your wrist. Ghost felt the anger inside him reach a boiling point when he saw it, too.

"I'm going to fuckin' kill him," he snarled.

"Easy, Ghost," Price said. Ghost grunted as he swallowed down his rage. The Captain turned to you, reaching his hands out. "I know a lot has just happened, but we need to get as much as we can while the memories are still new. I promise you, (Y/N), that fucker's going to pay for what he did," Price stated with a nod. You sniffed before releasing a heart-wrenching wail.

You sobbed as you wrapped your arms around your shivering body. Ghost and Price exchanged weary glances as you shrank into yourself.

"Stupid git," Ghost heard his father's acerbic voice echo inside his head. His own wrist stung slightly as he remembered every terrible instance involving that wretched man. That quote about time healing all wounds never resonated with Ghost-the wounds still cut deep and ran with blood. Ghost blinked as your aching sobs drew him back to the present.

"I-I was so stupid," you shook. Ghost tilted his head as you rested your head on his chest and winced. "I should've known. I just-I shouldn't have-" you broke down, your forehead falling onto Ghost's broad chest as you and clutched his black t-shirt. He looked over to Price. The Captain gave a small nod.

"Just make sure to come to my office when you feel ready," the Captain said as he made his way towards the door. Ghost nodded as Price left the room.

You continued to stain his shirt with hot tears, your chest heaving as you trembled. Ghost felt unsure of what to do in this moment, his hands twitching at your sides as you wept. Suddenly, a faint memory popped up. Ghost leaned his face forward, his covered lips nearly brushing against your ear.

"Can I...Can I hold you, love?" he asked. Your head snapped up as your mouth flew open. You wore a look of shock on your face, your chin trembling. Ghost studied you carefully as he released an uneasy sigh. "Well, y’see, my mum-she would, she would hold me...when…” his voice trailed off as a hard lump formed in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as if to shield himself-both from the memories that pierced his mind and the act of confessing such a vulnerable thing.

His eyes snapped open when he felt you softly wrap your arms around him. You released a shaky breath as you squeezed him tightly, pressing your body against his. Ghost's hands slowly came up, his bulky arms curling around your smaller form. You were so warm-your skin soft and glowing like sunlight on a spring day. Ghost gently rested his chin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

His breath hitched when you splayed your hand across his rugged upper arms. Ghost let his own hands fall across your lower back, his chest purring ever so slightly. He felt you relax in his grasp as the two of you continued to hold each other.

Eventually, you started to withdraw yourself from his embrace. He slowly blinked his eyes open, his vision blurred with tears. You gave him a warm, tired smile as you wiped your eyes and sniffed.

"Thank you, Ghost," you sighed. Ghost took in a deep breath as hot tears rolled down his face from beneath his balaclava. He looked down and slid his hand close to yours. You gazed up at him with parted lips before taking it into your gentle grasp. He smiled down at you as he pressed his thumb to the back of your palm.

“Please...call me Simon”.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

616 notes · View notes

callsign-magnolia · 1 year

Text

Undiagnosed // Ch. 1

Mature Content 18+

Jake Seresin x Neurodivergent OC

Summary: Katie Blair grew up trying to be the perfect daughter. She always struggled to be the prim and proper little girl her parents wanted. Big personality as a kid, but now at 25, she's the shy admiral's daughter who just keeps her head down and tries to get through law school. So what happens when she's had enough and with help from a certain Lieutenant, she gets out.

Warnings: Emotional abuse, Major Character death, asshole parents, Jake is a jerk to start.

Word Count: 6.0k

Masterlist

“I’m sorry, Admiral Blair. Commander Kazansky is dead.”

Commander Kazansky is dead.

Tears welled my eyes as I stood in the doorway, my father behind me. “What?” My dad stepped around me, pushing me back into the house. I walked into the living room, seeing my mother sitting in her chair, glasses on her nose and book in her hand. “Who in god’s name is at our door at nine o’clock at night?” She asked, not looking at up. “A-an officer-“ She huffed, slamming her book shut before she ripped her glasses off her face and looked at me. “Speak up. I can’t hear you when you mumble and stutter.” I nodded, taking a deep breath and trying again. “An officer is at the door. Admiral Kazansky is dead.” I said as I rested my hand on the back of the couch. She stared at me for a moment before scoffing and putting her glasses back on. “Held on long enough, didn’t he?” “Mother!” I scolded. She huffed, slamming her book on the side table, standing. “Hush!” I immediately went quiet as she approached me. “He has been sick for years now. Your father has been waiting in the wings for his moment! And this is his moment!” She yelled, pointing her finger in my face.

“And you will not ruin his image!” I nodded, not meeting her eyes as tears streaked my cheeks. “Admiral Kazansky passed in his sleep earlier.” My father said as he walked into the living room. “And you’re crying for him!” Mom said, smacking my arm, making me jump. “He was a good man, mama!” She rolled her eyes, going back to her chair. “A man you met only three times.” I bit my lip, taking in a shaky breath. “I will be going up to my room.” I said turning, only for my dad to stop me. “Dr. Nieman says you have an exam next week; I expect you to be studying.” I nodded as he squeezed my shoulder. “Yes sir.” I said before he let me go, walking past me and allowing me to go upstairs. Once in my room I shut the door, taking a deep breath before going over to my fish tank, pulling out some food to feed them. They rushed to the top as I dropped the food, making me giggle. “Greedy little guys, huh?” I asked, knowing they wouldn’t reply. “Georgie!” I scolded the guppy who pushed Simon out of the way. “Oh my god, I’m scolding my fish.” I sighed before sitting down at my desk, deciding I better crack open the law textbook before my father came in and yelled at me for not working hard enough.

A few days went by and finally it was the day of Iceman’s funeral. I rode with my parents to the funeral, sitting in the backseat quietly as we rode from the funeral home to the gravesite. Once we pulled up and got out, I looked around at the sea of black dress uniforms, straightening out my own black dress as I stepped out of the truck. “Now,” My mom said as she walked over. “Stand still and be quiet, I don’t want to hear and squalling from you.” I nodded as she took my dad’s arm. “Yes ma’am.” I fell in step behind them, walking slowly through the grass and between the graves before finally stopping. My parents would sit, while I stood behind them, my heels sinking into the soft ground. We watched as the casket was carried over, and the funeral started. I was fine until TAPS started; it always made me emotional at these things. But I stood there, stock still but I felt the tears coming, and with them, the fear of my mother.

I inhaled deeply and shakily, fighting off the tears when suddenly my mother reached back, pinching my thigh. I jerked, which made her snap around and glare at me. It wasn’t until Captain Mitchell slammed his wings into the casket that the sobs started. I tried to hold back; my shoulders shook slightly as I held my breath. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, making me want to crawl out of my skin. Why are you crying? You’re not family. You hardly knew the man. The voice resembling my own echoed throughout my head. I attempted to stop, but I couldn’t. The voice was right though, I had no reason to be crying. Once it was done, my mother quickly stood, taking my arm and dragging me back towards the truck. “I told you to stay quiet.” “I tried, momma. Really.” “Well, you didn’t try hard enough!” My back slammed into the truck, on the side facing away from people. “Your father has an image to keep. We can’t have an uncontrollably emotional child messing that up.” I nodded, knowing she was right. “Now, you are going to clean your face, because you have black streaks from your mascara, and then you will redo it on the way to the Kazansky’s. Sarah is doing a celebration of life and we will be in attendance.” She said as she shoved a makeup wipe at me. “Yes, ma’am.” She huffed, straightening her dress. “Now get in the truck. You look like a train wreck, and we can’t have anyone seeing you.” I nodded, getting into the backseat as my mother went to join my dad as he spoke to some people.

~~~

“Woah, who is that?” Coyote asked, looking past me. I turned, spotting who he was referring to. A girl walked in with Admiral Blair and his wife; she must be their daughter I’ve heard about. She had a small smile on her face and kept her eyes on the ground, her hair swishing in the short ponytail as she walked a few steps behind her parents. “She’s sexy.” I raised my brow at Payback, he wasn’t usually one to refer to women in such a way. “I wouldn’t even try it with her.” Coop, a pilot from my old squadron said. “What? Is she snobby?” Payback asked as I continued to watch the girl. “No, man. She’s weird as fuck. She holds eye contact too much; she stares into your soul. She also talks a lot about random things, her stories have side stories, and those stories have side stories! She’s a total weirdo.” I looked back to her; she now had a glass in her hand as her parents spoke with Sarah.

“Hey, Hangman?” I turned to Coyote who was looking at me confused. “You gonna try it with her? I don’t think your girl would like that.” I scoffed, shaking my head. “No,” I scoffed. “Kelly wouldn’t appreciate it. But she’s also not my type.” Coop chuckled. “She’s crazy emotional too. Like a loose cannon.” I looked over at him, sipping the lemonade Sarah gave me. “How do you know all this?” I asked him and he scoffed. “Made the mistake of asking her on a date.” “And was there a second one?” Payback asked and Coop shook his head. “Hell no! We paid, got in our cars and I never texted her again.” I rolled my eyes. Coop has an unrealistic idea of women. He wants a model, someone ‘perfect’. Little does he realize he isn’t such a catch either. “I bet you fifty bucks you couldn’t have a normal conversation with her.” I scoffed at his offer. “What? Fifty not enough? I’ll make it a hundred then and you can see how weird she is yourself.” I shook my head. “You know what, I’ll accept that bet.” I said looking back over to her seeing she had made her way over to the drink table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a refill.” I said before walking over to her, a smirk on my face.

~~~

“Hi.” I jumped, startled out of my own little bubble by the voice behind me. I turned to find a blonde man, tall, muscular, with green eyes that glistened in the light and had tiny flecks of light brown around the pupil. “H-hi.” I said, realizing how close he was when I turned around. I took a step back, bumping the table and tripping over my feet. I swung my arm, and he caught it, straightening me out. “I am so sorry! I’m so clumsy!” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all.” I smiled, looking back into his eyes. “I’m sorry Lieutenant, I never got your name.” A look of realization crossed his face, and he held out his hand. “Lieutenant Jacob Seresin, ma’am.” I shook his hand. “You seemed off in your own little world over here.” He caught you, and now he thinks you’re weird before he even properly met you. “Yeah, I um… truth be told, I just got lost in thought.” I admitted. My mind had wandered to how Sarah and the rest of the family would cope without Admiral Kazansky, a thought I probably had no business thinking. “Happens to the best of us, right?” I nodded, looking down at my heels. “So how do you know the Kazansky’s?” He asked, bending down to meet my eyes, making my head snap up. “Oh, my dad is-was just under Admiral Kazansky. Now that he’s gone that makes my dad the new fleet commander.” His eyebrows shot up in realization. “Katie Scarlett!” I froze at my mom’s voice, straightening my back and diverting my eyes from Jacob. “I’m so sorry Lieutenant. Was she bothering you? She tends to run her mouth and talk. Why, she would talk till your ears fell off if you let her.” My neck burned red against my black scoop neck dress, tears gathering in my eyes.

“No ma’am. We were just having a pleasant conversation.” She looked at me, and I took a deep breath, willing the tears away. “Are you okay?” He asked and before I could even react my mother answered for me. “She’s fine. She just tends to be… overly emotional. If you’ll excuse us.” Mom said before gripping my arm and leading me away. “What are you doing?” I jerked my arm away once we were inside and out of sight. “I was having a nice conversation with a nice man!” She reached out, pinching me before placing her hands on her hips. “First off, don’t you ever cop an attitude with me again missy. Second, he is your father’s subordinate! What do you think it will look like if you’re flirting with him?” I furrowed my brows, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Oh my god, I was not flirting, mom! It was a normal conversation.” She scoffed. “Don’t talk back to me. Now, you will not speak to your father’s subordinates. These navy boys are not worth your time, or mine when you get your heart broken.” I rolled my eyes. “Dad seemed to be worth your time.” I popped off. Suddenly I heard a loud slap and my cheek stung. “He was worth my time, and you should be grateful because that’s why you are here.”

“Now,” She said as she composed herself and straightened her dress. “Clean yourself up, quit your crying and join me outside in five minutes.” She said as she pushed past me, making her way back outside. I turned, rushing into the bathroom as tears streaked my face once again. I cleaned myself up as best I could and let my hair down hoping it would hide the growing red mark on my cheek. I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face before going back outside. My father was standing with Lieutenant Seresin and a few others. I made my way over as my mom turned to greet me, a smile on her face. But in reality, that smile was a threat, saying if I screwed this up it wouldn’t be good. She looped her arm through mine as I stood next to her. “Oh, and this is our daughter, Katherine Scarlett Blair.” All eyes were on me, so I opted for a small smile. Something simple that couldn’t be mistaken for anything more than what it was. My father continued to ramble as I looked through the group. Immediately catching the blue eyes of Arnold Cooper, he smirked and waved as I turned my head away. I couldn’t stand him. He was so rude on our date, letting me go on then only to tell me how stupid the topic was and then went on to critique everything about me.

Your eyes are too far apart.

Your bottom lip is too big, it makes your smile look weird.

You’re too tall in those heels.

Your thighs are too big.

Anything he could find wrong, he pointed out. I left there crying and he never called or texted me again, which I was grateful for. I looked away, staring out at the ocean, ignoring the conversation. I wonder if I could just get a boat and take off. Quit law school, leave my parents behind and just go. Travel somewhere they would never think to find me. Like Nepal maybe? More specifically Kathmandu. It’s beautiful and I could do lots of hiking and exploring. “Katherine.” I turned, looking up at my mother who had a harsh look on her face. “I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?” I asked, turning back to the group. Lieutenant Seresin nodded. “Admiral Blair says you’re in Law school. Which one?” Of course, daddy would mention law school. “USD school of Law.” He smiled at me. “And how long do you have left before you graduate?” I opened my mouth to answer when my father cut me off. “She about to finish her first year. She’s on her way to being the best lawyer in California.” My parents didn’t have that much hope for me. They just wanted me to make good money. “Nice, how do you like it?” Another Lieutenant asked, he had a mustache that most people couldn’t pull off. “She loves it. It’s been her dream since she was a little girl.” My mom said as she ran her fingers through my ponytail.

“Is there a certain type of law you want to practice?” Lieutenant Seresin asked. Once again, I was answered for. “Either medical law or corporate law. She just can’t decide.” I nodded, just going along with it. Everyone looked between my parents and me, questioning look in their eyes. “Well I just wanted to wish you guys the best of luck on this mission of yours. I’ve read over the file and I have to say, it’s very dangerous, but you’re the best of the best for a reason.” They all smiled, shaking my dad’s hand before him and my mother walked away. I turned to follow but stopped at the sound of Coop’s voice. “Following mommy and daddy around like a lost puppy?” I kept walking, trying to ignore him. “Can’t even function on her own.” I turned around, glaring at him. “You’re the one that insulted me on that so called date, so why are you even bothering to talk to me? You’re the one that ran around telling everyone how weird I am anyway.” He chuckled, “Just wanted to get a rise out of you sweetheart.” I rolled my eyes, walking away. “Whiny bitch.” My fists clenched at my sides, and it took everything in me to keep walking, but I didn’t have to go far as my mother met me halfway. “What was that?” I furrowed my brows at her. “He just wanted a rise out of me.” I admitted and she huffed. “Get your emotions in check. Because if you ruin our image, there will be hell to pay.”

A few days later I was on base, heading to my father’s office. I apparently couldn’t be trusted home alone so I would sit in the rec room on base to study while I waited for my father to finish his work. “Hi, daddy.” He smiled at me as I walked into his office. “Hi, sweetie.” Good mood. Safe. I walked over kissing his cheek. “How did your exam go?” I bit my lip, nervous. “I feel like I did good on it. I only had to go back to a handful of questions.” He turned to me; an eyebrow raised. “Well good.” I exhaled lightly in relief, escaping his wrath for now. “Well, you know where the rec room is. I’ll come get you when I’m done.” I nodded, hiking my backpack higher on my shoulder and making my way to the rec room, dress swishing around my thighs. I kept my head down, knowing I would attract attention. It’s always better if I don’t meet their gazes. I made it to the rec room and thankfully, it was empty. I sighed, setting my stuff down and pulling out my laptop and textbooks. I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I got to work, studying.

My phone kept buzzing and I tried to ignore it, but finally I picked it up, looking at the notification before scrolling through my Instagram feed. “Oh ho, look who we have here gentlemen.” I slammed my phone down at the voice, a reaction I’ve picked up from living with my parents. I looked up, seeing Coop walk in with a few other pilots behind him. I didn’t recognize any of them except Lieutenant Seresin, who brought up the back of the line. “And what are you studying, Kate?” I withheld my eyeroll at the nickname and ignored him, going back to jotting down notes from my textbook. “Oh, come on, honey. Don’t ignore me.” I saw him stand up out of my peripheral vision, but I never expected him to snatch my glasses right off my face. “Hey!” I yelled, standing so fast I knocked over my chair. “Arnold!” I yelled his first name, hoping it would catch his attention. “Oh, come on honey! You can’t reach even in those heels!” He teased, making me even more angry. "We're grown adults! Give me back my glasses!" I yelled, jumping to reach my glasses and praying I wasn't flashing the other pilots behind me as my dress shifted around my thighs. "You're cute when you're mad sweetheart." I whipped around to Lieutenant Seresin, and if looks could kill, he would be six feet under. "Sorry that I enjoy seeing and I can't do that without my fucking glasses!" I turned around, landing a punch to Coop's gut. "Give them back!" I yelled, snatching them as he hit the ground. "Katy Scarlett!" Fear filled me at the sound of my father's voice yelling my full name.

I froze, dropping my glasses as I saw his figure standing in the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked as Coop stood, holding his gut. “I-um-I-he-“ “Stop fucking stuttering and get your stuff and go home.” He commanded. I nodded as I grabbed my glasses, slipping them back on my face before rushing to gather my things. “NOW!” I was shaking so bad, I put what I could in my bag before gathering everything else in my arms, rushing out as tears slipped down my face. As I walked away, I could hear my father apologizing to everyone for my behavior. I made it outside, getting into my Lexus in hopes I could pull out before he met me outside, but no such luck. He came outside just as I shut my door. I rolled down my window, keeping my head down as he leaned into my car. “You go home, and you wait for me. We’re going to have a serious talk.” I nodded, mumbling a ‘yes sir’ before he stepped away. I rolled up my window, taking the long way home as I cried.

Once home my mother was waiting, I assume my dad called her. I took my stuff upstairs and sat in the dining room, waiting for my dad to get home. Once he did, he was yelling before he even came through the door. “What the hell were you thinking?! Acting that way in front of my men!” I flinched as the door slammed into the wall, hearing his feet stomp through the house. I opened my mouth to answer as he walked through the door, but stopped as he held his hand up. “I don’t fucking care! You assaulted a naval officer!” “YOU DID WHAT?!” I flinched again as my mother screamed in my ear. “He took my glasses.” I mumbled and my mother groaned. “Enough of this mumbling shit! Just speak up!” “He took my glasses! He snatched them right off my face!” I said loudly. “Well, if you would wear your contacts, that wouldn’t have happened!” I crossed my arms over my chest in frustration. “They give me a headache.” “Then take an aspirin!” I stood, turning to her. “I should be able to wear my glasses without someone taking them, and I shouldn’t have to wear contacts if they make my head hurt!” My father quickly stepped closer. My knees buckling out of fear and planting me back in the dining room chair as he bent down in my face.

“I don’t care what he did. Tomorrow, after class, you will come onto base, and you will give him a sincere apology.” My jaw dropped. “So, he gets to take my glasses, preventing me from studying and I have to apologize to him?” He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “You will, and you will do it with a smile.” I sighed. “God! Just stop the huffing and puffing! You did this to yourself! Now go upstairs and study. If you fail another test, you don’t get to come back here and cry about it. You’ll have nowhere to go.” My mother threatened, making a shiver run up my spine, knowing she was serious. I just nodded, standing and looking to my father. “Dismissed.” I bit my lip, rushing upstairs. I shut my bedroom door, tears streaming down my cheeks. I covered my mouth as I slid down the door, silencing my sobs. Why can’t I just control my emotions? I should’ve just let him keep my glasses and stayed in my chair. I took a shaky breath, wiping my cheeks clean. I stood, kicking off my heels and walking over to my fish tank. “Hey guys.” I watched as the colorful fish swam around, a few swimming up to my face as I rested my chin on the shelf the tank rested on. “You hungry?” I asked as I grabbed the container of fish food. They all rushed to the side of the tank I kept the food on, watching intensely as I sprinkled it into the tank. All five fish ate as if they were starving when in reality, I fed them this morning. I heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, knowing they were my fathers, I dove for my bag. Quickly pulling out my textbooks and rushing into my desk chair just as the door opened. “I don’t want to see you out of this room till dinner. You understand me?” I nodded as I opened my book. “Yes, sir.”

The next day I was dreading everything, including waking up. But I did, getting myself ready in an olive-green dress that was knee length with a ruffled hem and nude heels. I struggled to focus in class, not sure how I would manage to survive the ridiculous apology. I couldn’t focus, taking half-assed notes as I thought of how humiliating this was going to be. I barely managed to walk out of the building and get into my car. I could just drive off, maybe somewhere upstate, or even into Mexico. But they would just report my car stolen and I’d be right back here, more miserable than ever. I don’t remember the drive to base, or showing the guard my ID. But soon I found myself walking into my dad’s office, keeping my head down as I stood in front of his desk. “About time. You got out of class twenty minutes ago.” I pulled on my thumbs, wanting to snap that it takes me twenty-five minutes to get here from school, but I just kept my mouth shut. “Set your bag down.” I set my bag in the chair as he stood from his own. “Follow me.” I followed him out of his office and down the hall, keeping my head down as my heels clicked on the tile. He led us outside to the hangar, my heels announcing our arrival. I managed to lift my head, looking at the ginormous jet across the way. “Captain Mitchell.” I looked up to see an older man turn from his team to look at us. “Commander Blair.” Everyone jumped up, standing at attention and saluting him as we walked closer. “As you were.” Movement caught my eye, and I glanced behind everyone to see Lieutenant Seresin and the other man with the mustache walking closer.

“Lieutenant Cooper. Step forward.” I pulled on my thumbs again, my knees growing weak from nerves. Coop stepped closer, keeping a poker face as he did as my dad asked. “Katy, I think you have something to say to Lieutenant Cooper.” I felt everyone’s eyes on me from behind Coop and I looked up to my dad who just quirked a brow as if to say, ‘Get on with it.’ I took a step forward, averting my eyes from everyone behind him down to my feet. “Coop, I just wanted to say-“ “Eyes on me when you’re talking to me sweetheart.” My head snapped up, glaring at him. “Wasn’t there something you had to say to me?” He was trying to get a rise out of me again, and I wasn’t going to fall for it this time. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was wrong of me to hit you.” I said through gritted teeth. Coop poked his bottom lip out, tilting his head at me. “I don’t think you mean it.” Tears of frustration gathered in my eyes as I fought back every emotion within me. I shook my head and took a big breath before I gave him the biggest smile I could muster. “The way I acted yesterday was wrong, and I never should’ve punched you. I really hope you can forgive me.” He grinned at me, relishing this moment. “Of course, I forgive you, sweetheart.” I nodded, folding my hands in front of me. “Good, now that that is out of the way. You can go back to training, and you need to go study.” My father’s hand slammed down on my shoulder, making me jump as he did so. “Yes, sir.”

With that I went back to my dad’s office, grabbing my bag and going into the rec room to study just like I did the day before. I sat there, staring at my textbooks but not reading them. What I wouldn’t give to go back and punch Coop in his smug ugly face. God, why did I ever think he was attractive? Thinking back on it he’s really not, and he has an ugly personality to match. God, I hate him, and I can’t stand my father for making me do that. Should I have hit him? No. But did he deserve it? Hell yes. “Do you need help?” I looked up, caught off guard by the quiet voice. A blonde man with stunning blue eyes and glasses stood before me. “Oh. No, I don’t. Don’t trouble yourself with me.” I said as I turned my head back down to my books. “I’m pretty good at law. I started in the Law education program at the naval academy before changing majors.” I narrowed my eyes at him, and he gave me a small smile. “What does Amicus Curiae mean?” I bit my lip, realizing I didn’t know the answer. “On the bench?” It was more of a question than an answer. “That’s En banc. It’s Latin for ‘friend of the court’.” I nodded slowly. “I’d be more than happy to help you study.” I stared at my textbook for a minute, going over my options. I could study on my own and risk failing, which means my parents would kick me out of the house. But if he helped me, maybe I can pass and live in the house another day.

“Okay. You can help me.” He smiled at me, slipping in the chair next to me. “Your name is Katy, right?” I nodded, realizing he was there when I had to give that stupid apology. “I’m Bob.” He held out his hand for me to shake, clasping my fingers around his, I realized just how big his hands are. I was worried I would struggle to study with Bob, but he made it so easy. He taught me a few ways to remember phrases, and it’s like a whole new world opened up in front of me. “Hey! Baby on Board! What are you doing?” Our heads snapped up at the sound of Coop's voice. He seemed angry, and Lieutenant Seresin behind him didn’t look happy either. I watched as his eyes shifted from Bob to me and I immediately hung my head. “Don’t waste your time with her. Come on.” He waved him over and Bob looked to me before back to Coop. “I think I’m gonna stay here and help her study.” My head snapped up to him in surprise and he flashed me a small smile. “She’s not fucking worth it. Now, come on.” Bob opened his mouth to retort, but Lieutenant Seresin cut him off. “Don’t fucking argue, Floyd.” I closed my text book, putting it in my back. “I’ll just leave.”

“I see you’ve finally got some brains. You can finally tell when people don’t want you around.” Coop snapped and I just stood with my bag, ignoring his words. “I have to say, I can’t stand to look at her face. But God do I love watching her walk away.” I heard their laughter behind me. I just kept my head down, hiding my tears as I made my way down the hallway. Once I was a ways down the hallway, I stopped, pulling my glasses off and wiping my eyes clean. “Hey, you okay?” I turned, seeing a woman and the guy with the mustache walking up. I turned to them, leaning against the wall as I took a deep breath. “O-oh, yeah. I’m fine.” The girl smiled at me. “We just wanted to say, Coop was completely in the wrong.” She said and the guy behind her smiled. “Yeah, and it definitely wasn’t okay that Commander Blair made you apologize to him.” I offered them a small smile. “Thanks.” The girl held out her hand for me to shake. “Natasha, callsign Phoenix.” I shook the guys hand next. “Bradley, callsign Rooster.” I smiled, feeling a little better. Their smiles were infectious.

“I’m-“ “Katy Scarlett!” My fathers voice boomed down the hallway, making me stand rigid as I turned to face him. “You’re supposed to be studying.” I nodded, folding my hands in front of me. “Yes, sir. It was just getting noisy in the rec room, so I was coming to ask if I could go home and study there? I’ll probably focus better.” He stared at me for a moment before looking to Natasha and Bradley. “Was she bothering you?” My shoulders tensed as he laid a hand on them, turning me around to face them. I kept my eyes trained on my heels, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Not at all. I noticed her shoes in the hangar earlier and stopped her to ask them what brand they were. Valentino? Right?” Natasha asked as she leaned down to catch my eyes. I stared into hers, seeing something flash in them and I knew she was trying to keep me out of trouble. “Yes. They’re very comfortable.” My dad nodded, looking down at me. “Very well. Go home. I’ll be late so make sure you’re studying before dinner.” I nodded. “Yes, sir.” I said before turning and making my way out to my car. Once I was inside, I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I owe Natasha big time.” I mumbled to myself as I cranked my car.

I studied until dad came home, rushing downstairs to make sure I had the table set before he sat down. Once I did that he sat down, and mom placed his plate in front of him before we made our plates. “How was work, dear?” My mom asked, looking over at my dad. “Good. I have to be on base early in the morning. The team that Iceman put together ships out for their mission in the morning.” I listened intensely as they discussed his work. “They keep talking about how ‘someone may not make it back’. Cyclone isn’t worried about it, but Maverick is.” My mom scoffed. “Ugh. Maverick? He’s still flying? I figured he would’ve been discharged from the Navy, or more likely, dead.” My dad chuckled. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll go down on this mission.” My heart lurched into my throat at his words. How can someone have such disregard for human life? “Katy.” My head snapped up to catch my mother’s eye. “God, listen to me the first time I say your name. You need to eat more peas.” I took a deep breath. “I’m twenty-five mother. I eat every vegetable but peas.” She grabbed the spoon that sat in the bowl of peas and lifted it, slamming a huge scoop of them down on my plate. “Just fucking listen and eat them. I don’t need any remarks from you every time I say something.” I just did as she said, no energy to fight with her about it.

The texture and taste was gross, but I just have to pick my battles with her. When we were done, my parents went out onto the back deck for drinks, and I cleaned up the kitchen. I used to complain about it, but as I got older, I realized this was the only time I could guarantee they wouldn’t barge in and they would leave me alone. Once I was finished, I went back upstairs and into my room. I have spent most all of the day studying, so I opted to read a book from my shelf. I plucked Salem’s Lot from my shelf, plopping down on my bed to read it. I got 5 pages in when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart pounded in my chest, knowing they were my fathers, but they didn’t sound like angry footsteps. I sat up quickly when my door opened, my eyes widening behind my metal frames as my father stared at me. “What are you reading?” I gulped, looking down at the book in my hand. “Salem’s Lot?” It should’ve been a statement, but I was scared of the look in his eye. “You have another exam tomorrow.” I nodded, standing from my bed. “Yes, but I’ve been studying non-stop for the past week. I-I thought maybe reading something different for an hour would help me relax.” I was flipping the book from hand to hand, struggling to sit still in the tension filled room. “Just put it down and study. I’m tired of having to ride your ass about school. Just fucking study and pass your fucking tests before you force your mother and I to kick you out.” He huffed and I nodded. “Yes sir.” I put the book back before sitting down at my desk, turning on my laptop. With that he closed the door and I sighed, leaning back in my chair. While I waited for my computer to boot up, I stood, walking over to my fish tank to feed them. I watched as Splish and Splash, my twin goldfish shoved each other around trying to eat. “Guys. There’s plenty.” I dropped just a little more in the tank, giggling as the all rushed around. “Do you guys think I’d make a good lawyer?” I asked as Frankie, my angel fish turned to me, almost staring for a second before swimming off. “Yeah, I don’t think so either.” I sighed before sitting back down in my desk chair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @wkndwlff @cherrycola27 @daisydaisygoose

#hangman #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin x oc #hangman fic #hangman seresin #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun imagine #hangman top gun #undiagnosed #ADHD OC #jake seresin x neurodivergent oc

428 notes · View notes

little-reader · 1 year

Text

“The Son of A Monster” Ch. 2

Masterlist

Carl grimes x Male!Reader

Warnings; Death, blood, Slow-burn Sexual tension, Gay awakening (For both), Cursing, Negan is Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie apocalypse

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The people talked. They looked, and glared, but didn’t have the guts to say it to your face. And since you were there to watch Carl, you lived with rick. On the couch, that's the place you said you would sleep. He gave you a blanket and a pillow that night, not speaking at all.

You sighed and laid back on the pillow that was stiff and uncomfortable. You shifted. You shifted and shifted, and shifted before sighing and stung up, throwing your legs off of the couch and over. You took your shirt off and stood, cracking your neck. This is how you slept most of the time.

You walked on the porch, around this time it was cold outside, leaving your skin a breeze of chills. Sitting on the porch steps, you picked up your boot and reached inside, grabbing the pack of cigarettes. You grabbed the lighter from the other and lit the cigarette. You breathed in and closed your eyes, dropping your head and breathing out.

You hummed, looking at the sky. You sing a nursery rhyme your mother used to sing to you. She always told it to you, to get you to sleep, your panic attacks, anxiety, little things like that. Or she just sang it because she liked it... “There once was an ugly duckling…” You whispered. “With feathers so stubby and brown.” You smiled and sighed. Deciding not to finish the old song. You got up, walking barefoot around the neighborhood.

(Next)

That morning Simon picked you up to go to the hilltop. He was running the shots there now, and you were the picker. That means, you decided, not Simon. He ran the people, you ran him. You walked into the old museum and got introduced to Gregory. Your people started to spread around, as Simon put his hands on his hips.

“Hello!” Gregory said. Nodding

“Hello, your Gregory.” He stated, looking at the man.

“Guity as charged.” He said, walking to the center of the room. “Welcome to hilltop Colony.”

You huffed, looking at the place and the decorations. “Thank you,” Simon said, going up the stairs halfway and looking around. “You, uh, make yourself at home,” Gregory said.

“This isn’t a social call.” He said, coming back down the stairs. Gregory stuttered, denying what Simon said. “We need to talk.” He said with a smile. “And it's getting a little claustrophobic in here, right?” Gregory awkwardly nodded. “Let's talk in your study, I want to see that painting.” He said, looking upstairs. “Can’t remember who told me about it, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter much anymore. Don’t know if you heard what happened.” He said

“W- What happened?” You rolled your eyes, waiting patiently for him to hurry with his conversation.

“Well, those people you used to deal with. Our brothers and sisters in arms and operation, well, they’ve been removed from the field of play.” Simon said, looking around. You watched Gregory pet his white beard and look confused. Now if that wasn’t sketchy. He knew something. Your head tilted as you thought.

They both continued to talk in the study, you following behind him and the men outside the room.

You sat in the chair as Simon went about the painting and Gregory kissing his ass like it was black Friday.

You waited, as he kept talking, then stopped. “Simon, get to the point. I'm not in the mood for you blathering.” You said. Stabbing your knife on the table. “And get your feet out of my face.”

Gregory looked at you in school. “That’s a little rude for a kid.” He said, making you smile.

Simon leaned forward, moving his feet and going over to you. “Ah, you have introduced ourselves to Y/n. He’s my boss. Or well, the head boss’s, Negan's kid.” He said, watching Gregory's face drop. “He’s your Negan for now, and I’m also Negan when he’s not here.”

You stood, “Get finished here, I’m taking dan’s bike.”

“Ah, dan bike is down, we have enough room in the Negan truck, but you’ll have to ride back with us.” You huffed and left, a few men trailing behind you as they carried things around. You walked around the walls, feeling the bark and wood on your fingertips. You leaned down, watching the wind blow slightly on the flowers. You picked the purple flower from the ground and shoved it in your pocket, leaving for the truck as they called for you.

You started driving, only to get stuck all night on the road because of a walker. You snuck to the back of the truck in the middle of the night, just to sleep and pick through the boxes for something to eat. You awoke with the sound of people whispering and the truck moving. You rubbed your eyes before squinting. “Hey-” Your mouth was instantly covered by a hand, you pushed the man away, looking Carl in the eyes… eye.

“Hush!”

“Shut up!” Carl said, pointing a knife at you. You yelled in the other man's hand, shoving him off of you before grabbing your knife and trying to grab him, he turned and threw you off your feet and onto the outside ground. “Fuck!” You yelled as you watched the truck speed away.

You were fucked. You checked the trucks around the place you were dropped, one you found that worked, but barely. You made it halfway before it broke down and ran the rest of the way. By the time you got there, there were men on the floor being cleaned up, and your father “Delt” With it, bullshit.

You walked the stairs until you reached, what others called, the “Whore house”. You pushed open the door and stepped inside before looking around. “You bitch.” You said, pointing at him before stalking over to him, grabbing his collar, and ignoring your dad.

“Now, now! He is a Guest!” He said, Looking at you strangely.

“He kicked me out of your fuckin’ truck.” You said, wiping the dirt off your shirt, which was in fact ripped into shreds. “Look at this shit.” You mumbled, taking it off and throwing it at your dad.

“Go to the infirmary, get those looked at.” He said, looking over the room. “And take Iris with you.” Iris, a girl your age, was something Negan set up for you. She was your wife, and your dad insisted more but you refused, most of the girls here were either much younger or much older. Plus they weren’t your type.

“C’mon babe,” you said, heading out the door with her following closely. She hung on your arm loosely as you passed by other saviors bowing their heads at you. Like the others, she wore a black dress to show off her body, and ballet flats along with see-through stockings with small pink flowers sown into them.

You knocked on the doctor's door, coming in without a second thought. “Hey doc, I need you to check on a few of these cuts, Do you mind.” You didn’t need to ask, all you had to do was sit and wait. You looked over to Iris who was patiently waiting for you to finish and sat on the bench nearest to you. “I want you to come with me, there are nice people there, plus new friends.” You spoke up, looking her in the eye and she looked up hesitantly. “You can bring your things too, I might know someone you can stay with. Plus, you cont have to dress like that all the time. Jeans, t-shirts, button-ups, things like that.

She only nodded, looking at the doctor before looking down. You sighed as the doctor finished and sent you on your way. Well, your way down to the “Hell Fire”. It's a nickname you and a few others use. A man was strapped to the chair, you knew him, though you didn't care. Iris looks into your chest as your dad put the iron to the man's face. You rubbed her shoulders as you stared, not at the man or negan, but at carl. The grimace and slight anger in his features.

The man passed out in his chair as your dad laughed and mocked him. “Go get your things ready, there's a suitcase in my closet,” you said, she nodded and left. You walked over to Negan as he talked to Carl and a few of the men. “What are you gonna do with him?” You asked, interrupting his conversation.

“Well, I'm gonna take him home.” He said. “And you, plus, he’s your responsibility.” You looked at carl and then Negan.

“That’s bullshit.” You muttered and started to leave. Your father grabbed your sleeve.

“You don’t talk to me like that boy.” He said, shoving up back. You glared at him and left out to the trucks and helped started them while getting your motorcycle.

“Hey pal, your Wifey's coming.” Said one of the men. She came with two suitcases and a backpack.

“Hey,” You said, lifting the two cases into the trucks and sliding them back. “Your riding with me, I don’t exactly trust those men.” You said. “Nor my father.”

“Okay.” She simply stated. You helped her onto the bike and placed the helmet on her head and turned the engine on, driving out into the roads.

Chapter 3

153 notes · View notes

skinnyazn · 1 year

Text

The Masks We Wear

Ch.1 Takes place after In the Bleak Midwinter Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 1/4 Notes: they're baaack!, Jag hasn't seen bbg Ghost in over a year, she's on a new mission in Venice Italy, eventual smut but not yet

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | AO3 | MASTERLIST The water on the canal sparkled in the dying light; everything was washed in golden-orange. You breathed into the saturated scarf around your neck and watched the gondolas pass by. Lovers, lost in each other. You observed with indifference. Pulling your jacket collar up over long blonde curls, you pushed away from the railing. Less than four hours until your next mission began.

Masks of all kinds filled the streets of Venice. It was Carnevale and the evening pulsed with energy. The piazza in front of the Palazzo Ducale was crowded with locals and tourists alike—all excited for the decadent events nightfall brought. You surveyed the balcony of the palazzo; a few of the staff were hurrying between doors. A man in a golden Bauta mask stared out at the crowd below him, framed perfectly by the gothic arches. Ludovico Mezzasalma: the host of tonight’s exclusive ball. An extremely affluent man; a ruthless man with a taste for dealing in blackmarket goods.

Someone jostled into your shoulder, interrupting you from your observations.

“Mi scusa, signorina.” The Italian was heavily mangled, almost by what sounded like a Scottish accent, but the masked man was already walking away. He was intensely focused on something.

“Non si preoccupi…” You followed the back of his black and green cape until he disappeared into the crowd. It could be nothing, but you always played it cautious on missions. Perhaps you weren’t the only one after Mezzasalma tonight.

The sun was nearly set, as you deftly maneuvered the crowds on your way back to your room. It was nondescript, through a quiet alleyway and on the second floor. You tossed your blonde curls onto the bed next to an elaborate outfit and scratched your temples; your choppy, black hair stuck out at funny angles.

You studied the litter of photographs of your target and the costume he would be wearing tonight, as well as the floorpan of the palazzo. Ludovico Mezzasalma was an older man, but quite handsome—with a strong Roman nose and a head full of wavy locks, streaked with grey. His outfit was equally as beautiful: a gold and black, aristocratic suit paired with a detailed, golden mask.

Tonight’s mission was a stray from your usual contracts. No killing; just a clean snatch of intel. Mezzasalma had the locations to multiple military-grade weapon caches on his person, and was supposed to make a handoff to his buyer tonight at the ball. You were hired to intercept the flash-drive before that happened.

Your employers were kind enough to do the heavy lifting and get you on the register as Nikoleta Phan, creating a lavish backstory to match. Tonight, you would play the part of just another unprincipled bitch, with unethical thoughts and looks to kill. It was exciting though—all the layers of deceit. Sure, you’d always had aliases for previous jobs, but never had to act in such an intimate role. All that was left for you to do was get the Italian alone and secure the data. Should be easy.

You had a list of potential ways to acquire the drive; all, of course, were up-close and personal. Admittedly, you felt exposed without the length of your sniper between you and the target. But maybe you'd chosen something outside your comfort zone because for the past year, you’d been trying to fill the vacancy left inside of you since Ghost departed San Francisco.

The three days you shared together made you a confused mess. You hardly departed the apartment as you fucked each other on every square inch of the place. It felt so right. He felt so right. Just two damaged pieces fitting together seamlessly. And Simon “Ghost” Riley filled you in ways you didn’t even know you needed to be filled. When he had you on the kitchen counter, or you had him on your living room floor.

That’s right, luv, he exhaled shakily, take what you need from me. You bit and clawed and dug as you rode him into oblivion.

You wanted to fuse with him. Become something more intense than a supernova. His touches burned across your skin—when he left, he starved the fever he started inside you.

But then you sabotaged it—that delicate arrangement that you had. He asked you to join the 141. You gave an excuse. He wrote to you—sent little gifts occasionally, but you never replied. Blamed it on the lack of return address, or that you were too busy, even though you could have easily found his information yourself. Hell, you could have even called up Price; you had his number. Was thinking of you… The letters started to dwindle over the months. I’m sure you’re away on a mission… Until finally they stopped completely. Then the new year rolled around, and now you actually were busy. With this mission. Happy endings were never in the cards for people in your line of work.

You looked at the all-black Jaguar watch on your wrist—one of his gifts. Its leather band still smelled like him all these months later.

Two hours remaining.

You let out a long exhale. Focus.

Getting dressed was a production, from the decadent crimson costume to the curly auburn wig and lavish makeup, but you had to look the part. The ball was an invitation of a breadth of opulence throughout Europe and Asia—most of whom made their money with unclean hands. Miss Phan had to be short of perfect. Your fingers fumbled with the laces of the corset.

By the time you finished, your entire body was covered in splendor. Head-to-toe, adorned with dripping silks and emerald accents; your toned neckline and cleavage sparkled on display; your scars obscured by a few layers of foundation. There were plenty of hidden pockets throughout the costume too. You filled them with various substances for the mission. Tucking a small knife into the side of your boot, you covered it with your billowy pant leg. All that was left was the mask. It was a velvet, black Moretta mask, secured behind the head by a simple ribbon. The rim fell just below your nose, exposing your full scarlet lips but obscuring the rest of your facial features. Hopefully it would grab Mezzasalma’s attention—him being a man fond of the classics.

All your other possessions in the room were packed in a small duffle and stashed under the bed. You gave yourself one last glance-over in the mirror, then exited. The ancient door stuttered on your way out.

_______ For those who asked to be tagged on In the Bleak Midwinter! Let me know if you want to be untagged for this story at all.

@deadbranch @k4marina @embers-of-alluring @shuttlelauncher81 @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @tomhardy41

#my fic #my fics #my writing #Simon ghost riley #Simon ghost Riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x f!reader #cod ghost #cod fic #mw2 fic #ghost #ghost mw2 #oc #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x jaguar

72 notes · View notes

peanutslore · 9 months

Text

Theodore Sallow

Father of Sebastian Sallow and Anne Sallow

Eventual Husband of Helena Haggerty

Theodore Sallow was born in December 17, 1852. He is a prefect in Slytherin house, and though he hates being a prefect and feels his is bad at it (he kinda is), he is often the voice of reason. He can be unreasonable, however, when his friends are threatened. He comes from a long line of pureblood Aurors (the Sallow family), and it is an expectation that he will follow in the footsteps of his predecessors.

House: Slytherin, and because of issues with his father, it’s a large part of his identity

Personality: Hyper-responsible, overprotective, affectionate, charming, devious, hypocritical at times, charismatic on steroids

Likes: Studying, mentoring, teaching lessons (ssshh), Helena’s laugh, mediating, chocolate, those apple tarts Helena likes (mostly tasting them on her tongue), his sister Anne (Annie) Sallow, Quidditch

Dislikes: Being a prefect, blood politics, bullies, patrols, giving detentions, his brother Solomon, his father Simon Sallow

Interests: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Quidditch (plays as a beater), Potions, Arithmancy

Friends: Arthur Greengrass, Hardwin Potter, Basil Zabini

Enemies: Titus Flint, Ursula Flint, Delilah Parkinson, Agatha Nott, Phineas Black

Patronus: Golden Eagle

Wand: 13.5”, Blackthorn, Phoenix Feather (Solid)

This story is Rated E for explicit. Minors DNI.

#Daddy sallow #sebastian sallow #slytherclaw #slytherin #hogwarts legacy #ai image

15 notes · View notes

bloodyknucklesforme · 8 months

Text

Carnal Ch X | If Fear is in the Mind, Then My Mind Lives in Fear

Carnal(adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Simon was born with what his father called 'The Curse'. A wanton craving for taboo meat. Since meeting the similarly cursed Johnny, the two had formed a bond. They didn't just fight together, they ate together, slept together, and shared everything.

When a favor to Price reveals another cursed person, Simon worries she could destroy everything.

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, gore, suicidal thoughts/ideation

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Turn to Dust - Wolf Alice

They didn’t let Johnny talk much. Sleep, drink fluids, sleep more. Nina had gulped down tears for hours, taking her anxiety out by stroking Johnny’s hair till he fell back asleep. Simon stood watch over both of them. His shadow traveling the wall as the day went on.

She didn’t like him. Mask without the mask was just a man. A big foreboding one but still just a man. She recognized him by smell when he first ran in the night before. Warm cedar that was now proliferating throughout her house. She didn’t find him a comforting presence but he was a sturdy one.

“Simon?” She said finally.

He raised an eyebrow at her, not surprised that she knew his name, surprised that she’d said it all.

They stared at each other. She took a moment to really look at him. He was handsome with seemingly permanent frown lines on his forehead and a crooked nose. Brown eyes like her’s. He studied her.

“Nina.” He said finally like he was admitting a loss. He didn’t seem to like her either.

“You stay with him, Simon. I’m going to clean up downstairs.” Nina stood up and flattened out her skirt. She kept as far from him as possible as she walked out.

The blood had seeped through the floorboards. She went into the basement and it had dripped all the way down there. She got hot water and vinegar and scrubbed the floor. She scrubbed till her nails chipped and broke. Her fingers pruned and the skin on her knuckles cracked. She bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying. It didn’t help that it still smelled like Johnny. Her hands smelled like him. He was awake but that could change. They weren’t doctors.

Sweat dripped off her forehead. Her nails and dress were stained red. She’d have to get a rug for the foyer.

Then there was the trail of blood from Johnny’s car to the kitchen from when Simon dragged the body through. The body that was still sitting on the butcher block in the kitchen. She grabbed an old sheet and laid it on the ground next to the block. She was glad he wasn’t heavy. She pushed him off the block. It hit the ground with a large thud.

“Nina?” Simon called from upstairs.

“I’m okay!” She didn’t want him to come downstairs. She wanted to be alone for a moment. Time to think. Time to swallow the fear. Johnny and her had only spent a couple weeks together, less than three months worth. She didn’t know how long he and Simon’s relationship went back.

Simon had come to reclaim his lover. He was the one who saved Johnny’s life. All she did was cry as he bled out on her floor. Johnny would get better and become aware of her incompetence. They’d both leave. She’d be left with nothing but a blood stain under the carpet.

She tied the bottom of the sheet together to stop the body from slipping out. She took the top and dragged it behind her back out the back door. She left it on the patio as she grabbed her wellies.

The ground was still wet from rain the previous day. The path to the old stable seemed longer than usual. The white sheet was soaked till it was translucent and it clung to the dead body. She just had to get it out of the house. Get it away from Johnny like it could still hurt him in death. Some animals are still venomous after death.

It was starting to smell. She tried not to look at it. It didn’t even have a face anymore. Simon did that. Violence for violence sake. He blamed it for Johnny’s injuries. Would he blame her too? She doubled over and threw up in the grass.

She couldn’t recall the last time she actually went into the stables. Her mum supposedly rode horses before she became pregnant. It always looked abandoned for longer than that. The door latch was rusted shut. She used both hands to try and free it but it was stuck.

She let out a soft cry and laid her head against the door. She left the body and walked around the building. There was a broken window near the back. It was just short enough for her to reach. She used a stick to clear out the rest of the glass and hoisted herself up. The floor was lower on the inside than outside. She was stuck on her stomach, hanging half in and half out. Her feet were weighed down with mud. She stretched, tipping over, her dress fell down to her hips.

She fell forward, landing hard on her shoulder. Broken glass and dirty rocks cut into her arms and legs. Her dress was ruined. Her mother’s dress. It had stopped smelling like her years ago but it never stopped her from crawling into the closet and holding it against her face.

Nina laid on the floor, dirt sticking to her cheek, old hay sticking in her hair. She was sobbing. Sobbing so hard her body shook. Snot ran down her face, bubbling up at her nose and her lips. She held Johnny’s sweater up to her face and breathed in deeply. Rosemary, mildew and blood. She was cold and wet and blood ran down her arms and legs.

She forced herself up, wincing as wounds stretched open with her limbs. She limped towards the tack room. She needed something to force the door open.

It was near empty, no saddles, no bridles or anything else you would use on a horse. Except an old coil of rope.

“You don’t have to stay here.” Price said on the ride back from the funeral. “You can live with me for a while.”

“It’s my home.” She said softly, her head against the window.

“It doesn’t have to be forever. You are one of the lucky few who can actually go out and see the world. I can take leave and go with you if you want. You don’t have to be alone all the time.” He squeezed her shoulder.

The house and all its grounds was the world she knew. Everything else might as well be as fantastical as any book. She was safe there. She was fine being the town pariah, the weird rich girl who was never right in the head after the “accident”.

The only times she’d left in the past decade was to go hunting with Price or be dragged to various doctor’s appointments. A full DSM of diagnoses and files upon files of Doctors calling each other idiots for not understanding what was really wrong with her.

Maybe she should kill herself? It seemed like a benign ending compared to anything else. There was the creek, she could wait till a large storm and drown herself. Like Ophelia or Virginia.

She had thought about shooting herself but Price didn’t deserve to clean that up as well. It’d have to be neat, not too painful, easily found so she wouldn’t rot for too long. She could hang herself right here in the stable. A great great uncle or other had done it after the First World War. She gave up on the idea after meeting Arthur.

A day trip to visit Price after years of pleas. The start of something better. That’s what Price smiled about when she told him she met a nice boy. He’d seemed nice at the time. Before the belittling and the shouting. She grew more afraid of being alone than of any of his rages.

If they left, she’d do it. If her own kind didn’t want her what was the point?

She picked up the rope, it was old and frayed. It wouldn’t be able to hold anything. She wanted to scream. Her head hurt, her shoulder hurt, her arms and legs hurt. She was hungry again but they already ate through their supply and there was the smell of death everywhere.

She just had to get the body inside. She found an old machete and walked back over to the door. Hopefully she could shimmy it in and force it open.

She leaned against it and tried to find the crack in the dim light. She heard the sound of metal scraping against itself and the door slid open. She wasn’t quick enough and fell flat on her face onto the stone floor.

Maybe it’d come back to life to punish her. She wouldn’t have to kill herself at all. The sunlight blinded her as she scrambled to grab the machete.

“Bloody hell, Nina,” Simon sighed. She used her good hand to push herself up and out of his way. She clutched the blade to her chest, all the fear that had been building up since she heard the car horn last night broke out in great sobs and shakes. He’d come out here to kill her. He’d break her face away like the body. He’d eat her. She’d cease to exist in any form. Only in a picture in Price’s flat.

She backed against the wall. The body with no face. “If he dies we eat him.” She wouldn’t have to kill herself at all. Simon would do it. She could only hope he’d kill her before he started tearing her apart. He was walking towards her.

“Get away!” She yelled, swinging the blade at him.

“Nina.” He took another step and she swung again. It was a struggle. He threw his weight at her, pinning her against the wall. A hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezed till she dropped the machete. She was screaming, begging, kicking, gnashing her teeth. He was yelling at her. “Nina! Nina, stop!”

He forced her onto the ground, pinning her arms above her head and her legs between his knees.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Nina. I need you to stop struggling.” He growled. Her hyperventilating began to slow and regulate back to normal. She was still crying, as pathetic as it made her feel. “Do you have any other weapons?”

She shook her head. He released her and held up his hands as he stood up.

“You’ve been out here for an hour. Johnny was worried.”

Anyone besides Price being worried about her was a new experience and his worry was rarely verbalized.

“I couldn’t get the door open. Went through the window.” She pointed.

“I could smell you bleeding from the house. You cut yourself?”

She nodded again and showed off her arms and legs. He sighed, a mix of irritation and pity on his face.

“Can you walk?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest. She didn’t like how he was looking down at her. He always made her feel like prey.

She stood up and stumbled.

“Fuckin…” He caught her elbows and steadied her then released her quickly. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

“We need to get the body inside.” She said, wobbling past him.

“I got it.” He grabbed the sheet and pulled it in with ease. She unlocked a stable and he dragged it in. “I’ll get rid of it properly in a couple days.”

He had her walk ahead of him on the way back. He watched as she took off her boots. Her fingers were sticky with blood again. The smell invaded her head. Johnny’s blood, her blood, the body, Arthur, her father. The whole house was rotting from the inside out.

She shoved past Simon to run outside and throw up again in a bush. She was pathetic. She’d lied to herself about this house being anything but a cage. She didn’t know how to live without it. They did though.

It’s why they’d leave. She’d go back to haunting her own halls. Spending days in bed, wasting away on the couch or in the tub. She was an idiot for thinking she could care for anyone when she could barely care for herself.

“It gets easier.” Simon’s voice was the softest she’d ever heard. “Seeing death.”

“I’ve seen death.” She snapped, a string of saliva still dangling from her lip.

He huffs and holds the door open for her to come back inside. She caught herself in the foyer mirror. Wet, dirty and bloodied. An animal. Do animals feel regret? When they get eaten after leaving the safety of their den? When the teeth dig into their side what goes through their mind besides fear?

“Go wait in the bathroom,” Simon said.

Nina opened her mouth to argue but Simon was already walking away.

“Your wounds need dressing.” He said over his shoulder.

She didn’t need to follow his orders. She still did. It might allow her to cling to Johnny for a bit longer, keeping on Simon’s good side.

Nina shrugged the sweater off and dropped it in the hamper in the corner. She turned on the tub faucet and sat on the edge to wash the dirt and blood off her legs. She whimpered as each little cut stung. She grabbed a washcloth and began to scrub her legs.

An arm shot out from behind her and ripped the cloth from her hand.

“You’ll push the glass in deeper,” Simon said. He was too silent in a house this old. He already haunted the place better than her. “Spin around, let me look at you.”

She swung her legs to the outside of the tub, dripping pink water on the bath mat. Simon knelt in front of her and hovered a hand underneath her calf, he looked at her for permission. She nodded.

He had a firm grip on her as he used tweezers to pull out any broken glass and stray rocks. She white knuckled the tub the whole time. He did both her legs and poured more disinfectant on them.

She cried out in pain and he lurched forward to catch her from falling backwards. His hand was warm against her back. She still felt cold. His smell was warm, his skin was warm.

He did her arms next. He had a dish he collected all the pieces in. He used plastic bandages for whatever he could.

“I’m going to go out tonight. Get us medicine, bandages, more disinfectant and food.”

“I can go with you,” she offered. She wanted to be useful. She wanted him to like her. It was childish.

“No.” He said, washing his hands off in the sink. The softness was gone. He towered over her as he spoke, proving his rank. “Stay with Johnny. Where’s your phone? I’ll give you my number. You call me if anything changes with him, understand?”

She went to her room and grabbed her phone.

Fuck

Ten missed calls from Price, a countless amount of texts as well. She grabbed Johnny’s phone. Missed calls and texts as well, all with increasing urgency.

The last text to either of them

“I’m coming over”

Fuck

“Simon!” She called down the hallway.

“What is it?” He called back. She didn’t get to answer. There was the sound of gravel crackling as Price pulled into the drive.

“Nina!” He yelled. She looked out the window.

He had a rifle in his arms.

“Nina, come out here! Now!”

“Wait here,” Simon said.

“Don’t hurt him,” She pleaded, catching his arm on the stairs. “Please. Please don’t.”

“I won’t.” He shrugged her hand off easily. “Go stay with Johnny. I’ll be back.”

Damn, look at me. Two chapters in a week. I'm back baby! Next chapter is gonna be a short little Price POV 💖

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness

Comment or DM me if you want to be added 🥀

#Carnal #simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #modern warfare II #modern warfare #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #john soap mactavish #John soap mactavish x oc #soapghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap

19 notes · View notes

whispermask · 1 year

Text

gasoline in your heart ch.8/10 | soap/ghost/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ next | ch wc: 5.4k, total 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview: It’s the bizarre reality of seeing a coworker outside of the office, stripped of their usual pomp and ferocity. König’s comfortable in his skin, something Simon can’t say is true of himself off the field. He has an awkwardness that Simon supposes one could call charming, says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ too much to the server as she deposits steaming plates of food on their table. He even catches a wayward condiment bottle before it can hit the ground after he knocks it from the server’s tray.

The morning of New Year’s Eve, Simon rises early. He’s up long before the sun, with Soap still snoring softly in bed curled around where Simon had been sleeping. He finds his cigarettes and lighter, dons a pair of sweats, and descends the staircase.

A crittall window behind Soap’s studio cracks open enough for him to smoke out of. As he stands there, shoulder leaned against the cold metal frame and gooseflesh rising in the morning chill, he studies the covered easels. He wouldn’t dare look without Soap’s permission, but the temptation is there.

“Simon?” Soap mutters. Simon sees him taking the last stair on to the first level in one of the shirts he packed and soft sleep shorts.

They had crawled right back into bed after Soap had shaved his beard, taking turns bringing each other off, a new way each time. Once with two of Soap’s fingers buried in Simon’s ass, crooking just so while he sucked his cock, swallowing around the length of him and looking up at Simon through his lashes. Another time with Soap rubbing off against his chest, gripping his left pec while he worked his cock against the right, coming all over both in long stripes.

Simon’s favorite time; Soap had asked if he could take pictures while he was bollocks-deep in Simon’s ass, Simon had consented on the condition his face be left out, felt a thrill of possessiveness when he heard the camera shutter behind him. On his hands and knees, the soiled sheets gripped tight in his fists, he had arched into Soap’s thrusts, trying to catalog the feeling of Soap inside of him, just as eager to hoard these moments.

When they had been able to tear themselves apart, Soap suggested a shower that devolved into wet grinding half-way through. Simon had hurried Soap back up the stairs, had laid him out on the bed and slid inside him so slowly, had Soap begging around the head of his cock alone. By the time Simon was pressed inside him as deep as he could go, Soap’s eyes were brimming with tears. Simon had kissed them away, and fucked Soap like they had all the time in the world. Held Soap’s jaw in place with one hand to force him to hold eye contact while he used his other hand to stroke him off between their stomachs. His own orgasm had been more of an afterthought, so transfixed at how easily Soap came apart under him. He’d kissed Soap when he felt him begin to come, gentled him through his fifth orgasm in the last twenty-four hours, which was barely more than a splatter of jizz across his navel while he clenched down on Simon.

The hours blurred into a litany of more and more and more because it would never be enough. Azerbaijan loomed before them, Simon would take what he could get, already devastated by the thought of never touching Soap again, for one reason or another. He’d fallen asleep with Soap spooned up behind him, had no sense of around what time he slipped off, so lost in the hazy cloud of endorphins and a smug sense of satisfaction he could feel down to his toes.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Simon says. He ashes the cigarette on the outside of the window, pinches out the tobacco and tosses it into a nearby rubbish bin.

“I want one,” Soap says with a pout as he reaches for the pack.

“Not on your life,” Simon says, holding them just out of reach to grab Soap’s wrist and pull him in for a kiss instead.

A low moan starts in Soap’s chest, but cuts off when he tries to mumble something against Simon’s lips.

“We’ve gotta,” Soap says and points a thumb over his shoulder. “The airport.’

“Right,” Simon says.

“Happy birthday,” König says as he opens the passenger door. He’s scruffy and bespectacled, so unlike the clean shaven, family-friendly version Simon had met him as in London.

“No,” Simon says, and reaches to pull the door shut. König blocks him with ease, slides his backpack off his shoulder and slips into the seat, closing the door before Simon can dump him and drive off.

“What? It’s your birthday?” Soap asks, leaning forward between the front seats to look between Simon and König.

Simon pulls away from the curb into the line of traffic under the breezeway. Soap had rented a car–a little black jag–as it became a necessity to accommodate the three of them. Simon had pilfered the keys off of Soap as soon as they had left the rental office on their way to the airport.

“A resounding no,” Simon says as he drives, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Lt.,” Soap whines, sounding anguished. “You need to tell me if it’s your birthday or not right now.”

“It’s tomorrow, actually,” König says as he pushes his clear-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s pulled his hair back into a short ponytail, the tuft of it jutting from the crown of his head and revealing shaved sides, emphasizing the angle of his cheekbones and sharp jaw.

“I’m not doing this,” Simon says as he turns the wheel to merge onto the motorway, heading in the direction of Soap’s flat.

“You’re a Neerday babe?” Soap’s voice has gone high and excited.

“If that means I was born on New Year’s fucking Day, then yes. Unfortunately.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!” Soap says.

“Could barely stand to keep the secret in,” Simon deadpans.

“How’d you even know?” Soap asks König, placing his hands on König’s shoulders as he hooks his chin over the seat, so that their cheeks are almost touching.

“I have my ways,” König says, side-eying Simon.

“He knows because we were both in Argentina during my birthday three years ago.”

“Was that–?” Soap starts.

“The time with the Nazis? One of them, ja,” König says.

“Laswell let slip that I was turning ‘the big four-oh.’ König thought it would be a right fucking laugh to throw an over the hill party.”

“And I was right,” König says. He sways into Soap’s touch with a small smile, knocking their heads together.

“You don’t have to be a smug bastard about it,” Simon says. “I wasn’t laughing. It was you and–”

“Anderson,” König says, expression darkening. “Au weia.”

“Indeed.” Simon clenches the wheel, knuckles white at the memory of Argentina, and Anderson.

“Why indeed?” Soap asks.

“Anderson was a snake,” Simon says, an edge in his voice. “Working for the enemy.”

“Tried to kill me,” König says, and pulls his jumper out from the waistband of his pants, lifting it to reveal two three-inch scars below his navel. “Geist,” König says with a shrug towards Simon, “was the one to shoot him off me.”

“That’s what these are from?” Soap asks, and moves so that he’s resting an elbow on the center console to run his fingertips over the raised lines.

Simon sees them out of the corner of his eye, can’t help but to glance at where Soap is touching König. Of course Soap has seen the scars before. He looks up to see König watching him from behind his glasses with an unreadable expression, always so observant. Simon jerks his gaze back to the road.

“What’s the plan for New Year’s?” König asks after a beat as Soap withdraws his hand.

“Well,” Soap says. “We could go to my local pub, get pissed, have ourselves a classic Hogmanay ceilidh with the good folk of Leith.”

“Or?” König asks, because he knows Soap well, Simon realizes. He’s beginning to see their years together the longer he’s around them.

“Or, my mate is throwing a party at his place.”

“A big crowd?” König asks, his tone hesitant.

“A little more intimate, maybe fifteen-twenty guests at most. Plus, I promise not to leave you alone if I can help it.”

“I could do that. In Edinburgh?”

“Aye, and it’ll be Gatsby themed.”

“Gatz-bee,” König says, unfamiliar. “Is that–?”

“Like the book The Great Gatsby. Means the roaring twenties,” Simon says.

“Bootlegging gangsters, flapper girls, art deco, hedonistic jazz, the full monty,” Soap adds.

“A very idealized version of the nineteen-twenties,” Simon amends

“I rest my case: Gatsby themed,” Soap says.

“Krass!” König says.

“It’s very American,” Simon comments.

“To be clear, we don’t have to go,” Soap says, and places a placating hand on Simon’s shoulder.

“I think it could be fun,” König says.

“But if not all of us want to go, then none of us goes.”

“You two could–” Simon starts.

“Bist du deppert? ” König interrupts. “Johnny’s right, we should do something together.”

Simon glances over to see Soap’s imploring eyes and König’s cool regard. Conspirators, Simon thinks.

“Fine,” he concedes, eyes back on the road. “We can go to the party.”

Soap whoops and claps him on the shoulder.

“Easy, Johnny. ‘M driving,” Simon grumbles, though he can feel a smile tug at his lips, happy to make Soap happy.

König says, “But what will we wear?”

Simon drives them back to the studio so König can drop off his backpack and take a shower to wash off the airport. Simon tries not to think too hard about how he and Soap had defiled the bathroom not even forty-eight hours ago. As he sits at the kitchen island, he realizes that König and Soap have probably fucked in that shower before, maybe many times. It doesn’t hold a candle to his one-point-five.

The thought brings back a memory of Soap’s hands on König’s shoulder in the car, how he had touched the scars on König’s stomach, König’s steady gaze watching Simon’s reaction. Had König been gloating? The niggling feeling in his chest drops to sit heavy in his stomach, making bile rise in his throat.

“You okay?” Soap asks, glancing over at him from where he’s seated on the sofa sketching idly in a notebook Simon’s never seen before.

“Hm,” Simon replies, neither here nor there. He craves his balaclava, feeling suddenly naked without his beard. He settles for a black beanie and cloth mask he finds in his duffel, pulls both on before checking the pocket of his jeans for his smokes and a lighter.

“I’m going to make a call,” he says, already grabbing his jacket and phone from the entryway.

“Okay, but–” Soap starts, but Simon cuts him off when the front door closes behind him. He takes the stairs to the ground floor two at a time, rounds the building façade and finds a concrete wall to sit on. The temperature while bone-chilling is not nearly cold enough for snow yet. The wind cuts through his clothes all the same as he pulls his mask down and fishes his cigarette carton out of his pocket.

Bam picks up on the third ring.

“Hello Simon, dear,” she says, singsong.

“Bam, what am I doing?” he asks by way of greeting, pulling on his cigarette.

“I ‘unno you big lounce, i’ve been waiting for you to ring so you could tell me!” Bam answers.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Simon says.

“With Soap? Of course you should be, love, he invited you.”

“But he has…someone else. A boyfriend.”

“Surely Soap’s not cheating?”

“No, no. He, we, know about each other. He’s here for New Year’s.” And at Simon’s behest no less. His efforts had been earnest, a desire to please Soap. He’s still figuring out what Soap wants from him, if he’s even capable of giving it.

“Oh, Si,” Bam says, voice gone soft.

Simon sighs a plume of acrid smoke. “It’s a monumentally bad idea, I am aware.”

“Not necessarily,” Bam offers. “If you’re happy–”

“I don’t know what I am,” he says.

“Let me finish,” Bam chastises. “If you’re happy, then the rest is just noise.”

“I can’t ignore the noise, though,” he says, meaning König.

“What’s this boyfriend like? Real possessive type?”

“Not at all,” Simon admits. “If anything, that’s been my M.O.” He longs to rewind the clock, go back to when he first touched down in Scotland, wants to cash in on those hours alone with Soap in his bed all over again.

“Is he fit?”

“Barbara,” Simon says, not quite a warning.

“Since I’ve known you, you’ve rarely let yourself be happy,” she says, unexpectedly serious. “You’re like a clenched fist. What if I told you, you don’t have to be?”

“I’d say you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies.

“That was redundant, you arse,” Bam replies. “There’s so many ways to love and be loved in this life. We’d be fools to go without because we only ever expect to get hurt by all of it.”

Simon is quiet, considering. Then, “I want to try. I am trying.”

“That’s the best any of us can do,” she says. “Now, tell me about your New Year’s Eve plans.”

After he ends the call with Bam, Simon returns to the studio, mask up, to find König and Soap whispering at the kitchen island. They stop when they hear the front door, but Simon knows they were talking about him.

“Hey,” Soap says, casual. “I was thinking after we grab breakfast, we should do some sightseeing. When’s the last time you were in Edinburgh?”

“It’s been ages,” Simon says, entering the kitchen to stand at the head of the island, Soap and König on either side of him. “Not since I was a much younger man.”

“Alright,” Soap says. “Let’s head out.”

Simon drives as Soap directs him to a nearby cafe. Once seated, he makes himself as small as possible, and observes Soap and König together.

They’ve chosen to sit shoulder to shoulder across from him, heads bent together to watch a video on Soap’s phone. Simon studies the slouch of König’s shoulders, and can feel where his knees are pressed against the underside of the table. At this height, he’s easier to pick apart.

Simone finds fault in the length of his neck, the width of his nose, the severity of his angular face, the shake of his left hand as he brings the mug of tea to his lips, the sardonic pout of his lips, even the subtle gap between his front teeth.

But at this distance, he starts to understand how Soap could be interested in someone like König, an aesthetic appeal he hadn’t previously acknowledged to himself in as many words. König laughs without self-consciousness, smiles like it’s an unlimited currency. His hands are elegant, long-fingered and strong, piano player’s hands. His gaze is steady and sure when he does meet your eyes, and the intensity there is difficult to look at for too long, even behind the glasses. Gone is the towering yet somehow still unassuming operative behind the dark veil, and what’s left is disarmingly pretty but no less deadly.

It’s the bizarre reality of seeing a coworker outside of the office, stripped of their usual pomp and ferocity. König’s comfortable in his skin, something Simon can’t say is true of himself off the field. He has an awkwardness that Simon supposes one could call charming, says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ too much to the server as she deposits steaming plates of food on their table. He even catches a wayward condiment bottle before it can hit the ground after he knocks it from the server’s tray.

As König is placing the bottle upright on the table, he catches Simon watching him and winks. Simon looks away, pulls his mask off so he can have something to do with his hands while he feigns ignorance at being caught.

They eat quickly, Soap and Simon both ravenous from the previous day’s activities, the last meal they’d shared being some stale crackers Soap had scavenged from the kitchen cupboard. As the server is coming to clear the table, Simon pulls the mask back on. Across from him, Soap’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to check the notification.

“Maisie says our costumes are ready,” Soap says, and turns his phone so Simon and König can read a text that says “Come and get ‘em, boyo.”

“Who’s Maisie?” König asks, and Simon feels a small victory at König being as out of the loop as he is for once.

“Childhood friend from Glasgow first, costume designer at Edinburgh Playhouse second. They just wrapped on The Wild Party and I’m cashing in on a favor,” Soap says, pocketing his phone.

“This all seems very, what’s the word,” König says. “Auspicious.”

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, you’re wrong,” Soap replies.

“I’m only implying that it seems very convenient, schatz,” König says, and puts a hand on the nape of Soap’s neck, right over a bruise that Simon had sucked into Soap’s skin, now an angry shade of purple. Simon’s hackles rise.

Soap senses the tension, glancing between König and Simon. But König doesn’t move his hand. Instead he adjusts his grip to hold Soap’s neck more firmly as he moves in closer, not taking his eyes off of Simon. Under the table, Simon feels a foot slide against his, the angle all wrong for it to be Soap’s.

The server returns with the cheque, unaware of the scene she’s just disturbed. Simon reaches for his wallet at the same time König does. The foot against his pulls away, returns a moment later, this time resting on top of Simon’s boot.

“Bitte, allow me,” König says, and presses down on Simon’s toes.

Simon’s hand stills, returns to rest palm-down on the table. He can feel Soap’s eyes on him, assessing the threat level. König finds his wallet, flips it open on the table to recover his credit card which he drops on the table next to the cheque.

He hasn’t spoken a single word to either of them since they arrived at the cafe.

On the drive to the Playhouse, Soap sits in the passenger seat, placing his hand above Simon’s knee like penance as he provides directions, voice low. König is sprawled in the backseat with his feet up to accommodate his height.

Simon grunts his replies if he can, keeps it curt if not. He’s afraid the tight lid he’s keeping on his temper might come unscrewed if he says too much. He can tell Soap knows he’s not in his element, and is trying to give him some attention to pacify his discomfort, but the coddling feels too much like pity which sets his teeth even more on edge.

Soap directs him behind the Playhouse when they reach the parking lot, and has him pull up in front of a nondescript door.

“I’ll be right back,” Soap says, holding eye contact with Simon, a silent plea not to shed any blood in his absence. He exits the car and pulls the door to the building open, disappearing inside.

Without missing a beat, König says, “Du gehst mir auf den Keks.”

“English, König,” Simon snaps.

“I said, “you’re getting on my nerves’,” König responds, looking up from his phone to stare at Simon in the rearview mirror, his glasses flashing and eyes obscured.

“Why’s that?”

“If you don’t mind me saying Lieutenant, you’re behaving like a gschissana.”

“What did I just say?” Simon asks. He’s being petulant on purpose.

“You invited me,” König replies. “I don’t understand why you act like I’ve intruded on your weekend.”

“I haven’t said a damn word.” Simon keeps his tone even, betraying nothing.

“Exactly,” König retorts.

Simon looks away first. König doesn’t press him.

Soap emerges from the Playhouse, carrying three opaque garment bags. He indicates for Simon to pop the boot with his free hand, walks around to the back of the car presumably to store said garment bags before slamming the trunk closed and joining them in the car.

“Maisie says hi,” Soap says as he does up his seatbelt.

“Hi Maise,” König replies, looking back at his phone, the picture of indifference. Simon says nothing.

“Alright lads, let’s go see some sights,” Soap says, recovering quickly. Simon puts the car in drive.

His bad mood persists.

Soap takes them to the Royal Mile, where they wander the shops and museums without purpose for a handful of hours. Soap suggests they stop for coffee at the cafe outside of the National Gallery, and Simon’s glad for the change, feeling out of place among the art with König and Soap walking ahead of him, their fingertips brushing. Simon thinks they look nice together, that Soap deserves to be with someone beautiful like König, that König could find a marble podium to stand on and be mistaken for Michelangelo’s David.

Soap keeps glancing over his shoulder at Simon, seeming to be unsure of whether or not to give him his space. He’s tried to bring Simon into the conversation, but Simon has rebuffed him each time. As they’re passing in front of a Rembrandt on their way towards the exit, Soap pulls Simon aside without warning and asks him, “What am I doing wrong?”

“It’s not you,” Simon reassures him. From where they’re standing, he can see König chatting with a young woman in excited German, but is sure König is aware of them. Knowing they’re being surveilled makes him want to touch Soap, cup his face and pull down his mask to lean in for a kiss. He’s never been overly performative with his affections, especially in public, but being around König brings out a side of him that rarely sees the light of day anymore, and it’s stretching its legs for the first time in years.

Soap rests his head on Simon’s chest, falling into him. “What can I do to make it better?” he asks, sounding exhausted.

Simon grabs his shoulders to move him back a step, finding Soap’s eyes. “Johnny, it’s not you,” he promises.

“Is it him?” Soap asks.

“Negative. I asked him here, I’m dealing with it,” Simon answers.

“I want you to have a nice time, too,” Soap says, voice soft on a whine.

“Then stop acting like you’re not with him in front of me. It’s making me uncomfortable,” he says, vitriolic.

“That’s what’s making you uncomfortable?” Soap exclaims.

“I’ve seen you two shag, if you want to hold his hand you should. I won’t be scandalized.”

Soap’s lips press into a thin line and a frown creases his brow. Simon knows he’s being harsh, but it’s annoying how Soap is trying to pretend like they’re just three normal blokes, friends even. He wants Soap to stop dancing around it, thinks maybe if he sees them together on his terms he can get over it faster.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, putting even more space between himself and Soap, resolute in his assertion. Soap’s jaw clenches at that, the expression on his face unreadable, eyes gone stormy. He turns on his heel and marches up to König who stands alone on his phone facing away from them, the young woman having returned to her own group. Soap grabs the wrist not holding his phone and spins König to face him. He reaches up to hook both arms around König’s neck and drag him down into a searing kiss, rising up on his toes to close the gap while König catches up.

König recovers quickly. His arms come up to hold Soap’s waist as he deepens the kiss, angling his chin and turning it into something filthy and performative, closing his eyes as he gives himself over to it. Simon even sees a flash of tongue.

Soap pulls away first and whirls around to glare at Simon, as if to say ‘is this what you wanted?’ before storming off into the next gallery room. Simon expects König to follow, but König surprises him again when he ambles over to Simon, sardonic smile like a knife in Simon’s chest.

“That was weird,” König says.

“I upset him,” Simon says, half-deflated at Soap’s reaction.

“What did you say to him?” König asks. Simon’s getting tired of having to look up to meet his eyes.

“I told him to stop pretending you two aren’t together,” Simon answers. “Bit odd, no?”

“I think Johnny is trying to protect your feelings,” König says. He crosses his arms, mirroring Simon.

“He doesn’t ‘ave to,” Simon snaps. “I’m fine.”

“Red‘ keinen Topfen,” König says, scoffing. “You know what you’re doing.”

“And what exactly am I doing?”

“Scheiße, can we call a truce or something? For Johnny’s sake?” König asks. “I actually like you, when you’re not being a dickhead.”

‘You do?’ Simon wants to ask. Instead says, “I s’pose you’re alright.”

“I think we want the same thing,” König says. “And I know you’re a decent man. I’ve seen it when we worked together, and I see it when you’re with Johnny.”

Simon doesn’t know what to say to that, but he feels something in his chest loosen. Knows he could say the same thing about König.

“Should we–?” Simon asks, and gestures to where Soap had disappeared.

“Ja, gemma,” König replies, already turning.

They walk side by side in search of Soap, whom they find sitting by himself on a brightly colored bench clearly intended to accommodate small children in front of the Stegosaurus fossil. König approaches him first, puts his hand on Soap’s bent head and ruffles his hair. He joins him on the bench, folding his long legs into a near squat. König catches Simon’s eyes and jerks his chin to the empty space on Soap’s other side. Simon obeys the silent order, sitting hip to hip with Soap, half hanging off the bench.

Simon moves first. He takes Soap’s hand and threads their fingers together. Soap looks up at him, swings his head around to look at König, who takes his other hand following Simon’s suit. They sit like that in silence until Soap says, “Bet we look ridiculous on this tiny bench.”

König laughs, breaking the tension. He waves down a staff member and pulls his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. “Would you please take a picture of us?” König asks, unlocking his phone before holding it out to the staff member who takes it and steps back to comply.

Simon freezes. He’s not averse to being photographed, and half his face is obscured by the mask anyway, but something about documenting this moment, the three of them like this, makes it real. Simon releases Soap’s hand as the camera flashes. One step forward, two steps back.

“Danke,” König says when the staff member hands his phone back. He holds it out for Soap and Simon to see, but Simon doesn’t spare it a glance.

“Send that to me, please,” Soap says, still holding König’s hand.

“Ohne zweifel,” König says, tapping at his phone with one hand. “Sent.” Soap’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Come on,” Soap says, dropping König’s hand as he stands. “I need coffee.”

The day gets easier. Simon relaxes enough to joke with König while they sit outside of the cafe. König even let him pay for their drinks without protest. To Simon, it’s the least either of them can do for Soap while he’s hosting them, and he realizes it doesn’t matter who pays between he and König as long as Soap feels appreciated.

Soap drags them onto a tour bus next and Simon’s good mood continues, coming easier the more he allows for König and Soap’s familiar, innocent touches, the idiosyncrasies of their relationship on display for Simon’s viewing pleasure. By the time they’ve finished with the tour, visited the Christmas Market, a castle Simon’s already forgotten the name of, and the Brittania, it’s nearing oh sixteen hundred.

He lets Soap drive them home, knackered and feeling his age, with the knowledge that the day is not yet through.

Simon’s struggling to do up the buttons of his dress shirt when Soap finds him. He’s hiding out in the loo upstairs, mask off, half-dressed in a dark suit with more straps than even his tactical gear. He’s even wearing sock garters. Over the white shirt, a pinstripe vest lays unbuttoned against his chest, the hint of maroon suspenders visible beneath it. A matching suit jacket and red tie hang from the hook on the open door behind him. Soap’s provided a pair of shiny black wingtips, just a half size too small but still wearable.

“Oh,” Soap says as he rounds the corner to see Simon standing in front of the vanity mirror. Soap’s wearing what Simon can only think to describe as antique workwear, brown ankle boots and a white cotton shirt under black suspenders, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the hem tucked into his heather gray slacks, tight at his waist to accentuate his trim stature. On his head, he wears a dark tweed cap.

In the next second, Simon’s being crowded up against the sink by Soap, whose hands have found Simon’s suspenders, gripping them tight as he holds him in place to rake his eyes down Simon’s body.

“How are you real? Who the fuck made you?” Soap asks, gaze dark as they stare at Simon’s lips, trace his cupid’s bow and find his eyes.

“I made me,” Simon says. His hands come up to grip Soap’s waist between his palms. He closes the space between them with an urgent kiss, knocking the hat from Soap’s head in his haste. Thinks, finally.

Their lips slide together, greedy after being denied all day, already familiar with what the other likes but still reveling in the newness. Soap bites Simon’s bottom lip and uses Simon’s resulting gasp to lick into his mouth. Simon lets himself be kissed, content to let Soap take what he wants.

Simon’s eyes are closed, he’s so lost in Soap’s touch that he doesn’t hear König coming up the stairs. Doesn’t even hear the approaching footsteps until he’s leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a near identical suit to Simon’s but in lighter gray and blue tones, sans jacket.

König smirks at him over Soap’s shoulder when Simon opens his eyes to see him watching them. He takes a step forward and reaches a hand up to thread his finger’s through Soap’s hair, holding him by the nape of his neck like how he had at breakfast that morning. Simon watches him, watches his eyes go heavy-lidded at the scene they make before him. He doesn’t feel threatened, just observed, and it’s getting him hot.

König reaches a hand over Soap’s shoulder to grip Soap’s chin, brushing his forefinger against Simon’s jaw in the process, He’s directing Soap’s movements against him, and it’s like König’s kissing him through Soap. His eyes close at the thought, and he feels arousal pool in his belly, in his groin, shocked at his own responsiveness. He feels himself begin to harden in his slacks, the barest touch of König’s skin against his . Unbidden, he moans into Soap’s mouth.

Soap groans in response, and pulls his mouth away from Simon’s to turn his head towards König, straining to reach his mouth. König acquiesces, lowers his head until they’re kissing, filthy and wet. Simon watches Soap’s jaw flex, mouth parted on ragged breaths. The hand that was on Soap’s chin reaches for the back of Simon’s head, drags him in until he’s pressed all along Soap’s front, and brings his mouth to Soap’s neck.

He licks the skin revealed by the collar of his shirt at the base of his neck, up to the hinge of his jaw, bites down on it, breaths coming hard. With Soap pressed between them, Simon can feel the minute shivers wracking his body, starting in his chest and making his hands clench where they’re clutched in Simon’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric no doubt but pulling him impossibly closer.

König backs away first, the weight of him pinning Soap to Simon lifting as he steps back, hands falling away from both Simon and Soap.

“I’ll be downstairs,” König says, breathless, already backing out of the loo and edging towards the stairs.

Soap doesn’t speak, but when his eyes find Simon's chest heaving, his pupils are blown so wide his irises are just a thin blue ring. He unleashes his hold on Simon, pulls himself away like he forgot he was still clinging to him. He bends to retrieve his hat and turns to leave. Simon stands alone, last button still undone at his throat, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

*******

(i do not speak German so suggestions are always welcome from readers who are familiar with the language) Krass: cool Bist du deppert?: are you stupid? schatz: darling Bitte: please gschissana: shithead Red‘ keinen Topfen: stop talking rubbish Scheiße: fuck (in this context) gemma: let's go Danke: thanks Ohne zweifel: of course

#soapghost #soapböx #soapghostkönig #mw2 ghost #mw2 soap #könig cod #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #ghostsoap #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost x könig #mw2 fic #cod fic #gasoline in your heart #my fic

39 notes · View notes

stvrlyte · 1 year

Text

Bringing my boi Simon here from @homemadehappiness

#✧ updates #{ I've decided this is for the best uwu }#ic ✧{simon}#aesthetic ✧{simon}#musings ✧{simon}#fc ✧{simon}#ch. study ✧{simon}

2 notes · View notes

crescentcampbell · 10 days

Text

Wouldn't You Like to Know, ch. 10

Ten

Marina was engaged. Engaged to the asshole that she’d cheated on him with. The whole thing made Colin sick to his stomach. That was the real reason he didn’t want to tell the press those pictures with Penelope weren’t real. He couldn’t film a movie and do a press tour with everyone asking about the photographer he had punched because of the lewd things they’d said about her. They had been together since they were teenagers, and had done two movies together. For a while, they’d been something of a popculture moment where everyone had wanted to know about them.

The attention had gotten too much for Marina.

And she’d been in love with someone else the whole time. Something, he remembered, Whistledown Blast had said since the beginning. He’d been ignorant and because they’d outed Daphne and Simon’s relationship before she was about to marry the prince, he hadn’t been willing to listen. But now, Colin realized that the Whistledown Blast had been Penelope.

And all Penelope had been doing had been helping people see the truth. They might not have liked it, but there was nothing the gossip account had said that hadn’t been true. Penelope had simply said things other people didn’t like to hear. Colin’s only problem was that she didn’t take credit for herself. He knew exactly why that was. Her domineering, overbearing mother. Which was why, after the news was released about Marina and Penelope, he decided to pay a visit to Portia Featherington.

It wasn’t that hard, really. Portia lived in the penthouse above theirs, something she had always been immensely proud of. To the point it had caused some conflict between her and his mother in the past. Portia was from old money, but when her husband had stolen from the Bridgerton’s, they had nearly lost everything.

Portia had eventually rebuilt the family fortune with a fashion line. But it was nowhere near as grand as it once had been. Still, she held onto the Featherington penthouse on the Upper East Side for dear life.

Colin had gotten up early, grabbed coffee, then found himself at Portia Featherington’s penthouse. He knocked on the door. He was surprised when Penelope’s tall, long necked sister, Prudence Featherington, answered the door.

“Oh! Colin!” she looked him up and down, scowling. “What are you doing here? I thought the Bridgerton’s vowed never to come here again. Or at least, your mother did.”

He smirked. “I am here to put an end to that.”

“An end to a family feud that has been going on for decades? Even when my father was in business with your mother?”

Colin nodded. “Is your mother home? I brought her coffee. Black, exactly how she likes it.”

“She’s in her study.”

Prudence didn’t move. “You know, I was there, that day when you said what you said about asking Pen out because your mother made you. And I saw the pictures of you sneaking out from her apartment online. She took forever to be independent because of everyone turning against her, and she just started seeing someone recently. Don’t mess this up for her. I don’t want to see her in a dark place again like she was.”

He tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean, Penelope’s seeing someone?”

“She started seeing that guy she was friends with in high school that she never went out with because she was always too hung up on you. David Debling.”

Colin clenched his jaw. He remembered David Debling. He had been the editor of the school newspaper, and had always been a little too pretentious for his own good. He’d never liked Colin, and Colin had never figured out why. “I didn’t know that. I only reconnected with Pen recently because of work. She’s Lulu Rochester’s assistant. I’m adapting her book into a movie.”

“Don’t mess this up for her,” said Prudence, “she’s been alone long enough----punishing herself for whatever insult your family thinks that we did to you. She deserves to be happy.”

“What are you talking about?” Colin said. “I never stopped talking to Pen. She stopped talking to me.”

“Eloise told her to stay away from you all, like she was some kind of criminal. I know Penelope and I don’t always get on, but she’s still my sister, and I don’t like seeing her hurt. After Eloise stopped being her friend, she got really sad and really lonely there for a long time. It’s only been in the past few years she’s been able to get some confidence back. I don’t want you ruining that for her.”

Colin clenched the cup of coffee he’d originally bought for Portia. Maybe Eloise was right. Getting involved with Penelope was a bad idea. But hadn’t his mother always told him that the Featherington’s lived for drama? “Actually, forget it. I made a mistake.”

Prudence smiled triumphantly. “Good.”

He shook his head and left. Before he did anything, he was going to have to talk with Penelope. The Featherington’s thrived on drama. He had no way of knowing if this was only Prudence’s way of trying to start something. But he needed to sort things out with Penelope first, before he went through the trouble of trying to keep Portia from starting her own.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #polin #polin fanfic #polin fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

ambrosiasaladofthebrain · 5 months

Text

Ambrosia Salad of The Brain

Ch 1: Meet Jake

The teacher’s note read like it usually did: “Nice Job” written under a circled 100% and a smiley face creating a small triangle of pen ink. Jake knew it was childish, it was because he was far younger than all of his classmates that his math teacher always left small notes of encouragement and excitement on his tests, but he supposed he didn’t care. He still cut each one out carefully before throwing out the test and placing the scrap onto the growing pile in the box he kept under his bed.

He would show his sister the pile someday and she would be impressed with how well he had done. That day would probably be soon, hopefully soon. For now he would stack them until the box burst. With the ringing of the bell the school day came to a close and he scrambled to collect his things and leave before the mass of bigger students could trample him.

He was quick to make it to the front steps, wanting to double check his items before he left. Someone had stolen his first aid kit but he still had his second one which was good enough. There was a father a couple blocks from school who had started robbing from the richer district people who came to feel better about themselves and show off. These people often had bodyguards with some pent up emotions they needed to release. Jake couldn’t stop the man from doing what he could for his kid but he could apply his basic knowledge of first aid. He might be an amateur but where he lacked in practice he hoped his mind and memory made up for it. He supposed living in a hospital and watching professionals daily had to have upgraded his skills somewhat.

He also needed the bread he had saved from lunch, a pack of rats had taken root in an alleyway he had to pass to get to the hospital and their attacks on random passerbyers were getting worse, as long as he threw them a good chunk of food however, they seemed to leave him alone. Simon had tried to protest Jake’s sharing of half his lunch with rats but he understood that certain measures had to be taken, and not a week later after the incident he had started carrying bread for a gang of rats on his block as well.

With his rusted swiss army knife prepared he was ready to walk home. He just needed to check in with Simon and Piet who were unusually late. They were usually at their meeting spot first, skipping their class to share a smoke, or, he thought they still smoked, they promised they had quit but they still carried packs and lighters and the smell never left their fingers and breath, nor their sweaters he needed to return.

“Hey kid!” Simon called as he left the building and hopped down the steps, tripping on a hole, and stringing a colorful display of words together as he stumbled to a stop. “‘Hey! Hey,” he corrected his volume with the second ‘hey’, looking apologetic, “Guess wha’ we got.”

“We?” Jake looked around, expecting to see Simon’s ‘better half’.

“Yeah, uh.” Simon looked around, before swearing again, “I lost her. No! The love of my life! Gone! Sorry, gone,” he corrected his volume again, really trying not to be so aggressively loud. “I’ll nev’a see ‘er again. Lost, to the chaos of the school, or maybe the lunch lady,” he shrugged, flopping down on the school steps, “Beauty like that will surely be missed, I’ll nev’a love anoth’a,” he clenched a fist to his chest, suddenly being tackled from behind

“That’s right you won't! But maybe I will! Leave your girlfriend to the demise a the lunch lady? She works out y’know. Too buff even fer me an’ you leave me! Ah Jake, ‘ey kiddo. how’d’yer test go?” Piet sobered down sitting on Simon’s back, pinning him to the ground as she reached for the 100% paper Jake handed her. “‘Ey, nice job, though I wasn’t all that worried, the one about explainin’ how ya did the work kept trippin’ ya up when we studied but ya’always pull through.”

“Thank you,” Jake blushed.

“I nev’a doubted ya either,” Simon added.

“Ah shut up,” Peit smacked his head lightly, “Anyway you got the goods?”

“Duh,” Simon rolled his eyes, pushing Peit off and pulling a small cardboard box from his cardigan pocket. “Here ya are mister smarty pants.” He ceremoniously tossed the box to Jake who fumbled with it a moment before catching it properly and giving it a suspicious glance.

“You didn’t,” He mumbled, cracking it open. “How? Where? The school doesn’t have a-”

“Eh I found some chips lyin’ ‘round an’, well, Peit has some chickens so we jus’ needed a stove ‘n a few other things,” Simon shrugged, Peit shrugging with him.

Jake picked up the two chocolate chip cookies from the box, they were sloppy and a little flat, nothing like the images he had seen online but the last time he had had chocolate chip cookies had been with Zoey. He wondered if he could save one and find some milk but quickly shook the idea from his head remembering the growing prices.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the cookies, almost too quiet as he tried to stop the prickling of his eyes.

Piet let out a soft swear, raising a hand; “‘Ey don’t cry now, we were bored.”

“Yeah, it really wasn’ that hard even!” Simon added.

“Or expensive, I mean, we stole most’a the stuff.”

“Sh!” Simon elbowed her, “No, we bought it, promise, promise,” He lied.

“Thank you,” Jake whispered again, breaking one of the cookies in half, then breaking that into two quarters, “Here.”

“We couldn’-” Piet began.

“Really?” Simon asked, “You sure?” He grabbed a quarter with excitement. Piet looked disgusted at him for a moment before taking her piece. The treat was dry and somewhat burnt yet uncooked all at once. It was very sweet, which was better than bitter Jake supposed, it would definitely benefit from a glass of milk though.

“Oh wow,” Piet coughed.

“You, don’ ‘ave to eat that Jake,” Simon grimaced, “I can throw that out.”

“No!” Jake held the small box close, glaring, “No, I’ll keep it, they’re not half bad.”

Simon’s watch on his outstretched hand buzzed, “I gotta get to work, you’ll be ok by yourself?”

“I walk every day by myself.”

“Doesn’ mean I can’t be worried.”

“You got your stuff?” Piet interrogated, “Books, pepper spray, pocket knife?”

Jake shuffled through his bag then pockets making a show of making sure it was all in place and hadn’t been stolen throughout the day despite having just done these actions moments ago, “Yep.”

“Alright. Get home safe bud,” She waved bye dragging Simon along with her.

Simon was still calling out to Jake; “I’ll be at the gate in the mornin’, and make sure to watch out for those rats, oh and cases of,” as they rounded the corner his calls disappeared with them. Jake giggled at them as he took another bite of his cookie and started his own walk. His first stop would be the rats and he needed to come up with good names for them.

He was still thinking of names for the rats when he left their alleyway. Rats are terribly smart creatures and Jake had always felt akin to them in some odd way. He was close to his next stop now, which meant he should get his swiss army knife ready. The Robber Father would never harm him but this wasn’t always his haunt, it was a very popular place for muggings to occur either way. However, while most let him by some people had become very desperate with the rising prices and crack down on crimes the President himself had initiated to help clean up the district.

Jake slowed, nearing the alley and peaking in. At first he didn’t see anyone but someone shifted in the pile of trash bags and Jake entered recognizing it as Robber Father. He squatted next to the man poking his arm with the dull knife.

“Sir?”

The man groaned, sounding in pain, Jake scrunched his face looking for injuries. When he couldn’t outright see any stab wounds or broken bones Jake slapped the man's cheek, trying to wake him.

“Sir?” he called a bit louder.

This scene was reminding him a little too much of when he had found his sister. She had been warm, Jake felt the man’s forehead but his temperature felt normal enough. She had also coughed a lot as well as had a scratchy breath that seemed to tug at her throat, trying to stick to the sides. Jake brought his ear to the man’s mouth. His breath was soft if not slow.

“Siiiiirrrr!” Jake drew out his call, slapping the man's face repetitively.

“Wha? Who’s ther?” The man slew out, sitting up and focusing on Jake, “Oh, hey Doc, ‘ere for my checkup?” He rumbled as he sat up.

“What happened?” Jake asked, wanting to get to the point.

“Eh, this rich prick came into town lookin’ for trouble, I beat ‘em up but he got a couple hits to my stomach. Nother one’a those hit where it can’t be seen’ things, ya’know?” He lifted his shirt to show off the patchwork of bruising, “Could’a done better but I forgot to eat today.” He chuckled, Jake didn’t join him, rolling his eyes at the obvious lie. He pulled his gift box with the last half-a-cookie from his bag and handed it to the man before he could change his mind.

“Eh? Wha’s this?” Robber Father took it with a quizzical look, and gave a soft oh upon opening it, “A cookie? In this economy? Pretty impressive kid, you're basically the richest kid I’ve met now,” He went to hand the box back only for Jake to shove it back to him.

“You can have it, my frie-” Jake bit his tongue on the slip up, “Simon and Piet gave them to me, I already ate one, you have the rest.”

“The, ones who babysit ya at school?” Jake nodded. “They rich or somethin’?” “Nah, just stupid.”

Robber Father huffed a laugh, “Teenagers. My Rose ‘s turnin’ 14 soon y'know, you wanna come to the party?”

Was that a joke? When most kids invited him to a party it was usually to laugh moments later. Also people usually brought gifts to birthday parties and he had no money or anything to give.

“You don’t have to bring anythin’ kid, your, like, six-”

“I’m 8 (timephrame),” Jake informed, then realizing he’d interrupted quickly added a “Sorry!

“Point is, you wouldn’t need’ta bring anythin’, it’s next week, at that one park near the gas station with slushies, I can tell ya more details later if ya want?”

Jake nodded before looking at his watch, he needed to continue walking if he wanted to make it for the cafeteria’s dinner. He quickly waved goodbye and headed back out of the alley, pocketing his knife.

By the time he made it to the hospital the cafeteria was bustling. Jake quickly grabbed his food, it was watery soup and bread today, before leaving the loud area.

Jake balanced his meal tray in one hand to knock on Zoey’s door. After a beat of silence he opened the door.

“Hey Z! I’m back from school, I still needa check in with Joy but I said hi to a couple other people on my way here so she probably already knows. She’s been real strict ‘bout knowin’ where I am lately. I think it's prolly ‘cause I got picked up by that gang last week, they didn’t do anythin’, I was jus’ hangin’ out with’em, but I guess social services didn’t like that I was hangin’ out with a,” he set down his tray and threw off his backpack to use his hand for air quotes, “‘violent gang’ such as the Cat’s Claws. They’re honestly not that bad.”

Jake drug the armchair closer to his plate and Zoey’s bed, picking up his milk carton to clink it against her feeding tube gently. He drank his soup slowly, enjoying the few pieces of meat and feeling proud every time he chewed a potato. He had been helping in the hospital garden when he could. Something social services had made him do to keep him off the streets but he still enjoyed it.

“Y’know, S.S’s been strugglin’ lately Z. Well, they always are, but really, after all that trouble I told ya ‘bout they’ve been breathin’ down my neck lately. They don’t like the idea of me livin in a hospital, this one worker told me I was goin to disrupt the peace, or waste people's time, y’know cause it’s a hospital and doctors an’ nurses need to focus, but I’ve been tryin real hard to blend in, I stayed out late to not clog the hallways but then they yelled at Joy ‘cause I kept gettin inta trouble, even when I wasn’t!

“Jus’ cause I hang out with criminals doesn’t make me one! I mean, someone has’ta take care of ‘em, else they’re all gonna die of infections, I tell ya, one time I met a lady who had let a lill’ stab wound get infected, it was so gross, but nobody wanted to help her so I looked at it and guess what, she just needed to wash it out a bit and properly bandage it. I showed ‘er how to make bandages from scraps like ya taught me. I’m ramblin’ uh.

“Oh yeah, so after they gave me that curfew I started tryin to make friends with the other patients and they were all real nice but S.S. didn’t like that either for some reason, somethin’ ‘bout it not bein professional, I can talk to other patients my age an’ that's it apparently. Like that makes sense. So now I ‘ave’ta check in every day after school, an’ before Joy leaves, an’ she locks us in here now! Have you noticed? She always unlocks it at five the next mornin’ but still. It’s been real borin.”

Jake pushed a strand of hair from Zoey’s face, it was to her shoulders now, she’d probably want to cut it when she woke up. Or maybe not, Jake was pretty sure she had only cut her hair in support of him having to cut his, she’d always had these really detailed hair styles before that. He wove a messy braid into a small bit of her hair and smiled at the attempt.

“Sorry fer ramblin’, I know it’s annoyin’. But, uh, when ya wake up can you teach me how’ta braid hair please? Ok, I’mma go check in with Joy now, love you.”

He waited a moment, breathed in, breathed out. When nothing followed he quickly got up, pushing his chair back into place and collecting his dishes.

In the cafeteria it had quitted just a bit, most people had gone back to their rooms and work now. Entering the kitchen wasn’t really allowed but, like in many things, Jake was an exception. Entering the kitchen always felt like going under water and only hearing the muffled voices of the surface.

The kitchen staff always talked in soft voices that mixed with the cling and clack of kitchen utensils. The sound of people in the cafeteria would worm it’s way through the walls and dance with the quiet music that played quietly from a trashy radio someone had fished out of a trash and repaired years ago. The smells of food stuck to a schedule just as much as the food. Today had been potato soup so the music was samba, Chef Maya’s playlist.

She always danced her way around the kitchen but on samba days her movements would grow smoother like they’d been defrosted especially for the day.

Jake quietly started running water over his dishes, happy to be looked over in the bustle. Tomorrow was fresh bread Friday so the kitchen was moving in a muffled hurry to prepare. Usually Jake would love to help, bread was one of his favorite things to make, but he still needed to check in with Joy so he quickly waved to the welcoming chefs and left.

Joy was on the second level like always. She was checking in on a patient who had come in with a severe case of Stardust yesterday. They hoped he would wake up in the coming days but it wasn’t likely. Jake hoped he woke up soon. From the door window Jake watched as Joy drew his blood and added it to her vial already filled with another liquid. She shook it until the red changed to a silvery metallic color, knitting her brows at the reaction, Jake mimicked her face, scrunching his brows in a similar fashion.

Doctors had done this to Zoey every so often, more frequently when she first arrived, when they still had higher hopes. They’d let him shake the vials until the colors changed as a sort of morbid entertainment.

Sighing, Joy zipped the blood sample into a contamination bag and checked the rest of the patient's vitals. When everything was in order she headed to the door, spotting Jake in the process. She knitted her brows at him and he quickly jumped off the stool he’d drug over to the door and carried it back to her desk. A minute later she walked out of the patient room and over to Jake, taking off her medical mask, and tossing her gloves into a garbage.

“See this line?” She pointed to the obvious silver and navy hazard line painted into the floor.

Jake looked at it, taking another step behind the desk that was outside the line that separated the Stardust ward from the entrance of the floor.

“You see it, right?” Joy said again, tapping her foot on the line twice.

Jake nodded, eyes fixed on the simmering silvery lines nestled between the blue. Apparently the floor had been originally closed off with a temporary tape made for the epidemic but when it became a-

“You’re not supposed to be lookin round this floor,” She nagged, pulling Jake from his thoughts.

“I know,” he mumbled. When it became a permanent issue-

“If Social Services found out I was lettin’ you wander ‘round they’d move you again.”

“I know.” When it became a permanent issue they painted the line.

“That’d be what? 5 houses in 11 months? I mean, y’know they hate you livin’ here, and I can’t really disagree, it’s no place fer a kid.”

“I know.”

“As soon as a place opens up they’re gonna be itchin’ for a reason to kick ya.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she sighed, sitting on the floor next to him, “You're lucky we got yer sister moved for you, ya’know.”

Jake gave her the look, he gave her every time she said that, like he was lucky the hospital had given up on Zoey’s recovery enough to move floors, like they were waiting for her bed to open up, like he was lucky social services was so overworked that they were desperate enough to send a 13 year old [timephrame] to live in a hospital, in the same room as his comatose sister.

“Don’t give me that look,” she sighed.

He scrunched his face more, hoping to double whatever feeling it caused.

“Stop,” she groaned, squishing his face, causing him to freeze, “Sorry, uh,” she withdrew her hands and tucked them between her legs, “Sorry, yeah, yer not lucky, but, yeah. Take the wins kid. You're close to her, I mean, you practically lived here even ‘fore you officially got signed over. And now you get to have me as your legal guardian!” She pointed at herself excitedly, “How awesome is that?”

“You?” Jake asked quizzically.

“Yeah.”

“Hm,” Jake hummed, pretending to think hard about how great it really was, “I don’ know. I had this one real cool guardian who taught me boxin’.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” Jake popped the p, doing it a coupe times, liking the small pressure it caused in his chest and throat.

Joy chuckled, “How’d that work? Y’know, with the whole,” she waved her hands at him, not finishing her sentence.

“Uh, I don’ know, she jus’, took it real slow an’ had me practice with a dummy or spar with her but she wouldn’t spar back, only block. That took a while for me to be comfortable with. I almos’ got comfortable enough to have a normal practice, our goal was by the end of the month,” Jake smiled, remembering how excited she was to realize Jake trusted her that much.

“What happened? If you don’t mind?”

“Huh?” he cleared away the memories like a sticky residue,”oh, uh,” he thought for a second, trying to recall which offense matched her and not another guardian, “Oh! She was stealin’ from the district over, uh D-12, y’know the one with all those orchards, yeah they didn’t like that she was stealin all that produce, so she was sent to care for a field until she could properly make up for all the lost product. Should’a known somethin’ was up with how many smoothies she made me,” Jake smiled, remembering the apple milkshakes she’d make, at first he’d thought they’d be gross but let it be known he’d never turn down free food and sure enough they’d been a hit.

“Harsh. I think I hear Akuno’s passin’ a law ‘bout border crossin’ soon.”

“I think that’d do D-20 some good, wouldn’t have so many rich idiots passin’ through just to laugh at us.”

Joy hummed, patting her legs before getting up, “Alright, thanks for checking in, if not a bit late,” she added with a joking scolding voice, “I’ll check in before bed,” she turned to leave but suddenly turned back, “Oh, and, uh, so last week, right, Monday I think, we went to the library and I got the place’s number but I lost the slip and can’t remember it. I hate to do this but could you help me please?” She made an apologetics face clasping her hand in front of her.

Jake hummed trying to remember; last week, Monday, they had gone to the library, it had been sunny, but rain looked to be rolling in. Jake had been excited about that. He had wanted a book on observing vocal tone and needed to return his book on how to understand a person's body language. He’d found it, remembered where it was from the last time he visited, right next to a thick red book and a squat maroon book. When they left the librarian checking them out had talked to Joy, they’d had red hair, it was very pretty, Jake had thought their freckles were very pretty as well, he’d always liked freckles, the librarian had written down the library's number and handed it to Joy, and, oh! He had seen it then, in the exchange of hands.

“It was 218-734-345-3455, the five’s coulda been six’s though, they didn’t have the best handwriting.”

Joy wrote down the last number, making note of the five to six bit, “Perfect, thank you so much, I’ll call about that book fair for you asap, promise.”

“Ok.”

Jake waved goodbye, as Joy went to fulfill the rest of her tasks. First he went to the roof, helping with the garden, the potatoes had needed to be pulled today. Heading to the kitchen next they were still preparing bread and he found himself helping add things to mixers and memorizing recipes he was excited to try some day. Chef Ron loved to share tips on how to substitute expensive ingredients with cheap items.

His brother, Remmy, always shared how to safely eat overdue food, he technically couldn’t share these items with the public but he would “accidently” leave items for Jake after “accidently” talking about the processes needed to safely eat the food or after they had already been prepared.

Jake was writing a paper for his English class when Joy came to say goodnight.

“Hey sour patch,” she entered, chuckling at Jake’s huff of annoyance at the nickname he never understood, “Bed time,” she sing-songed, setting her bag on the floor, “Y’all ready?”

Jack hummed, focused on finishing his thought. Joy walked over to Zoey’s bed, flattening the odd wrinkles and fixing her stray hairs. Smiling at the girl, her eye’s softened for a second, then hardened with something like resolved. She inhaled, sipping air like it would solidify the emotions she was trying to press in place, not seeing the way Jake watched her. He had finished his thought, but finished or not he always secretly watched as Joy fussed with Zoey before getting him ready for bed.

Jake found himself copying her routine in the morning, making sure it looked just like how Joy did it. He could never perfect the tiny curl she would draw against Zoey’s cheek with a strand of hair.

“I’m ready,” he mumbled, setting the laptop in the nightstand drawer.

“I better not find out you were on that all night,” Joy warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jake lied.

They both knew it was a lie, But this was a lie he wouldn't get punished for because one: it wasn’t really a lie as they both knew the truth, and two: Joy encouraged studying even if she didn’t approve of him studying into the early hours of morning. It was his own fault if he was tired in the morning and couldn’t focus at school, and that was punishment enough.

“Pjs?” Joy scanned.

“Check,” Jake lifted his arm, revealing his soft pig sweater.

“Teef?”

“Check,” he widened his gums as if to prove they’d been scrubbed.

“Bed made?”

He pointed at the small cot in the corner, perfectly made.

“Window locked?” She walked to the window herself, checking the bolt and trying to lift it open. She turned away satisfied when it stayed closed, “Alright, school tomorrow, then right back. Amanda,” she sneered the name with a fake and horribly inaccurate posh accent, “is checkin’ in at four, so best behaviors. Now, in bed.”

She herded him into his cot, pulling the blanket over him and tucking in his feet.

“We gotta cut yer hair soon, it’s like a curtain in-fron-a yer eyes, how-d-ya even see?”

Jake crossed his eyes, pulling a curl and watching it bounce. Dad wouldn’t be a fan of this length, it was already too long, long enough to pull, reaching his nose and covering his ears.

“I don’t really know,” He lamented, “I jus sorta look through the gaps.” He swayed his head, watching the curls move back and forth, then looking through the gaps made with the movement.

Joy huff, “Right, Well, for now, I’ll bring some hair ties with me tomorrow, I can cut yer hair later this week, a’right?”

“Ok.”

Picking up her bag again she turned off the light, “I’m gonna lock the door now, you don’t need anythin?”

“Nope.”

“Ok,” she smiled, “See you two in the mornin.”

Jake smiled back, “See you tomorrow, bye.”

Jake listened as she locked the door and her footsteps receded. He waited a minute before climbing out of his bed and into Zoey’s. He technically wasn’t supposed to do this, however Joy, upon catching him one too many times, had shown him the best way to sleep close to her while watching all the medical instruments plugged into her like a computer.

“Hey Zoey,” he whispered, “I’m not gonna stay long promise, jus wanted to talk real quick see-” Someone jiggled the door knob to their room, and Jake zipped back to his bed. Joy must have forgotten something, she did that sometimes, forgetting to mention something or forgetting to give him something. The jiggling stopped, Jake held his breath a moment, waiting for Joy to properly unlock the door and walk in but nothing happened. Maybe one of the patients was walking around, sometimes they got confused.

Jake made his way back over to Zoey, crawling into the bed, “Weird,” he mumbled, “I heard one of the new patients is a sleep walker, I wanted t’talk to ‘em, see what it was like. I wonder if they dream when they walk, if the dreams affect how they interact with the world. Anyway, I scored well on that test I told you ‘bout. I knew I’d do good but confirmation is always nice. Oh, and I got invited to a birthday party today. I think it was a real invitation, not a joke, Imma ask more questions tomorrow. Oh, an’ Peit and Simon, y’know my babysitters, made me cookies today. With chocolate chips, I know they definitely traveled districts for that, maybe they’ll take me with ‘em one’a these days, probably not, I’m a bit of a liability. Plus, I think it’s like a date thing for them, I wouldn’t want’ta third-wheel.”

Jake paused, listening to the bustle of the hospital.

“Hey Zoey,” he looked up to her, patting her cheek. He told himself he wasn’t trying to wake her up, but there was always hope that maybe she’d rustle awake at the touch, “could I sleep with you tonight? It’s been 46 days since the last time I did.” Jake waited, a car passed outside; somebody walked past their door, casting a shadow under it; somewhere in the building someone laughed. “Alright, thank you.”

Jake curled himself into Zoey’s side and under the cover, inhaling and exhaling slowly, until sleep finlay came, and he woke up in his library.

The Library was not, against most people’s assumptions, organized. There was a desk when Jake first entered. Here a Jake that looked exactly like him sat, this Jake, he was often just called Desky, had a little laptop like Jake’s out in the real world and it ran somewhat slow. If real Jake wanted to remember something like “yesterday's lunch” this was his best bet but for things more complicated like the phone number from earlier today, he found it easier to travers his mind and find the memory he wanted with context.

Memories were often accessed like doorways for most people and Jake was no different even with his advanced memory. If he wanted to remember last Tuesday's lunch he’d first find last Tuesday in his library, then remember lunch time, who he’d been with maybe, what the menu at school had had to offer, something key like a fist fight breaking out. This sounded organized but his mind was still somehow a mess.

Memories sat on the ground and were strewn across the shelves in odd orders, remembering a duck could remind Jake of green which would remind him of apples so of course those memories shaped like books were all currently stacked on top of each other on the floor. There was a crate somewhere in this library that moaned and tried to grab Jake’s attention but he had hidden it behind so many other random memories that he could only access it by really trying to remember those memories, or something reminded him of them, but he never wanted to think about them anyway so the box stayed hidden and Jake didn’t know were in The Library it was.

Sometimes when Peit and Simmon wanted to talk without him hearing they’d ask him to think about how many pigeons he’d seen last Monday and he was always too naive to realize why they were asking at the time so he would delve into his library looking through Monday’s book, looking for birds he had seen and counting each one. When he would resurface the two’s conversation would be interrupted with his answer, their conversations had already been finished anyway.

As much of a mess as it was Jake loved his library. The odd ‘roof’ above was a deep swirling blue galaxy, shifting in hues and twinkling with stars. Vines laced their ways around books and objects, red roses and other flowers blooming from oblong the body. Forget-me-nots timidly grew from crevices here and there, and while there was no smell inside his head except the wafting of a memory Jake liked to imagine it smelled of lilies and old books, crinkled and weary with age.

The shelves ran high, decorated with ladders that stretched taller than buildings. The shelves housed more than books, flowers and shrubs burst from their counters. Toys and food stuck in time sat on display. Some of the books, placed between a puddle and a bowl of cereal were actually books he’d read and taken the time to perfectly reconstruct in his mind.

He was never lonely here either, versions of himself walked aimlessly, one version from each birthday, a version from hard to erase memories, and versions from mundane days. Each one would never exist again, only here could they remain like a copy of himself in that moment. Jake hated to even look at some of them but he knew even still, in some odd way he was never alone. Or maybe he should take Joy up on that offer of therapy.

Sometimes Jake wished he could dream but being in the muted quiet of his head, organizing his memories and objects, he felt he was resting enough. Jake smiled as he picked up a book filled with all the recipes he’d learned, deciding to create a shelf for food related memories. Memories could be held on more than one shelf so he left this first version on the floor next to the book on pigs.

Jake spent his sleep organizing his memories on his new shelf, finally after some time he felt himself start to drift, starting to wake up. He stretched his hands over his head, it didn’t achieve much but he felt like one was supposed to do this after a bigger task so he did it anyway. Taking a step back to admire his work, something cold settled under his skin and panic wiggled it’s way into his heart as instead of hitting the hardwood floor or even waking up in bed his foot sank down. Instead of hitting the ground he fell into the floor.

Chapter 2

⭐️Hello hello! This is a story I've held close to my heart for a long time but haven't written a lot of. The other day I realized that when I started writing it I had expected be done with the first book by 2024. I'm goin to try n write a chapter a month (it'll probably be pocmarked with spelling mistakes ngl) but it's a challenge I hope I can keep up with 🌙

2 notes · View notes

heaven-s-black-box · 6 months

Text

File- Ace Attorney

Back to directory

Space center date- Fem!Vers. Male!Verse.- Clay Terran x Reader- fluff

Fairytale or Nightmare- Clay Terran x Fem!Reader- angst w/happy ending

Best New Years Ever- Ensemble fluff

Defense Attorney Miles- Phoenix/Miles roleswap- N/A

Study Break- No DL6- fluff

I'll drink to that- Apollo & Trucy- fluff

For you- Gregory lives, Miles dies- angst

I'm fine- Simon & Athena- N/A

Sick day- Phoenix & maya- fluff

Watch your back- ensemble- fluff

Overtime- Gumshoe & Miles- N/a

I'm fine (revised)

Thank you- Maya x Simon- fluff

Undeserved thanks- Iris centric- N/a

Badass in the arena- ensemble- N/a

Hear you around- Godot & Blind!Phoenix- crack, fluff

Self-defense -Miles & Gregory- N/a

Second chance- Maya & Godot- N/a

Last day- Trucy & Apollo- angst w/happy ending

Fantastical retelling- Trucy & Apollo- fluff

A better world- ensemble- fluff

Sorry- Maya centric- angst

Working dinner- Prosecutor!Phoenix & Franziska- fluff

Girls night- ensemble- fluff

The most magical Place- Apollo & Rayfa & Nahyuta- fluff

Tell you about it- Miego- angst

4th of July- ensemble & oc insert- fluff

Pess- Miles centric- fluff, angst w/happy ending

Family- Skymadhi- crack, fluff

Magic of conviction- Prosectur!Trucy & Prosectur!Apollo- N/a

Parents night- ensemble- crack

Backseat serenade- Klapollo- fluff

Family dinner- ensemble- fluff

Showtime- Trucy & Apollo- fluff

Perfection- Franmaya- fluff

The Edgeworths- Prosecutors office- fluff

The Wrights- Wright Anything Agency- fluff

Peace- Clay terran x fem!Reader- fluff

Franziska Accused- Miles & Franziska- N/a

Deathless- ensemble- fluff

Punishment- Iris x Phoenix- angst

LA Ghoul- Signal Samurai Trio- N/a, Au

Time- Wright Anything Agency & Miles- angst

Welcome, Apollo- Jove x Thalassa- fluff

Trip- ensemble- fluff

Co-op - ensemble- crack

Hands to yourself- Clay Terran x fem!Reader- fluff

Kids show- Traffic Samurai Trio & Maya- fluff, crack

Embarrassment- ensemble- fluff

Death do us Part- Clay Terran x fem!Justice!Reader & Apollo- angst, fluff

Babysitting- Franziska & Trucy- fluff

Scream- ensemble- crack

Bad Luck- Wrightworth, ensemble, & oc insert- fluff, crack

He was Right There- Blackmadhi & Faraskye- angst. angst w/ comfort

Multi Entry Series

Cafe Recht - OC insert- fluff, AU ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.6 ch.7 ch.8

Take your time pt.1 - Simon & Athena- angst w/comfort Take your time pt.2 - Simon & Athena- angst w/comfort

Tomorrow pt.1 - Pearl & Maya- angst Tomorrow pt.2 - Maya centric-angst w/happy ending

Things Never Sent, Things Never Seen Miles Edgeworth chooses death- Narumitsu- angst Voicemail- Edgeworth centric- angst Never sent- Miego- angst

The Adventures of the Wright and Edgeworth families- OC insert Old Favors, New Life- N/a A flight and a New Friend- fluff Wright anything agency + prosecutors office= chaos- crack, fluff ch.1 ch.2 ch.2.5 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.5.5

#HBB directory

4 notes · View notes

daisies-daydreams · 11 months

Text

Try: Chapter 3 (CollegeAU!Simon Riley x F!Reader)

Pairing: College!Simon Riley x F!Reader Category: Fluff & Angst Warnings: Implications of Minor Character Death(s), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Depictions of Panic Attacks/Trauma

Summary: Simon heads over to your place for a study session.

A/N: Thank you everyone for reading this series! I'm planning on wrapping it up in at least two chapters, though I'm not sure when they'll be finished.

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Ch. 2 <-•-> Ch. 4

My Masterlist

The next few days felt like they couldn’t go any slower. By the time Sunday rolled around, Simon was practically sprinting out of his dorm to get to his truck. He drove through the town, passing by the bustling shops and restaurants. He turned up his radio as the country roads soon greeted him. Simon rolled down his windows, breathing in the fresh air as clouds dotted the sky. It was a good thirty minutes before a small farm house came into his view. Simon didn’t even realize how much his face was hurting from how much he was smiling. Three German Shepherds suddenly came barreling out the front door as he pulled into the long driveway.

“Oscar! Whiskey! Juliet!” he heard you call from your front porch. Simon’s heart flipped inside his chest when he saw you. He parked his truck behind Price’s, nearly slamming into it as you locked eyes with him. He turned off his truck and slung his pack over his shoulder. The dogs sniffed his gym shoes as he slid out of his vehicle and barked, one of them even nipping at his front tires. You sighed as you walked towards him.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized with a nervous laugh. Simon shrugged.

“It’s alright-they’re probably just anxious since they’re meeting someone new,” he said. You smiled while rubbing between one of the dog’s ears.

“Hi,” he said, trying to break the long pause. You grinned.

“Hi,” you said back, your voice soft and soothing. Both of you stood in the driveway for a few moments, just looking at each other and pondering what to say next. Now that you were closer, Simon could see the dark bags under your eyes. You seemed to stiffen beneath his gaze.

“Let’s head inside. Dad’s working on something out back, so he shouldn’t bother us too much,” you said. “Come on, pups,” you said as you patted your thigh. The three German Shepherds followed you inside with Simon close behind.

One of the dogs pounced on the other, play-biting them as you both walked inside. Simon looked around. It was definitely not the kind of place he expected Coach Price to live in: a simple, cozy country home. One of the dogs brushed up against his hand, their soft fur relaxing against his fingertips. Simon smiled and rubbed her head.

“That’s Juliet,” you said as you rubbed your arms. Juliet’s chocolate brown eyes beamed up at him as he pet her.

“Hi there Julie,” Simon said. Juliet suddenly jumped up, pressing her paws onto his side while licking his face.

“Juliet no!” you giggled as you moved to gently pull her off of him.

“She’s alright,” Simon chuckled as he accepted her kisses. Juliet puffed out some air from her nose before jumping off. She wagged her tail and joined the other two dogs in their play-fight. You turned to him, rubbing your arms. He noticed the baggy sweatshirt that clung to your body.

“Nice sweatshirt,” he commented, trying to make an effort in conversation. You smiled graciously.

“Thank you. It was my mom’s,” you said. Your lips tightened up slightly. Simon took it as a sign that you didn’t wish to elaborate. He simply nodded in reply.

“Come on, the dining room’s this way,” you say as you guide him into the other room. He follows behind you. A large wooden table stood in the center of the dining room. Several knick-knacks were strewn about on various shelves alongside some dusty books. He glances back over to you.

“How’ve you been?” he asked. Your smile faltered as you wearily gazed over at him.

“Fine,” you said curtly. Simon nodded. You suddenly shook your head. “Oh! Sorry, I should’ve asked if you wanted something to drink,” you apologize. He cracks a smile.

“You’re fine. I’ll just grab water from the kitchen if that’s alright,” Simon said. Your face softens.

“Sure thing. Cups are in the cabinet just besides the fridge,” you explain. Simon nods before setting his bag down on a chair.

“Be right back-try to not have too much fun without me,” he chuckles. You huff out a quiet laugh as he turns into the kitchen. The space was old-fashioned to say the least, though it had a warmth to it. He lumbered over to the cabinet and grabbed a glass. He almost closed the door yet decided to grab another one for you. Simon hummed as he filled the glasses up with water from the fridge. He tilted his head to the side as he observed the pictures hanging on the fridge.

The man chuckled at the picture of your younger self grinning widely as you stood up in a canoe without a care in the world. His eyes trailed down to see you standing with your father as you held your high school diploma. He noticed one particular picture with a woman who looked strikingly similar to you holding a toddler in her arms and softly kissing her cheek. His throat hitched when he laid eyes on it, completely forgetting about the water.

“Shite,” he cursed as the water cascaded past his hand and fell onto the floor. He placed the glasses on the counter and pulled off some paper towels. Simon cleaned up his mess before heading back over to the table. You glanced over at him as he approached.

“Thought you’d like some water, too,” he offered you a glass. Despite his assumptions that you’d gladly accept it, your lips drew into a straight line. Your hands shook slightly as you took it and you forced a smile.

“Thanks,” you breathed as you set the glass aside. Simon felt a twinge of confusion cross over him as he set his glass down and pulled his laptop from his backpack. He slid into his chair and drummed his fingers against the top of the table.

“Haven’t seen you around campus,” he commented. You nodded.

“I’m doing all of my classes online now,” you said. He scratched the back of his head.

“Do you prefer it that way?” Simon asked. You stopped typing on your computer, your fingers hovering just above the keys. There was a long pause before you sighed, your face riddled with a mixture of frustration and an unspoken pain.

“For now,” you simply replied. Simon hummed as he took a sip of water.

“How about we start, yeah?” he asked, trying to shift the subject. A small smile returned to your face.

“Sure,” you replied with a small shrug. He caught sight of Price through the back door as you pulled up some notes. The door was propped open ever so slightly, the sounds of rhythmic scraping heard every so often. Price’s head turned as if on cue.

“Riley,” the gruff man said. Simon nodded.

“Coach,” he acknowledged before bringing the glass to his lips again. Another scraping sound was heard as a wood shaving was flicked onto the ground.

“You kids don’t mind me-I’ll just be out here working on my carvings,” Price said as he brandished his chisel. Simon nearly choked on his water while you rolled your eyes.

“Ignore him,” you waved.

“I heard that,” Price called back. You chuckled softly and shook your head.

“So, what are you having trouble with?” you asked. Simon bit the inside of his cheek as his foot tapped against the hardwood floor.

“Well, it’s not really the material-it’s actually writing the essays that get me,” he explained. You nodded.

“Have you ever written an outline before?” you asked. Simon tilted his head. Your eyes widened.

“No…I just kind of write and then turn it in,” he shrugged. Your lips straightened into a tight line.

“Is that bad?” Simon asked.

“Um, I guess it depends on what kinds of grades you get?” you said. Simon scratched his chin, his eyes avoiding yours.

“They’re fine…I guess,” he mumbled. You frowned.

“Simon, it’s okay,” you said. “Lots of people have certain struggles when it comes to school,” you assured. He frowned while clenching his jaw. You folded your hands in your lap.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling frustrated, Simon,” you said, your tired voice soothing to his perturbed state of mind. He flicked his eyes over to you, your expression soft and warm.

“It’s nothin’,” he said, still avoiding your gaze as the truth hung on the tip of his tongue, barely dripping out for you to hear. You nodded.

“I know, but you can’t let yourself fall behind in other parts of your life because there could be something you’d miss out on,” you said in a more stern tone. Simon sighed as he bit the inside of his cheek, his heart aching.

You sounded just like his mum.

“Yeah,” he simply muttered. You shifted in your seat.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” you said with a firm nod. You turned his laptop towards you, typing something up. Simon blinked a few times when you handed it back. A structured outline was on his screen. “This is the format I usually follow, though you can tweak it if it doesn’t work for you,” you explained. A small smile crept onto Simon’s hard face as his chest warmed. You smiled back

“Let’s get started, then,” he said with a grin.

+++

A few hours had passed by the time Simon finished his rough draft. You were working on some of your own homework in the meantime. He’d catch you glancing over at him every once in a while, your cheeks flushing a bit before you went back to your work.

“This is nice,” Simon spoke up. You quirked a bow in response. “Just bein’ out here…in the country, I mean,” he cleared his throat. You smiled and rested your chin in your palm.

“Mhm,” you hummed. Simon’s heartbeat stuttered a bit before he turned back to his laptop.

“Nearly done-I’ll be out of your hair in a few,” he said.

“Oh, well…you don’t have to leave just yet,” you replied. Your voice seemed more timid as your feet shuffled on the hardwood floor. Simon paused his typing and looked over. Your face was tinted as you tapped your pen against your notebook. “It’s almost dinner time, anyway. I wouldn’t want you to leave now if you’re already hungry,” you murmured. Simon blinked, his heart melting at your sweet offer. He cleared his throat.

“Dinner sounds great. I could cook-I make a mean bangers ‘n mash,” he bragged while wiggling his brows.

“I’m sure you do,” you giggled.

“What’s that supposed to mean, hm?” he replied. You shrugged while wearing a cheeky grin. The back door creaked open as Price stepped inside. A small make-shift wood carving of a collared dove rested in his hairy, calloused hands. His eyes looked steely gray as he stepped inside, his walk slow and methodical as he passed by Simon. Price’s face softened as he slipped the small bird into your hands.

“Another one for me to paint?” you asked. Price shook his head.

“You can keep this one, dear,” he smiled. You beamed and clutched the little bird in your soft hands.

“Thanks, dad,” you said. Price nodded before turning his attention to Simon, his face hardening again.

“How much longer you gonna be here, Riley?” he asked gruffly. Simon opened his mouth to respond.

“Actually, I invited him to stay for dinner,” you butted in before Simon could reply. Price’s frown deepened as he narrowed his eyes. Simon felt himself shrink under his stormy gaze. “Is that okay, dad?” you asked. Price rested his hands on his hips and sighed.

“Riley-come help me out in the kitchen. (Y/N), why don’t you head up to your room so you can finish your homework. I don’t want our busy work to distract you,” Price said with a tight smile. Your brows raised as Price shifted his gaze back to Simon. A small shiver ran down the man’s spine as he slid off his chair.

“Pray for me,” he mouthed while holding his hands together. You hid your mouth behind your hand as you smirked. He turned around to see Price starting up the stove.

“Hand me that loaf pan, will you?” the older man asked as he washed his hands. Simon nodded reluctantly. Price grunted as he opened the fridge, pulling out some meat and other ingredients.

“I appreciate your dedication to the team, Riley, but school is just as important,” he began. Simon nodded, his fists clenching at his sides. “What are you studying, anyway?” Price asked as he placed the items on the counter.

“Exercise science,” Simon replied. Price’s brows arched. Simon hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “Figured if bein’ a pro never works out, I’d still be in athletics somehow,” he shrugged. The older man nodded.

“I see,” he replied as he grabbed a cutting board from one of the cabinets. He handed it over to Simon.

“There are some onions in the pantry. Mince one up while I work on the meat,” he instructed.

“Yes, sir,” Simon said. He grabbed the onion and soon began chopping. His eyes stung slightly, yet he refused for any tears to spill out from his eyes.

“Exercise science, eh?” Price rumbled. Simon sliced down a large chunk of onion and nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said. Price poured some bread crumbs into the bowl.

“Must be a pretty smart lad then,” he commented. Simon blinked away a few tears from his burning eyes as the onions became somewhat more potent.

“I don’t know about smart,” he shrugged. Price kneaded the mixture in the bowl meticulously.

“Smart enough to pass an entry level psych course,” he stated.

The knife nearly slipped out of Simon’s hand as his eyes widened slightly. Price clicked his tongue. “So then-want to tell me what your intentions are with my daughter?” he asked, harshly squeezing the mixture in his rough palms. Simon swallowed.

“I promise you, sir…I just wanted to see her again,” he explained. The older man’s gaze was cold and steely, piercing straight through his core. Simon groaned as his hands white-knuckled into tight fists. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t slept with anyone since I last saw her,” he confessed, the tips of his ears burning. Price shook his head.

“That doesn’t mean shite to me,” he snapped and nearly flung the bowl across the counter. Simon frowned as the older man turned his whole body towards him, his bushy brows knitted together. “You’re out of line, Riley. Just ‘cause you haven’t slept with anyone during this time doesn’t mean you won’t do it again,” Price growled. “Christ, didn’t your father ever teach you how to respect a woman?” he snapped. Simon looked down at his hands.

“No,” he replied in a solemn voice. Price blinked. His lips were parted as he tried to form some words, though they refused to come. He eventually cleared his throat.

“Riley, what I want to know is if you’re willing to treat her like a woman and not a fucktoy,” he said, his voice more slow. Simon’s throat grew dry as he loosened his hands. He exhaled slowly before looking Price dead in the eyes.

“Coach, if (Y/N) doesn’t want to do something, I will not force it on her. And I know I’m the last bloke who you’d want her to be with, but I promise you I will do my best to love and cherish her in the way that she deserves,” he explained, his voice wavering as he neared the end. Every muscle in his body felt tight. "My father might've not taught me anything, but at least I know not to hit or curse at a woman who was always meant to be loved," he finished with a stern voice. Price’s lips parted ever so slightly, his stone face softening. The clock in the kitchen ticked by before the older man eventually turned back to the bowl.

The rest of the time in the kitchen was spent with Price simply instructing Simon on what to do. Dinner smelled divine when it was almost done cooking.

“Smells good,” you say as you stroll into the kitchen. Your father gave you a warm smile as you walked over to the cupboard, pulling out three plates and some utensils from the drawer.

“Glad to see the old man hasn’t scared you off,” you winked. Simon felt too tense to chuckle while Price silently pulled the meatloaf out of the oven. Your eyes shifted between the two men before you shrugged. He followed you out, helping you set up the table. The three dogs wagged their tails and whined as they pawed at the chairs.

“No,” Price said firmly. Whiskey tilted his head and whined, his eyes shining in the kitchen light. Price’s eyes seemed to soften. “Agh…fine,” he sighed as he handed each of them a carrot. They happily gobbled up their treats as the three of you sat down. You and Simon exchanged smiles as Price shook his head.

“It’s your fault they’re spoiled, you know,” you piped up. He muttered something before scooping some food and putting it on your plate. His eyes were trained on Simon the whole time as he handed him his food.

“How’s König and Johnny doing?” you asked. Simon chewed on his savory bite and swallowed.

“They’re alright. Nothin’ has changed with König, but Johnny’s got a new girl,” he said. You hummed as your head perked up.

“Really?” you asked. Simon nodded and took a drink.

“Yeah. Name’s Eileen. Sweet girl,” he said casually. You nodded and turned back to your meal. Oscar came up and rested his head in Simon’s lap.

“Oi, Oscar. Get down,” Price said. Simon grinned and patted the dog's head. Oscar licked his hand before backing away.

“Where’d you get your dogs?” Simon asked curiously before taking another bite.

“Rescued them when they were only pups. We found them in a box just a few miles from here,” Price explained. Simon grunted, eyeing the triplets who were wagging their bushy tails.

“Never had a dog,” he said. You gasped, causing Simon to chuckle. “Not by my own choice-my mum…” his voice trailed off as his smile fell slightly. He cleared his throat. “My mum was allergic to them,” he finished, his voice more subdued.

A few moments of silence filled the room.

“She loved cats, though,” he chuckled.

“Yeah?” you asked. Simon nodded.

“We couldn’t bring them into the house, but she’d keep food for the strays out back. I’m tellin’ you-there’d be twenty cats at our back porch each mornin’,” he described. You laughed, a refreshing sound to his ears. “Yeah, she loved them just like her boys,” he chuckled and stared into his drink. Simon glanced over and could tell the question was lingering on the tip of your tongue.

He suddenly looked up to Price.

“Thank you for dinner, coach,” he said.

“‘Course,” the coach replied. Despite his blank expression, he seemed more relaxed than before. Simon stood up.

“You finished?” he asked you. You smiled and handed him your plate.

“Thank you,” you beamed. Simon nodded and walked into the kitchen, setting them in the dishwasher. He checked his watch and cursed. Tonight was pool night at the pub, something he hasn’t missed in a while. He stepped back into the dining room.

“Thanks again. I need to head off now,” Simon said. You frowned.

“Okay,” you replied. Simon said goodbye to both of you before walking out to his truck. A part of him yearned to stay for just a little bit longer-just to look at your face and hear your voice for another moment. He sighed as he closed the front door behind him.

+++

Your POV

You patted your father’s shoulder. He gave you a warm smile as you handed him a cup of tea.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said.

“Welcome,” you replied. You slid down next to him on the bench. A gentle breeze blew across the back porch, causing the wind chimes to hum. Your father sighed after taking a long sip of his drink.

“That Riley…he’s not such a bad kid,” he admitted. Your jaw nearly fell into your lap as your eyes widened.

“Really?” you asked. Price nodded, his eyes scanning the orange highlighting the patch of trees. You smiled brightly, but then your shoulders fell. Price raised a brow as he drank from his cup.

“I know that look. What’s goin’ on, pumpkin?” he asked. You shook your head.

“It’s nothing,” you said. Price sighed.

“(Y/N)-I know you’re thinking about something,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you squeezed your warm cup. "Honey, please talk to me," Price said, his voice wavering. You broke down in tears. Your father studied you for a bit before setting his drink down. He wrapped his bulky arms around you and placed a kiss on top of your head.

“It's alright, sweetheart. I'm here,” he cooed. Tears welled in your eyes as your body began to shake. You sobbed into his arms as a torrent of emotions washed over you, your chest tightening and head spinning.

“I-I can’t do it, dad! What if I get drugged again? What if someone actually-“ your voice cut out when you released a sudden wail. "I miss being able to go out without having to look over my shoulder every five seconds. I miss my friends. I miss driving to the beach and going to the small shops in town,” you ranted. “I-I hate keeping myself here-but every time I try to leave I just can't stop the memories from coming back,” you cried. He patted your back as you soaked his shirt with your tears. You eventually grew tired from sobbing so much, resting your head on your father’s shoulder.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, hun,” he said. You sniffed as he pulled back. He wiped away the tear stains from your cheeks with his calloused thumbs.

“I see you, (Y/N). I can see that you want this so, so badly. And it’s okay that you’re afraid-anyone in their right mind would be,” he states. “But I know that the strength for you to push forward is already inside you-it’s always been there,” your father said. Your bottom lip quivered as a few more tears spilled from your tired eyes. You lunged forward, wrapping your father in a tight embrace. He stroked your hair before he pulled back.

“So, what’s it going to be?”

---

Thank you for reading! ❤️

@notthatfanfictionwriter @mrswhitethornbelikov

108 notes · View notes

callsign-magnolia · 11 months

Text

Undiagnosed // Ch. 1

Mature Content 18+

Jake Seresin x Neurodivergent OC

Word Count:

Masterlist

“I’m sorry, Admiral Blair. Commander Kazansky is dead.”

Commander Kazansky is dead.

Tears welled my eyes as I stood in the doorway, my father behind me. “What?” My dad stepped around me, pushing me back into the house. I walked into the living room, seeing my mother sitting in her chair, glasses on her nose and book in her hand. “Who in god’s name is at our door at nine o’clock at night?” She asked, not looking up. “A-an officer-“ She huffed, slamming her book shut before she ripped her glasses off her face and looked at me. “Speak up. I can’t hear you when you mumble and stutter.” I nodded, taking a deep breath and trying again. “An officer is at the door. Admiral Kazansky is dead.” I said as I rested my hand on the back of the couch. She stared at me for a moment before scoffing and putting her glasses back on. “Held on long enough, didn’t he?” “Mother!” I scolded. She huffed, slamming her book on the side table, standing. “Hush!” I immediately went quiet as she approached me. “He has been sick for years now. Your father has been waiting in the wings for his moment! And this is his moment!” She yelled, pointing her finger in my face.

“And you will not ruin his image!” I nodded, not meeting her eyes as tears streaked my cheeks. “Admiral Kazansky passed away in his sleep earlier.” My father said as he walked into the living room. “And you’re crying for him!” Mom said, smacking my arm, making me jump. “He was a good man, mama!” She rolled her eyes, going back to her chair. “A man you met only three times.” I bit my lip, taking in a shaky breath. “I will be going up to my room.” I said turning, only for my dad to stop me. “Dr. Nieman says you have an exam next week; I expect you to be studying.” I nodded as he squeezed my shoulder. “Yes sir.” I said before he let me go, walking past me and allowing me to go upstairs. Once in my room I shut the door, taking a deep breath before going over to my fish tank, pulling out some food to feed them. They rushed to the top as I dropped the food, making me giggle. “Greedy little guys, huh?” I asked, knowing they wouldn’t reply. “Georgie!” I scolded the guppy who pushed Simon out of the way. “Oh my god, I’m scolding my fish.” I sighed before sitting down at my desk, deciding I better crack open the law textbook before my father came in and yelled at me for not working hard enough.

A few days went by and finally it was the day of Iceman’s funeral. I rode with my parents to the funeral, sitting in the backseat quietly as we rode from the funeral home to the gravesite. Once we pulled up and got out, I looked around at the sea of black dress uniforms, straightening out my own black dress as I stepped out of the truck. “Now,” My mom said as she walked over. “Stand still and be quiet, I don’t want to hear and squall from you.” I nodded as she took my dad’s arm. “Yes ma’am.” I fell in step behind them, walking slowly through the grass and between the graves before finally stopping. My parents would sit, while I stood behind them, my heels sinking into the soft ground. We watched as the casket was carried over, and the funeral started. I was fine until TAPS started; it always made me emotional at these things. But I stood there, stock still but I felt the tears coming, and with them, the fear of my mother.

~~~

“Hi.” I jumped, startled out of my own little bubble by the voice behind me. I turned to find a blonde man, tall, muscular, with green eyes that glistened in the light and had tiny flecks of light brown around the pupil. “H-hi.” I said, realizing how close he was when I turned around. I took a step back, bumping the table and tripping over my feet. I swung my arm, and he caught it, straightening me out. “I am so sorry! I’m so clumsy!” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all.” I smiled, looking back into his eyes. “I’m sorry Lieutenant, I never got your name.” A look of realization crossed his face, and he held out his hand. “Lieutenant Jacob Seresin, ma’am.” I shook his hand. “You seemed off in your own little world over here.” He caught you, and now he thinks you’re weird before he even properly met you. “Yeah, I um… truth be told, I just got lost in thought.” I admitted. My mind had wandered to how Sarah and the rest of the family would cope without Admiral Kazansky, a thought I probably had no business thinking about. “Happens to the best of us, right?” I nodded, looking down at my heels. “So how do you know the Kazansky’s?” He asked, bending down to meet my eyes, making my head snap up. “Oh, my dad is-was just under Admiral Kazansky. Now that he’s gone, that makes my dad the new fleet commander.” His eyebrows shot up in realization. “Katie Scarlett!” I froze at my mom’s voice, straightening my back and diverting my eyes from Jacob. “I’m so sorry Lieutenant. Was she bothering you? She tends to run her mouth and talk. Why, she would talk till your ears fell off if you let her.” My neck burned red against my black scoop neck dress, tears gathering in my eyes.

Your eyes are too far apart.

Your bottom lip is too big, it makes your smile look weird.

You’re too tall in those heels.

Your thighs are too big.

Taglist: @wkndwlff @alltimereverie @cherrycola27 @daisydaisygoose @rosiahills22 @deanoheartspie @cornishkat @high-speed-r @fogle97 @mygyn @ohgodnotagainn @emma8895eb @senjoritanana @kmc1989 @sandaltoesocks @mayhemmanaged @dempy @itsdesiree86 @callsign-athena @jstarr86 @brooke-stinson @rachkon @topguncultleader @bethbunnyy @topgun-imagines @clancycucumber230 @seitmai @kkrenae @djs8891 @shanimallina87 @wildxwidow @eugene-emt-roe @hisredheadedgoddess28 @littlewhiterose @formulapierre @wade-wilsons-chew-toy @bethabear12 @halstead-severide-fan @gg-trini @memeorydotcom

#undiagnosed #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman seresin #hangman #top gun maverick hangman #top gun maverick

11 notes · View notes