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the-book-gnome · 1 year

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Is that so?

Word count: 5.5k

Pairings: Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, slight mention of blood, p in v, fingering, creaming, multiple orgasms, pain implied, praise kink, belly bulge, penetration, unprotected sex, f!reader, petnames (sweetheart)

18+ only ! minors do not interact !

You always wished you were more of a private person. More shielded and not as easy to read. But unfortunately for you, that was not the case, and now everyone knows. You didn’t even say anything about the matter but people could easily tell by the way you acted around him. At first, they thought you were just nervous being around someone so dangerous but after they caught on to the fact that you couldn't meet his eyes and every time he spoke you blushed.

You were fine with other people knowing, you never actually told them so they were just assuming but then soap had just so happened to accidentally tell Ghost. When Soap told you you just drugged and told him it doesn't matter because you don’t have feelings for him but Soap didn’t look at all convinced.

You had been doing everything in your power not to go on the next mission, making up excuses or lying. You got out of the last one but you were ordered to be on the next. You were one of the most experienced medics on the base and they needed you.

———

The task force was sent to Russia for a mission. There was nothing to do but wait until it was light out, so everyone was sitting inside one of the tents. There were a few battery-operated heaters placed around but that hardly did anything to keep everyone warm. The only person who seemed to be unaffected by the cold was Ghost.

Perhaps he didn’t hear when Soap told him about how you felt, he treated you the same as before, which was upsetting. The only time Ghost spoke to you was when he needed help with his injuries and even then he only said a word or two. A part of you had hoped he would acknowledge you more, but of course, he didn’t.

The men were talking in a huddled circle when soap said something that caught your attention. “Yeah it’s blows, I guess you and I are sleeping together,” Soap slapped Roach on the shoulder, flashing him a sly smile.

Roach rolled his eyes at the comment, “I still can’t believe we have to double up, we could be here for a week and they didn’t think to bring enough tents for all of us.” You're hoping to be paired up with someone quiet, Soap was a loud snorer so you weren’t the least bit sad that he already picked a partner.

You decided to wait until someone asked you to partner with them, it would be far too embarrassing to ask and then be denied, you’d rather wait. And wait you did, it had been about 2 hours since that conversation, no one had doormen to you and you were starting to get worried. What if all the tents were already full, where were you going to sleep? It wasn’t until a dark shadow fell upon you that you looked up from your book.

You were shocked to see Ghost standing there. What could he want? Was he bleeding or something? You quickly glanced around his body checking for any wounds but found none. “We will be sharing a tent, I’m going to bed now so either come with or don’t come at all, I don’t want to be woken up by you tripping over things and making noise.” He then walked away towards the exit of the tent.

It wasn’t until his body disappeared through the flaps of the tent that you scrambled after him. You couldn’t figure out why he had chosen you as a partner, he doesn't even like you. A blast of cold hit you as you stepped out of the tent. It was a blizzard out here and you could hardly see 2 feet In Front of you. A gloved hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you further into the high. You were already shivering, tripping every now and then over small piles of snow. The only thing keeping you from falling on your face was his hand.

“There’s no heater in here so we’ll have to stay close to each other,” Ghost's rough voice filled your ears as the two of you stepped into the tent you’d be sharing. When your eyes adjusted to the darkness your mouth fell open. Not only were there not enough tents but there was also a shortage of beds apparently. In the middle of the tent was a medium-sized cot. The right size for Ghost but for both of you? There was no way you wouldn’t be falling off every five seconds. “Is there a problem?” His state was intense. You could feel your body tingling as he stared at you.

You shook your head, there was no point in complaining to him it’s not like it was his fault. You unlaced your boots and set them aside, Ghost did the same. You both kept all your clothes on including your coats, the blanket will keep you a little warm but not warm enough. You expected him to take his mask off but he didn’t, instead, he walked over to the cot and sat down. Ghost motioned for you to go to him and of course, you listened. “There’s not enough room to lay side by side. You’ll need to lay on top of me, is that alright with you?” You let out a breath and nodded, not trusting your voice.

Ghost laid down on his back, he let out a deep groan as his head hit the pillow, he must be exhausted. He draped the blanket across his body and then lifted half of it, “Come.” You were so grateful that it was dark, there was no doubt that your cheeks were bright red. You kneeled on the cot next to his body, not quite sure what to do next. Ghost let out an annoyed grunt and pulled you into him. Your back laid against this broad chest and your legs were placed in between his. God, he was so warm.

You could feel the bottom of his chin resting against the top of your head. It took a few minutes until you were able to relax against him. The steady sound of his heartbeat easing you.

Both of his hands were wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours. It was surprisingly warm, but that could just be from how flushed you were. You started drifting off into sleep as Ghost drew small shapes on the waistband of your pants. It was very relaxing and it felt good to be touched by him.

———

It had only been a few weeks since that first night in the tents. The mission went quickly and the team only had to stay there for 2 nights. Everyone was back at the base waiting for the next mission. You were currently sitting in the med bay spinning in a chair. You were bored out of your mind, there were no patients and the man who was currently in charge of you for the day wouldn't let you leave. Not even for lunch, you had to sit there and eat. It was miserable and if the camp so happened to be bombed at that moment you wouldn't mind very much. Death seemed more exciting than this shit.

That was until a certain tall, large, muscled man walked in. God he was beautiful, you couldn't help but stare at him. You bit on the pen that was hanging from your mouth. A blush formed on your cheeks as you thought of all the ways he could touch you. He was massive compared to you, the top of your head only reached just above his pecs. Your eyes lower to his muscled thighs. He could snap your neck without even straining a muscle with those. And his hands were fucking gorgeous. The few times he wasn't wearing his gloves you made sure to study very intently on them. The veins were prominent and their size could bring you to your knees.

When your eyes reached him, you spit the pen out and hit your knee against the underside of the desk you were sitting at. You cursed as a rush of pain shot through you. “Enjoying yourself?” Ghost spoke from where he was standing. His arms were crossed and his gaze didn't leave you. You didn't really have anywhere else to look since his mask covered everything but his eyes. You could feel the burning in your cheeks as you met his gaze.

Deciding to ignore his words you sat up in your chair and asked, “Is there something you need sir?” Does he like to be called sir when he fucking someone? You wouldn't mind if he did. His voice drew you out of your dirty thoughts once again.

“I need this stitched up,” Ghost held up his forearm showing you a deep gash on the outside of his arm. You hopped out of your seat and rushed over to him. Gently grabbing his arm to inspect the damage.

“Come with me,” You led him to one of the beds, he sat on the edge while you sat in a rolling chair and grabbed all of the needed materials. You grabbed a numbing cream from one of the draws, only to be stopped when he grabbed your wrist.

“I won't need that, just stitch me up as quick as possible,” your brows furrowed, there was no point in making this hurt more than it already has. “I'll be fine, it would just be a waste.”

You nodded and put it away, after cleaning the wound you started seeing it back together. Ghost didn't even flinch. That surprised you, even Price flinched and he acted all strong and tough all of the time. A wave of sadness washed over you as you realized none of this was an act. Ghost truly didn't trust anyone and you had a good feeling he didn't feel much either. Physical or emotional. “How did this happen?”

“Training with soap,” Ghost's response was brief, perhaps he wasn't in the mood for talking. But in truth he never was.

“Oh,” You didn't often see Ghost without his tactical gear on so seeing him with just a normal t-shirt on was strange. It gave you the chance to see his tattoos though. “I like your tattoos, do they have any meaning?”

“No,” Ghost didn't look away from you, you could feel him staring at you but you did your best to ignore him and just keep working. “Why me?” The confusion was evident in his voice.

You immediately knew what he was talking about. You were hoping that he would just pretend Soap never told him. That was what he had been doing for weeks so why bring it up now? “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I don't like liars, you know that,” Ghost's voice sent shivers down your spine. He rarely used his authoritative voice on you but when he did it made you fuzzy. “You don't have feelings for me, you don't even know me. You're probably just confused or lonely.”

You scoffed at his audacity. Your embarrassment faded away as you grew angry. Did he truly believe that you were just so lonely that you latched on to the first man your eyes fell on? You took your hands off of him and glared at him. “First of all lieutenant, people can develop feelings for one another regardless of how close they are and secondly I'm not lonely or confused. I'm perfectly happy with my social standing and I find it insulting that you think that my feelings for you are some desperate attempt to fill a void of loneliness, which by the way doesn't exist.”

Ghost raises a brow at your words. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him with so much confidence. He liked it. “Is that so? Then tell me what exactly you like so much, and why do you make it so obvious to everyone.”

Your eyes narrowed, why is he such a prick? “I don't make it obvious to anyone, just because people think they know things doesn't make that a fact.”

“So you're telling me you feel nothing towards me? I thought I told you I didn't like liars.” He flexed his hand, bringing your attention back to stitching his arm back up. You rolled your eyes at him and went back to your work. But before you could make much progress his other hand grabbed your chin and forced you to look back up at him. Ghost tilted his head slightly, his grip was gentle yet firm. “Don't roll your eyes at me,” the way he said those words almost seemed like he was challenging you. Egging you on.

A tiny smirk grew on your lips, “What are you gonna do if I do? Punish me?” you couldn't tell how he was feeling, he kept his face a perfect mask. Ironic given that he was also wearing a mask.

“Acting like a brat now are we? I'm surprised at your newfound confidence. I can't say I mind it too much,” Ghost's words caused you to grow warm. You clenched your thighs together to ease the ache at the peak. His eyes showed that you weren't very subtle. “Lust then? I'm sure there are plenty of other men that deserve your time much more than I do sweetheart.” he released his grip on you and motioned for you to finish his stitches.

Your mouth had fallen open and when you closed it just fell open again. You couldn't think of anything to say to him, it was like your brain short-circuited. You let out an annoyed sigh and went back to his arm. Why couldn't he just accept the fact that you had feelings for him? Did he think he was incapable of being cared for?

You finished a few minutes later, after you cleaned up the remaining blood, he thanked you and got up from the bed. As he started walking away you abruptly stood from your seat, “Simon,” you called for him. The sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. His head turned slightly, waiting for you to say whatever it was you wanted to say. “People are capable of caring about you. You don't have to make up some excuse for them thinking they're lonely or deprived, from… from experience, I know someone cares for you, whether you will let yourself accept that, that's for you to decide but don't think that my feelings are not real.” He stood there for a moment, taking your words in. A moment later he walked out of the med bay.

———

He hasn't spoken to you in two weeks. Two weeks since the conversation in the med bay. Two weeks since he's even looked at you. Perhaps you overstepped, but it's not like you could apologize, he made sure the two of you were never alone together. On the bright side you could still watch him like you use to, it felt different now that he knows why you watch him.

You had gone to bed early not wanting to deal with Soap and Ghost bickering, at first you thought it was funny but now it just annoys you. It was just getting dark, the camp was always hot though so you usually only used a sheet to cover up with. You were drifting off when you heard a gentle knocking at your door. You couldn't think of who it could be, or what they wanted at this hour. They knocked again and you threw your covers off and slowly made your way to the door.

You unlocked the door and then opened it quickly, hoping to get rid of whoever was on the other side as quickly as possible. You were shocked when you saw your lieutenant waiting patiently for you. His eyes raked down your body, taking in every exposed inch of you. The only thing covering you was an oversized shirt that slipped off your shoulder and the hem only made it halfway down your thighs. Simon's eyes stared at your thighs a little longer than the rest of you. There was nothing to cover up with so there was no point in trying.

“Is there something you need sir?” When he looked back up at you, you saw the frustration in his gaze. Instead of saying something he just pushed past you and entered your room. You stared at him, an awkward feeling resting between the two of you. After shutting the door, you walked over to your bed and sat down, “is everything alright?”

“No, you can't just say the things you said and act the way you did and then go back to how you used to be, it doesn't work that way,” It was clear Ghost was angry, you didn't know why though. He was the one who left. He was the one who started ignoring you. He clenched his hands, balling them into fists where they rested at his side. “Did you mean it?” He almost looks scared. Worry flooded you, did you scare him somehow?

“I…Simon, what's going on, are you okay?” You wanted to make him feel better, but he was right, you didn't truly know him. No matter how much you watched. You stood up and slowly approached him. He watched your every step. Not taking his eyes off you for even a second.

“Please…please just answer the question.” You took one of his hands in yours. He was freezing and shaking. You covered his hand in both of yours and looked back up at him. “I meant every word I said, Simon. I wouldn't lie about something like that, especially not to you.”

“Why, I don't understand,” Simon looked genuinely confused about how you could care for him. It didn't make any sense, he's killed and tortured people. He's never been very kind to you and he doesn't pay much attention to you either. “What have I don't to earn that?”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile craving your lips. “It has nothing to do with what you've earned. You don't trust people, and rightfully so. But I do believe you want to. I think you're lonely. And confused,” you three his own words back at him, but this time they were true. “You don't have anyone you can count on. You're completely alone and I hate that. I know there's nothing I can do to make you trust me, but I am here, even if you just want to sit in silence now and then. I care about you because I think you're a good man. You've done a lot of bad things in your life but so have the rest of us.” You took a step closer to him. His heavy breaths fan the top of your head. You leaned against him while looking up.

Simon stared at you, his eyes roaming over your face trying to see if you were lying or not. When he realized you weren't he brought his head now to yours. He kissed your forehead through his balaclava. “Can…can I sleep in here tonight?” His words were soft and his eyes were tightly closed.

“Of course, come,” Stepping away from him and turning around you led him into your bed. You say him down on the edge and then rested your knees against the floor in between his legs. You unlaced his boots and pulled them off of him, once you were done, you stood back up and the two of you laid down together. He pulled the sheet over you and pulled you into his chest. Ghost was being vulnerable, with you. Just the thought of that made your heart squeeze. You were proud of him for this. Who knows how long it's been since he was able to relax like this?

“You were wrong, I do trust someone” he murmured into your hair, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. “You.”

———

The next few weeks went by quickly, the team was sent out on another mission but that only lasted a few days, and to your disappointment, there was not a shortage of beds.

When everyone was back at the base, Simon usually stayed in your room for a few hours. Sometimes you two would talk but he usually just sat there in silence while you read a book.

Tonight was no different than the others, you were sitting on your cot with your back pressed against the wall and Ghost was sitting across from you on the floor. His arms were resting on his knees while he stared at you. When you asked him why he was starting he just told you to keep reading. You listened, not wanting to risk upsetting him and making him leave. About two later he started talking.

“Is it alright if I come and sit on the bed with you, the floor is hurting my ass,” Simon shifted uncomfortably? IYou let out a small laugh and patted a spot next to you. When he sat now next to you, his weight caused a dip in the catch which caused you to slide closer to him. He didn't seem to mind though. “What are you reading?”

“A book,” You smiled up at him and watched as he rolled his eyes at you. You set your book on your nightstand and lay down on your back, throwing your legs over Ghost. “So I have a very important question for you L.t.”

“Yeah? What would that be,” Ghost laid a hand on your knee, and the other was placed higher on your thigh.

You glanced down at his hand, “When was the last time you've don't anything sexual? I mean like with another person, doing things by yourself doesn't count,” Ghost looked at you with an incredulous look in his eyes. “What? I heard Soap talking about how it's been months for him and I was curious,”

Ghost shook his head and rested it against the wall. “When was the last time you did anything sexual?” He threw your question back at you. Which was rude and even more so when he pinched your thigh causing you to yelp. “If you answer then so will I, otherwise you can keep being curious.”

You let out a defeated sigh, there was no way in hell that you were going to answer it so you accept your defeat, “Fine, I guess I'll stay curious then.”

“Answer the question,” Ghost demanded. You shook your head at him, if he wasn't going to answer first then you weren't going to say a word. It's not like it really matters anyway. “As your lieutenant, I'm ordering you to answer.”

“You can force me to answer a question, that's not how it works,” You rolled your eyes at him and then closed them. A second later Ghost pushed your legs off of him and paced a hand by your head, holding himself above you. You flushed as you opened your eyes, he's never been this close to you before. His knee was positioned in between your legs, making it impossible to close them. “Never.”

Simon's eyebrows furrowed, “Never what?” he rested on his forearm while his other hand gently rested on your waist.

“I've never done anything sexual…well besides with myself but I already said that didn't count, though I have kissed a few guys but that was agile ago.” Your cheeks were bright red. It wasn't that you were specifically waiting for marriage or anything but you wanted your first time to be with someone you trusted. In your line of work, most of the men here are complete assholes who only want a quick fuck. So you had given up trying years ago. Simon didn't say anything, he just stared at you which seemed like his favourite thing to do at this point seeing as that's what he's been doing so much of. “What?” Your voice was hardly above a whisper yet he had heard you just fine.

“I can't say I'm surprised,” Simon brought his hand up to his face, slowly pulling down the balaclava, only exposing his mouth. His lips were plump and looked very soft. You didn't realize you were staring at them until they started to move. “So you've never done anything before?”

You shook your head, looking back up into his eyes, “People are vulnerable when they're exposed. I wanted it to be with someone I trust.”

Simon made a sound of approval. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” You didn't understand why he would ask that until he brought his lips down to yours. You were shocked at first, not knowing what was happening. Once you kissed him back, all of your worries faded away. His lips felt heavenly and his cologne filled your senses. The kiss was gentle, yet it was filled with passion. You've never been kissed like this before. You felt his tongue move along the seam of your lips, the second you parted your mouth for him his tongue dived in. You let out a shaky moan at the feeling, doing your best to keep up with his movements.

While you let him explore your mouth you felt his hand moving down to your thigh, he lifted it and wrapped it around his waist, settling in between your legs. Another moan sounded from your lips as he ground into you. You whined when he broke the kiss, causing a smirk to grow on his lips. He moved his hand over the waistband of your shorts, “May I?” You nodded at him but that didn't seem to please him. “I need you to use your words sweetheart.

“Yes please.” At that, he slowly slides the material down your legs, your underwear with it. Simon started kissing a trail down your neck, you moved your head out of the way exposing more skin to him.

“Such a good girl,” It was almost a growl, his hot breath sent shivers down your spine and straight to your core. You whimpered when he sunk his teeth into your skin, the shape pain was quickly followed by pleasure as he used his tongue to soothe the ache. “Fuck your soaking,” you cupped your sex with his palm, his touch hands scaling against your clit. You bucked up into his hand trying to give yourself more pleasure. “Such a needy little thing aren't you sweetheart?”

“Simon please,” you begged. You didn't know exactly what you needed from him but you did know you wanted to feel more. Giving in to your plea, Simon started rubbing your clit with his thumb. You grabbed onto his shoulders, digging into his flesh. Your breaths grew into pants as he started moving his thumb faster. You felt a finger prod at your entrance, you whined at him which caused him to give you a small laugh in return. Your back arched as he slid his finger inside of you. Starting with slow pumps, your walls clamped tightly around him.

Simon's slow pace was starting to annoy you, you didn't want to do this slow. You met his slow stroke, grinding into his hand as fast as you could. “Easy sweetheart, no need to be in a rush,” His lips caught yours again. The lack of air and pleasure causing you to feel hazy. It felt wonderful, you couldn't remember when you'd ever felt this good, and this was only his fingers. Your mouth fell open as he added a second finger, the stretch felt unbelievably good. Ghost didn't stop kissing you, he called every moan and whine like he was a starving man.

His fingers moved faster, the only sounds in the room were his fingers thrusting in and out of you. You felt your release quickly approaching, “cl-close,” you whimpered into his mouth. Ghost pulled back slightly, your eyes were half closed and your mouth was hung open.

“You're doing so good for me, so fucking good,” He curled his fingers inside of you, you let out a loud moan and your head fell back onto your pillow. Ghost watched as you came around his fingers, but not stopping until he worked you through your whole orgasm. “Atta girl, that's it.”

Ghost sat up on his knees, a satisfied smile on his lips. You watched as Ghost pulled his fingers out of you. You let out a breath when he opened up his mouth and started sucking your release off of his fingers. He let out a pleased hum at the taste of you. When he was finished he let his hands fall to his sides. “We don't have to continue if that makes you uncomfortable.” Instead of answering him you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off of you. Leaving you completely bare. “Fucking hell.”

“I don't want to stop.” Ghost mimicked your action and pulled his shirt off, throwing it to the side. You had never seen him shirtless before, he was absolutely beautiful. His skin was smooth, with a few jagged scars here and there. You reached out to run your hands down his abs. His hands were busy undoing the button and zipper. He pulled down his pants and boxers at the same time. His dick slapped against his stomach. Once his pants were off, he took a hold of your face forcing you to look up at him. You were panicking and he could see it.

“Just relax okay? If you want me to stop, just say the words.” Simon's voice was gentle. It eased some of the anxiety but you were still scared.

“There's no way that's going to fit Simon, it's too big.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, you could feel his dick resting on your pelvis.

“Well make it for sweetheart, don't worry,” Simon moved his hand down to stroke his dick, sliding it up and down your folds. When he asked if you were ready you nodded. “Use your words.”

“I'm ready,” Simon moved his other hand to hold onto, while also holding himself up. The gesture made your heart swell. No matter how emotionless he may act, he was still kind. You bit your lip as he started sinking into you. Only going an inch or two before pulling out and repeating the process. The pain was manageable but it still hurt, the size of his cock, was stretching you out more than what you were used to. He let out a grunt as he bottomed out. Your eyes were squeezed shut and you were taking deep breaths.

Thankfully Simon was true to his word and the pain subsides after a minute or two. His fingers were tracing your face, it was so light you could hardly feel it. “You can start moving now,” He squeezed your hand as he pulled out of you, leaving only the tip in, only hurting a little. Ghost kept his eyes on yours, not looking away for even a second.

After a few thrusts, it started to feel good, really good. “Fuck, so fucking tight, sweetheart,” Gost grunted, your cunt gripped onto his dick tightly, not used to having something so big inside. The sound of skin slapping against each other filled your room. Ghost did his best to keep you as quiet as possible, not wanting to deal with people knowing about what was going on inside your room. You squeezed his hand, the other balling up in the sheets beside you. The stimulation almost felt like too much. Like you were on the edge of a cliff about to fall off.

Your back arched, the position causing Simon to go deeper. His cock pistoning in and out of you at a fast pace. You could feel his dick throbbing, he must be close too. “Oh fuck, Simon!” Your loud moans forced him to clamp his hand over your mouth. Loose enough so you could breathe but it muffled the loud noises you were making.

“I know sweetheart, I know, holy shit,” Simon looked down at your bodies and watched himself thrust in and out of you. When you looked down there was a thick white ring around the base of his cock, along with the print of his dick in your skin. He slowed down for a moment, watching how your body took him in. Each time he trusted inside of you a bulge would form.

At that sight you finally tipped over the edge, your orgasm gushing around his dick as he kept on fucking you, your vision went white and everything went blurry. You heard his moans as he released inside of you, making sure every drop of his cum stayed where it belonged.

Ghost slowly stopped his movements. You whimpered as he pulled out of you. You felt exhausted, all you wanted to do was curl up and pass out. Luckily for you, Simon flipped onto his back next to you, he gently moved you into his arms, stroking your hair and telling you how good you did for him. “You're not going to start ignoring me again are you?” you mumbled into his chest. His heartbeat was still beating fast.

“Never again Sweetheart.”

#cod mw #call of duty #modern warfare #ghost #simon riley #ghost mw2 #mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #modern warfare 2 #reader smut #ghost x you

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cactuscoolerr · 10 months

Text

character: itoshi rin cw: nsfw-ish (??)

sypnosis: exboyfriend!rin invites you over

rin had finally come back home from his match overseas but you didn't make an effort to go and visit him and he didn't make an effort to come and visit you. it's not like you wanted him to anyway, despite having cried over him nearly every time you thought about him. you were only trying to convince yourself he wasn't worth crying over and you didn't love him anymore and it was working.

that was until your phone lit up in the middle of the night. you didn't pay any mind to it at first, walking back in the bathroom to continue brushing your teeth and taking care of your skin.

when you walked back to your room, your phone lit up again and you sighed softly, suddenly remembering that someone must've been texting you.

at the sight of rin's name, you nearly dropped your phone in surprise. your heart rate picked up and you took shaky breaths before hesitantly answering his call.

“hello?” you breathed out and listened as the other side stayed silent for a second.

“come over,” he said plainly and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “and why would i do that?”

“because i have things of yours that i’m sure you’d want back”

his words made you pause for a second, squinting your eyes slightly before replying suspiciously. “and what would that be..?”

the other side was silent for a few seconds, “those stupid stuffed cats you got us,” rin spoke almost in a whisper, “i still have them here” your small gasp was enough to make rin smile slightly and he listened as you cleared your throat, likely to compose yourself.

“you’re holding them hostage”

the simple tone in your voice made rin snort out a laugh, pressing his phone a little closer to his ear more of your reactions to his words. “so are you gonna come and get them?”

you sighed loudly and switched your phone to your other ear, “your roaches and mites probably infested them by now”

“ew what,” rin made a face full of disgust, even though you couldn’t see him. “you don’t want them then? i’ll just throw them out” he spoke, knowing damn well he’d keep them as a reminder of you if you didn’t come over and get them from him.

“i guess i’ll come over,” you sighed heavily, making rin smile once more. “only because you’re holding them hostage..”

rin snorted and you rolled your eyes. “i’m coming over now”

“fine”

you didn’t wait a second longer before hanging up the phone and moving quickly to pull on a sweater.

it wasn’t until you were walking out of your front door did you realize that you were going to see rin. you felt as if you hadn’t seen him in forever, which wasn’t necessarily an understatement.

you tried your best to rid yourself of the burning feeling in your cheeks, but it seemed impossible, even when you walked in the cold weather.

"why couldn't he have just brought it to me," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your hands together to keep warm. "what a fucking dick. fuck him, dude"

you continued to mutter complaints the whole way to rins place and once you finally stood in front of his front door, you didn't hesitate to knock rapidly and insanely loud until rin came and opened the door.

"my roommates and neighbors are fucking sleeping," rin hissed as soon as he opened the door and you only responded with a mean glare.

he let you inside and you wasted no time in making your way towards rin's room to save your babies from his evil clutches.

a loud groan sounded from you when you noticed that they weren't where they were meant to be and you quickly turned around to glare at rin once he entered the room. "where are they?"

rin only stared at you for a few seconds until he looked away, taking off the rings he wore on his fingers to place them on the dresser. "i hid them"

you deadpanned at him and slapped your hands over your face. "what do you mean, you hid them? rin, i didn't come here to fuck around"

"hm.. well i told you to come here for that reason, so sorry i guess"

a small noise of confusion was the only thing you could let out before rin practically pounced on you. his lips immediately found yours and you whined loudly at the contact.

"rin!" you yelled, out of breath with burning cheeks when you pulled away. "what the hell are you doing?"

he was just as out of breath and you watched him closely. "i suppose i should've asked you first, sorry" he muttered and you groaned loudly. "what the fuck are you doing, rin" your tone was desperate and his eyes met yours.

you noticed that his eyes held concern as he watched you, but you weren't entirely sure why. it wasn't until he made hesitant steps towards you and gently wiped at your cheeks.

"why're you crying, y/n" his tone was gentle and you took shaky breaths, slightly leaning into his touch. "i don't know.." your voice broke and rin was quick to pull you into a tight hug. "god, i love you, y/n"

his words made you sob as you held onto him tightly, not wanting to let him go again. "why would you do that to me?"

"i'm sorry.." rin muttered into your hair as you continued to sob.

"you hurt me so bad" you sobbed and rin gently ran his fingers through your hair in attempts to soothe you. "i know.. i know, baby"

a choked sob sounded from you and you pressed your face deeper into his chest, not caring that your tears were completely soaking his shirt. "i really fucking hate you sometimes, rin.."

he stayed silent this time, likely not knowing what yo say, but he continued running his fingers through your hair. you could feel the way rin's heart beat rapidly against his chest and you only hoped that it was for the same reason yours was beating just as fast.

"y/n," rin spoke suddenly and you let out a small whine, intending for it to be some kind of response. "i need to kiss you again.. can i?"

you tried your best to stop crying before pulling slightly away from him and nodding.

rin's lips found yours once again and you practically melted in his arms. he held onto you tightly and you were sure that was the only thing that kept you from falling to the floor. and he must've known that because he pulled you closer before gently picking you up.

your legs were quick to wrap around his torso and one of his hands reached to grip onto your thigh while the other stayed on your back to press your chest against his.

a low moan sounded from rin and you couldn't help the way your hips bucked forward into him. you whined and rin took the opportunity to press his tongue into your mouth.

you didn't see a reason in resisting him, so you allowed him to do whatever he wanted.

"fucking love you so much," rins words were breathless as he pulled away to attach his lips onto the side of your neck. "my perfect girl.."

a shaky moan from you only encouraged him to keep going as he led you to his bed and laid you down on the edge. his lips attached to yours once more before he trailed gentle kissed down your jaw, as well as your neck, and towards your collarbones.

he nipped lightly at your skin and you shuddered, forgetting the feeling from when rin was away. "how's that feel?" rin breathed against your skin and you nodded quickly. "it's good.. feels good.."

"keep feeling all this for me, ok?"

"ok.." you breathed out before a quiet gasp fell passed your lips when rin began sucking roughly on your skin. all you could do was moan as rin moved onto other areas of your chest when he was satisfied with the bruises he was leaving on you.

slowly, rin moved lower, unzipping your jacket just a tiny bit as he moved.

"please, just hurry.." you whined and you felt rin's breathy laugh against your skin that invoked goosebumps across your skin. "patience, y/n.. thought i taught you better than that, baby"

you whined once more and laid your head back to stare at the ceiling as rin continued his slow descent down your chest.

"fuck," rin said shakily as he pushed the sides of your jacket away to stare at your loose tank top you wore. "no wonder you were so fucking cold"

you glared at him and brought your knee up to hit him lightly in his ribs. "i was in a rush, shut up"

"eager to see me?"

his teasing smirk made your cheeks burn but you rolled your eyes once more and laid your head back down to stare up again. "just shut the fuck up and do what you're supposed to be doing"

"fucking brat," rin muttered and bit down on the fat of your breast. a quiet moan sounded from you and he gently kissed where he bit you. "you know i don't like that shit"

"get over it" you said shakily and you just knew that rin was rolling his eyes.

"you're lucky i love you, brat" he scoffed before leaning down to suck on your skin again. you breathed out shakily at his words and your brought your hand to grab gently onto his hair.

you didn't mean to grow emotional again, but you seriously missed the way he said 'i love you'.

it didn't take long for rin to hear your gentle sobs and he stopped his attack on your chest to look up at you. his eyes were curious before they were replaced with complete concern.

"hey, hey.. what's wrong, angel?" his tone was gentle as he moved quickly to lay down beside you and pull you into his arms. "i love you, baby. it's okay.."

his words only made you cry harder as you buried your face into his chest. "i love you.." your words were muffled but rin still understood you. "i know you do. you're okay, baby"

rins body was warm against yours and you quickly calmed down in his gentle hold. it was quiet between the two of you, but neither of you seemed to mind it. it felt comfortable with rin, and you realized that this was the only thing you needed.

"i'm sorry," rin spoke softly against your hair. "i don't know why i did that to us"

you didn't respond, only moving closer into rins touch. his soft laughter made you smile as your eyes began to flutter closed.

"guess you're sleeping here then," rin chucked softly and kissed the top of your head while his arms tightened around your smaller body. "goodnight, my love"

rin's voice was gentle and just the thing that put you to sleep while your soft and rhythmic breathing was enough to put him to sleep.

#bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk headcanons #itoshi rin x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #itoshi rin smut #rin smut #rin itoshi smut

637 notes · View notes

samstersv · 9 months

Text

“jamie help!”

-in which jamie drysdale saves the day for his girlfriend

a scream was heard in the early hours of the morning in the apartment both trevor zegras and jamie drysdale shared. the previous night, y/n decided to sleep over to spend more time with her loving boyfriend, jamie.

the two slept peacefully in his bedroom while trevor slept in his own. everything was going fine until y/n woke up early merely by accident. she stared at her boyfriend intently, taking in his adorable features and thinking about his personality she instantly fell in love with.

then, like all mornings go, y/n felt thirsty, so she placed a soft kiss on jamie’s cheek and quietly got out of bed, tip toeing to the kitchen/dining room. her feet felt cold against the floor and the change of scenery was felt against her bare legs as she walked in nothing but jamie’s shirt and undergarments.

y/n walked over to the sink where she went to grab a cup but something deceived her. she gasped and let out a scream as she barely spared a glance at the cockroach and quickly ran a decent amount of space away from where it was placated. “jamie help!” y/n screamed in hopes that her boyfriend would wake up and save her from the evil monster on the counter.

quick footsteps were heard from both trevor and jamie’s rooms as both guys stepped out full on ready to beat someone up, little did they know all they needed to do was kill a roach.

“baby what’s wrong?” jamie ran out tiredly yet so awake just for his girl. when he saw there was no immediate danger, he let his guard down and so did trevor who could barely keep his eyes open but didn’t mind helping his best friend’s girl whom he also begun to grow really close with.

tears prickled in the corner of y/n’s eyes as she made nervous steps in place and grabbed onto the biceps of her boyfriend “there’s a roach jamie.”

at that sentence, jamie relaxed his shoulders and kissed y/n’s forehead. “go sit on the couch n/n, me and trevor will kill it.”

“and trevor?” trevor restated in third person.

“yes, and you. uhm.. give me your slides.” jamie watched in the corner of his eye as his adorable, loving girlfriend scrunched her toes and sat on the couch. when he looked to where y/n said it was, he noticed that the roach had moved so he had to move quicker.

“why the fuck am i giving you my slides jimmy.” trevor slightly panicked but without hesitation went to grab his slides that where laying next to the couch. he gave one shoe to jamie and kept the other securely in his hand.

jamie slowly crept closer to the roach. he looked practically dead-eye at the thing that made his girlfriend cry and panic and it looked right back at him. jamie swung at the bug, expecting it to be a quick and easy job, but oh he thought very wrong.

instead of simply deciding to accept it’s fate, the cockroach decided to fight back. the bug ran away as soon as trevor’s slide hit the counter where it was supposed to be. the bug then scurried down the counter and onto the floor where it ran straight towards trevor.

trevor’s eyes widened in fear and he ran possibly the fastest he’s ever ran before as he and y/n both screamed when he joined her—but standing—on the couch. y/n pulled her feet up onto the couch and held her arms around her legs in comfort.

“little fucker is trying to get me!” trevor screamed in fear. jamie tried his oh-so-hardest to not stop everything right there and burst out laughing at his best friend.

when the roach found out it had nowhere to go, it decided to attempt to scurry to a wall where it would make its escape. but thankfully, in all his boyfriend-ness, jamie ran to the roach and slammed trevor’s (expensive) slide right down on it’s body, and just for good measure, and to assure to both his girlfriend and best friend that it was dead, he slapped it once more.

he quickly went to grab a paper towel where he picked up the dead bug (and tried not to cringe at the feeling through the paper towel) and threw the remains out in the garbage before going to his girlfriend to comfort her.

like a koala, y/n was picked up by jamie and she securely wrapped her legs around his waist and arms around his neck. she too laid her head in the crook of his neck and mumbled “thank you for waking up to do this, you too trevor.”

with her words being just loud enough for trevor to hear, with a shaky breath, trevor said, “it was all jamie but you’re welcome n/n” he awkwardly chuckled as he finally got off the couch.

that’s when—while still holding his girl—jamie doubled down and bursted out laughing at his best friend. at some point he began to gasp for air and both y/n and trevor joined him in laughing. “that shit chased you.” jamie died of laughter, making his girlfriend and best friend die at both his laughter and the reason for it.

“why’d you come out here this early either way?” trevor asked y/n after the trio’s laughter died down.

“i wanted water.” y/n sighed, she now noticed how dry her mouth was.

trevor walked over to the sink to get water for y/n and then handed it to the girl. he then carefully and cautiously took the other slide from jamie “okay you guys go back to bed, i’m gonna clean this shit so fucking good right now.” his words earned a laugh from both jamie and y/n before they said their good nights and headed back to jamie’s room.

“thank you for saving me my knight in shining armor.”

jamie kissed his girlfriend sweetly “you’re welcome baby.”

y/n — your name

n/n — nickname

375 notes · View notes

thatsthewrongwallcraig · 8 months

Note

May or may not have a bit of Clay Roach brain rot rn, and I'm thinking like.. hurt/comfort thing where reader knew Clay some years ago before the drugs and everything but lost contact, but they run into eachother again and reader is just.. heartbroken at the way he's ended up. So it leads to some old feelings coming up and some possible smut so they both can get away from their problems for a bit

My beloved nonnie, I knew I'd have a field day with this ask, but still, it somehow got rather out of hand 😅🫶🏻🖤

Old Habits Die Hard

Summary: It’s said that your pupils dilate when you look at someone you love, but is it really love or just the drugs this time?

Pairing: sub!Clay Roach x using!fem!Reader

Word Count: -4k (Y’all know I have a lot to say about Clay)

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, Drugged-Up Smut 18+!, Biting, Bruising, Choking, Riding, Unprotected P In V, Slapping, Scratching, Degradation, Explicit Consumption of Drugs (Codeine & Paracetamol), Explicit Mentions Of Other Substances, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions Of Withdrawal, Talk About Track Marks, Clay Being A Tripsitter For Reader, Emotional Constipation And Rather Questionable Ways To Deal With That

A/N: Buckle up, friends, this will be….a trip.

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @lifelessvessel @doddernix @svgarcaine @amayalul @basementgrl222 @kristennero-wallacewellsver @iiheartsai @fan-goddess @shady-the-simp

No more alone or myself could I be

Lurched like a stray to the arms that were open

No shortage of sordid, no protest from me

With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean

She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene

- The Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene By Hozier

With a cotton-dry mouth, your raspy tongue practically sticking to the roof, you cleared your throat, feeling clumps of nicotine-infused mucus rumbling in your lungs. Turning your lazy body from your back to your side, your thoroughly fogged-up mind started scrambling for a memory, a shard of something to hold on to. There was barely anything, but a comfortably perfume-doused pillow against your cheek and a warm blanket around your shoulders, both indicating that you found yourself at home at least.

The crusty residue around your weary eyes let you know that you must’ve slept like a log and upon slowly opening them up to the dimly lit bedroom you very well knew why. It should’ve sent a jostle of shock through your nerve endings but instead, a blubbered laugh trickled out of a sly grin as you studied the scene of the crime.

You knew you hated drugs, really, really despised and detested them…that was up to the point something, some not-so-minor inconvenience, rendered you desperate for something to escape yourself with for a little while. Ever since the first glass of sparkly sweet white wine at the tender age of 15 years or the first secretly smoked joint on a children's playground in the dead of night with your best friend during high school, you knew about the marvelous powers of substances and their quite excellent capability of shutting off your always-firing neurons.

Right now, as your thoughts scrambled around inside your skull, it felt as if thick tar clogged your mental gears from turning properly, and with your eyes counting at least half a dozen cough syrup bottles scattered between a blister pack of good ol’ paracetamol pills it made a whole lot of sense to you.

“Well, don’t mind if I do…” You chuckled to yourself before slipping your body from under the blanket, letting your legs dangle over the edge before searching for a somewhat still halfway-full bottle of cough syrup with one hand while the other was busy pressing two white, circular-shaped paracetamol pills out of their aluminum confines.

The decision to continue this little bender was already made but just to check in, you threw your little, digital alarm clock a brief glance.

“Yes, perfect!” You quipped in amusement upon the information that it was only Saturday afternoon, more than enough time to treat yourself to another buzz or maybe even two before winding down to be back on track and a part of the office desk machinery like every Monday.

After washing the pills down with a carefully curated overload of somewhat oily cough syrup, that stuck to the back of your throat, you moved to lean your back against the headboard to light yourself a cigarette, the sad rest of a halfway-smoked one still dangling on the brim of the stained glass ashtray on your nightstand. Just in the very moment in which you found yourself about to light the cigarette, pulling the lighter to your lips, you noticed something or much more someone out of the corner of your eye.

“What the fuck…” You muttered to yourself, discarding lighter and cigarette right back to where they came from as your eyes widened in a muffled-down sensation of surprise.

It wouldn’t have been the first time that you brought yourself a little something something back home from a bender, but it happened rather rarely still. However, something inside, down at the depths of your chest started whirring as your eyes wandered over a glossy brown mess of disheveled, curly hair. Something distinct about its color and the way the ends coiled up to bouncy curls had you feeling just too much for being intoxicated like this. For a moment, you pondered over simply evacuating your own apartment but that would’ve been nothing but ridiculous. In addition, you didn’t exactly feel like riding out your next high in broad sunlight with people nattering, chatting and buzzing all around you, nope. The surge of mellow euphoria was meant for a cold diet Coke and a Led Zeppelin record running on the player right opposite from you on the dusty TV stand.

“Hey there?”, You nudged the body to your left carefully with your elbow, “Wakey, wakey…”

“Huh?” The someone reciprocated in a slightly startled groan, the tone of his voice causing your brows to furrow because it was somehow terribly familiar to you.

This sort of raspy, sleep-drunk sigh had your mind reeling to remember the person it belonged to and as soon as the man next to you started turning himself onto his back, you nearly choked on your own breath.

“Hi…” You croaked out, your throat rendering dry and if it hadn’t been for the meticulously measured-out amount of paracetamol and codeine in your bloodstream, you would’ve plummeted into a pitch-black puddle of emotional hurt as your eyes just couldn’t get away from a pair of bright blue ones staring right back.

“Hi…” The man you knew since way before he had grown just the first stubble on his chin murmured back, a softly lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his lip to curl up.

For what seemed to be endless minutes, the both of you just stared at each other. Something led you to believe that Clay knew a bit more about how both of you had ended up at your place and you felt yourself being not completely indifferent to asking about it.

“You…huh?” You pointed your head towards him in a soft movement, resting your chin on your pulled-up knees afterward.

With a sigh, the smile on Clay’s face died away.

“I was afraid about you not remembering anything from last night, got you home.” Clay nodded whilst pulling himself up to lean against the headboard of your bed just as well, the blanket gliding down over his front and giving free sight to a severely malnourished body.

“You brought me home?” You arched your brows at him a little further, your thoughts still very busy with piecing just anything together until you eventually came to the conclusion that you’d blacked out at some point.

“Yeah, and I’m glad I did. You were there and at the same time you really really weren’t.” Whilst looking at him, the feeling of being berated by him of all people grew inside of you.

“Hmhm..judgy.” You sneered, feeling the discomfort rising in your chest.

“I’m not judging. I was worried.” Clay brushed vagrant strands of his now much longer hair out of his face.

The last time you had seen him, about two…maybe three years ago, his hair had hardly reached over his earlobes and now the curled-up ends cascaded over his skinny collarbones.

“Oh, I get it, Clay, okay. So you are allowed to be worried but I wasn’t, huh? Wasn’t allowed to maybe point out that a needle in your arm for breakfast is too far off, even for us, no, yeah fuck you!” Rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him, you got your buzzing body off the bed to waddle into the kitchen to grab yourself one of the cans of fizzy diet Coke you craved so much right now.

“I’ve gotten myself out of that if you do so much as care about it.” Clay called after you, trying to not set even more fire to the whole situation.

“ ‘S that all you have to say about that? Fucking hypocrite.” Metallic creaking and the sound of soda bubbling in an aluminum can followed right after, the noises not able to drown out the breaking and cracking inside of you in the slightest.

You hated talking down to him like that but your hurt ego and damaged pride just couldn’t handle it any differently right now, the pain of forcefully having to split ways with Clay was still much too prominent in your memory. You went to detox and he drowned himself out in the endless shadows of whatever shady alleyway or shooting gallery out there. For quite a while before his slip-ups eventually, had you questioning everything enough to get your own ass into rehab, you had watched him getting worse with every passing week. You most certainly weren’t a saint yourself, no, but you still knew how you had begged him to go to rehab with you, to get the help the both of you needed desperately at that point but it hadn’t been to any avail. Stubborn and head-strong Clay Roach had made his choice and that one had broken your heart so hard that you’d promised yourself to never ever entertain his company ever again. Nights had been spent with nothing but ugly crying and sobbing about his stupid ass in rehab, you worried sick with the countless what-ifs fuelled by detrimental withdrawal anxiety until you had gradually killed every little bit of sympathy for him inside of you. It had been tedious and endlessly painful work but you had managed it to a point where you felt like you could breathe again without your body longing for him like your lungs did for oxygen.

“This is not me belittling you, okay?”, Clay looked up at you with pleading eyes the second you stepped back out of the kitchen, the can of soda tightly in your grasp, “This is me being a self-righteous bastard that’s too proud to say sorry.”

“That’s more like it.”, You scoffed, brows knit together as your gaze wandered over his torso, “Somehow I don’t trust you, arm’s up.”

For a second, Clay frowned at your demand but acted upon it equally quickly.

“There, no track marks, happy? Haven’t touched that shit in over a year.” He waited for your approval but you didn’t really feel like trusting him still.

“What else are you on? You don’t just run into somebody on the scene because you got lost on the way…” With an almost irritating smile on his face, Clay shrugged his shoulders.

“Funny how we didn’t bump into one another on the scene but at the damned 7/11 down the road at around 3 A.M. I had a few drinks, yeah, and maybe I was a bit starstruck as you squeezed yourself out of the entrance right next to me without even so much as taking notice of me. And maybe, just maybe, I turned on my heels to run after you before you vanished off into the night again.”, With his eyes, Clay pointed down his front, “And about that…I’m on a Methadone prescription that massively fucks with my appetite, thank you for asking.”

“Methadone?” You asked quietly, trying to play right over the part where you felt like breaking down and crawling into his arms that practically called out to you.

“Yeah, I’m slowly getting off of that, too, but I’m not quite there just yet. Maybe 3 to 6 months longer and that’s also a done deal. How about you?” Clay’s eyes darted toward the mess of small brown bottles and confetti of aluminum foil on your nightstand.

“Rare weekend bender. Had a shitty week, y’know.” You answered before taking a swig from the can.

“Uh-huh.”, Clay nodded, “Guilty pleasure, hm?”

“Yeah, something like that.” The heavily carbonated drink bubbled in your stomach, pressing a tiny, choked-back burp out of you.

“Listen…”, Clay sighed and with that, your ears perked up, “ I know, I hurt you…a lot, to say the least, and not a single day went by where I didn’t regret being such a bastard, okay? I know I fucked it up, spectacularly.”

“I appreciate the apology but…” You mumbled reluctantly.

“But, what?” Clay allowed his arms to slump down onto the bed again, his form slowly relaxing.

“But… I don’t know, Clay. To be perfectly real with you here, I’m losing my train of thought right now.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking another mouthful of diet Coke before placing the can on the nightstand.

“It’s okay…maybe come’ere then?” He carefully invited you to ride your growing buzz out right next to him under the soft blankets.

“Uh-huh, yeah…” A soft yawn snaked out of your mouth as the increasing drowsiness washed through your muscles with every beat of your heart.

Exhaling an even longer yawn right after the first, you just gave in to the pull his presence had on you and snuck yourself under your duvet and into his careful embrace. His heartbeat thumbing in a slow and steady pace against your ear pulled all of your focus towards him and the comfortably warm rush spreading from your stomach throughout the rest of your body. Feeling his skin against your cheek took you right back to those times when something along the lines of this used to be the regular weekend activity but then quickly morphed into something more dangerous than just a weekend trip of numbed-out euphoria. You tried not to think about it but the memories plopped up inside your mind all by themselves, making you physically cringe.

"What's that now?" Clay murmured to you, his voice soft and breathing calm.

"It's…memories." You sighed, trying to relax and to simply let go of them.

"That's okay. Remind yourself that they can't hurt you, those times are over, I promise." You struggled a little with following his words as your brain started to come up with more or less random thoughts.

"Why…why didn't you just let me be last night? What gave you the audacity to sneak yourself back into not only my life but…but also my apartment, huh?" The words slipped from your tongue, halfway muzzled by his chest.

"I dunno.", It sounded like he almost laughed it out gently, "Maybe it was really just audacity and the stubborn hopes of an idiot like me."

"Hmhmm…" You mumbled away, eyes fluttering shut as you felt yourself gradually drifting into sensory oblivion, a far-off place where nothing really bothered you anymore.

With a barely even there grin, you had to admit to yourself that Clay's chest was a much more comfortable thing to fall into than just your pillow as the buzz eventually took over. Your mind and muscle memory went straight back to feeling safe with him, taken care of and protected because even though back then it had been the two of you knocked out of your socks, Clay had never failed to cradle you in his arms and keep you sheltered from everything and anything.

After your eyes had fallen shut and your pulse calmed down to a low beat, you lost track of just how long you had dozed off. It could've been just a few hours or half a day, regardless, it was dark outside and a nice, crisp breeze went through the halfway-open window of your bedroom. Now that the tiring numbness slowly wore off, a pampering flush of warm euphoria followed, the kind of feeling that encouraged you to prolong it by having a couple of drinks or tempted you to get teasingly touchy with either yourself or whoever was with you. An arguably treacherous slippery slope having Clay, whose fingers were busy playing through your hair, right next to you.

“What time is it?” You sighed, shamelessly nuzzling your face further into his shoulder until the tip of your nose stroked against his neck, inhaling his scent and allowing it to fill up your nostrils.

“Hey there, sunshine.”, He yawned in return, the smile on his face audible, “About half past 8. How are you feeling, hm?”

“Surprisingly rested…” You replied, your voice still a little drowsy whilst your lips were eagerly creeping up to brush over his pulse point, the faint taste of salty sweat seeping into your mouth upon contact.

“Oh…I wouldn’t mind you doing that again…” Clay breathed against the crown of your head, picking right up on your nonverbal invitation whilst his hand roamed underneath the blanket, searching for yours.

“You mean that?” You led your lips to plant a kiss on his neck, sucking the sensitive skin between your teeth to leave a small hickey.

“Uh-huh…”, It rolled over his tongue as his lean fingers closed down around your wrist to pull your hand up to his exposed throat, silently proposing to you to press your palm around it, “Wouldn’t mind you being a little mean to me either. I do believe I deserve that, no?”

“Bold of you to assume what you deserve in the first place.” You teasingly sneered back, hand carefully yet firmly closing down around his throat whilst your lips latched onto his earlobe.

Clay had played it smart and that drew a sly smile from you. Line, hook and sinker.

“I thought, I-” The imminent wash of pain emitting from his earlobe as you bit down on it had him gagging on his words.

“Yet another mistake.”, You hummed against the shell of his ear, clicking your tongue tauntingly after letting the warm flesh between your teeth scrape out of your mouth.

“What do you want me to do then?” Clay croaked, his voice gradually cut off by your carefully tightening grasp around his throat.

“Much better.”, You cooed in return whilst the buzzing warmth from your stomach gradually shot down amidst your thighs in increasingly needy jolts, “I want you to take your shorts off and then you shut the fuck up, got that?”

He nodded vigorously, his chin nearly meeting the back of your hand as you felt his Adam’s apple bobbing against your palm. Just like you told him to, Clay shimmied out of his shorts whilst your free hand was busy pulling your own panties down until you were able to smoothly slip out of them.

For a split second, your thoughts halted, the flood of countless, well-familiar memories rushing through overworked synapses leading you to question if this whole endeavor was the right road to take right now before the excitement and your own physical need to feel him took over again. Forcing any doubt into the nothingness at the very back of your mind, you threw your right leg over his hips to straddle his lap, Clay’s already eager hard-on pressing against your soaked cunt.

“Fuck..” He gasped out, his eyes beaming at you through a half-lidded gaze.

As soon as you let your crotch slide down a little, allowing his pulsing cock to push into you at once, you served his cheek a hefty slap.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, didn’t I?” Clay’s head lolled to the side upon impact, a deep grunt rippling through his chest as he nodded again.

“Not a single whine…” You stated, starting to rock your hips against his.

You barely allowed your own body to adjust to his full girth, resulting in a comfortably painful stretch to accommodate his size. For a blissful moment, your pulse throbbed through your walls as the tip of his cock thrusted against that particularly sensitive spot inside of you, sending pleasure buzzing like an electric current through your muscles.

With every sensation amplified by the cocktail of substances flooding your bloodstream, you released Clay’s throat from your grip, a single shred of reason reminding you not to choke him out in an unfortunate accident. Instead, both of your hands clawed down on his chest, nails digging into his pale skin, drilling until you left an array of angry, red streaks that made him twist and twitch under your fingertips as not one singular noise left his trembling lips.

“Look at you, hedonistic traitor, finally understanding the assignment, nuh?” It was undeniable that your words cut deep but in that very instance, you wanted them to, needed Clay to suffer just as much as you did and in the way his eyes got glossed over with a tell-tale watery sheen you know he did.

“Oh, you know you don’t deserve any of that right now, don’t you? Don’t deserve to be balls deep inside of me, no.” You pushed it further, borderline hurting yourself by spewing those vile words right at him, the malevolence oozing right out of every single one.

To somehow, haphazardly counteract the emotional dread, you picked up the pace, pounding his back into the mattress underneath over and over, repeatedly sending shots of physical pleasure through the both of you.

“Good god, fuck…” It left your mouth in a shaky moan, your body most certainly not used to so many bodily sensations since you very much opted right out of any sort of long-term dating after having to split from Clay.

The vast majority of orgasms that had rippled through you since then were your own doings and none of them could just barely reach the state of growing bliss you found yourself in right now. If it hadn’t been for your own needy desperation, you’d dragged it out longer, toyed with him a little more but as of now you just couldn’t be bothered with any of that. Rocking your waist against his lap again and again, you felt the rapidly tightening coil in your lower abdomen growing ready to snap, your walls clenching down around his cock and pulling him in impossibly deep with every further thrust.

The very thing that eventually pushed you right past your threshold was the dire expression on his face. Clay was biting down on his bottom lip so hard to remain silent that his teeth nearly dug deep enough to draw blood.

“Issok…” You huffed out, your own breath nearly getting stuck in your throat as you felt the first contractions rendering you cockdrunk, waves of trashing release washing through you like an uncontrollable tide.

With your permission given, Clay whined out in pleasure himself, his head pushing back into the pillow as he shoved himself into you as deep as possible, spilling his pent-up seed in heavy pumps.

“Fuck!” He cussed out, his hands reaching towards your waist to hold you right in place as his cock throbbed and twitched inside of you, shooting ropes of his release into your oozing cunt.

You felt the warmth of his cum pushing past, trickling out of you to pool between your slightly shaking, sweat-soaked thighs. Minutes appeared to pass in silence until both of you slowly came back from your orgasmic highs, breaths trying to be caught again.

“How do you feel about grabbing a drink?” Out of all things it was that what splattered out of your mouth.

“Sure as fuck wouldn’t say no to that…” Clay laughed back from underneath you.

#tam rambles #asks are appreciated #asks are always open #rory culkin #clay roach #city on a hill #clay roach smut #clay roach × you #clay roach x reader #clay roach x fem!reader #dead dove do not eat

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fixfoxnox · 1 year

Text

Things have been a little hectic (and I'm exhausted) so take a spicy snippet to fill the time! Hopefully its at least somewhat decent lol

Luke's Spicy Snippets (7)

Pairing: Pirate AU! Soap/Roach/Ghost

Tags: Trans! Roach, breeding kink, cross dressing, spitroasting, rough sex, begging, implied revenge fuck (? Kinda), implied kidnapping, implied overstimulation

"Fucking frills," Soap cursed under his breath. His face was a rosy pink color and his breathing was labored. Still, despite his cursing and frustration, he didn't stop moving his hips. He continued to pound into the man in front of him. "Should fucking cut that thing off of you."

His words earned a muffled moan from the man beneath him and a desperate chuckle from the man in front of him. "Now, Soap," Ghost cut off with a brief moan, "If you did that, we wouldn't have anything else to put him in. He'd have to walk around the ship naked."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Soap slapped Roach's thigh, "Keep you wet and ready for us, eh Bug? Would certainly make it easier to keep you, fuck- oh shit, full."

Roach could only answer with a whimper, after all, with the combination of Soap's cock bullying his cunt and Ghost fucking his mouth, he certainly wasn't going to be able to get anything even remotely coherent out.

"Fuck," Ghost tilted his head back as the sensations of Roach's tongue circling his cock and his cheeks hollowing out around him grew to be overwhelming. He allowed himself a few more moments of fucking into Roach's waiting mouth before he pulled back, preventing the arousal building in him from snapping.

A thin line of spit connected Roach's mouth to his cock and the young aristocrat didn't move to break it. His mouth hung open and his eyes were filled with a low haze. Ghost chuckled at the look. "Can't waste a fucking drop," he knelt down in front of the desk that Roach was bent over on, Soap still fucking into him harshly, "No matter how tempting painting your face is."

One of Soap's hands moved around Roach's waist and he began to rub harsh circles onto his clit, pulling desperate whines from Roach's mouth and causing him to start struggling slightly against Soap's hold. Ghost acted quickly, pinning his wrists down to the desk even as he begged, "Please, oh god, God too much! Too much! Fuck I- oh, ah, I can't!"

"You can," Soap taunted. He was getting closer and closer to his breaking point. With his hand abusing Roach's clit, the other man had started to clench around him, his cunt was practically sucking him in and his walls were fluttering tightly around him. The feeling was fucking phenomenal and very quickly pushing him toward his finish. "That's what happens, when silly aristocrats try to trick us." He chuckled to himself.

"I mean," Ghost gave a similar chuckle, "did they really think we wouldn't realize who you were?" He stood up and pressed his hips forward, rutting his hard cock against Roach's cheek, "Fucking pretty little thing like you, you were doomed the second we spotted your ship." He tilted his head back and gave another moan, releasing one of Roach's wrists to grab at his hair. "Fuck, now we're going to keep you."

"You're never- shit, fuck so fucking tight, never going back to those fuckers," He leaned down, pressing his chest flush to Roach's back. The fabric of the dress Roach was wearing rubbed at his nipples, adding to his pleasure. His mouth moved to trace along the exposed skin of Roach's shoulders. "We're keeping you, and to make sure no one will take you, we're going to leave our mark."

"No one will want an aristocrat if they know he's been fucking used." Ghost agreed with a grin, "Oh, you're going to look so- fuck, so fucking pretty with our children."

"Gonna stuff you full," Soap agreed, "Make sure it takes. Keep, ah, ah, oh fuck, keep you bouncing on one of our cocks until you can't take any more." Roach answered their words with a long moan of his own, his cunt clenching around Soap's cock and sending him tumbling forward. "You like that don't you? Like being our fucking cum dump."

"Likes the idea of being our little fucking carrier," Ghost taunted, "He'll let us fuck as many kids into him as we want, so long as he gets to have a cock in him."

The words pulled another moan from Roach and, this time, when his cunt clenched tight around Soap it sent him tumbling over the edge. His hips stuttered as various curses left his mouth, even as he came he continued to fuck into Roach, his cum providing a sweet slide as he fucked it deeper into the whimpering man beneath him.

Finally, after several moments he stopped. He kept his hips pressed flush against Roach's cunt and took several long and deep breaths, his tongue licking over Roach's skin as he did. When he finally pushed himself up, he had a bright grin on his face. "Well Simon, your turn."

He slowly pulled himself out of Roach, his fingers prodding at the whimpering man beneath him, pressing any of his cum that dared to drip out back into him. "Please," Roach whined at the feeling, "please, please let me come!"

Ghost slapped Roach's thigh as he rounded the desk. He was quick to take Soap's place at their shared captain's desk. He pressed his cock against Roach's dripping entrance, rutting at him for a few moments, "Come on now, don't you want to be good for us? Don't you want to be good for your," he slid inside of Roach with one harsh move, pulling a moan from both of them and a chuckle from Soap, "captains?"

He didn't move as Roach squirmed against him, whining and pleading without saying a word. "I don't think we heard an answer, Bug." Soap slipped around to the front of the desk, where Ghost had been previously. He pressed his spent cock against Roach's lips, "Answer, don't you want to be good for your captains?"

"Yes," Roach finally answered, his face a bright red. "Yes, yes! Want you to fuck me full, want you to," he paused for a moment before shyly adding, "want you to breed me! Please!"

Ghost immediately started moving his hips at a hard pace, his hand quickly moving around to begin torturing Roach's clit in the same way that Soap had done. The result was a continuous stream of moans, whimpers, and pants from Roach, his face a rosy red and his eyes completely glazed over as pleasure was wrung from his body. That only changed when Soap grabbed tight to his hair and forced his mouth open so that that could slowly feed his cock into the man's mouth, a moan pulling from his throat.

"Thats it," Ghost leaned down to nip at Roach's earn and whisper to him, "Get Soap nice and ready to fuck you again." His hand on Roach's clit moved away before coming down with a harsh smack, pulling a sob from Roach's throat at the stinging pleasure, "We're not stopping until you're stuffed and dripping. We're not stopping until we know that it takes."

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #ghostroach #soaproach #ghostroachsoap #pirate au #luke's spicy snippets

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8-rae-rae-8 · 4 months

Text

Come back for me 4/4

From a fanfic idea from an anon!!!

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 (2009), Canon-Typical Violence, Violence, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Mild Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Age Regression Little Simon "Ghost" Riley, Age Regression Caregiver John "Soap" MacTavish, Captain John "Soap" MacTavish, rewritten ending of 09, Age Regression/De-Aging, pet regression pet regression pup Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Little Space, Age Regression, Caregiver John Price (Call of Duty), Shepherd is the worst, Gun Violence, Face Slapping, Mocking, Men Crying, Crying, Gaz is dead already remember, i didnt forget him, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Stitches, diapers, baths

read under the cut or here \/

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52944292/chapters/134153089

And so Simon got everything he wanted. With just a little bit of negotiation. They had to go to medical for that gash on his leg. And probably a bunch of other minor wounds they'd find along the way.

This wouldn't be medical’s first time dealing with Little Ghost. Infact, Simon had gone so many times that they had a special toy for him. A sensory cube, one that makes sounds, like crinkling, but also has textures like mini netting or stuffie fur. It was a treat to the staff when they got to see him, they insisted every time, because little Simon was well behaved. Much better behaved than big Simon.

Big Simon would put up genuine fights. Even if it was a normal flu shot, or stitches. He couldn't be distracted the same way as when he was regressed. Little Simon cried, but he stayed still as long as Mactavish had him.

The first stop though, was Soap's room. For Ghost to be able to settle down before they went to such an overwhelming place like medical. And to get him into proper regression gear.

When they entered Mactavish's room, Ghost's eyes were just so barely open. Tears drying on his cheeks. Slowly and carefully, Simon was laid down in bed.

His relaxed for a moment. Somehow the bed always felt warmer in Soap's room. He felt too floaty to even realize that Johnny had stepped away. Simon chewed on two of his fingers, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes traced any shapes he saw in the popcorn ceiling.

It was peaceful again.

Simon occasionally sniffled, but otherwise was taking full breaths again and was calm.

Carefully, all his gear was removed. Check in could wait, they had to get Simon comfortable. That took priority.

With soft words, and gentle encouragement, Mactavish got Simon out of his pants. Being most careful to not touch the wound on his leg. Simon needed fresh clothes, even before he was going to bathe, the blood on the pants could make him panic even more.

Shorts were picked for Simon, and they were slid on with the same careful precision the pants had been removed with.

Simon's eyes kept drifting shut, before being woken up again. He blinked slowly up at Mactavish.

“Come on, Si, we gotta take ye medical, hm?” Mactavish spoke, a hand brushing through Simon's hair.

Though he wanted to complain, he was hurting and he was so so sleepy. Simon softly nodded, one arm reaching up for his bubba.

It seemed that Soap only then realized there were red marks around his wrists that were much worse than the ones he would've gotten from the ties he saw on their video call. The ones before, that held him tight in a stress position. It still hurt a little.

Soap examined his arm for a moment, placing a gentle kiss on his palm. The beard tickled his hand a little.

“I've got ye, m’ love.” Mactavish muttered, lifting Simon into his arms. He held him close, like he was the most precious thing in the world. Simon was held bridal style in his arms, as not to aggravate the wound on his leg.

“Mmhm… bubba.” Simon sleepily babbled, his head coming to rest on the other's shoulder. A small sniffle came from him as he nuzzled his face against the fabric. Johnny had him, Simon knew that, he was just scared.

Mactavish planted a soft kiss to his head, silently ensuring he was still there. He began to take them out of the bedroom.

The walk to medical wasn't long. Ghost, however, kept falling asleep. Each time, he felt a small poke to his side that kept him up. He was so tired, so sore. But Mactavish was right there, if he just let him sleep then it would be okay.

“It'll be alright, lad. Stay up fer me, yeah?” Soap softly spoke to him.

So Ghost tried, he even picked up his head a little to focus on the environment around them rather than the sleepiness. It was just so hard.

“Love, can you tell me three blue things you see?”

I spy! Simon loved that game. Surely it was being used as a distraction, it would keep Simon up longer and that was the intention.

Simon first looked up at Soap, chewing on his lip a little as he blinked up at him.

“Bubba's eyes…” He began to list, a little smile slowly spreading on his face. To continue to play, he looked away again.

Soap sweetly smiled down at the little one. Of course the first thing Simon said was his eyes. It made Johnny feel all sorts of love. Also a little guilt, for not being able to get to Simon before anything could've happened to him.

It was too late to dwell. They were safe now, that's what mattered.

“Bubba.” Simon tugged at the collar of Johnny's shirt. He used his other hand to point at the slowly darkening sky. Blues still high in the sky. The second blue thing. He then pointed to some art on the side of a building as they were walking through their base. A mural with blue waves on it.

“Ye’r so smart, m’ love.” Johnny enthusiastically hummed to him. Earning a giggle from Simon.

Ghost pressed his head back against Johnny's shoulder. No effort was made to keep him up this time. A soft glimmer in his eyes and the content look on his face told Johnny that he'd make it to medical while awake.

And he did. Mactavish and Simon came into medical, with Simon surprisingly awake.

It was harder to get Ghost to let Johnny set him down once he was reminded what he needed done. The cut on his leg still steadily bled, but not much. Even after hours the gash had been made, it still bled a few drips. But it was enough to have a line of blood down his knee and his shin.

Simon used his sore arms to wrap them around Johnny's neck, so he couldn't put him down without it being uncomfortable.

Mactavish muttered something unintelligible under his breath, before moving Simon just a little bit. He didn't set him down though.

There was some talk between the staff and the captain, but Ghost wasn't paying attention whatsoever. He was slowly moved to a cot, where he and Johnny sat down. Soap held him in his lap, but made sure he was sitting the right way so they could ditch him up.

The second a syringe came into view, Simon was trying to back up away from it. He needed stitches, he knew that. The blood on his leg scared him as he finally saw it after only being focused on a game and Mactavish for so long.

“Si, love- hey.” Johnny spoke, a hand coming up to cup his cheek as Simon kept trying to pull back.

“B-bubba..” He babbled, tears welling up in his sad eyes. Simon's leg kept moving in an effort to try to make it so the staff couldn't even try to stitch him up.

Mactavish began to put pressure on the leg, to keep Simon from shaking it.

“No- no!” Simon pressed his face against his shirt, whimpering as he grasped at the fabric.

“Simon, love- they're numbing ye, that's all this is, lad.” Johnny's hand gently moved to stroke his hair, rather than his cheek.

It helped a little. Localized numbing, Simon was okay with that… Just nothing like morphine, no IV, no actual needle yet. It would be okay.

He took a shuddering breath, and pressed his face to Mactavish's neck. His head far enough down that he could watch, even though he shouldn't be watching.

Johnny held him close and secure, softly talking to him. After a moment of being calmed down, Simon stopped shaking his leg and stilled himself mostly. But he couldn't help that he was still tearing up and his shoulders trembling.

A soft colored item was in his lap after a second. A staff member set it there. The sensory cube, one Simon particularly enjoyed playing with that was there specifically for him. But Roach was always allowed to play with it if he asked, Simon's rules. The soft fabric on it had most of Simon's attention.

As soon as he wasn't paying attention to anything else but the cube, the wound was wiped clean with alcohol wipes then the contents of the syringe was put around the wound. A cream they kept in a syringe for better storage.

They let it sit as long as they could, which was only a few minutes before Simon was back to whimpering. He complained that it was cold, and it made it feel tingly. The sensory cube didn’t do much at that point, not enough to get Simon to breathe correctly.

Mactavish couldn't help the sigh that escaped him at the boy’s whimpering and wiggling.

But that had Simon freezing. He didn’t want his bubba to be angry at him. It just hurt! He wanted to be a good kid. He tried to calm down, a knot in his chest. It made it worse, harder to breathe. So he held his breath again. For as long as he could without passing out. He stayed still, aside from the shaking of his shoulders.

The sudden stop made Johnny look down to see Simon. His face slowly going red as he puffed his cheeks out with the air he refused to breathe in.

“Simon? Lad, ye need to breathe.” Johnny’s voice caught in his throat. He wrapped his arms around Simon, to hold the little one against his chest. “Ye’r okay.. I’m sorry, ‘m just worried about ye.” He attempted to comfort.

Simon’s glassy eyes finally peered up at him, the tears already spilling from them. He wanted to be well-behaved. For the medical staff, and for his bubba. His eyes averted their gaze, looking at his wounded leg instead.

“Sorry- sorry, bubba…” The little one finally puffed out, drawing in a breath. Half a sob was ripped from his chest, making a sad attempt at holding it in. Sometimes it was hard for him not to hide it, especially when it felt like he was doing something wrong.

“Si, m’ love, none of tha’..” Mactavish spoke softly. “It’s okay to be scared.”

He’d heard that a lot lately, but it still didn’t feel right. It didn’t stop him from dipping his head into Johnny’s chest though, to hide better. But he would also feel better if he was held so close.

So that’s what Soap did. He wrapped his arms firmly around Ghost, softly kissing the top of his head from time to time. The sobs that followed were devastating, his own chest aching as he felt the trembling of Simon’s body.

The position was awkward. Simon kept twisting around to get even a little comfortable, but it didn’t work the way he wanted it to. Even as he was still crying, he pulled away a little. Simon refused get out of his lap to get more comfortable, so he leaned with his back against Mactavish’s chest instead.

Johnny still reached around to wipe the tears. His arms remained firmly wrapped around his ghostie. A small kiss was pressed behind Simon’s ear.

“B-bubba..?” Simon tearily murmured, back pressing harder into Johnny. One of his hands held onto one of Soap’s arms that were around him, and squeezed.

“‘m right here, Si. I’ve got ye.” Johnny returned, his arms tightening a little around him.

It seemed he just wanted to hear him speak. No more words were spoken, but he squeezed when Mactavish stopped talking. Simon didn’t stop crying, but he was less rigid. He breathed a little clearer. So he kept talking for the little one, about how the stitches probably won’t hurt with the numbing agent, and how Johnny was going to make sure Simon got everything he wanted the rest of the day. But Mactavish’s soft spot for Simon meant it would probably be about a week of Simon getting what he wanted.

A door opening got both of their attentions, but Simon reacted out of fear. He covered his face so no one could see the tears. And just his face in general.

“Roach, please, buddy- Come on, you can’t keep running-” Price. And he seemed absolutely exhausted. From the sounds of it, he was trying to pull along Roach to even get him into medical.

“Bug..?” Simon mumbled as he moved his hands away. The slow movement of his wrists stung, it didn’t stop him from looking over Mactavish’s shoulder.

“Fuck!” Simon heard Price grunt.

Roach stopped fighting against Price’s attempts to get him into medical. He heard Simon.

Simon sniffled a little as he reached a hand out for the pup. He whined when Soap made him put his hand down. The tears filling his eyes again from that simple action.

“Bug!” He decided to shout, trying to get Roach to come closer. Johnny didn’t fight him on that, as long as Simon didn’t move his leg.

As soon as he was completely distracted, a nurse moved close. With the actual needle for stitching him up. Simon was completely unaware of such until the needle was pushed into the skin. The numbing practically useless.

He shrieked.

“What the fuck?!” Mactavish shouted as he was suddenly trying to wrangle Simon until he was still. It didn’t work in his favor much at all. Apparently this nurse didn’t know Simon very well, a fresh face at base.

“Bubba!!” Simon sobbed loudly. The tears pouring out of his eyes constantly as he tried to shake and get away.

“‘m sorry, I know, baby-!” Soap tried to hold him still. The less damage done to his leg would be better, but it didn’t really seem like Simon would give up the fight. He kept trying to push away from everyone, including Johnny. And that stung him right in the chest.

“No- no!” Simon wrecked his voice with the scream. He needed out.

There were more hands on him, but the touch was gentle. Mactavish did most of the work of trying to hold him still. The new pairs of hands were Roach and Price. Roach’s rested on his shoulders, now sitting behind him. Simon could tell from the dip in the medical cot. Price was in front of him, a soft hand against his face. He wanted to lean into it.. It was warm.

“It’s okay, Simon, get those tears out.” Price was soft and slow. Encouraging him to cry it out.

The approach was much better than how panicked Soap sounded. Simon needed stable, not distressed.

As encouraged, Simon kept crying. But he now leaned into Price’s hand, while slightly relaxing into Mactavish again.

“That’s it, son. Get it all out. The nurse will wait for you to be ready.” There was a certain sharpness to Price’s tone, as if he was assuring that the nurse would wait. Simon was jumpy, something like that could quite easily become dangerous to his health. It almost did already.

“It- hurts-!” Simon choked out, grabbing back at Mactavish's arms that were around him. His whole body trembled, from head to toe.

Roach softly began to nuzzle the back of Simon's shoulder, whimpering worriedly.

“I know, Si.. We're gonna get ye fixed up.” Johnny spoke, trying to be assuring just like Price was, even if he was a little rougher around the edges at times.

“I wan’ bubba to fix it…” Simon babbled through big tears. He was pressed back against Johnny fully now, while Price kept his warm hand on his cheek.

Johnny did have experience with stitching someone up. But that someone was usually himself in an unsterile environment. And never anyone as regressed as Simon was.

But Simon wanted him to do it.

“I can't, love…” Mactavish tried to say, trailing off as he was being hushed by Price.

“But, Bubba can hold you, okay? We’ll help.” Price promised. There was a good chance that Simon wouldn't let anyone but then close to him again, and a panic attack around medical supplies was the last thing they needed now. There wasn’t much more of a choice though.

“Uh-huh…” Simon mumbled, using his sleeve to wipe the tears off his face. Though they still steadily fell.

Mactavish let out an uneven breath, looking down at Simon's wound. The bleeding was slowly ceasing, but it was very much still open. Just not gushing blood anymore. It still upset him, reminding him of the mistake he made that got Simon hurt.

“Okay, baby, I can be here and hold you through it.” Soap finally muttered, his eyes nervously glancing at his little one. He wanted to help more than just holding the boy, but if he tried to stitch it, it would probably hurt worse than what the nurse had done.

Simon whimpered at that, turning at an odd angle to bury his face in Soap's neck.

“Simon, son, it's scary, but it's going to help you lots. The nurses can fix you up better than we can.” Price attempted to comfort him with actual fact than just gentle words. It was something Simon liked about him, but disliked at the same time. He was always right in Simon’s eyes.

A small grumble came from Simon as he reached around Mactavish. His grip significantly tighter than before. He acknowledged that Price was right, but he didn’t want him to be.

“Bu’ bubba’s done it before…” Simon tearily mumbled.

“I can’t fix ye up this time, m’ love. The nurses are here to help you. Then as soon as this is over, we can get you in a nice bath, and some cuddles, hm?” Johnny attempted to negotiate with him. As promised, Simon would get whatever he wanted. Anything.

There had been times Soap had stitched him up in a safe house during a mission, times where Ghost had done the same for his captain a few times as well but he wasn’t as skilled with the needles. The stitches, from both of them, would always be messy and feel tighter than they should on the skin. The job got done though, which was why they did it in the first place.

Simon shuddered a little as he exhaled, his fists grabbed at Johnny’s shirt. He clutched it in his hands, eyes squeezing shut as a few tears dripped down his cheeks again. Very slowly, he nodded. His lip sucked back into his mouth, chewing lightly.

“That’s it, love.” Mactavish praised. The arms around Simon squeezed a little, and Johnny pressed a kiss to Simon’s head.

The cot shifted slightly as Price joined them, but mostly to shield Simon from watching when they began stitching him up. By now, the numbing must have worn off, and Price was going to make it his mission to keep Simon as distracted as possible so he didn’t feel it as much. Roach moved a little closer as well, very slightly pressed against Simon. Even with his wounds, which weren’t as deep but still needed care, he paid attention to the little one.

“We’ve got you, son, just let it out and let them do their job.” A warm hand rested on his upper back.

So Simon let the nurses work, his eyes squeezed shut as he whimpered. Small sobs came from him each time the skin was pierced. He grabbed at Roach at some point.

“Ow-ow- Bubba-” The little one softly cried, his shoulders shaking with each breath and he absentmindedly tugged Roach closer.

“Ye’r doin’ great, Si… That’s it, baby.” Soap praised, rubbing his back in slow circles. A soft pressure on his back, by Price’s hand, reminded him that Roach was still there too. Gentle sounds of encouragement coming from him, though those were slightly pained.

“It hurts!” Simon hiccupped, his chest heaving as he breathed out.

“Simon, kid, can you tell me something you really want after this?” A simple distraction, Price was so gentle with his words. Offering anything he could reasonably get, just like Soap would for him.

“A bath-” Simon choked out, his eyes opening just a tad, “A-and- and sweets…” He sniffled.

“Okay, then bubba can give you a bath, and I could make you… hot chocolate?” Price suggested, his thumb brushing over a small spot on Simon’s back. There was a smile to his voice, one Simon listened to gladly.

“Yes, p’ease…” The little on whispered, just loud enough to hear.

It was quickly decided that Simon would get that, and more. Price kept up with distractions, while Johnny focused on keeping Simon feeling safe and softly talking to him about how well he was doing.

The tears kept flowing, and flowing until he was only struggling for breath as the stitches were finished. A bandage was put over the stitches after any blood was cleaned off. Then the touch was gone. From the feel of the bandage, it was waterproof. The skin burned, almost a pins and needles sensation.

“All done!” Mactavish quietly exclaimed, Simon hesitantly meeting his eyes. His eyelashes stuck together with the wetness of the tears. He sniffled softly as he leaned against him, this time without as much tension.

Slowly, Simon closed his eyes again. His shoulders still shook, but he relaxed steadily. It hurt, but the sting of the air inside the wound was gone. Simon still rode the aftershocks of the pain.

The hand on his back, as well as the pressure of Roach’s touch was slowly removed. Simon noted a small nod from Mactavish to Price. It got his attention, but not enough for him to move at all. Then the cot went back to it’s normal position, and Simon began to shift slightly at the lost weight next to him.

He whimpered a little, a hand reaching around in an attempt to find Roach or Price. It was unsuccessful. Simon decided to simply cuddle up to Soap while he was softly talking to him. The words were lost on him, but the soothing tone was enough to get him comfortable.

For a few minutes, it was quiet in the medical room. Until there was clattering from where Roach and Price had stepped off to. Quiet scolding, and whimpers, then an immediate apologetic tone.

Roach scrambled down underneath a different cot. Whines were growing louder as there was more clattering, him backing up ever so slightly. Even with the blood dried, or drying, on his body, he didn’t want to be cleaned up or assessed. The pup growled weakly at Price.

“Roach.” Came a stern reply to the growls. But it didn’t have the desired effect. Roach simply tucked his head away from the hand reaching in to try to get him.

“Bug, hey. I know you don’t want to, but you need to come out. They need to take a look at ya.” Price said as if it would help. When it didn’t help, he sighed. He wasn’t disappointed, just stressed out about how the boys tried to avoid medical attention. How they would bite the hand that helped them.

Teeth bared, Roach looked at Price. He attempted to look scary, but he just looked like a wet kitten. All small and soggy. Each movement of his torso and legs hurt, but he believed he needed to stand his ground. Protecting himself so he didn’t have to be under any kind of needle, like Simon was. He knew it hurt.

“Gary, bud, come here.” Price was patient, he kneeled on the ground by the cot Roach was underneath. Seriousness shown at the use of Roach’s government name, when everyone knew he preferred Roach over his name. But at the same time, it felt nice to hear it after not for so long.

Something was handed to Price, a white cloth towel.

“We can play all you want, hm? Tug of war?” Price suggested with a warm smile, the fabric held out to him.

Remaining scared, Roach crawled out a little bit. Enough to get a nip of the towel. He growled, but it lacked the distressed anger.

“That’s it, boy, come on out.” Slowly, Price coaxed Roach out of his hiding spot. With the promise of cuddles, treats and games. Everything the pup wanted.

Soft steps had him stopping his movements in an instant. His head only pointed towards Price, almost a glare in his eyes. As if to ask who they were and why they were there.

“Down, bug, its Simon, okay?”

Simon?

Roach sat down just at the edge of the cot’s shadow, looking up at Simon with big, wondering eyes. That wasn’t so scary, not even with Mactavish behind him. Simon was already on his feet, albeit still tearily and limping. But he was up because he wanted to see Roach.

“Bug sit..?” Simon wiped his eyes with fist, using the other hand to point at the cot Roach was under.

Simple instruction had him very slowly crawling out, and hopping onto the cot. Even with the uncomfortable cloth, and the pain throughout his torso and legs, he tried to settle. Making a desperate attempt to, at least. He winced at each turn of his torso, ignoring the pain got harder the longer he dealt with it.

Simon, with Johnny’s help of lifting him enough that his fresh stitches didn’t burn with the stretch, sat down next to Roach. He smiled, though his eyes were puffy and he still looked quite distraught over getting the stitches.

No more words were said, but Simon stayed close to him. In a way, the closeness soothed Roach more. Being close to someone like him, someone small. It brought a certain sense of ease.

It took a moment for anyone to assess Roach's condition. But seeing as there were only minor lacerations and minimal bleeding, they opted to not do any kind of X-ray. Of course Roach's complaints had a part in that too, even if Price was saying he should do it regardless. It was ultimately his choice anyways. So no x-ray, but they had Roach remove his shirt and pants to see about the wounds there.

Many bruises covered him, as well as small lacerations. A tiny shard had embedded itself in Roach’s side, which he somehow had been walking around with. The pain only becoming present as he was told it was there. Poor interoception at it’s best. Roach hardly got accurate signals from his body, he simply assumed the pain was from the other cuts, not the a shard in his side. It stopped the bleeding though, which was probably why he wasn’t constantly bleeding there.

Pitiful whimpers came from him as each cut was cleaned with alcohol wipes. The most superficial ones were bandaged first. The bigger ones were given butterfly bandages, to hold the wounds closed. Then they moved onto the shard. It wasn’t big whatsoever, but it was clear it causes a lot of distress. Not bad pain, mostly discomfort.

The process was more painful than anything. The digging around to get a good grasp had Roach barking out cries. The solution wasn’t the best either, but it got him distracted.

Simon moved up the bed, and began to make silly faces at Roach, Price had a thumb up to Roach’s mouth. Specifically telling him to bite, chew, suck, whatever would keep him the most calm. And he gratefully took it, chewing against his molars. The goofy faces kept him a little more grounded.

Mactavish, however, was nowhere to be found at a small glance around the room. Perhaps that nurse got what was coming for them by being so rough to a clearly distressed Simon. It never crossed Roach's mind, rather the calming but silly hums and faces Simon gave were taking up most of his attention.

And then suddenly the shard was out, and Roach jolted up at the sensation. Not too far, Price had a hand quickly on an uninjured part of Roach's chest to stop him from hurting himself further. The caregiver couldn't imagine the amount of tiredness, but hurt the boys were feeling. Yet somehow managed to keep each other mostly content.

Roach whimpered and bit down hard enough to get a slight shudder from Price at the sensation. He immediately weakened the bite, but squirmed just a little as he tried not to pay attention to whatever the nurse was doing to the wound. It wasn't a deep cut, and now the shard was out, it was time to clean, mostly. With saline, they washed out the wound and used the butterfly bandages again.

The use of those had Simon whining about why he had to get stitches while Roach didn't. It all just came down to the deepness of the wound, and since Roach's was smaller, he got off with less medical attention. Not that he didn't need it.

Both Simon and Roach were given antibiotics as a precaution, not that Simon would touch them without being coaxed into it. It was even on his file that he probably wouldn't take medication when he was given it. Roach was easier with that, he'd take the meds in puppy space as long as he was given a treat after.

Then Mactavish was back, a slight heave to his breath that had Price immediately knowing what he did. A nod was given between them and they both got their boys up. Roach was redressed in lended fatigues rather than his ripped and dirty clothes. He had extras, it didn't matter if it was thrown away or whatnot.

Simon was lifted into his bubba's arms, a tiny and strained giggle came from him. His throat burning ever so slightly due to all the crying. The hot chocolate he was promised was sure to help that later on.

For now…

“Baf’ time!” Simon softly exclaimed, his arms tucked under himself as Johnny held him. Roach quickly exchanged a glance from Simon to Price.

He wanted a bath too.

“Okay, okay, bug, bath time for both the boys, eh?” Price gave a hearty laugh as he picked up Roach. In no world would John let Roach walk around in such a condition. Even if he'd only be a little uncomfortable, that typically translated to pain to Roach's mind. It gave the wrong signals often.

Roach yipped, nuzzling his nose against Price the moment he could. A clear sign that he had picked the right answer.

And so the two pairs split off to their quarters to get their boys baths.

Roach's was extra bubbly. And there were a few times he tried to lick the bubbles because they looked fun. It took forever to get him to even settle down. He kept squirming and whining whenever Price tried to get him clean when he wasn't ready yet.

Unlike Simon. He was truly ready to rest. He let Mactavish wash him with no issues, rarely even drawing on the walls of the tub. That was how tired he was. So very exhausted. Playtime in the bath was only about ten minutes before Simon started to complain that he wanted to get out. The wash up was quick, but it got all the possible dirt on him. Soap was gentle to make sure he didn't hurt Simon either.

This time, dressing him was easy. Getting his hair dry was simple. In under thirty minutes, they got Simon washed, dressed and sleepy. An accomplishment, really. Usually the dressing part was hard. Especially getting him into a diaper when he didn't want it. It was needed though. For when Simon panicked in a dream, or when he didn't get the right signals in his body, or something scared him. Over time, they learned this was their best solution.

And honestly, Mactavish found him so adorable like that. A pouty red face, damp hair, a pacifier between his lips. He just looked so itty bitty.

There was an attempt to get Simon into their bed, but it was quickly interrupted by Simon whining and squirming as he pointed at the door. His cheeks even puffed out to exaggerate his point.

Ah, yes, the hot chocolate. And Johnny promised to get Simon whatever he wanted.

So to the living quarters they went. Where it was just him, price, Simon and Roach around. It seemed their bath was a little harder than Simon’s of course, with how damp Price’s shirt was and how he looked a little more tired than usual.

The energy never seemed to stop with Roach, even if he was hurt. But Simon never blinked an eye at it. He simply saw toys on the floor, and a happy pup that he wanted to join. Although he was tired, he wanted to play.

With a little bit of convincing (whines and huffs), Soap put Simon down to play, but told him to be careful of the stitches. To which he scrunched his nose at.

Mostly there were puppy toys, but Simon spotted some that he could play with.

Much like the faux puppy ears and tail Roach now sported, Simon was also in a more comfortable regression outfit. A onesie, but he wore pants over the bottom part. They both were quite cozy.

“Bug!” Simon said behind his pacifier as he settled himself down on the floor, on their rug with toys. A soft grin on his face. The tears long gone, wiped off with the rest of the dirt and grime of the day.

Roach perked up in an instant, excited eyes glancing Simon’s way. He crawled up close to Simon, even with his wounds. Surely Price had already gotten Roach his first dose of the antibiotics and some pain reliever. The other two always seemed on top of that sort of thing, while Simon and Mactavish procrastinated, or forgot, to take care of that sort of thing.

A happy bark came from Roach, a little louder than intended. A soft hushing from Mactavish got him to quiet down. Roach still barked, but quieter. He pressed his head firmly against Simon’s shoulder, nudging him.

Simon couldn’t help but giggle a little. His arms wrapped around Roach, one hand going to pet him.

It only took about two minutes for them to end up cuddled on the floor. Roach chewed on a silicone bone, while he leaned on Simon. The pup had nestled himself perfectly at Simon’s side. And Simon didn’t mind. He pet Roach and babbled nonsense to him for quite a while, getting barks, yips or whines in return. It felt like a full conversation to them both.

They remained closely cuddles for an awful long time. Till Simon’s back hurt, but he didn’t want to move. Small whines got this across, but neither of them made an effort to get up.

“Simon! Hot chocolate!” He heard Price shout, a little gasp coming from him. “Roach, treats!”

The both of them scrambled to get up, Simon helping Roach so he didn’t pull any of the bandages while getting up. Simon then stood once Roach was steady, he could smell the hot chocolate, and food for the both of them.

The boys settled onto the couch, since Mactavish told them to sit there instead of the table. One of the few occasions they were allowed to sit there to eat. There were rules for them, even when small.

It was a simple meal for Simon, then something special made for Roach. Treats and a meal fit for the pup. Meat with some plain pasta. The treats were little candies, and a yummy looking pastry. Simon had just simple and plain pasta, a safe food of his, with just a little bit of salt. Nothing too much for him. The hot chocolate was set on a side table, left of the couch.

And finally, Mactavish and Price joined them on the couch. Both having plates of the leftover pasta but they has sauce on theirs, just some from a can. Mactavish set his aside for now, in favor of putting an arm around Simon and helping him eat.

No one would say it to his face, but they all knew Simon was messy with his food. Even Roach was cleaner than him and he struggled with utensils when he was regressed.

Slowly, Mactavish fed Simon his food, wiping his mouth with a cloth whenever he drooled a little. It was no surprise that there was still a small mess by the time he was finished.

Roach took the longest to finish, like he usually did. His hands were a little messy by the time he was done, Price very gently cleaned him off with a dampened towel, and gave him a kiss on his forehead. A big grin spreading on his face.

Simon watched them briefly, his head tilted a little. He made a soft “mmrrph” sound, similar to a sound a cat may make when searching for attention.

“Love, he just finished eatin’, let him settle first.” Johnny spoke, carding his hand through Simon’s hair. He pressed a gentle kiss to his head again. But Simon didn’t want to wait. He whined louder, though he was leaning close to Mactavish again. Simon’s eyes kept following Roach’s movements, even if they were small.

“Buuug..” Simon yawned after some looks in his direction from his bubba. He knew he was just told not to, but Roach looked so comfortable all cuddled up at Price’s side. He wanted bug cuddles too.

And it seemed Roach got the memo immediately. His big eyes happily blinking up at Simon. He, not so gracefully, flopped around to move over to Simon. To get the attention both he and Simon wanted, he pressed his head back against Simon’s shoulder.

“Buggy!” Simon squeaked, less sleepiness to his tone. His hands went to Roach’s hair first, petting with one hand while the other gently scratched behind his ear. “Puuuuppy…” He whispered very quietly.

Roach yipped excitedly. He looked back up at Simon, before immediately diving his head into the crook of his neck. The two of them cuddled up together, with Price and Mactavish at either side of them. One of Johnny’s arms remained around Simon, the little one would whine whenever he tried to remove it.

There were no words to tell Roach to calm down, judging by the way the boys curled up together, they were only getting comfortable. They tangled together, Simon leaned on Soap while Roach got cozy against Simon. When they were situated, a blanket was draped over them.

With Simon still sitting up, he whined for the mostly forgotten hot chocolate. It was probably only warm by now, but there wasn’t a single complaint from the little one.

Soap watched closely as Simon drank, keeping an eye out for any trembling or whimpers. No matter the amount of times Simon was told it was okay to accidentally make a mess by spilling something, he would always tear up each time. So, to avoid it, Mactavish watched closely.

There was no sign Simon would drop the sippy cup. From time to time, Roach would nuzzle his belly and make him giggle, but that was about the extent of the movement. Aside from Simon petting him lots, but he held the cup in one hand while he did it.

Content rumbles came from Roach. With a full belly, it was hard to stay awake much more. Simon was in the same boat. The second he finished the hot chocolate, he gave it to one of caregivers and leaned back against Mactavish again. He slightly curled to hold onto Roach, though.

A familiar hum began from behind him, Johnny humming to the boys. One of his thumbs traced small circles into the skin just under Simon’s ear in the same way he’d done so many times before. The only variation was the occasional heart being traced instead, it always had Simon smiling again, even giggling at times. But mostly, it was lulling him into a more relaxed state.

Both Price and Mactavish seemed to understand it would be hard for any of them to sleep. Neither made any attempt to move the boys. Even if they couldn’t sleep, they could rest. That was important after the day they had. Still, Mactavish forgot to get Simon his medication. But moving now would certainly be a bad thing, they looked too cozy.

“Buggy…” Simon babbled, softly touching the fake puppy ears on Roach’s head as if they were real.

Roach replied with a simple nuzzle to Simon’s belly, but he didn’t move much more than that. The blanket tucked around the two of them quickly became more Gary’s than Simon’s.

“Mmmh.. puppy..” Simon mumbled, almost unintelligible. His head leaned back, pressed to Mactavish’s chest. His eyes half lidded.

Hushed chuckles came from both of the caregivers. Price rested his hand on Roach’s side while the pup had his legs stretched over his lap, an assuring touch. A show was turned on at some point, soft background noise of a random kids show. It got Simon’s shoulders to drop further into a relaxed position. Mactavish never ceased the gentle tracing of the shapes behind Simon’s ear. It eased the little one to close his eyes.

The closest thing they got to sleep was dozing. They were all lucky they would get time off, the captains would fight for it if they were told no to the request. No words were said. If they told the boys to rest, both the caregivers knew they’d be up in an instant, so they pretended not to notice their tiredness.

Everything was quiet and calm, unlike the start of their day. Full bellies, stitched up, warm, and cared for again. It wasn’t that scary, but Simon didn’t let his eyes close for more than a few minutes at a time. Small whimpers came from the boy before he would open his eyes again.

Mactavish was always there. His hand softly cradled Simon’s head as he pressed a few kisses along his forehead. The tickling of the stubble of his beard got him a little more grounded. There wasn’t anyone that was going to hurt him, Simon knew that, but he still struggled to get comfortable again. The unease returned to his face.

“Bubba’s got you, dove… Shh, it’s okay.” Johnny spoke to him, very soft.

Simon blinked up at him, his eyes getting glassy once again. He held Roach tighter like he was some sort of stuffed animal. But the pup didn’t mind, he practically sensed the distress. Roach nuzzled his chest as he was pulled up a little. His comfortable position being taken away on accident.

“We’ve all got ye, baby… Ye’ll always be safe with us…” With all of them. He trusted that. If they hadn’t split up, they would’ve made it home safe.

Slowly, he nodded and tucked his face back into Johnny’s shirt, against the plush muscles. The sniffles were still noticed though.

Mactavish and Price shared a look of sympathy, Johnny looked down at Simon sadly. He removed his arm from under him, but didn’t get a whine again. His arms wrapped around the little one, rubbing his back with one arm and using the other to brush through the black hair.

“Let it out, son…” Price spoke gently to Simon.

Their positions shifted. Roach was back in Price’s lap, but they moved closer to Simon again. The large blanket able to cover all of them if they were close.

With a little bit of struggle, Simon softly let out a few cries. The leftover stress begging to come out as he clutched onto Johnny’s shirt and reached back to grab onto Roach as well. No sobs or wailing, just soft cries with occasional whimpers.

“That’s it, dove… We’ve got you.” Mactavish encouraged. Neither of them could promise it would all be okay now, but with their target down and Simon and Gary home safe, they could do everything in their power to keep it all okay.

The cries tampered off after some time. Simon refused to move, chest against chest as they cuddled on the couch. Mactavish was leaned back a little against the arm of the couch, while he held Simon. Still, even in the odd position, Simon didn’t want to let go of Roach. The pup felt the same way, reaching over to keep his hold on Simon.

As much as Simon tried, he couldn’t get any words out. Even just to call his bubba’s name. It just came out as babbles and cooing. He slipped further. His face buried into Johnny’s chest.

Mactavish didn’t have to ask, he knew already. Gently, he rubbed Simon’s back. The humming resumed, the very same one reserved for Simon.

The boy’s head turned, able to see the small TV playing a children’s show. It caught his eyes. He didn’t feel like he could let his eyes close, no matter how small he got. Simon verged on thinking too much and not at all, even though he was just tiny. The thoughts were hardly comprehensible, but something in his head was scary. That much he knew.

His grip on Roach loosened in favor of tucking his arms underneath himself.

Roach whined a little at that. In the very small space between the couch, Soap, and Simon, Roach decided to crawl in between the small space. He could fit, easily and comfortably. But that didn’t stop Price from telling him not to. But Gary already decided what he wanted to do, so he was going to do it regardless.

He let out a small whine as he very lightly nudged Simon with his head. He whimpered softly, both in worry and because he wanted his attention.

Simon’s head turned, his cheek now squished against Johnny’s chest. A very tiny smile appeared on his face as he looked at Roach, he rested his arm over him.

A smile spread on Mactavish’s face as he watched them. He softly brushed through Simon's hair. It was so sweet to him, seeing the both of the boys interact so sweetly despite everything.

The video call never left his mind, but to see them looking content like this felt special. A representation of just how close Gary and Simon had gotten over time. Any time Simon remained regressed after something traumatic was relieving to Soap and Price, it meant Simon would lean on them for help rather than hiding or ignoring it. They did still have to work on Simon trusting that Mactavish would be there to catch him if he fell, but for now this was enough.

Price watched them as the three got more comfortable. The blanket being moved for the third time to cover them, undeniably amused by just how much Roach and Simon wanted to stay close.

No one dared to pull them apart.

They both got comfortable. Roach chewing on the skin of his hand while cuddled up, Simon having his pacifier popped by into his mouth when Johnny realized he didn’t have it. He nuzzled against Mactavish’s chest, but he didn’t let go of Roach for a second.

It took a while, but Simon’s breathing evened out. The redness around his eyes faded, and that sleepy look returned. His eyes never stayed closed, but he was able to relax.

Mactavish, on the other hand, was asleep while holding the both of them close. Already knocked out with Simon in his arms, Roach next to them, and Price sitting close.

And of course Price was fondly shaking head at that. If a phone wasn’t so far, he would have taken a picture, but he just had to remember for now. The sweet image of them cuddled up together. The heavy eye bags weighed down on Soap’s face, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He was so tired, but content with their lives these days.

Sometimes they all almost forgot their jobs whenever everything was sweet like this. At least, Price didn’t forget. The light in the boy’s eyes made him think they forgot, they looked so happy.

Simon yawned softly. His head turned to see the TV again, blinks slowing and slowing.

“I’ll be here, boys, okay?” He heard Price speak, then felt the gentle weight of a hand on his lower leg. To assure him, Simon knew that.

For a long while, Simon verged on dozing, and asleep. But Roach seemed to be able to stay up a while, with his attention on the TV.

And as promised, Price never left their sides. Protecting them while Johnny got his much needed sleep. He would be there all night if it meant the boys were comfortable and safe.

Simon metaphorically leaned on him for protection now. Hazily sleepy eyes occasionally glancing at Price before they closed again. Over and over until his eyes remained closed for the night. Gary wasn’t as easy to soothe to sleep, he wasn’t easy to get to sleep at any time. It wasn’t a surprise to Price whatsoever.

And so he remained close.

Roach shifted, until he decided to crawl out of the cuddle huddle the three previously had. He curled up at Price’s side, his head on his lap. A low, happy rumble in his chest.

“That’s a good boy, Roach…” Price muttered to him, his hand slowly carding through his hair. He found all the nice spots Roach liked scratched. He had them all memorized anyways.

Another content grumble eased the nerves that still wracked through Price’s system. He scratched lightly behind the pup’s ear.

“I’m so proud of you, bug.. You did great protecting Simon, and you did amazing at medical…” Price softly spoke the words he knew Gary needed to hear, them all honest. He needed to say it too.

Roach turned his head, biting Price’s wrist gently and pulling his hand down close where he proceeded to gently lick or nip at the skin. The low rumbles of his chest filling the otherwise mostly quiet room. Never once did Price stop him, even if it was a little painful when he bit. It felt more loving than anything else these days, sometimes hugs didn’t even feel as good as the sweet bites or licks Roach would give as affection. His chest ached, in the best way possible.

With his other hand, Price slowly pet Roach. Watching him with soft eyes.

“Good boy…” Price breathed out, letting his head lean back against the plush back of the couch. His eyes closed as he relaxed.

There was shifting, and suddenly a light lick on his cheek. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly. His eyes opened again to give Roach a few more pets and a kiss on the forehead.

Roach gave a wide smile, and a soft yip. He clambered forward until most of him was on Price’s lap. And of course Price didn’t fight with him on it, he didn’t want to.

“You’re so needy.” Price said amongst chuckles. He ruffled the hair on Roach’s head, making a bit of a mess of it. He got a playful growl in return.

“Okay, okay-” Price fixed his hair for him, “But we can’t play while they’re resting… Lay your head down too, you definitely need it.”

The simple attempt got Roach to lay his head back down on him, his eyes didn’t close but he at least began to settle. His energy remained high, so Price made sure he had a bone to chew on.

Aside from the occasional kind whisper from Price, or a happy rumble from Roach, it was quiet again. The four of them able to get full breaths in, finally. As promised, Price was up all night with them, even long after Gary managed to fall asleep. He protected them, the worry lingered but each deep breath pulled the thought away.

His boys were safe, his men were okay. All of them were okay. The after action reports could, and would, wait. Everything would still be there in the morning. It would all be okay in the morning. Price looked over one more time at the boys, the sun peeking through the curtains on the windows. They were all still cuddled up, warm and Simon was even smiling in his sleep.

That was good.

With one last pet of Roach’s head, Price closed his eyes and let himself be pulled into the darkness of sleep.

They were safe.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod agere #call of duty agere #agere fic #captain john price #captain john soap mactavish #09 cod #cod mw2

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sixstepsaway · 6 months

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right, so, here are my Thoughts about that whole thing now i've slept on it. probably won't be super coherent but here we go

i feel bad for stede. he got shoved, somehow, into the weird love interest role so many female characters find themselves in, where they are truly completed by a man and a romance not the things they've been striving for throughout the series so far. he's shown no sign of wanting to give up the pirate lifestyle he's just finally got back, and to accompany him giving that up with izzy's gorgeous "piracy is about family and somewhere to belong" speech from earlier just feels cruel. we joke about how episode 2 stede wouldn't care if lucius died but that changed, he got attached, his crew became his family. they were loyal to him and followed him even when they were just working at spanish jackie's for pennies. they respected him and loved him enough to let him talk them into letting ed back on board. this was, at least at this point in stede's arc, his happy ending. in fact, you can even argue he was happy without ed for a while at the start of this episode. his relationship with ed is important and it's icing on the cake, but it isn't something to complete him, or his only source of happiness -- nor should it be!!! and then for some reason ed shows back up, fishes up his leathers, kicks ass to save him, loses izzy and now they're leaving stede's ship and crew and found family to... run an inn made out of the world's shittiest fixer-upper? stede? stede twirly fancypants bonnett??? in that place? maybe at the end of a full run this might have felt like a good conclusion to his story, him realizing he wanted belonging, not necessarily to be a pirate, and maybe them bringing some of crew along to have their home somewhere safer and happier than the piracy they don't really enjoy but turn to because they have no other choice, but right now it just feels like... honestly like either he agreed to it to keep ed with him ("AITA for convincing my boyfriend to run an inn with me after leaving him two days ago because we were moving too fast? little backstory: this involved my boyfriend leaving everything in his life for me and no i did not apologize for running off to become a fisherman") or like, as i said up there, a matter of "actually all he needed was a BOYFRIEND all along" which... ngh. stede is more than his relationship.

idk why we bothered establishing that frenchie, jim and even archie were willing to put their lives on the line and lie to ed's murderous face to save izzy's life just for them to be stone-faced and have no feelings about his loss. like, okay, ed and he's stories are tied together and him dying in ed's arms makes more sense narratively than him dying in anyone else's, but also ed hadn't earned that and izzy deserved to die in the arms of someone who hadn't tried to kill him and shot him in the leg not to mention we went from fang's squishy hug and frenchie holding his hand to just... nothing? not a thing? roach, the ship's surgeon, did nothing to try and save him? it's just ed slapping his gunshot wound pathetically?

it strongly feels like they swapped izzy and ed's roles in his death scene sounds stupid but hear me out "you're my only family" would make so much more sense coming from izzy with ed dying in his arms. izzy's desperation to keep hold of ed, right down to accidentally pushing him down the kraken path at the end of season 1, being rooted in the feeling that ed is all he has in the world? ed responding that no, the crew love izzy. he's earned their love. he has a family outside of ed now, can't he see that? that makes so much more sense, considering izzy nearly died for them multiple times and spent the first few episodes trying to protect them and then being protected by them in kind he was their new unicorn!!! meanwhile ed said sorry to fang, izzy and lucius, and no one else has been shown to give any fucks about him since that whole thing, and like... rightly so? because he hadn't earned them back at all? and he fucked off on them too last episode lol dont forget he didnt JUST leave stede

we should have known better than to trust djenks when he broke jim and olu up for no reason ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk

nothing worth a damn happened this episode it was all running around and waving swords. idk how anyone got to where they were at the end. it was just poor writing.

the pacing has been off all season but they really shoved three episodes into one and hoped it'd work

i'm getting flashbacks to the timeless ~finale~ ugh

they spent so much time one ed's stupid fishing boat monologue instead of on ANYTHING ELSE

i ran out of thoughts

oh, here's another: the show walked a line between muppetry and things that were taken seriously lucius' finger, izzy's toes: serious ed getting bonked by a cannonball: emotionally serious, but not physically serious ed and stede both getting stabbed: not serious and what was treated as serious and what was treated as handwavy was dictated by what the storyline and the emotional needs were izzy getting shot to make it so they all had to run away yapping would have been hilarious, especially if he got back to the ship and went "nah eddie it's my left side, remember what i told you about the left? nothing important on the left" "your liver" <- roach, horrified but instead weird death scene because this was treated as physically serious, even though it...should not have been, really? and that is bothering me a lot too, because when lucius was thrown to his death, we looked at stede finding the crew on the island and went, "aha! lucius will be fine, because that's what the show logic is" and we were right, because the show had taught us that but that didn't extend to izzy for this and that's just weird

#ofmd #ofmd spoilers #izzy hands

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fandom-junk-drawer · 2 years

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The Witcher Headcanon (Modern Au) - Error 404 Brain Not Found.

Yennefer has no clue how Geralt always ends up getting into odd situations when he's around Jaskier

The Witcher is usually so serious and disciplined, always on guard and watching so he's ready for any threat.

He is usually the responsible one, especially with Ciri.

But for some reason, when he's around Jaskier, Yennefer notices Geralt just kind of ...loses all his braincells.

Losing his braincells is normal for Jaskier, because sometimes Yen is convinced he never had any to begin with.

She wonders what is going on in their heads.

They are just living examples of Why Women Live Longer Than Men

Geralt and Jaskier haved jumped off the roof onto a trampoline. Geralt had been more concerned with the dent he'd put in the side of Roach than with his broken wrist.

They tried to see how many of various food items they could stuff in their mouths.

Run around the house wearing dinosaur masks, and if any mail or food delivery service knocks, they are greeted by two grown men in dinosaur masks, making hissing and roaring sounds.

Drank a big glass of water on an empty stomach so they could wiggle around to hear it slosh.

Tried to slide down the stairs in laundry baskets

Jaskier came home soaking wet because he took his motorcycle through the automated car wash while Geralt recorded it.

All the 'I bet you can't...' games that always ended with minor injuries.

Dared each other to eat random things they found while on hunts or outside, like slime, goo, viscous fluids, pasty goops, bugs, etc.

Made a swimming pool in the livingroom with the two couches and a tarp, filled it with orbeez, and stayed in there all afternoon watching tv and eating pizza rolls. Yennefer had made them find every last orbee after the 'pool' burst and flooded the livingroom thousands of little balls.

Giant Sticky Hand fights

Almost got arrested because Geralt and Lambert had seen Jaskier walking, pulled over, and shoved him into the van. People thought they were witnessing a kidnapping.

Naked Nerf Gun War. It hadn't ended well.

Hover board races in spite of the fact that neither of them had ever been on a hover board.

Have spent an entire day doing the Sprite Challenge. It ended only because Geralt made a sound like a dying humpback whale and they laughed so hard they both vomited.

Made horrifying concotions of various foods and liquids, then had a competition to see was brave enough to drink it.

Tried to epilate their leg hair because "how hard could it be?" The screams... The neighbors had called the police thinking someone was being murdered.

Invited Eskel, Lambert, and Coen over, then sat in a circle, took a mouthful of water and slapped each other in the face with a tortilla. The first one to spit their water out lost.

Made flamethrowers with cans of Yennefer's hairspray and lighters and chased eachother through the house. Yennefer had not been happy.

Spent almost and hour trying to see who could make the loudest, grossest sounding fart noise with their hands or insides of their elbows.

Tried to jump on the bed hard enough to make the other bounce off

Tried to see how many times Geralt could get kicked in the balls before he couldn't get back up.

Streaked down the street in broad daylight, and then couldn't get in the house because Lambert had locked them out.

Have to poke/throw firecrackers/try to burn every wasp, hornet, and ant nest they find. Jaskier's left hand had looked like a Mickey Mouse hand and he couldn't play his guitar for several days after he got stung by a "big a** motherf***ing hornet."

Then there was the time Jaskier somehow convinced Geralt to try on a pair of Yennefer's yoga pants.

How Geralt had even managed to get into them was a mystery. Yennefer had to admit that she was impressed with how well the yoga pants had held up. She couldn't even be mad.

And of course she had taken a picture.

Now every time Geralt calls her, that picture of him pops up on the screen.

And it's not even the full picture of Geralt. It's been cropped down to where it's just Geralt's a** in those gray yoga pants.

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limeade-l3sbian · 2 years

Text

PART THREE

by @rad-by-nature

In one of your letters, you’d asked how I’d get along in such a small space, but I think you may have misread my words. Radblr ain’t a sole, single town. It’s a county. A ripe division of towns full of more than I’d ever mentioned in a single letter. I’d only told you about the town that I reside in, but there are a plenty of others that I’d crossed through. Sometimes for more merchandise to pass on to, sometimes for a date, sometimes just to stretch my legs.

The second town over is its own mess (the whole county is. In the best way of course).

It seemed the begrudged saloon owner was a provision of humankind by God, Herself. @dusty-rattler ran a firm but perhaps not necessarily tight ship. The exhaustion of keeping those who frequented saloons showed in the low bags of her eyes and the shotgun ever lain in her lap when she had the minute to sit. Other times, I couldn’t tell you where she put it, but it came out just as quickly as when trouble did. She kept business through the upbeat tunes of @bisexual-slime who had no problem halting mid song to advise or console a soul in clear discouragement. Not the best habit for folks like @gynandtheholograms who found a way to haul and kick in dance at any song of any pace; fishnets torn now and again at her ambitious swaying. An issue usually either easily fixed or replaced by the eccentric @federal-bureau-of-nerds, so long as you had less than nothing to say about her unabashed conversations with reptiles like @534r and the crows that squawked back in a curious manner.

Compared to the ticking of roaches back at my own town’s saloon, this one was disobliging of uninvited vermin, and I was able to meet the reaper of these vermin when I’d gone walking in for some help. Knocking over a few glasses and flicking her tail in the faces of frowning customers was a cat by the name of @amphibiam. I’d been told, not totally asked of, that she kept things clean where said vermin were concerned so her less amicable state of being was ignored and accepted for the most part. Though now and again, I’d heard people might put a little pressure to the tip of her tail to humble her somewhat. How effective that was, I can’t really say.

Be just my luck that I go walking in there when a fight broke out. They were smart enough to do it when the owner was absent and a less than interested bartender, @catgirlsredemption, was tending. By what I’d gathered from all the commotion and from behind the bar with @lunaslefthand, a slighted gunslinger had finally caught up with @radartemisia. A known peddler for “not so aiding medicine for what ails ya” by what I’d been told. She was a city slicker with too big of ambitions to scam as many small towners as she could, but had missed out on all the women ‘round who’d been raised by or dealing with snake oil saleswomen all their lives.

I’d give her her credit, though. At being shoved, she’d decided to bring the fight right back and drew. As I stared up at the holed ceiling, deadpanned to have been caught in this, I had seen the impressively dulled senses of a townie by the name of @trickycactus give all her gaze down the barrel of her gun in an attempt to step in with her own gun, corrected by her friend with a harsh slap to her hand to stop any more holed bodied before yankin’ her away from the madness behind their tipped over table.

I, without a gun, had the smarts to stay put until I heard bigger boots and guns come in, barking for order and taken both women who sourced the madness down to the ground. On the slighted gunslinger, sheriff @opabiniawillreturn quite neutral in expression. When the gunslinger shouted like a madwoman about @radartemisia being…well, an untrustworthy woman, to keep it clean for you, the sheriff had asked without much else beyond a raised brow to explain what she meant by that. On the snake oil woman, the unofficial aid of the law around here, @thongsofvirtue, who seemingly did not see the few women who thanked her with flushed faces for helping out.

I’d been surprised to see the sheriff so understanding, and she’d focused her power of arresting on the snake oil peddler, simply telling the slighted gunslinger to make herself scarce. Might have had a chance to talk to her for my own reasons if one @femcelgrandpogger hadn’t opened her mouth, calling the departing gunslinger another unsavory word that landed her a bullet from the ill-tempered woman. The real chaos was over by then, and I had an unfortunate front seat to the woman fading out.

Ever on call, the undertaker, @radtangy, come walkin’ in to collect another hassle, dragging @femcelgrandpogger out while I stayed behind to help the staff clean up a little. The sheriff deputy, @beatifiq, came in a little late to the party but had the right spirit. She followed shortly behind the sheriff as she and @thongsofvirtue walked out with the two trouble starters. They hadn’t even bothered dealing with the slurring rant of @spider-terf who hauled off and threw a bottle that the sheriff and deputy easily dodged without looking back. There were only a few tables that took the brunt of the madness, and rather than take the walk, the saloon owner went on and hollered what felt like halfway across town to @nobleelfwarrior who, midway to @madolecence ‘s inn before deadpanning towards the hollering bar owner before heading right back to her place to grab her tools.

I will admit, I was still a bit deadpan myself to be experiencing this the day that I decided to venture out, but at least I’d have some gossip of my own to return with.

Silver linings and all that, I suppose.

(Part 1 & 2)

#RAD RAD WEST #next up are the gyns living away from the towns #radfems do touch #radfem safe #radfems please interact #RAD RAD WEST BABY

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 2 years

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Ik for a fact if vampy was at bbs parents house and they were just sitting on the couch and vampy pulls her into him to give her a forehead kiss and one of her annoying little 12 year old cousins tells them to get a room vampys clapping back with the most obscure roast all while giving his bb back scratches snsjjsjajajzbs

Y/N would be cradled into his side on the couch, her legs tucked away against his torso and her head resting on his chest. Harry drags his nails soothingly up and down Y/N’s back, pressing tender little pecks all over her forehead and eyelids, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear while nosing tenderly over her cheek and temple.

All of the sudden, a grating, high-pitched voice pierces the air from their left, full of utter disgust and ridicule. “Ewww! Get a room!”

Harry’s response comes as a reflex, with no hesitation or mercy whatsoever, his tone deadpan and sharp. “Get some hair on your chin.”

The entire room breaks into howls and snickers as the rest of the kids lose their minds at his witty comeback, and the praise— no matter how immature— nudges a smug, crooked grin onto the vampire’s lips. Kids are always so easy to entertain, and they make for the most loyal, devoted fans. Their affinity for cruel jokes and mutual bullying is why they’ve quickly become his favorite allies, and his most adored audience. He’d had all of Y/N’s little cousins wrapped around his pinky within the first thirty minutes of meeting them, and to say he’s pleased with the payoff is an understatement.

Y/N’s voice cuts over the laughter and goading, full of scolding shock. “Harry!”

Harry glances down at his girlfriend’s appalled face, but one look tells him she’s hardly upset. She’s glaring at him with furrowed brows and a faint frown, but it’s pretty obvious she’s trying to fight off a smile of her own. Her twitching lips and the crackling mirth behind her eyes makes that more than evident.

The immortal raises an eyebrow daringly, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he appraises her coyly. “What? The little maggot was asking for it!”

“I’m not a maggot!” The boy pipes up pettily, sticking his tongue out at Harry for emphasis, rubbing at his chin almost comfortingly as if to ease the pain of the older man’s retort.

“My mistake. Do you feel like ‘roach’ would be a more suitable title?”

The group’s collective giggles rise in volume, and Harry can’t stop himself from joining in this time around. Y/N falls victim to his mocking, as well, seen in how she suddenly bursts into laughter, and then immediately slaps her hand over her mouth to stifle her betrayal.

She shakes her head up at him in a chastising manner, though it holds amusement more than anything. “You can’t even spare a twelve year old, can you?”

“If he can dish it out, he needs to be prepared to take it in return. Just ‘cause I’m above them in a literal sense doesn’t mean I’m above them metaphorically. Stooping down to their level is way more fun, anyways.”

“Great. I’m dating a snotty little asshole.”

“Correction: you’re dating the respected leader of the pack.”

#ysijwa!ask #ysijwa!blurb

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piercethelenn · 2 years

Text

Track seven — Rose-Colored Boy.

Warnings: Swearing, attempted violence. || Word count: 642

Anyone in their right mind would have thought that luring someone into going to the storage room in the night when not a single soul was left at campus, was obviously a trap, but you cannot blame Jeongin, as he was blindly in love with his classmate, Choi Yerim. As soon as he received the invitation to meet her at the unsettling place, he immediately started thinking of excuses, so that his bossy younger brother, Jungwon, would not alert his parents on the issue. Luckily for him, the annoying kid with an eldest sibling complex would spend the night at a friend’s place, so the timing was perfect for him to respond to the call from his dream girl.

Heeseung had offered to accompany him and wait outside, just in case anything weird happened, but the loverboy flatly rejected the idea, not wanting his friend to meddle into his business, even though he had delivered the letter in the first place, but since the guitarist had no real intentions of going, he did not try to refute. So there Jeongin was, standing before the storage room, defenseless and completely alone, but full of hope; He was not sure whether the last part was a positive thing or not. He counted to twenty in a poor attempt to calm his nerves, and slowly pushed the door handle… Only to get dragged inside and held tightly against a wall.

一Olivia! We talked about this!一 Even in the darkness, he could recognize Yerim’s voice, she sounded a little annoyed, but not at all surprised, which further confused the boy who was now getting forced to kneel. The roach caretaker turned on the lights to reveal a short-haired girl with fiery eyes that reminded Jeongin of a wolf, one of the scary ones that would appear in Halloween themed movies. In a different scenario, he would not be fazed by a girl so short, but given that she practically manhandled him with an unexpected force, he felt like a prey, struggling to survive. 一We are supposed to talk first, not keep him hostage!一.

Hyejoo huffed, but did as told, letting go of his arm with unnecessary brutality. The poor boy was so frightened that he stayed on his knees, looking with trembling eyes at both girls that stared back at him the way a restaurant owner would look at a rat found in the storage room, which was coincidentally where the three students were now. 一Wait a minute…一 As Jeongin’s adrenaline levels started to drop, his heart started to beat at a more comfortable pace 一Your name’s Olivia? I thought it was…一 He dodged Hyejoo’s hand that attempted to rearrange his face, and hurriedly got on his feet again, raising his hands in defense.

一First, you send a love letter to my girlfriend…一 the girl glared at him and tried to slap him again, Jeongin was lucky he had fast reflexes; losing his teeth was not his favorite Friday night activity. 一And now, you just called me Olivia?!一 Yerim came into rescue and held the girl with concerning anger issues back, reassuring her that everything was okay.

Meanwhile, the boy’s brain did a short circuit while trying to let her words sink in, “Girlfriend?” Was she serious? He took a step back. Many things started to make sense now, confirming those few rumors about the girls’ relationship that were going around but he opted to ignore. It seemed like Jeongin was so immersed in his own pinning that he overlooked the possibility of Yerim already having someone else by her side, and that fact alone made his heart ache in a way that not even the pain in his knees could mask it. 一I’m sorry一 He bowed at both girls and ran out of the place as fast as his feet let him.

ㅤ

Previous ☁️ Masterlist ☁️ Next

Taglist: @boowoowho @ckline35 @sxndmemes @purplebearheart (Send an ask to be added!)

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izzy-b-hands · 1 year

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Writing rizzy to keep myself from Beginning Moving Roadtrip Stress!

Izzy has an allergic reaction while taste testing (i just gave him one of my allergies, and also Roach has discovered/invented/etc epinephrine approx 220 years early bc if anyone could, it's Roach.)

Fairly short, cutesy, Izzy is fine, he's just like me and occasionally tests his allergies to a point of 'oh maybe a benadryl alone WON'T solve this after all, Oh No' (aside from the times that happens on accident if food is mislabeled lol)

---

"You're allergic to it," Roach frowns and watches Izzy swallow the last bite of cake.

"Yeah, but it's worth it."

"Oh my god," he pushes Izzy down onto the nearest chair. "Stay put."

"There's a-"

"I can fix this," Roach fusses and moves towards his medicine chest. "How bad does it get?"

"Pistachios, at this amount?" Izzy wheezes.

"Is your fucking throat closing up?!"

He nods.

"Israel-what the fuck is your middle name?"

"Bas-ilica," is the gasped reply.

"Israel Basilica Hands!"

"I have...something for i-"

Roach rifles through the medicine chest, and yanks out a syringe and the small vial of epinephrine. "Shush and keep breathing."

Another wheeze answers him, and thankfully doesn't sound like protesting when he injects it into Izzy's thigh, through his leather trousers.

"You aren't going anywhere else today," Roach continues. "I'm keeping an eye on you to make sure you're safe after this."

A hand reaches for the dish of cake, and Roach slaps it lightly away. "No!"

"It's good though," Izzy breathes out weakly, if slightly less haggard, skin regaining some colour.

"Do you do this with everything you're allergic to?"

"Only the ones I know I can usually safely get away with it," Izzy replies, and pulls a small vial and syringe from his vest pocket.

"Oh. Oh! You keep epinephrine on you constantly, in order to-"

"Technically it's for emergencies," Izzy interrupts as the vial and syringe disappear into his pocket again. "Cake tasting can be an emergency."

"You're terrible," Roach mutters fondly. "No more cake. And once this is gone, no more pistachios. And no more of whatever else you're allergic or sensitive to."

"You won't have much of a menu then."

"Then we restrict it to whatever doesn't almost instantly kill you."

"So pistachio cake could still be on-"

"Izzy!"

"Can't blame me for asking," Izzy smirks. "You did an amazing job on it. Despite the throat closing bit."

"Despite the-" Roach pauses, shakes his head, and leans down to kiss Izzy's forehead. "No more cake. The rest of this goes to-"

He pauses again. "Ed and Stede might eat some, then wind up kissing you without thinking, and we're back here stabbing you in the thigh..."

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Izzy sighs deeply. "That does feel better."

"No shit, you can breathe again."

"Thank you."

"For the cake or the breathing?"

"Yeah."

He rolls his eyes. "Olu and Jim I can trust. The rest of it is theirs to share with anyone except the captains."

"Good luck on that."

He gently helps Izzy up from the chair, and motions to the cot in the corner. "Lay down before the rest of the reaction hits you in full. You'll be sleeping soon enough."

"It is tiring."

"Nearly dying? Yeah, usually."

He's aware Izzy might not technically need the help, but he's still croaky and wobbles a bit when he's finally standing. That seems like reason enough, in his professional opinion, to help Izzy over to the cot.

Then onto it, to be safe.

"Is this standard practice?" Izzy teases and lets him snuggle in under his arm.

"Absolutely," Roach rests his head on the obscenely soft leather of Izzy's vest, warm from Izzy even with the shirt between it and his bare skin. "I'll take the cake out to everyone else later, once we know you're as much out of danger as possible."

"I can breathe now," Izzy insists, but he pulls him closer, and they aren't going anywhere for a while.

If he's really lucky, someone else will come in and sneak the cake away for a snack and he won't have to leave Izzy (and his opportunity for a shared impromptu nap) at all.

#text post #long post

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ncllywrites · 2 years

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Hi! I was wondering if you could write an Elliot imagine based off this song? (Renegades- Aaryan Shah) if not then it’s totally fine! I love your work btw! Much love ❤️

Thank you so much ♡ This is my first time writing a song fic! It definitely went in a different direction than I had originally planned but I hope you still enjoy it!

warnings: smut, cheating, drug use, face "slapping", oral (m receiving)

wc: 1069

My relationship with Elliot is like being trapped in a revolving door. I’m not even sure you could really call it that - relationship. Everytime he hit me up, it was the same thing; he either got a new stash or his girlfriend was mad at him for something again. And every time, I would fall for it. I would pull him into my room, lock the door, and do whatever drugs he brought with him that day. I always thought that Elliot and I would be much better together than he and his current fling were. They always fought and she tried to make him into something he wasn’t. He needed to be with someone that knew he did drugs, hated dressing up, and who was fine with just hanging out one on one. I was that person.

I would never tell him that to his face though. The fear of not having him in my life at all hurt more than having to watch him stare at his girlfriend with a loving gaze that I wish was aimed at me instead. So instead, I settle for the moments where it was just hanging out doing drugs and fucking around. Elliot had finished his second line before rolling up a joint while I just stared at the white substance he had left for me. Tonight was the night that I’d tell him how I really felt. Elliot nudged me with his elbow, bringing me out of my trance. “What’s going on in that head of yours? You know you can tell me anything, right? We’re best friends.” I gave him a tight smile, hiding how his words really made me feel. “Yeah, friends” I muttered before dipping down and inhaling the powder. Tilting my head back, I sniffle and rub at my nose before turning back to look at the curly-headed boy. “ ‘m fine, don’t worry.”

Elliot just brushed it off and slipped the joint between his lips before lighting and inhaling, laying back on the bed and blowing out the smoke, the cloud leaving the room a bit hazy. After passing the joint back and forth between each other, we were left with a roach that I tossed into the dish on my bedside table. We sat in a comfortable silence before Elliot turned his head towards me, his brows furrowed in thought. “Hey, you think you’d ever be in a poly relationship?” Leaning up on my elbows, I get a better look at the boy. “Probably not, I’m a little too possessive… Would you?”

The boy was quiet for a while and I wondered if he had heard that last part. As I went to say something else, he spoke up. “Maybe. I’d probably be in an open relationship if anything. That way no one really gets hurt because everyone agrees to see other people.” Nodding my head at his answer, I layed back down on the bed. Maybe I might actually have a chance with him.

With my eyes closed, I felt Elliot’s presence closer than before, so I opened my eyes and saw him hovering over me. “What?” I asked, slightly worried that something was wrong since he’d been looking at me for a while and still hadn’t said anything. “Elliot, what the fuck-” I got cut off by him leaning down, pressing his slightly chapped lips on mine. I was stunned, I had waited for this moment since the day I met him and now that it was here, I was stuck. Elliot pulled away from me, ready to apologize but before he could, I pulled him back down by the collar of his shirt. He slipped his fingers underneath my sweater, pushing it over my head as my hands went down to his belt and undid his pants. Everything happened so fast and before I knew it, we were both naked and Elliot was sliding his hard member into my slick entrance. Once he bottomed out, he let out a deep groan in my ear. I dug my nails into his shoulder blades, his member making me feel extremely full. Elliot slowly pulled out until just the tip was inside, then slid back into me, doing that a few times before I told him to move faster.

Elliot’s head was tucked in my shoulder, his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of my neck as my fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck, Elliot, I love you.” The boy’s hips stuttered as he pulled his head back to look me in my eyes. “You know I have a girlfriend, Y/N…” Wrapping my legs around his waist, I licked a stripe up the column of his throat, “It’s okay, baby, she doesn’t have to know.” Elliot shuddered above me before he wrapped his slender fingers around my throat and began to thrust harder into me, his member leaving an imprint on my lower belly. “You wanna be my dirty little secret? Hmm? You get off on knowing that my dick is deep in your cunt while my girlfriend has no clue, don’t you?” My teeth sank into my bottom lip so hard to the point where I could taste the metallic tang of blood. I nodded, my eyes rolling back into my skull before I felt Elliot tapping my cheek. “Use your words or I pull out.” My eyes opened in a panic, already so close to reaching my climax. “Please, I love it, wanna be your secret…”

Elliot smirked down at me, his pace speeding up again and his calloused fingers rubbing circles on my sensitive bud, pushing me closer to my orgasm. “Shit, right there, please don’t stop,” I begged him. With three hard thrusts, I was moaning and begging Elliot to pull out so he didn’t overstimulate me. I sat back on my elbows catching my breath, watching Elliot stroke himself before I got down on my knees, my tongue lolling out to catch his cum. His head was tilted back, hips jerking into his fist as spurts of cum splashed onto my tongue, a few drops falling on my chest. Once I saw that his eyes were on me again, I swallowed, then stuck my tongue back out to show that there was nothing left. With a look of shock on his face, Elliot bent down, cupped my cheeks and kissed me intensely. “Fuck, I’m gonna have fun with you.”

#euphoria x reader #euphoria #euphoria hbo #dominic fike #elliot euphoria #elliot smut #elliot x reader #euphoria season 2 #elliot x you

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

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Hi Alex, 11. Character A thinks that they are not good enough for Character B for the pining prompts, any pairing really?

Thanks you!! I don't know if this is really pine-y enough, but it got away from me.

Hideous. Terrible. Monster.

Geralt tries not to let the words bother him, but they hurt more than the stones that hit him. It reminds him of Blaviken and he grits his teeth against the memory. For a while, he had nearly forgotten about it, but that day comes back to him in full force now as he holds his forearms up to keep the rocks from hitting his face. He hasn't even done anything wrong this time.

As he finally reaches the town gate, he realizes with a start that he can't go back to camp. Jaskier is there and he can't see him like this. Geralt takes off in the opposite direction, remembering a stream they passed on their way into town, making hard in that direction.

When he finds it again, he sits at the edge of the river, staring down at his reflection. His hair is tangled and twisted with mud and gore and his face is flecked with blood - some of it his and some from the bruxa. He looks every bit the monster they say he is and Geralt's heart sinks as he thinks about Jaskier sitting back at camp. He'll be waiting for him to return, he's probably got supper ready for him and Geralt is going to come back looking like this?

He can't.

He can't go back to Jaskier like this, not having done what he did. Because he's no good. He couldn't even save the guardsmen. Jaskier deserves someone soft and kind and beautiful. He deserves someone wealthy and successful, not a dirty Witcher who can't even do his job properly. His eyes sting and Geralt slaps the surface of the water, scattering his reflection. He can't even imagine how Jaskier can bear to look at him.

For some time he sits there at the side of the stream, not knowing what to do because he needs to eat, needs to feed Roach, but he doesn't want to go back and have Jaskier see him. But he wants to. Wants to fall into Jaskier's arms and have him tell him everything is fine. Wants to let him kiss away the bruises on his skin. Want to curl up with him and feel Jaskier's breath on the back of his neck as he whispers sweet things into his hair.

But Jaskier shouldn't want him. Jaskier deserves better. So Geralt sits at the side of the stream, refusing to look at himself for hours. He doesn't even have the energy to clean the blood from his hands now and it's dried, pulling his skin tight and making it itchy. He focuses too hard on it, but he can't bring himself to move, can't force his body to shift or his hands to rub together.

It's long dark when he hears footsteps approaching and he flinches as they reach him, not focused enough to realize they're familiar.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's voice is soft and hesitant, worried. Geralt says nothing. "What happened, love, I was worried-" He tries to rest a hand on his shoulder, but Geralt pulls out of his touch, curling further in on himself. He hears Jaaskier's little gasp and he feels awful about it, but he can't let him touch him.

Jaskier crouches down next to him, elbows resting on his knees. He wrings his hands, clearly needing something to occupy himself if he's not allowed to touch, and Geralt feels worse.

"What's wrong, love? You're filthy, let me-" he reaches out but quickly retracts his arm, thinking better of it. "Sorry. Can I-?" Geralt doesn't say anything and there's a wave of grief that washes over Jaskier. Reluctantly, Geralt nods. He can't bear Jaskier being upset over him.

Jaskier's hand is soft where it presses against his cheek, rubbing something away with his thumb. Geralt just sits and lets him, trying not to focus too hard on how good Jaskier's touch feels. He doesn't deserve it, he's a monster, just like the things he was created to kill.

But Jaskier hums softly and produces a damp bit of cloth from somewhere, dabbing at Geralt's skin and wiping the blood away. The tune is familiar, but Geralt can't quite place it, too lost in his own head to really think about it.

When the one side of his face is clean, Jaskier climbs into his lap, sitting so they're face-to-face and Geralt is forced to look at him. Jaskier smiles, but there's genuine worry behind it and his scent betrays him. But he never once stops in his task, wiping Geralt's skin clean and tying his hair back out of his face.

"Better?" Jaskier asks and Geralt wants to tell him it can't be better because he is the problem, but he just nods and Jaskier dips down to kiss his nose.

"I talked to the villagers," he says softly, "I know what happened, Geralt. It wasn't your fault. It's not your fault those men died and it's not your fault the rest of them blamed you. Without you, they all could have died, but you saved them, love."

"I'm a monster," Geralt breathes and in a beat, Jaskier's arms are around him, pulling him against his chest.

"You're not. You're a kind, caring man, Geralt. The love of my life."

"You deserve more."

"Like what? A prince? A Duchess? A knight, perhaps? Geralt I've had them. I want you. I don't care what anyone else thinks about you, I know you. You buy sugar cubes to feed your horse because she works so hard and she deserves it. You play hide and seek with the children at the orphanage - don't tell me you don't, Gretka told me." Jaskier tips his chin up, smiling at him. "You make special hair grease for Lambert even though the smell of it makes you gag. You take care of me. I'd be dead a hundred times over without you, my darling."

"Only because you fucked the wrong person."

"And now I only fuck you," Jaskier shrugs, smirking, "so no one wants to kill me anymore." He dips down, kissing Geralt's lips and he lingers so long Geralt can't help but give in, moving softly against him. When Jaskier breaks away, he's still smiling but his eyes are shut.

"I can't undo what people have done to you to make you think you're not worthy of love, Geralt, but I will do my best to teach you that you are. Why don't you come back to camp, get out of those clothes and I'll make tea. I found some berries just a little ways from where we set up that might be nice." He cups Geralt's face in his hand and Geralt leans into it.

"Okay," he whispers.

Jaskier smiles wide at that, rising to his feet and helping Geralt up.

"Tomorrow, we should reach Oxenfurt and we can stay at the university. They have a lovely bath there and I have a private suite," he looks up as his fingers slip between Geralt's. "Just for us, hm?"

"Okay," Geralt repeats. Because he doesn't deserve Jaskier, but he wants to.

#geraskier #pining #rex writes

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julek · 3 years

Text

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fluff #jeff buckley lyrics my beloved

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