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soft-lilith · 30 days

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Spilling my woes into your whisky

Word count 2.7k | Angst and Fluff

Soooo @writersdrug encouraged me to post my brain farts and I will do so from now on. If any of you have complains, got to her. /s

I hope you like it.

AO3 Mirror

The golden liquid in your glass looked so tempting even with the knowledge that you hated its taste. Small drops of water ran down the pretty looking glass, forming a small puddle underneath. Faint music entered your ears, but you couldn't hear a thing.

Your arms rested on the bar like heavy bags of meat. Between them were three beautiful rings.

One of them was way too expensive and was the reason you literally kicked his ass. Who spends 12 grand on a stupid engagement ring? He did. Idiot. Big, loving, caring idiot. You hate him so much, hate him for leaving you alone in this hell called life.

A tear fell on the gold ring with a beautiful design inspired by nature. Inside was a simple inscription.

Eternally yours.

Liar.

He is such a liar. How dare he ever give you hope of a life of bliss, a life by his side, a life away from this suffocating pain?

With trembling hands, you raised the glass to your chapped lips and gulped it down in one fell swoop.

Disgusting. You would never understand why he liked the taste of this shit so much.

As the woody note spread through your mouth, an image entered your brain.

It was one of those nights, the nights after an extremely hard mission. No words were spoken. Moonshine was the only source of light with the lit end of your cigarette.

Your head rested on his hard chest, listening to his heartbeat, while his nose rested in your hair. It was a ritual that was incorporated shortly after you first landed between his sheets.

It was all fun and games back then. But even on your first night, you couldn't shake the feeling that could best be described as weird. A mixture of fear and hope, lust and love.

On nights like that, the two of you became each other's world, and everything outside the door of your dorm was nonexistent. Leaving behind the cruel world you just fought in. He poured himself his favorite whiskey and you lit a cigarette. Both habits you tried your best to get rid of. But in moments like this, it was a treat, a reward for increasing your kill count. Something that was necessary, but the worst part of your job.

At the end of the day, you are human, and taking another's life leaves you with scars. Some of them are hidden and some of them show through a cigarette or a glass of whisky.

The bartender didn't need a word from you to know you needed another. Another drink to get closer to numbing your pain. You were used to pain. In fact, pain had been your longest friend. It was there when you grew up and the days you started basic training. The day you joined the team and the day you tasted him for the first time.

How it could find you anything but repulsive is beyond you. But he did. He kissed every scar life gave you, kissed the still-healing wounds of your past.

Your tears began to mingle with the snot running from your nose. It must look so hideous, a woman who doesn't move an inch, her eyes looking somewhere that wasn't in this bar, dressed in all black, her husband's uniform jacket draped over her shoulders.

"Stop stealin' me clothes, bonnie!", he complained to you. With innocence in your eyes, you look at him, in his shirt and nothing but his shirt.

"It's not my fault I look so much better in them."

He crossed his big arms over his chest as he looked down at you. Smiling, you rolled onto your back and locked eyes with him, placing your hand on your exposed thigh.

"If you want them back, you have to take them off first," you cooed and his eyes narrowed.

"Ye're a ratchet woman."

Before you could pout, he picked you up with ease and threw you over his broad shoulders. Your laughter echoed down the hallway leading to your shared bedroom.

"No, wait, I-!"

A slap on your butt cut short your pleading and his grip on your waist tightened.

"Ye'll see what ye get for playin' games, bonnie."

And you did. You walked funny for three days.

You put the empty glass back on the bar. The alcohol burned in your throat, but the pain wasn't strong enough to conceal your pain.

"My condolences."

You almost jumped at the male voice that ripped you out of your trance. How hard did you dissociate to not even notice that someone had sat down next to you?

"Thank you."

Nothing more, but enough. Hastily you wiped away some of the endless tears. With the nearby napkins the bartender had placed down with a sympathetic smile the moment the first tear left your eyes, you blew your nose and removed some of the ruined makeup under your eyes.

The man got a shot in front of him, which was quickly emptied and set down for a refill.

You felt your pulse in your head as you tried to pull yourself together. Should you try to talk to him? After all, the two of you were nothing more than strangers sitting in a bar in the middle of the day, getting drunk.

"What... What makes you drink at 14?"

A deep chuckle escaped his lips. As if you had asked the most unnecessary question. From his point of view, you probably did. You blinked a few times before playing nervously with your refilled whisky glass.

"It's 19."

Your head turned towards the man. His dark blond hair looked unkempt, and there were dark circles under his piercing blue eyes. There was no way you had sat in that bar for 5 hours bathing in grief.

"He's right, darling," the bartender explained, giving you a gentle look. "Would you like me to call you a cab?"

Slowly your eyes returned to the rings in front of you, as if they could speak for you.

You have been looking at wedding bands for a while. None of them seem to be 100% up to scratch, and with an increasingly annoyed fiancé by your side, you were even more unsure. But how could he not get anxious when this was the 4th store you went to look for rings?

"Come on, bonnie, just pick yin that ye like."

You looked at him with a slight pout.

"I don't vibe with any of them... maybe we should look somewhere else?"

He looked at you with his smile that still made your knees weak. Gently, he placed his hand on your cheek and you automatically nuzzled into it.

"If that's whit ye want, we can look somewhere else."

There it was again, his endless understanding when it comes to everything that concerns you. You will never fully comprehend how he was able to put up with your bullshit. And while he showed that he would rather have it done, he never once lashed out at you. Never.

"I just want them to be as beautiful as the ring you gave me," you explained as you moved closer to him, resting your forehead on his chest.

"I ken, bonnie, but if ye want something like that, ye'd need tae rob a bank wi' me."

A laugh escaped your lips and you pulled him into a hug. He kissed the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

"So which bank are we going to hit, Clyde?"

His laughter made you feel warm and fuzzy, and his hand moved up your back to your head, kissing you longingly.

"I love ye," he whispered against your lips.

"No need. I have nowhere else to go," you simply said, emptying another glass.

And you spoke the truth. There was no way you could go back to your house, back to the base, back to all the places that made you think of him.

Silence fell over the man and the bartender, who continued their work. And it stayed that way for a while. Endless tears soaked the bar as you just sat there staring at those stupid rings.

All the broken promises were catching up to you. The promises of sitting on the porch, gray hair and grandchildren playing in the front yard. The promises of traveling the world, making new memories. The promises of always being by your side.

But here you sat, broken, alone, and with the fire that once burned within you extinguished.

"My mother died of cancer."

It took you a moment to register what the man was saying. You turned your head to look at him. There was no sparkle in his blue eyes, and you could see that his inner turmoil was more than a simple storm. Your caretaker overcame his grief and raised your hand to place it over his.

For the first time since he sat down, he looked at you. There it was, a glimpse of what you would call familiarity. His eyes were different than his, but they had seen the same horrors.

"It's not quite the same as losing the love of your life, but I think I'm close to understanding how you feel," he continued, after downing another shot of clear alcohol. How he could drink without making a face was beyond you.

You let out a broken chuckle and your eyes went back to the rings you had picked up from the bar.

"Thank you for opening up, even though I'm just a stranger."

"You're not a stranger."

Confused, you tilted your head. The gears in your head couldn't turn fast enough to put together if you'd ever met this man before.

"We both fight on the same battlefield. We both buried our friends. We both made other people bury their friends."

Your mouth opened slightly before it formed a small smile. Tears streamed down your face again. He was right. While the two of you were talking to each other for the first time, he was not a stranger. He was a comrade, a team member who fought on the same front line. The same battle scars tainted your mind and body.

He couldn't hold your gaze any longer, looking almost shy as he turned his eyes back to his shot glass. Your hand still rested on his as another comfortable silence fell over the two of you.

So many unspoken things were fighting their way to the front of the war that was going on inside your head. You hated yourself so much for every fight you ever had with him. Especially because they all seemed so petty looking back on them now.

"Stop telling me what to do, Soap! I may be your girlfriend, but I'm not your property!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, bonnie, I'm just worried aboot ye!"

A bitter laugh came over your lips as you glared at him.

"Sure, tell you that yourself. Maybe one day I will believe it myself."

You were expecting a slap, and if you were honest, you really deserved one for saying all those things to him. How could you ever have faith that anyone would ever be in love with you? Look at you, a disgrace to your family, hiding the fact that you were a murderer behind the cloak of your uniform, a little whore who fucked all those men in the hope that they could see you, the crying girl inside of you, still waiting for her prince to fight his way through the darkness surrounding her.

But it wasn't a slap in the face, in fact, there was never a raising of his hand. No, he just grabbed your arm and pulled you into a forced embrace. At first you struggled, but eventually you gave in, embracing his warmth as you cried your eyes out.

"Stop thinkin' that ye're no worth my worry, bonnie. It hurts tae see ye like this."

Endless apologies and tears left your body as you continued to cry in his strong arms.

You flinched as the man's phone went off. Gently, you removed your hand so he could answer the call.

"Yes? Yes, I'm at the bar. No, I'm fine. I can text you the address. Later."

He typed something into the device before sliding it back into his pocket. It was only now that you noticed his accent, which your foggy brain had a hard time pinpointing.

"Sorry for the startle."

You couldn't help but chuckle.

"Please, I'm sorry for being so jumpy."

There was something close to a smile on the man's lips. After putting on your rings on your left hand and his on your right, you reached into your jacket pocket. A crumpled pack of cigarettes was placed on the bar. You pulled the ashtray toward you before lighting the cancer stick with a lighter.

"Old habits die hard," he said almost with a teasing undertone, and you sucked your teeth.

"Old habits die hard," you repeated before taking a long drag on your cigarette.

It had something comforting about it, sitting in that chair, at the bar, ignoring the glaring horror waiting outside that front door. And as you sat next to the stranger, you felt yourself starting to calm down, at least a little.

"Are you thinking about revenge, if that's an option?"

Good question. But you already knew the answer.

"Will killing the freak who took his life bring him back into my arms?"

You could see your counter question sinking in as he was about to speak when the front door of the bar opened and a group of young soldiers stumbled into the bar. Great, just what you needed. Some of them were holding a girl close, displaying her like some kind of trophy.

It seemed that you weren't the only one who was more than disdainful at the arrival of the group of people. But once again, your new acquaintance was too slow or too wrapped up in his own thoughts to react faster than one of the men who ordered a round of drinks. The boy stood a little too close to you and his smell made your nose wrinkle.

His eyes lingered, checking you out, before he began to speak.

"He's not worth it."

Your eyes widened and your trembling hand clenched into a fist. But he didn't stop. All those words slowly turned to white noise as you froze. You wanted to stand up and beat the shit out of this asshole who thought it was appropriate to go up to a grieving widow and hit on her. You couldn't, though, which made you hurt even more.

The alcohol kicked in as a dizzy spell washed over you.

Not only that, but endless memories were being dumped on you. The feeling of his 5 o'clock shadow under your fingers, the feeling of his rough hands on your thighs, the feeling of being whole for the first time in your life as you lay in his arms.

A loud sob escaped your lips.

I loved you so. I loved you so and yet

Traitor that you are get a bullet through your heart

Join me right in here, and take a look at my insides

I loved you so. I loved you so and yet

Strangely, the white noise had stopped and you heard someone calling your name. Still not quite back in the present, you turned your head toward the voice calling for you. Slowly, your eyes moved up to meet those of your teammate.

Ghost's brown eyes looked slightly red and unusually emotional. Or as emotional as someone like him could be. You had trouble processing how he found you in this bar in the middle of nowhere.

"Come on, darling, let me take you home. The others are worried."

The words caught in your throat as you tried to answer him. All that happened was another tear falling onto your jacket. Ghost held out his hand to support you. As your stitches were pulled, you put your half-finished cigarette into the glass ashtray. It took you a moment to see the blood on his hand. Ah, that's why the white noise stopped, you thought as you carefully stepped down from the barstool. Ghost put his arm around your shoulders to help you out of the bar.

And as you stumbled along, you turned to the man at the bar who had a genuine smile on his lips as he looked at you. Your lips said, "Thank you," but your vocal cords didn't obey. The new acquaintance gave you only a nod before turning back to his drink.

#lili writes #cod #x reader #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod soap #reader x soap #tw grief #tw angst #tw death of a loved one #tw described blood

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grimesgirll · 15 days

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“nah, baby, i’m not gonna be able to stop when i start.”

“let’s share then!”

“blood?”

you nod eagerly and daryl shakes his head again, muttering a no, baby, it’s not a good idea but your hand is on his bicep, bare neck front and center, and you feel him twitch in his pants beneath you. letting out a naughty giggle, you grind further onto your beloved vampire. “c’mon,” you coo. “you know you wanna.”

“you know i do, girl,” daryl breathes against your shoulder when you lean down to begin kissing his own, trailing up to his neck. he shudders with you on atop him. “baby,” he protests as you place hot, open mouthed kisses all over his pale skin.

"then why don't you let me taste you and i'll let you taste me?"

you propose that as if daryl hadn't seen the fucking face of god last time he'd tasted you.

"drinking from your kind is dangerous." he tells you immediately, even scooching back as if to not be so close to your irresistible smelling neck.

"but i trust you!" you insist and wrap your arms around him to pull the cold blooded man close to your chest. "why don't you trust me on this?"

"because i love you too much for you to let me drain you in the fucking bed."

a huff escapes you. "dare',"

"don't start that."

"but you'll be able to control yourself. i know it," you promise and press a kiss to his cheek, then his lips, reveling in how he softened into you. you only withdraw your lips to assure him, "let's just do it. i wanna taste you, dare'." your lips twinge into a crooked grin once daryl slides off slightly to reach off the side of the bed.

a flash of silver from the nightstand and daryl’s raising a freshly incised wrist to your lips.

for me? you mouth before parting your lips to let the thick liquid fall between them.

you haven’t had much vampire blood before. only once before in a dire emergency had daryl offered you his wrist. it feels special - like he’s yielding something sacred when it coats your tongue and you swallow what john hopkins' leading biologists had deemed the ultimate life blood.

daryl drops his wrist after you down a mouthful and is suddenly transfixed by how rapidly black, vivid dilation consumes your once bright eyes. only a thin ring of color remains on the edge of your iris. wooziness sets in and daryl's rushing to curl you into his side and recline you on the satin pillows of your shared bed. he can't help but swell in his pants at the spectacle he's made of you lolling your tongue out just a little to catch the dribble down your lips.

“now it’s your turn.”

“girl i said-,”

“-i know what you said!” you exclaim. daryl’s darkened eyes widen at your outburst. you sweep a tress of hair behind your head and roll your eyes. “i’m gonna be fine. please, dare’!” you pout. “i know you can just take a little. try it!”

“but what if-,”

“-you won’t.”

now you're nearly on top of your undead lover again - hands planted on his uncut forearm to urge him. "dare', it's only fair."

"it's not fair to drain you, baby," your auburn haired boyfriend counters. "you know how vamps get about fairy blood."

"just try it," and despite his speed, he almost misses the knife you're about to clean off. "hey!" you protest once he tosses it across trhe room.

"fine, just let me," daryl gives in.

you beam with delight. your lips find his again and envelope them, slipping your tongue inside as you bring his strong, calloused hand to your collarbone and slant into the welcoming bed. the hesitation you sense, you try to assuage with a thoughtful hand on his chest, twisting to touch his torso and draw him against you.

the sound of daryl's robust fangs coming forth has you already dripping. you squirm against his weight, already tilting your hips beneath him and his dick isn't even out.

"you ready, baby?"

a gentle hand comes to your chin, and daryl's wondering if it's even fair to ask you this in this rapturous state. to no one's surprise, you're nodding and begging for him to "just fucking bite" you already.

without further ado, daryl dips his fanged bite to the delicate skin of your neck. those sharp, penetrating teeth don't even factor into your experience. you're waiting for pain - daryl told you it sometimes hurt.

devoid of it or delayed, the pain never comes. just pleasure.

"ah, fuck!" you croon lustily. echoing your expletive with another moan. you feel daryl stop, not sucking or puncturing further. you whine and hook your leg under and around his. "don't stop," you demand raggedly.

so he doesn't. daryl drops his incisors fully into your neck, murmuring something through a blood filled mouth into your neck.

"fuck, dare'," you rasp.

the tugging through your neck, through your veins is only a dull, thrilling ache with daryl’s blood in your system. he may as well just be kissing your neck - delivering the ultimate hickey. whatever pain the bite victims on the news went on about when the anti-VRA people clearly did not present while infused with vampire blood.

it's not long before your boy is coming up for air.

blood dripping from his mouth, he's never looked more handsome.

you immediately pull him in for a sloppy kiss, not caring for the irony taste of you on his tongue or wondering why he's not insisting that he wipe off before he kisses you. no, daryl's arching into the kiss and returning your bump and grind with his own hips. you giggle into his mouth. daryl's high on fairy blood. your favorite.

ferocity takes over your formerly - somewhat - tame creature of the night. inhabitations dead and buried, daryl's not hesitating this time to get his lips on your neck - or to hike down your skirt. your legs kick desperately as you wiggle your brown skirt past your ass and suddenly your legs are in the air. held by one hand, your knees crunch above your chest and your panties are thrown to the floor. nose sharply inhaling as if he could siphon every delicious scent, every delectable drop of you from his nose through your clit.

"mhmm," you coo needily. "daryl!"

a tongue laves its way around your clit from side to side, then up and down as if blood drunk daryl couldn't decide. those unwavering hands keep your thighs propped up regardless. you buck and thrash but with daryl's hands on you, you remain still and twitch into his touch. your musk still dancing on his tongue and on the tip of every one of his senses just as he digs his fingers into your thighs. that seemingly supernatural tongue flicks around your clit and teases your core.

a buildup is on the brink of collapse before you even know it. there's no warning sign except for an involuntarily husk and the slick suddenly complimenting and wetting his pretty, pleasure driving lips already coated in your whimsical blood. the same fairy blood that he's going to his head. he can't tell if he's pussy drunk or overdosing on your sweetness.

and you can't tell the difference between time and space. both entities flicker on the edge of your peripherals as a blinding, body curling rush crashes through you. lightning can't compare. no tongue in the world could have you coming undone this way. if you two weren't so wrapped up in each other and the potency of your blood, you may be embarrassed but there's no room to be embarrassed with a vampire between your legs. a creature who loves nothing more than to build you up even past the point of breaking. he can't help but grow louder and even more aggressive in his tongue led campaign against your sensitive, fleshy core. you tighten and untighten, coil and burst until you're convulsing and coming onto daryl.

there's no chance to catch your breath as the wild weapon weaves even more neediness into you with the sweetness he's stealing from between your thighs. the campaign proceeds north, detailing a messy, hot, purple trail from your lower lips along your torso, your tits and to the lips quivering, still trying to trap breath in any way possible.

you're indulging in your own sweet, slick musk from daryl's lips and encircling your arms around him for anchorage once more. your hips on top of each other propels daryl in motion to yank his pants down. between you, his boxers are sliding down and he's knocking them off the bed.

an animalistic growl erupts from him just at the sensation of your slick pussy beneath his girthy cock. dick in hand, daryl is lining up with your slip n' slide of an entrance. suddenly you're pleading. puffing out pleases all while daryl sucks up the divine array in front of him.

head buried into your chest, it's easier to combat the chaos your blood has swirling around in your head. its heat inducing and dastardly just how hot you are like this. punctures on your neck healing, tits bouncing with every bated breath, voice dripping like honey. the vampire presses fangless kisses against your skin when he finally pushes his hips forward.

"fuck!" is your exclamation of choice.

"so fuckin' good," daryl husks into your chest.

an inch or two at a time is how daryl takes you. a tit cupped in one hand and yours in the other, daryl is sure to grate against your clit as he eases in. each labored moan eggs him to go further. the vulgar syllables you're uttering only urge daryl. eventually he's eating up every fuck, shit, and jesus christ with a crushing kiss.

hot and heavy, you two rapture yourselves into the most sinfully delightful rhythm. the drag of his cock against you feels like the finest massage. the edges of your vision are already spotty, so you just coax daryl closer and clench down on his cock.

"fuck," you two rasp in unison.

"c'mon, dare'," you're already croaking. "i'm already close."

daryl doesn't need to look up from licking the fervid skin of your breasts to know your lips are swollen, eyes blinking back tears, and dumbstruck. but when he finally tilts his head up, it makes all the difference. then he's diving to meet your lips.

those thigh muscles work into you without pause. thumping and smacking the wall, the bed feels like a faraway universe compared to the world outside.

your muscles tighten around him to remind that you are so close. so close that a finger against your clit has you squealing. daryl only subjects you to the dual motions long enough to feel the tension in your core crumble and crush his cock. he doesn't need every sense heightened by fairy blood to fill you up faster than he'd like. now though, with no resolve or reason he can summon to stop, he's on the edge of euphoria.

daryl immersed in you has you riding the same high. teary eyes long to capture the sight of him so relaxed. removed from any drama or stress, you wish you two could roll around like this every day. to thrust your face towards his and feel his stubble, to kiss hungrily, and feel his lips on yours as he finishes.

spurting into you like no tomorrow, daryl drives his hot seed into you. the hips that have you pinned to the sheets show no sign of stopping. in and out, in and out. the motion repeats itself as daryl rams every last bit of himself into you and you snap and shriek.

tremors trickle through you until they're turning to thunder crackles around daryl's cock. the sounds spilling from you two soundtrack your thoroughgoing, salacious release. "holy fuck, you feel good inside of me," you're cawing into his ear as you canter closer to coming down.

blissed out on the bed, the two of you don’t know where one of you begins and the other ends. tangled together is the only state you can comprehend. a whimper runs through you once daryl gently tugs his cock from your messy pussy. the cool air coasting up and down your folds startled you, not as much as the finger gathering up your slick - which daryl licks clean.

“fuck, and how many hours to dawn?” you ask, sitting up on lazy elbows.

“long enough for you to get some sleep.”

you huff. even through teary, lusty eyes you’re

“you gotta sleep off the v, girl.”

“it’s not v.” you argue instantly. you curl up to daryl’s side and drop your chin onto his shoulder. “it’s you. i don’t wanna sleep you off.”

“well you’re gonna be bouncin’ off the walls if you don’t,” and when your fingers start sliding down your lover’s torso, he takes the time to wrestle you into the soft mattress. instantly, his mouth is attached to your already healing wound - courtesy of the v, his blood.

pinned beneath daryl, you could go to sleep. fade into the mattress or the feeling of pure joy consuming you. but then you hook a leg around his and when your eyes meet, his are blacked out. or you could go for round two?

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