#mystery drabble event !
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rainy summers | c.d
cedric diggory x reader
requested by anonymous, for mystery drabble event with the prompt ‘where’s my goodnight kiss?’ -> i hope you enjoy this :D
warnings; hair that’s long enough to get in your face, fluff!
word count; 900+
a/n; i’m back bitches and in my gif era for fics again D:
soaked to the bone, you and cedric ran with your hands clasped together towards the castle, summer rain pouring from the heavens above. it had been an unusually warm august, and cedric had planned a small date for the two of you down by the lake; he filled a basket with luscious fruits, treats and pink lemonade before asking if you fancied going for a swim.
neither of you had planned to stay out until the late evening, watching the light bleed into the night sky as the sun set, but you felt so at home spending the day doing nothing but being with cedric. it was only when you noticed dark, brooding clouds in the distance, sure they were to travel close by and release their heavy burden, that you began to think of returning.
now sprinting up to the wooden bridge, which offered you shelter, cedric laughed as he slipped on the drenched grass, his hand gripping yours tighter as he fought for balance.
“hey! don’t take me down with you,” you giggled, stepping into the stone entrance where you could catch your breath.
“like you wouldn’t do the same,” he sniggered, ruffling his hair and shaking his head like a dog.
“Oi!” you laughed, recoiling slightly as the water sprayed from his hair, “watch it.”
“sorry,” he smiled sheepishly, stepping closer to you to cup your face in his hands.
“ugh, move!” some snarky slytherin groaned, who you hadn’t noticed, pushing you out of the way as they led the rest of the quidditch team through.
“wow, they’re pretty dedicated to practice in this weather,” you cocked an eyebrow, pulling cedric back to you by his shirt.
your neck was turned as you watched the line of slytherins trudge down to the quidditch pitch, looking rather glum, and cedric took advantage of the opportunity to kiss your damp neck. his mouth was warm and soft, his breath heating your cool skin as he whispered against it.
“come on,” he said lowly, rising up to your cheek, “i’m getting cold.”
following him along the old bridge and jogging through the small courtyard, the warmth of the castle greeted you like an old friend, caressing you gently from the storm brewing outside.
“do you think it will thunder?” you asked cedric as you descended the stairs, rubbing your damp sleeves over your face.
“dunno,” he shrugged, “maybe.”
he spoke the password to the common room and led you to his dorm, a route you now had memorised like the back of your hand. if he had asked you to lead him blind back to his room from any point in the castle, you could do it—it was all mapped out in your head.
“here,” cedric threw you a hoodie and some old joggers he never wore anymore, mostly because you always wore them so now they felt like yours.
he removed his shirt and grabbed a towel from a nearby chair, drying his hair, face and torso as best he could. as you peeled your wet clothes from your body, your eyes remained fixed to the person in front of you, his subtly defined abs and muscles and the way they stretched as he pulled a new, clean shirt over his head.
“cheeky,” he laughed breathily, catching your lingering stare.
heat rose to your cheeks and you turned away sheepishly, fiddling with your clothes to get undressed and slip into some more comfortable ones, his warm and dry clothes over your body. you felt cedric come up behind you after a moment, resting his head on your shoulder and twisting you from left to right in a rocking motion.
“i don’t mind if you look,” he muttered in your ear, kissing your head.
even though he was yours, sometimes you forgot to remember. sometimes you saw him across the room, laughing with his friends and then catching your eye, and you still turned away from him like you shouldn’t have been looking. cedric would ask sometimes why you would turn away without so much as a smile, as the strange guilt crept up your neck as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t tell him the truth, though you knew he wouldn’t laugh. but he wouldn’t understand.
it didn’t matter though, not really.
“you have to be up early tomorrow,” you reminded him, turning around to press your ear against his chest, “we should go to bed,” his heart thumped.
“i know,” he mumbled in response, letting go of you to walk over to the bed and get comfortable beneath the sheets.
you sighed contently, smiling at the open window cedric hadn’t closed because he knew you liked listening to the rain. climbing into his bed beside him, you snuggled up close and rested your head on his chest where his heart continued to thump, soothing you as it always had done.
“where’s my goodnight kiss?” he asked quietly, stroking your hair, pulling it away from your face.
you giggled, looking up to him—the hand that wasn’t planted in your hair was behind his head, his left elbow pointed to the side. a delicate smile rested upon his lips, waiting patiently to feel yours against his. straining to push yourself up to his face, you gave him a sweet kiss, long enough to leave him satisfied and returned to your comfortable spot on his chest.
“love you,” he said, twirling your hair.
“love you too,” you hugged him tighter.
- - -
library account; @mirclesjournal
#cedric diggory x reader#cedric diggory x you#cedric diggory fluff#cedric diggory fic#cedric diggory fanfiction#cedric diggory fanfic#cedric diggory imagine#cedric diggory#mystery drabble event !
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HELLO
okay firstly THANK YOU FOR READING MY SILLY FICS!!! im v v glad u liked them!! that fic in particular that u rbed there is one of my favs personally LMAO creepy sun is so >>>> and secondly.. on my MHA BLOG? MY BAKUGOU WORSHIP BLOG????? ngl i did see u in my notifs over there when i saw ur tags LOL when i tell u i went O.O LMAOOOO. hope u liked them!! some of those r... old writings aldasdlakd. but!! anyways!! hope ur having a wonderful day!! stay swagilicious<3
HI SHAY!! ur silly fics r good argh i bear gifts
i like the way you write them i think the silly dynamics are great !! humans are so vulnerable and you tease the daycare attendant are my favs they did something to my brain actually. and yes you are correct creepy sun >>>>>> your works are nice please have some nice flowers for ur day
#ask#took me two hours to organize these thoughts i woke up saw ur ask and almost squealed#spent at least 2 days binging your fics actually theyre swag and had me smiling like a goofball#about that second part.......ehe#ive been trying to keep the mha thing a secret (involuntary brainrot) despite the pfp on discord but ur fics got to me#i found you thru the discord server for the dca halloween event actually i saw ur pfp and got curious#i specifically remember reading your midoriya drabble some time before so when i went to ur blog and saw it i just went “IT WAS YOU??????”#the little things + ghosts mysteries and a 7ft buff skeleton + midoriya izuku’s love for you is stifling at times r my favs there#theyre cute theyre cute like im not fond of sweets but this ill gladly take! will eat again!! + the halloween one was just funny#im going thru ur quotev right now I RECOGNIZE AT LEAST THREE OF UR WORKS THERE......... IT WAS YOU..... nice#gonna go on ao3 and read more of ur fics (the long ones especially iaawdihwdi)#ur works r cool ure cool
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Finale: Kotov Syndrome
The silence that hung between them for a few long, terrible moments was tense and heavy; Vash watched as his brother's eyes filled with fear for a split second, then quickly boiled over into betrayal and rage.
"You'd dare point that coward's tool at me? After I let you keep it?" Nai nearly spat the words out, his voice penetrating the silence the same way a rock crashed through a window, making Vash's shoulders twitch. His stance remained firm despite it, eyes locked onto the other Plant's, his firearm steady and unwavering in it's position. No desire to shoot him, just... keep him there and buy everyone enough time to get out of the city.
And buy himself some time to think of an actual plan...
"... it truly hurts to see you like this, Vash." Nai said, that softness returning to his tone, almost a coo. It made his chest ache. "Those monsters have been exacerbating your sickness. They're using you--"
"QUIET!" he snarled, the sound tearing out of him faster than he could process. Vash grit his teeth and felt himself force the barrel of the gun against Nai's forehead before quickly withdrawing it, taking a step back and settling on just aiming the firearm at him, now. He'd never been this angry before.
"YOU'RE the one who's using me, Nai! This whole time, I've--" God, he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about any of it-- "--I've been hurting people! I've hurt EVERYONE I care about because of you...!"
"Anyone you've 'hurt' was hurt because they interfered with your recovery, Vash." Nai replied, looking unimpressed. "It was their own fault for--"
"It was YOUR FAULT!" another crackle of energy between his teeth, this time igniting the patterns on his skin. Wisps of energy lifted from the delicate lines on the right side of his face-- wisps that took on a feathered shape that made Nai's eyes widen, face contorting with disgust.
"Look at what they've done to you..."
"STOP!" Vash's hands were trembling, now, emotions and borrowed power both rumbling in his chest like the beginnings of a storm. He squeezed his eyes shut-- he had to end this! Whatever needed to happen next, he had to do it-- and if that involved killing his brother, h-he-- no. No, he couldn't kill him, even... even after all of this. He couldn't do it, there had to be another way--
A hand suddenly touching his cheek yanked Vash out of his thoughts, eyes popping open to see Nai in close proximity. One hand on his face, the other on his shoulder, in... some cruel mockery of comfort? Or was it real? Nai's expression felt like a mask of calm and understanding more than anything, but despite that, Vash stilled under the touch-- a spark of hope fluttering in his chest, brought tears to his eyes...
"Nai..."
Thmp.
... his breath caught in his throat, and warmth blossomed at the small of his back.
Thmp. Thmp!THMP!THMP!
White-hot pain exploded in rapid-fire bursts, one by one up the trail of his spine, like fireworks.
"My poor baby brother... even after all of this, you still need me to do everything for you..." Nai cooed, pulling Vash closer to him as something else flooded his body. That familiar feeling, cold and all encompassing... spreading out from where bladed vines had buried themselves in his back. He shouldn't have let his guard down.
He shouldn't have let his guard down.
Vash would try and struggle against the connection, shrimping back and away as far as he could-- the renewed energy from Vet would be more than enough to help him fight him off --but one last vine pierced all the way through his shoulder, wrapping around his collarbone in the most literal way imaginable as Nai tightened his hold around him, blood spattered on his face.
"Don't worry, Vash. We'll fix this."
The cold spread up, up, up... blurring his mind and his senses, making him weak at the knees and lean heavily into his twin.
"I'll just have to help speed things along..."
The blades dug in further, twisted in deeper, and Vash felt himself scream.
#well that's newsworthy;; ( canon blog drabble )#( this ends on a fade to black because there's more exchange that happens )#( which I will write as a oneshot in Docs down the line )#( but for now: MYSTERY )#( one more post to go: lil sumup of July exploding )#( then it's *over* guys )#event: rewrite successful ( COMPLETE )
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This week's word is...eternal!
Bonus word...mysterious!
Don't forget to tag @heartstopperdrabbleblog when you post! Happy creating!
#heartstopperdrabbleblog#heartstopper#heartstopper fanfic#heartstopper word prompt#heartstopper drabble prompt#heartstopper drabbles#heartstopper fandom event#heartstopper fandom challenge#eternal#week 7#mysterious#bonus word
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↪ 𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , updated . ( a collection of various settings meant to inspire drabbles or be used as prompts . )
001. the seaside , as the sun is setting .
002. a cabin in the middle of the woods .
003. a picket-fenced home in the suburbs .
004. a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .
005. a private jet miles high in the sky .
006. a funhouse’s room of mirrors .
007. an office building , bustling and busy .
008. the back row of an empty movie theater .
009. a run - down motel room .
010. a loud house party on a suburban street .
011. a university lecture hall during a class .
012. the rooftop of a very tall building .
013. a great ballroom during an elegant party .
014. the back of a wailing ambulance .
015. the wine cellar of a large mansion .
016. behind the school’s gymnasium .
017. a boisterous bonfire at the lakeside .
018. an otherwise empty parking lot .
019. the shady bar of a noisy , dark club .
020. the grounds of an empty summer camp .
021. a large hedge maze , easy to get lost in .
022. a neglected or derelict treehouse .
023. a spacious , light-filled meadow .
024. an underground illegal fighting club .
025. an abandoned scrapyard .
026. a large penthouse overlooking the city .
027. an apple orchard in the middle of spring .
028. an empty playground with squeaky swings .
029. an extravagant greenhouse .
030. the base of a large waterfall .
031. a spacious walk - in closet full of lovely clothes .
032. a solemnly quiet hospital room .
033. the dark depths of an abandoned mine .
034. the deck of a fishing boat at night .
035. the thick crowd of an audience at a show .
036. a long , winding road .
037. the scene of a violent crime .
038. a fork in a hiking trail deep in the wilderness .
039. a cramped dressing room .
040. a dusty antiques shop full of relics .
041. the street of an unfamiliar city at night .
042. between the tall shelves of a thrifted book shop .
043. a building abandoned during construction .
044. a house without power or running water .
045. a mysterious trail found in the woods .
046. the back of a taxi stuck in traffic .
047. the inside of an elevator that won’t move .
048. fairgrounds during a large event (or after hours) .
049. a garden bountiful with flowers or produce .
050. a childhood home or bedroom .
+ 30 more setting prompts : 1 / 3 / 2024
051. the site of a horrible accident .
052. a closed pool , after everyone has left .
053. a home holding horrific memories .
054. by the side of a dangerously quick river .
055. a private hotel room .
056. a police station in the middle of the night .
057. a ferris wheel carriage under a sky of fireworks .
058. a lavish , invite - only party .
059. a public transit stop as rain is pouring down .
060. the back of a taxi going in the wrong direction .
061. the underworld .
062. a dusty , forgotten attic .
063. on the set of a television show or movie .
064. a lighthouse overlooking the raging sea .
065. in a post - apocalyptic bunker .
066. on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest coast .
067. on the rooftop of a perilously tall building .
068. a tent pitched in the middle of the woods .
069. a crowded stadium during a football game .
070. the morgue during an identification .
071. an otherwise empty library during a late study session .
072. a place that feels familiar , yet you've never been here before .
073. a long hallway that seems to stretch on forever .
074. a signpost at the start of a hiking trail .
075. a bar or tavern bustling with life .
076. the dance floor of a masquerade ball .
077. inside of a car parked in a secluded area .
078. at the edge of a cliff overlooking a large lake .
079. inside a very old house with very old haunts .
080. the antiseptic interior of a space station .
#i'll add more eventually#just had to repost this time cos the old post wasn't in beta :/#inbox prompts#setting prompts#rp prompts#rp memes#inbox memes
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₊˚⊹ᰔ Valentine's day! ˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ .
𐙚Synopsis: Valentine's day special!;
𐙚Pairing: fem!reader×dazai osamu&chuuya nakahara (separately)
𐙚Contain: headcanons, drabbles (?), sfw+nsfw, comfort, MDNI, hint of sex, rough sex, gentle sex, stimulation, oral sex, fingering, aftercare;
𐙚Author's note: (died after what is written above💀)... I tried to write this, but I don't know how well I did it. So... Once again, happy Valentine's Day to everyone! I'm a little late with this (っ- ‸ - ς)
DAZAI
•THIS MAN ADORES YOU
•Considering that in the past he had a great, great experience of various communication (and obviously not only) with girls, you are the luckiest in the world (or maybe not ...)
•Dazai is a man of different moods. You never know what will come over him at the most random moment. You even jokingly call him "Mr. Mystery," and he takes it as a compliment.
•He ALWAYS gives you gifts. Regardless of the situation. Regardless of whether it's a holiday today or not. Regardless OF WHETHER HE EVEN HAS MONEY (bruh, we all know that he has it; a former member of the Port Mafia without money? nope)
•His presents on ordinary days can be very diverse. But on holidays, he takes a particularly responsible approach to choosing gifts.
•Valentine's Day? RUN. HE WON'T LET YOU GO ALL DAY.
•He belongs to the type of men who like to do everything for show. HE BREAKS INTO THE AGENCY AND GRABS YOU, HUGGING YOU LIKE A PLUSH TOY
•You literally have to HIDE MONEY FROM HIM so that he doesn't buy up ALL THE FLOWERS IN THIS CITY.
•But it still doesn't help; HE STILL COMES WITH A HUGE BOUQUET, SMIRKING SMUGLY
•Usually he gives you white lilies, sometimes he can afford to buy roses or chrysanthemumsIn addition to flowers, you receive from him a gentle kiss on the cheek / forehead and a box of interesting sweets that you have never tasted
•Able to stay at home on holidays when you go to work. AND ALL JUST SO THAT IN A COUPLE OF HOURS HE COULD SPECTACULARLY APPEAR ON THE DOORSTEP OF THE AGENCY AND GIVE YOU A GIFT
•At such moments, he comes in a fashionable suit for a spectacular appearance
•You're always embarrassed, but he doesn't seem to care at all; JUST HAVE TIME TO ASK HIM NOT TO KISS YOU IN FRONT OF OTHERS, OH, HE'LL DO IT (just an idiot, what kind of man...)
•On February 14th, he congratulates you in the morning; if he is not a lazy ass, he can cook you a delicious breakfast, for example, toast, inside of which a heart is neatly cut out and fried eggs are filled it
•He tries to do everything for you as on ordinary days, and on this holiday (he just becomes even more clingy and cute)
•He will be too lazy to make you a valentine, but since everyone knows that you are a couple, everyone will congratulate you on the holiday, and Osamu will just (as mentioned earlier) give you a bouquet of flowers and sweets.
NSFW
•TURNS INTO A PERVERT AT 0:00 (okay, he always was and always will be)
•He will definitely go to the lingerie store, choose the most DEPRAVED UNDERWEAR (it will be open lace or something that will cover only the crotch and nipples)
•He'll give it to you in the evening
•No matter how embarrassed you are, trust me, he'll find a way to get you to wear it.
•When you find yourself in this depraved outfit, he will admire you for a long time until he finally breaks down
•There are two options for the outcome of events: HE WILL FUCK YOU OFF SO THAT YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO WALK FOR SEVERAL DAYS (not funny, it really is)
•Or it will be too, too gentle, will make everything carefully and too pleasant for you
•It all depends on his mood and the degree of excitement! Well, or for how many days have you refused his requests
•Anyway, in the end, he'll clean everything up, put you to bed, and fall asleep with you, cuddling you against him.
CHUUYA
•Loves and protects you like a diamond
•Grateful to you for everything, especially for being with him despite his dangerous work
•Does everything for you, just like for his favorite doll and princess
•He'll start congratulating you in the morning
•If it's a day off, you go to a nice restaurant where he will order you the most delicious dishes, a glass of wine and a dessert in the shape of a heart
•If it's a working day, he'll apologize for being busy and try to make you breakfast. If he doesn't make it, he'll at least order you something.
•GIVES YOU A LOT OF FLOWERS
•I SWEAR THESE ARE THE BIGGEST BOUQUETS IN ALL OF YOKOHAMA.
•These can be either burgundy, blood roses, or the most delicate and light flowers
•In addition, he will either leave you his credit card with a lot of money so that you can buy everything you want, or he will go shopping with you; If you can't go yourself, he will definitely find out what you want and buy it himself
•You like different shoes (almost all your shoes are heels)
•Therefore,he never skimp on buying you another pair (the HUNDREDTH PAIR)
•He even bought you a separate closet for your shoes.
•He's definitely not giving CHEAP shoes.
•They all cost as much as the agency's budget; on Valentine's Day he will give you something in this style; hearts and red!
•He will buy your favorite wine or open something from his collection
•At work, during a break, he will try to make you an origami heart, something like a valentine
•He'll leave work early to spend more time with you
NSFW
•GET READY.
•He'll kiss every inch of your body
•He will leave bites and hickeys on your neck, thighs, chest, even your stomach
•He'll really enjoy your moans
•He'll be very gentle, unless you ask him to be rude.
•He will do everything slowly and carefully, as if he is afraid that he might harm you.
•You're like a fragile doll in his arms.
•Passionate, sensual kisses are provided for you
•He knows how to please you, so he will use his tongue and fingers
•He will torment you slowly, pressing you against his back, while he gently massages your clit, listening to you whimper
•He enjoys the feeling of you trembling from his touch
•He will tease you and push you to the limit, and then stop abruptly; but it won't last long, and he will give you your sweet release
•Will make you cum first from his fingers and then from his tongue
•He will make sure that he has prepared you well by slowly inserting and removing two fingers from your wet hole
•He'll fuck you very gently
•If you don't ask him for anything, then yes; but if you ask him to be rougher, he will squeeze you into the mattress, face into the pillow, when he fucks you hellishly fast
•After any option, he will do everything necessary for you and him, and then you will fall asleep in an embrace
______________________________________
#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bsd dazai#dazai osamu bsd#chuuya nakahara#bsd chuuya#bungou sd#bsd fanfic#bsd manga#bsd fluff#bsd smut#bungou stray dog smut#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai osamu x reader#dazai x you#dazai smut#osamu dazai smut#chuuya x reader#chuuya fluff#chuuya headcanons#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya smut#chuuya x you#chuuya bsd#chuuya and dazai smut (separately)#bungou stray dogs dazai#bsd dazai osamu#dazai headcanons#dazai x reader smut#dazai x y/n
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@fairymint asked:
Moment [word drabble/hc meme]
Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it.
The world of ‘pokemon’. Old records had remained within Megalo Tower of the time when visits between worlds had been more frequent. That is, relatively speaking, Ultra Humans were not the sort to go stepping into other worlds unbeknownst. They’d already ruined enough in Ultra Space, what business did thay have ruining another? That was a sentiment of many of the scientists of the URS, not one that Dulse had particularly mulled over often. For him, wherever world he found himself hardly mattered as long as he could further his studies. If UBs have found their way into that world, so would he.
They stood before the curved beast of the Moon, he and his partner. Ultra Warp Rides were not new to him in the slightest, although the destination was. Alola. that is where they would establish communication with the humans. In particular, one who had continuously been opening wormholes and prompting the Blinding One to stir. There were plenty of candidates within the URS to go, but he had been the first to take initiative. They would not disappoint.
Making use of Lunala’s power, a small rift would be torn to bridge the gap between dimensions. What would they find beyond the veil of darkness? This was the moment of truth. Atop the bat’s back, they emerged from shattered sky. Here, at the furthest reaches of Poni, had they come to the Alar of the Sunne. A land grounded in sea that stretched beneath an endless ocean of stars, a brand new world.
“Dulse!!! Dulse, this is Alola?!”
“It appears so.” For such a momentous occasion, Dulse answered his partner in that persevering monotone voice of his. Zossie had enough visible excitement for the two of them, but he would need to remind her they were not here for the fun of it. Lunala had done its job, and it may return to rest.
Together, the stood alone to observe in silence. It was dark, yet brighter than ever known before. In ancient times, this is the fated place Necrozma had first appeared to share in its blessing. Now, only uncertainty lingered as to what this venture would bring. There was little time for thought on that, Zossie was once more urging him.
“Dulse! Over there-- You see that too?!”
“...”
Slowly, yet steadily, light erupted from the horizon and spilled forth to dispel the black of night. Emblazoned brilliance, a pillar that lifted the spirits as the sun would shine again with another beautiful day in Alola. Mixed hues of mellow pink and yellow dancing along the rim of the sun over the backdrop of the blooming blue skies. Embracing light that touched all that lived here, even coming so far as to touch the two who had never known.
“Yes. That’s the ‘sunrise’, Zossie. It happens once every day in this world, so it is a common occurrence.” A stiff answer. And yet, his cold countenance would fade somewhat. “Hm? Are you tearing up? We cannot stay here long...”
“I know... But if this is what the Blinding One stole from us... We’ve gotta get it back...!” Her goggles had dropped, large colorless irises brimming with mixed emotion. Zossie rubbed at her face.
Dulse nodded down at her. “It will be done. Nothing will be accomplished while we remain idle. Let us proceed.”
“Mhm... I’m ready to go... I want to talk to the humans too...! Do they even appreciate the light, Dulse...? They really should...! It’s amazing, isn’t it?!”
“It is...”
Their first moment spent in Alola was marked by the warmth provided by the ever-benevolent sunrise.
#mysteries of ultra space ;; asks#handler of ultra beasts ;; dulse#fairymint#can kittu stop writing fics for drabble responses challenge#i will award the person who guesses the song i listened to while writing this 5 kittu points#also yes im allowing myself to write some zossie for drabbles#im unsure if i want to really add her to the blog or not i wasnt going to because of nami my beloved#but its so hard to resist all things ultra for me-#this drabble was a lot lighter than the 'phyco experiences traumatic event' one-
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Hi. I'm the person who asked for help with the enemy of the week type thing. I was wondering if you could explain the different types of writting? (fanfic, novella, all that stuff)
Different Types of Writing and Stories
By Word Count: *
Drabble: 100 word story
Micro Fiction: 50 to 500 words
Flash Fiction: 2000 words or fewer
Short Story: 1000 to 10,000 words
Novelette: 7,500 to 20,000 words
Novella: 20,000 to 50,000 words
Novel: 50,000 to 120,000 words
Epic Novel: 120,000 words or more
* (estimates vary)
By Type:
Poetry: literature using figurative language and crafted verse
Fan-Fiction: fiction written by fans of existing canon material ***
Diary/Journal: personal account of life experiences
Travelogue: personal account of one's travel experiences
Fiction: prose literature describing imaginary events and people
Non-Fiction: prose literature about factual events/subjects/people
Creative Non-Fiction: creative writing used in non-fiction narrative
Play: a script for a story to be performed on stage
Screenplay: TV/movie script including acting and scene directions
Technical Writing: professionally written technical information
Critical Writing: personal reviews of a product like film/food/book
Expository Writing: provides facts and research about a given topic
By Fiction Genre:
Fantasy
Sci-Fi
Adventure
Thriller
Romance
Historical Fiction
Contemporary
Children's Fiction
Dystopian
Mystery
Horror
Paranormal
*** fan-fiction can be any word count/genre
By Non-Fiction Genre:
Memoir
Humor
Travel
Self-Help
History
How-To
Motivational
Humor
Personal Development
Cookbook
Art
Family & Relationships
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!
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Tequila
Summary: Tequila has a lot to answer for when Y/N wakes up naked in Dean’s bed, but once the shock wears off, she realises that maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Rating: Teen
Warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of smut, angst, fluff, feelings, friends to lovers
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Another December Drabble for you all to enjoy!
My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi
Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leaving a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖
The sun streams through the motel’s threadbare curtains, rudely awakening you from a deep, drunken sleep. Your head is pounding, and there’s a ringing in your ears that comes with the vague memory of the loud music playing at the bar last night.
It’d been a hard hunt to stomach: Lamia, a child-eating demon, had decided to take up residence in Grangeville, Idaho, and once you’d blasted her ass back to hell, you and Dean really, really needed to let off a lot of steam.
Luckily, there was a dive bar next door to the motel, so neither of you had to stay sober enough to drive home, and you’d both been well and truly shit-faced. You’d hustled a small fortune playing pool; he’d sung karaoke, and there were tequila shots… lots and lots of tequila shots.
A snore from behind you made you freeze. It sounded like Dean, but that couldn’t be right. Why would you and Dean be in the same bed? Whoever it was rolled over and slid their arm over your waist, pulling you into their body. You could feel something hard poke the back of your thigh… at least he’s packing, you thought before the mystery man spoke.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Suddenly, the whole night’s events come flooding back to you at once.
One tequila shot turned into two. Two turned to four. Four turned to six, and before you knew it, you were stumbling through the door to Dean’s room, lips attached to his, nails raking through his hair and over his scalp and neck, tongues dancing a passionate tango while your clothes flew in every direction.
Dean made love to you so deliciously good. He was sweet and gentle at times. Rough and hard when you needed it. In all the years you’d known him, this was the first time you’d ended up in his bed, yet he knew your body better than you did.
The green-eyed hunter had known how to pleasure you better than anyone had before him. Touching places no one had ever touched before. Taking you higher than you’d ever been, making you scream his name so loud the occupant next door had banged the wall.
It’s overwhelming, and you can feel last night’s alcohol swirl dangerously in your stomach, threatening to make an appearance. You lifted the covers and glanced down. Yep, definitely naked.
Pulling the sheet tighter to your body, you cautiously turn around, your worst fear confirmed as Dean’s twinkling green orbs and cocky smirk greet you.
“Well, this changes things!” he grins, and you can’t decide if you want to punch his painfully beautiful face or kiss him.
“Oh, God!” you gasp, covering your face with your hands. “This can’t be happening.”
“Y/N?” Dean asks, concern evident in his voice. “You okay?”
“I can’t believe I did you—I mean that. I can’t believe I did that,” you mumble.
“Come on, don’t be like that! We had a great time. I got you off six times, sweetheart! That’s a personal record for me!”
Dean’s words are meant to be comforting, but they do the opposite and only embarrass you more. The urge to kiss him is gone, leaving you wanting to punch his painfully beautiful, smug face.
“Seriously, Y/N, are you okay? Did I hurt you in any way? Did you not want that to happen? Because I gotta say, you were all over me at the bar, and I get that we had a lot of tequila and were drunk, but I thought you wanted me, too?”
Now that Dean had put his cocky persona aside and the real Dean was in the room, you’d changed your mind again and wanted to kiss him.
“No, Dean. I wanted it to happen. I have for an embarrassingly long time. What I don’t want is to be just another notch on your bedpost. It’s why I’ve never given in to your very persuasive charms over the years. Because I want to be more than just one night to you. And I know that’s not what you want—”
“Woah, Y/N, slow down!” Dean shot up on the bed and turned you to face him. “Did you not hear me when I said this changes things? Do you honestly think I’d risk what we have for one night? I’ve wanted you since the day we met, and last night was the first time since we met that you’ve shown any interest in me. And sweetheart, I haven’t been shy in pulling out my best moves for you.” His words and body language are so expressive and genuine, and you know he’s not feeding you a line. He likes you and he’s wanted you for a long time. All of his flirting and come-ons were real.
“And I thought ‘this is it. I finally get to call her my girl’. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed through with it when we were drunk, but I don’t regret taking my chance with you. Please tell me you don’t regret what happened.” Dean cups your cheeks to keep your gaze on his. The pain crossing his features breaks your heart. You want to tell him you feel the same way, but it’s risky.
“Honestly, I don’t remember much from last night, just bits and pieces, but I know enough to know that if that happened, I wanted it to happen,” you say, trying to ignore the look of Dean’s disappointment at your lack of memory from the night before.
“Do you really want me?” you ask, terrified this was a tequila-induced dream.
“Since the day I met you. And if you’re interested, I’d like to see where we’d go. Together. As a couple.” For once, Dean looks incredibly shy and vulnerable, making your heart swell.
“I’d like that too, De,” you smile, giggling when he grins boyishly.
“Yeah?” he checks, and you nod.
“Yeah,” you confirm.
“Then, I think you should lay back and let me refresh your memory of last night,” Dean grins as he gently pushes you back down on the mattress and pulls your legs apart.
Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720
#tequila#december drabbles#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fic#dean winchester
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FOR YOUR EVENT !!
it’s meee, your number one fan :))
congrats on hitting 1.5k! you already know what’s up ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
may i have the trope drabble one, with trope #13: “who did this to you?” and the fandom is for obey me! shall we date? with fem!reader pleaseee !!
THANK YOUUUU :D
1.5k Follower Event Trope #13 Obey Me
Trope 13: "who did this to you"
Check out my event here! Event requests are CLOSED
Pairing: Lucifer x Fem!MC
Warnings: mentions of cuts and bruises
Genre: uhhh slight fluff, and comfort???
Post-Type: Drabble
Word Count: 500
Note: I think this trope fits with a few of the obey me characters like Solomon (he's mysterious but imagine him seeing you hurt and he just snaps, his usual cool exterior crumbling away AHHHHH). But ultimately I picked Lucifer. He's probably the most protective and possessive of everyone combined so it was a no brainer to pick him. THANK YOU SO MUCH LOVIE, ILY and I hope you enjoy! <33333
“Who did this to you?” Lucifer grits, staring at the cuts that weren’t there this afternoon when he saw you off after class. He had to stay behind for an urgent student council meeting, leaving you to walk back to the House of Lamentation alone, much to his hesitance.
“It’s just a few scrapes, there’s no reason to get so upset,” you mumble, not really wanting to think of the group of demons who decided to surround you and pick on you due to your lack of security. One of the brothers usually walked home with you, knowing how some of the residents of the Devildom felt about you, a human, living in their world, attending their school, but they happened to all be busy today.
It was already late as Lucifer stood in your room, his brows furrowed and a scowl on his face at your not-so-pleasant appearance. He knew he should have just walked you home and then returned for this meeting after.
“Which lowly scum decided it was okay to place their filthy hands on you while I wasn’t around?” He seethes, “Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out. And once I do, just know that they’ll pay.”
He was beyond furious. As your lover, he felt responsible for you, especially in a world like the Devildom that was dangerous for a human like you, yet he was too selfish to send you back to the human world. He loved you and needed you beside him.
“Luc, it’s really not a big de-”
“Enough! Come with me,” he shouts, grabbing your wrist, surprisingly gently despite his clear anger at whoever harmed you. Though he was powerful and easy to anger, Lucifer would never harm you.
The halls were empty and dimly lit, the other brothers already tucked away in their own rooms for the night, aside from Beelzebub who was likely scouring the kitchen for more food; Lucifer led you through the halls all the way to his room.Closing the door behind him, he placed you on his bed before leaving for a first aid kit, something he kept around, specifically for your sake since he and his brothers never got hurt.
“Let me see,” he says softly, now a little calmer since he knew you were safe and with him. You raise your face to him, and once again a small frown appears across his lips, unsatisfied with what had happened.
His long fingers trace over the small cuts and bruises on your face, mostly upset at himself for letting you walk home alone–he should have known better.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs, gently cleaning up your injuries with the utmost love and care, wishing he could magically heal you in moments like these. “They’ll pay, I swear they’ll pay.”
There was nothing you could say or do to convince him otherwise. Those lowly demons had chosen to place their hands on you, his woman, so they were bound to face the wrath of your man.
EVENT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED :D
REGULAR REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D
Posted: 9/11/2023
#obey me shall we date#obey me x reader#lucifer x reader#obey me lucifier#obey me x y/n#obey me x you#obey me x mc#lucifer x mc#lucifer x y/n#lucifer x you#obey me drabble#lucifer drabble#lucifer fluff#obey me fluff#lucifer comfort#obey me comfort#obey me x female reader#lucifer x female reader
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506 words, strangers to lovers, he falls first and continues to fall harder.
Another of my drabbles for Damian, slightly inspired by Suburban Legends/Gold Rush.
>> No names mentioned, no warnings, overwhelming pining + fluff.
I offer, Damian Wayne going on the one gala date he swears that he won’t enjoy begrudgingly. Alfred smoothens his tie, for reassurance because the tie is already perfectly done anyway.
There’s hesitance in his features. Bruce assures him that the girl he’s set to be his date is his age and won’t bore him. It’s a coin flip, really. However, curiosity kills the cat.
So, Damian Wayne leaves the manor, suit perfectly creased, ready to bite the bullet.
When they reach the gala, you're there, waiting at the start of the red carpet. It's a breathtaking sight, you're a breathtaking sight.
There's a knowing glance from Bruce, and there's an elbow nudge from Dick, who cheekily reminds him to close his mouth, lest flies fly in.
He's quick to dismiss his awestruck gaze.
He guesses you'll bore him; he prays you do.
So that it makes falling softer. It makes this figurative cliff he's ready to jump over for you, easier.
He guesses wrong. You make the stuffy event more than bearable, you make him want more of you, you make him want to toss you his heart.
That's why he finds himself escorting you back home. As you pull on his tie to kiss him, he finds himself never wanting this night to end.
It's been a few days, and he's been wanting, craving, to see you again. You, your charisma, crooked smile, endless patience and grace.
He's been shamelessly looking up who you are, grasping at the straws to find out who exactly you are. You, the mystery who has captivated him since the night you both met. Alfred the cat is judgmental, wise eyes gazing at him as he spends the next few minutes looking at your long list of achievements, the next more impressive than the other.
That's why at the next charity event, he finds himself asking Bruce to invite you as his date again. There's a sliver of a smile of his father, who puts on a poker face, trying his best not to smile proudly in front of his son. An I-told-you-so is in order, but he's happy, nonetheless.
Time passes quicker than expected. This time, he sees you part the crowd effortlessly as you walk toward him. It may be a Wayne event, but it's shaping up to be one that you're the star of.
You were so magnetic it was almost obnoxious. Damian's never had to battle for someone's attention as much as he did with you.
It's worth it, though. As you both exchange numbers on the balcony, the starlit night illuminates Damian and you. You chorus that you two should meet outside of these events, and Damian's ready to melt, and perhaps die happy.
It's unusual, and it's definitely not what he expected; to fall and fall harder with a stranger his father set him up with.
It's a welcome surprise. After multiple dates, quick coffees evolve into domestic mornings with each other, and that's when he knows, he knows that you're the one.
#🐈>>#🎹>>#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne x you#dc x reader#damian wayne imagine#robin x reader#damian x you#fluff#dc fluff
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mystery drabble event !
this idea was @locke-writes but i LOVED the concept and it seemed super fun. thank you sm for letting me use it :D
rules:
send me 1 prompt from THIS LIST and ONLY fandom from my fandom list, and i’ll write a drabble based on the prompt for a character of my choosing from that fandom.
you can send up to three requests, but please send them in separate asks
example request; ‘can i please have a mystery drabble with prompt … for …. fandom? thank you!’
tagging a few moots — do not feel pressured to participate !!! -> @velvetcloxds @delilahsroses @natashxromanovf @shyposttree @my-my-only-angel @moonbcrry @shysneeze @moonlitmeeks @honeymunson @foralwaysandforever
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Afterburn
(Everyone x F! Reader)
Rating: M
Wordcount: 8k
Tags: Aftercare, Post-nut clarity, Praise kink, Taking a bath together, Just 6 dudes taking care of their girl after completely and utterly wrecking her
A/N: ...This was supposed to be a drabble. No few regrets. My personal take on the aftermath @yeyinde 's "Body electric". Special thank you to @guyfieriii @moondirti @zwiiicnziiix @ladiilokii and many others
Summary:
It’s over.
The world around you feels dense, cryptic, laden with mysteries and vagueness as you still try to process how you ended up here. Your eyes stare up at the creaking, wooden rafters of the safehouse, vision still swimming, dried tears flaking at the corner of your gaze. Every small motion seems to roil with a discomfort that’s heavy with the aftereffects of pleasure, bleached to the bone and dull, cracking at the edges. Splayed over the table where maps and gear had been hastily shoved aside you can’t deny the chafe, the rawness that manages to soak deep into your veins.
The boys are milling around you, speaking in tired, disbelieving tones at the events of the past few hours, at how you had managed to take them, all of them at once.
It had been a blur, your memories drowning in a cacophony of slickened skin and torrid, whispered praises, or grunted pleasures and hissed curses as they all took as much as they gave. You weren’t sure who’s idea it was at first, but in the course of fucking you, of ruining you, you had surrendered completely to them, let their hands and voices guide you as you floated on an endless sea of sensation and desire. Even as they had drunk their fill of you, of your salted moans and whimpered, pleasured cries, they had been ever attentive, listening to the roll and tide of your ebbing lust, knowing exactly when to push and pull you like the ever-changing undercurrent of the ocean itself.
Now, in the aftermath you feel like you’ve been washed ashore, left there by the churning waves as fluid drips across your skin and clings there like salt.
You don’t survive this long with the 141 without your fair share of injuries. Burns, cuts, and blisters are your war medals, decorating your skin with a silent story of pride. Grenades, IEDs, the ground shattering sensation of a missile launch or the back-kick of a rifle. These things were familiar to you. Not this.
When you blink, it’s to wince at the rough chafe between your legs, the tender touch of a love bite sucked into your throat. You ache all over, and while the afterburn of pleasure still roils low in your stomach, sated and simmering with fading euphoria, the dull, insistent stretch and soreness of handling five men at once feels at once too much, too sharp, too severe.
A whimper bubbles up your throat when you try to shift, try to roll over onto your stomach with your back still braced on the harsh metal table braced against your back. Someone had been kind enough to spread a towel under you, but it’s still not enough to ease the bite of discomfort clinging to you like rose thorns.
The chatter around you ceases instantly at the sound that pours from you when you try to move. The world around you seems more like hazy, indiscernible shapes with how overstimulated your senses are, an abstract of shades and shapes that make little sense to your pleasure-addled brain. Yet even so, it’s Rudy’s face that flickers into your vision, brow still slick with sweat but scrunched with concern.
“Shh.” He hushes you, and his hand is petting your hair from your face and your eyes flutter shut under his touch. “Easy, mi Corazón.”
“How is she?”
The voice is gruff, accented, and the question itself seems more like a demand than a question, spoken with an air of unquestioning authority. Price.
“Tired.” You manage, voice tacky and stick in your dry throat as you swallow and taste bitterness there. “Sore.”
Rudy clucks at you, and the sound feels for all the world like a worried mother hen. His thumb smears a drop of flaking cum against your cheek, and the touch is tender, careful with your over exhausted state.
Except then there’s another touch, one that grasps at your hand and raises it between two calloused palms, bitten with years of duty.
“Ya did good, hen.” Soap coos, and you twist your head to see him, his eyes still glazed over but bright, warm as they regard your lidded gaze. “Did so well for us.”
You can only hum, trying and failing to find the wherewithal inside you to summon a proper response. Soap smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.
“What do you need, doll?” A different voice asks, and you tilt your head to see Gaz leaning on the table next to you, one hand planted next to your shoulder as he gazes down at you. His head is tilted, eyes tracing over the mess of fluids and grime caked on your skin. There’s something that flickers across his eyes, bitter and almost guilty, and had you not been so spent you would have reached for him, murmured reassurances against the curve of his jaw.
“Water.” You mutter instead, and instantly Gaz is gone from you. Before you can try and follow him with your eyes there’s hands bracing at your shoulders, fingers spreading against your bare skin. The world shifts around you, body bent and raised up to a sitting position.
“Easy, querida.” Alejandro soothes as you let out a little whimper of discomfort when he sits you up. “Con suavidad, mm? Gently now.”
You don’t have the strength to sit up by yourself, choosing to lean heavily on him instead, body slouching and trembling. From what you aren’t sure. You’re bare as the day you were born, and though the safehouse seems a touch chilled by the evening air, the shiver in your limbs runs deeper than that, wear and overspent.
“Soap.” Alejandro speaks, and his voice is muted, quiet so as to not startle you. “A blanket.”
Soap’s footsteps fade just as Gaz draws near once again, wrapping your hands around a canteen even as your grip shakes unsteadily. When he helps you tip the flask, the water soothes mercifully over your chaffed and cracked throat, and you gulp greedily. Yet it’s too much too fast, and it only takes two deep swallows before you cough and splutter, water trickling down the corner of your lips.
“Careful.” Gaz warns, voice low as he hovers in front of you, one hand still engulfing the hand holding the canteen. “Not too fast, doll.”
Yet then you feel him pause, shift and make room for a different figure that presses closer to you, a calloused hand gently gripping your chin and tipping your head back once you’ve caught your breath. When your eyes flutter open once more, it’s to meet the vision of Captain Price, eyes grim as he faces you head on, gaze never wavering.
“How bad?” He asks, and you know that tone, firm and demanding to know what you know, for you to not lie as you convey the depth of your awareness into his.
You swallow.
“I’m fine.” You tell him, and it’s the truth. You feel the ripple of suspense, of apprehension dissipate with a sigh from the men around you, relieved yet still precariously concerned with the sight of you, shivering, exposed, and exhausted from the inside out.
“I’m just…tired.” You emphasize again, incapable of conveying much more. “…and kinda gross.”
Price nods, the motion firm. You can see him digesting the information you’ve given him, letting it simmer and ruminate as he configures his next attack like a battle-hardened soldier.
“Rodolfo.” He states, and you hear the sergeant shift somewhere behind you, standing at attention on instinct at the solid, instructive tone of the captain’s voice. “Is there a bathtub here?”
“Si.”
“Good. Go run a warm bath. Not too hot. Gaz will help.”
“Rog.” Gaz affirms, and when his touch vanishes from you it’s Alejandro who keeps your hands steady, with your shoulder still pressed to his chest and head lolling onto his collarbone. He’s murmuring soft words at you that you hardly hear, fatigue dragging at you insistently like a riptide.
“Soap.” Price summons next, eyes turning to the Scotsman who still hovers close to the three of you with the blanket he’s retrieved. “Think you can find a clean set of clothes and fresh sheets?”
Through your wobbly gaze you see Soap perk up, eyes glinting with the look of a mission driven soldier.
“Aye, cap.” He confirms and takes two large steps before he’s again vanished from your sight.
It’s only once he’s gone that Price turns back to you, his calloused hand cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to face him once again. You whine at that, at the way the motion reminds your body of what’s already there, tender and raw and aching.
“Easy, love.” He gentles you, and his voice rumbles rough in his chest like cigar smoke, smoggy, acrid but warm all the same. “You did so well for us.”
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, touch firm and insistent despite the little hiss of tenderness you summon in response. Yet then the captain’s eyes soften, drinking in your flushed face and clouded gaze, lips parted under the rough pad of his thumb.
“So well.” He repeats, eyes distant for a moment as they trace over your lips before at last flickering up to your eyes. “Now let us return the favor and take care of you.”
It takes a moment for your hazy thoughts to process his words but when you do, you ease into his touch, breathy exhale spilling across the flat of his palm and eyes rolling shut. With a single, blissful sigh, you surrender once more to these men, let them take care of you in the way only they can, with their soft, firm voices and calloused, tender touches that bouy you as if you're lost at sea.
Then, the soft touch of a fabric as Price helps Alejandro drape the blanket across your form, enveloping you in a soothing warmth. You go limp, more pliant than you already are, leaning into the warm embrace of Alejandro’s form. A single hand comes up to clutch the blanket, velvety and worn under your fingertips.
Price vanishes somewhere beyond you, and Alejandro tucks you further into his side, nose buried in your hair as you shiver against him. Your bare legs dangle from the edge of the table, feet barely skimming the ground. Price’s voice is somewhere nearby, murmuring to someone you can’t see. You think you hear the sound of running water somewhere, but your thoughts feel clouded, hazy and sated with the knowledge that these men are intent on your care as much as your pleasure. For a moment you feel the riptide of fatigue pull at you, lulling you under as sleep beckons with an insistent, raw promise.
Footsteps. A presence, omnipresent and heavy like the force of gravity itself. You don’t open your eyes, don’t need to, already knowing who’s shadow falls across your form.
“Give her here.” Simon asks, demands from the colonel, voice low like the rumble of distant thunder.
You feel Alejandro stiffen, hesitate at the thought of entrusting you to the hulking soldier, remembering the way you went blank-eyed and completely limp under him, under the weight and pressure and force that is Ghost.
“Let him.” Price encourages, voice careful between the two. “I’ll need your help in here, mate.”
That seems to do it, because Alejandro is pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head before he extricates himself from you, steadying you long enough for Simon to catch you by the crook of your knees and width of your shoulders, hauling you up against him. The blanket bunches around your form, legs dangling and head lolling into the breadth of Simon’s chest.
Yet the motion isn’t without punishment, not as you’re shifted and your body protests valiantly at the abruptness of it all. A choked, pleading moan frees itself from your throat as Simon begins to walk away from the common area, strides large and purposeful.
“S-Simon-“ You try, unsure exactly what you’re pleading for but wanting to be closer, huddled deeper into his massive form.
“Easy, love.” He murmurs in response, accent thick and cloying in your thoughts. You settle at that, at the illusive, strangely sympathetic tenor of his voice. You’re too tired to do much else than recline against him with a shivering sigh, limbs aching and caked in grime.
It’s the sound of his boots against tile that rouses you only moments later, the warm steam of the bathroom curling across your skin and licking against clammy, chilled flesh. Ghost hovers just inside the doorway, hands splayed against you as they cup you to his form. You wish you had the forethought to lift your arms, tangle them around his neck, but the thought is gone as another figure hovers at your side.
“I got it from here, LT.”
Simon gruffs a sound of affirmation, and with surprising care dumps you into Gaz’s waiting arms. The blanket wrapped around you gently pulls away, and when you shudder Gaz’s lips are pressed into your temple.
“It’s alright, pretty girl.” He hushes. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”
He’s bare, you realize dimly, exposed flesh pressed against you. The thought is strangely mortifying, considering the man has been balls deep in your ass earlier. Yet you don’t realize why he’s naked until he’s stepping into the tub, lowering you down with him into the warm, soothing water.
It takes a few moments for you both to settle, some of the water sloshing out onto the tile with both your forms inside the tub. Yet Gaz’s chest is pressed against your back, legs on either side of you and arms caging yours as you sink lower into the water with a blissful sigh. You feel it when he rumbles a chuckle, a hand vanishing as he reaches for the supplies Rudy no doubt provided him.
You reach for them as well, but your hand is gently knocked aside by the sergeant you’re pressed against.
“Nuh-uh, love.” He chuckles. “This is all me.”
You find it difficult to protest, instead sinking further into the warm water.
He starts by gently pouring water over you, dunking your sweaty, matted hair and loosening the strands carefully with his fingers. The sergeant works systematically, lifting each limb and scrubbing it free of flaky cum and caked sweat, the soft bubbles of soap grazing across your arms and legs. You relax into him completely limp and utterly euphoric. Everything smells like coconut and aloe, aromatic and perfumed and warm as the water laps at your legs and chest.
Gaz takes careful attention to your face, gently cleansing it free of the tear trails and semen caked against your cheeks and the corners of your mouth. He’s murmuring gentle encouragements to you all the while, voice hushed and soft in your ear, full of “There we go, that'sa girl, sit up for me? Thank you, doll. Almost done, back next, shh, easy.”
When he gets to the apex of your thighs however, you flinch at his touch, just barely too firm against your chaffed, stretched holes.
“Take it easy.” A voice gruffs, and you blink your eyes open, vision adjusting to the dusty brown hues of the bathroom, seeking the cockney laden voice.
He’s there, in the corner, arms crossed and lurking, massive frame hunched into the otherwise too small space. Ghost’s eyes level at the both of you, gaze unblinking, blistering as he observes, watches, intent on observing and seeing through whatever mission he’s been tasked with.
Gaz only nods at him, his voice quiet in your ear as he speaks.
“You want to do this?” He asks, tone low, concerned at your reaction. You manage a nod over your shoulder, delicately taking the washcloth from his grip and letting it sink beneath the murky water.
It takes a moment, but you manage to hiss past the pain and arch up to scrub yourself, cleaning the mess of caked fluids that decorate your inner thighs and ass. You can feel Simon’s gaze on you all the while, the way he’s taking in every wince and jolt that flashes across your face.
“Deep breath.” Gaz encourages softly in your ear, and when you oblige there’s a slosh of water pouring over your head and dampening your locks.
You moan when Gaz works his fingers into your hair, massaging shampoo into your scalp and raking his fingers against the crown of your skull. You melt into the touch, all previous indications of soreness vanishing in the instant it takes him to chuckle warmly at your response.
“That’s nice, yeah?” He asks, and you can hear the touch of smugness in his voice, pleased with the way you grow limp and pliant against him, the way your eyes roll back into your head at the gentle, rolling motion of his fingers into your scalp. You can only hum a sleepy “Mmhmm.” In response, blissed out on the sensation.
He’s surprisingly good at this, you find out, making sure to go so far as to condition from the tips of your hair up, carefully combing your hair through his fingers. You relax fully into him, sink yourself up to your nose in the cooling water and let drowsiness take hold. Yet it’s only when you shift that you feel him, feel the hardening nudge at the small of your back that has you stiffening, sucking in a sharp gasp of air.
“Gaz…” You warn, casting a pleading look across your bare shoulder.
You’re not sure if it’s the warm water, the lingering haze of lust, or the blissful, relaxed sounds that spill past your lips, but you can feel him, can feel the blunt pressure of him against the nudge of your spine. It sends a lingering shower of sparks racing through your veins, but the heat of it is dulled, muted by exhaustion. You can’t, not again, not right now.
Gaz seems to read your mind, sees the way your eyes flicker with wariness. His hands still for a moment as he leans, entering your field of view with warm eyes that dance with a touch of mischief below the caramel surface.
“Don’t you worry about me, doll.” He replies softly, but there’s a sultriness there that isn’t fully extinguished. “This is all about you.”
And when his thumbs dig a dull, heavenly touch into the nape of your neck, you find it hard to complain.
All too soon, you hear the bathtub drain gurgle as Gaz pulls the plug, the water receding like the tide gone out to sea.
“They done?” A voice asks from the doorway, and your gaze blinks up to reveal Soap, present with what looks like two changes of clothes in hand.
“Just about.” Gaz replies, and you feel him shift as he detaches himself from you, scooting so he’s halfway out of the tub and can help you wobble your way to a stand to step out onto the cold tile.
Yet at the first step your legs tremble like an unsteady filly, and it takes both Soap and Gaz to steady you, sit you down on the edge of the tub. When you plop down on the edge, however, a remainder of soreness shoots across your hips and up your spine and you’re unable to bite back the moan that escapes you.
Gaz and Soap shoot each other a look, self-satisfied smirks tugging at the corners of each of their mouths.
“Shut up.” You grumble, feeling warmth threaten to flush across your face once more.
They spare you, thankfully, and as Gaz dries himself off it’s Soap who’s drying your hair, wiping the water from your shoulder and back. You trace the planes of his face as he does, watching the way his brow scrunches with concentration, the way his eyes linger over the swell of your tender, bruised breasts and the curve of your hips. The plumpness of his lip is sucked between his teeth, and you can tell he’s restraining himself, trying not to indulge with his touch on you, letting his fingers wander and press and summon whimpered pleas from your bones. His hands are assertive in the way only soldiers are, resolute with duty and yet still somehow gentle, considerate when he grazes over the soreness of you.
You attempt to help, feeling a trembling strength returning to you now that’s your hydrated and clean. Yet Soap merely grumbles at you, refusing to hand over the towel.
“Just sit back, hen.” He tells you, and his voice is firm despite the tenderness there.
You purse your lips at him, feeling a flash of guilt at letting yourself be so completely pampered like this, not allowed to do so much as properly dry yourself. Yet Soap notices, steely blue gaze flickering to yours when he notices your hesitation.
“Lass.” He begins, that cocksure smile tugging at his lips once more. His eyes are sparkling, and you can’t stifle the helpless flop of warmth that pools inside of you at the sight. “You just let us shag you seven ways to Sunday and were bloody perfect for it. Let us spoil you, aye?”
Yet you’re still unsure, and when the Scotsman sees you’re unconvinced he sighs.
“When else are you going to have five burly men at waitin’ on you hand and foot?” He asks almost impatiently, and that thought is intriguing to say the least, enough to make your hand fall limply back to your side.
Soap grins. The warmth thickens.
“That’s a good lass.” He murmurs, and there’s a touch of smugness in his voice, at the way he’s managed to school you into surrendering, letting yourself succumb to his touch once more. Yet that conciliation is enough to get him chattering now, tongue loose as he purrs little praises and encouragements at you all the while.
“So pretty.” He coos as he turns your face up in his palms, towel brushing hair from your brow, as he wrings water from your hair and carefully wipes at your still tender hips and thighs. “Perfect little bonnie for us.”
You’re pliant, docile under his touch, letting him do as he needs to and letting the familiar touch of hebetude pull at your senses. It would be easy to fall asleep right here, to lean against him and let rest take hold of you, drown you as it's meant to. Clean now, warm and undeniably sated, the promise of sleep creeps near with a touch that feels achingly familiar. The temptation is an enticing one, the promise of deep, velvety unconsciousness dragging at you even as Soap reaches for your change of clothes.
“Arms up.” He encourages, and you can’t help the drowsy little grumble that escapes you in protest.
“ ‘m tired, Johnny.” You slur at him, but the sergeant merely tuts at you.
“I know hen. I know. We’re almost done.”
You grumble even as you oblige, lifting your arms up and letting him slide a T-shirt that seems far too large for you over your bare torso. Pants follow, and you have to fumble with the drawstring of the sweatpants to cinch them around your waist so they don’t pool at your hips. Yet it’s the hoodie that Soap slips your arms through that makes you slouch into comfort, hum a note of appreciation at the back of your throat.
“Smells like you.” You mumble, eyes sleepy and warm at your sergeant, and you see Soap melt.
“Only the finest.” He grins back at you, eyes glinting with that tell-tale elation he has whenever he’s got your full attention.
There’s a call from down the hallway that you don’t catch, one that draws Soap’s attention and causes him to turn his head. You follow his gaze at first, but find yourself distracted by the shadowy figure still present in the corner, head tilted as he observes you, watches you watch him. You can see his eyes, see the way they’re slightly narrowed at your slouched form on the edge of the tub. It isn’t clear exactly what Simon is looking for, but he seems to find it nonetheless, gaze darting up from your pebbled nipples to your open, curious expression.
“Think you can stand?” Soap asks you, drawing your attention back to him. You nod, and with his help wobble to your feet, bare soles still sliding across the wet floor.
Yet again, when your legs shake with weakness it’s all you can do to remain standing, hand gripping Soap’s arm with a trembling, unsteady grip. Your gaze flicks upwards, once again finding the skull mask that haunts the edges of the room and the periphery of your thoughts. You don’t make a sound, barely alter your expression, but within moments Ghost is rolling his shoulders to push off from the wall, closing the distance between you both and wrapping an arm around your waist.
He doesn’t say a word as he scoops you up once more, and even Soap seems a bit surprised at the sudden gesture, eyebrows arched as the mammoth soldier cradles you into his broad chest.
“I-“ You try, but when Ghost’s eyes peer down at you your throat feels dry, tongue heavy, and the words are lost.
Soap trails you both as Ghost escorts you back in the direction of Price and the others. As you round the corner your nose instantly fills with the thick, scented spice of garlic and onions, and soon you find Rudy and Alejandro in the kitchen, turned to each other with smirking, tell-tale smiles as they bend over a pan of something that you think smells like heaven.
“Here.”
You turn at the sound of Price’s voice. He’s seated at the head of the table, and the chair creaks as he scoots away from the table, widening an arm in Simon’s direction. Simon follows the order without protest, gently depositing you into Price’s lap even as you whimper at the tender flesh of your ass coming into contact with him.
You should be embarrassed, you think. You should be a little bashful at this circumstance, perched in the lap of your captain who smells like cigar smoke and gun oil, at the way his arm closes around you and keeps you braced against his chest. Yet Price is warm, solid, his grip on you firm and reassuring, so you struggle to find yourself to care.
Price reaches for something on the table, a tube of what looks like ointment. You blink at it for a moment, brow furrowing even as he deposits a liberal smear on his calloused fingertips. When he catches your wary expression he merely huffs, the mutton chops of his beard twitching upward with his smile.
“Ointment.” He explains. “It’ll help with the tenderness.”
You arch an eyebrow at him, surprised but also a touch curious.
“You say that like you’ve been in this situation before, captain.” You remark carefully, but Price merely huffs at you, warm, smoky breath ghosting across the planes of your face.
“Years of experience, love.” Is all he gives you before his hand is snaking under the hem of your shirt, up to the tender, suckled flesh of your breasts. It’s a shock, you flinch under the cold touch of his slickened fingertips. Yet Price’s opposite hand digs into your thigh, steadying, guiding in the way only he is. You arch into him with a little protest as he smears the ointment across the rise of your chest, whimper caught in your throat.
“Easy.” Price gentles when you squirm, and the tickle of his beard whispers over the nape of your neck when he presses a kiss there. “I got you.”
You only nod, eyes scrunched shut and breath stuttering in your chest, hands gripping his arms and head tucked back against his shoulder. Your heart thrums louder, skin burning, yearning for the grip of him but knowing it’s too much, too soon, that you can only sit there and take it as his war-worn hands smooth the cream against your battered flesh.
Yet it’s when his touch vanishes from you, when you sigh that you hear him huff, chest jolting with the motion as you brace against it. Except then he’s shifting, and you feel a hand pull at the hem of the sweatpants you’re wearing -black, you notice- as his fingers descend past them, along your belly and towards the core of you.
“C-captain-!” You shudder when Price smoothes lotion across your folds, and suddenly the world is too hot, too bright, and you’re shivering under his touch, body growing taut. Yet Price’s touch is purely medicinal, purposeful and clinical even as you gasp and writhe weakly against him.
“You can take it.” He encourages, voice grumbling and firm, ever the leader, anchoring you from the discomfort and the rapid, uncertain flutter of your heartbeat.
You try to stay still, you do, but Price’s and feel like a warming brand against your skin, reigniting a coiling flame there, one that you can’t indulge in despite the wish that you could. It’s all you can do to tuck your head back against him, shiver under his hand cupping the core of you, your hands digging into him as you seek gravity. When you whimper, Price’s touch softens, soothing circles into your hips, your thighs, your ribs.
“There we go, love.” He rasps when you sink against him, caressed into docility as you perch on his lap. “That’s a good girl.”
You whimper, and the sound is enough to summon a grumbling groan, caught like the grind of gravel deep in his chest.
“So fuckin’ beautiful.” And it’s Soap’s voice nearby, lilted low with desire as he watches you writhe and whimper on the lap of his captain, eyes scrunched shut and hands clutching at him to ground yourself from Price’s perseverant hand slid under the waistband of your pants. You look at him, gaze half-lidded and hazy, and when you do his eyes flash darkly at you, a curse bitten off in a language you wish you understood. It summons a weak, distant burst of arousal in you, one that has you squirm back against Price, seeking ground on which to retreat.
Yet all you find there is a grunt, a hand digging into your thigh with a warning as you recognize the bulge that presses up against the swell of your ass.
“Careful now.” Price mutters darkly, and you shiver at the desire there, even with his hand flat against the front of you, his beard tickling the nape of your neck as he at last withdraws his hand. “I don’t think you're quite ready for us again, sweetheart.”
For a brief, dizzying moment, you wish you were.
Footsteps, and when you turn your head Alejandro is approaching from the all too distant realm of the kitchen with a plate that has steam curling into delicious, mouth-watering whisps. When you catch his eyes you see him grin, and it feels for all the world like a promise of things to come, blooming like cumulus clouds against a far-off horizon.
“Arroz rojo.” He announces as he sets the plate in front of you, the red rice blooming with the scent of cumin at the back of your throat. “Rudy said you might appreciate something easy on your stomach.”
You twist in Price’s lap towards the direction of the kitchen, catching Rudy’s dark head of hair as he turns to meet your gaze. Contentedness blossoms across his expression, deeply satisfied and almost glowing with the hazy aftereffects of a man completely and utterly sated.
“Let me know if you like it, mi Corazón.” He replies, and his voice is almost shy, a touch bashful despite the fact that he’s the same man who spilled down your throat earlier.
Price’s fingers tap on your thigh, drawing your attention back to him. You crane your head to look at him, and then shiver at the darkness there, restrained but still ominously present.
“You’re going to have to move, love.” He gruffs at you. “Unless you want me to spoil your appetite.”
You gulp.
“Here.” Alejandro offers, arms open. You don’t have a chance to protest before you’re being moved between them, transferred from one set of arms to the other, adjusted until you balance on Alejandro’s lap.
“I-I can feed myself.” You try, feeling the ripe blister of embarrassment creep up your face as Alejandro reaches for the plate before you.
Yet the colonel ignores you, fork clinking as an arm keeps you braced against him, even as you try to appeal to him with half-lidded, weary eyes.
“Can you?” He asks, and that damned smugness that’s present in all of them is there in him too, as his eyes gleam down at you, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.
Still, you nod valiantly, grappling the fork away from his hand even as your own grip shakes lightly, spilling grains back onto the plate. When Alejandro chuckles the sound is warm, like the blaze of sun-kissed skin and spices curling on your tongue. His hand engulfs yours, steadies it as you raise the fork to your lips, letting the warm, cloying spices curl across your tongue.
When you give a little hum of enjoyment Alejandro practically purrs in your ear, and you realize that this must be doing something to him. With your tender and sore figure perched in his lap, the object of his desires smelling like musk and aloe and just a touch of him-
“Me estás volviendo loco con esos ruidos.” Alejandro murmurs, and the sound is more of a groan than anything else, spoken into your damp hair, arms hauling you tighter against him as you savor the food, a happy little noise hummed high in your throat. “The sounds you’re making are almost as pretty as you, bonita.”
“I take it that means you like it?” Rudy asks as he sets down a glass of water in front of you beside the plate, and you grin up at him, pleased.
“Mm.” Is all you manage around a mouthful of rice, and you see Rudy’s eyes melt, glaze over at the sight of you, fed and happy and satisfied. His hand flicks out, and you still as he brushes a stray grain from the corner of your mouth, drawing his thumb back to let his tongue run across the tip of his thumb. You still, tracing the motion with your eyes as a different heat flicker within you.
“Agua.” Alejandro encourages, reaching for the glass and tipping it up towards your waiting lips. You follow the command, the motion is easier now than it was before, when you were fresh out of a warzone that left you blistered and bruised but sated.
The two men before you seem entranced by you, damp and warm and docile in Alejandro’s arms. There’s a sense of pride there, you know, something about keeping you warm and fed and clean and protected that makes something primal pace against the confines of their thoughts. It’s the thought that they’ve rendered you to this much, carved gasping, lecherous words into your flesh and pushed you over into the abyss, time and time again, only to haul you back into their waiting arms.
It's not just them. When you cast a glance about there’s chairs pulled up to the table you were defiled upon, the men around you quiet but observant, gazes looking over your slouched, cuddled form with your drowsy, pleased expression and damp hair sticking to the corners of your face. Price, with his smoldering stare like the glowing burn of tobacco; Soap with his bright, keen gaze that glints at you from the distance between; Gaz with his softer, warmer eyes that still hold the hazy dying dusk of desire.
Ghost, who lingers against the wall just beyond. His eyes haven’t left you this entire time. It feels almost wolfish, the way he doesn’t shift, doesn’t blink when you look at him, arms crossed and gaze still dark, hungry for you in a way he doesn’t bother to conceal. You can still feel him, feel the way he split you open and left a piece of himself there, branding you with the heat of him nestled against your womb and his teeth grazing possessively over the underside of your jaw.
Alejandro’s fingers trace there instead, drawing you back to him, and your lips part around another forkful of arroz as he’s murmuring words into your skin that taste like cloves and paprika, aromatic and piquant.
“Wish we could keep you here, carina.” He mutters as you swallow, as his thumb smoothes over the still-trembling hand in his grasp. “We could keep you happy here.”
You are happy. Blissfully so. Despite the tenderness and fatigue, you’re undeniably comfortable, clean, fed, warm, satiated from the attention of the men around you. These men, who you’ve fought beside, who you’ve entrusted your life and body to, the ones who took their own pleasure from you as much as they gave you yours.
Maybe it’s the simmering coolness of your nerves, the way you’re so exposed and vulnerable like this, or the way Rudy’s hand pets your hair, the way Alejandro is murmuring to you, or the way Gaz looks at you with something that feels suddenly like longing-
You feel tears swell against the corner of your eyes, fat and heavy and too hot for your blistered skin. There’s a tightness that clogs your throat when you tilt your head back, trying to keep them from spilling like a cup over filled.
“Hey, hey, hey-“ Rudy coos, and his finger smears the growing wetness from your gaze, clearing it so you see his face flicker into view, brown-eyed gaze tenderly soft and worried at this sudden change in you. “Mi vida, what’s wrong?”
You swallow, and the capsicum taste of cumin lingers there. It does nothing to quell the tightness there, something skin to a sob threatening to bubble up when you speak. It dissolves as a sigh instead, one that falls across Rudy’s fingers cupping your face as you gently shake your head.
“Nothing.” You say, but your voice cracks in betrayal as you try to find the words needed to explain this strangeness in you, overwhelmed and burning at the edges but undeniably happy in a way you’re unfamiliar with. You feel like you’ve been dragged from hypothermia and into a sauna, body and mind reeling at the adjustment but grateful all the same, trying and failing to express the rawness of the sensations that threaten the crux of you.
“I’m just…happy.” You tell him at last-
And begin to cry.
Now they crowd around you, hush you with gentle words even as mortification and contempt flood your veins. When you try and wipe your tears, hide your face as you sniffle, there's a hand that pulls it away, wipes your face. Hands smooth along your shoulders and sides, rubbing gentle reassurances there that echo into the air around you.
“I’m sorry.” You manage between stifled hiccups. “I-it was good, really good, I-I don’t know why-“
“You’re exhausted, love.” And it’s Price who’s talking now. You think it’s his hand that cups your chin, over your quivering lip as you try to contain yourself. “You’re overwhelmed and tired. ‘s not your fault.”
“ ‘M sorry.” You try again, but he merely tuts at you, and there’s hands in your hair and Alejandro’s voice against your shoulders and someone’s holding your hand and rubbing circles into your hips and-
“Don’t you worry about that now.” The captain tells you, and his voice is softer now, almost ginger in the way he’s regarding you, you who’s taken bullet wounds and shrapnel and yet have become undone by the simple, irreplaceable act of being cared for.
You nod, feeling your shuddering gasps begin to wane, the shiver in your limbs subside as they once again drag you ashore, out from the blazing sun and into the cool shade of their embraces.
“Think you can handle a few more bites, Querida?” Alejandro asks, and you nod, let him lift the fork to your mouth even as salt obscures the taste.
“Next time I’ll have you come to the ranch and make you elote e carne asada.” Alejandro rumbles, and you feel the smile of him against your shoulder.
“ ‘Next time’?” Soap chuffs, and that’s enough to draw the attention away from you and to the sergeant, who crosses his arms in Alejandro’s direction. “What makes you think there will be a next time, mate?”
“Yeah.” Gaz chimes in, and he’s leaning forward so one arm rests against the table. “Besides, your ranch? Next time will be back at Beacon base in the UK.”
“You’re both wrong.” Price grumbles, fingers tapping on the width of his arm. “We’re staying in Lancashire at my place.”
“Now hold on, captain-“ Rudy objects. “Do you know how expensive it is across the Atlantic? Tickets these days are-“
They’re bickering, the previous, united camaraderie of soldiers evaporating as they discuss the group’s future endeavors like mapping out battle plans, pinpointing targets and 0600’s and supplies. You don’t bother to listen, not even as Alejandro’s tumbling voice echoes over your head and his arm wraps around your middle in a gesture that seems more possessive than it does stabilizing, the warmth of his hand burrowing against your ribs with nothing but the cotton of your too-large shirt to separate him from your skin.
Full now, belly warm and senses cloudy with contentment, you lean your head back against Alejandro’s shoulder, body slumping as you feel the familiar drag of fatigue wind around you, pulling you downwards. There’s nothing left. You don’t think you could walk even if you wanted to, limbs heavy and immobile. There’s fuzz between your ears, like cotton balls soft to the touch, obscuring sound and sight as the heavy weight of drowsiness washes over you.
“A few more bites, carino.” Rudy encourages, and you whine at him, too far gone to summon a real protest. The sound is enough to make Alejandro brace his head into your shoulder and groan at the little pleading whimper in your voice, too full and tired to bother with much else.
“Chica bonita.” Rudy purrs at you. “Are you tired? Need to sleep?”
You nod up at him, feeling a small flush of self-awareness at how you must look right now, bedraggled and tired and damp, draped in clothes far too big for you, eyes lidded and heavy with the promise of sleep. Yet Rudy’s eyes are affectionate when they catch yours, and you can taste the melted chocolate that oozes from them, dark and sweet.
“Let’s get you tucked in then.” He murmurs, looking over your shoulder at Alejandro. They exchange in Spanish you don’t understand, and it gives you the opportunity you need to let your head drop, eyes fluttering shut even as you’re lifted, moved. The world tilts around you, yet this time it feels less like the daring free fall of a skydive and more like the gentle, reminiscent swing of a hammock on a sunny afternoon, dappled sunlight streaming through a forest canopy. The world is warm, cloaked in color and birdsong, the air around you like a salted ocean breeze that licks at the folds on your clothes and tangles in your hair.
“Shh, shh, gently now.” Soap murmurs, and you can smell him as he helps you down into the bed he’s helped make, military corners tucked in with precision. You sink into it, knowing it’s nothing more than a cot but thankful to the gods to at last be horizontal, laying on your side as a hand lifts your skull to slide a pillow there. You curl in on yourself even as a blanket falls across your form, shivering.
Yet when Soap tries to leave you catch him, fingers tugging on his pants even as he tries to step away.
“It’s cold.” You manage, voice small despite your bold, unspoken request. Little do you know that when you ask like that, when you blink your pretty lashes up at him, nose hidden under the sheets and fingers hooked on his pants leg, that there’s no way he can refuse.
“Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus.” He breathes, voice thick with wonder. Yet then he’s moving, tugging off his boots with a curse. The cot shakes as he braces on it, shudders when he manages to slip into the sheets next to you. A thick, brawny hand comes up to cup your skull, dragging you into his chest and pressing you there, and when you breathe in it’s him, cedarwood and ashes of the fire, thick and musky across your senses.
When you think it’s finally, blissfully over, however, there’s a hand petting your hair, and a younger, British voice on your other side.
“Room for three?” Gaz asks, and you manage to free a hand enough to wordlessly reach for him, wanting, needing him at your back. It’s not long before he’s settled in as well, spooning you from behind on the bed that is almost definitely too small for three people, two of them being built, sinewy soldiers.
You don’t care. You’re warm on all sides, warm from pleasure and affection and treatment from all of them. It feels like you’re suspended, floating on something beyond yourself, spirit lifting from your corporeal form and into the darkening sky above yet anchored by the touches of the men beside you. You’re too far gone to notice Rudy come, place a kiss atop your hair; to notice Alejandro drape another blanket over you, of Price and Ghost discussing in low tones by the doorway. The others stay, linger, on chairs or nearby. You think you see Rudy and Alejandro on the cot beside yours when your eyes flutter open.
Your vision shifts, gazing over the slope of Soap’s neck to the lit doorway. Ghost mutters something, a goodbye perhaps, and turns.
It’s to be expected. The man is a lone wolf, he works alone. For him to even be here is a miracle, and to have even participated at all a divine sign from the gods themselves. Now, however, he retreats to where he belongs, to the shadows that engulf the breadth of him, the kingdom where he was born and where he shall remain.
“Simon.”
The name escapes before you can stop it, and Ghost freezes, his head jerking upwards as he hesitates, turning to you, hidden within the embraces of his comrades.
You swallow, trying to conjure the spell to keep him here, within arm’s reach, forever now and always.
“Don’t get lost.” You mutter at last, and you think maybe your vision wavers when his shoulders droop, when his eyes blink at you, reflecting light.
His shadow falls across you on his approach, the width of him bulked by the tac gear he still hasn’t entirely gotten rid of. Ghost- Simon- blots light from the doorway like the shadow he is, absorbing brightness and drowning it in the essence of him. A hand reaches, smoothes the hair from your face.
“Never.” He mutters enigmatically, and even so you feel the edges of him splinter, crack like obsidian.
Your eyes flutter shut under his touch, cloak the world in mystic darkness as you surrender to him, to these men, to at last the inexorable, inescapable comfort of them, of sleep.
#cod#mw2#simon ghost riley#captain john price#johnny soap mactavish#alejandro vargas#rodolfo parra#call of duty modern warfare#kyle gaz garrick#my fic#my writing#reader insert#if you see typos in this no you don't i don't care anymore
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Can’t promise ya that Sweetheart
Daryl x f!Reader | Established relationship | pos savior war | Dad Daryl | little fluff
Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating (not Daryl, of course), memory loss, Negan, a little bit of violence, mentions of death, killing threat, a little part of blood, pregnancy, mentions of birth, mentions of torturing, mentions of cancer. (If I forgot anything tell me) Minors do not interact, 18+.
A/N: This is a small story based on this dream that I had in the end of the last year. Finally decided to write something about it.
It didn’t go exactly what I had planned because of the dream, but here it is. Also, I wanted it to be a small drabble, but I turned it into a big one-shot.
Another thing is… Daryl and Reader have a 6 year old son, but in no moment I wrote his name in the history. I received a critique about reader’s son in The Spitting Image, so I’m still deciding if I’ll continue with DJ in my Dad Daryl fics, or if it will be only for The Spitting Image and I’m coming up with another name in my other fics. Just to make it clear, I have no intention in changing DJ’s name in The Spitting Image.
When the Greenes found you, the world had already ended. In one of Otis’ hunting leaves he encountered you, all bloody, your hair a mess of dried blood and dirty. At first he thought you were dead, but then you let a small cry and he checked your vital signs confirming you were indeed alive. That day he didn’t go back to the farm with good meat, he took you in his arms and arrived at the house urging for help.
The moment you woke up, your mind was blank. There was nothing there. No memories. At least, you still had the ability of speaking, reading and writing, besides that, not a thing. You didn’t even remember your own name. You didn’t remember the world before dead people started walking. Some people said you were lucky, because you couldn’t miss something you didn’t remember, but most of the times it was frustrating not knowing about who you were.
Without a name or a history, the Greenes soon adopted you, giving you the name Y/N, because they said it suited you and their last name. You liked how Y/N Greene sounded, and you liked the people that took you in and soon made you love them and be part of the family. Everyday was a new day to discover what you liked or disliked, to learn something new and learn who you were.
The group from Atlanta came, and with them also came a lot of trouble and a certain mysterious hunter that refused to leave your thoughts. He didn’t even looked at you, why were you dreaming about him? Little did you know you never left his thoughts too, and that was incredibly annoying. The farm burned down and all of you lost your safe place. You took the road, then you arrived at the prison and with the months passing you grew closer and closer to Daryl Dixon, but you were only friends. Until… after the people from Woodbury joined you and an event brought you two together.
And that was how you ended up like this, married to him, a 6 year old son and one more baby on the way. Now you lived in Alexandria a community that gave you a home again, a small sense of normalcy and where your strange family only grew. You had all been through a lot already… the prison fell, you were almost eaten by cannibals and you had survived a war against a group called The Saviors, which leader Negan killed many of your friends and broke and destroyed your husband. The first time you listened to the name of the worst person you heard of it made you feel something strange, just like if your guts were being pulled by an invisible hand, but you couldn’t tell why. Maybe it was just because he was a sick son of a bitch.
He killed Glenn which was like your brother in law as you and Maggie had become instantly sisters. He killed Abraham the gigantic ginger of a big heart and a mouth dirtier than a sailor’s. And his worst crime, in your heart, was what he made Daryl go through. He tortured, humiliated and broke piece by piece of the man you loved, and that you couldn’t forgive. You never got to see him. That sounds strange, but every time he showed up you wasn’t in Alexandria, the missions everybody went you couldn’t go because of your enormous belly that had the biggest baby you had ever saw, damn Daryl and his genes, that baby was hard to push - but yet here you were carrying another one. In the final battle you had your baby Dixon in your arms, so you never got to see the man. Even after Rick almost killed him, but in the last seconds asked Siddiq to save him.
You never had to see the man you despised and hated so much, until now that you were walking on Alexandria streets going to get his food and deliver it to him. You managed to keep the distance from him the past 6 years and nobody ever asked you to do a thing for him. Maybe because he brought back the memories of what he did to Daryl, or maybe because you agreed and supported Maggie about killing him. But now, you were making a favor to Gabriel, Michonne wasn’t in town and Rosita needed him. So why not? It couldn’t be so difficult, you repeated the steps on your head: handcuff him, open the cell, put the tray on the floor, close the cell and release him. After that you just needed to leave and never look at him again, at least you hoped so.
When you entered the dark room only illuminated by the daily light that came from the small window, it sent chills through all your body and you felt your “little pear” get agitated in your belly. ‘Lil pear’ was the nickname Daryl gave the baby you had in your belly, because he was pretty sure that it was a girl this time. You didn’t have an opinion about it, but you knew he would be happy if it was a sweet little girl like his ‘lil ass kicker’. You put the tray on a chair and before catching the handcuff on your pocket, you caressed your already big belly to assure your baby that nothing bad would happen.
“Never thought you’d ever come to visit me.” You heard his voice and once again it was like someone was pulling your guts.
“Believe me, I tried to come for a deadly visit, but I wasn’t allowed to.” You replied, handcuffs already in your hands. “Hands outside the bars.”
“I know you hate me, but you wouldn’t dare to kill me.” He put both hands outside the cage so you could handcuff him.
“Don’t tempt me Negan, or I may take the offer.” You handcuffed him and now took the key to open the cell.
“You really enjoyed fucking Dixon, didn’t you?” People were right he knew so damn well how to make anyone lose their temper. “A precious sweet little boy the one you have.” You had opened the door.
“Never!” You kicked the side of his leg on the height of the knee, earning a grunt in pain from him. “Never talk about my child again! Don’t even look at him!”
“This isn’t how I raised you sweetie… but I’m glad you can take care of yourself in this world.” You went outside the cage to take the tray of food. “But this isn’t the way you should treat your father.”
You gave him an annoyed look. “My father is Hershel Greene, and he’s dead. So, no way a scumbag like you is my father.” Fuck, remembering Hershel made tears surface in your eyes. Damn, fucking hormones.
You lowered the maximum you could to put the tray on the floor and made a mental note to tell Gabriel you’d never help him in such activities again till the end of your pregnancy. He didn’t know how fucked up it was to squat in that situation.
“Your name isn’t Y/N. Your maiden name was Smith. You have a mole in your back, close to your shoulder. You got a scar on your left knee after you fell from your bike, you were 8…” he said and that stroke you in a way you couldn’t explain. Yes, you had a mole. Yes, you had this scar that you didn’t know how you got since you had no memories from your past. You left his cell and closed the door. “Guess, you aren’t Daddy’s pretty princess anymore…”
At that moment the unthinkable happened, a storm of memories hit you running through your mind and you had to hold yourself on the bars, or you could swear you’d fall. Your childhood. Your teens. Memories of an old life you didn’t had anymore, and the day you caught your dad cheating on your stepmom, the reason why you left them not looking back, because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her and break her heart, but you also couldn’t look at your father’s face and don’t feel anger. A wave of anger that contained all the last years and now also your memories from the past hit you, and when you realized it, you were with your hands on his collar yanking him towards the bars, his face impossibly close to it.
“What did you do to Lucille?” You yelled at him, from all the things you could have asked or yelled at him, he wasn’t expecting this. “What happened to her?! You gave her name to a fucking bat!”
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Jesus… I couldn’t even kill her turned self.” He confessed. “She had cancer. She discovered it a little after you left… she was still in treatment when the outbreak happened.” And then he told you the short story of what happened and you blamed yourself for not being there for her, she was like a mom to you and you ran away just because you couldn’t tell her your dad was a cheater, but now he was worse, he was a psycho.
You released his hands from the handcuff and stored it on your pocket again. “I’m asking Gabriel to take the tray.” You said, you didn’t even need to tell him anything, but you didn’t know why you said.
“Can you bring the boy to meet me?” He had the audacity to ask. You snorted.
“If it depends on me, he’ll never meet you. You killed my friends, my brother… you tortured my husband, and that sweet little boy had a complicated birth because of what you inflicted in all of us, and do you think you have any right of meeting him?” He could see the tears in your eyes threatening to fall, and his heart clenched just like when you were little and would cry because you were hurt. But you’d not let it happen in front of him. You’d not cry. “If you had remained you, if you hadn’t caused so much pain, this would be a completely different reencounter.”
Once you finished talking you left the small little prison and when you turned to go up the stairs, you saw Daryl up the stairs, the look in his eyes indicating worry. He was probably looking for you, and someone probably said where you were. He saw in your eyes that you were in the verge of crying, you went up the stairs and once in front of him, you urged him to leave the place, you didn’t want him to see you crying.
You entered home, hand in hand and he took you to the sofa, sitting there with you. He put one arm on your shoulders and brought you to rest your head against his chest. “What did he tell you?” He asked and you were sure he was already thinking of a way of destroying the prisoner.
“I… I remember everything, Daryl.” You said, and the tears that you had been holding just fell down. “Negan’s my father.”
He didn’t look surprised, because he wasn’t. He knew it. For years already. Being married with the archer for so many years, made you a little observant like him and in that moment you knew there was something wrong.
“You’re not surprised.” You said, it was an affirmation, not a question. “Did you know?”
He took a deep breath, his hand on your head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how was your past with him. I was afraid it was so messed up that you would break if you got your memories back.”
“Did you never doubt my loyalty after you discovered it?” That was a difficult question, that you were not sure if you were prepared to listen to his answer. You weren’t mad at him, you kneel him and you knew he had no bad intentions on hiding it from you and to be honest, deep down you wished Gabriel had never sent you there.
“Wouldn’t have put another baby in ya if I did.” He didn’t want to be coarse, that was just the way he was and when he said that you knew he’d never doubt you. “I’ve been with ya for years, wouldn’t ever doubt you.”
“How did you discover it?” You wrapped your arms around his torso.
Some days after Negan was taken to his cell in Alexandria, he saw something through the small window that he didn’t expected. You. His daughter that had given her back to him many years ago. When the world ended, Lucille had told him to go and look for you, but he couldn’t do that, he needed to take care of her. Months passed and you never showed up at home, he thought you would try to get home if the apocalypse happened, so he just assumed you were dead. He saw you with Daryl and a cute baby in your arms, and that’s how he discovered you were the pregnant wife he had and everyone talked about, but he never got to meet. Also, you were going by a different name. He’d never think it was you. He was a monster, but he was a father, and he was so glad you were alive and well… but he also knew you probably hated him more than anything. Next time Rick visited him, he talked to him and asked to see you. Of course the ex-sheriff didn’t tell you, he told Daryl and that day the hunter had a ‘nice’ conversation with the ex Savior.
“Ya’re not telling her anything, ya aren’t even going ta look at’er or ma son.” He didn’t want to be controlling, abusive or anything of it, but he knew you were better not knowing it. It would destroy you if you knew you were related to a monster. “If ya try anything, a single little thing, I’m gonna kill ya and feed you to the walkers.”
He listened to Daryl, for long 6 years, but he didn’t have many options since he was in his cell all the time and you never came close to it. Everything organized for you to not do so, Rick, Michonne and Carol knew, all of the three knew and would make everything so you didn’t need to have contact with Negan, that’s until the day you decided to do a favor for Gabriel.
“He wasn’t a bad father.” You said when your husband finished telling you what happened. “To be honest, I have mostly good memories of him. A year before the outbreak, or so, I caught him cheating on my stepmom. I ran away, because I didn’t have the courage to tell her and I was so angry at him. I was dramatic and childish.”
“Nah, you weren’t. That was how ya felt, and it’s ok.” He kissed the top of your head and squeezed you in his arms.
“Do you think it would have made any difference if I had stayed?”
“I dunno. There’s no way to know. But one thing I know, we wouldn’t have met, and we wouldn’t have our precious lil boy or our lil pear on the way.” He caressed your belly while talking and he was right… things happened how they were supposed to happen and there was no way you could know if anything would have been different.
Soon the door opened and your little ray of sunshine came running directly to the living room and hugging you and his ‘little sis’, like he was now calling the baby. You thought it was because Daryl would say all the time it was a girl, but he would always say it wasn’t. ‘Kids know these things, they can feel’, he would say.
“Momma, how was your day? Did my lil sis kick a lit today?” He asked with his little face leaning on your stomack and his big blue eyes shining.
“My day was wonderful baby. Little pear kicked just a little today.” You said, your hand on top of your head. “How was school? Who brought you?”
“It was good. Jude brought me.” He said and then he looked at Daryl. “Daddy, you forgot me.”
“I’m sorry little man.” He sat his son on his lap. “Momma needed ma help.”
When he heard you had been sent to take food to Negan, he forgot about everything and ran to get to you. He was so afraid of what could happen that he forgot to take the kids. It was safe, it was inside Alexandria, but either way he needed to be there, to teach your son could only trust you, he shouldn’t go with anybody to anywhere, unless it was people you really trusted.
“Why don’t you go up, put away your things and wait momma to take your bath?” Daryl told the little boy and he went immediately upstairs.
Daryl got up and headed to the hall, you followed him and saw he was ready to leave.
“Where are you going?” You asked, clueless, you had just arrived home and your kid was back.
“Gonna have a talk with Negan.” He said. He was so good at comforting you that you didn’t notice he was boiling in anger. He had told him to not say a thing and he just opened his big mouth!
“Babe, he’s an asshole. We already know it, just let him be. I guess I made everything clear to him.” You tried to soothe him, both your hands enveloping his face.
“I gave him a warning, and still he made ya cry.” He delicately took your hands from his face and walked to the door.
“Daryl, please… don’t kill him.” You had confused feelings, you hated Negan for so many reasons and now at the same time remembering he was your father…
“Can’t promise ya that, sweetheart.” He opened the door and left.
You didn’t know if you believed in God anymore, but in that moment you prayed to whatever force there were that Daryl could calm down and also that none of this mess harm your son and your unborn baby.
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#daryl dixon#the walking dead#the walking dead daryl#twd#twd daryl#daryl x reader#daryl x y/n#daryl fanfiction#daryl imagines#the walking dead daryl dixon#daryl#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl x you#daryl x female reader#dad daryl#deansapplepie
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the christmas party
ceo!price x reader / smut free / ~2.8k words
A very belated Christmas drabble thing. Definitely not inspired by real life events. 👀 Featuring a fem!Reader x Price, background Ghost x Soap, and Gaz, the incredi-boss. Might fuck around make this a series, we'll see! Maybe I'll clean it up and throw it on AO3, too.
CW: alcohol, substance abuse (mentioned) inappropriate comments from coworkers
You came to expect drama at the company Christmas party. It was as traditional as the optional White Elephant gift exchange, the hired group of carolers, and the ugly sweater competition.
Last year, a 'mystery' baggie of powder and a credit card belonging to the former Head of Sales was found in a bathroom stall. Two years ago, it was the unexpectedly raunchy dancing between an engineer and a project manager you swore hated each other. Three years ago, a division head went home with someone who was definitely not her spouse.
You'd seen a lot in your tenure. The good, the bad, the ugly, the hilariously mortifying.
Coming up on your fifth year with The 141 Group, you were a rarity. Most folks job-hopped. More power to them, no shame in gaining good experience after a year or two to leave for greener pastures. The fact you stuck around labeled you a 'veteran', a cheeky if not sensational label, though there were times you certainly felt like you'd seen war. Acquisitions. Rebrands. Reorgs. Yeesh.
But life at 141 suits you. You are an executive assistant, a good one. It helps that your direct supervisor and the VP of Finance, Kyle Garrick, a fellow 'vet', was an incredible boss. He lets you work from when you need to, doesn't micromanage, and treats you like a person, unlike other execs. He had faith in your ability to manage his calendar, prep materials, book travel - in short, you organized his work life. In return, whenever some new hire got too fresh with you, all it took was one teensy mention in a morning meeting, and by lunch, the offending party had only apologies for you. Most importantly, though, the job nets enough money to make rent and let you pursue your hobbies.
With years of Christmas parties under your belt, you were looking forward to tonight's low-grade yet cataclysmic event. Pre-gaming and primping at a fellow assistant's house, Jordan, you clasp the silver holly leaf pendant around your neck where it lies just above your modest cleavage. The dress code was simply 'Christmas Color', another tradition. Formal attire was expected, if not an unsaid requirement, which meant slipping into a gorgeous dark green dress you spied weeks ago in a boutique window. You thank yourself for earning that last pay bump to afford it because you look fantastic, in your humble opinion.
Lacing her leather Oxfords, Jordan gives a low whistle when you turn away from the mirror. "Like a big, sexy pine tree."
You smirk. "Thanks. Remind me why we both couldn't wear red tonight?"
"Because of the two of us, red is my color. Do I not look like some kind of holiday vampire?" She asks, standing with a sweeping gesture down at her deep, red velvet suit.
"More bellboy, but-"
"Rude!"
The two of you lovingly bicker all the way out to the awaiting car. The 141 Group, ever mindful of its image, always reimbursed rideshares for its company parties. Given the amount of liquor that flowed at these events, it wasn't only generous but smart. Like the higher-ups needed a scandal. The car ferries you across town to the ritzy event space at a local art museum. Leaving your coats at the complimentary bag check, you enter the well-underway party.
The events team needs a raise, like yesterday. The sprawling space was completely done up. Several open bars, a champagne wall, a photo op with a to-scale Santa's Sleigh, and dining tables with place settings that probably rival a monarch. Silvery white birch trees enveloped in lights line the walls, with clusters of small fir trees fully decorated dotting the space. The dancefloor was already busy with a DJ fully dressed as Santa.
Four going on five years, and it was still quite the sight.
You gently elbow Jordan. "So. Cheesy themed cocktails first or canapes?"
"Obviously drinks. I just saw one with an ornament in it!"
~~
Three hours in, it was a dead heat for Most Dramatic Event. Two separate calamities slowly built throughout the night.
At the nexus of the first, Chad from marketing was almost blacked out. After winning the ugly sweater with a true abomination of a sweater (working lights, a mini speaker, and an ungodly amount of sequins), he celebrated. A little hard. He bopped from open bar to open bar as the bartenders cut him off one by one. He was trying to convince a coworker to grab him another Mistletoe Martini, and it was progressively getting louder.
The second was from the rumor mill more than anything. Apparently, a developer named Scott brought the wrong gift for the exchange. As the story went, his wife used the same paper for an identically sized gift, one of a titillating nature, and now he was visibly paranoid that he nabbed the wrong one on the way out the door. The man stalked the pile of gifts as folks drew numbers.
Jordan bet on the first, and you bet on the second. From the corner, you watch, giggling behind a cup of Prancer's Punch.
The sound of your name drew your attention. Kyle, in a charcoal gray suit with a sleek snowflake tie bar and green tie, approaches with a Tiny Tim Collins in hand. Though you waved hello earlier in the night, he spent most of the evening in the company of who you deemed his 'buddies' - Johnny MacTavish, VP of Technology and Jordan's boss, and Simon Riley, the Chief Security Officer. You learned in your first month to leave the trio to it.
"Having fun, are we?" Kyle grins and turns to observe the twin events.
"I love this party. Every year, delivers just like Santa," Jordan gleefully said.
"Someone should stop them," You add, knowing nobody would. At least not Kyle.
And as if on cue, the man chuckles. "Not my circus, not my clowns."
The three of you chat, swapping bits of office gossip collected through the night. Not the most appropriate, but not the worst social crime, surely. You're the right amount of tipsy: warm and relaxed but solid.
The wager came up naturally.
"What do you want if you win, my pine tree?"
"Hmm. It's gotta be something outrageous but not a fireable offense. Hmm. Maybe I'll have you sing on a video call, pretend you thought you were on mute or something."
"...That's boring."
"Do I want to know?" Kyle asks, sipping his drink.
"We have a bet on who's gonna be this year's drama - Chad or Scott." You explain.
"Maybe I ought to get back…" Your boss said with a laugh. "Better not witness to whatever you two plan."
"Might be for the best. Night, Kyle," You accept the brief hug from the man, then poke a finger against his chest. "Listen, if I get one DM about work during the holiday, I'm switching your coffee to decaf."
Kyle claps a hand over his heart as if he's been shot. "Monstrous. Fine, have it your way, no work during Christmas…Now, behave yourself, both of you."
Watching him retreat back to MacTavish and Riley (who look quite cozy - perhaps another piece of gossip?), Jordan nudges you. "If I was into guys, that's who I'd be into."
"You and like fifty other people here," As Kyle's assistant, you're more than his Girl Friday; you're also a professional gatekeeper. You could wallpaper your apartment with the amount of cringy notes you've stopped from reaching his desk.
"Not your type, then?"
You whip your head back to Jordan, utterly horrified. "No way. Not that Kyle isn't an absolute dreamboat; he's just not my dreamboat. Plus, at this point, it would be so, so weird."
Jordan laughs. "Y'know, even though we've been work besties for a year, I don't think we've ever discussed this. What is your type? As dudes are not my specialty, I have no clue."
Your type, huh? As if you don't know. Your type's been the same for as long as you can remember. Big and brawny, the kind of guy who could haul you around. Dark hair. Well-groomed, well-dressed, well-endow–You could still make it onto the naughty list.
Using better and cleaner terms, you relay this information to Jordan.
"Huh. A man's man. Whodathunk–oh! Oh shit, look who it is!" The other woman pats your arm and gestures with a nod.
Joining Kyle and his buddies, is none other than John Price - CEO of The 141 Group. Fashionably late (very fashionably late), yet another tradition. Adorned in a Santa red suit jacket and a matching red tie, he somehow makes the boring dress code dashing. Flanking him is a pair of bodyguards. He's just in time for the wager to come to a head.
God, he looks good.
As Kyle's assistant, you see John fairly regularly. Not that he sees you. No one above a certain pay grade sees assistants. You kind of just blend right on in. Not even Mr. Riley, whom you've been introduced to a dozen times by Kyle himself, recalls your name. When you tag along to meetings to take notes for the boss man, you assume you're on the same level as a lamp or plant. That doesn't mean you haven't ogled John Price before. Kind of hard to not to, what with his commanding presence. You're kind of ogling him right now.
"Wow, you really do have a type," Jordan hums with a shit-eating grin.
"Shut up," You hiss into your drink and look away, just in time to see Chad from marketing lift a gift box-shaped ice sculpture and smash it onto the ground next to one of the open bars with a frustrated yell. The poor bartender and caterers jump back, and the music scratches to a halt. A thick silence fell over the party, impressive for a crowd of over a hundred, and your eyes flick to Mr. Price.
He glares daggers in Chad's direction, then nods at the taller of his bodyguards. Without hesitation, the man crosses the event space toward a petrified, drunk-crying Chad. As the guard hauls him away, your coworker, or former coworker, you assume, bursts into ugly tears and then disappears from sight. But your eyes are still on John, whose gaze turns to the DJ. The music starts again, as does the chatter.
"Fuck yes," Jordan giddily whispers.
"Well, shit."
"You know what this means, don't you?"
"...Unfortunately, yes. Yes, I do," You sigh and down the rest of your drink. "Before you swing the axe, let me grab another punch."
"Hurry back, I've got my thinking cap on," Jordan impishly smirks.
With a groan, you make your way to the nearest open bar. One far from Chad's little tantrum. Most folks are on the dance floor at this hour, leaving this particular bar quiet. Waiting in line behind other tipsy coworkers, a clearing throat behind you grabs your attention.
"D'you have a recommendation?" A low, gravelly voice from all your best dreams asks.
You turn, and the sweet Hallmark-worthy image that blossomed in your mind in the last two seconds promptly morphs into a nightmare. Not a running-for-your-life nightmare, but a you're-the-only-naked-person-in-class nightmare. Laughable, considering the topic of conversation not three minutes ago.
John Price stands tall behind you, arms crossed, testing the fabric of his red suit jacket. He smells like tobacco and something spicy, and his eyes are a shade of blue you hadn't noticed before. You never got this close. They narrow slightly, and you realize you haven't answered him.
"Prancer's Punch." The name sounds cornier aloud.
"Hmm. Brandy or rum?" He sounds unimpressed. Was he unimpressed?
You're quicker to answer this time. Except, you babble. "It's, uh, made with dark rum. It's delicious. I've had a few. The cranberry juice isn't too tart, compliments the sparkling wine and–It's good."
Santa, run me over with your reindeer.
Kyle would be humiliated to have heard all of that. You are humiliated for having said all of that.
To your surprise though, the corner of John's mouth hooks in a smirk, then he chuckles. "How many qualifies as 'a few'?"
You, apparently committed to acting moronically, answer honestly. "Five."
It gets you an actual laugh this time. His hand raises up to scritch at his cheek, flashing the band of a watch you're certain is worth more than your life, then juts his chin forward slightly. "You're up, miss."
"Oh, no, Mr. Price, I insist, please-" You start to sidestep to let him up in line, but his hand lowers immediately and stretches out to stop you. He doesn't touch you, but the hair of your arm stands up at the proximity.
John smiles again, and his head tips toward you. "I insist. Join me, Miss…?"
"Mr. Price?" A voice suddenly interrupts. The taller bodyguard that removed Chad steps up and steals away Mr. Price's attention. "The problem's been dealt with. Regarding…"
You don't hear the rest of the conversation because you hurriedly ask for a punch and bolt back to Jordan.
And Jordan saw everything. Your heart is racing, and you miss half of her teasing.
"You made him laugh. Twice. I don't think I've ever seen him smile, let alone laugh."
"Because I basically admitted to being drunk!"
"Calm down, you're not, you're solid," She reassures. "Besides. You saw that death glare at Chad. If he was upset, I reckon you'd be on the receiving end of one of those."
You groan and take a swig of punch. You hope you've had enough of the good stuff to burn away the memory of your embarrassing rambling. You look back to Jordan to say something and find your friend once again grinning devilishly at you.
"I just thought of what I want for my victory."
Any time, Santa. Put me out of my misery.
"What?"
"So…You know #AskPrice?"
You know where this is going, and your eyeballs nearly bulge out of their sockets. "Jordan. Please. No. Do not make me post something stupid there."
#AskPrice was the name of the open channel at work. Anyone across the company could post questions for Mr. Price to answer. More often than not, it was a venue for bootlickers and kiss-asses to rain praises and share bad proposals. Rarely was there a legitimate question or a good idea.
"Darling, of course not. I have something far funnier in mind," She started, and you swore you saw the flames of hell itself in her eyes. "You're going to direct message Mr. Price and ask what he wants for Christmas."
Jaw, meet floor. "Absolutely not!"
Jordan laughs and hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you in. "Come on. It's harmless. Believe me, I considered making you send a selfie or asking if you're on the naughty or nice list."
"He could fire me!"
"For what? It's just a question! He always says we're welcome to DM him."
To be fair, Mr. Price did say that at the end of every company-wide call or in email announcements. He always harps on 'transparency' and 'open channels of communication', hence #AskPrice. To your knowledge, however, no one ever takes him up on that, at least at your level.
"Jordan…Mercy. Please."
"My sweet pine tree, you lost fair and square," She releases you and pats your shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I bet he gets a thousand messages a day. The notification will get lost in the noise."
It doesn't take much more prodding and encouragement from Jordan. Your phone ends up in your hand, and you tap into the chat app. Your hand shakes a little when you pull up John's username and open the message dialogue.
johnprice - invisible
Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas?
Short and to the point. Jordan calls it 'boring', but you're already putting your neck on the line for a stupid wager. You're not risking anymore by dressing it up. Bet fulfilled, you press send, quickly turn notifications off, and shove your phone back into your little purse. Jordan rewards you with a squeeze to the shoulder.
"That was terrifying." You whine.
"That was a rush. Come on. Let's dance."
~~
The next morning, when you're all but molded to your couch and housing takeaway, there's a little ping from your phone. It's the chime of the chat app.
"Kyle, for the love of everything, it's Sunday–"
You nearly drop your phone.
johnprice - invisible
Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas?
> World peace.
> I'd settle for a drink, though.
#call of duty#john price#captain john price#captain price#price x you#price x reader#john price x you#john price x reader#john price x female reader#price x female reader#cod fanfic#cod fic#ceo!john price
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↪ 𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 ( a collection of various settings meant to inspire drabbles or be used as prompts . will be updated . )
001. the seaside , as the sun is setting .
002. a cabin in the middle of the woods .
003. a picket-fenced home in the suburbs .
004. a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .
005. a private jet miles high in the sky .
006. a funhouse’s room of mirrors .
007. an office building , bustling and busy .
008. the back row of an empty movie theater .
009. a run-down (or abandoned) motel room .
010. a loud house party on a suburban street .
011. a university lecture hall during a class .
012. the rooftop of a very tall building .
013. a great ballroom during an elegant party .
014. the back of a wailing ambulance .
015. the wine cellar of a large mansion .
016. behind the school’s gymnasium .
017. a bonfire in the middle of the woods .
018. an otherwise empty parking lot .
019. the bar of a loud , dark club .
020. an empty summer camp .
021. a large hedge maze , easy to get lost in .
022. a neglected or derelict treehouse .
023. a spacious , light-filled meadow .
024. an underground / illegal fighting club .
025. an abandoned scrapyard .
026. a large penthouse overlooking the city .
027. an apple orchard in the middle of spring .
028. an empty playground with squeaky swings .
029. an extravagant greenhouse .
030. the base of a large waterfall .
031. a spacious walk - in closet full of lovely clothes .
032. a quiet hospital room .
033. the dark depths of an abandoned mine .
034. the deck of a fishing boat at night .
035. the thick crowd of an audience at a show .
036. a long , winding road .
037. the site of a car accident .
038. a hiking trail in the mountains .
039. a cramped dressing room .
040. a dusty antiques shop full of relics .
041. the street of an unfamiliar city at night .
042. between the tall shelves of a thrifted book shop .
043. a building abandoned during construction .
044. a house without power or running water .
045. a mysterious trail found in the woods .
046. the back of a taxi stuck in traffic .
047. the inside of an elevator that won’t move .
048. fairgrounds during a large event (or after hours) .
049. a garden bountiful with flowers or produce .
050. a childhood home or bedroom .
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