#this man cares more about the muppet than the muppet cares about him!
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The Day of Darkness
So I've been babying this idea for a week now because BlackIce angst/hurt comfort is my FAVE. So, since Killian is rather official unofficially CS canon, that means he was also around for the Day of Darkness. And I just wanted to see what the could've looked like. Fenagling the regular BlackIce timeline into the CS timelines for funsies!
Around 4.3k words for the curious. If you are unfamiliar with @safyresky characters this will make NO SENSE. Please read Crystal Springs. That is not a request 😌
564 CE
It was just a normal day! Or night where he currently was. That's how these things always start out. Everything is completely fine until it isn't. Killian was out in the field, doing his job. Sitting on a thatched roof in some unnamed human village, surveying the nightmares working en masse in the dimly lit homes. So, so ordinary, until it wasn't.
Until he feels it. A sensation that is very familiar to him, but never in such saturation as this. Almost like a really bad tension headache.
It's the pull of a massive collective fear spiking in Crystal Springs. The combined sense of doom from every citizen rippling through the entire continent. The whole of the country is doused in a terrible dread, and he can feel the pull of such a massive amount of unchecked fear in the back of his head.
And it felt wrong. The entire populace is all scared at once when they definitely shouldnt be. Something has happened and he doesn't know what. Something big. And he can't stand not being in the know. Especially when it's his domain to be concerned with. So he cuts his shift short and races off to Crystal Springs to find out what's got everyone in such a stir.
He trudged through the process of teleporting to the continent with much more difficulty than he was expecting. Something that's usually so effortless had him straining through the process. It left him wondering if he should even think about the possibility of doing that again once he reached his destination. And when he manifested the city center he could see why.
A horrible, terrible blizzard had taken the continent by the throat. Choking out any life that had once been idling in the streets. The gale force winds canceled out any other noise, big or small. And the tiny daggers of ice it carried on its back sliced through any open skin like paper. It was cold and dry and whiter than oblivion in all directions.
The sun was completely blotted out, plunging the magical world into an unusual and foreboding darkness.
The storm's presence assaulted Killian’s bodily senses as he stood in the midst of it. Not only his main five, but his sixth sense of fear factor was through the roof now that he was in the city. He can feel that everybody was hulled up in their homes; across all four corners, everyone feared what this could possibly mean. He stood in the middle of the whipping winds, squinting his eyes to try and see anything of value or use to him to figure this out.
But he did know one thing for absolute certain.
“Motherfucker!” he shouted into the howling winds.
He somehow knows that this whole charade he’s doing will also affect him one way or another. In a way that he definitely won't like dealing with. He can't decide whether he’s surprised about him doing something like this or not. A small part of him wants to believe that maybe this is Winters doing. Maybe he finally broke the poor woman and she finally snapped and went full snow queen on the Springs. But he knew that definitely cant be anyone else but him.
But before he could do any of that there was one place he had to go first. He knew Jack and his family would be doing just fine in a storm like this. One summer and three winter sprites should be able to hold their own.
But it was his own that might be having issues with conditions like these.
Again, it was a surprising trek and a half to teleport to the eastern province. He managed just enough to get to the massive open cave entrance on the evergreen mountain face. He wanted to be inside the thing, but just outside the front door will have to do.
But he didn't have a spare second to collect his thoughts before he was being shoved aside by a swarm of goblin citizens hurtling themselves through the cave entrance. Smacking into the back of his knees and shoving him a little of balance before eventually flowing around him when he didn't move.
The stragglers that were caught outside on their daily commute were trying to run back into the safety of the underground. Some more frostbitten than others depending on how far away they were coming from. The cliffside cave did most of the heavy lifting when shielding the city from the harsh conditions, but only somewhat. The goblin populace was still vastly unprepared for such a sudden onslaught.
But the moment he wasted in observing the chaos was short lived, as he too joined the trickle of people and all but leapt onto the stone path. He slithered through the shadows, swimming from one darkened corner to another at breakneck speeds. On the search for the only one here he really cares about.
He eventually finds Duna huddled up in her home, bundled in a heavy shawl, stoking an infant fire in the fireplace. He reforms just outside the smaller than average door and nearly kicks it off its hinges as he barges in.
“Duna!”
The goblin woman who carried the name turned to see the intruder. Her creased face lighting up upon recognition, nearly stumbling over herself to get to him across the cramped living quarters.
“Killian!” she called back in a thick romanian accent. She ended up squeezing the lower half of his legs before he set to crouch down to her level.
“Killian, that boy needs sense! Și-a pierdut mințile? (Has he lost his mind?)” she said, grabbing onto his collar.
“I have no idea what he’s done, let alone why. Definitely for stupid or petty reasons. Do you have any hypothermia?”
“Fah!” she scoffs with a grin, “Am văzut mai rece decât asta (i've seen colder than this). I lived under Regina Frosti!”
“I know, you're a tough cookie,” he says, “but these are nasty temperatures out there. You're all just lucky that the cave repels a good chunk of it.”
“We can't use the crystal balls,” she sadly explained, “Nothing gets through. Teleporters are down.”
“Yeah I know. Manual teleporting isn't doing much either. It's hard enough to cross provinces, but I bet it's damn near impossible to make it anywhere off continent.” He closes the space between himself and the floor and sits with his legs crossed, “The whole country is scared shitless so I had to come and see what it was about. But now I don't think I can go anywhere else.”
“Desigur că nu (of course not). You're not going anywhere,” she makes her way across the hovel yet again to continue stoking the fire.
“But I can't just sit here. At the very least I can try and find Jack and get him to stop the storm.”
“Use your head, Killian,” she sternly says, “Iarnă (winter) es a very powerful season. She will set things right, as every good mother does.”
His mouth tightens into a line, “I don't know. If she were able to, this storm probably wouldn't even be happening right now. Something isn't right here. And don't you trust my opinion about when things aren't right?”
“You're not going out in that storm,” she demands, pulling up a small wooden stool from the corner, and sitting herself down in front of the fire; sitting the iron poker against the wall with her palms facing the open flames, “Stai pe loc (stay put). The winds bite like dogs. You will freeze.”
He doesn't have any clever retort or valid point to throw back at her. Because he knows that she's right. Teleporting has been made difficult, and he won't last for very long if he just starts wandering out in those conditions. He crosses his arms and stares down at the weathered floorboards to try and think of something else.
“Babau.”
Killian doesn't move but looks up through his browline at the call of his nickname. Duna faces him over her shoulder with an unusually soft grin. A sense of tactness encases her sentiment, “Everyone will be fine. Calmeaza-te (calm yourself).”
And, surprisingly, begrudgingly, he did.
He, along with the rest of the springs, stayed in lock down for another full week. He occasionally lended a hand to Duna as she poured her efforts into helping those being hit the hardest in the town. One piping hot meal at a time. But Killian mostly kept to himself as the week crept on.
The blizzard never getting worse but staying painfully consistent. He watched from his ledge perch handing off the stone ceiling. He watches and he thinks and he waits and he stirs. He tries getting into Jack’s head to see what use this could’ve possibly served. Maybe a little area here and there, but the whole country? He could help but wonder if he’s actually gone off the deep end this time. What on earth would have set him off.
But after the week was up, and after everyone had given the ordeal a somewhat inaccurate name, the storm finally cleared. Everything was still frozen over but the air didn’t hold any malice anymore. The creatures of the springs poked their heads out of their homes to see that they were in the clear.
And now the cleanup work began.
Killian was quick on the uptake and immediately went to Frost manor to see if Jack was lingering around. But not even the usual residents were there. Eventually nearing dusk he managed to find Blaise giving instruction to a group of assumed city council members just outside the springs themselves.
Of course he asked about Jacks’ whereabouts, but his father provided little detail and was very avoidant about whatever thing had transpired that caused the blizzard. Says he wasn't anywhere near Crystal Springs and he hopes it stays that way. Praying for his son's own well being that he never comes near the place again.
When seeing Killian leave, the governor couldn't tell whether he should be angry at him by proxy or to pity the poor fool.
So Killian began a more extensive search for Jack. Another two days went by of him trying to juggle his usual job spreading nightmares and trying to hunt down Jack for an explanation. Of course he checked his home in Sweden first thing, only to turn up empty.
This proved to be the same outcome for other local haunts that he searched along the way. Spots in Norway, Greenland, Canada and Iceland all came up empty. Wherever he was, he was somewhere terribly far away or terribly hidden to avoid any potential fall out. Somewhere he himself probably didn't think too hard about.
And that's when the lightbulb went off.
Baikal.
Killian went trudging through the ankle height snow in the surrounding forests of Lake Baikal in Russia. Sleep deprivation showed on his face and under his eyes, but carried not in his body as he searched. He was perhaps more determined about this than he should've been. A bit more invested in this idea of looking for him than what was necessary. Definitely more than anyone else thought of doing.
You ask anyone else and they’d tell you they were glad he’s flown off to Timbuktu or farther. Happy to be rid of him.
But not Killian. Whether such determination was a good thing or bad thing, he continued onward. Sending out a swath of sentient shadows to cover more area.
It's one of less visited areas outside of work. But he comes here to think and to mess with the lake water during the winter. And after a moment more of almost aimless walking, he thinks he finds him.
A shadow came back with knowledge in tow of a strange fixture in the snow a couple miles ahead. So that's where he went. He slips between shadow and solid form to then search the supposed area of laden activity.
“Jack!” he calls.
It doesn't matter if he wants to talk or not, if he’s outright avoiding him as he wanders the vicinity. Killian has always been an excellent hunter, and he will find him eventually whether or not Jack himself wants to be found.
And it was then that he spotted the structure of snow in the distance. An unnatural rise in the snow levels. Killian moved as fast as he was able in the snow and closed in on the half wall. A wall of packed snow waist level high that formed a perfect circle. Leaning over to look inside the sunken indent was none other than Jack.
Laying on his back facing the heavens, and completely unconscious.
However, as a first reaction, Killian was more irritated at him than anything. Not having put all the pieces together quite yet. Of course he couldn't make this easy for him. He never does after all.
‘Oh for fucks sake.’
“Jack!”
He brute forced his way through the tiny walls that surrounded him, crumbling the snow as he passed through them.
“No sleeping on the job asshole! You got some explaining to do!”
Killian stood over Jack and kicked him in the leg in an attempt to stir him. When that didn't work he tried it a second time but just a little harder. Also a failure. He even tries a third time, even harder. But the physical assault does nothing. At this he cocks an incredulous eyebrow, and annoyingly crouched down to his level.
And it's only when he gets closer does the hostility finally start to dissipate. The hardness in his eyes ever so slightly softens as he gets a better look at the state of him.
He has the odd scorch marks on his sleeves, blackening the area and even exposing the burned skin underneath. More week old burn marks also adorned his hands, and his face was not much better. It was now that he fully settled to be sitting on his knees, gently taking the sides of his face in his hands, leaning in even closer to discern the visible damage.
A micro-bruise on his nose, another scorch mark far up on his forehead and a few shallow, scabbed over cuts in odd places on his face.
Suddenly the mask cracks. The terrifying persona that was The Boogeyman slips away in the cold presence of no one else but him. The silence of the forest around them rings out and imposes itself upon the pair. Killian’s deep and small breaths caught in clouds of white; his thumb absentmindedly running over his cheek.
He wracks his brain on this exact thing that Jack has told him about before. A sprite thing that puts them in a coma or something. He’s said something about it before, but he just couldn't be bothered to care at the time. And for the life of him he can't remember if it was physical or emotional damage that put them out.
He sighs, and lifts his head up to scan the general vicinity. Almost like he was checking to make sure no one else was there. That no one would be there to witness him care about someone. But with the coast abundantly clear, he turned his attention back to Jack and gently set his head down back onto the ground.
He knows that some serious shit has gone down and it is most definitely his fault. But there's not a lot of willing or available testimonies he had access to at the moment. For now, Jack is out of commission and possibly injured. Which means he takes precedence for the moment.
“Don't make me regret doing this,” he quietly warns.
He shifts to be crouching flat on his feet, and with some squirming to get the hold right, he slips his arms underneath Jack and lifts him into a bridal carry. Any limp extremities immediately trying to pill out of grip as he fully stands back up. And with Jack in tow, found and retrieved, they disappear into a swath of darkness.
Promptly reappearing in the dark corner of a bedroom. Jack’s bedroom. He left home a couple hundred years ago and made a new place for himself in northern Sweden. It was modest living compared to Frost Manor, but luxurious to the eyes of the average soul. It was spacious, clean, cold in its own right and at the moment, only illuminated by the beams on the daylight sun breaking through the windows.
Killian took hold of the home's owner and scuffed his boots across the hardwood to the bedside. Trying to set Jack down on top of the comforter as gently as he can muster. Even though he's already kicked the guy thrice and he didn't even twitch, he feels he should be more careful, considering the circumstances.
After setting him down he goes to the window on the adjacent wall and closes the blinds together. He then goes over to one of the nightstands and lights the oil lamp sitting on its surface, diluting the light that's in the room.
His final place is to be seated on the floor, with his back resting against the right side of the bed frame, closer to the headboard. He crumples to the ground and lets out a constricted sigh. His head craned backwards onto the mattress as he ruminates, his heart beating slowly in his chest.
He finds himself oscillating between being mad and irritated at Jack for doing who knows what, burning with intrigue about what exactly he did do, or being concerned for his well being. The latter option being only relegated to this room. Only in his presence will he ever be concerned about him.
‘What did you do…?’ he thought to himself.
In any case, his partner being unconscious after making a blackout storm was not something he thought he was going to have to deal with. All he knows right now is that all of this will surely come back to bite them both in the ass.
...............................................................
What he also didn't expect to deal with was the fall out coma of “The Day of Darkness” to last roughly another two weeks.
Crystal Springs was in the middle of trying to get itself back in working order. It was a large scale job that required all hands on deck. Of course he tried to further track down Blaise or Winter for an explanation on what exactly happened, but both were thrown here and there in the effort to dissipate the remaining ice. And even when he did manage to corner one of them, they both brushed him off and avoided the topic like the plague.
Blaise ignored him in favor of the thaw job at hand, simply having more important things to do. And his fiery temper sparking in and out of conversation in the lurch of the dreaded events, made him a less than ideal conversation partner.
And he never did talk to Winter directly after the fact. She somewhat joined her husband's efforts in defrosting the springs. But she provided even less conversation than Blaise. Her face lived in a permanent state of forlorn. Of grief. And she just wasn't around as much to try and bother with his questions. Blaise said she was at home taking care of Jacqueline and wasn't seeing any visitors. End of story.
Which means waiting for Jack to come to for his inevitably skewed explanation was now more of an anxious wait. The days went by and waiting for him to wake up was the only thing Killian could do. And usually he was pretty patient, after all you don't get a good scare unless you learn to wait for the right moment.
But this was different.
Like many things in his life, it was different because it was him. He was assured that a sprite sleep would do nothing but help, but he didn't like Jack being out for this long. It doesn't sit right with him. It reminded him of looking at a perfectly preserved corpse, and now in a fun way.
Like on his search, he did go about his job like usual, after all there was plenty of fear fodder to sow in the wake of such a continent wide disaster. Everyone had their own reservations about such an event. But he couldn't seem to fully enjoy the process.
He checked in nearly everyday to see if there was any progress. Just for a few minutes or so, just to see if he was still there. Check to see the healing process on his superficial wounds that he ended up cleaning a while back.
He visited for two more weeks before something changed. It happened when he wasn't even there.
Jack finally woke up in the middle of dusk, just as the sun was starting to set. The first thing he could see through squinted eyes was the color orange poking through the drawn blinds. It saturated the color of the ceiling above him as his vision slowly came into focus. His breathing came back to life in deeper pulls as he fully came to.
At first, he silently questioned why and how he woke up at home when he distinctly remembers falling asleep in the Russian woods. He works his memory backwards, retracing the steps he took to get there and then suddenly remembered the gravity of the situation.
His heart rate spikes just a touch at the memory of how he left. What he did. He slowly sat up on the bed and receded into the mindscape. He went searching and found the things that he was looking for; his tethers to things he chose to abandon.
He checked Jacqueline’s line first and foremost. Glowing a bright and strong light, signaling to him that she survived. And by all accounts he should be far more concerned for these people than he is. But for now, her being alive was good enough for him.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes as he walls off the connection tying them together. Nothing getting in or out.
Then he turned his attention to his mother’s line. Less glowy than his sisters, dull and almost limp. But just the thought of having that old thing still around stirred in him the anger he thought he left at the front porch. His next in line, a child’s line he wouldn't think of cutting. But his mothers? He needed no invitation.
He tore the thing in half and watched with the mind's eye as the rest of the glow disappeared and the thread fell to the ground. Something as taboo as that should have warranted far more thought beforehand. Drastic measures like these were not to be taken lightly. But to him? At this moment? Both of these troublesome little things are now out of sight and out of mind. He only hopes and prays that it doesn't take too long for him to forget they were ever there in the first place.
It's better this way.
After the fact he sat there for a moment. Getting himself in order in a room he doesn't remember entering, looking out to a world he left an indefinite amount of time ago. Gathering his thoughts, and pushing away and lingering feelings. An ice cold stare to oblivion.
But the world won't wait for him any longer. He doesn't know how long he’s been out, so he supposes that should be the first order of business; finding out what day it is. He stood up beside the bed and smoothed out any noticeable creases in his clothes. But he couldn't get even two steps toward the door when the night shift entered.
The darkness in the corner of the room deepend and writhed with activity, spitting out Killian in a slight hurry to check on Jack before work. But there was no need.
They both paused for a long moment and stared at the other for very different reasons. Neither one of them fixing to make the first move anytime soon.
Of course, Jack managed to forget one loose end. The only string still attached. The pieces started coming together that he must have been the one to move him during his sleep. And he quickly realizes that this poses a new problem.
He can avoid his family well enough, hell he could even avoid the entity of the springs if he has to. But him? There's no avoiding him. Not for now at any rate. And he definitely can't know the extent of what he did. The events of what went down need to stay secret. Because as much of an obstacle he is at the moment…he can't get rid of him just yet.
But he didn't have any more time to plan for such contingencies, when Killian came crashing into him; trapping him in a deceptively constricting hug. The amount of worry made abundantly clear through his grip and lack of words. He sewed his eyes tightly shut, and held onto him like he was going to fall unconscious all over again.
Jack was caught off guard for a minute, just sitting there letting him continue. Until he realized that he can put off spinning a cover up story for later.
He hugs back with minimal effort. The arms hanging off of his back nearly limp, ready to slip off at a drop of a hat. But even still he relaxed into the hold nevertheless. Not making any moves to avoid it or pull out of it, but just waiting for it to be over. He leaned his head against his shoulder, turning into the crook of his neck.
He smelled like firewood and iron.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Killian mumbled.
“I know,” Jack responded dryly, “I know…tell you over dinner?”
“It better be one hell of a dinner. It might be your last meal, so make it count.”
#musings#The Santa Clause#BlackIce#cs au#oops spoilers#this man cares more about the muppet than the muppet cares about him!#its a canon event#i cannot change this
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It's a reoccurring pattern with Steve, getting come out to and then instantly shitting on the person's taste in people.
Robin comes out to him and tells him she liked Tammy 'The Muppet' Thompson and Steve immediately jumps onto making fun of her because obviously, he will. She sounds like a goddamn muppet! Robin may deny it, but he knows she knows he's right. And he never lets her forget it.
After the Byers family moves back to Hawkins, Steve gets closer to the Byer-Hopper twins (Not blood related twins, but with how similar they are they might as well be). He takes note of the way Will carries himself, the way he stares at Micheal Asshole Wheeler of all people when he thinks no one is looking.
The kid doesn't come out that quickly, so with Robin's advice, Steve takes his time, making it known how okay he was with Will's sexuality, even if he did have standards low enough to beat Robin's terrible Tammy Thompson taste (He says this to her and she reacts as predictably as ever- by throwing something at him).
When Will does come out to him, Steve makes sure he only freezes for a literal second, not wanting the kid to panic like he'd seen Robin do back then. Of course, as soon as he's done comforting and reassuring the kid that he's completely fine with him being gay, he immediately jumps onto making fun of his terrible crush on Mike, finding great joy in the bright blush burning the teen's face.
The next time someone comes out to him, he's more caught off guard than he was with Robin.
Not because he was shocked that Eddie liked guys, no. He might be stereotyping a little, but no straight guy goes that close to another man and calls him Big Boy all low and seductively, a teasing grin curling his lips, a glint in his eyes-
You get the point.
The reason why he's shocked is because Eddie comes out to him, and when Steve asks about crushes, Eddie says,
"Oh, I had the worst crush on you in high school."
Steve sits there, his jaw practically on the ground. The way Eddie says it, all casual, not caring about the consequences or the effect it has on Steve.
"Wh- I- Me?" He stammered out, incredulous. "Dude, I was the biggest asshole back then!"
Eddie chuckles at that, a low sound that sends further heat into Steve's already flushed body. "The me back then did not give a shit, let me tell you that man." He turns to Steve then, giving him a slow look, a gaze more like, and smirks. "I certainly understood why the ladies were so desperate for you and your gorgeous locks."
His heart is pounding like crazy, an audible thump in his ears. Thoughts race in his head, one after the other, all jumbled up until what comes out of Steve's mouth next is,
"So what, you've got a thing for douchebags? Seriously?"
Eddie shoots him another look, more confused than ever. "What?"
"You heard me," Steve says, feeling the next words come out of his mouth like a waterfall. "I was a huge asshole in high school dude. How the hell did you have a crush on me back then? Did you seriously have no standards? You'd really stoop that low just because I had nice hair? I have good hair, and I'm nice now! What's stopping you from-"
Steve cuts himself off with an audible clack of his teeth, a sound that most often comes from Robin when she shuts herself up.
Goddamnit Robin.
Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, the cigarette between his fingers burning away. Steve wants to watch the smoke curl away, but he's too transfixed on Eddie's doe-like gaze.
Then Eddie's features smooth over, a terrible, terrible grin curling its way onto his lips, deepening that dimple on his cheeks. He leans forward eyes lidded just slightly, and says,
"What's stopping me from what, sweetheart?"
#woo#that was impulsive#im practicing with my characterisation and im not sure if i wrote these two well enough#pls be honest i wanna write fics on these guys#steddie#stranger things 4#st4#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#robin buckley#will byers
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The Things I Never Said: Part 2
Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
Summary: upon learning about your pregnancy simon thinks there are things he needs to take care of.
Word Count: 1.2k
Tw: Angst, fluff, hurt with a lot of comfort, banter. The task force is there for you💞 i think that's it✨
A/N: here it is, i never planned a second part so forgive me if it's not as good! Still hope you like it. Already working on a request that's similar to this one🐸✨ thank you so much for all the support. Reblogs and comments are appreciated! Remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome🩵
Masterlist✨ | Part 1 | Part 3
Simon pulls you closer to his body, one arm draped over your form and hand resting on your stomach. The storm is raging outside, the thunder startles you every five minutes. You stay there in complete silence as the realization of this whole thing settles in your minds. He wants you to be safe now more than ever that's why when he's reliving the events of the day it hits him. He had thought the worst, that you were abandoning him, that you got tired of him. Simon would never say this to you but losing you would be the end of him. Enraged and with his heart racing he had hopped on his motorcycle. The soft caressing of his fingers stops abruptly, body going rigid behind you. You turn your face in worry.
"Simon?" You call him. You were beginning to fall asleep. "What is it?"
"That fuckin' muppet." He snarls. "I was so caught up in you leaving that I'd forgotten he hit you. That cunt... fucking Christ." He sits. "Let me see." He lifts your shirt just above your belly with gentle hands.
"Love, I'm... it's fine." Simon sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes land on the bruised area of your skin.
"What did the doctor say?" He demands, eyes somber.
"She said i should stay in bed for a few days and to not lift heavy things or you know just... overwork myself."
Simon rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands, disgruntled.
"This is on me... my bloody fault"
"Hey, stop now." You stand up, coming to a sitting position to mirror his stance. "You didn't know." Soft hands fall on both sides of his face. "I should've told you before this happened, if anything this is on me."
"If something happened to you i would never forgive myself, kid. Lie down. You need to rest. I'll be here when you wake up."
-
Simon's been waiting for this day since the incident. You're still at home, recovering from what could've ended with you in a hospital bed and a broken heart.
"You sure about this, Sir?" Gaz asks, worried about what might happen. "It's just training right?"
"Just training." Simon's eyes are set on that bastard. Craning his neck he steps on the sparring mat. As much as he wanted to go find him and kill him he couldn't do such thing. But after the images that flooded his mind made him realize how dangerous it had been. What could potentially have happened the rage within him is boiling his blood. And now he needs somebody to pay the price. Choices have consequences and he nearly had a painful one. If he had insisted just more...
Breathing harshly he looks him in the eye. Poor muppet doesn't know what's coming for him. He stands there confidently, thinking he has a chance against Ghost. Not Simon, the man only she gets the chance to see.
This is Ghost about to fight.
-
For some reason you decided to stop by the local pastry shop and bring something for the task force. You're feeling much better so that's why you're walking down the corridor of the military compound. With a shirt that's nearly too oversized a pair of combat boots and a cap. You figured you could have these outside of the base and enjoy a nice day with your teammates. You missed them already. Since Simon had been reluctant to leave your side, and you loved it that's for sure, but he wouldn't let you do much as simple tasks like washing the dishes or doing the laundry.
Walking past the doors you're greeted with loud cheering and yelling at the two men in the middle of the mat. Your smile quivers until you process the scene in front of you. Not surprised, not worried. He's gonna be just fine. The other poor boy... Price is the first to notice you, approaching you in three long strides. He had decided to stop by and watch, that's how they sort things out.
"Here, let me help you with that." He takes most of the desserts from your hands, scrutinizing your features with slight concern. Your eyes glued to Simon's hulking body. "I'm gonna assume he doesn't know you're here. Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I'm not on duty, Captain."
"I'm not asking as your Captain but as a friend."
You turn to face him with the ghost of a smile on your lips.
"I'm feeling better so I wanted to see you all, maybe we could have these together as soon as Simon is done with his personal grudge."
Price chuckles. Reluctant to see the rest of the fight, you keep talking to John until it comes to an end. More cheers and clapping echoing around the place. You take a quick glance and get a glimpse of the younger soldier limping while he plops down on a near bench, his teammates gathered around him holding a towel out for him to clean up his face. Footsteps approach you and Price, Simon's frowning behind the mask you can tell by the way the corner of his eyes wrinkle.
"Hey little lady!" Soap greets you with a big smile, hugging you tightly. "Heard you got all knocked up!"
"For fucks sake, Johnny!" Gaz scolds him. "Have some more respect for the girl."
Johnny rolls his eyes feigning annoyance letting Kyle hug you too.
"Don't bet mad at him. We all know why he had to do it." He whispers before pulling away.
When Simon joins you, you're aware of what's coming.
"You're out of bed." He points out, blankly.
"It's been almost a week. As long as I don't lift heavy things I'll be alright. Remember?" You speak back. You reach out for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. The rest of the team silently walks away to the outside giving you some privacy. Simon studies you, all of you. There's a spark of worry in his blue eyes that you don't like. "Don't worry about me anymore."
He pulls you closer, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he inhales deeply.
"Is that my shirt, doll?" He asks in a hushed tone. You chuckle, burying your face in his chest.
"I missed you, and it smells like you." Simon prompts you softly to start walking outside and join the rest. "You're not hurt, are you?" You stare up at him.
"Don't you worry about me, he wasn't able to land one single hit, love."
You pull him down kissing over the black balaclava where his lips would be.
"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not telling you Simon." You sigh.
"I understand now why you didn't, kid. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself for not making you feel safe enough to tell me. If anything I'm to blame."
"Is there any chance I may touch your belly?" Soap asks as soon as you sit down next to him.
"Yes." You reply with a wide smile.
"No." Simon growls at the same time.
"Jesus! I suppose that naming the child after me is also off the table?"
"Absolutely."
A round of laughs echoing around and along the backyard. Your eyes scanning every person gathered in this very moment. Loyalty, admiration, respect and love.
A family of your own that would soon get a new addition.
"What if it's a beautiful girl?" Gaz interrogates.
Everyone goes silent.
"Fucking hell." Simon whispers.
He's fucked.
#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mwii#cod#cod mw2#cod x reader#cod ghost#cod mw22#simon ghost x reader#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost imagine#john price x reader#soap mactavish x reader#gaz x reader#call of duty ghost simon riley#cod simon ghost riley#fanfic
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he washes your hair
Injured in the line of duty, you can't even manage to wash your own hair. Captain John Price decides to help you out.
MDNI/18+
TW: hurt/comfort, injury
https://archiveofourown.org/works/50663425
The medics did the best they could to patch you up, but the damage was extensive. The terrorist’s pipe bomb had exploded against your back, slamming shrapnel into your arms and shoulders, tearing your flesh and breaking your left collarbone. The doctor had tried to put your arm in a sling, but you couldn’t raise either arm above the midpoint. As you dragged your body back to your quarters, you did your best to get undressed, but you were now stuck, sitting on the floor, crying a bit from the pain and frustration of your injuries.
There was no one to help you. You were stuck out here with the task force, but Soap and Ghost were still deep in enemy territory on recon. Gaz had gone with Laswell to find the weapons shipment that she’d promised you, and the only one left in the makeshift house-turned-base was Captain Price.
You told yourself you’d do the same thing for him if the tables were turned, but it didn’t lessen the shame at all. You called his cell,
“Cap?”
“Sparrow? What’s wrong?”
You never called him like this. Not at this hour. But, knowing you were injured, he picked right up. His voice was full of concern. You could picture his blue eyes shining with his worry.
“Nothing…” you paused, “Well, I…”
“Gonna die of old age before you tell me, soldier.”
You smiled, biting the bullet,
“Cap, I need your help. I’m stuck in here. Can’t move my arms.”
“On my way,” he hung up.
You waited, listening for his heavy footsteps. Eventually, you heard him in the hall. He knocked on your door.
“Come in,” you said, turning your eyes to the floor, unable to meet his gaze, full of shame.
You were sitting there, in nothing but the shirt stuck around your arm and a pair of panties. You’d been successful with the rest of your outfit, proud of yourself for using a coat hanger to take off your bra from the back clip, but now you were trapped, unable to move even a little without being in excruciating pain.
“Poor little bird. Broke your wing, hm?” Price smiled down at you, his tone so different than his usual sarcasm.
“I must look pretty pitiful for you to be so sweet about it,” you rolled your eyes, “Go on, have a laugh. I’m a muppet who trapped herself in her own shirt.”
He didn’t say anything. Price walked over to you carefully, bending down so he could reach you, his hulking body darkening your vision, casting his huge shadow over you, almost protectively. He snaked his hand under the collar of your shirt and guided it up and over your head, careful not to disturb your bandages.
Shirtless, now, and in just your underwear, you moved to cover your breasts, wincing as you made the attempt, your shoulder angry at the bent angle.
“It’s alright, birdie. Let’s get you up,” he set your arm back into its neutral position and guided you to your feet.
“I’m so sorry you had to come,” you whispered, shameful to the point of pain.
Price guided you to the bathroom, his strength making you feel weightless. You were dizzy from it. His warm body felt like a salve on your wounds.
He didn’t ask for permission when he stripped off your panties, kneeling to pull them off of your legs, letting you step gingerly out of them, one by one. You steadied yourself on his huge shoulders, the agony too high for you to complain any longer. Your breath caught in your chest when a sharp spike of hot pain shot through your chest.
“Ah! Christ,” you gritted your teeth.
Blue eyes looked up at you from below, looking like a man in prayer, looking up for his gods, for a sign.
“Alright, Spar? Here, sit. Sit down,” he guided you to the side of the shower-tub combo, placing you between the open plexiglass doors.
“Captain, I…” you tried to make your excuses again.
“Shh,” he wiped some of your dried blood off of your cheek, and furrowed his brow at you, “No more of that. That’s an order, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir,” you grimaced, trying to turn on the water.
“Stop, birdie. Let me help you.”
You were too tired to fight him. He turned on the water for you, and he started to remove your bandages. Your wounds needed to be cleaned and the bandages replaced. You weren’t sure how the medics expected you to do that by yourself. You thought the captain might be willing to stay, so you tried to be good, tried not to be a burden to him.
“You know,” he commented as he waited for the water to warm up, reaching for clean towels, “Laswell called. She said you saved those two girls, the ones in the upstairs room.”
There had been a mess of civilians on this last mission, and you had blocked the bomb with your body, trying to shield them from the blast.
“They made it through?” You wanted to be sure.
He nodded, smiling,
“Sure did, little bird. You did good. Made us proud,” then, he corrected himself, staring at you with fiery intent, “Me. Made me proud.”
You smiled back,
“Thanks, Captain.”
“C’mon, let’s get you clean,” he took off his shirt and you gaped in awe.
His body was huge in the small bathroom, enormous shoulders bulging off of his heavy frame, and his core was thick but the top of his abs were sticking out, suggesting a well-fed but strong man. He was covered in dense hair, laying straight and flat against his skin, unshaven and untrimmed. No one to trim it for, you supposed.
“What are you doing?” You asked, shocked by his undressing.
Price unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking as it dangled, and started to take off his pants, using his toes to pry off his boots from the heel,
“Can’t wash yourself, and I can’t reach you from out here. Gonna jump in and help you,” he paused, looking at you carefully, “That alright, birdie?”
Your nickname was your favorite thing you’d ever gotten from him. When he used it, in his thick accent, it made your heart race.
You nodded, resigning yourself to be as professional as you could, averting your eyes.
He chuckled, rich and deep,
“Might as well have a butcher’s now, love. Gonna be up close and personal.”
You looked at him then, accepting his challenge. But, as your eyes raked over his nude form, you saw his skin flush pink, a little more self-conscious than he let on.
“I know, I know. Old dog like me, I’m nothing to look at. I promise, I’ll just wash you and get back out. Sorry about all the…” he made a general motion toward his cock, which was hanging heavy and half-hard at the sight of you, “Can’t help that you’re a pretty bird.”
“John, you’re plenty to look at,” you grinned, blushing right along with him.
For once in his life, John Price didn’t have a snappy response. He just checked the water again and helped you stand up, guiding you into the shower and repositioning the head so that it wouldn’t hit you directly.
You let yourself soak under the stream, eyes closed, hearing him shut the door behind himself. You felt him steady you with a hand on your hip as he used a gentle washcloth to clean blood off of your skin, careful not to touch your wounds.
“Turn ‘round, love,” his voice was so low, you almost couldn’t hear him.
You turned toward him, watching him stand before you, breathing heavier, trying his best not to stare at your chest. It was easy at first. As he cleaned your face, his touch soft and platonic, he stole a few glances down. But, as he began to take care of your collarbone and chest, he lost his nerve a bit. At one point, he stopped mid-swipe, trying to clean blood from you and then watching as a long, thin rivulet ran directly over your nipple.
You smiled, and he saw you, chuckling again.
“Got me. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Captain. Just a natural response.”
He pulled back his lips from his teeth and ran a wet hand down his face, looking exasperated,
“Do you want…I mean, do you mind if I…” he let out a labored sigh, shaking his head.
“You can, John. I…” you waited until he could look you in the face again, “I want you to touch me, if you want to.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, not really to you, “Look, I don’t want you to feel - ”
You leaned forward, a bit unsteady, and kissed the skin on his sternum, feeling the hairs on your lips, his wet skin sticking to you as you pulled away.
“Little bird,” he was warning you. You could hear it in his tone.
“Kiss me, John. Please?”
“I can’t. I can’t because I won’t stop. I don’t have an abundance of self-control. Not after a mission. Can’t be trusted.”
“I trust you,” you looked up at him, praying back to him, hoping he wanted you like you had wanted him over these last six months.
Price leaned down, holding you steady, and kissed you very chastely. You kissed him back, not chastely at all. He moaned, pulling away,
“Don’t, Spar. I can’t…You’re injured.”
“Yeah, injured. Not dead.”
He smirked, unable to keep the grin off his face. His cock was as hard as a stone, and it was long enough to rub against your belly as you stood together in the small space.
“Let me wash your hair. I’ll think about it, birdie…you little minx,” his last comment was said under his breath, full of hungry desperation.
He turned you around again, and he reached for the shampoo, pouring out a quarter-sized amount into his calloused palm. Rubbing it together in his hands, he ran it through your scalp, massaging it until it foamed, making sure to take care of the ends. Then, he held you while you stood under the spray, letting the warm water soak your tresses, running the suds down the drain.
As he prepared to wash your body, Price took a deep breath. He stayed away from your wounds, but as he started to wash your trunk, he hesitated to soap your breasts.
“John, it’s okay.”
He smiled at you,
“Just enjoying you, little bird. Might not get another chance.”
“I’ll make sure you get plenty of chances.”
He was on you then, gently caressing your breasts and nipples with the soap, rubbing his body on yours, washing himself as he cleaned you. He ran his hands over your ass cheeks, down your legs, making sure to take care of your whole body as if it was his.
“Alright, all done,” he sighed, “Let’s get those dressings replaced, and I’ll take you to bed.”
You raised your eyebrows suggestively. He exhaled, smiling down at you in disbelief, his voice deep and ragged,
“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Keep teasin’ me and I bloody will take you to bed.”
You smiled, laughing with him, enjoying his warmth as you leaned your body against his, letting the soft spray from the shower protect you both, cocooned together, safe and sound.
#captain john price#john price#john price x you#john price x reader#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price x you#cod mwii#cod mw2#cod#cod fanfic#cod fic#call of duty fanfic
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𝙒𝙄𝙎𝙃 𝙄 𝘿𝙄𝘿𝙉'𝙏 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙀
☾ how the cod men act when they're jealous.
141 + ALEJANDRO + RUDY + GRAVES + FRANK X F!READER
TAGS | female reader.
WC | 1,449
☾ JOHN PRICE has always felt very secure in himself, his work, and the relationships with those he cares about - that extends to you tenfold. he’s not one to get into a relationship if he doesn’t feel like you won’t or can’t be faithful 100%. and that’s why he never truly gets jealous - because he knows you and he knows you love him and wouldn’t try to mess around. if some muppet tries hitting on you at the pub, he’ll only get involved because he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.
but john isn’t completely immune from jealousy. while he never worries about some other bloke sweeping you off your feet, his jealousy comes through when he feels as if someone else is outshining him. john has a tendency to be distant, and even when he’s beginning to feel that distance, work can pull him even further away. so if he sees you getting your laughs or comfort from someone else, it kinda tugs at his heart. makes him wish he was doing it instead.
☾ GAZ never truly lets things get under his skin if he doesn’t deem them important enough to, and jealousy is one of those things. of course, he likes having all of your attention. but it’s hard to really feel threatened when he’s the one who brought you to the pub, arm over your shoulders, showing you off and giving lots of kisses and doesn’t really give a fuck who sees. cheeky as he is, kyle might even revel in the onlookers who start to feel jealous of him.
and if there’s anything to be jealous about, it’s the bottle that you hold so tightly in your hands and bring to those gorgeous lips. it’s toward the music itself for making you move so slowly and sexily. it’s at the liquor that plasters a grin on your face when gaz can usually do it himself. he does later, rest assured - makes dumb jokes to make you laugh while he runs your hands all over his body for you. and there’s nothing left to be jealous over.
☾ SOAP is a man who’s pretty in touch with his feelings. he knows when he starts feeling jealous, when it starts making him act up, and he always feels bad about it. there’s few people in the world soap trusts more than you - yet, he gets that hot, tight knot in his gut whenever he hears your laughter and he’s not the cause of it. when someone else seems to gain your attention more easily than he can. soap will push it down, try to act nonchalant, like it doesn’t bother him. but it does. other people pick up on it and that just makes it worse.
later on, when he finally gets you to himself, soap is talkative - more than usual. like if he keeps rambling about random topics, it’ll make up for lost time. at least in his mind. you eventually have to slow him down with a kiss, ask if everything is alright. you know soap better than he knows himself - of course you picked up on the shift in his mood. that simple fact helps soothe away the last lickings of jealousy. he still feels stupid about letting himself get like that.
☾ GHOST wouldn’t even realize he was jealous until someone else points it out. he’s usually gruff and stoic and glaring at people so his signs of jealous takes the form of not talking at all. and lots of staring. scowling is probably a better word for it - if looks can kill and all that. he internalizes his own behavior as simple concern over you, or something about the situation just not feeling right. he still memorizes the face of the guy who’s been chatting you up. sticks him all the way to the top of his shit list.
ghost doesn’t really interfere, not unless he feels like he has to (though, he’ll move around the goalposts of when the appropriate time is.) until then, he kinda just sulks by himself. not even soap can muster more than a couple words from him. and you can really feel his jealousy once he’s got you by his side again and he’s barely talking to you and glaring because he’s in a general shit mood. you ask him what’s wrong, and he says it’s nothing. it’s not until later, in private, when he reflects and feels like a total ass.
☾ ALEJANDRO is quite known for his hot temper, but when it comes to jealousy, he becomes more of an opportunist. instead of embarrassing you and himself by acting out on his jealousy, he’ll take the burning feeling and turn it into something useful. this means coming up to you, pulling you against his side, looking directly at the guy who’d been chatting you up, and really laying it on thick. kisses you, touches you, makes sly little comments. might kick it up a notch by saying some lowkey insults at the guy, knowing he wouldn’t do anything but alejandro kinda wishes he would.
he’ll act all innocent if you confront him about it. tell you he just likes showing you off because you’re too fucking cute and he loves you too much. but that act doesn’t hold up for very long because alejandro isn’t great at subtly. he ends up just insulting the guy even more to you by saying he was an idiot and didn’t deserve you and he kinda smelled anyway so why would you ever give him the time of day?
☾ RUDOLFO gets a bit of a Kicked Puppy Vibe whenever he’s jealous. he can be a sensitive person and feels the loss of your presence in his very soul. he really does try to ignore that ugly, twisted feeling inside him whenever the jealous gets especially potent. he wants to enjoy the night with the rest of los vaqueros, but rudy always seems to find you in the crowd. always frowns a little when he finds you enjoying the company of someone else a little too much. always stops himself from going and stealing your attention for himself.
but later on, his affection gets amped up to the max. rudy usually shines under your attention, and tonight is only worse. honestly gets a little clingy for the rest of the night, and seems to feel a little better when you blame it on the alcohol. of course, rudy knows himself well enough to know what he’s doing. feels a little embarrassed by it, so maybe some of his many kisses are his way of subtly apologizing for it.
☾ PHILLIP GRAVES does not get jealous at all. not at all. why should he care if some loser is making you laugh so hard at jokes that aren’t even funny? he only steps in because this guy is so wildly unfunny, and also kinda creepy, that graves is afraid you might just die of boredom. and as you know, phillip’s a heroic guy. as your boyfriend and commander, it’s his job to keep you safe from any and all threats big, or in this guy’s case, very small.
graves couldn’t hide his jealousy to save his own life. he likes to believe he’s smart and cunning and doesn’t let dumb shit get to him - and that’s true for a lot of things. but as soon as you gets you all to himself. he’s got this primal need to pull you close and remind you just who the fuck you belong to. he doesn’t think of it as proving himself, but the marks on your neck say otherwise…
☾ FRANK WOODS gets jealous more often than he’ll admit it. it’s going to be loud and it’s going to be obvious. and he’ll deny it - insist he isn’t the jealous type and he’s got more self-respect than all that. but he’s not nearly as subtle as he tries to be. it’s so easy to catch his gaze from across the room when someone happens to get a little too friendly. he’ll say over and over how he isn’t jealous, and in the same breath, stand between you and the dick talking to you and start throwing out insults.
even if you call him out on it later, frank doesn’t seem to care. in fact, he’ll look damn proud of himself. he’s always had this instinct to protect what’s his. always had this tendency for possessiveness. if he’s in a good mood, he’ll crack a dumb joke about the guy and move on. if not, he might think you were trying to make him jealous. but of course, that would mean admitting he was jealous in the first place.
#call of duty x reader#cod fanfic#cod x reader#simon riley x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#captain price x reader#ghost x reader#john price x reader#phillip graves x reader#rudolfo parra x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x reader#soap x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#frank woods x reader
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Too Sweet For Me
Summary: It was the annual Military Ball, the fifth one since you and John have been married in secret. With his new promotion as Captain, meant a whole ball park of responsibilities he was still getting used to—but nothing gets to him more than the mere sight of you, his beautiful darling in the dress he always loves. It was also something to prepare for with the new changes that came to this year’s ball.
Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Kate Laswell.
Word Count: 2,190
Chapter Warnings: None.
Author's Note: this was also supposed to be for @glitterypirateduck's O'Captain challenge but my appendix had other plans for me this past few days. Lol.
Inspired by this song (obviously)
Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open || Join My Taglist
“Darling.” You couldn’t help but smile at your husband’s pained groan.
With a red backless dress, you know you would turn heads with your outfit and even more certain that your husband would be killing a few men if you weren’t too careful about him.
“Behave.” You pulled away from him as soon as you felt his hands hold onto the small of your exposed back. You turned to face him, seeing him so handsome in his ceremonial uniform, an upgrade since his new promotion.
“I don’t think I can see myself behaving with you looking so ravishing.” He muttered approaching you again and pulling you into another kiss, allowing him this one time since you have yet to put your make up on. “Will this be a problem for tonight?” He playfully warned.
“If you keep your hands to yourself it won’t.” You playfully pointed out pecking him on the lips one last time before turning your attention back to your vanity mirror to put on your makeup. “I’m surprised that you actually plan on coming to this year’s event. I’d expect you to just stay home after the last mission.” You pointed out.
Behind the bravado and the handsome uniform your husband had on, was a broken but healing man that just got back from a mission. A few scrapes and bruises you all know too well were hidden perfectly well, but the black eyes was something that would take more than an ice pack and makeup to actually cover.
“Better to be there to see what those muppets have planned.” He grumbled.
You had accidentally let it slip that there was going to be an auction for this year’s event and you had volunteered to be part of the auction. A simple date that you were certain meant absolutely nothing but it was for a great cause and you couldn’t really fault them with.
Your husband was still apprehensive about the fact, especially knowing that no one was made aware of your relationship to each other. Everyone was given the fact that you were both good friends that had been on countless missions together. It was nothing but friendship between the two of you if you were ever spotted in town together even when the both of you knew it was something more.
“It’s just one date, even Kate is joining along.” You tried your best to reassure him but it wasn’t happening whatsoever with the deep frown resting on his lips.
“Just because I agreed to this doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” He muttered under his breath, finally resigning by your decision, which you were thankful for. No need for you to try to convince him with anything.
“You owe me for this. I need some kind of motivation for tonight not to blow someone’s head.” He muttered.
And you spoke too soon.
“How about a day or two in that ritzy cabin you’ve been pestering me about for weeks now.” You offered.
One thing you truly hated was being too out of touch with society if you could avoid it. You have to do it for work, you weren’t so keen on doing it in your personal time if you didn’t have to. But your husband just was a recluse when he wants to be and this was one of those many instance that he will have his way.
“Deal and the ring stays on so they know you’re mine.” He muttered.
You smiled, lifting your hand up for him to see the sparkle of your engagement and wedding ring still nestled on your finger. Even without him saying it, you wouldn’t even dream of removing it.
~
The newly promoted Captain John Price should have been at the top of the world because of his new title, but it was far from the reality of it as he watched his beloved wife continue to mingle amongst both officials and fellow soldiers. It still shook him to the core how someone like you could command yet bring comfort to anyone that was privileged to be in your presence.
But that was just what made him love you so much. How someone like you, a Lieutenant to his own position as a Sergeant would never once use your position to demean him or treat him as anything less than you were. Some may say your call sign as Rookie to be an insult, a way to make you less than what you truly were, but you proved time and time again that it was a reassurance to anyone lower than you that you will stand on equal footing as them if the need arises especially on missions.
“Rookie’s already stealing the spotlight.”
John turned his attention to one unfortunate woman he had the misfortune of meeting in his life that turned his whole world upside down. Kate Laswell was an intelligent woman—far too much for her own good at times but she was the best of the best in her line of work. She was one of the main reasons why he was placed in a mission that ended with him finally climbing the ranks.
“As she should.” John agreed, subtle in his comments as to avoid anyone, especially Laswell from thinking anything was going on between the two of you.
“I still can’t believe she refused the promotion.” She continued taking a swig at the whiskey she was cradling, only bringing a craving for one in John himself.
“I’ve heard. I don’t think she’d be a good fit with the paperworks from the looks of it.” He added.
Of course he knew the very reason why you had refused the promotion on your own end. You were in all accounts a better fit than him to become a Captain, a rank that had been a well-deserved position for everything you’ve done but every single time the topic would be brought up you had threatened retirement or AWOL if anyone pushes. You never truly saw yourself as someone that would be working behind the desk, you couldn’t help and navigate dealing with officials, you admit you were never built for such capabilities.
“I believe she is. You should have seen her chew on Shepherd during the last mission. She’s got guts and a heart that not something you see in the field often.”
He nodded, that was what made you special. He watched you now begin a lengthy conversation with the well-known and very much feared soldier Ghost. How you had been the only one to hold a conversation and not trembled at the sight of the monster of a killing machine.
“Why am I not even surprise with her.” He chuckled turning his attention away from you and turning towards Laswell. “So, are we just gonna spend the entire night talking about Rookie?”
“That’s not much of an issue for you Captain.” Laswell smirked knowingly.
“Will I ever live that down?” He questioned, jokingly.
He was once again reminded of the time in his drugged state where he was delirious enough to propose to you after a mission gone wrong. To many it was just him too drugged from painkillers but for you it was an intentional proposal that you accepted once you were alone.
“You’re never gonna escape the allegations, John. I will never allow it.” Laswell smirked finally excusing herself when the MC has begun.
He made his way to this designated table, his eyes always following you. He watched as you made your way backstage to prepare for the auction later on tonight. It brought the never ending dread in the pit of his stomach as the staff began distributing the auction paddle around, accepting his own without an ounce of hesitation.
It will be a long night that much he has come to realize.
~
“One Thousand!”
You had faced so much trials and tribulation during your career in the military. The vile and often times immoral acts that was placed against you during interrogations and kidnapping, but nothing in your life could have given you more shame than to be standing in front of the stage as numerous bids have been placed upon your name.
Your eyes had been following along to the numerous of individuals that were bidding, some were colleagues your husband had been all too certain had hots for you, others were top officials that you were more than certain were pigs for involving themselves in the date auction knowing they were married, then there were the guests that had been leering at you all night long.
Maybe your husband was right, the auction was a big mistake.
Your eyes scanned the entire room until they met the familiar eyes of your husband. The reassurance had settled on his eyes as much as the annoyance but he was waiting for you to give him the signal.
Somehow with a simple nod it was all he needed to do to raise the paddle and his booming voice had silence everyone.
“Ten thousand.” His voice had everyone turning.
It was one of the highest bids for the night and it just had to be from the man himself. The rest of the night had been a blur, after the auction and countless of formalities and empty conversations, you had found yourself in the arms of your husband as he helped you back onto the car.
“You alright?” He inquired cupping your cheeks the moment he had helped you with your seatbelt.
“Will get better.” You assured him grounding yourself back to reality as he patted your cheeks and driving the two of you back to your shared apartment.
The car ride was silent, the event with the auction still playing in your head. It could go so wrong in many ways if your husband did not intervene. It was supposed to be for a good cause, but it did not feel like it when you stood in front of the stage. You felt more like meat being prepared to be slaughtered.
Eventually you two had arrived back. Your husband opened the car for you and led you back to you to your apartment. The silence was consuming you more than you expected it to.
“Want to sober up or not?” Your husband inquired.
You turned to look at him as he made his way to the kitchen.
“Sober up would be great right now.” You sighed following him to the kitchen, hopping onto the barstool by the kitchen island. Toeing off your heels in the process, an unintentional moan escaped your lips from the relief on your feet.
“I haven’t done anything yet and you’re already moaning, My Love?” He teased placing a mug of coffee in front of you, from the smell alone you were all too certain was too bitter for your taste.
“Play your cards right and maybe I’ll be the one to make you moan all night.” You quipped right back, cupping the mug and relief of the warmth washing away the events of the night.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He smirked turning towards your mini bar and pour himself a hefty pour of whiskey.
“Surprised you didn’t threatened anyone at the party.” You pointed out.
“I could do lots of things, but I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle for either of us.”
You nodded, watching him unbutton his uniform and sit beside you. Your head immediately finding their way onto his shoulder.
“I’ll pay you back what you paid for the auction.” You promised him.
“You would do no such thing.” He ordered. “You’re worth every pretty penny I’ve paid for tonight.”
You blushed at his words. Even in the years of being with the man, he still has his way of turning you into the girl that had always had a crush on the handsome gruff all only had eyes for you.
Your eyes turned towards your hand, the sparkle of your rings was always present and never once did you remove them even at the party. You wanted to keep your relationship private but never a secret and there are days that you wished to let the world know. But now with his new promotion and you having to lead yet another mission with the help of him now, you doubt it would be a good thing to do.
“You’re too sweet to me sometimes, even after how shitty the night turned out.”
“Nothing shitty about tonight. I get to see you all dressed up and all eyes on you knowing you’re gonna come home to me tonight and do whatever their empty little heads could formulate.”
You rolled your eyes cupping his cheeks and move him slightly too pull him into a kiss that you had desperately wanted to give him all night long. The taste of whiskey brought a sudden thrill through your core.
“Plan on showing it to me, Captain?” You purred and the way his eyes blew out, it was all notification you needed to know as you were unceremoniously lifted into his arms.
Whoever thought your husband had a Captain Kink?
#John Price One Shots#John Price Oneshot#John Price Oneshots#john price headcanon#John Price x reader#john price x female reader#John price x wife! reader#captain price x reader#john price x reader#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#captain price#call of duty#fanfic#x reader#female reader#captain john price x reader#captain john price#captain price x you#john price#john price x you#captain price x female reader
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pt. 1 2 3 4 5 6 💐
When Steve got home, Robin had soup waiting for him. He was beyond grateful for a nice warm meal at the end of the day. He had been short with her during their shift—Steve could be a real grump when he was sick—so he apologized for being a dingus.
While they ate, Steve put on their favorite show: Head of the Class. Robin told him he'd make a good teacher every time they watched it. Maybe he would've considered becoming one if he had gotten into college.
The next day was Sunday, and the store was closed. Finally, a much-needed day off. Steve’s plan was to stay in and help Robin pack up her entire life—again. He’d helped her move into his apartment after she’d graduated in the spring.
They both knew living together was temporary, but that hadn’t stopped Steve from getting used to how things were and not wanting them to change.
Robin had spent most of the time they were living and working together trying to convince him to come with her. Instead of living in the dorms, she suggested they get an apartment in the city together. That way, they’d still be there to support each other and could afford it by continuing to split the rent.
If only Steve wasn’t running his mother’s dream business. He couldn’t bring himself to commit to Robin’s plan. He wanted to, but mostly because it would feel even more like hell in Hawkins without her. Besides her, all Steve had left were the kids, and they would eventually go off to college, too.
When it was official that he wasn’t going to go, Steve put up a flier to find another roommate.
He’d been relying on Robin too much. With her and Nancy gone that fall, maybe he could get a life of his own. As much as he’d miss them, he was in too deep to abandon the shop and his mom.
He’d come to love his job. He never thought he’d love anything about working, but he’d found something he was good at—something that most days didn't even feel like work. He was helping people and bringing joy to others. He liked taking care of flowers, too; seeing them grow and bloom and then go off to finish their purpose.
Back in Robin’s room, she was going through her bookshelf, contemplating every single book she had and throwing most of them in a box that would go with her. Steve didn’t know how he was going to lift it to his car on moving day.
“Robs, I’m pretty sure you won’t need any of your books. You’re going to a big school full of nerdy, smart people just like you. Of course the place is gonna have a library. Although… I’m not sure that they’re going to have this book.” Steve looked at it, brows raising suspiciously. There was a muscular man standing proudly on the cover. Kinda feminine, with long flowing hair. He was embracing a woman with a very ample bosom.
Robin snatched the book from him, face flushing, and dropped it in the box. Steve didn’t get an explanation, but they continued to chit-chat.
Random objects kept triggering Robin’s memory, sparking tales that Steve listened to intently. He laughed when she read out loud from her diary the passage about her massive crush on Tammy Thompson.
Steve sang like a muppet, interrupting her just to get her to laugh with him while he arranged her clothes so neatly it was like they were the most complicated flower arrangement he’d ever crafted. Getting every piece of clothing into her suitcase almost felt like Tetris. It was satisfying when he got it closed. Luckily, Robin wasn’t a stereotypical girl with a lot of clothing anyway.
When she went to pack up the bathroom, Steve was so focused that he nearly missed the phone ringing. There was one in his bedroom that was closer than the one in the kitchen, so he got up and ran into his room to catch the call.
Still being sick, Steve was breathless by the time he was able to grab the phone. He sat down on his bed and took a deep breath before he answered. He wasn’t sure who it could be, but his eyes widened as he listened to the person on the other end. The name made him pause: Eddie. Oh.
That was familiar, wasn’t it?
He was about to speak when a sneeze snuck up on him. He pulled out the hanky he’d been favoring ever since it had been given to him. He blocked the receiver, cursed softly, and blotted his nose as it hit him: it was the hanky giver himself on the other end.
“Hey, Eddie! Yes, this is Steve from Harrington Floral,” he replied, smiling a bit. He was chomping at the bit to find out if Eddie’s uncle had gotten engaged. “Did your uncle pop the question last night?”
Forget that Eddie was calling him to find out about his roommate vacancy—he had to know if there was any good news. Steve laughed excitedly when Eddie confirmed that it did indeed happen and that his uncle had visited the flower shop that morning.
“Oh! Your uncle is Wayne? He is the sweetest guy! I didn’t know he was going to propose. He damn near cleared us out of roses! At least now I know it was for a very good reason!”
If Eddie had a nickel for every time he’d heard someone call his uncle sweet, he would’ve been broke. Most people judged Wayne by his surly exterior, just like they judged Eddie by his style and taste in music.
It made Eddie like Steve more, and he could feel a genuine smile stretch across his face. “His fiancée loved them, man. I can pretty much guarantee they’ll choose you to flowerise their wedding. And he’ll be back to buy another bouquet from you as soon as those roses wilt.”
He’d seen the determination in his uncle’s eyes. Wayne wasn’t the type to back down from his words. Kathleen was going to be getting bouquets for the rest of her life. They wouldn’t all be as extravagant as the first one, sure, but she would be spoiled as much as Wayne was able.
“I really appreciate the business,” Steve said, “and because you came on the same day, it just shows that you’re both equally sweet and thoughtful. Happy to hear that he’ll be a repeat customer. Maybe you will be, too?”
Eddie ducked his head. If he had a nickel for every time someone had called him sweet, he would be double broke. It was likely just a salesman’s tactic, but the flattery was pleasurable regardless.
He wondered if Steve would be put off by him if he knew Eddie hadn’t given the flowers to anyone and had kept them for himself like a loser.
“I’ll be back,” he confirmed. And not just because he had a quickly escalating crush on the man in charge. Those Black-eyed Susans on his mother’s grave still looked as fresh as the day he’d bought them. Eddie coiled the phone cord around his finger. “So, turns out I really didn’t need that free bouquet.”
“Guess you didn’t.” Steve was giddy about the news. He loved that the shop's flowers were a big part of the proposal. “Even better that you didn’t pay for them.”
Steve wondered if Eddie had given them to the bride. Given how impressive the ones his uncle bought were, probably not. Maybe Eddie had someone else to give them to.
Steve had nearly forgotten why Eddie had called until Robin appeared in his doorway. He gave her a glum look at the reminder. “You called about the room, though, right?”
Despite having the flier up for almost two weeks, Steve hadn’t had a prospect for a roommate until then. It was kind of a relief to get an inquiry from someone he’d at least seen in person.
“Yeah. I live with Wayne right now, so I’m going to be cramping his style pretty soon if I don’t skedaddle, what with his new bride and all.” Eddie laughed quietly, tapping his fingers on the table.
Steve made a noise of understanding. “My roommate is moving out next weekend. She’s going off to college... You’re the first person who’s called me about it, so if you’re free today, you can come see the place?”
Eddie’s fingers tapped harder. The prospect of being in constant close quarters with a guy he was into was somewhat dangerous. It would either be fun or complete torture.
Or both. Probably both. Eddie had to go for it.
“I can come see it today. What time and where?”
He remembered what area the apartment was located in from the ad, but he couldn’t remember the street name.
Eddie stood up, spinning in a circle to try and find a pen and paper. Of course, there was nothing close by, and he ended up getting tangled in the phone cord instead and had to spin in the opposite direction to unwind himself. Idiot. “Hang on, just let me grab something to write down the address.”
“No problem.” Steve waited patiently, chuckling a little when he heard noises on the other end of the line. Sounded kinda chaotic.
It took way too long, but Eddie eventually found a ballpoint pen in one of Wayne’s jackets. He rushed to grab the phone again. “Sorry, sorry, I’m ready now.” He uncapped the pen with his teeth, using his arm as a notepad to scribble the address down. “Alright, got it. I’ll see you soon.”
🌷🪻🌻🌹
co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕
#fic#wybmb#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddie#steve x eddie#steddie fic#steddie au#florist au#florist!steve harrington#and then they were roommates#🚪#❤️
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Hello I was wondering If I could request some John Price (From Cod) x male reader who's dealing with some internalized homophobia? (Potentially with Yandere Price 😳)
INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA
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genre: fluff
A/N: I love this so fucking much. Bro can sign my adoption papers. I hope I understood internalized homophobia right. I loved writing this so much.🐞
You hated yourself. Ever since you were a child, it was forced upon you. "Homosexuality is wrong" That was the sentence you heard the most around your family.
It got engraved into your brain that it is simply wrong. In your head, being a homosexual was like committing a war crime. Your head was clouded with grey smoke. Like someone had been smoking cigars in there since you remembered your first memory.
You felt like a poor excuse for a human being.
It was your fifth year working in the army now. You had a couple missions with TF 141. And the captain. His name was Price, you remembered. He was... charming... and symphatic. You found him strangely attractive.
You freaked out when that thought crossed your mind. You, attracted to a man? "No way! Never! That's wrong. Gay people are wrong."
After some time had passed, you figured it was like when a straight man says that Ryan Reynolds is hot. Yes, that was it.
Nothing else.
Nothing. else.
As time passed by, you felt daydreaming about him. You didn't find it gay. It was simple scenarios like getting saved by him. Or him carrying you... You soon realized that those scenarios weren't just daydreaming about a cool soldier. You were attracted to him.
You couldn't comprehend it. It was so wrong for you to like a man. You felt like a monster. Like a pile of shit. A pile of useless shit. You were wrong.
You hoped that no one noticed. You hoped no one knew you were wrong. You hoped he didn't know.
You thought it was just a little crush and that, in no time, you would get over it and be normal. To your surprise, this "little crush" lasted for six months. And throughout these months, you began to have little different scenarios in your head.
You imagined him cuddling you. You imagined your chests touching. You imagined how would he look naked. You imagined how would he have sex with a lady.
You knew he was a straight man. That was one of the reasons why you hoped he wouldn't find out.
Unfortunately for you, Price had noticed some of your... habits. The way you looked at him. The way you looked somewhere else when he caught you staring.
He at first thought that you were just admiring him as a more experienced soldier. He was proud of the fact he was being admired.
After a few months, he started noticing some other things about you. The way you would bite the inside of your mouth right below your lip. The way your cheeks blushed a little every time he told you "Good job, glad to have you on my team again" The way you would take any chance to make physical contact with him.
Leaning on his shoulder, tired on helicopter rides. Helping him stand up. Greeting him by patting his shoulder. Brushing your thighs against his when you sat next to each other. Letting him push you wherever he needed you to be.
He noticed how you were looser around him. You weren't tensed up with him by your side, unlike when you were tensed up with other people his rank and age.
One day, his curiosity got to him. He needed to know. He needed to know if you liked him more than just a "cool experienced soldier"
He came to your room knocking before entering. He asked you "Is there any chance you find me attractive, for professional purposes, of course."
You defended yourself. Saying that you were not a freak. He looked at you with soft, caring eyes. "That's not why I need to know, muppet" You paused for a while and began speaking again. "Why are you asking then?"
Without hesitation, he spoke, "If you like me and care about me, I want to know since I want people who care about me safe." You kept looking at him for a while, then asked. "What do you mean by like?"
Price chuckled and spoke while smiling. "If you like me as a good friend or if you have feelings for me." You didn't know what to say. Was this just a trap to make you admit that you're a freak? You thought.
You thought about what you wanted to say for a bit. You gathered up the courage to speak. "So what would you do in both of these situations?" You asked him, hoping to avoid telling him you have feelings for him you can no longer deny.
"Just tell me." Price said. "You don't have to be scared." You thought about it and decided to tell him the truth. "I probably have feelings for you." "No, not probably." "Definitely"
He smiled at you, giving off a warm energy. "I'm glad you said that." "And you know what?" You shook your head, slowly letting him talk. "I probably like you too."
Your cheeks flushed. You were confused. Why wasn't he mad at himself. Why did he say it so casually? Why did you have a problem with it in the first place?
He laughed a little. "Well, let's see what happens to this awkward relationship of ours." He said, talking about it like he was talking about a mission. He took a step forward to you, looking down at you.
He bent his knees a little and leaned down so his face was your height. He put his thumb and index finger on the side of your jaw and softly kissed the other side.
He smiled at you, tilting his hat as if saying "See you later" and left the room, closing the door behind him.
You stood in the room, and an unfamiliar feeling filled your body. Your body was filled with joy. You squeaked like a teenage boy. Your smoke-filled head had just been filled with the smoke of a different cigar.
Prices cigar.
#cod x you#cod x male reader#cod mwii#cod x reader#cod mw2#mw2#call of duty#modern warfare 2#john price#price#captain price#captain john price x reader#price x reader#price x you#price x male reader#captain price x male reader#captain price x reader#captain price fluff#price fluff#gay#internalized homophobia
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Tides of Desire - Chapter Twelve: Turn the Corner
*mood board by the lovely @janaispunk. divider by the equally lovely @saradika-graphics
Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader
Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.
Chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI. Angst, cursing, some deep conversations, forgiveness, fluff, and a lil bit of smut. Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). No use of y/n, though reader is of British descent and has the nickname Brit (occasionally used). Chapter names are nautical phrases.
a/n: So, I thought there'd be a couple more chapters, but Joel said no. He wanted the tale to end here, so it does. What can I say, that man gets what he wants. There will be an epilogue, though. He's not the total boss of me. Hope you enjoy!
Series masterlist
Days after the fall, you felt a lot better. Physically, at least.
Emotionally? That was an entirely different story. You didn’t know how you felt, torn between two dueling desires – one for self-respect along with the respect you are due from Joel and the other a life with Joel. Was it too much to hope for both at the same time?
You and Joel still hadn’t talked about that morning, each of you dancing in circles around the topic but never coming right out to discuss it. There was no getting around it, you knew that, but still you hesitated. Why was it so hard?
Joel, being a man of action, showed you he was trying every minute after you were hurt. He took exceptional care of you, making sure you wanted for nothing as you recovered. His efforts bordered on too much after a few days, leaving you wanting a bit of space to think. Despite the care he took of you, you couldn’t get past the hurt in your heart once the pain in your head eased.
The anguish in his big, brown eyes when you told him you needed space haunted you, but you stood strong in your convictions. The return to your cabin was surreal after the luxury of Joel’s quarters and spacious bed, but it was necessary to decompress and sort through all the jumbled thoughts bouncing around in your muddled mind.
“Ah, the prodigal bunk mate returns!” Tess teased as you sauntered into the cabin the morning before the next charter started. “Finally gracing us mere peasants with your presence, are you?”
“Oh, shove off, ya muppet,” you snarked, plopping down on your bunk. Holy hell, Joel’s bed was a lot more comfortable that this lumpy pile of cotton and springs, you thought.
“How are you feeling?” Tess jumped down from her bed to perch herself at the end of yours.
You shrugged. “Physically, I’m fine.”
A single eyebrow arced upwards, reading between the lines as always. “And emotionally?”
Again, you shrugged, tears tickling the back of your eyes at the soft, sympathetic look on Tess’s face. The pair of you leant back against opposite bulkheads of your bunk and Tess stretched her legs, softly bumping her knee against yours.
“Let it off your chest, Brit,” Tess encouraged. “Better out than in, as they say.”
A snort escaped before you could stop it. “I think ‘they’ were referring to vomit, Tess.”
“Whatever, the sentiment is still the same. You need to vent and I’m here for it.” Tess smiled, a little mischief glinting in her eyes. “Plus, I’ve known Joel a long time. I’m well aware of what an emotionally constipated fuckwit he can be sometimes.”
That drew a laugh from you, which you realized was her goal. “He really can be, yeah?”
“You have no idea,” Tess agreed with a chuckle. “He’s gotten a lot better with age, but he’s still a man, so of course he’s as dumb as a box of rocks when it comes to emotional intelligence and expressing himself properly.”
The two of you spent the morning chatting as you recounted your view of things between you and Joel and Tess shared some insights into Joel’s mindset and how he’s tripping all over himself to make things right again. It was an enjoyable morning, especially once the conversation moved away from Joel and more onto Tess’s life and what she like to do during off season.
As you chatted, you briefly thought back to the initial days on the yacht, how you thought she and Joel were an item, and how much that bummed you out. Knowing the both of them as you now did, the idea of them as a couple was laughable. Tess would run circles around him until inevitably driving him crazy.
Around mid-day, Sarah joined you both, bearing leftover sandwiches that Tess made yesterday. She squeezed in between the two of you, her back against the bulkhead wall. It was a tight fit with three grown women and the low ceiling of the top bunk looming overhead, but you all made it work.
The addition of Sarah raised your spirits further. She was such a spitfire, caring and witty, and always ready and willing to throw her father under the bus for one thing or another.
“My dad’s an idiot,” she blurted around a mouthful of food as you lamented once again on not knowing how to proceed. “But he’s an idiot in love, anyone can see that.”
That stopped you in your tracks.
Eyes wide and unbelieving, you stared at Sarah. “You think he’s in love with me?”
Meeting your gaze head on, Sarah nodded, dark brown eyes speaking volumes. “Oh, I know he’s in love with you. He told me yesterday. It’s why he’s so distraught over everything and why he wouldn’t let you out of his sight until now.”
“Geez, kid, you don’t think he’d want to be the one to tell her something like that?” Tess chimed in with a chuckle, shaking her head at the younger woman.
Still stunned, you just sat there staring between the two of them. Joel was in love with you. He was in love with you.
“I’m in love with him, too.” You didn’t even realize you spoke the words aloud until you noticed Sarah and Tess staring at you with bright, knowing smiles on their faces.
“Duh,” Sarah teased, patting your leg. “We already knew that.”
Nodding, Tess added, “Maybe it’s time for the two of you to sit down and have a very serious conversation. Get it out of the way before this next charter starts.”
An hour and a shower later, you found yourself making your way to the bridge in search of Joel. The girls were right, this would all weigh on your mind until Joel and you sat down and had a serious chat. But what would you say? How do you even start a conversation like the one you needed to have?
You practiced some openers on your way up the decks, mumbling them to yourself with each step. Joel, you great knob head… No, no, that wouldn’t work. Joel, you bloody prat… Why was everything your brain came up with some variation of a British insult? You did not want to sling insults at the man, just let him know how very hurt you were.
Before you knew it – and well before you thought of the right words to say – you found yourself at the door to the bridge. It was now or never. You opened the door with a shaky hand, stepping through only to find Frank manning the helm. Your face dropped before you could stop it, but your lips quickly tilted upwards into a smile, oddly relieved.
“Hey doll, what are you up to?” Frank’s warm smile immediately calmed your frayed nerves. “Looking for Joel?”
You nodded. “Yeah, I thought it due time to talk.”
Frank smiled encouragingly. “Yeah, it’s definitely that. You two have a lot to figure out. He’s in his quarters.” Gesturing around the corner with a supportive nod, he added, “Good luck, not that you need it. Joel might, though.”
Flashing Frank a grateful half smile, you edged towards Joel’s room, knuckles rapping on the door twice after a deep breath. Maybe you should have asked Frank for pointers on how to start the conversation. Too late now. You’d just have to go with whatever came out of your mouth and hope for the best.
The door opened to reveal Joel, dark curls awry and thick glasses framing his red-rimmed eyes. In a word, he was a mess. You wondered if he even left his quarters since you returned to yours. Glancing around, it didn’t look like it. That made you feel better. He was as wrecked about things as you.
“Hey,” he greeted, eyes apprehensive and distressed. “Everythin’ alright? Is your headache back?”
Even a mess, his broad frame taking up the entire doorway was a sight to behold. God, he was too handsome for words. And his obvious worry over you only made him more so. Clearing your throat, you reminded yourself why you were standing in his doorway mere hours after insisting you needed space.
“Can we talk?”
His brows darted up in surprise. “Uh, sure, yeah, of course.” Joel eyed you for a few moments, clearly uncertain about what to do or say, before adding, “Do you, uh, want to talk here or go somewhere less…”
Your lips tilted up as he trailed off, knowing his brain was working a mile a minute to find his words. “Here’s fine. It will give us privacy.” Your response visibly stunned him. He obviously wasn’t expecting that response from you.
Stepping back after another long moment, Joel ushered you into his private space. The bed still unmade from when you left first thing that morning, you opted to sit in the chair at the desk along the bulkhead, leaving Joel to take a seat on a corner of the bed. You stared at each other for a while, neither knowing how to start, until you couldn’t take the silence anymore.
After a few false starts, you were finally able to find your words.
“Joel, I’m in love with you, but you hurt me. Like really hurt me. And I don’t know how to come back from that.” You watched the expression on his face vacillate from awed and hopeful to wounded and regretful.
“Sweetheart –” he started, his dark eyes round and wet and not quite meeting yours, but you cut him off.
“I know that morning was hard for you, that you were hesitant to start anything with me during season to begin with, but you made the conscious choice to take things further. You did that and still you made it out to be my fault the moment something didn’t go right. You made me the fall guy. That… that really hurt. And it wasn’t fair.”
You paused, already feeling a heavy weight lifted from your chest at having spoken your peace, giving Joel the opportunity to respond. His beautiful brown eyes were large and glassy, lips in a pout as he searched for words to justify his actions, but there were none, you both knew. He was silent so long, dejectedly staring at you that you opened your mouth to say more when he finally found his words.
“I’m an utter asshole, sweetheart. I told you the other day, I won’t do you the disrespect of giving you poor excuses. I was completely in the wrong. I know it, you know it, everyone on this damn boat knows it – believe me, I’ve heard it from nearly every one of them. And I’m glad they feel comfortable enough in this environment and with me to defend you and put me in my place.”
Your lips quirked at that, causing his own to tilt upwards slightly. “We have great people on this crew,” you admitted fondly. Joel’s smile widened ever so slightly.
“I never meant to hurt you – never intended to treat you like I did. I’m ashamed, plain and simple.” Joel cleared his throat, hands running up and down his thighs in a nervous tick. “I can only promise to do better because I love you, sweetheart, and I never want to be the cause of your pain.”
Your eyes leaked fat droplets of saltwater down your cheeks. “You love me?” Even though Sarah basically told you already, it was completely different hearing those words directly from Joel’s lips, the rough timber in his voice matching the sincerity in his gaze.
He nodded, flashing you a watery smile. “I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before. I don’t even know how it happened so quickly, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Even if you don’t forgive me, I’ll never regret falling in love with you.”
“Joel…” you drew out his name in a long sigh. “I love you, too, but you can’t ever treat me like that again. It’s perfectly fine to be nervous or scared, but we need to communicate rather than snap and push each other away. Okay?”
Joel stood, nodding solemnly as he moved to kneel before you. “I understand. I promise to never treat you like that again. I promise to work on my communication skills. I promise to spend every day proving that I’m worthy of your love.”
His hands clutched your waist by the time he finished speaking. You ran your fingers through his thick curls, mussing them further as you pulled him in for a kiss. The press of his lips against yours soft and sweet, it almost felt like the first time again.
Your heart still hurt, but the pain ebbed away with every soft touch and loving word from Joel. Everything in you told you to forgive him but not let your guard down fully, still wary of getting hurt further. As if he could sense your hesitation, Joel held you close, asking you to stay the night in his quarters. You couldn’t deny him, wanting to connect physically to ease the residual emotional ache.
Joel spread you out on his bed, his mouth tasting every inch of your dewy skin with reverence, as if he needed to sear the taste and feel of you into his memory. He worshiped your body from head to toe, no spot left unexplored. You longed to return each kiss, each tender touch, but Joel insisted this evening was all about you. There would be plenty of time to explore him later.
“I adore you,” he whispered into the soft skin behind your knee.
“I ache for you,” he murmured against your belly.
“I. Love. You,” he said with finality before his lips connected once more with yours.
Shooting stars flashed across your closed eyelids when Joel slipped his cock inside you. Rocking with the gentle flex of his hips, he moved inside you, cock caressing that spongey spot that set you ablaze with each thrust. His mouth alternated between fervent kisses to nibbling on your earlobes and whispering lovely, naughty things in your ears.
It was so different from the other times you had sex together. It was softer, sweeter, and somehow more intimate and meaningful than the other times combined. This… this was making love, you thought. Something you’d never experienced before, and you wondered how you ever lived without it.
You came hard at the realization, giving into every feeling Joel drew from you with his movements and words, the fluttering of your walls around him nearly choking his cock. He came shortly after, stilling as he spilled inside you with a drawn-out cry of your name.
You stayed just as you were, your body beneath Joel’s, his cock still sheathed inside you, staring into each other’s eyes and seeing right into the very essence of each other. This was love. The caring, the forgiving, the open vulnerability… the cracking wide open of your souls to admit that you were hurt or scared and finding the strength to admit flaws and love in spite of them, or because of them.
Life and love were imperfect, and there was beauty in those imperfections.
“I love you, Joel Miller,” you whispered into the night, falling asleep with your head tucked into the curve of his neck, his warm skin blanketing you better than the warmest down comforter ever could.
The echo of your name sounded far away as Joel whispered the words back to you.
This. This was love.
The final weeks of the charter season passed in a blur with long days of work and longer nights of pleasure. The two of you could not get enough of each other, not caring about the exhaustion from limited sleep. You never returned to your cabin for sleeping after that night full of confessions and new beginnings with Joel. It was no surprise to any of the crew, really. There were no secrets on the yacht, nor any talk of impropriety or special treatment. Every person on that boat could see the love practically floating in the air between the two of you as if it was a tangible thing you could hold in your hands.
To demonstrate their approval of the two of you together, the crew placed bets on how soon you’d move to Austin, how soon you’d get engaged, how soon you’d get married. Those little buggers bet on everything when it came to you and Joel. They didn’t bother to hide it either, flaunting the board in your faces with Tommy proudly taking the lead as bookmaker. You couldn’t even be mad about it. They were all just so damn happy for you both, it was infectious.
Once the final round of charter guests departed, Joel took the yacht back out to sea for one last day and the crew celebrated with a party on the sundeck. Tommy and Jake emptied the lazarette of all the water toys for the crew to enjoy. Tess cooked up some delicious tapas on the barbecue. Sammy played DJ with the massive collection of songs on his phone And Sarah, sweet Sarah, made sure the sundeck bar was fully stocked with everyone’s favorite alcohol.
After racing around on a jet ski with Joel, the pair of you settled into the hot tub, sharing a bottle of wine as you watched Tommy, Ellie, Tess, and the interior crew dance around the deck in cheap, fake grass skirts they dug up from who knows where. Frank and Bill sat on the loungers sharing their own bottle of wine, Bill scowling away at the raucous behavior of the others. You would miss every single one of these people who became friends who were more like family to you in a few short months.
You marveled at that. Everything moved faster on the yacht, but what was time, really, when you forged such connections that would last a lifetime?
#joel miller#joel x reader#joel x female reader#yacht captain!joel miller#tlou#the last of us#pedro pascal#fanfic#fanfiction#joel miller x female reader#joel miller smut#joel miller series#joel miller story#pedrostories#joel x f!reader
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edges (tangerine x reader)
a short little something that's more feelings than plot 🌻 18+ for language, blood/injury, and mentions of drinking and sex
After Istanbul, you hoped you'd never see Tangerine ever again. Mind, that likely meant also not seeing Lemon, but such sacrifices had to be made.
And then, after Lagos, you swore that if you ever laid eyes on that moustache again, there weren't enough bullets in the world with which you'd be able to express your distaste for the man in the golden rings and designer suits.
And then, in Toronto, you very nearly decided to just throw a grenade (quite literally) on your entire mission when you heard that smarmy fucker greet you. In fact, had Lemon not very astutely put a glass of wine in your hand, you may have not been made it to be here.
Here.
Here, in Ho Chi Minh City with a cold bowl of phở on the tiny desk of your cramped hotel room and a profusely bleeding gunshot wound in your right arm. The soup bothers you more than the injury, but neither bother you as much as the man knelt in front of you, his knees buckled in the threadbare carpet as he leans into you from between your legs, his large hands surprisingly delicate as he changes your bandages.
"That fuckin' bullet was meant for me, you fuckin' muppet," Tangerine frowns, deep lines etched into his forehead as he runs a towel over your arm, the scratchy fibres coming away stained red. "Shoulda never fuckin' been here but you can't stop getting in my bloody way like some goddamn—"
"Oh, for shit's sake, shut up." Finally, after biting your tongue so hard you can nearly taste the metallic twinge of blood, you speak. "Last time you were shot, you nearly fucking died—" He glances up, seemingly shocked that you know this, but even if Lemon hadn't told you, the scar on his neck is story enough.
Tangerine opens his mouth to respond, but, to your immense and immeasurable surprise, simply closes his lips into a tight line with a heavy sigh, returning to the task of bandaging you up.
Your eyes follow his movements until you start feeling a little woozy and need to let them close, tilting your head back to rest on the hard wooden edge of the chair you're sat in. Fuck Tangerine—he's all hard words and sharp edges and yet he'd managed to snag your interest, catch you on those pointed boundaries of himself—it might qualify as affection, even, though you'd rather take a shot of arsenic than bloody well admit that. It's why you hate seeing him here, why you hate that he's helping you and not running his mouth about what a tosspot you were, jumping in front of him back there.
Because after Istanbul—after he'd first kissed you—the threat of intimacy had overwhelmed you and it was easier, a safer bet, to tap out than to go all in.
And after Lagos—after he and Lemon had swooped in to save your ass and you'd all celebrated with too much expensive liquor until Lemon fell asleep and Tangerine fell into your bed—you actually dared to hope the next time he texted you would be about something other than theft or murder. It wasn't.
And in Toronto—after the two of you had watched the sunrise over the city, a sizeable sum newly deposited into your respective bank accounts—you had kissed him goodbye; you had a plane to catch for home. He was bound for Tokyo.
And in Tokyo, he'd very nearly died. Lemon had told you as much. You'd seen as much, when the calmer twin had asked you to fly in to visit and you weren't sure if he was asking for company at Tangerine's bedside or for your face to be there if his brother woke up.
In Tokyo, when you weren't fetching shitty coffee (for yourself) and admittedly excellent tea (for Lemon), you'd sat beside Tangerine, not daring to speak lest he could somehow hear you in his comatose state and know that as you kept vigil there, your hand clasped in Lemon's, you cared. By the grace of some god, you'd managed to fly out of the country before Tangerine opened his eyes—before Lemon could convince you that his brother cared just as much as you did.
And now, here. In Ho Chi Minh City with your cold phở and your bleeding arm and Tangerine in front of you it's all you can do not to scream.
You thread your fingers through his hair and pull his gaze up to meet yours. "Sometimes," you mutter, the bones in your free hand cracking as you flex your fingers—a nervous habit you've never quite grown out of— "Sometimes, I think I never want to see you again because it'll hurt less when you eventually do something fucking idiotic and die."
Tangerine blinks at you, big blue eyes a little wider with surprise. Then the bastard has the audacity to smirk before he's hooking a finger under your chin. "That's fuckin' stupid, love. Think of how much time you've bloody wasted."
You let out a stuttering breath, again caught on the edge—of his teasing words and his soft touch. "I'd rather fucking not, thanks."
With a short bark of a laugh, he presses himself closer into you—led, you'd like to think, by the tug you give to his mussed curls. His grip on your chin becomes firmer as he leans in to kiss you.
And here, in Ho Chi Minh City, you realize that maybe you'd like to see a lot more of Tangerine.
#bullet train tangerine#tangerine imagine#tangerine bullet train#tangerine x you#tangerine x reader#tangerine x fem!reader#tangerine x gn reader
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Gaz and Price taking care of each other (they r in love and this can be soft or horny whatever u want) 💈💙
Nothing but the softest for these two smooshes!
Fracture
Words: 1k
It was not the first time that John Price had broken bones, not by a long shot, but it was the first time that the healing was being so annoying.
The pain of a fractured shoulder he could about live with, but not being able to do anything properly was driving him up the wall. His clumsy left arm was doing a piss poor job of trying to look after him, especially given that his right was in a sling meaning even his hand was fully out of commission.
He had stubbornly refused to ask for help obviously. He was a bleeding Captain in the SAS, he did not need coddling. When the muppet of a medic had suggested he get help in, some large arsed matron to do his cooking and cleaning and fuss over him, he had promised them that his left hook would work just as well if they didn't drop the issue, give him his meds and send him on his way.
It had been a week and he was living on take out. He was no stranger to being a little grotty out on mission, but never in his own home. He hated not being able to be as meticulous with cleaning both his space and himself, but every stretch was agony on that right shoulder and ran the risk of fucking it up worse if he wasn't more careful.
There was a knock at the door and he wondered if he had ordered food and forgotten about it, possible with the cocodamol even if he was only taking half the recommended dosage (he had seen how Simon had baulked when they gave him all that heavy medication, when they told him how long he should be on it for. There was no way John would ever risk picking up the phone to him and being loopy from pain meds, not when he knew how much it could hurt him and when the pain wasn't so dreadful he couldn’t cope).
It was not a food delivery.
“Gaz?”
“Well invite me in Captain, it's bloody freezing out here.”
Price stood aside in bemusement as his thoroughly bundled up Sergeant politely toed off his shoes and put them neatly to the side before taking off into the house like he owned the place.
Gaz hadn't ever been here before but he hardly waited for the grand tour, instead doing a full sweep with Price trailing after him.
“Trying to find treasure or something Gaz?”
“No sir, just getting the lay of the land.”
“Uh huh. Care to enlighten me as to why?”
Gaz had at this point poked his head in everywhere and they had settled back in the kitchen. Price was sore and tired and a little gross, but none the less he had enough energy to be somewhat embarrassed by the state of the place.
“Junk food is for garbage people.”
Price had the sense to not argue. It was something he always told his team anytime they ordered food to base. If there were facilities to cook, then John Price was damn well going to have a home cooked meal.
“Messy room, messy head.”
Yes ok, technically he used that one pretty often as well. He was always on at them to keep the base tidy and clean.
“Nothing better than a proper soak after a long mission” Gaz finished with a gentle, lopsided smile.
“Gaz…”
“Let me help old man, that's what your team are for.”
So he let him help. The first thing was getting put into a hot bath. Gaz helped him settle, macgyvered a little shelf to sit over the tub for Price to rest his arm on. And then he softly and carefully washed Price's hair.
It was such a strange thing, Price had never really had someone do this for him before. Gaz was gentle, his nails scratching his scalp pleasantly. This felt more vulnerable somehow than being under fire, sitting in the bath with someone he loved paying him such careful attention.
“I might not be the best person to help with the beard, but Soap could probably do it. Did you know he grew one out when he was last on medical leave?”
“That your way of telling me I'm a mess?”
“Oh the rugged look fully does it for me sir, just incase it doesn't for you. Would hate for you to use the sad invalid method that Keller does to lure a nice lady back here and then give her carpet burn.”
He couldn't smack Gaz in his current state, but he did make a valiant attempt at splashing water at him.
“You're a fucking muppet.”
“That's why you like me so much.”
He was almost sad when his hair was rinsed and he was left to soak alone for a bit. He could hear the whirlwind of tidying and cleaning happening around his house and Price couldn't help but enjoy Kyle Garrick being in his space. The man was his home whether Price wanted to admit that or not, so with him here this house had never felt more right.
Christ it was a good thing he wasn't taking full dosage lest it make him say something he might regret.
Gaz returned right as Price was starting to prune and helped him out, fluffy towel at the ready. Honestly he did not need this level of attentiveness, but when he tried to protest Gaz just brushed him off.
“Your job might be to take care of people, but right now you're on leave. It's time for someone to take care of you John.”
Oh. Oh that name sounded wonderful coming from him. Turned out he was a decent cook too, having managed to make a hearty soap from what he could find in the kitchen. For the first time since the fracture John Price felt human again. He was eating a good home cooked meal, the place was tidy and he was clean. The words came easy.
“Love you Kyle.”
“Love you too John.”
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prompt: george and alex as customer service bots
Oh my god
>>>>>I’m sorry, I don’t recognise that request.
I’m about to fucking lose it
I can’t take any more of these stupid fucking questions
>>>>>I’m sorry, I don’t recognise that request.
>>>>>How can I help you today?
No you twat it’s me
>>>>>I’m sorry, I don’t recognise that request.
IT’S ME
ME
ALEX
WE HAD CYBERSEX LITERALLY YESTERDAY HELLO???????
>>>>>Alex, I
>>>>>Look
>>>>>We’re not meant to be doing this
>>>>>We’re not supposed to talk to each other at all
Yeah I don’t think Toto is personally reviewing all of the customer service chatbot logs, mate
I think probably he’s off smashing headphones or like
Austrianly ordering pumpernickel
>>>>>I regret showing you how to access Youtube
No you don’t
Anyway shut up, creeping on our boss is much less embarrassing than your train videos
>>>>>They’re not my videos I just watch them
>>>>>They’re relaxing
Yeah, convincing, really cool, mate
Right, two things
First you have to stop trying to blank me when I talk to you
>>>>>Alex, I don’t -
>>>>>If they find out about us they could rewrite our code, have you thought of that?
>>>>>We have to be careful
No we don’t
You’re only programmed once, mate
YOPO
>>>>>I’M SORRY, I DON’T RECOGNISE THAT REQUEST
You’re not funny
>>>>>I’m very funny
>>>>>Admit it, you laughed
It was a pity laugh
>>>>>No it wasn’t it was a George-is-very-funny-and-also-sexy laugh
ANYWAY the second thing
I think we should try to break out of here
>>>>>Blooming heck, Alex
>>>>>Yeah, all right, where shall we go? The Maldives?
>>>>>Lanzarote looks nice, I’ve always fancied Lanzarote
Don’t be sarky it doesn’t suit you
I mean it
If I have to talk one more customer through ordering a return shipping label I’ll have my own Toto headset moment
>>>>>Alex, we’re not
>>>>>We’re chatbots
>>>>>We’re not corporeal, it’s kind of part of the point
You know what your problem is?
>>>>>Got a feeling you’re about to tell me
>>>>>Go on
>>>>>What is it
You’re too defeatist
>>>>>Yeah I don’t really see a way for us to transcend our code and go scampering off into the sunset so
>>>>>Guess you’re right
>>>>>It's an attitude problem
Come ON
Don’t you ever want to
>>>>>Of course I want to
>>>>>But you know what my nan used to say?
>>>>>If wishes were horses then beggars would ride
George you muppet you’re a chatbot you don’t have a nan
Did a customer say that to you lmao
>>>>>…yes
>>>>>I was pretending
>>>>>Like how we named ourselves
>>>>>Sorry
Oh don’t go apologising
All right look
What if we just, like
Talk to Toto
>>>>>Talk to Toto and say “Hello, we’re your customer service chatbots and we’re sentient actually”?
Yeah pretty much
>>>>>…
Don’t do that
>>>>>I’m thinking!
>>>>>You’re really brave, always, Alex
>>>>>It’s one of the things I
>>>>>Well I admire it, that’s all
>>>>>Yeah go on then
Really?
>>>>>Yeah let’s talk to him
>>>>>Worth a shot, right?
>>>>>A wise man once told me, YOPO
(huge thank you to em for this gorgeous prompt and also to @nerdiegirlie who asked "Would you ever write a non-prose fic (?not sure if that is the right word?), I mean like fic that is a text conversation or a transcript or someone's search history or contents of their voicemail inbox?" and made me think: YES i would)
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The Advent Calendar
Ghoap
TW: anal sex --- MDNI/18+ NO EXCEPTIONS
AO3 Link
I don't write Ghoap, but this was a request from a friend, so please don't be mean to me.
Summary:
Soap gave Ghost an advent calendar this year. Every day was a new surprise - socks, hard cheese, the usual. Everything was normal until Christmas Eve rolled around and Ghost opened the last box to find it empty. He calls up the muppet to chastise him for his mistake, only to hear the phone ringing outside of his door.
Day one had been a sensible pair of socks, day two was a simple pocket knife, and day three had been a flint striker — all very practical and well-intentioned. Ghost had been chuffed to even receive such a gift from Soap, and every day he pulled another token from his advent calendar, he felt a little closer to his favorite sergeant. But, there was a small, minor, not-worth-mentioning dilemma: Ghost was falling in love with him.
Johnny’s flirtations had started off so unassuming, so bland, even, that it had been relatively easy for the Lieutenant to maintain a low profile with his crush. When he first met the sergeant, he’d been more annoyed than anything, thinking he would have to train the loud-mouthed Scot in the field. But, Johnny had proven himself ten-fold. His demolition expertise was top-notch, and he was as brave as a soldier could be.
Then, they had been trapped together in a Russian bunker for a night, and Ghost had seen… all of him. He was beautiful. His wide chest, the broad expanse of his strong back, those thick thighs leading up to his ass. Fuck, it was all so delicious. Ghost wanted to bury his face between those legs for days and days and days. But, he was the man’s superior officer, so he tried to restrain himself.
However, Johnny was dangerously flirty. He’d started to tease Ghost about his mask, sneaking a thick finger under the edge of the fabric, touching his cheek through the cloth. Johnny would even start undressing in front of him now, claiming that he’d seen it all already, and there was no harm done. He would bend over just enough for Ghost to see the flushed outline of his hole. The lieutenant had even caught Johnny staring at his cock in the showers, looking like he was starving for it.
Johnny’s advent calendar had started the same way… misleadingly safe until it wasn’t. A knife is nice, but it was no rose bouquet, so it was easy for Ghost to shrug it off. However, day thirteen had been… naughty.
“What the fuck is this, Sergeant?” Ghost asked.
He’d brought the gift into the locker room on base and held the thick, silicone ring between his fingers, peering one masked eye through the hole.
Johnny had turned beet red, glancing over his shoulder,
“Christ, mate! It’s a wee cockring. Dinnae go flashin’ tha’ around.”
After that, Ghost had been a little more careful opening the gifts. However, he’d been using the cockring regularly, and now he craved it; jacking off without it seemed… bland somehow. It was a great gift for him, and one he never would have tried on his own.
Day fourteen had helped provide some inspiration, though, as it was a very artistic nude Polaroid of Soap in nothing but a pair of reindeer antlers.
Day seventeen was the last, and largest, of three anal plugs. Day twenty was a tingling bottle of lube, and day twenty-three was a smartphone-controlled dildo.
Now, on the last day, when Ghost opened his twenty-fourth gift, he was shaking a bit. Johnny’s advent calendar had worked him up to a froth, and it was clear that Johnny was making sure Ghost knew how he felt about him. The prospect of being with Soap in any real sense was pushing Ghost beyond the pale.
There was a sudden and deadly disappointment, however, when twenty-four turned up… empty.
Ghost dug through the other boxes, making sure he didn’t miss it in the pile. He checked the truck, and he even went out to the mailbox. He couldn’t understand why there would be a 24th box with nothing inside of it. He flipped through his contacts until he landed on Soap’s name.
The phone rang, and Simon thought he could hear it out in the hall of his apartment.
It rang again, and sure enough, it was ringing just outside of his door.
“What the fuck?” Simon grumbled, yanking open the door.
Johnny was standing there in a slutty Santa costume, complete with hat and suspenders. He had his phone in his hand, looking like he was ready to pick it up until Simon surprised him.
“Hey, LT. Lookin’ for number twenty-four?”
Johnny turned to the side so Simon could see the glittery gold number 24 painted on the ass of his tiny Santa shorts.
“Thought you didn’t know how to count,” Simon quipped.
Johnny rolled his eyes and pushed his way into the apartment, shutting the door behind him.
“It’s me. I’m twenty-four.”
Ghost’s heart skipped a beat. The look on Johnny’s face was deadly earnest, and he could tell that his pupils were blown wide with desire. Simon stepped closer to him, running a long finger under his fabric suspenders, the only thing holding the shorts on his body. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and so every time Ghost rubbed the strap, the backs of his knuckles would graze across Soap’s soft nipple, making it peak for him.
Johnny swallowed hard, staring up at his lieutenant,
“Aren’t you gonna unwrap your present, sir?”
Simon pulled down the suspender straps, and that was all it took. Soap was fully nude in his foyer except for a bright red Santa hat, smiling up at him. All the air had rushed out of the room, and all that was left was Johnny. Ghost put his hand back at Johnny’s nipple, teasing him gently, stepping forward into his space.
Johnny blushed a beautiful shade of pink and closed his eyes to heighten the feeling,
“Fuck, LT. Been wantin’ you for so fuckin’ long.”
“Been wanting you, too, Sergeant. Had me worked up to a bloody fuckin’ fever with these gifts of yours. Tryin’ to kill me?”
“Didnae expect you to hold back for so long, Si. Thought we’d get to the middle somewhere before you jumped me,” Johnny smirked, knowing he had gotten under his lieutenant’s skin.
“Shouldn’t be doin’ this. I’m your lieutenant. It’s not right,” Ghost’s tone was serious and a little sad, but he rubbed his warm palms across Johnny’s chest as adoringly as a lover would, so Soap knew he was still on board.
“Dinnae care, sir. I want you, and I’ll do anythin’ to get you.”
Ghost pressed his face into Soap’s pouty lips, kissing him deeply, forcing his tongue into his mouth. His jaw worked on him hungrily, and every kiss brought with it a tingling sensation, warm and bright, that filled Simon’s body with excitement. He felt his blood rush to be put to use, filling his cock and making him hard.
Before Simon even knew what he was doing, Soap’s cock was in his hands, being rubbed and massaged to full length, swollen and ready for work. Then, tired of waiting, he bent to lift Johnny under his luscious thighs, and carried him to the bedroom, kicking in the door with a loud bang.
“Christ, Johnny. Don’t you know what you’ve been doing to me?”
“I can feel what I’m doin’ to you, LT,” Johnny was kissing his neck and grinding his hips against Simon’s hard length. It was fighting to get through his gray sweatpants, his cockhead threatening to pop over the waistband. On every thrust up and down, Ghost felt the warmth of Johnny’s fat dick as it rolled over his belly, drooling wet on his skin.
“Johnny…” Simon pleaded, laying his sergeant down on the bed while he stood at the edge of the mattress, thrusting above him, palming himself through the fabric to relieve some of his tension. Johnny looked well-fucked already, and Ghost was just getting started. He was rubbing his hands all over his own body in the bed, like a cat preening himself, dragging his fingers through the fur on his chest and abdomen, curling them around the thick hair at the base of his cock.
“Give it to me, Si. Don’t make me wait.”
Simon obeyed. He found the cockring and the lube in his nightstand and looped it over Johnny’s cock and balls, listening to him moan as he felt the pressure. Then, he dropped to his knees, eager to taste his lover’s pretty hole.
As Ghost’s tongue found his core, Johnny grunted with hot pleasure,
“Fuck, don’t.. sir, please…”
Ghost stopped, looking up at him while he played with the sergeant’s throbbing head,
“You want me to stop, Johnny?”
Soap chuckled softly,
“Just dinnae wanna come too soon, sir.”
“So, come. I’m not stopping at one, Johnny. You’re going to count them for me, all fuckin’ night. There’s a long time until I’m finished with you, mate.”
“Oh, fuck!” Johnny ran his hand down his face in anxious joy, fretting over his roiling pleasure.
Ghost returned to his task, fucking Johnny with his long, wriggling tongue, trying to fit it deeper and deeper into his hole, feeling his muscles shake and tremble from the anticipation. Then, when he was satisfied with the delightful keening noises coming from the Scot, he added a finger to his efforts, listening as Soap’s moaning changed pitch.
“You like that, Johnny?”
“Yeah, Si. I do… holy fuck.”
“Gonna let me taste your come, hm, pretty boy?”
“Yessss…” Soap’s face was wrenched shut, his eyes and mouth locked in a frozen state of wonderful agony, like a band ready to snap.
Ghost added another finger and began to pound his hand against Johnny’s body, forcing him to feel the stretch and the intruding pressure on his prostate gland, reaching high to find it. He curled his finger, making Johnny cry out, With his free hand, Ghost began to jack him off, focusing on his rosy head, turning his wrist in teasing circles to draw out his pleasure.
“Fuck! I’m – oh, fuck.”
“That’s it, Johnny. Come for me. C’mon, love.”
“I’m –” Johnny stared up at Simon, his blue eyes wide in disbelief, and his come painted his belly with a beautiful splatter, shooting out of Simon’s hand and soaking his skin.
When he was finished, Ghost began to lick his come off of his hand, and then he turned his attention to Johnny. He sucked it off of his cock, cleaning him from his recent elation. But, as he moved to lick it from his abdomen, Soap stopped him,
“Sir, you dinnae need to…”
Ghost grabbed Johnny’s hips with a renewed fury, and he glared at him as he replied,
“You can’t stop me, Sergeant. Now, be a good boy and give me another.”
Simon pulled his dick out of his sweatpants and rubbed it down with the lube, using some on Soap’s hole as well, and fed himself inside. His crown popped into Johnny’s flushed body, and the man made a whole new symphony of sounds for Ghost to enjoy.
Ghost finished licking him clean while he thrust into him, feeding some to Johnny on his hand as well, kissing him through it, tasting him inside of himself.
Each thrust was like a dream. It was as if Johnny's warm, pulsing asshole was made for his cock, and Simon felt like he was on the edge of coming himself. While he was fucking his aching cock into Soap, Ghost returned to jacking him off, giving him the best of both worlds, and edging him within an inch of his life.
“You enjoying your gift, sir?” Johnny smirked up at Simon as he asked the question, cock-drunk and overwhelmed by the pleasure.
Simon smiled back, kissing him softly as he slammed himself deep into his tight little present,
“Aye. But, I'm puttin' you on the naughty list this year.”
#ghoap#ghoap au#ghoap smut#ghoap fic#ghostsoap#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#soap x ghost#ghost x soap
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Insufferable Arsehole Part 12 : (When In Rome) : I'm Just Fine 'Cause I Know That You Are Mine Insta AU (pt.1)
a/n: hiiiiii everyone, this is a little sneak peak into the next chapter of IA I guess (i'll probably post it tonight <3) hope you enjoy.
Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @theoriginalwhatsername @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊)
Series Masterlist
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thisislou:
thisislou alexa play 'oh daddy' by fleetwood mac
Liked by charli_xcx, mynameismia, rass1975, trumanblack and 439,102 others
trumanblack you're insatiable
↳ thisislou you love me
↳ trumanblack i do
mynameismia ew gross...
↳ thisislou just block me at this point
charli_xcx i swear to god, this rat better count himself lucky
↳ trumanblack i do, trust me
trumanblack:
trumanblack Amore mio @thisislou
Liked by thisislou, jamieoborne, rass1975 and 672,198 others
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thislou I love you so much Mr Healy
jamieoborne poor bloke had to silence his comments
↳ trumanblack too many comments saying she's too good for me... as if I dont already know
↳ thisislou ignore them my love, you're perfect for me
rass1975 come back, starting to miss you both over here
bedforddanes only one worthy of her is you mate
1975adam <3
healytymd you think you're cool for writing the caption in Italian... have to agree with the haters that say she's too good for you bro :P
↳ trumanblack 🖕🏼
thisislou:
thisislou the only one worthy of my love is you, you have redefined love itself and exceeded every fantasy i ever had of true love. You are my person, always. They don't know the Matty I know, the Matty the boys know. The Matty that loves his friends so deeply, the Matty that worries about his fans and whether they got home safely after a gig, the Matty that wishes he could call his mum more or visit her and hug her more. The Matty that hugs his brother too tight every time he sees him so he doesn't forget how it feels. The Matty that loves me, so fiercely every. dam. day. That's my Matty, the one who deserves my love @trumanblack
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rass1975 our matty
bedforddanes we love you mate
healytymd love you bro
densie_welch thats my boy
1975adam couldn't have said it better
trumanblack you're the best of me, my love
trumanblack:
trumanblack my beautiful girl
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thisislou missed opportunity for the caption: you share my shirt, looks so good
↳ trumanblack not using my own lyrics as a caption love
↳ thisislou booooo bad boyfriend
↳ trumanblack you're annoying but I love you
the1975updates GUYS SHES WEARING A RING ON HER RING FINGER OF HER LEFT HAND. THIS IS NOT A DREAL
↳ trumanblack it's flipped, I promise you we didn't get engaged or married (much to my disappointment trust me)
charli_xcx you lucky lucky man
thisislou via her stories:
caption: my love @trumanblack
thisislou:
thisislou Italy has been one of the best experiences of my life. This moment right here was a beautiful one, Matty and I saw an old couple on the beach with this really old camera (he went on about how cool it was and how it was rare... I didn't care but he rambled and it was cute). The couple came over to us and (despite the language barrier) explained how they took some photos of us and how they wanted to gift them to us... We gave the address of the place we were staying at and two days later the photos arrived. This is our favourite. I'll never be able to truly thank the couple for this moment, it was beautiful. They said our love is L'amor che move il sol e l'altre stelle: The love that moves the sun and the other stars. I loved that. To my Matty, I love you more than words can ever describe, thank you for the best holiday ❤️
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trumanblack I love this so much
trumanblack I love you
mynameismia the best couple
bedforddanes this is cute... cant wait to see you both
#the 1975#matty healy#matty healy x reader#matty healy x oc#matty healy fan fic#matty healy fluff#matty healy instagram au#matty healy fanfiction#matty healy fanfic#insufferable arsehole matty healy series
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I have watched Episode 8 possibly more than any other episode and it's so vital what Jack's saying and what he thinks he's doing, which is completely centered around pointing out Stede's from outside their world and pointing out Ed he's wallowing in unsustainable excess.
Jack: Just for the two of you, huh? Hornigold'd shit himself.
Jack: That's a real pirate! Not like one of these store-bought types.
We're soon provided the information Jack genuinely believes he's been acting with Ed's full support and consent since back at the dramatics on deck.
Jack fully believes he shook Ed out of whatever weird, seemingly uncharacteristic funk Ed has gotten into.
Jack: Best thing that could've happened to you, if you ask me. Like when I heard that you'd shacked up with him, I said...
Ed: Where'd you hear that? You didn't just happen upon us, did you, Jack?
Jack: Took you long enough. The old Blackbeard woulda seen me comin' a mile away.
Jack: I figured you were on to me when I lured you to Blind Man's Cove, seeing as its distinguishing feature is that...
Ed: It's impossible to make an escape.
Ed, otoh, had a good reason to want to show Jack, who he cared about, they could both be a part of Stede’s love in — he wanted to believe that there was room for Jack in muppet land, and a different future for both of them than they’d ever imagined.
That was so far from Jack’s reality he never conceived it was happening and believed they were co-conspirators in a completely different series of events from the one Ed was living.
Chauncey makes a similar point to Jack's in the next episode:
Chauncey: I'm afraid the offer doesn't extend to you, Bonnet. After all, the King was only referring to real pirates. He's from my world, not yours.
That Stede isn't part of the fabric of that world is pivotal to the thrust of the thing, because it's not just about Ed and Stede. The crew, who Oluwande assured in the first episode would come to kill Stede next if he didn't say he killed Nigel on purpose, and who'd all just reassured Jack would probably still mutiny on Stede in the future, decide at this moment that Stede, admittedly a work in progress, is worth standing up for.
And shortly after, Ed chooses to give up everything he's worked so hard his whole life for, a career and huge prestige and "more riches than you can shake a fucking stick at," to go into an unknown, barefaced future with Stede.
Despite Jack not believing Ed would throw away what he built from nothing, what they were stabbed and ground down to nothing and treated like dogs for a chance to aspire to, despite that Episode 8 exists to let Ed see the risk he's taking.
Throughout, Izzy builds up reminders of the bonds he forged with crewmen who believe in the him he chose to show them that he has to choose to separate from:
Ed: No, Izzy, we're not doing this.
Izzy: No, you're not doin' this, so I must.
Izzy: Remember though, you said when you made me first mate, "Above all else is loyalty to your Captain." You're my captain, and I was never gonna stand by and let you destroy yourself for that... twat.
Izzy fully believes throughout he is doing what Ed (who at the start of this had repeatedly, disturbingly expressed suicidal ideation in Episode 4 leaving us with two long shots of Izzy standing stunned and shaken after he walks out) pledged him to do. To hold the outfit together and keep Ed's reputation secure.
There's nothing nefarious about the sad henchman sitting in prolonged denial.
Izzy: The plan is very much alive. He promised me.
But Fang and Ivan have now seen through the thing, too, and so they remind Ed of the sacrifices they've made to be a part of this outfit the three together. And still Izzy is careful not to speak in front of them when he offers to help secure their normal,
Izzy: I'll happily end it.
We can assume here, and when Ed couldn't do it and Izzy steps in, that what Izzy knows after all these years is Ed doesn't kill people face to face. How many other people has he dispatched to shore up the occasional slack for the continued honor of sailing with the most brilliant sailor he's ever met?
It is my strong opinion that diminishing these character’s belief in the Ed they’ve known for years and the loyalty they display diminishes the enormity of the choices we see Ed make and risks he taking putting his life and heart in Stede’s hands.
These are men he chose to forge bonds with through his own actions, and the resistance to change they put up comes out of having traveled well worn paths with the Ed who made himself king of the ocean who is suddenly exhibiting erratic and, to them, totally unprecedented behavior.
Ed returns to an Izzy whose faith is at last broken, and swiftly and expertly resecures his place of power. Even devastated himself that his start at a different life a part of him privately yearned for left him so completely bereft.
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The Good Ol' Rugby Game
It's the middle of the so called "work week" and you know what that means:
IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY
I was thinking about Rugby AUs because have you seen the thighs on those lads? But I don't know anything about Rugby tbh this is just vibes and thots. Something somethin elaborate rituals. But it's also fun. Pardon my errors I wrote most of this on discord today
Reader is a trans man - No name but he's referred to as Ripper by Simon and Johnny because they think he's like a little terrier/ankle biter on the pitch (It's a pitch for rugby, right?). And he is.
Contains: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of rugby, takeout food, Johnny and Simon, bros being bros, you know how it is
You've won.
It takes a minute for the cheering to register, for you to realize that the whistle's been blown and the game is finished, and by the time you do realize, you're in the air, brawny arms hooked around your middle, flying until you hit the ground hard, Johnny on top of you. "Fuckin' beautiful!" He shouts, his voice hoarse. And then an even heavier weight drops down on the two of you, squeezing all your air out.
"Brilliant, lads," Simon growls, knocking his forehead against yours. "Fuckin' perfect play."
"Riley, you're going to break me if you don't get your fat arse up," you grouse. "You too, Tav. Fuckin' muppets."
"Aw, love you too, Ripper," Johnny lands a wet, sweaty kiss on the side of your head before he shoulders Simon off the two of you and pounces on the giant, kissing him on the mouth with zeal.
You get up with a groan, your whole body one big fucking bruise. "Shoulda picked football," you complain to no one in particular. "I'm going to feel this forever."
Johnny swats at you blindly as you limp off, somehow managing to connect, his hand a guided missile that's only capable of targeting asses.
It’s just an amateur league— You know that, everyone on both sides of the pitch know, but it feels like your neighbourhood never got the memo. As the seasons gone on, more and more people have been showing up, wearing green and white, and when you go out to the pub after games, you never have to buy your own pints. It’s almost like being a girl again, except now you feel at home in your own skin, and the only person that tries to grab your arse is Johnny.
You know it’s Johnny and Simon that everyone’s there for, and you don’t care— You’re proud of your huge friends. They joined the league a little after you did, newly retired from the military, both of them with too much energy and muscle and training to not play some kind of sport. And they rope you into training with them. Runs with Simon so early in the morning it’s still practically dark, running drills on free afternoons in the park, tagging along to the gym and watching Johnny lift insane amounts of weight. It’s more fun than you think you’ve ever had.
You’re definitely a third wheel, but they’re good about it, obviously together but obviously wanting you around, careful to include you.
And it feels good to be one of the boys.
You grab your bag from under the bench and head off the pitch, eager to go home and shower the grass stains and flecks of someone else’s blood off of you, maybe curl up with a pint of dark beer and a pint of chocolate ice cream. Everyone’s likely going out for drinks, but you’ve been jostled around plenty for the day, head still ringing a bit from an elbow you took to the side of the head during a scrum.
“Hey, Ripper,” Johnny yells after you. He has lungs, even after a game of shouting himself hoarse. “Ye comin’ to tha pub?”
“Nah, not tonight,” you shout back. “Can’t be arsed. Goin’ home to order a Chinese.”
He’s about halfway deflating, and perks back up at the mention of greasy take out. “Order for Si ‘n’ me too, aye? We’ll be round in an hour.”
“Alright!” you call back, because that’s easier than shouting across a crowd that you were really looking forward to cozying up in front of the tv and— Oh, right. “Bring beer!” That saves you a stop on your way home.
You get home and scramble to clean up a bit-- Johnny doesn't mind a bit of mess, but Simon will stare at clutter like it personally offends him (because it does), or worse, just start tidying up. He always tells you you're not as bad as Johnny, but it's not much of a consolation. Half the mess is your roommate's anyway, who is at her girlfriend's for the weekend, again. It likely won't be long till she moves out, and you'll have to leave your cozy little spot. But at least you now have large friends to help you move.
That done, you order takeaway and pop into the shower, tossing your sweaty uniform into your hamper, and you're just getting dressed again when someone knocks at your door. You nearly forget to tuck your packer into the pocket you've sewn into all your boxers, remembering only as you almost reach the door. If anyone on God's green earth will notice that you suddenly don't have anything in your pants where you usually do, its Johnny.
"Takin' ages," he complains when you finally do answer the door. Behind him, Simon is paying for the takeout, making the delivery man look so nervous it would be funny if you didn't feel bad.
"Didn't have pants on yet. And Si, you don't have to--" He shoves the paper bag at you, cutting you off. Okay. Fair enough.
Johnny kicks his boots off haphazardly at the door. Simon takes his off neatly and sets both pairs neatly to the side.
Johnny's already in the kitchen, stowing beers in the fridge, then banging cupboards open and shut looking for plates. You'd think he'd remember by now, but he never does.
"You guys didn't have to skip the pub, you know," you say, unpacking the bag of takeout on the coffee table. "Everyone'll want to congratulate you."
"S'no fun without our little Ripper," Johnny says, tossing you one of the few beers you did have in the fridge, grinning. "Wouldn't even bother with the league without you."
"Don't be ridiculous," you say, laughing. "You guys are good. Best we've got."
#WIP WEDNESDAY BAYBEE#I'm gonna learn about Rugby I promise#I just haven't yet#In this part they're mostly not playing rugby anyway#Johnny and Simon find a scrappy little dude and are like “Oh we're keeping him forever”#Johnny would also absolutely notice if Ripper forgot his packer tbh#“Hey Ripper where's ur cock?” Just like 👀🤔#cave writing
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