#sleeping with ghosts has taken over my LIFE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soullumii · 8 months

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sleepyhead | gale dekarios x afab!reader

(18+!!!) afab!reader. second person pov. literally just smut: oral (f receiving), piv, dirty talk, consensual somnophilia. gale lives to please as always

my first gale fic... this man has taken over my entire life.

2k words

Gale’s lips press against yours in the dark, gentle and coaxing. A push and pull. You blink blearily awake from slumber as his hand finds your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleep shift. His brown hair falls over the two of you like a curtain, shielding you from the terrors of the darkness.

“Mm hello,” you purr against his lips. “What time is it?” You ask when he pulls back. He looks a bit wild, pupils blown wide, his eyes practically look black even in the dim candlelight. He’s breathing heavily, his gaze traveling over you, heated, like the air surrounding fire. He doesn’t answer.

“Gale?” you repeat, warmth pooling in your belly at the pure desperation on his face. At the want curling in his eyes like a flame.

“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice rough, as though he’s parched. “Though I cannot stop thinking about you. I must…” he trails off, mind moving faster than his mouth can.

One thing you love about Gale is his ability to talk for seemingly hours on end with such eloquence and poetry. But when he’s like this…already hard against your thigh, slowly rutting his hips in circles, captured within pleasure, the words seem to leave him. You love it just as much, if not more.

He leans in and runs his nose along your throat, breath ghosting over your skin. His teeth graze you, and his tongue follows, licking a stripe up your throat. You moan shakily, cunt clenching around nothing.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, though it’s more breath than substance. Your brain is already beginning to short circuit, especially when the hand on your waist travels down to your thigh, fingertips pressing into the muscle there.

“You just looked so beautiful on the battlefield today… I tried to contain myself because we had so much to do, but… fuck,” he breathes this against your neck, desperate. He hardly ever uses such vulgar language. “I need you, love.”

“So you really weren’t lying when you told me you were turned on by my fighting,” you say, surprised.

“I am a lot of things, darling, but a liar is not one of them.”

The sound of his inhale as he leans down to kiss you again sends more molten pleasure swirling through you.

His hips press against yours, grinding against your clothed cunt in a steady rhythm. You moan into his mouth, your hands reaching up to clench at his sleep shirt stretched over his broad back.

You’re still sleepy as his hand drifts to the hem of your shift. He slowly pulls it up your thighs, up over your breasts, revealing your undergarments. He paws at your waistband like a cat begging for food. You lift your hips so he can pull them down over your ass. He undoes the ties to your bralette and slides it off your shoulders.

Gale kisses his way down your body, stopping to close his warm mouth over a nipple while his dexterous hand squeezes and tugs at the other. You moan lightly, pleasure easing through you. He hums appreciatively against your skin, and the vibrations travel pleasantly through you.

“Gale…” you half murmur half moan as he moves his mouth to your other nipple. “I can hardly stay awake…” You feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness. The gentle chirping of the crickets outside your tent doesn’t help.

“Of course,” he says, leaning back. “We can stop.”

“No—no wait,” you stop him with a hand curled around his wrist. “You can keep going while I’m sleeping, I don’t mind.”

His eyes darken, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips. “Really? Are you quite sure?”

You nod with a sleepy smile and settle back comfortably. “Mhm.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Your eyes flutter shut, your breathing slowing as you succumb to your exhaustion. Your limbs feel heavy, even as Gale continues his way down your body.

“You’re so gorgeous, so perfect,” he whispers into your skin. His fingers curl into your thighs before he slowly pulls them apart, baring yourself to him.

He runs his hands appreciatively up and down your thighs, squeezing and kneading before hooking them over his shoulders.

Gale presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh before retreating. You feel his lips again a second later, just between your thigh and cunt, mere centimeters from where you’re wet and aching for him.

And then you feel his warm breath puffing against your core, and your body squirms impatiently. You peek an eye open to watch him.

He looks so handsome as he glances up at you, eyes soft, mouth twitched into a smirk. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I am,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “Just wanted to admire the view one last time.”

He chuckles lowly, “Sweet dreams, darling.”

He doesn’t move for a while, and you find yourself drifting off in the stillness. Your breathing slows, your mind growing quiet as sleep takes over you.

---

The moment your breaths even out as your hands fall slack against your sides, Gale presses his face between your thighs. He uses the flat of his tongue to lick a long, hot stripe through your folds. You taste delicious on his tongue, and gods you’re so wet. You’re soaking his beard, and he’s hardly been between your thighs for longer than ten seconds.

He doesn’t care. You keep releasing cute little moans in your sleep as he takes you apart brick by brick. Or rather… lick by lick.

His hands grip your waist, keeping you close. Your hips buck involuntarily to meet his mouth, grinding against his face. Even in your sleep you’re seeking out pleasure from him.

God forbid he won’t deliver.

He pulls back one of his hands to slide a finger into you. It goes easily. He adds another without any resistance. You’re so incredibly wet. He wants to remain between your thighs forever. Your sweet, slick arousal runs down his hand to his wrist, and he bends his head to lick it off.

His hips rut against the floor of his tent, the act of eating you out so arousing to him he has to seek his own pleasure to mitigate the pain. He doesn’t mind. He’d rather see you cum over and over again before he ever does.

He slowly thrusts his fingers into you while mouthing at your clit, delighting in your shaky breaths and wanton moans. You look gorgeous, brows screwed together, sweat beading on your temple. You’re going to wake up soon, and damnit he’ll make sure it’s while you’re cumming.

---

Warmth kindles between your thighs, pleasure and arousal pooling deep in your belly, tingling in your toes and rising through you.

Sleep drifts away from you, hanging onto the recesses of your mind, but ultimately not strong enough against the building pleasure you feel.

You chase the feeling, the promise of sweet release. Your surroundings slowly begin to materialize around you. The feeling of your bedroll clenched between your fingers, the undeniable feeling of a mouth between your legs, the sound of low, rumbling, appreciative moans that vibrate through you.

Even the sound of your own cries are registering in your mind.

The melting pleasure collapses into one pinpoint. A supernova explodes within you as your clit is sucked diligently while the two, long fingers buried inside you hook to press against your g-spot.

Your back bows, eyes flying open as you cum against Gale’s warm and inviting mouth with a cry of his name. He guides you through it with gentle laps of his tongue through your folds. He mumbles words of encouragement, but they’re lost against your skin.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Gale.”

“Mm.” You can practically feel his pride radiating off of him from making you come.

He continues to lick you through it until you’re coming again, hands fisted in his hair as his lips suck once more on your clit, his fingers fucking into you. Your legs quiver atop his shoulders, your mind utterly fucked into emptiness.

When it’s all too much you push him away, breathing heavily, contented tears in your eyes.

“Holy shit,” you huff, trying to catch your breath. “Maybe you should wake me up like that more often.”

His eyes sparkle excitedly. “If that is what you wish, I’d be glad to.”

“You are such a giver. You really should let me take care of you sometimes.”

He shrugs. “I like giving. It brings me great pleasure to reside between your thighs for as long as you can stand.”

You sigh at his fanciful words, but you appreciate his adoration all the same. He crawls forward as you lean up to kiss him, the taste of yourself on his tongue rekindling the fire in your gut. His hand winds its way into your hair, the other squeezes your hip.

“I need you inside me,” you whisper against his lips. “Now.”

He groans, fingers flexing in your hair. Your body jolts with arousal at the sweet tug.

“Say no more,” Gale says. “Your wish is my command.”

He takes off his trousers then rolls you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips, pulling your ass up and backwards, and his knee comes between your thighs to press them apart.

He guides the head of his cock through your slick folds and your hips squirm in anticipation.

He leans across your back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. “I wish you could see yourself on the battlefield. The way you look with someone else’s blood on your armor… The flush on your cheeks… The way you breathe… You’re so capable, so strong. I cannot help but stare.”

He eases his cock inside you and the two of you moan in tandem at the delightful feeling. Him, at your warmth. You, at the undeniable feeling of being filled.

He bites lightly at your shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Sometimes I wish I could take you right there. In front of all of our friends and dead foes.”

You clench around him at his words, and he groans, hips snapping forward. You jolt against the bedroll, elbows digging into the feather down material.

“Gale,” you whimper.

He hums, “Yes. You’d be saying my name just. Like. That.” He delivers those three last words with hard thrusts, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing in the tent.

He builds up the pace, fucking into you steadily. Your cheek squishes against your pillow as he fills you, your mind still sleepy but undeniably consumed by lust and love.

“What do you think? Would you like that, love? Would you like to be fucked in front of all our companions?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, please, Gale. Need you—“

“Mm, that’s it,” he murmurs. His hand skates across your stomach as his warm fingers settle over your clit. “As much as I’d love to indulge the fantasy, I’m not sure I’d want them to watch.”

He begins to circle your clit with reverence, in time with his thrusts as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“I want you all to myself,” he grits.

You cry out, melting against him, knees buckling as you reach your release. It rips through you, hard and fast. Unrelenting. A wildfire raging through your nerves.

Gale chases after his own climax, thrusts growing sloppy and deeper, moans and praises spilling from his lips before he finally cums inside you, hips twitching.

Your body trembles as the aftershocks roll through you.

You collapse onto the bedroll, breathing heavily, and Gale pulls you into him. You both lie on your sides, him softening inside you. He buries kisses into your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Are you all right?” he asks you, his thumb brushing comfortingly along your rib cage.

“So good,” you respond, brain blissfully empty, as if the tadpole never existed. You already feel sleep crawling across your mind again, pulling you under. You yawn and grin happily, like a cat that’s gotten its warm milk.

“Going back to bed already?” he teases, leaning up to press a kiss to your cheek. “I wear you out that much?”

“Mhmm…”

“All right. Go to sleep darling. I’ll clean you up.”

You’re already halfway asleep when you feel his tongue dip into you once more, licking his cum out from inside you—

Oh well. You can catch up on sleep tomorrow.

#gale x reader #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #baldurs gate gale #gale bg3 #gale dekarios smut #bg3

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whateveriwant · 6 months

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Hello, i hope you dont mind if i request agian! Could I get TF141 with an S/O who are just super prone to panic attack?

These are not meant to be taken as mental health advice. I'm just playing around here <3

Soap

The first time it happened, he didn't know what was going on. The sudden heavy breathing, the tremors, the loss of speech; he thought you were dying, honestly

It nearly sent him into a panic as he tried to figure out what he could do to help. Should you stay put or should you be taken to hospital? He just didn't know

However, once it had passed and you were able to better explain the situation, Soap was pulling you into a hug, the biggest breath of relief escaping him knowing you were going to be alright

He wasn't “happy” per se to learn this is something you struggle with regularly, but knowing there's at least something he could do to help in the future put his mind at ease

Nowadays he's got the drill down pat, so when he sees the signs an attack is incoming, he's whisking you to a safe environment where you can attempt to de-stress

Oftentimes it leads to him sitting beside you out on a curb somewhere, his warm hand rubbing soft circles into your back as he comforts you through it

Gaz

From the second he notices you start to pull away from him, Gaz is immediately on top of it, deploying a technique he's quite familiar with

“Tell me five things you can see,” he says, unbothered by having to repeat himself when you don't respond because he did not seriously just ask you that right now

But after enough prompting by him, you shakily list out five items, wet eyes darting around the room as you try to take stock of your surroundings

Once you do as bid, he'll continue, “Now four things you can hear.” And now you're starting to think you see where he's going with this

He'll work his way through all five senses, counting down to one, and once he reaches the final, you find that your pulse has slowed tremendously and your tremor has stopped entirely

Afterwards, you give him a shy thanks, asking how he knew that would work. “Simple,” he tells you. “Used to do it with my sister when we were young. It helped her then, so I thought it might help you now.”

Price

He takes the most heavy handed approach when trying to bring you down from such a rocky high. And while some people might find it smothering, you just see it as grounding

“Hey. Look at me,” his order is firm though his voice remains purposefully gentle. “Don't look anywhere else, just look at me. That's it. Just focus on me.”

If he has to, he'll even push a finger against your chin until you're meeting his eye and holding it, trying to focus on his soothing words instead of the anxious thoughts racing through your head

Slowly and deliberately, he'll breathe in through his nose then out through his mouth, guiding you to follow along with his measured pattern

If that's still not enough, he'll then take your hand beneath his and hold it over his heart, letting its strong, steady rhythm lull you back to a calmer state

“You alright?” he questions once you've settled down again. When you nod and assure him you are, he'll kiss your temple, promising, “I've got you, dear. Always.”

Ghost

When he realized what was happening with you, he quickly jumped into action, but in a way that was completely unexpected

“Remember when you first took me out for sushi and I didn't know wasabi was hot?” he asks you seemingly out of the blue. “Ate a whole spoonful before I realized. Burned like hell going down. But that was nothin’ compared to when it came out again later.”

The memory of that night stirs to life in your mind, and through your rapid breaths and trembling lips, you're able to crack the barest of smiles

He continues, “Or remember when I got sprayed by that skunk in the garden? You made me sleep on the couch for three days. Said I smelled like a garbage bin’s arsehole.”

That memory has you huffing out a short, low chuckle, and though you don't notice it, your pulse begins to hammer a little slower

And so he keeps going, distracting you with funny memories and personal anecdotes until all you're doing is smiling and laughing brightly, totally forgetting what had made you panic in the first place

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sunsetsimon · 8 months

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farmer simon riley ♡

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

this is very self indulgent sorry not sorry! pt 2. boyfriend simon nsfw will be out tomorrow!

─────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────

☼ he wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, kissing your forehead before he starts his routine. rinsing his face, shaving if he needs to, brushing his teeth, the usual. simon doesn’t listen to much music when he’s alone, but the silence grounds him, a reminder that this is his life now. he does a lot of reflecting, sitting on the porch and drifting off in his mind.

☼ as the sun comes up he gets to work, feeding the animals one by one. he talks to them and names them. he acts annoyed when the ducks follow him, quacking at him for him to hurry up and give them their feed. “god dammit, fucking ducks back up!” he grunts, kicking his leg out to keep them back as he fills the bucket.

he makes his round to each animal, giving them a pat and checking that they have everything they need before leaving. by the time he makes his way back to the house, he can tell you're up. the curtains are drawn and the front door is propped open, letting in the fresh morning air. he knows he'll find you in the back garden with a wicker basket on your arm, trying to decide what to make for breakfast.

"how about omelettes this morning, love? somethin' simple, wanna spend some time with you," he says, pulling your back against him, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt and caressing your skin.

☼ always drives you into town when you want to go. he’s like your personal body guard, so unless you tell him otherwise, he expects to be next to you the entire time. spoils you so much too, letting you buy whatever you want without a fuss, he has the money for it.

☼ he buys whole cow from one of his cattle friends and learns to cook different recipes with the meat. simon definitely becomes one of those ‘griller guys’ who finds any excuse to grill or smoke meat. he has a lot of fun with it, trying out new recipes and techniques to see which produces the best results. he loves cooking together with you, thinks you look so cute in your “kiss the chef” apron he got you.

☼ having the boys or your friends over for meals. ghost is anything but a socialite, but he does have the boys over a few times a year for a small cookout. you get so excited every time, ready to hear all the stories soap and gaz talk about, even though they definitely shouldn’t be sharing the information. they try to keep it lighthearted, making positive memories with each other outside of work is rare. he never says it, but simon has a good time whenever they come.

☼ indulges in a lot of hobbies. shooting, wood working, gardening and more. he has to do something to occupy his time now. there’s a small building on your property that he renovated into his work room. tools cover the walls, and his projects sit on the tables until he finishes them. he spends the nights he can’t sleep in there, distracting himself with work so that he doesn’t think about the things that haunt him. you wake up to an empty bed in the middle of the night and look out the window, seeing the lights on in the distant building. sighing, you roll out of bed and put on your fuzzy robe that he got you for winter.

you open the large door, revealing simon sitting at one of his tables, his gun taken apart and splayed across it. “si, it’s 2 in the morning, come to bed,” you say, walking over and softly petting the hair on the back of his neck.

“i will soon, just gotta finish this.” you frown at him, giving him a knowing look that he doesn’t actually plan on being done soon. unmoving from your spot, he sighs and wipes off his hands, throwing the towel down. “okay, ‘m coming.” his hand reaches under the table, grabbing a 2nd gun and tucking it into the holster in his pants.

you roll your eyes, “my god.. do you just have those everywhere?”

“yes.”

☼ homegrown flower bouquets during the spring and summer, simon makes it a point to make you a fresh one every week. he cuts the stems and puts it in a vase for you, leaving it on the kitchen counter for you to see when you come down. he does everything he can to make you feel special because you’re the light of his life. sometimes he builds you things too! making mental notes whenever you talk about wanting something, he spends night after night in his workroom to make it perfect for you.

☼ loves sitting on your porch and watching the sun set with you. after dinner, he’ll pull you out onto the porch, sitting next to you with a glass of whiskey. simon doesn’t say anything, just staring off and enjoying your presence. you can feel his eyes on you occasionally, watching as the sun casts it’s oranges, pinks, and reds across your face. you look so beautiful and peaceful here.

☼ never expected this to be his life but he’s happy with the way it is. he can never get too bored though, always needing to do something. the winters can be tough on him mentally as there’s less to do in the cold, so he picks up reading and is constantly finishing projects around the house. he just wants you to be safe and by his side, forever.

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #.wbm

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sprout-fics · 2 months

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Silver Fox

(Nikolai x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (MDNI) Wordcount: 5k Tags: Character study, Age gap, Light Dom/Sub, Fluff, Slowburn, Smut, Dominant Nikolai, Soft Nikolai, Aftercare, Orgasm delay/denial, Light BDSM dynamics, Cuddling, Corruption kink, Brat Taming, Overstimulation, Dirty talk in Russian, Power dynamics, A dose of manipulation but everything is consensual Warnings: Brief mention of capture and torture A/N: This is my first and most likely not my last attempt to write for Nikolai. I really like this dynamic and welcome requests for more

When Nik first meets you, you try to rob him.

You’d been younger then. Wilder, scared of a world you struggled to survive in. With hardly a roof over your head, always an empty belly, chased by ghosts of a past you struggled to leave behind. You were desperate, constantly looking for a way out, clawing and scrambling at the stone alleyways in hopes you could one day see the sky.

He finds you like that- as a dirty, fierce little stray. In a grimy jacket, eyes wild, dirt smeared across your face, you hold up a knife to him and demand his wallet. Stupid, you know, but shivering, scared of the world that was destined to eat you alive, choosing a target far bigger than yourself.

Cute, he’d admitted later.

It takes little effort from him to twist the knife from your hand, examining it as you froze in a shock that only seems to multiply when he asks you if you want a warm meal. The offer is too tempting to ignore to your growling stomach, but in reality it’s the barest hint of softness behind his eyes that has you follow him like a kicked stray out of the cold.

Little did you know, behind that softness lay his own hunger. A deep, prowling thing that circled you beyond your sight.

He takes you to a quiet little eatery, out of the way, only three tables in what amounted to a shed. One of his favorites, he tells you with a smirk. The cook gives you both a look, suspicious of the man who had escorted in a woman much younger than him, dirty and nervous as you are. Nik lets you order, smirking still as you nervously pick something small, cheap, and he instead orders something large and warm for you. He watches you scarf down the entirety of your meal, gazing at him suspiciously all the while. He’s quiet- appraising you later realized.

You know of men like him. Gangsters, thugs, men who work alongside the mafia or even worse. Men from the underbelly of Russian society who walk in plainclothes and hold dark secrets. You know the danger of accepting favors from men like him. Be it your body, your servitude, or a debt paid in blood, men like those you feared would come to collect in due course, would bleed you dry and leave you ruined given the chance. The only charity they offered served their own interests, the cause they flew their flag for.

It became clear as time grew that Nikolai was not much different, that he had taken one look at you and had seen the thing you never saw in yourself:

Potential.

In the end he tells you if you ever need work to come find him, and find him you do.

You’d been foolish, you think back, if only because you’d been so young, naive without the lessons he would soon teach you.

It’s simple things at first. Taking packages and dropping them off at seemingly random locations, picking up things from shady characters who’d let their eyes rake down your form. In exchange Nikolai offers you a warm place to sleep, a roof over your head, hot meals and shelter from the ghosts that chase you. Distant, professional, but there all the same. Steadfast, waiting for your skittishness to shed itself before he comes closer. Waiting. Expectant.

Curious, you’d watch as he tinkers on his helicopter, cleans his cache of weapons, fixes the aging appliances in his house outside Saratov where the remains of the Soviet legacy lay etched between the old manors of the дворянство.

You observe, quiet at a distance, and ask him about the life he led, to which he was vague.

“I fix things.” He tells you simply, snapping a cartridge back into place with practiced efficiency.

You wondered then, if he was trying to fix you too.

He welcomes your interests in his work, skittish though you are, ready to dart back to a safe distance at a moment’s notice. You peer over his shoulder as he works at his tool bench in the hangar, assist him as he tightens screws on his helicopter, pass him ingredients as he cooks dinner for you both on his stove. Rather than answer any questions you pose, Nik elects to show you himself, putting his hands over yours and allowing them to guide you with ease in his tasks.

His protege, he introduces you as to those that ask. The younger woman he had taken under his tutelage. You’d almost resented it at the time, still suspicious, ready to flee at the first instance of betrayal. Yet inside you knew it was too late. In the same way that wolves became dogs, you found yourself near the fire of him, resting your weary bones as he offered you a place to stay.

Even if he held a leash behind his back.

Nik is careful, stern as a teacher but tender as a friend. In moments of learning his voice is whip-sharp to correct any mistakes, but in the quiet evenings he is almost soft, blunted at the edges in a way that betrays his indulgence in you. Each time he gets close, you try to ignore the way his touch lingers, holding back, greedy but restrained as your heart flutters inside your chest. Purposeful, careful not to spook you lest it ruin the things he’s predestined for you.

You try not to miss him when he leaves you behind for work, reminding yourself this is only temporary, to not let your guard down lest he burn you. He will someday stop having a use for you, and you will once again walk into the wild seeking shelter under a different name.

When he returns, you try to ignore the relief that bubbles inside your chest, the desperate hunger of a lonely thing looking for warmth.

You don’t see the glittering silver collar he envisions in his mind.

The teaching moments are constant. It’s not long before Nikolai begins taking you on assignments rather than leaving you at the house alone. You become familiar with the inside of the chopper, and learn to doze in the co-pilot seat when you are allowed. You help him catalog his ammo and supplies, listen over your headset as he explains piloting to you. In meetings with suppliers and clients he tells you quietly to stay inside the chopper behind him, and you peek out to see the eyes of his ‘friends’ flicking towards you. Curious, even as Nik stood as a stalwart wall between you and them.

In the passenger seat of his truck you learn to carefully balance his chosen rifle on your lap, feeling the stiffness ease from your shoulders as he lays a heavy hand across your nape. On long drives he stops at sunset to admire the view, and you hover close to his side as he smokes long drags of cigars. When he encourages you to try you cough on the smoke, and he thumps you between your back gently, chuckling even when you shoot him a glare. The next morning finds you somewhere new, and the lessons resume.

All the while his careful guidance reminds you to keep your eyes up, to stay alert, focused, to heed his warnings and obey his orders when given.

Nik is an endless wealth of knowledge when it comes to his profession. He’s deliberate in the things he teaches you: how to calculate the distance of a target 100 meters away, what the warning lights on the helicopter console meant, how to handle the kickback of a machine gun, where the major organs of the body were located and how to slice them open in deadly fashion. You take to the lessons easily as predators take to the snap of bone between jaws, and can’t help but preen with every accomplishment, every feat you manage to show him.

“Good girl.” He offers when you finish the task assigned to you, noticing the way you stiffen, a shiver racing down your spine at the praise. Testing the waters, quietly moving goalposts in his mind as he maps your future before you.

When you fell ill during that first winter he nurses you, sits your sluggish form up in bed against his chest and watches as you finish what little food you could stomach. When you insist on drinking with him one evening, pass beyond your tolerance, he smooths a hand over your back as you bend over the toilet bowl and whispers soothing reassurances in your ear. When you cut your palm on the edge of a tool bench in his helicopter hangar he lets you squeeze his hand as he pours alcohol over the gash, reminding you the wound would make you stronger. When you take a swig of the vodka to settle your nerves after your first mission with him he hums happily, murmuring an ounce of praise that settles low in your veins like warm liquor.

You let him, suspicious though you are, so desperate for a place to belong, to be taken care of, to have somewhere in which to shelter the storm. Nikolai is your mentor, yes, but more than that Nik shapes himself into your ally, into someone you can turn to, to a man you look to and seek praise from like turning your face to the sun.

Teaching you to eat from the palm of his hand.

You trail behind him at a distance, eyes softening and heart weary, seeking a soft place in which to rest itself. Nikolai is not a soft man, you remind yourself. Tender as he can be, his true heart remains a shadowed thing like all the men and women he keeps close. Even so you cling fast to that same shadow, hovering at his side as he makes a place for you there.

He’d plucked you from the wilds, had taken you like a starved, injured, feral animal into his care. You’d growled and snapped at him, unsure, suspicious of the twinkle behind his eyes that betrayed intentions you couldn’t quite discern. It was as if he knew the things you were capable of before even you could see them, the way he shaped you slowly under his care.

You stay there when he introduces you to his allies, to Price who looks at your skittish, suspicious nature and to Nik with a disapproving but knowing stare. You hear the meaning to it later as you creep downstairs to listen to them smoke outside.

“I won’t say anything.” Price tells him gruffly. “God knows I have my own vices. Just don’t ruin her, Nik.”

Nikolai takes a long, purposeful pause as he considers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, captain.”

Price chuffs, but comments no further.

Slowly, Nik begins to move closer to you, getting you used to his touch. It seems incidental at first. Squeezing too close behind you in the kitchen and offering a chuckling apology as you feel his hips press against your spine; leaning over you to inspect your work, rubbing a hand between your shoulders after a hard day and relishing the tiniest little sigh you offer in return.

In his teachings he is deliberate, gauging your progress under a keen eye, offering life lessons just as he purrs little doses of praise at your progress. He knows you wouldn’t leave now, you’ve become too accustomed to a life under his care. So slowly, Nik begins to test the boundaries of your trust in him, pushing a little farther each time and leaving you dizzy in the wake of him.

In the hot days of summer he works with his shirt off, the broad span of his back glistening with sweat. You tell yourself it is just the warmth of the sun that lays upon your cheeks, but even then you find your eyes straying, catching his own knowing gaze at a distance. Teasing, waiting, expectant.

“Smells good.” He hums over your shoulder as you made breakfast one morning, bacon simmering in the pan. “You’d make a good wife.”

When you feel heat rise to your face, stammering and scandalized, Nik only laughs.

“Шучу.” He grins. “Just kidding.”

It doesn’t seem to be that much of a joke, not with the way Nik is so comfortable around you these days, easing into your personal space just enough to make your heart race, dangerous thoughts of the ‘what if?’ lingering even after he’s pulled away.

On longer jobs he puts a cot in the back of the chopper to sleep on. Normally he likes to sleep in the pilot seat- vigilant and ready to take off at the slightest hint of trouble. Yet sometimes he complains about his aging back and squeezes in behind you, tucking you against the wall and arranging you so you both share what little space there is. You can’t really find it in yourself to complain, taking in the warm, musky scent of his and letting it lull you into dreams.

Slowly, you come to him. You ease into his touch, to the way his hand rubs across your shoulders in greeting, the way he holds your hand as you stiffened during client negotiations. In the evenings he sometimes watches terrible knock-off action movies, rolls his eyes at the impossible stunts as you nod off on his shoulder. Comfortable, you curl into him- seeking the place you belonged, and Nik quietly smiles at the wild creature that has made a home in his heart.

On the odd stretches of time where there are few assignments to follow through from his strange clientele, Nik takes you on his version of a holiday. He brings you to places you’ve never been, restaurants in cities you didn’t know existed.

“Try this.” He tells you in that smirk of his, lifting an oyster from the Caspian Sea to your lips, loaded with butter and spices. You make a face as you swallow, lips closing around his fingers, and don’t notice the way Nik’s eyes flick to the bob of your throat, distracted. “Good girl.”

The praise sends a shiver up your spine, alighting inside you with the need to please him- this man who has taken you in, sheltered you, is teaching you everything he knows.

You don’t realize the danger you’re in when you realize you’ve gotten too comfortable.

It’s a sunny Wednesday morning when you’re taken.

Being the pretty, feral thing at Nik’s side comes with a fair bit of attention. People begin to notice the beautiful vixen at his side. Whispers of your skills echo in the halls of underground bunkers and private airliners. Nik is known to work alone, so to see you with him as his protege, his partner, his co-pilot that he trusts as much as he mentors, means that you’re a target.

You pop out for groceries on his old Soviet era moped, having pestered Nikolai for pirozhkis for dinner- to which he told you only if you fetched the ingredients yourself. You ignore the small gaggle of men smoking near the corner store, common as they were in your neighborhood. It’s only when you come out with your arms full that they spring on you.

Your head cracks against a stone wall. The world goes dark.

When you come to, you’re somewhere you don’t recognize. barely lucid, head pounding, they try and ask you questions about him you can’t answer. There’s things Nik keeps secret from you for your own safety, and the things they want to know are among them. The blows come, knock you from your chair, and you’re left alone in the cellar, trying to understand how the nightmare you dreaded before you met him could have come true after all.

The difference is- now they’ve made a mistake. They took you after he’d taught you how to survive.

The men who took you are stupid. They underestimate you, tying the ropes too loose for your frame. You manage to get your hands free first as Nik has taught you, then your feet. In the corner of the cellar a sliver of light peeks through broken slats, and despite your battered limbs and bruised hands, you peel the plank off quietly so it reveals the underbelly of the house. Like digging a den, you crawl your way into the earth, beyond the foundation, and stumble into the night before your captors even decide to check on you.

Escaping the snare, as wild things do.

It’s early in the morning when you manage to stumble to the back gate of the house. You trip over a loose rock in the soil, collapse in a heap of bruised limbs and fatigue just beyond the back step. The door swings open, and you close your eyes before you can see the sight of Nikolai with a rifle in his hands, ready to fend off intruders.

“лисёнок.” He murmurs hoarsely as he gathers you in his arms, cooing his name for you as you whimper into his chest. Injured, broken, limping back to him. Only him. “What did they do to you?”

You don’t tell him, too exhausted to form words, slumping against him and letting the crash of adrenaline pull you blissfully under.

When you wake up, you’re in his bed. Bandaged, tucked in tightly. He’s washing blood off his hands in the sink.

You don’t realize until later it isn’t yours.

You never ask him what he did to those men while you were asleep, maiming them, killing them for the offense of hurting you, only to come home and haul your figure close to him with whispered reassurances that they’d never touch you again.

Things...change after that.

It wasn’t as if Nik wasn’t affectionate before- he was. Nik’s fondness of you was intertwined with his mentorship. Yet there was always a sort of distance involved. Teasing, playful, interested but careful not to push too far lest he spook you away too soon.

Now, as you cling to him in the aftermath of your capture, shiver and feel your bandaged fingers grip at his shirt, Nik is indulgent.

He lets you sniffle into his chest, rubs his hand along the knot of your spine and rumbles low, soothing words in Russian. He hauls you to him, calls you quiet pet names, cuddles you close and reminds you you’re safe.

In your recovery Nik spoils you, allows you to take all the time you need. You sleep until noon, a rare luxury under his tutelage, and find him cooking your favorite meals when you wake. When you call for him, he’s there, helping you ascend the stairs with your mending knee. He sets you on the couch in warm blankets so you watch movies of your choice until you doze off, to which he carries you upstairs and tucks you quietly, sweetly, back into bed.

All this and more, as Nikolai silently declares to himself that he is never letting you go.

When you recover, the gentleness doesn’t seem to stop. Yet with it comes a sternness, a demand to yield to his promise to care for you, to keep you safe. The hole of want inside you yawns open for him, looking to his care, his guidance, seeking ways to please him. You’re softer now, no less deadly, but the softness in the aftermath has you brushing against him, yearning for his embrace, which Nik offers readily.

With his nose buried in your hair, your arms wrapped around his waist, Nik smiles at the silver snare he’s circled around your throat.

and, silently, he begins to pull.

“Behave.” He tells you when you snarl at a supplier who tries to upcharge him, and Nik lays a heavy hand on your nap that somehow feels like a warning. It settles low in your stomach, warm and liquid with a want you don’t understand yet but need all the same.

“That’s my girl.” He hisses as you stitch a gash on his arm after close contact when you were flying out of a hot zone. He takes another swig of his vodka and groans just as a drip of red oozes down your fingers. You shudder at the sound, feeling something pull taut below your belly, trying to echo the praise quietly in your thoughts.

“Pretty thing.” He smiles as he offers you one of his spare shirts on mission. You swore you had packed more, but the scent of him clings to your skin and it distracts you enough to not question it. You warm under his words, curl up beside him when he gestures. Obedient, wanting.

You think he’s gone from the chopper that night, tucked on the cot and sneaking a hand under your panties to rub idly at yourself- thinking of him. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, swaddled by a phantom of his warmth, and imagining what it would feel like to have his fingers inside you, stroking, coaxing wetness to trickle down the breadth of them. What would it be like, you wonder, for him to hold you like that, to whisper those filthy praises in your ear so you clench down on him?

Footsteps, boots on the metal grate, and a low chuckle.

You yank your hand free, but it’s too late.

“Don’t stop on my account, Дорогая.” He murmurs, and you back against the wall with a shuddering little gasp, skin on fire as Nikolai couches over you, ready to eat you whole. “I was only gone for a few minutes- did you miss me that much?”

The utter confidence in his voice, the knowledge that you were thinking of him, has wetness ooze between your thighs as you try to find your voice. It’s no use, because Nik swoops down against your lips, humming in satisfaction as you ease against him with a little whine, slowly reaching for him until you drag him down onto the cot with you. Surrendering at last.

Hours later, his seed dripping between your thighs, you doze on his chest while he smokes. Exhausted, entirely worn out from the number of orgasms he’s wrung from you, lulled to sleep by his calming heartbeat under your ear.

It’s the first night of many. Like a dam collapsed, Nik releases the full tidal wave of his desire onto you, never missing a chance to haul you to him, to bend you over, to sit you on his cock as you groan and leak around the stretch of him inside you. You realize far too late just how much Nik has been holding back, his hunger for you as boundless as your desire to please him, to stay.

He has you there in the chopper on the cot that can barely hold the weight of his thrusts, back in his bedroom where you collapse face first into the pillows. He eats you out slow and luxurious with you balanced on the kitchen counter, has you brace on his tool bench as he drapes himself against your spine and ruts into you from behind.

“Taking me so well, little fox.” He purrs in your ear, nimble fingers working at your clit as you hiccup and mewl for it. “So tight. Made for my cock, hm? Твоё тело сводит меня с ума. Fuck.”

Nik is an unstoppable force, with stamina you struggle to match. He keeps you in his bed as long as he is able, staving off his orgasm if only to prolong yours, trying to draw as many as he can from you even when your hand smacks at the headboard, trying to tap out.

“Just one more.” He growls as he tries to fuck you through the mattress, glued to your back so the heat of his frame, the swell of his cock inside you is the only thing you can feel. You’re teary eyed, gasping, the lewd squeal as he thrusts into you filling the quiet of the bedroom. Your eyes roll back just as he nails that perfect bundle of serves inside you, voice caught on a choked sort of whimper. “Just one more and then we can take a break, darling.”

You sprawl against the sheets, exhausted as he lounges bare by the window, a whisp of smoke curling from his cigarette before returning to you once more, spooning you and slipping back inside the sloppy mess of your well-used cunt.

“Good girl.” He tells you again when you moan breathlessly, hand cupping your jaw and turning you to him so he can kiss the gasp from your parted lips. You clench down on him at the words, and he hisses a sound of pleasure against the corner of your mouth. “All mine. My girl.”

“Yours.” You whisper hoarsely, as if there were any other answer.

In the come-down he gathers you to him, kisses the tears of overwhelm from your eyes and holds you as you shiver in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling worn to the bone in only the best of ways. Cum splatters the inside of your thighs, and Nik idly scoops it onto his fingers and back inside, purring endearments between presses of his lips to your face.

Comforting, gentle when you need it, but demanding, forcing you to surpass beyond what you think yourself capable of if only to see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. When you fail, deliverance is swift as it’s always been, but now it’s different.

“I told you no touching.” He growls, forcing you to look at him as his thumb circles roughly over your clit. He’d caught you masturbating in your room, thinking the house was empty, that he wouldn’t catch you. “You want to touch yourself, you come to me, sweet thing. I’ll take care of you, I always do, don’t I?”

“Yes, yes-” You pant, bucking your hips, desperate, aching without the fullness of him, but Nik pulls away. “Wait. P-please-”

“Need to learn your lesson, little fox.” He soothes, pressing a kiss into your hair even as you whine, trying to buck up and grind against him in a vain search for friction. “Make sure it sticks, Да?”

Yet even as you obey, keep your hands to yourself just as you promised, Nik delights in working you up and pulling away at the last minute. He corners you, slips his hand beneath your waistband and soaks his fingers in your leaking cunt until you moan and mewl for him, then withdraws if only to smirk and suck the taste from them. For days he teases you, edges you until a hiccup threatens in your throat, makes sure you’ve learned your lesson that you are his, and then pulls away to let the reminder sink in. You can’t stand it, go mad with need, find yourself close to humping his knee if only to get some sort of relief.

When he finally does let you come days later, you howl into his flesh, biting down into his skin until he shudders, groans against you and spills inside your clenching cunt.

“My sweet girl.” He murmurs, stroking your face as he cuddles you afterwards. “Я не могу без тебя жить.”

You smile, nuzzle into the warmth of him, knowing he has you, he always will. You can’t forget, not with the things he growls against you as he makes love to you, reminding you that you belong to him. Soft in his room, you lay with him, fold into him as a beacon of safety and trust, know that he will never hurt you, will keep you safe, that this will always be your home.

In front of others you’re his partner, his accomplice, the apprentice he found like a diamond in the rough and had polished into a perfect blade. Deadly, clever, keen-eyed and watchful of all threats. Nik tells Price you don’t play well with others when Price tries to introduce his own protege, and when Gaz offers his hand in greeting you make no motion to return it until Nik grazes a thumb against the side of your throat as if tugging an invisible collar there.

“Careful.” He warns the sergeant. “She bites.”

In private he calls you all his endearments in purring Russian. Ангел, Прелесть, Огонёк. Angel, precious, little fire, the object of his desire. You're his girl, his sweet, fierce little sweetheart, the thing he taught to eat out of the palm of his hand while keeping your wild, dangerous nature.

You're his only family, his beloved little fox he managed to domesticate, the thing that still will bite him given the chance, but likes to curl up in his lap and yawn like a housecat. You're his obsession, his partner, his apprentice. If anything else, you're his weakness.

“Я тебя никому не отдам.” He swears to you, voice a low, deep rumble as he strokes your face, feeling your sleeping breaths fan across his palm.

“I will never give you to someone else.”

You dream of the first day you met him. Feral, scared, hungry and starved and inside- looking so desperately for somewhere safe to call home.

Now, years later, you know. Generous though Nik was, it was this that he had hoped for in the beginning- with you as his partner, his protege, but at the end of the day sleeping in his bed, worn and exhausted from the effects of his desire. Dangerous, feral, useful, but in the end tamed just as he’d envisioned.

And you, younger than him by years and foolish as you were, had gone blindly into the snare.

Nik had never given you any reason to regret it.

Russian Translations (Native Russian speakers feel free to leave a comment of correction)

Дворянство - Russian nobility

Шучу - I’m joking

Лисёнок. - Little fox

Дорогая - Darling

Твоё тело сводит меня с ума - Your body drives me crazy

Да - Yes

Я не могу без тебя жить - I can’t live without you

#nikolai x reader #cod x reader #cod nikolai x reader #nikolai x you #call of duty modern warfare 3 #my writing #my fic #x reader

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Soap's Sister!reader

Summary: Because Johnny found him sleeping with his sister, Simon had to live the last three months without you, but he's about to get his girl back.

warnings/notes: a little smut 18+, cursing, drinking. That's probably it. Oh, typos, im sure, as well.

words: 1830

Part 1

He drinks at the same bar. The one his team practically lived in when they were all together for an evening, but that doesn’t happen anymore, not with the entire group. Johnny stays home if he knows Simon will be attending the night out, and Simon, if informed Johnny wants to be with the team, elects to remove himself from the situation for everyone’s comfort. He figures it’s the least he can do. He’d slept with his best mate’s sister, he’d fallen in love with his best mate’s sister, and so he has taken on the consequences, no matter how infuriating and unreasonable and unfair.

“You want another, Honey?” the bartender asks. She grins. Her eyes shine with desire, as they have all night, and it might be a pleasant sight if Simon had never met you. He might’ve taken her home, fucked her like a toy until he was spent and she was happily ruined by his cock before he kicked her out. But she isn’t you. No woman is you.

“Keep ‘em comin’,” Simon replies, downing the amber liquid in his glass.

Suddenly, the stool beside him slides across the hardwood floor, now occupied by a newcomer he wouldn’t hesitate to shove to their ass if he could do so without causing a scene. What kind of rude bastard risks sitting next to someone when ten other seats are open?

“Actually lass, do me a favor and cut ‘im off. I need ‘im in his right mind.”

Simon almost chokes at Johnny's voice but he doesn’t turn his head as he slowly sets the glass back down on the counter, his fingers tightening around it. Anger, confusion, pain, anxiety. It all crashes over him in a hefty wave, because rolled into this one man is both the friend Simon has missed for months and the asshole who has forced him to be apart from the love of his life. And it’s almost too much to handle at once.

“I’ll take his drink,” Johnny tells the bartender, who has lost all hope now that the man she’s been attempting to charm is no longer lonely enough to be convinced to take her home. When she places the glass in front of him, he takes a sip. “You look like shit, Ghost.”

“What do you want?”

“We got a problem,” Johnny says, getting right to it. “A bit of a disaster, really, and I gave it my best shot, but I can’t fix it.” Simon blinks. His brows pinch. Johnny drains the remainder of the alcohol and wipes his mouth with the back of his forearm. “She’s miserable. And considerin’ the timeline, I’d wager it’s because she’s without you.”

Simon’s heart—though had fallen from his chest months ago—sinks lower into his gut.

“Look, I didn' believe it was that deep,” Johnny continues. “Figured you were jus’ messin’ around. Being stupid and disrespectful with my baby sister. But I cannot have her miserable, Ghost. It won’t do.” He looks at Simon and releases a long sigh. “She loves you. I don’ like it but she does, and you need to make it better.”

“What exactly are you askin’ of me?”

Johnny’s eyes land back on the empty glass. He plants his elbows on the counter and rubs his fingers across his forehead, kneading the wrinkles. “Just…go to her, alright?”

That snaps Simon out of his grumbly attitude. “You serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Johnny says.

Simon practically leaps out of his seat, nearly knocking the stool to the floor as he shrugs on his jacket. He’s almost at the door, but then he stops. Taking a breath, he turns back to his old friend. “Will you be able to handle this?” Simon asks. “Me and her? Because you can't ask me to let her go, Johnny. Not twice.”

Johnny takes a second, then he gives a brief nod. “I’ll adjust. Somehow. With time; lots of time.”

It isn't much reassurance, but it's enough for Simon to be on his way. He rushes out the door, jumps into his truck, and races down the road. He forgets the seatbelt. Ignores the speed limit signs. You don’t live far, and you’re worth the risk if it means getting to you faster.

He knows the elevator in your building is much too slow because he’s been in it a hundred times. He has made out with you in it; fucked you in it, slamming the emergency button so no one could interrupt on the nights you couldn’t wait to get to your bedroom. So he takes the stairs. Two at a time, up eight flights, and down the hall. With a heaving chest, he bangs on your door.

“Love, open up!” He knocks harder. Loud enough to make your neighbor pop her head into the hall to understand the ruckus.

“Oh, wonderful. You've returned,” the old woman huffs. “And just when I was starting to believe I’d never again have to endure listening to that moaning and groaning at all hours.”

“We talked ‘bout this back in June, Mrs. Brimsby. Get yourself some earplugs,” Simon retorts before calling for you again. “Baby, please, it‘s me!”

“I’ll report the two of you for the noise.”

“You probably should. You’re in for a long night.” He hears a scoff but doesn’t bother to glance in the direction it comes from.

“Still so disrespectful,” she spits before slamming the door to her apartment.

Simon has held a low level of hatred for the old bat since the morning after the first time you’d slept together. It was an early Sunday full of soft touches and kisses and tea to nurse the mild hangovers you’d both had because of a couple of drinks the night before—the drinks that allowed the two of you to finally surrender to the sexual tension. After kissing you goodbye, he’d stepped out of your apartment with a smile he hadn't donned in quite some time, only to have it wiped away from the unexpected grandma in a collared nightgown tapping her foot as she stroked the fur of the cat in her arms.

“You kept us up all night,” she had scolded. “We need our sleep.” The cat then hissed for emphasis.

Now, Simon has never been so happy to have that woman blathering in his ear. She reminds him of home, because home is with you and this is where you are. Getting yelled at shoots him into the memories of the time you spent together all those months ago. The stupidly high levels of bliss that, based on the trajectory of his life at the time, he’d assumed was more of a myth than anything. But you had made it real. You had soothed the pain. You were the patch on his wounds; the brightest spot in his life which dimmed the trauma and horrors.

He’s so lost in those thoughts that he doesn’t immediately notice when his banging fist plummets through the air.

“Si?”

At your voice, Simon’s mind instantly clears. His eyes meet yours.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters, not letting a beat go by before he’s bending at the knees, wrapping his arms around your waist, and lifting you up. Instinctually, your arms snake around his neck, your legs circle his hips, and he feels his cock begin to swell from the reminder of how natural that action is for you. How right it is that you fit together like lock and key.

Many questions are brewing in your eyes, but you don’t ask them. You kiss him instead, hard and thoroughly as he carries you into your apartment and kicks the door closed behind him. When he sits you atop your kitchen counter and settles himself between your spread legs, his hands go everywhere; under your sleep shirt, up the curves of your body to squeeze your breasts then back down to your hips. His palms slide around to your ass and jerk you closer so the center of those thin little shorts is pressed against the mound protruding from his jeans.

Buttons scatter across the tile from his impatience, unwilling to delicately undo each tiny closure of your shirt. Your fingers trickle lower on his body to the belt buckle you quickly undo and the zipper you harshly yank down. He’s about to tell you to lift your hips, but you do so without his command, shimmying out of your shorts, and Simon takes the chance to do the same, pushing his pants just below his ass. He springs free, the heavy column of flesh landing at your navel.

Leaning back, you guide his cock through the slickness of puffy lips into your tight, clenching walls. It sucks the air from his lungs. His head falls to your shoulder as you both try to breathe at a steady pace. His hands brace on the counter on either side of your body, nails digging into the granite. Home.

“Simon…baby, you have to move,” you pant. “I c-can’t take it.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers in your ear before lifting his head and placing a quick peck on your mouth. Shifting his hips, he pulls out and then slowly eases himself back inside of you. His groan drowns out the sweet song of your moan. “I’ve got you, love.”

—

“Your neighbor still hates us, jus’ so you know,” Simon says as he slides under the sheets. Were he not so exhausted, he’d chuckle at the idea of being beside you in your bed and not immediately trying to fuck you, but after the kitchen counter, then the couch, then the living room floor, you’re both worn out and in need of a good night's sleep. “Probably more now than she did before.”

Normally, you would have found his words amusing, but you remain silent on your back, staring straight up at the ceiling. Simon raises a brow and flips onto his side. Then he sees the tear slip from the corner of your eye down to your ear.

“What're you thinkin' about, love?” he asks as he places his hand on your cheek and turns your face toward his.

“I'm scared,” you tell him. “I've missed you so much, but the second you leave, everything will go back to how it was without you. That broke me the first time, Si. How do I go through it all over again?”

His eyes pinch tight and he sighs in shame. He should have told you. It should have been the first thing out of his mouth, but then he saw you and he needed you and that was all that mattered in the moment. “Baby,” he begins, brushing the hair back from your face. “I'm not leaving you, and we are not goin’ back to that, ok?”

“But Johnny—”

“We don't need to worry about Johnny.”

Your eyes widen. “What? Why not?”

“Because, love,” Simon says, his hand finding the middle of your back and snuggling you into his chest, “Johnny sent me.”

@universitypenguin @ghostslittlegf

#simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fic #cod ghost #cod fic #mw2

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ghouljams · 6 months

Note

Viking!Soap has consumed my entire being! Just imagining how unhinged he'd get if highland!reader got hurt or taken!!

Or or or! Him seeing her holding/caring for babies! They way he'd get sooo feral... 🥴

(Your writing > Me 🤰)

While the vikings aren't back home quite yet in the Soap story line, I did have an idea in my head and this is honestly the best ask to write it out in. Here's some of highland!reader being a healer and Soap being just... so dead over it

uuuuuh tw for descriptions of birth. I'm giving Gaz a baby.

Now this is a good use of your skills. You forget sometimes, that the vikings come from somewhere, that there must be people waiting on them, that they must have a home. This? You could never deny that Gaz is human after this. Not with the way he holds his wife's hand and frets over her as she grits her teeth and pushes. You know this, you've been midwife to enough of the people in your village to feel her dilation with your fingers, to cup the baby's head and ease its shoulders. You try to look reassuring as the mother sobs above you. That's what Gaz is for you suppose, he murmurs quiet affections to her, trying to keep her calm through the worst of it.

When the baby finally slips free and falls into your hands you can feel the relief that sobs through its mother. You're quick to dip your scissors in the boiled water nearby and snip the cord, tying it off with deft precision. You frown at the quiet infant, rub your fingers against its chest as Gaz comforts his wife. It scrunches its little face, opens its mouth on a silent cry and you turn it over to hit its little back hard. Then again, until it coughs and its cry finally pierces the air.

You sigh, and pass the baby off to be cleaned up by one of the mother's friends. "It's a boy," You tell the happy couple, taking their weary smiles as payment for a job well done. The only job you've ever done well.

The fire has burned low and the rest of the village has gone home to wait, but the 141 is vigilant. The crazy shepherd pops her head out of Gaz's house with good news after hours waiting. Soap lets out a breath and leans back to look at the rising sun. A new day for a new life.

He doesn't expect to see you holding the new wee one when they're actually allowed in. Sat next to the bed, fingers checking over the infant as your wrap and re-wrap its swaddle. His swaddle. Gaz said the baby was a boy.

You look tired, but you smile fondly down at the sleeping baby none the less. Again he finds himself staring at the rising sun, the warmth of you permeating every shallow corner of the room. The baby shift in its blankets and you shush it before it can start crying. Your fingers are so gentle as the skate over its little cheeks and nose. Every angle of you seems to gentle the infant, each soft touch to calm it. Soap's never seen anyone like you, never thought someone like you would step down from the realm of the gods to grace the earth.

Something warm melts over Soap's heart, the tender moment broken when you hand the baby back to his mother. Gaz and his wife laugh as Ghost and Price crowd close to give the congratulations, but Soap can't take his eyes off of you. He wants to see it again, wants to see you cradling an infant, looking content and proud.

Soap goes to stand next to you, brushes his fingers against your shoulder to try and catch some of the warmth breaking off of you. You stiffen and glare up at him. He takes his hand away, feels his fingers tighten, his smile hollow when he pastes it on. How differently would you look at him if it was his baby you cradled close to your chest? Would your gaze still cut into him like the bitter winds that carry snow down from the mountains? Would you soften for him, let him see the warmth in your eyes that now seems so far away? Would you look at him like you look at the baby?

As something human?

"Thank you," Gaz's wife give you a genuine smile, her eyes tired but shining with joy, "I know this isn't what you-"

"No," You stop her, the nordic tongue sounds so foreign to Soap's ears when it comes from your mouth, "I'm happy to help." Your accent is bad, it makes Soap smile a little fuller as he tries not to laugh. You seem to warm again watching the happy family. It's just him then.

Soap can see it when you give Gaz a weary smile, he's human in your eyes. He wonders what it would take to be granted the same honor. If you'd ever give him that, just that, he could live a lifetime on it.

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lululandd · 7 months

Text

(unfair);

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

You were lounging on the sofa when you heard the door open. Simon carefully ducked under the frame, avoiding hitting his head as he had twice before.

“Hey.” He greets you in a tired voice, duffel dropped and forgotten by the shoe rack as he takes off his boots.

“Hey.” You replied as neutrally as you could. He shuffled into his room and you asked, “Chinese?”

“Fried rice please.”

“Pork?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t come out to get his food as it was delivered, in fact you think he fell asleep in the bath. You left the food on the table and continued watching your program.

You had a terrible dream of being trapped under a landslide, panic starts settling into your psyche as you begin to have trouble breathing. Opening your eyes, you had a moment of confusion as to when you had decided to turn the tv off and fall asleep. Unable to will your arm to grab your phone, you thought sleep paralysis had taken hold; but with a little look around reveals Simon lying on top of you.

“You’re heavy.” You hear yourself say.

His reply was immediate. “Yeah.” He wasn’t asleep.

The silence feels like it stretched on longer than it actually is. “You wanna say a thing or two about work?”

“Sucks.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. Go back to sleep, love.”

You hated this. He blurs the line between roommate and something significantly more. You try to ignore the painful thoughts, opting to let sleep overtake you again.

The alarm startled you awake this time. Disoriented and confused, you couldn’t remember when you moved to your bed from the sofa, but the heavy presence behind you answered the question.

“Stay.” he mumbled onto your skin as you tried to dislodge yourself from his hold.

“I got work, Simon.”

“And I just got home.”

“Is that how I’m supposed to call it in today? Sorry guv, can’t make it this mornin’ cos my roommate’s home from deployment. Cheers.”

“Quit.” He murmured, into your hair this time, his hold fastening against your torso and getting very close to cupping your chest.

Time seems to slow down for Simon as you untangle yourself from his hold. It was borderline painful for him to feel your small fingers dig into his bigger ones as you set yourself free. He watched you in muted fascination as you go about the room to get ready, the elaborate way you clip your hair up before going in the bath, how your arse comes in and out of view as you washed your face in the tiny bathroom sink, the way you shyly go about the room to get dressed; as if Simon hasn’t seen it laid bare underneath him.

He knows its unhealthy, but he stays even when he knows it’s hurting you. The man has wasted money paying for his own flat and half of yours. The kitchen sink in his flat drips, his bedroom light flickers, and the front door creaks badly. He makes sure everything in your flat works though. Your dishwasher no longer makes squeaking noises, he tightens your wobbly ceiling fan, and religiously checks the locks on the doors and windows. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t tried to go and live on his own place only to come running back to yours even before the night is over.

Life seems to be simpler with you around, his thoughts easier to manage. There's something addicting about your presence, your warmth, and your smile that he would never admit aloud.

His heart dreads the day you would ask him to clarify his boundaries, and selfishly hopes it would never come.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty imagines #scuffed writing

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cometkenji · 2 months

Text

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves - I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet.

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach. Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good.

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask.

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis.

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.”

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist.

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents.

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him.

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out.

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?”

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.”

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it.

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up.

No, it wasn’t.

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room.

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.”

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job.

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost.

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder.

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.”

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.”

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door.

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

–

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling.

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed.

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team.

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.”

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.”

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.”

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief.

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human.

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours.

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place.

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass.

“I’m Matthew.”

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area.

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink.

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.”

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.”

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed.

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored.

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.”

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.”

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core.

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke.

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.”

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately.

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless.

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden.

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

“He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past.

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.”

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes.

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought.

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive.

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own.

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car.

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car.

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to.

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you.

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels.

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

#comet: SR #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #x chubby reader #x fat reader #x plus size reader #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid fanfiction #suggestive #probably ass #im sorry for this

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amomentsescape · 3 months

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Hey can I request jason voorhees x pregnant reader, they again already have a kid. It's late and jason is exhausted doing dishes or helping his wife get comfortable and hears a crash in the kids room and rushes over in full protective mode ready to attack, only to see a misty spirit if his mom glowing in the moon light, kissing the sleeping kid goodnight on their forehead and tucking em in and humming a lullaby saying "my beautiful grandbaby". Jason upon seeing this gets teary from joy and so does his mom and she tells jason that he's doing a great job as father and husband and she's proud but then fades away in the moon light and jason goes back to bed with his wife who wonders why he's extra extra affectionate and loving, and teary?

A Mother Knows Best

Jason Voorhees x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: In the middle of the night, Jason finally gets the sign that he's been looking for.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 787

A/N: I'm a bit sick currently and am definitely in a bit of a brain fog, so I hope this still came out to your liking!

After all this time living in the woods, there has never been a moment where Jason became fearful.

He could clearly protect himself, but even then, he knew no one would dare step into this area knowing that he was around.

It's exactly why he wanted to raise up his family here. He never wanted to worry about your safety, and he knew that growing up around nature would give his children the freedom to explore and be whoever they wanted without judgment.

It was another night like the rest. Jason was still rubbing your back long after you had already fallen asleep.

You were still in your first trimester, and the nausea mixed with the fatigue was kicking your ass.

Jason was doing whatever he could to help you get some rest, but unfortunately, there was only so much that could be done to alleviate that discomfort for you.

He continued to rub his rough hand along your soft skin, worrying that if he stopped, you would immediately wake up again.

It had taken a couple hours just to get the baby to bed earlier. And he couldn't help but feel guilty that he wasn't able to help more with the situation.

But like always, you just gave him a gentle smile and reassured him that everything was alright.

A sudden thud from the nearby room caused Jason to shoot up in bed, instantly being shaken from his thoughts.

Thankfully, you were still resting somehow, not having heard the same crashing sound Jason had.

This was the first time in forever that Jason actually felt fearful about something. But of course, he wasn't scared for himself, he was scared for his child.

He rushed to their room quickly, slightly curious as to why he hadn't heard his baby crying yet.

But when he finally reached the room, these worries and thoughts immediately left his brain.

A ghostly apparition stood over his child's crib. And although Jason wasn't too sure of what he was seeing at first, the gentle hum of her voice and the tilt of her head immediately struck him with realization.

"My sweet grand-baby," she cooed, touching her hand on their cheek.

It was only then that she turned to look at Jason.

An even wider smile stretched across her face, and her eyes were already teary. Jason could feel himself choking up at just the sight of her.

It had been years since he last heard her voice, and he never thought he'd be in a position to talk to her again.

Before he could even take a step into the room, his mother let out a sigh.

"I'm so proud of who you've become," she spoke softly, not wanting to wake her grandchild. "My beautiful boy. You've fought so hard for this life, and I couldn't be more happy to see how far you've come."

Jason was holding back sobs at this point, not knowing what else to do but take in her words and truly convince himself that this wasn't some kind of dream.

"I love you," she whispered.

The moonlight from the window seemed to shine even brighter as her ghost became more and more translucent. She reached her hand out towards him as she faded away, and Jason about sprinted into the room in hopes of catching her before she left.

But she was gone in an instant, and he was suddenly left there with a fast beating heart and tear-stained cheeks.

To know that his mother had never really left him and was happy of what's he's done seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders.

There was no more doubt in his mind that he was making the right decisions for you and your children. He was truly doing his best.

He quickly made his way back to your shared room, cuddling into the sheets behind you and pulling your body into his so tightly that you were already beginning to open your eyes.

"Jason?" you asked hoarsely, still a bit sleep drunk. "Everything okay?"

You could feel him nod into the crook of your neck, nuzzling in even further.

In your haze, you rolled back over and shut your eyes again, already drifting back into a deep sleep.

He was thankful for this. There was no way he'd be able to explain what just happened without breaking down right now. So instead, he looked over your sleeping form and placed his hand softly on your belly.

He smiled instantly, knowing his mother would continue to look out for him and his family. In fact, he swore he could hear a faint hum in his ear as he too began to doze off into a peaceful sleep.

#slashers x reader #slashers #slashers preference #slasher preference #slashers headcanon #slasher fandom #slasher imagines #jason voorhes x reader #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees #friday the 13th

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

Text

All I Ask | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: hi. PLEASE GIVE ME REQUESTS FOR THIS IM RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS AND I DONT WANT TO START THE ANGST ARC YET PLEASE

warnings: TALKING ABOUT SIMON’S TRAUMA (which includes physical abuse)

summary: Simon tells you why he feels ashamed, plus Mellie decides to be a comforting little baby.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Simon could not get you to slow down, it was worrying him. He had taken the night to just sleep, fighting nightmares and waking up just as tired as he was when his head hit the pillow. He got up, took a shower without having to let Mellie into the bathroom to play, got dressed and made his way downstairs to find you.

The TV was on, the stupid show about those blue dogs playing that Simon secretly enjoyed, Mellie bouncing around in her little walker as you sat on the couch; Winnie’s hair between your fingers, making much prettier braids than he ever has. Though, Winnie has never complained; she said that he braids her hair ‘nicer’, whatever that meant - but it meant everything to him.

The baby in the bright yellow walker looked to him, her hand in her mouth as she smiled and began to coo at him - her free hand making grabbing signals. He smiled, walking straight to her and plucking her from the walker, settled her on his arm while both of her hands gripped his shirt. Her little head rested on his collarbone, a happy little giggle leaving her lips as he turned to his wife and oldest daughter.

Winnie shoveled fistfuls of Cheerios out of the box and into her mouth, infatuated with the blue and orange dogs while you smiled to him, radiant. He almost took a step back, in disbelief of how content you looked.

“You okay?” You spoke, looking back to Winnie’s hair. He gazed down at Mellie, her face looking at the TV too.

“Fine.” He answered, moving towards the couch to sit beside you. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before draping his free arm on the back of the couch, eyes falling on the TV. “You doin’ okay?”

“I’m more worried about you than I am me.” Your answer made him frown a bit as you looked back to Winnie’s hair.

He looked to your hair, wishing he could see you beautiful face. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout me.”

“I always worry about you.” You murmured, fingers slowing as you continued the one of two Dutch braids. He opened his mouth to say a rebuttal, but you continued, “But this is a whole different kind of worry. This is really hard, and I need to make sure that you’re going to be okay. And that I can help you in any way you need.”

“I should be saying that to you.” His baby tugged on his shirt while the hand not on Mellie settled on your closest shoulder, the girl cuddled on his chest began to coo again. He looked down to her, noticing that she wasn’t even looking at him - she was looking at you.

You turned your head to kiss the hand on your shoulder before turning back to your daughter’s hair. “Did a lot of thinking. A lot of crying.” A moment of laughter came from the TV, his eyes flickered to it. He watched the show just for a second before you began again, his eyes went back to you. “Families don’t go according to plan. When I was a kid, wanting two girls and two boys of my own and a loving husband was my plan; but then you crashed the party and you stomped all over it with the most wonderful little girl I’ve ever met.” You leaned forwards a kissed Winnie’s hair, to which she grumbled as the cereal box kept rustling with her grubby little hands digging out Cheerios. “Nothing I planned for my whole life has ever gone as planned. Adopting my daughter and hoping I’m raising her how her birth mother wants wasn’t a part of my plan. Having a surprise baby while you’re off protecting the world wasn’t a part of the plan.” He squeezed your shoulder. “We wanted another, but it just wasn’t in the cards. We drew a bad hand.”

“Wise girl.” He smiled, moving forwards to press a kiss to the back of your head. “I’ll be fine.”

“You say that.” You murmured. “I don’t want to push you, Si, but I want you to actually be okay. And it’s not an overnight decision-“

“I had a dream about my mum.”

You looked surprised. He has never told you about his dreams, even when she’s waking him from the nightmares which had him screaming.

The weight in his chest was lifted because of that dream, even if he knew she wasn’t real. His mom was dead, but he dreamt and talked to her as if she wasn’t. He couldn’t tell you what he had told his mother in his dream.

“I hope you were able to bring yourself comfort.” Your voice broke him from the memory, head still faced forwards towards Winnie. “There’s no reason to feel ashamed about missing your mom. I miss mine all the time.”

Mellie’s hand gripped what little stubble he had on his chin, he looked down at her. Her eyes that matched his, wide and warm and accompanied by her two toothed smile. His hand gently pushed back her barely their hair that looked like yours, the girl cooed.

“She’s supposed to be talking soon, right?” He mumbled, her little baby nails dug into his chin but he didn’t care. “Keep forgetting to get her to talk.”

“She will when she’s ready.”

Mellie smacked his chin, he frowned at her. She giggled back, the sleeve of her blue onesie riding up her arm.

“Say Dada.” He whispered, the baby furrowed her eyebrows. “Dada.”

“Simon Riley, don’t you be turning her on me.” Your voice held warning, but full of playfulness. He glanced to you, you still faced away. “Her first word is gonna be ‘Mama’ and there will be hell to pay if it isn’t.”

He looked back to the baby on his chest, a sudden clench of his heart made his smile drop. The little baby was looking to you now since she heard your voice.

“I didn’t want him.”

His free hand gently patted his baby’s back, she kept her eyes on her mom.

“I didn’t want our son and I don’t know why.”

There was a moment of silence, save for the TV, where neither of you said a word. He couldn’t look at you.

“Winnie, baby, can you go eat in the dining room for me?” Your voice was soft, Winnie hopped off of the couch, loudly crunching on her Cheerios as she passed by Simon - her hair in two neat little braids. He kept his gaze on his baby, watching as her little smile grew bigger as you turned to look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your hand was gentle when it rested on his chest, Mellie’s grip disappeared from his chin, moving to your fingers. The little chunky hands grabbed your pointer finger, trying to pull it to her mouth.

His words failed him as he watched Mellie begin to chew on your finger, you were completely unfazed. How could he have told you? It would’ve only hurt you.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Your head then rested on his shoulder, his hand still patted Mellie’s back. “I don’t need to know, I’m just trying to help you.”

The tears weren’t purposeful, yet they still fell - just short of Mellie’s head. The girl looked up to him, her little eyes widened and she immediately pulled your hand from her sharp teeth. Her little baby hands then smacked themselves onto his face, directly in the way of the streaks of his tears.

“Daddy’s okay, baby.” He whispered, his other hand tried to move her hands from his face, but she let out a grunt in disapproval. “It’s alright.”

You curled your body into his side, arms wrapped around his left arm - head nestled on his shoulder. Silence fell again, his daughter staring directly into his eyes and refusing to move her hands as he silently cried. Her little fingers curled uncurled against his cheeks, little nails scuffing up his face but he didn’t care. He could stay like this forever.

Mellie blinked at him, cooing a little as the tears began to stop. Her eyes grew tired, her hands moved from his face and to his chest, keeping herself sitting up so she could stare at him. She scrunched her nose just like her sister, and without warning, slammed her head into his collarbone. He winced in pain, his only free hand coming to cradle her head.

He’d be lying if he said that he wanted time to keep moving, so he could watch his daughters grow. He just wanted to stay like this, his baby cradled on his chest and just as sassy as her older sister.

“My father,” His voice was quiet, just above a whisper. “He hated that he had boys. Hated that he had children in the first place, never once told me that he loved me. Always told me that he never wanted me.”

Your hands squeezed his arm.

“And I know I told you that I would be okay with a boy, but I don’t think I could look my own son in the face. All I’d see is me, that little boy who was so terrified of his father that he hid in the cabinets for days. The little boy who was forced to watch his father beat his mother.” He took a short breath. “I couldn’t look a carbon copy of myself in the face and act like I loved him, because he would be a reminder of how I failed my family. That I would end up like my father.”

“You’ll never be that fucking bastard.” Your voice was certain, he knew you were looking up at him but he couldn’t move his eyes from Mellie as her little face turned to look at you. “Simon, please, look at me.”

He couldn’t deny you a thing - not in this lifetime, or the next. His head turned, his face looking to you - his heart shattered. There were tears in your eyes, your hands squeezing his arm.

“You never will be like your father,” Hands gripped around his arm, you pulled his arm even further into your chest. “That girl on your chest has never been anything but love from you. Winnie has only ever been loved by you. Have you hit her?”

He stared at you. “No.”

“Would you? Has the thought ever crossed your mind?”

“No.”

“You’re already miles better than him.” Your voice grew softer, your hand moved to rest on his cheek. “And I know you’d never think of hurting me.” The tears stung his eyes, the tiredness that welled in his shoulders began to hurt as you whispered to him, “I know you’re scared of becoming him, but I doubt you ever will. You have so much love to give, Simon. From what I’ve heard, your father only had hurt to give.”

“I don’t ever want to hurt you.” His eyes fluttered closed, leaning his head forward to settle his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to hurt my girls, I just want to love all three of you.”

“That’s all I ask for.”

A little hand smacked his cheek, he opened an eye to look in the direction of Mellie. He opened both of his eyes, pressing a kiss to your forehead before looking to his baby.

“Say Mama.” He spoke, the little baby scrunched her nose again. He smiled through his tears, his eyes flickered up when he saw Winnie creep into view. Her little green bear settled in her arms, she rubbed the back of her hand into her eye. “C’mon, Winnie.”

The chestnut haired little girl instantly climbed her way onto his lap, narrowly avoiding the baby on his chest and plopping in between him and you. You instantly moved your arm around her, grabbing the blanket that was set on the arm of the couch. He helped you with his free hand, pulling the blanket to cover his family.

“I’m proud of you, Si.” You spoke, hand resting on his chest as your arm laid on Winnie’s side. His oldest daughter’s head settled just under yours, you placed a kiss on her head.

Those words made him smile, the tears falling down his face - Mellie looked back up to him after curiously watching you and him cover everyone with the blanket. He pressed a kiss to her face before leaning his head back onto the back of the couch, closing his eyes. You moved one leg over his lap, sleep began to gnaw at his head.

“Daddy.”

“Yeah, Winnie?” He answered.

“That wasn’t me.” He heard Winnie as clear as day, his head shot up to look down at Mellie, who still kept herself sitting up and looking at him - a smile on her little face. He could instantly feel your head pop up from his shoulder.

“Mama.” He said, hushed, “You say Mama, Mellie. Not Daddy.”

“Daddy.” The little baby on his chest cooed, louder this time. “Dada.”

“She said her first word.” You whispered, hand squeezing his arm. “I’m so mad at you for being first.”

“I was rooting for her to say mama too,” He whispered, his hand gently patting Mellie’s back.

“Say Mama, Mellie.” The baby looked to you as soon as you spoke, she stared at you. “She has your staring problem.”

“I know. I kind of feel bad.” He commented as he watched Winnie’s hand reach out to pet her sister’s head, the baby cooed again. Mellie looked back to Simon, her little hand reached back for his face. He pressed a kiss to her hand before letting her grab his stubble again, almost wincing as she pulled on it. “Gentle, Bug.”

“Dada.” Mellie answered, then let go of his chin - settling her head gently on his chest this time.

“I love you, Bug.” He whispered, kissing her head before moving to Winnie, placing a kiss on her head too as he said, “I love you, Duckling.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could get to you. “I love you.”

He wasn’t sure he could ever live without you.

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