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messrmoonyy · 2 months

Text

- The Forbidden Fruit

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- I NEED ARTHUR TO STEAL DUTCHS GIRL AND SHOW HER A REAL MANS LOVING. FILTHY PASSIONATE LOVING. WORK YOUR MAGIC

A/N- I got incredibly carried away with this. Is basically prawn with no plot honestly. And far softer smut than I think you intended it to be but. Here we are. Enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | implied toxic relationship ( reader is in love with Dutch van der Linde what can you expect here ), smut: affair, Arthur being desperate to please!!!, fingering, oral ( reader receiving ) , unprotected p in v and he accidentally finishes inside oops, like the tiniest amount of cockwarming ( WC-8.9k )

AO3 | Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur didn’t involve himself in Dutch’s relationships. He stayed polite to whatever young woman he had hanging off his arm at the time, but that was about it. He’d seen too many girls come and go- usually in floods of tears at being dismissed by the man that had seduced and charmed them into loving him. Just working his way through shiny new plaything to plaything, hiding his unending sorrow for Annabelle under the skirt of some new girl.

Unfortunately you were no different.

In your defence, he supposed, you had lasted far longer than the rest. The only real exception to that being the famed Annabelle herself. But as was almost inevitable, your time in the honeymoon phase was slowly crumbling down around you.

Arthur did wonder if it was simply because of the current stress levels in camp. They had all been on the run for longer than he cared to try and count, but after the mess in Blackwater they had reached new heights of being hunted. It had never been this bad. Nothing had ever gone this wrong. Because before everything had gone to complete shit, he’d actually seemed quite taken with you. In truth Arthur actually had begun to consider the idea that Dutch really did love you. Had finally been able to move on from the weight on his heart of his dead lover.

But no.

Arthur was observing the same pattern as always, it had just taken far longer with you. And that just seemed to make it all the more cruel.

He barely even looked at you most days now. Barely uttered a few words in return to any question you asked.

And the arguing was growing ever more fierce. It was practically everyday.

Arthur didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Dutch treated you. Didn’t like the way Dutch was treating anyone lately. But you in particular had never been anything but nice to him, kind. Sweet. Incredibly naive but sweet. To Arthur too. Some of the girls Dutch had strung along had been vile, rude and entitled and stuck up. But you? You were a genuinely nice person it seemed. And maybe that was your greatest flaw, for someone like that did not belong with Dutch Van Der Linde.

In fact Arthur had come to like you from a distance. The times he had spoken to you you had been interesting, intelligent. Far cleverer than him and he had always liked that in a woman if he was honest.

But still you clung to Dutch. Though your patience with him of late seemed to finally be wearing thin.

Dutch had never really been one to be ashamed or afraid of airing his dirty laundry within the gang. Whether that be packing on the PDA in camp in a way that often made Arthur want to vomit up his breakfast, or the even more puke inducing sounds of the two of you making up all night long. So arguing was no exception to that either.

And today was no different.

“ you barely even look at me! I’m right here! I always have been, I’ve always been such a good girl haven’t I? I do as you say. And look at how you repay me! “ Arthur sighed as he dropped a stack of bills into the box, successfully recovering yet another of Strauss’ debts for him. You were both screaming at each other again, the tent flaps pulled down as if that would over any form of soundproofing. It was the camp's regular ambience now it seemed.

He did feel sorry for you, he really did. You’d left everything you had for Dutch. Some beautiful, intelligent, well spoken girl. Heiress to her daddy’s mining fortune up north, used to the finer things but seeking some adventure. And Dutch had offered you both. Drowned you in jewels and gifts- though unlike the ones you had once owned the ones he gave were not his to give- Shown you off like a shiny new toy on his arm. Expressly informed Miss Grimshaw that you were not to be lifting a finger, that you would not have to earn your keep with chores like the others.

You earned your keep by looking beautiful beside him, by boosting his ego with your constant devotion to him, by letting Dutch use you for his own source of pleasure and by the sounds of things- that Arthur truly had no choice but to overhear- not getting very much back in return.

“ You know I don’t think I’ve ever met a more selfish woman in my life! “ Arthur sighed and sat down on his cot, debating whether or not to make some attempt to get the sleep he had been planning the entire long journey back to Clemens Point. But his tent was but a stone's throw from Dutch’s.

“ I have needs too Dutch Van Der Linde!” Everyone else in camp didn’t seem to mind it though, most of them preparing to settle in for the night. Whether that be passing out on their bedrolls or drinking by the fire. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could put up with another moment of the damn yelling.

“ oh? You have needs? “ Dutch’s voice was condescending. Mocking “ I give you everything! You are acting like a spoiled child”

“ a child? A child!? “ Arthur stood back up again, deciding he’d fare better trying to sleep on the damn ground rather than next to the likes of you and Dutch. So he headed out towards the edge of camp, hiding himself in the woods by the water. He slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh and wished he’d thought to pick up a bottle of beer on the way.

But it was no matter. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, but close enough that if he was needed anyone calling his name would be heard.

He looked out across the water, enjoying his rare moment of peace. It was a clear night and a full moon, the reflection bouncing off the water in the most beautiful way. He pulled out his journal and started to sketch it, wishing he could capture its beauty better.

‘ Dutch and the girl were arguing again. Got out of earshot for a bit to try catch some sleep. Thought the water and the moon looked mighty pretty ‘

He scrawled underneath when he was done, tucking it back into the satchel discarded at his side. Javier's guitar had silenced back in camp now and he figured everyone had gone off to bed. But he was quite content there by the water, so dropped his hat over his face and settled in to try and catch a few hours himself.

He was just dozing off when he heard the sound of boots marching quickly through the undergrowth, snapping twigs as they went. And then the soft sound of someone mumbling to themselves. He silently hoped whoever it was would keep well away from him. But the boots grew nearer and came to a halt not so far away. The crackle of a match being lit and a heavy sigh.

“ thinks he can talk to me like that? Bastard. Bastard he is. I’m a lady I deserve better than. Than that “

You.

He cleared his throat lightly to inform you that he was there, but unfortunately still seemed to startle you.

“ Christ! Gave me a damn heart attack Arthur “ he placed his hat down with his satchel with a sigh and looked up at you. In the light of the moon reflecting off the water he could see your cheeks were tear stained, the glow of the end of your cigarette illuminating your face further and showing your makeup in streaks.

He couldn’t lie that it made his heart ache for you. He didn’t particularly have any solid feelings for you, but he did feel sorry for you. It was hard not to feel sorry for the woman seduced by Dutch.

And you truly were a cut above the rest in his opinion. Beautiful as the early morning sun and, when you weren’t screaming at Dutch, as kind and warm as it too. But maybe that was fitting. Because much like the sun you could bask people in warmth, but burn them too. Beautiful and bright but scalding and he found he couldn’t look at you for too long, no matter how many times he wanted too. Simply blinding his eyes with your flaming beauty and having to turn away.

But maybe he was just getting caught up in his metaphors.

“ shouldn’t be out this far from camp “ you simply shrugged, taking another drag of your cigarette “ ain’t no one nice lingerin’ in woods at night miss” even if no Lemoyne raiders were sneaking around the trees, there were plenty of species of wildlife that would happily do a number on you. Chew off a leg or bite you with poison fangs. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself. You couldn’t handle a gun, didn’t have a single survival instinct in you.

Dutch had quite made sure of that, he’d heard you ask once or twice. And had been denied. Charming you with some string of words about how you were far too delicate to be handling a gun. To leave it for the men.

“ you’re lingering in the woods aren’t you Mr Morgan? “ he chuckled and shrugged.

“ and I ain’t that nice. Point proven lady “

“ not like Dutch would care if someone took me anyway. He’d probably be thankful “ your voice was hoarse from the shouting and he couldn’t tell if you were going to cry again or not. You took a long drag of your cigarette before seeming to suddenly remember something, dipping your hand into the waistband of your skirt and pulling out a pack “ sorry my manners. Want one? “ he took one with a nod of thanks “ can I sit? “

You sat down carefully beside him then with a long sigh, tucking your legs beneath you, and leant forward so he could light the cigarette between his lips with the end of yours.

“ thanks “ you both sat quietly for a short while. Smoking and watching the ripples in the water. He didn’t mind it actually, as much as he had been slightly annoyed at you disturbing his attempt to sleep. You were decent company.

You rarely strayed from Dutch’s side, but on the odd occasion you had and Arthur had stumbled upon you having a moment to yourself at the edge of camp it had been quite nice. So he didn’t mind sitting there with you, company. For you both.

“ I think you’re nice. By the way “ you said to break the silence, refrenching his previous comment of bad men lingering in the woods.

“ No offense to you Miss, but you’re in love with old Dutch. I don’t think you’re particularly qualified to be sayin’ whether folk is nice or not “ he said it teasingly in some hopes of making you smile. And it did. A little.

“ maybe not “ he watched you bring your cigarette to your lips again, glancing at your hands. Nails perfectly trimmed and not a single speck of dirt or sign of a scar. Hands that had never had to lift a finger. Ever. It was an interesting contrast to his own. Calloused and scarred and bruised “ but Dutch he… he…Can I ask you something? “

“ Sure “ he said and flicked his cigarette away.

“ Do you think I’m beautiful Arthur? “ you asked meekly. Your face was sad. Lingering innocence yet to be wiped away by life somehow, the kind that only remained because you had lived a life so sheltered. Even with Dutch you were as sheltered as could be “ and don’t lie. Please “

“ I think you’re beautiful, sure “ you turned back to the water again, tossing your own cigarette before promptly lighting another.

“ Dutch doesn’t. Not anymore. Barely even looks at me “ Arthur ran a hand over his face, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to you in the situation. At all “ I know I know I don’t expect you to agree. You two you’re…you’re like two peas in a pod aren’t you? “ you said with a small laugh, but it held no humour. You took a long drag of your cigarette.

“ me and Dutch it’s… we go back a long way. But… I will agree the way he’s been treatin’ you. Ain't nice. Not when you done nothin’ but be loyal to him for so long “ you turned back to him again and gave a small smile. It was like a wave of relief had washed right over you.

Someone was finally listening.

“ I think he’s got his eyes on Mary-Beth “ you mumbled, red stained lips wrapping around your cigarette again. Much like how he had found himself admiring your hands he now found himself admiring your lips. Soft and plump and stained red in the way they often were.

He blamed it on his fatigue.

“ he’d be a fool to give you up. You’re kind, loyal, hell you might jus’ be the most beautiful woman I know. He’s in a weird place right now. He’ll snap outta it, be back to readin’ you Evelyn Miller in no time. You’ll see “ maybe the last part wasn’t entirely true. But the first part was. And you seemed to bask in his compliments. He wondered when the last time Dutch had said something nice to you had actually been.

“ Thank you “ you looked as though you might cry again. And he really hoped you wouldn’t. He didn’t like to see you cry. And he really wouldn’t know what to say to you then. Once again you turned your attention back to the water and gave a small sigh “ maybe I chose the wrong outlaw “ you said with a small laugh “ always have thought you were quite handsome “

He nearly choked on his own saliva, clearing his throat in hopes to pass it out smoothly. He didn’t know if it had worked.

“ Really? “

“ Hmm “ you mused, tilting your head inquisitively to the side “ but you were oh so hung up on that Mary girl when I found Dutch”

“ Yeah well. Mary she’s- that’s all done with now “ maybe Mary was the reason he seemed to sympathise with you so. Because he too had had a broken heart. Though he was sure his was not as brutal as yours.

“ Guess we both have bad taste don’t we Mr Morgan “ he chuckled and nodded.

“ That we do miss. That we do “ he placed a gentle hand to your shoulder and squeezed in some form of comfort “ don’t worry bout Dutch though. Really. He’ll come to his senses and if…if he don’t then. Any man would be lucky to have ya “ you sniffled and he figured you’d started crying again “ I didn’t mean to upset- “

“ No. No I’m fine. It’s just…you mean it all don’t you? All these kind words? “ he shrugged and then nodded.

“ Sure I do. You’re a beautiful woman. Inside an out “ something seemed to flash across your face, a million and one things whirring away behind your eyes. He’d never been that good at reading people, never one for knowing what people were thinking. And the look on your face was the most confusing he’d ever seen.

The next part happened far too quickly for him to process it. Maybe because he was tired, maybe because he truly hadn’t even slightly suspected you to do it. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette and leaned forward, one hand to his leg and the other to his neck. And kissed him.

He was taken aback and you pulled away before he could make any attempt to figure out what you’d just done.

“ Sorry “ you sighed in slight annoyance, seemingly at yourself, sitting back beside him again. Like it was no big deal. Just something that had happened and had no real consequence “ shit- sorry “ Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged with a small laugh. Attempting to play it as cool as you clearly were.

Maybe he’d finally cracked and entered some weird fatigue induced psychosis, hallucinations and hearing voices. And kissing Dutch’s woman.

“ S’okay. No harm done “ he was bewildered. Trying to process the last 30 seconds and coming up completely blank.

“ Just the way you talk about me I- Lord forgive me “ he was certain he must have looked half dense. Still completely confused at what on earth was happening with you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flustered at having a woman like you kiss him. Even if you were begging the Lord for forgiveness right after it “ no one’s spoken to me like that in a long time and…and I wish they had. I want to be told I’m beautiful again. I want to be kissed. I want I want…I want a lot of things “

Maybe Arthur was a stupid, idiotic fool. Maybe too many gunshot wounds and bumps to the head had finally caught up to him. Maybe he too wanted to act on his ever growing annoyance with how Dutch was behaving. But he found himself reaching out, fingers tucking under your chin to turn your face to look at him. Your eyes were so beautiful up close. Practically sparkling in the moonlight.

Oh he was such a fool.

“ could’a jus’ asked “ a small smile tugged at your lips and you laughed a little.

“ Yeah. Of course. Because you’d have said yes Arthur? “ he shrugged. He didn’t know if he would’ve actually. But now the thought was in his head “ alright “ you whispered and shuffled a little closer to him “ indulge me “

His thumb was absentmindedly brushing over your jaw, looking at you in the light of the moon and wondering how on earth Dutch wasn’t constantly begging for your attention. If he had a woman like you constantly hanging off his every word he wouldn’t know how to act. Would be like a mangy dog trailing around after you for food.

“ I might’ve “ you gave a roll of your eyes but you were smiling still, a beautiful, tempting smile.

You were a temptress. A siren. Luring him in with your beauty to do something terrible. And you were vulnerable. Sad and seeking appreciation. And he was truly debating it.

“ Well…“ you started quietly, looking up at him through your long lashes in a way that made his chest go tight “ there is… still time for you to say yes “

“ we ain’t gonna tell no one bout this y’hear? This it’s… it’s jus’ between me and you. Okay? “ your eyebrows furrowed for a second looking up at him intently, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. If he was serious. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, needed you to agree or disagree to put the thought to rest. His thumb continued to brush along your jaw tenderly and your eyes fell closed for a moment.

How long had it been since someone had touched you with such care? That something as simple as that seemed to mean so much to you.

“ I understand “ you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. He pulled you in close, barely an inch between your lips and then spoke again “ you’ll give me what I want? Don’t treat me like him “

“ Anythin’ ya want. You got it. I’ll give ya what you deserve “ you let a shuddering breath escape and gave a small nod before closing the gap between you both again.

He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he sure found his footing quickly. You kissed him like he was your source of air, climbing your way into his lap and slipping your hands into his hair. You tasted of cigarette smoke and something almost sweet. Whatever it was, it was an intoxicating mix. You were like a siren singing your call in his ear, drawing him in and taking him for your own. The weight of you in his lap was almost familiar, welcoming. Just… nice.

He had almost forgotten just how fun it was to kiss a woman. How so many men seemed to shun it as boring, pointless- Dutch obviously included. But Arthur had always loved it. Had spent many a night as a youngster sneaking his way into Mary’s room just to kiss her. To spend hours kissing and talking and kissing some more.

Kissing you was something else. Addictive. Intoxicating.

Eventually he had to pull away, his lungs screaming at him for air. Your hands slipped out from his hair and down to grasp at the collar of his shirt, resting your forehead on his.

“ Anything I want you say? “ you asked quietly, breathless.

“ Anythin’ “ you smiled and lifted your head, a quiet determination settling over you. Your lipstick had smeared and he wondered how much of it was now on his own face.

“ okay… undress me then “ you softly commanded, shifting slightly in his lap “ please. Dutch never- he makes me do it myself, barely even looks I- Please “

He almost laughed to himself about now he immediately thought getting you naked was entirely too risky. As if the entire situation alone wasn’t risky anyway. But he didn’t want to think too hard about that, instead simply channelled his recent annoyance towards Dutch into his actions. Tried to tell himself he was doing a good thing, taking care of you.

You watched his face carefully as he gently untucked your shirt from where it was tucked into your skirt, some silky soft thing that probably cost more than everything he owned in his clothing trunk put together. He undid every pearl button slowly, eyes darting up to your face as he did. Your chest was heaving in long, heavy breaths. You were nervous. Or excited. He couldn’t tell which.

You shivered lightly when he pushed it from your shoulders, now only the soft cotton of your chemise between his hands and your chest. Your nipples had hardened, from the slight night chill or lust he couldn’t say. But he found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips through the cotton. You gasped softly, a sound so beautiful it made him groan. You sounded delicate. Innocent. You’d never made such sounds when he’d overheard you with Dutch. In fact a majority of the time you almost sounded in pain.

But this sound wasn’t that. This sound was beautiful. And he wanted to hear more. One hand pushed at your back to bring you closer, the other palmed at your neglected breast in hopes you’d make the sound again. And you did. Gentle, soft gasps as his tongue dampened the material of your chemise, teeth tugging at you gently through the material. Your hand found his hair again, raking your fingers through it and arching your back into his touch.

He couldn’t imagine why Dutch had never wanted to do such a thing. How could he not want to hear you make those pretty pretty sounds? How could he not want to feel you writhing in his lap and yearning to be touched. Maybe Dutch was more of a fool than he had originally thought.

“ Need you to touch me- properly I- take this off “ your sentence was choppy, like you weren’t focussed enough to truly articulate the words you wanted to say. But he understood, pulling your chemise over your head and dropping it to land with your shirt.

He took a moment just to look at you, not even entirely because he knew you’d want him to. Just because he wanted to. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered what was hiding under your expensive clothes once or twice. How could he not when he had to try sleep through the sounds of you and Dutch of a night.

“ God damn “ he said softly, hands soothing over your waist as you basked in his admiring stare, taking in the feeling of finally being looked at. Properly.

“ like what you see Mr Morgan “ you asked, voice sultry and low in a way that made his cock twitch in his pants.

“ Dutch is a damn fool “ is all he could say, leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands moving to grab at your chest. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and massaged your breasts with his large hands, seizing the opportunity to dip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. Your fingers in his hair, twisting strands around your fingers and tugging lightly. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Certain he’d somehow taken a stumble through the veil and ended up at heaven's gates.

He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but the way he was prepared to worship and praise you could truly be considered blasphemous.

He couldn’t resist the temptation of getting his mouth on you again much longer, dragging his lips from yours and wrapping them around a pebbled nipple instead. You rolled your hips against him, those beautiful soft moans still falling past your lips. This was what you had wanted from him. To be worshipped. To be looked at as the beautiful temptress of a woman you were. And not merely glanced at and then used like some two dollar whore in a saloon.

He wanted to nip at your skin, bite and soothe it with his tongue. But he knew he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk Dutch seeing it if he felt the need to stop ignoring you for a short while for his own needs. But oh how he wanted to. To mark up your smooth skin with reminders that you were desired. That you could look at as they faded and be reminded that you were wanted.

“ I need more “ you whispered “ Arthur please. Give me more “ another roll of your hips followed by a small whimper told him enough.

“ I know I got ya “ he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses up your sternum and your neck. Nose brushing at the underside of your jaw and working his way back to your lips again “ stand up. Lemme get you out of these damn clothes “ he caught the smile on your face as you stood up, he stayed seated and ran his hands over the fabric covering your hips. Something seemed to blaze in your eyes as you looked down on him. He realised it was most probably you that was usually being leered down on, but not now.

Not with him. Not with Arthur. Arthur looked up at you like the goddess you were, looked up at you with what he knew was a silent pleading in his eyes. Dutch would never ask he knew it. Dutch took. Stole. Used. Arthur didn’t. Wouldn’t.

“ I like how you look at me “ you said quietly, hand soothing over his hair “ you make me feel beautiful “

“ Cause y’are “ he murmured, hands reaching to the ties of your skirt. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see all of you.

You helped him with the slightly tedious task of getting your skirts and undergarments off, but all so slowly. Taking his time. Making sure he appreciated every single layer of clothing you removed for him, right down to unlacing your boots and holding your leg gently to help you out of them. Until you stood there as naked as the day you were born, illuminated by the moonlight on the water.

“ well ain’t you a sight “

Your skin was so smooth. Soft. Not a single scar that he could see. The skin of a woman who had never had to lift a finger. Had never known the hardships that he had. The only true blemish on your skin was the almost completely faded bruises on your hips. Fingertips. Dutch.

He soothed his hands up your legs, pressing soft kisses to the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he went, and stopped as he reached them.

“ He can be a little rough. It’s how he likes it “ you answered before he could even ask. Arthur too had been known to have his rougher moments. But he could never hurt you. Never mark you in anyway other than that of affection and care.

“ I ain’t like that “

“ I know. That’s why I want you “ he pulled you back down into his lap, his large hands splaying over your hips as he took yet another moment just to look. To admire. To thank whatever stupid damn God may exist for placing such a heavenly body in his presence “ I feel a little like the odd one out here though “ you said with a small smile, tracing a finger down from the open top buttons of his shirt to his pants.

He’d been far too occupied with you to even really notice the fact that he was ridiculously overdressed in comparison.

“ Can’t have that now can we darlin’ “ your smile grew and you made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a gentle sigh. You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest, nails scratching lightly at his skin and peppering lipstick stained kisses as you went. Littering his collarbones, his sternum.

“ much better “ your hands kept roaming and your lips kept kissing. Hands seemingly wanting to touch him all, scratching lightly up his sides and over his waist, his stomach and his ribs. Slowly moving to slide over his shoulders and loop around his neck. You rolled your hips against him again and whined softly. He was so hard it was growing painful as he stayed restrained by his pants. But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Dutch. And he wasn’t about to seek out any form of pleasure himself until he had you seeing the stars you deserved.

“ tell me what y’want “ he murmured, peppering soft kisses across your jaw.

“ touch me “ you sighed blissfully “ please touch me “

His hand slipped down in between your bodies, brushing past the soft curls between your legs and couldn’t contain the groan of a sound that left him when he felt how warm and wet you were.

“ Christ “ he muttered as your head dropped to his shoulder with a shuddering breath “ he ever touch you like this? “ he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. Why would he? He didn’t get anything out of it.

But Arthur did. Oh Arthur did.

“ no “ you whispered “ no never…please. More “ he tested the waters, pressing lightly against your clit and revelling in the squeak of a sound that it caused you to make.

“ or like this? " You shook your head again, breathing shakily as he dragged his finger through the wetness and drew light circles around your entrance.

“ Arthur “ you moaned his name in the most delicious way as he pushed his finger inside, burying it to the knuckle

“ yeah and what about this darlin? “ he again knew the answer. Dutch didn’t care about your pleasure. Didn’t care about wasting time on something as simple as making you whimper and whine for more “ he touch you like this? “

“ no “

“ think ya can take one more for me? “ you nodded again and he withdrew his finger, gathering your slick on his other before pushing them both past the resistance of your entrance “ that’a girl “ he pumped his fingers in and out steadily, curling and probing at your velvety soft walls to test what you liked.

“ This is so… oh god. This isn’t proper at all “ you laughed slightly, melting into a soft moan. Arthur chuckled, lifting your face up so you’d look at him.

“ Ain’t proper at all? It’s damn right filthy darlin” your cheeks were aflame and you closed your eyes for a moment, grinding yourself against his hand “ look at ya. Drippin all over ma fingers like that. Ain’t proper. Not one bit “ you smiled, a cheeky, devious smile that made him lean forward and kiss you again.

You were so wet it was obscene. He couldn’t tell where the sounds of you kissing stopped and the sopping sounds of his fingers began. You continued to grind down against his palm, practically riding his fingers, his whole hand wet and sticky with you.

And he wanted to taste it. To taste you. To flood his mouth with the slick, liquid gold covering his fingers. It was an almost primal desire, like a desperation as strong as needing air. He needed to. He had to.

“ Darlin’ “ he murmured, lifting your head from where it had fallen to his neck again “ gotta let me taste you. You gotta “ the look on your face only made him want it more. Your skin flushed and eyes blown out with nothing but pure lust and desire. He’d never needed anything more. Nothing else mattered, not the painful hardness in his pants, not the realisation that you were very much Dutch’s girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to be between your thighs.

“ really? No one’s ever- oh god. Yes. Yes. Please Arthur “ he withdrew his fingers making you whimper and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and lay it down on the ground. Then he kissed you again as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently turning you to lay back on the shirt. It still couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. But you didn’t seem to mind, tugging at his hair and lifting your hips up against him as he hovered over you.

He took his time moving down. Leaving a long and slow trail of hot, wet, kisses on your skin. You writhed underneath him, whining softly and twisting your hands in his shirt underneath you. He took extra time with your thighs. Kissing up from the inside of your knee and stopping before he could place his mouth where he really wanted to, then repeating with the other.

“ Arthur “ you whined, still squirming around and desperate.

“ I know. I got ya. Gonna make those pretty sounds for me again yeah? "You nodded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him as his head sank lower, spreading your legs wider to give him full access to the centre of you “ that’s a good girl “ he spread you open with his fingers, in awe of the way you parted for him. Like petals on a flower, dripping with the morning dew.

But you were far more delectable. A forbidden fruit begging to be tasted.

And oh was it pretty. Even in the dark, in nothing but the light of the moon on the water, it was pretty. Begging to be tasted, touched. Admired.

The sound you made as he dragged his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit was like music to his ears. He didn’t know how he managed to not come in his pants just at the sound of it.

You still kept it quiet, but loud enough for him.

His own, deep, guttural moan escaped from his chest as he licked again. Your taste flooding his mouth in a way so so much better than he could’ve imagined.

He ate you like he was starved. Like a savage predator that hadn’t seen meat for days, like a man ready for the gallows enjoying his last meal. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs apart for him as you bucked and squirmed against his face. It was visceral. Carnal. You made him feel like his grip on his own composure and control was weaker than ever, that he was holding on to it with nothing but his fingertips.

“ Arthur “ he dipped his tongue into the welcoming warmth of your cunt, his eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt you clench around him, desperate for more. Desperate for him. And he would give you more, would give you anything you asked of him. But not until he made you come first.

He let go of one of your legs and brought his fingers back to their previous position, wanting to feel you again. To be inside of you, as close as he could get. To make you see stars.

The flat of his tongue found your clit again, certain he could feel you pulsing against him. Desperate and full of desire for him. He felt honoured, privileged. That you were so loyal to Dutch, glued to his side. Never even batting an eye at anyone else. And yet you had broken that for him. Had sought him out because you knew he would treat you well.

Your back arched off the ground as he sunk them back into you, slipping in with a welcome ease. His thick fingers pumped into you at a steady pace, his tongue diverting all its attention to your clit. Lapping and sucking and letting you press his face harder against you as you tugged on his hair.

“ don’t stop please dont- Arthur “ he had no intentions of stopping, none at all. In fact he simply honed in on his ministrations, working harder to push you closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm he knew you had been craving for weeks.

“ Not gonna stop darlin. Ain’t stopping until you come for me. Taste so good, so good “ he murmured against you, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that made you gasp and your body shudder “ there we go, right there “

He flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves, looking at you as best he could to gauge your reaction. You were pulling a little painfully at his hair, squirming and rolling your hips against his face. He let you do it. Let you be the one using a man for your pleasure, rather than being the one used for once.

Your sounds were sinful. Melodic. He took it all in. Basked in the noises you made for him, the delicious taste of you on his tongue, drunk on you. On your taste. Your smell.

“ Arthur- Arthur please I- “ you babbled, a slightly smug smile working its way onto his face as he watched your prim and proper facade melt away “ don’t stop “

He hummed an assurance that he wouldn’t, your hips bucking against his face as he did. You were so unbelievably wet, dripping out around his fingers and soaking the hair of his beard. He would never have thought it of you. The way you held yourself around camp, so poised and prim. The accent when you spoke that made everyone else around you sound so common. And yet there you were. On your back in the woods, chasing an orgasm being offered to you by an outlaw. Repeating his name like a mantra.

And not even that of the outlaw you were in love with.

“ Arthur- “

Only seconds later it happened. You held a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit you, muffling your choked moans, back arching off the ground and walls clamping down on his fingers as he worked you through it. Tongue still working diligently at your clit until you pushed your hand at his head, squirming away a little.

He almost didn’t want to stop. Could’ve happily stayed there a while longer, but moved back, an obscene wet sound in the late night silence as he withdrew his fingers.

He took his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remnants of your climax onto his tongue. Unable to control himself. You watched him do it, mouth slightly agape and eyes half open with some desperate undeniable look of utter desire. He could almost see the way it made you feel, could see you unable to contain the overwhelming feeling of realising you were desired. Wanted.

“ God. You are unbelievable “ you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing at his arm. Your fingers looped around his wrist and tugged his hand towards your own mouth. He shook his head with a chuckle, slightly in awe as you took those same two fingers between your red lips.

Your tongue swirled between his digits, plush lips wrapping around them and sucking. Your eyes locked on his as you did. It made his cock ache. He wanted your lips on him, wanted your tongue swirling around his length and milking him dry. He could imagine it if he thought hard enough. The way you hummed slightly in appreciation as you sucked his fingers clean, sent vibrations straight through his bones. Rattling him to the core. But he would never ask that of you. But the thought was one he would hold onto. It made him shift slightly.

“ you ain’t so prim and proper lady “ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers, a string of saliva connecting his fingertips and your lips “ This ain’t very proper of you miss “ Arthur said with a small smile, teasing “ rollin’ around in the dirt with the likes of me “

“ Oh to hell with being proper if it means I get to feel like this “ you said with a small laugh and he kissed you again for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, smell the heady delicious smell of you on his beard.

He would’ve been more than happy to leave it at that. No matter how badly he wanted to sheath himself inside you and stay there for eternity. His goal had been your pleasure and he had achieved it.

But as he kissed you your hands began working at the buckle of his gun belt, opening it with a skilled ease that made him pull back.

“ Darlin’ you ain’t gotta do that- “

“ shush “ you pushed at him lightly so you could sit up and went to work on the buttons on his pants next “ I want to. I- Arthur take them off “ he made far quicker work of his own clothes than he had of yours and you leant back on your elbows to watch him.

You looked like a pinup girl. Like something he’d seen drawn come to life. Your eyes seemed hungry as you looked at him, dragging down his body and lingering on his rock hard cock. He was practically throbbing with want, the tip an angry shade of pink and leaking precum slightly embarrassingly “ come here. Please. Back down here “

He did as he was asked, crawling back over your body as you eyed him greedily.

“ We really don’t…I mean, If y’don’t wanna- “ his words stuck in his throat as your fingers wrapped around the length of him with a small sigh.

“ I want you to I just…can I ask one thing? “ he couldn’t get the word yes to escape his mouth, your fingers squeezing him softly in a way that made him see flashes of white in his vision. So he simply nodded “ don’t fuck me. Dutch fucks me, make love to me “ you seemed a little embarrassed at the request. But he didn’t think it was embarrassing. In fact he had had no plans to use you as brutally as Dutch. He was almost a little offended you thought he might.

“ Told you, anythin’ you want. You got it “ you smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips before laying back down again. He positioned himself over you, caging your head in between his arms. And it truly was incredibly intimate. He wondered when the last time you had had such intimacy was. If you’d ever received such a thing from Dutch.

He spat on his hand and grabbed a hold of his sensitive cock, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself slick. Not that he really needed to, you were already wetter than he’d ever known a woman to be. But the last thing he wanted was your discomfort. He lined himself up with you, eyes trained on your face as he dragged his weeping tip between your folds. You gasped as he caught your clit, still sensitive and alert from your first orgasm.

“ Arthur please “ you whimpered rolling your hips up against him, so desperate to have him inside of you.

“ So God damn wet for me “ he murmured “ such a good girl ain’t ya? “ you whined in answer, fingers wrapping around what you could of his bicep and digging your perfectly trimmed nails into his skin “ gonna make you feel so good I promise darlin’ jus’ like you deserve yeah? “ you whispered out a yes and brought your other hand to the back of his neck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, still running his cock along the length of your slit. Teasing.

“ Keep looking at me. Please look at me Arthur “ he continued to do as asked. Again. Though his eyes had barely strayed from your face anyway “ I need you so badly “ Eyes locked on yours, he finally pushed into you, he took it slow. Letting you take it inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy wash over your face. Your eyes fell closed.

He fought to retain his own composure, overwhelmed by the tight, wet, warmth of your walls enveloping him. He could feel every unique ridge and bump that made your cunt oh so perfect, feel every muscle stretch and contract as you adjusted to him.

“ god- oh god “

“ shh shh easy there. I got ya “ he paused once he was seated inside of you, grabbing at your hip with one hand to angle your hips better. Allowing you to comfortably take all of him in. He waited, let you adjust to his size, not daring to move before he got the go ahead from you “ there you go, look at you, takin’ all of me like that. So good f’me “ you basked in his praise, a dopey kind of smile spreading across your face.

“ so much bigger than him “ you whispered with a small laugh and Arthur couldn’t help the smug smile on his face. Kissing you and touching you and making you come on his tongue had been one thing. But having you like this? Having his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so unbelievably close together. And to then be told that? To know he was about to do you better than Dutch ever had. Ever could. It felt like the biggest fuck you to the man that had been not only mistreating him of late, but also the goddess of a woman beneath him “ I’m good. You can move. Please move “

He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting back in in one smooth motion. The pace he fell into was just as you’d asked. Loving. Tender. But hard and deep, making sure his hips were flush with yours with every stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled his face back down to kiss him again.

If anyone had spotted you they’d have easily mistaken you both for a lovesick couple having a private moment to yourselves. The entire thing intimate and passionate. No one would assume it was an affair in motion, hidden away in the woods by the shoreline in fear of your lover finding the pair of you there.

But it was what you wanted. What you had needed. And he felt privileged to provide.

He pulled back from your lips to watch you again, enthralled by the way your face relaxed and twisted in the pleasure he was providing you. You continued to spill those angelic sounds from your throat, growing breathier and higher pitch as he continued to drag his cock against the sopping, sensitive heat of your cunt. He had to focus hard not to finish in seconds. So much build up paired with being practically celibate for months was truly doing him no favours, but he focussed. He wasn’t letting this end until you came once more. You deserved it.

“ Keep those pretty eyes on me “ he murmured as they fell closed again “ that’s it darlin’, look at me there ya go “ everytime he spoke the slightest word of praise you practically beamed, so desperate to hear it. To be told you were good. Beautiful. So different to Dutch constantly yelling at you about how annoying you were, how much your mere presence bothered him these days. So he kept it up.

“ Doin’ so well for me. This pussy it’s perfect, ain’t that right? C’mon tell me “ he urged, still fighting off his ever looming orgasm. The sounds alone was enough to make him want to burst. Sweat slicked skin on skin, the wet sounds of your cunt dripping around the swollen intrusion of him. And those sweet sweet moans of yours.

“ yes “ you whimpered “ it’s perfect “

“ That’s a good girl “ he increased his pace ever so slightly and your hands slipped from his arms to his back, dragging your nails down him to try to pull him impossibly closer to you.

He moved a hand down between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, grunting and choking back his own moans as you squeezed him. Like your body never wanted him to leave, gripping his cock with your cunt and making it ever more harder to hold back. He couldn’t help but have a look, glancing down to see the way you stretched around him, mesmerised at the way you took him in so deep.

“ tell me I- oh. Tell me I’m beautiful “ you whimpered, sounding almost like you might cry. From pleasure, from upset. He didn’t know. But he continued to do as asked.

“ you’re beautiful “ he murmured picking up his pace a little more, his sweat slick skin slapping against yours. He was desperate to see you come again. Wanted to see your face up close this time, watch your eyes roll back and your kiss swollen lips part in ecstasy “ so beautiful darlin. Doin’ so well f’me, takin’ me so well “

“ don’t stop, don't stop “ he dropped his head to your neck whispering every word of praise he could think of into your ear, your body arching up against his and whimpering and whining with every word.

“ ain’t ever looked prettier than this “ he whispered, his own voice becoming breathless with the effort “ shit- look at ya, takin’ my cock so well. So pretty darlin’ “

Your second orgasm seemed to shock you as much as him, clawing at his skin to hold him close as your body trembled beneath him, biting at his shoulder to muffle your moans.

He didn’t mean to finish inside of you, had fully intended to pull out. But the way your cunt had squeezed him, the sounds you had made as he pushed you over the edge for the second time.

He muffled his own groan of pleasure in your neck, fingers digging into the dry earth beneath you, spilling load after load whilst fully sheathed inside of you. His entire body tensed, a pleasure he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears as it seemed to drag on forever.

And then he came to his senses.

“ m’sorry. Shit. Sorry “ he panted as he tried to compose himself and pushed himself up onto his hands to pull out. But you yanked him back down, arms wrapping around his back again and legs tightening around his waist.

“ no. Please. Stay. Stay right there. Just a moment would you “ he had come to realise in the past.. how long had you two even been out there? However long it was, he’d come to realise he was terrible at saying no to you. Could never possibly even dream to deny you of anything you wanted from him. And so he slumped back down onto his forearms, dropping his head against your shoulder for a moment. Your chest heaved beneath him and you caught your breath, fingers tracing gentle strokes along his spine. He felt he could stay there for hours.

“ You doin’ okay? “ he asked, pressing a light kiss to your jaw when he had composed himself a little more.

“ marvellous Mr Morgan “ you whispered with a small smile “ truly. Marvellous “ he couldn’t help but kiss you again, the long lingering kind meant for two lovers.

After a few minutes you both finally moved, re dressing in silence and then sitting back in your original position against the tree. He handed you a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between your lips.

He wondered what he looked like. Wondered what evidence you had left on him. Had he sweated off the lipstick prints on his chest or were they still there? He knew you had scratched his back up good and proper and would have that reminder there for a few days at least.

“ Thank you. Mr Morgan '' you said quietly after a few silent moments of smoking, blowing out a long stream of smoke “ I mean it I- i'm not sure what I’m supposed to say “

“ Don’t say anythin’ “ he said with a small wave of his hand, appearing as blaise as he possibly could but in reality knowing he wasn’t about to forget that night anytime soon “ its fine. Really. Anytime y’need me, for anythin’, you know where I’ll be “ you smiled and he watched your body relax a little more.

“ you know, i might just take you up on that “

He sincerely hoped you would.

#ask and ye shall receive #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 community #rdr2 fanfic #x you #background Dutch van der Linde x reader #fluff #dutch van der linde #Arthur Morgan smut #john marston #javier escuella #Sadie Adler #arthur morgan rdr2 #van der linde gang

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

“Bah cawk! B-b-bah cawk!”

“Fuck off, Hunk.”

Hunk grins, continuing to flap his arms and squawk like a fool. “Somebody’s a chicken! Bah cawk!”

“I am not going to chicken out this time,” Lance says hotly. He tries to deck Hunk in the arm, hard, but unfortunately he’s currently lugging a crate out of his lion so he has to set it down before he can swing and Hunk has time to dodge.

“You are so,” Hunk taunts, shifting a safe distance away from Lance because he knows Lance and he knows Lance well, and so he knows the next thing he has coming is a swift kick to the ass. “You chickened out last night, and the night before, and the night before that —”

“I’m gonna do it this time,” Lance insists. “I am. I’m gonna make a move.”

Hunk shrugs, insufferably smug. “Sure, Loverboy.”

Any further attempt to argue with him is futile. He responds to every single thing Lance says with more chicken noises, to the point where Lance is ready to kill him for real, and then he books it when Lance’s brown eyes tip into something a little crazed.

“Get back here, you dick! Square the fuck up! You slanderer! You shithead! You three-cheeked buttface!”

Hunk cackles. “Bah-cawk! Chicken! You’re chicken!”

Lance snaps. He drops the crate, barely glancing behind him as it clatters to the ground, and starts really sprinting. Hunk, glancing behind him with a mischievous grin that drops into a look of pure fear when he realizes how fast Lance is gaining on him.

“Shiro! Allura! Somebody!” he screeches, stumbling over a rock. “Lance is trying to kill me for no reason! He’s gone insane!”

“Yeah, that’s right, you dick, you can run but you can’t run far —”

Lance finally wrenches his bayard from where it’s clipped to his belt, setting the power to the hardest stunner — painful but not lethal, because that’s what Hunk’s annoying ass deserves — and taking aim. Hunk glances behind him again right before Lance squeezes the trigger and screams at the top of his lungs.

“Coran! Help!”

“I’m gonna fucking get you —”

Biceps of steel — well, one bicep of steel — wraps around his waist, plucking him from the air kicking and yelling.

“Woah, there, Jack Nicholson. Cool it a second and remember Hunk is your best friend.”

“Hunk is my worst enemy,” Lance spits. He glares at the asshole in question, cowering behind an amused Allura, who glares right back. He has the gall to stick out his tongue, yelping when Lance lunges forward, Shiro’s admittedly strong grip the only thing holding him back.

“Don’t you two love each other or something?” Allura drawls.

“He called me a chicken!” Lance shouts. “And squawked at me! Like a four year old!”

“You are a chicken!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am —”

Shiro shakes Lance like a rag doll. “Shut up,” he says mildly. “Use big boy words, both of you. Why is Hunk calling you a chicken?”

Lance looks away, cheeks suddenly hot. “Nothing. No reason.”

“B-bah cawk!”

Shiro quickly holds down Lance’s wrists so he can’t shoot a cackling Hunk. Lance struggles for a moment, but sags eventually under Shiro and Allura’s curious looks.

“I’m — gonna try to make a move,” he mumbles. “On Keith.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Oh,” Allura says, voice trembling. Her hand is clamped to her mouth. Lance can feel Shiro’s whole body shaking. He wrenches himself away, scowling harder.

“I hate all of you,” he snaps as the three of them collapse into giggles. “None of you have any faith in me. My friends suck. I want new ones.”

Shiro tries desperately to reign himself in. “S-sorry, kiddo, it’s just —” he can’t even finish his sentence, laughing so hard he’s hunched over. The worst part is that the sound makes Lance smile involuntarily, so he can’t even look properly scorned as he stomps off.

He runs into Coran and Pidge on his way to the clearing they’ve decided to camp in for the night. Pidge doesn’t not hesitate before dumping her armful of equipment on him — chairs, sleeping bags, pillows — and frolicking off like a nature sprite ahead of them. Lance rolls his eyes affectionately, adjusting the new load of stuff in his arms and striking up conversation with Coran. The two of them chat idly as they take their time to get to the clearing, talking about some of the cool birds they’ve been seeing flying overhead every once in a while. (They’re fuckin’ massive — Lance has been calling them pterosaurs in his head. He hopes he gets the chance to pet one.)

“You’re quiet, dear,” Coran comments. He nudges Lance’s shoulder teasingly. “For you, anyway.”

Lance huffs a laugh, nudging right back. “It’s nothing, really. Just a little nervous.”

“I see.” Coran hums. “Would those nerves have anything to do with our passionate black paladin?”

“Got me,” Lance says, grinning slightly. “I’m, uh, gonna try and make a move today. Hunk called me a chicken and I won’t stand for that.”

“That’s the only reason, of course.”

Lance laughs. “Of course, Coran. Whattaya take me for?”

Coran keeps ribbing him gently as they walk, but it’s different from everyone else’s teasing. Not that Lance really minds the other teasing, honestly. He knows they’re only joking. But Coran’s teasing only serves to make him more confident, not nervous. It reminds him of the teasing his Mamà would do, when he came to her complaining about how horrible his siblings were being. The encouraging kind of playful. It makes him smile, remembering that. He’s going to get it all again soon.

They’ve barely stepped foot into the clearing before a voice is calling out, loud and excited.

“Lance! Hi!” Keith’s smile is huge, wide and taking up his whole face. He waves Lance over, patting the chair he’s got set up next to him.

“Go on, Number Four,” Coran says, switching his armful of equipment over to one hand and scooping up Lance’s easily.

Right. Altean superstrength.

Lance grins at him again, then jogs over in Keith’s direction.

“Hey, Lance,” Keith repeats, much softer this time. “You wanna sit?”

Lance nods, slowing down to a walk. He stops barely a foot away from the foot of Keith’s chair as an idea hits him.

“Yeah,” he says coyly. He pivots slightly, facing Keith’s chair instead of the empty one next to him. He shivers exaggeratedly, rubbing his arms and saying brr (out loud, with his mouth, dear God). He takes a millisecond to steel himself and then crawls onto Keith’s chair, wedging himself next to him and wiggling around to make himself comfortable. His heart pounds, and the muffled sniggering he hears around him does his already burning face no favours. “Whew. This planet is frosty, huh? I’m cold.”

“Oh!”

Keith sounds so enlightened that for a brief, stupid second, Lance is convinced he’s gotten the hint.

But no. Of course not.

Keith scrambles out of the chair, Lance yelping as he nearly gets shoved right off it.

“I’ll build a fire!,” Keith exclaims. He looks at Lance with maybe the proudest look he’s ever seen on him.

Shiro lets out a loud, ridiculous “Ha!” and then the rest of the team — all five of them, even Coran — burst into hooting laughter.

Keith shoots them a weird look. “What’s with them?”

Lance sighs. He buries his face in his palms, something like hysterical laughter bubbling up his throat, and he barely shoves it down. “No fucking clue.”

Evidently Keith decides to drop it, patting Lance on the knee before taking off into the woods, presumably to grab some firewood.

“Oh my God,” Pidge guffaws. Shiro makes a strange sound, choking on his dramatic ass hooting. There’s a thump noise as he literally rolls off his chair and hits the ground. Hunk and Allura aren’t far behind him.

Keith spends the next varga lugging around giant logs of fallen trees, chopping them into firewood — which, Lance will admit, is most definitely a positive side to this whole shitshow. Keith might not quite have Captain America’s rippling muscles, but he’s most definitely got that ass, and Lance could watch him chop wood for days — and arranging them into a neat pile. He’s thankfully focused enough to be completely oblivious to the crew of dumbasses making endless horrible jokes and continuously cracking each other up at Lance’s misfortune.

Keith stands proudly at the frankly roaring fire when he’s finished, looking between it and Lance and smiling broadly.

“That better?” he asks.

Lance smiles, fond and exasperated all in one. “Yeah, Keith,” he says. “It’s awesome. Thank you.”

He pauses for a moment as a thought crosses his mind.

Wait a second. He might be able to turn this shit around after all.

“I’m really grateful,” Lance repeats. He scooches back into the chair and pars the space in front of him. “Come sit.”

Once again, though, the hint flies right over Keith’s head as he walks right by Lance, cuffing him on the shoulder, before sitting on the empty chair next to him.

Lance deflates. The rest of the team loses their shit.

“What is with you weirdos?” Keith demands. He looks at Lance, arms spread in confusion.

You’re such a fucking dumbass, Lance thinks. I love you so fucking much. Please use your brain.

“Who knows,” he says instead.

Keith nods. “Let’s just ignore them and enjoy the fire, huh?” He stands up, moving his chair a little closer to Lance before sitting back down. He’s silent a moment, face screwed up like it is right before he’s about to do something unbelievably stupid and reckless on a mission that he knows Lance will scream at him for.

But he doesn’t do anything stupid. Instead he reaches forward, determined once he convinces himself, and wraps his hand around Lance’s.

Lance holds his fucking breath, forcing himself as still as possible. He’s terrified that if he so much as thinks too loudly Keith might change his mind.

“Yeah,” he breathes, once he’s sure Keith isn’t going to pull away. “Let’s enjoy the fire.”

———

based on this video

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ghoulystay · 11 months

Text

Simon Ghost Riley and y/n story

Female reader.

Smut. 18 and over kind of story.

"Sir, I have bad news. They took her."

Anger. He felt anger, and he lost it.

You and Ghost were on a special mission. Top secret. Captain Price put both of you together not only because of the fact that the two of you were close but because you both were good at what you did.

This mission was a long one, but it was something you both were used to. Unfortunately, this mission had a major downside where you were caught by the enemy, and Ghost had no idea. You two were split up by a miscommunication.

"What the fuck you mean they took her." Ghost said anger taking over his emotions. "The enemy has her, look I had to tell you because we all know what she is to you and you needed to know." Said one of the soldiers. "I'll give you a minute, but I suggest we go now. We know where she's located." Ghost didn't hesitate. He followed the soldier to the command center, where they would discuss the matter further. Once there, they began the briefing.

"Okay, so what we have so far.." Ghost interrupted the man before he finished his sentence.

"So far? What the fuck do you know, where the fuck is she at this fucking moment!" Ghost lashed out. "Simon, I know you're upset, but we have to set the facts on the table before we get to that point, we can't just bust our way in. We need a plan." Ghost couldn't control his feelings. "I have a fucking plan mate, fucking attack!" Ghost stared down the soldier, the soldier sighed. "We'll attack after I tell you where she is, Simon." Ghost didn't answer this time.

"So we know that she's been captured by an old enemy of both of yours, does the name (enemy's name) sound familiar?" He passes Ghost a picture of the man, but Ghost didn't look at the picture because just by hearing the name, he knew exactly who it was. An old enemy. One he and y/n thought was dead.

"Old fuck! Thought we eliminated him a long time ago!" Ghost lashed out again.

"Apparently not. He's come back to take revenge on both of you, and what better way to do that than to go after something you love."

Ghost was getting angrier. "Just tell me where she is dammit, I'll go in alone if I have to!"

"They're holding her here, sir. We have a better chance of attack at night. We'll wait till then, and we will bring her back." The soldier pointed at the monitor. Y/n was being held captive in an old shack that was heavily guarded by the enemy's men. Ghost didn't like the idea, but he agreed. He couldn't help but feel irritated and impatient, but he knew all too well that waiting with a plan is better than running in with no plan at all. They drove close by to a safer zone close enough to where the enemy is. They all sat around, some keeping guard and others just waiting for command. Ghost was looking towards the enemy camp, keeping an eye out on the shack that y/n was being held at. While looking out, he couldn't help but have a flashback, one they shared a month earlier. It was a beautiful night and a passionate one. They had gone out to a pub, and they had an amazing night, laughs, hands touching each other's, flirty glances here and there. He always had a habit of reminding her of how much he loved her eyes. He loved everything about her, but her eyes were his utmost favorite.

The night continued and ended with lovemaking.

Ghost and y/n could be making love for hours. Body to body. Soul to soul. It was beautiful. He could love you so well and make you cum like no other screaming his name in carnal ecstasy. He could be so gentle but yet so rough. The way you loved him to be was when he was rough with you, feeling his thick and hard cock inside of you penetrating your walls over and over again with each thrust leaving you breathless and begging for more.

Ghost snapped out of his flashback when the soldier told him they were ready to move in.

"Sir, it's time."

They all moved out to get in position. Ghost took the lead as he always did. All he wanted was to get her back as soon as possible, but they had to be cautious.

As time went by, slowly but surely, taking an enemy down one by one without alerting, they finally reached the shack. "Move men! Let Ghost through!" Ghost moved his way to get to inside the shack. He opened the door and saw you chained to a chair. You were a mess, you look up at him. "Ghost... you came..." y/n struggling to get the words out. He slowly makes his way towards you, but as he was, someone appears from the shadows behind y/n, the enemy, the one who orchestrated the whole thing. He comes behind you, grabbing your neck from behind. He had a blade in the other hand. Ghost quickly aims at him. "Let her go!" Ghost demanded.

"Hahaha, now now Ghost, why would I do that. This is about vengeance for a couple of years ago. You both took everything from me, especially you, Ghost. And now I'm taking something from you."

Y/n just stared at Ghost, hurt in her eyes and voice. "I love you, baby." You said to Ghost.

Ghosts' eyes are between you and the enemy. He wasn't gonna give up that easy. That wasn't in his nature.

"Times up Ghost." As the enemy was about to put the blade across your throat in one split second, you hear a loud bang. Blood dripping from your head, you notice it's not yours. The enemy fell to the ground. You look at Ghost. He runs to you and breaks you free from the chains. You stand and hold him in your embrace.

"Sir, all good in there? Copy." You hear from his radio. He answers back to them, saying everything was good. As you both share a moment before you head back to the rescue chopper.

Back at the friendly camp.

You were in the med wing resting. Ghost never left your side. You were grateful for having him. Behind his cold demeanor was a man that you fell for, a man only you saw, and you wouldn't change that for anything in the world.

"Go rest, love, I'm safe here." You reassure him. He looks into your eyes, taking your hand in his. "I'm not going anywhere, princess." He kisses your knuckles. Since you've been with Ghost and even before you did, you knew he was one stubborn man, but you adored him anyway. "I love you so much, Simon. Thank you for coming for me."

He looks you in your eyes as he holds your hand. "I would do it over and over again, y/n. Your my life. Once we're done with this life, I told you I want to marry you." You get teary-eyed. It was true that you both made an oath to each other that if you both ever retired from the military, you would marry even though he had bought you a ring a long while back that you wear around your neck. "I look forward to that every day, my love." You smile.

"Rest, baby, I'm not going anywhere." He kissed your knuckles once more. You drifted to sleep. You felt so lucky and blessed to have someone like Simon "Ghost" Riley.

The End.

I'm thinking of making a series for Ghost and also Konig. Stay tuned for those stories.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #cod smut #call of duty #simon ghost x reader #Spotify

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achaotichuman · 5 months

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Tamcien and Azris headcannons?

YES MY TWO FAVOURITE PAIRINGS!!!

Here are some fresh stupid little headcanons for these pairs for you anon!

Azris Headcanons-

Azriel has days where he will completely lose himself to his own mind. His shadows’ whisperings will get louder and louder, blocking every conceivable thought out of his mind. Azriel used to lock himself in his room when these days came. Then Eris came in to find him curled up in a corner. Now whenever these days come, Eris will take care of him. Help change his clothes into soft comfortable ones, coax him to eat and drink, tugging on the bond gently until eventually Azriel breaks through the whispering. Now Azriel isn’t as afraid when his powers overtake him, Eris picks him up and guides him through it.

Eris doesn’t stop working for anyone or anything. He will work from morning until late at night and too often into the next morning. He’ll forget to eat or drink anything. Sometimes running himself so far into the ground he ends up collapsed on his desk. Azriel now keeps a shadow by Eris’ office door, sending chirpy reminders to Azriel when Eris has gone a concerning period of time without getting up from his desk for anything other than more work. Azriel knows then to either send a letter to the Forest house for a servant to bring Eris a meal. Or if he is staying in Autumn, he’ll bring it himself and spend as much time as he can with the High lord.

Eris adores and worships his hair, it is a trait all Vanserra’s share which has been dubbed Vanserra Hair Syndrome. Azriel once accidently once cut a piece off during an incident involving a pair of scissors and a very unfortunately placed coffee table. Azriel woke up the next morning to find all of his left shoes had been burned. He had to go all the way back to Night with just one right shoe in order to retrieve a new left shoe, as everyone in Autumn had been carefully instructed not to give or loan him a left shoe.

Eris judges Azriel’s style choice and bought him a whole new wardrobe, yet the BAT REFUSES TO WEAR THE BRAND-NEW HANDMADE SILK AND KEEPS WEARING OLD SHIRTS AND PANTS HE’S HAD FOR CENTURIES AND IT IS dRiVInG eRiS iNsAnE.

Eris loves horse riding, Azriel is completely incompetent. While Eris gracefully slid into his saddle, Azriel fumbled, falling off the horse, nearly getting kicked in the face. Eris laughed, throwing his head back. Azriel wanted to feel frustrated but all he could do was chuckle. Eris walked him through getting on and eventually they were off. Azriel was holding on for dear life while Eris took off into the forest, his hair falling out of the tie it was in and billowing behind him, Azriel eventually caught up and found Eris watching him from the tree lines. Eye wind blown, eyes wild and face softened. In the span of a few seconds Azriel fell in love all over again.

When they kiss Eris likes to take off his scarf and wrap it around Azriel’s neck and hauling him in. Azriel now can’t wear a scarf without thinking of Eris.

Before Eris and Azriel went to war, knowing they may not come back. They didn’t make love, they didn’t kiss, they didn’t even hug. They stared at each other from across the camp. Eyes locked, and unable to move for each other. Fully knowing that if they did, if they locked arms with each other, they wouldn’t be able to leave and they had too much to lose if they ran away from this. So they settled for staring before they went to battle.

Eris and Azriel have a little cottage out in the Autumn mountains. They’ll stay out there whenever they get the chance. Locked in each other’s embrace like an old couple. They both leave their armour at home and it's the one place where Azriel doesn’t feel the need to have truth-teller on him at all times.

Azriel once left a sweater in Eris’ room. Eris wore it every night until it no longer smelled like Azriel. Once he returned it, Azriel wore it every night until it no longer smelled like Eris. Then he ‘accidently’ left it in Eris’ room again and the cycle repeated itself again and again for years and years and years until that sweater was nothing but worn out thread.

Azriel and Eris leave sweet notes and reminders around for each other, with a passive-aggressive twist. A note from Azriel might look like ‘Remember to drink water, asshole, you have a big day and because I love you I don’t want you to be fucking dehydrated.’ And a note from Eris might look like, ‘Remember to take a breather, you brute. Your anxiety has been up and I don’t want you to wear yourself into the fucking ground.’

Azriel memories every movement Eris makes. Every sweep of his arms, the sway of his hips, the hand that brushes through his hair, the legs that move with careful precision. The piece of hair that falls across his eyes. Azriel takes it all in, he sees Eris’ fluid movements in the flames of every fireplace, the rivers, the swaying trees. He sees him in the stars falling at Starfall. He sees him at every turn like another shadow that he couldn’t live, breathe, move without.

When they spar, Azriel always starts off going easy and Eris just goes ballistic and roundhouse kicks Azriel to the face and gets him on the ground in three seconds flat. Azriel will try to get him off but Eris will always manage to come out on top. Azriel has quickly learned that Eris Vanserra is General of the Autumn armies for a reason.

Azriel fell first. Everything about Eris became a dance that drew him in deeper and deeper. Until he felt like he was being choked with a kiss from a siren, breathing water into his lungs until he was drowning. Water that turned to flames and burned him from the inside out. It wasn’t until Eris touched him for the first time with love in his eyes, that Azriel stopped burning up and began to burn with the flames.

Azriel hums to himself when he is doing mundane things such as cleaning, cooking etc. Often Eris will be in the middle of something, but when he hears the low murmuring of lyrics from across the room, he’ll look up and won’t be able to go back to his work. Azriel will eventually notice and ask Eris what he’s looking at. Eris will tell him he is looking at the most beautiful creature in the realms. Azriel will blush very hard.

Tamcien Headcanons-

Tamlin and Lucien both experience severe panic attacks. They’ve figured out systems to help each other through them. When Lucien has a panic attack, Tamlin sits beside him, being careful not to touch him, makes sure the fire is out, as it will respond to Lucien’s magic. And starts to read. He reads out loud whatever book Lucien may have had on his coffee table or his bedside table, and reads until Lucien begins to calm down. Once the attack is finished Tamlin has water and snacks brought up to Lucien’s room. Lucien lays in Tamlin’s lap while Tamlin keeps reading to him.

When Tamlin has panic attacks, they are a battle with his magic, which will often explode during the initial parts of the attack. When they start to come on, Lucien dims all the lights and closes the curtains. He grabs an old toy from Tamlin’s childhood that he keeps stashed away in the closet, and sits beside him with it. He braids Tamlin’s hair, murmuring into the darkness sweet things, the golden sun outside, the breeze in the air, how the green of Tamlin’s eyes matches the forest. Everything he can think of. Until Tamlin is finally calm, and he collapses into Lucien’s arm. They stay in the dark together for as long as needed.

Lucien left a stuffed animal he was given by his mother as a kid in Autumn when he ran. When he told Tamlin about it, Tamlin snuck into Autumn, into the Forest House and stole it from Lucien’s old room. He also stole several of Beron’s crowns and replaced them with flower crowns, as a nice little fuck you.

Tamlin once got Lucien a flower and told him he would love him until the day the last petal fell. The flower was made from metal.

Lucien made Tamlin a teddy bear, it’s terribly made but he tried his hardest. Tamlin laughed and played it off when Lucien gave it to him but whenever he misses Lucien he cuddles it in bed.

Tamlin likes to shape-shift into the form of a cat, he once showed up to a High lords meeting in this form. Everyone, not knowing it was him, attempted to pat or cuddle him. He hissed and scratched everyone until he ultimately found Lucien and jumped into his lap and sat there for the whole meeting. Everyone was very jealous.

When Tamlin is sick he is very, very clingy. He will get Lucien to cuddle with him and everytime Lucien tries to leave bed, Tamlin will latch onto him, wrapping his legs around his waist and arms around his chest, refusing to let go. There have been many times when Lucien has walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water with a sick, sniffling Tamlin clinging to him and crying about going back to bed.

Tamlin and Lucien will lie on the rooftop of the Spring Manor and watch the stars. When the temperature in the air drops, Tamlin will wriggle into Lucien’s jumper and Lucien will heat up his skin so they’re both warm. This has led to more than half a dozen stretched out jumpers but Lucien does not care.

Tamlin steals all of Lucien’s hoodies. Lucien has tried hiding his hoodies, all this has led to is Tamlin not finding a hoodie so he takes a long-sleeved shirt instead. Most of Lucien’s wardrobe is now in Tamlin’s wardrobe.

Tamlin runs cold, Lucien runs hot. Tamlin likes to wrap himself in the bed sheets, burrito-blanket style and Lucien likes to not have more than a thin sheet over him. The only problem this has led to is cuddling in bed is more like Lucien wrapping his arms around a giant rolled up duvet.

Tamlin likes to cook for Lucien. And he cooks exceedingly well. Tamlin will make all sorts of fancy, delicious meals for Lucien, like lunches for Lucien to take when he visits his brothers for their annual hunting trip. Now the Vanserra brothers are outside of Tamlin’s window the morning of said hunting trip, kicking rocks and what not, certainly not begging for their own lunches.

Lucien and Tamlin like to dance in the dark. In the middle of the night, when all is silent, they will sneak down into the ballroom, laughing and trying to be quiet. Then they will dance with each other, from everything to ballroom dancing, to folk dances. They can barely see each other, they are whispering and laughing like children, but they don’t care. They dance until they can barely keep their eyes open any longer before dragging themselves back to bed and collapsing into each other’s arms.

Lucien adores and worships his hair. It is a trait all Vanserra’s share and has been dubbed Vanserra Hair Syndrome. Tamlin once cut a chunk out of Lucien’s hair when they were sparring. He awoke the next morning to find his hair had been dyed green. To this day Lucien refuses to admit guilt. Even though his hands had been dyed green that morning.

Lucien and Tamlin’s first kiss was on one early Spring morning, Lucien had gone downstairs to make tea, before anyone else was awake. He found Tamlin sitting on the countertop and as he passed he said good morning, before Tamlin could say good morning back, Lucien leaned up and pressed a kiss to Tamlin’s cheek. Tamlin remained silent and rooted to that spot until Lucien left. Then Tamlin collapsed into a gasping, giggling, red-faced mess.

#acotar #lucien vanserra #tamlin #pro lucien vanserra #pro tamlin #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra #azris #acotar headcanons #acotar au #tamcien

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cicimunson · 2 years

Text

Sweet Child of Mine Part 5

Series Summary: You’re Eddie’s former best best friend. The two of you drifted apart freshman year of high school and now you’re more enemies than anything else. Despite the hostility between the two of you, you still come around to help out with his eleven-month-old sister, Emma, who he and Wayne keep most of the time due to his father being in jail and his mother being an addict.

Also, I know Sweet Child O’ Mine didn’t come out until 1988, but the song is just so perfect for the story.

Pairings/Characters: Eddie Munson x Female Reader, Wayne Munson, OC characters Emma Munson, Wendy Munson and Greg Thompson, cheerleaders Amy and Lucy

Chapter Summary: Eddie comes to visit while you're sick and you two get nostalgic remembering old times.. There's a bit of an altercation at school and Eddie is stunned when you take his side. Emma hits a milestone and the three of you go out to celebrate. Eddie is starting to feel something for you, but he can't quite figure out what it is.

Warnings: Reader is sick, mentions of Eddie's mom being an addict, I think that's it? Let me know if I missed something.

Word Count: 3k

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 6

Whatever Eddie was sick with doubles down on you, forty-eight hours in and you're sprawled on your couch, unable to combat the cough or fever.

You wish your parents were in town, but unfortunately they were both gone for work. Not that they'd be much comfort, but it would be nice to have someone's presence in the house.

There's a knock on the door and you drag yourself up, groaning.

Eddie is standing on your doorstep, smirking when he sees you. "Hi. You look like hell."

You groan. "Come to relish in my pain, Munson? Low, even for you."

"Actually, I brought your homework. And Wayne insisted I bring you some of his homemade chili, said it’ll cure anything you have.” He thrusts the bag under your nose and the strong smell of spices makes you gag.

“Shit, you really are sick, huh?” He observes. “I didn’t get any stomach trouble with mine.”

“Must be my luck.” You mumble, heading back to the couch. "You can go, I’d like to be miserable in peace.”

"Oh, come on, ducky, don't be like that."

You whirl around, reaching out to grab the back of the sofa when the movement makes you light-headed.

Eddie is overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and steady you. It surprises him.

Instead he steps closer and asks: "You okay? Maybe you should sit down."

You nod and resume your spot on the couch, tucking your legs under you.

"You haven't called me ducky since we were kids."

He sits in the recliner across from you and cocks his head to the side, looking confused. "I haven't?"

"Nope."

"Oh, well, do you still want to be a duck?" He jokes.

You giggle. When the two of you were small, your elementary school had taken a field trip to a farm and you had been fascinated by the baby ducks swimming around the pond behind the barn. You had told everyone that you were going to be a duck too, crying when your teacher had told you it was impossible, then sobbing harder when she scolded you for crying. Eddie had kicked her in the shin and hugged you.

If you wanna be a duck, you can be a duck.

And you'll still be my best friend?

Of course. You'll be my little ducky.

And the nickname had stuck. At least until freshman year.

Eddie studies your face. "What are you thinking about?"

You sigh softly and shake your head. "Nothing. And yes, sometimes I still wish I were a duck."

He grins. "I knew it."

For a moment, all feels right between you two again.

"Um, thanks for my schoolwork. And thank Wayne for the food."

He shifts his weight back and forth in his seat, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, I owe you a thank you, too."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He looks down at his feet. "The other night, when I was sick. You didn't have to take care of me. You could have left, or even camped out in the bedroom with Emma. But you stayed with me."

Your heart beats a little faster.

"So, I just wanted to say thanks." He finishes, still not looking from the floor.

"You're welcome, Eds. I'm glad you're feeling better."

He smiles softly when you use his nickname.

"So do I need to force-feed you Tylenol? Make you soup?"

"I'm fine, thanks. I'd hate for you to catch this again."

"Yeah, me too." He stands up, wiping his palms on his jeans. "But if you need anything-"

"I'll call. Thanks again."

He nods. "See ya, ducky."

Your heart does another little flip-flop as he leaves.

Don't. Don't start thinking the two of you can be friends again. Every time you get your hopes up, he crushes them.

But you can't help but hope just a little.

__________

You're back in school two days later, stretching with the rest of the cheer squad before the pep rally. You see Eddie walk into the gym and you give him a small wave.

He flips you off, but with a warm smile on his face.

You pretend to be offended, then act like you're reaching in your pocket to look for something. He watches as you pull out your clenched hand, then open it to flip him off in response.

His smile turns into a grin.

Amy nudges you. "Maybe don't flirt with the freak in front of the entire school, huh?"

You give her a frosty glare.

After the pep rally Eddie approaches you. You're taken aback at first, normally he doesn't even show up to these things, ditching to hide out in the woods behind school.

"You got a minute?" He asks, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Amy sticks her pom-pom out in front of you as you take a step forward. "Actually, we're busy. You can stalk Y/N some other time."

Eddie smirks at her. "Seems you're the one a bit obsessed, seeing as how you're trying to control who she talks to."

"Amy, it's fine. Eddie and I are fri-" You trail off, not because you're embarrassed, but because you don't know what your actual label is. "We're cool." You finally say.

She leans in close and whispers loudly. "Oh my God, Y/N, are you doing drugs?"

"What? No! Jesus, Amy, why would you ask me that?"

"Well that's the only explanation I could come up with." She replies snidely."Unless what Greg says is true, and you're really friends with the freak."

"You aren't, are you?" Lucy asks. "I heard he's into…" She looks at him and then whispers to the other girls. "Devil worship."

They all gasp dramatically while you fight the urge to giggle.

Eddie hisses and the girls shriek.

"Devil worship, indeed!" His voice booms, intimidating and loud. "I was looking for a virgin to sacrifice, do I have any volunteers?"

"Hey, is he bothering you, ladies?"

Fantastic, just what this conversation needed.

Greg comes to stand at your side, clenching his fists as he glares at Eddie.

Amy wraps a hand around Greg's bicep, batting her eyes dramatically. "He said he was going to sacrifice us to the devil!"

Oh please.

"He said virgin sacrifice, Amy. You're safe. Hell, thanks to you, half of the football team is safe." You retort.

Her mouth drops open. "How dare you!”

Greg scowls. “You aren't honestly defending that freak, are you?"

You shrug your shoulders. "Maybe I am."

Eddie's eyes widen. He'd have never expected in a million years for you to be sticking up for him.

Greg scowls. "I told you Y/N, you hang out with the freak long enough, he'd rub off on you."

"Then I guess I should go. Wouldn't want it to rub off on any of you." You roll your eyes and walk away, Eddie on your heels.

You stomp out into the parking lot. Eddie follows behind, pulling his keys from his pocket. "Need a ride?"

"Take me to see Emma, please. She always calms me down."

He nods understandingly. "Yeah, me too."

He opens the passenger door of his van and you get in, wrinkling your nose as the smell of cigarettes and weed hits your nostrils.

Eddie chuckles when he sees your face. "Just crack the window. Wouldn't want you to get a contact high." He teases. "Although you might be more fun with a little buzz."

"Haha." You roll the window down a bit. "So, did you need something?"

He's drumming on the steering wheel, looking lost in thought. "Hmm?"

"You walked up to me. Back at school?"

"Oh, yeah. Emma's appointment with the specialist is Monday. I was kinda hoping- I mean, if you wanna come, you know, you can.”

He wants me there?

Eddie looks embarrassed to have even asked you. He'd never admit the truth, but he needs you there. The thought of going without you terrifies him.

You nod, relieving him of his misery. He breathes a sigh of relief, masking it as a cough so you won't notice.

"Um, it's in the morning, 9 am, so we'd have to skip first period, possibly second."

"It's Emma. I'd skip a whole week if she needed me."

Eddie nods. "Yeah, me too."

He pulls into the driveway and you hurry into the trailer, eager to see her. Emma squeals when you walk in, holding her plump little arms up to you.

Wayne smiles. "She's missed you."

You scoop her up and hug her tightly. She grumbles slightly and pushes at your chest. You loosen your grip and plant kisses on her cheeks and forehead.

"I missed you so much while I was sick, Emmy, did you miss me?"

She pats your cheek affectionately.

"That's my sweet Emmy." You coo.

"Em-me."

Eddie gasps from behind you. Wayne comes up off the couch, looking shocked.

You turn to Eddie, your mouth falling open.

"Holy shit, did she just say her name?"

You jostle her slightly to reclaim her attention.

"Say Emmy, baby girl, say Emmy one more time!"

She blows raspberries and squeals.

"Come on baby, one more time for your brother and uncle, say Emmy!" You prompt. "You can do it. Emmy!"

She looks up at you. "Em-me."

You shriek happily and Eddie does a little jump of excitement.

Wayne claps his hands, letting out a cheer.

"Oh my God, she said it! She said her name!" He exclaims.

"Emmy!" She repeats, realizing it gets a big reaction.

"That's right sissy, you're our Emmy!" Eddie praises. "Our smart little Emmy."

Eddie is ecstatic. He can't remember the last time he felt this happy. He kisses Emma's cheek and then turns and kisses yours also before he even realizes he's done it.

Your mouth drops open. You realize Eddie is staring at you in shock, so you shut it quickly, busying yourself with smoothing Emma's curls and straightening her overalls.

Eddie turns away from you, touching his fingers to his lips. Other than Emma, he'd never kissed anyone. Girls had tried when he was younger, of course, and every now and then a drunk girl would throw herself at him at the Hideaway, but Eddie always shot them down. He didn't like anyone's hands on him, and certainly not their mouths.

Your cheek had been soft and warm. Another couple inches to the right and he'd have kissed your lips, he realizes. Would you have let him? Would you have kissed him back?

"Eddie?" Your voice jolts him out of his thoughts. He turns back to you and Emma, forcing a smile on his face.

"I asked if you had any ice cream? I think Emma deserves a treat for being such a smart girl." You tickle her, inciting squeals and giggles.

"I don't think so, but we could always go out." He offers.

"Sounds great. I'll go change Emma's diaper." You head to the bedroom with her.

Eddie can't help but touch his lips again. It was just a peck, it didn't last more than a second, but he felt…something.

He notices Wayne grinning at him and snatches his hand from his mouth.

"Don't say a word." He warns and Wayne chuckles.

"Hey, I'm over the moon right now. Emma talking, you smooching Y/N-"

"I did not smooch her."

"You two are making leaps and bounds today. Next thing you know Emma will be speaking French and you and Y/N will be getting married." He teases.

"That'll never happen. She'd never want someone like me. She's into jocks and popular guys."

Wayne cocks an eyebrow. He can't help but notice Eddie didn't say anything about not liking you.

"You're right." Wayne agrees. "Besides, Emma would prefer Spanish to French."

Eddie narrows his eyes. "Don't be cute, uncle."

Wayne holds up his hands defensively. "Me? Never."

You come back into the living room, carrying a freshly-changed Emma. You'd wiped her face clean, Eddie observes, and stuck a little pink bow in her hair.

"We ready to go?"

"You kids have fun."

You turn to Wayne. "You aren't coming?"

"No, I think I'm gonna take a nice long nap while the trailer is empty." He winks at Eddie over your head.

"Well, enjoy your nap. We'll try to be quiet when we come back."

You head outside and help Eddie fasten Emma in. She protests being sat down but when Eddie starts the radio she instantly perks up, clapping her hands as Eddie sings along.

Your mind drifts back Eddie's impromptu kiss. You reach up and touch your cheek, still feeling his lips on your skin.

Eddie glances over at you, smiling to himself when he sees your hand on your face.

Maybe she liked it. Maybe she would let me do it again. Do I want to do it again?

You realize Eddie is staring and move your hand from your cheek, feeling a blush creeping up your neck.

"Stop staring, weirdo. Watch the road."

"Pft. You wish I would stare at you."

You roll your eyes and suppress a smile.

Eddie parks the van in front of the ice cream parlor. He scoops Emma out of seat and the three of you go inside. You wave to your mom's friend who runs the place, then slide into a booth.

The waitress comes hurrying over, instantly cooing over Emma.

I don't recognize her. Must be new.

"Oh what a cute baby, how old is she?"

"She'll be a year old in two weeks." Eddie replies.

"She's so precious. Does she want some ice cream?"

"She'll have a scoop of chocolate and vanilla, I'll take a chocolate shake."

She turns to you.

"And for you, mama?"

You blink up at her. Huh?

It dawns on you. She thinks Emma is yours. And most likely that Eddie is her daddy.

Eddie grins mischievously at you. "Yeah, mama, do you know what you want?"

"Um, just a vanilla shake is fine."

When she's out of earshot Eddie doubles over, laughing hysterically.

"I'm gonna kill you, Munson."

"Oh come on, that was hilarious…mama."

"You're so gross." You roll your eyes, but Eddie can see the amusement on your face.

The waitress comes back with your order a few minutes later. Eddie helps her unload her tray, pushing your milkshake towards you.

"Here you go, mama."

You glare at him. "Gee, thanks, daddy."

Eddie's breath hitches. You don't notice, thank God, as you're trying to keep Emma from putting her hands in her ice cream.

He can't deny it. He felt something when you called him daddy. A twinge, a twitch. Call it what you want, but it excited him.

"Eddie, your shake is gonna melt."

"Maybe I like it melted."

"Okay then, weirdo, let it melt."

Emma succeeds in getting a hand in her ice cream. She squeals when she realizes it's cold and smears it down the front of your shirt.

"Oh, Emmy, careful!" You grab a napkin and wipe her hand, pushing her ice cream out of her reach. She shrieks indignantly.

You dab at the ice cream on your chest.

"Edward, a little help?" You snap.

He grabs a napkin too, blotting a stain on your left breast. You blush and stiffen.

"I meant with Emma." You say quietly.

Eddie could kick himself. Of course you meant with Emma.

You continue dabbing at the stain while Eddie feeds her. How have we gone from "don't fucking touch me" to him practically groping me in less than week?

Eddie can't even look at you. He has no idea what's come over him. For some reason he wants to touch you. He likes feeling how warm and soft you are. He's just so confused as to why.

You all finish eating and Eddie pays. You insist on leaving the tip since he covered the tab. The waitress waves goodbye, remarking to a customer what an adorable family you three are as you leave.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind. I need to do some studying before the game." You look up at him. "You should come tonight. Bring Emma."

"I've got Hellfire."

"Oh, I see. Do you wanna meet up after, get some dinner?"

"Won't you be going to your boyfriend's big party?"

"How did you know about that?"

"His friends have been buying off me all week. Can't keep their traps shut about it."

"I didn't plan on going, honestly. And for the millionth time, he's not my boyfriend."

"Does he know that? He jumped to your rescue pretty quickly today. And I saw the way you stared daggers at Amy when she grabbed his arm."

"I was staring daggers because they were being rude to you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it is."

Eddie starts the van. "They're assholes, Y/N. I don't understand why you associate with them."

"I have to, for cheer."

"I don't understand that, either."

"My mom was a cheerleader, Eddie."

"So?"

So I was hoping it could be something she and I bonded over. I was hoping she'd want to come to games and stuff to see me cheer.

"Just forget it. Of course you don't understand."

Eddie falls silent. You're right, he doesn't understand. Your mom was hardly ever around, same as his. Sure she wasn't an addict like Wendy, but she was neglectful like her.

Eddie pulls into your drive. You say goodbye to Emma and get out, muttering a goodbye to him as you shut the door.

Eddie watches as you sprint up the walk and into your house.

"Well, Emma, I think I made her mad again. I just can't win with that girl."

@aedicn @sidthedollface2 @saramelaniemoon @zahra10999 @natasha84 @harrys-tittie @urallidjits @booksarekindaneat @mxcheese @nightless @adaydreamaway08 @cloverjean @starrywhitenight @eli-lilies04 @eddiemunson95 @livasauras @cluz1babe @aunicornmademedoit @neewtmas @harrystylesandthegoobs @cancankiki

#stranger things eddie #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #eddie munson angst #eddie munson series #eddie munson stranger things #edward munson #eddie the freak munson

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googleitlol · 8 months

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The aftermath of tricking Wukong into wearing the circlet makes things tense between the three. Dove is in pretty heavy denial over how much regret she's feeling, Tripitaka feels just as bad but is trying to put on a brave face, and Wukong is just pissed.

There's rarely any words spoken among them until Dove recognizes a river they start to approach. She would've travelled with Guan Yin to find Trip in the first place, an thus would've known where each of the disciples would be. Unfortunately, Ao Lie makes his entrance before she can warn them and chaos ensues.

Wukong would likely leave her to get eaten while he takes Tripitaka to hide him somewhere safe. Dove can't get a single word in before he's gone, it's not like he's in the mood to listen to her anyway. He's reasonably petty af

When she finally catches up, he'd go back to fight this 'dangerous dragon' and ignore her until she manages to fly between and stop the two of them. Ao Lie would get chewed out for nearly scaring his master to death and eating his horse (Seriously, what was he thinking?!) and Wukong gets some annoyed remarks about not listening to her. He'd bite right back tho, she really expects him to listen to her? After her last stunt?

After some more arguing and Dove trying to justify her actions (Not just to Wukong, but herself), they fall back into their tense silence while clearing everything up with Ao Lie and setting up camp for the night. Once they both have the time to cool off and Dove reflects on the past few days, she goes to speak with Monkey King.

She waits until the others are asleep, still too prideful to apologize with them listening, and gives the Great Sage the special leaves Guan Yin originally gives to him in the book, as a sort of peace offering. She acknowledges it's not the freedom he wants, and that she wasn't aware of the circlet's painful methods of restraint, but it's not that easy to earn Wukong's forgiveness. Hell, he doesn't trust anything she tries to give him now.

He'll eventually acknowledge the apology, but that doesn't mean he accepts it. Before she leaves him to go sleep in her own spot, he gives her a closing remark with a cold glare.

"Be grateful you tricked me at all, woman. I won't be fooled twice."

#someone's salty #not a fully fleshed out blurb but the next piece will be #little dove #sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #jttw sun wukong x reader #journey to the west #jttw #monkey king #jttw sun wukong #jttw monkey king

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theodoradevlin · 9 months

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CHOSEN BLOOD - Theo//Andrew BG

I SWEAR I tried to make this the cliff note version, but here is some background on our two BFF's in question:

Andrew Montrose Back Story |Blood Cursed|

Andrew is part of a historically prestigious animagus family. The Tamerlaines have all shared the form of shifting into lions as their shape. It fits, considering they act as though they rule everything. The Tamerlaines have a dark history of a fight to power, and are involved in business both commercial….and illicit. Montrose has always been subjected to the need to show strength, considering his father had him in a fighting ring at 5 years old. He has seen many a show of violence at his father’s hands, and so he decides to turn to books instead in defiance….to use knowledge and words as a weapon and not his hands.

However — as an unfortunate result of a business deal gone wrong, Andrew finds himself in a crossfire. A vindictive business partner casts a blood curse on him in revenge for his father’s misdoings. Similar to a maledictus, he transforms into his beastly shape with no warning, rhyme or reason. And that shape is certainly no lion. As he grows older, it gets worse. And violent. To the point that his family constrains him at the slight warning of the transformation. For this affliction, though not of his own fault, he his shunned by his family after already being named second to his brother in all ways. He is sent away to Hogwarts, and told to never return, for they cannot be shamed by his nature. It adds to his thankless drive for perfection, to prove himself without the shadow of his family name. Those who try to befriend him because of his family’s ties to power cause him to distrust everyone, wondering if he will ever be seen as himself beyond his affliction, or name.

Theo Back Story| Wild Magic|

Theo’s parents were archeologists, and she was always happy to be towed along on each of their digs. It is one unfortunate dig that calls out a power in her that was unknown before. A fire sparks, the camp is taken out.

Theo is left parentless and living with her aunt. Her aunt reveals to their family has Huldra blood in their line. When it arrises, it may cause stronger calls to nature, shifting one's magic trace just slightly. It is one that causes affinity to certain ‘wild magic’ that can be produced without a wand. It’s possible that in Theo’s case, that magic is fire.

She blames herself endlessly and turns to Herbology, and plants, to show she is capable of creating growth, and not just burning things down.

Humble Beginnings:

Despite a rocky start with much fighting that lasted from their first year to their fifth (mainly Theo trying to stand up for those Andrew snaps at, and Andrew passing jabs at how she is entirely too willing to help others when no one asks for it) Theo and Andrew both somehow find themselves as loners.

While both of their family histories had preceded them to Hogwarts, the reasons for their isolations were much different. For Andrew, it was a choice. He was devastatingly aware that people tried to use him, whether his own family connection or just to social climb. But none of them truly know him. For Theo, it was a constant battle to prove her worthiness - that she was not the accident that had stained her family name, and that she could be worthy of friendship because it was all she wanted to give.

It was slow, but over time it was as if they both saw a reluctant recognition in each other despite being total opposites, both trying to prove they were more than their demons.

As opposite as they were in every manner, one night their opposite schedules was the reason a disaster was averted. Theo liked to be up into the night, spending evenings under the stars in her flower grove, while Andrew enjoyed the solidarity of the early dawn before the rest of the world was awake to pass judgement.

He had been running in attempts to keep the blood curse from rising. Somehow physical exercise helped with keeping it at bay. Until one night.

During his run, he was wracked with a sudden chill, his breathing uneven and pallor drained.

Theo had been walking back to the castle, and heard the anguished scream as she rushed to find Andrew, seeing him doubled over, body spasming as the transformation took place. Not knowing what to do, she simply holds him to remind him he is not alone. Her parents told her to always be the hand that reaches out, and despite the fighting between her and Montrose, she never stopped.

Eventually, the shaking stops and the transformation stills.

Conscious again, Montrose is at first shocked that now she is now the only other soul behind his family that knows his truth. He is shocked when she doesn’t run from it, but offers him her own truth instead. Her wild magic and it’s volatile threat that plagues her constantly, and his curse that offers no promise of any future no matter how hard he tries to overcome and be the best at everything.

They are friends reluctantly, only to see if they can help each other find help for both of their natures, knowing they are worth more than their demons.

An experiment and a deal is struck. Theo mentions that the Huldra in her bloodline and it’s ties to nature may help dilute the blood curse with another sort of magic, perhaps confusing the curse.

She offers him her blood, and he takes it, and it works to subdue his blood cursed form….and it also helps her to release some of the fire that lingers. It is not a gift that Andrew takes lightly, and it makes him realize that she does it without asking for anything from him. It is that part of her that instills their friendship, and it is also why he allows her all the ‘dog and leash’ jokes….for there is no better way to deal with trauma than with humor.

It seems that while they help each other this way, they can survive. And so they help each other survive through more than just blood. But the true gift is the friendship and bond that forms.

There is a side effect to this transaction, however. The alchemy of this mixture creates a bond between the two of them, heightened to each other’s emotions. This comes in handy when Montrose is being especially hissy, but Theo knows his true feelings underneath it all, and therefore pushes him to accept that side of him more than the one that lashes out.

In return, Montrose pushes her to stop being such a ray of sunshine all the time, when he knows she doesn’t want to be.

There are SOME times where this connection is rather unfortunate. But that’s another story.

Overall, they are still very much opposites in all ways, but their connection is one of chosen blood, and chosen sacrifice. Despite their pasts, they know if that isn’t family, then what is.

#Theo #Andrew #RP #CANON EVENTS #Hogwarts Legacy #Spotify

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year

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Hotch x Daughter!reader - the outcasts

If it's ok I'd like to request a Hotch x daughter reader where she's an outcast and goes to Nevermore Academy and both of them try to hide it from the team but they find out (I picture the reader being a psychic with telekinesis/mind reading powers) - @elemental-of-magic💜

Smiling to yourself, you grabbed the coat hanger from your bed and put your shirt on it, followed by your blazer and your tie.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Looking down at your phone, you pulled a face at the werewolf grinning from ear to ear.

“Not a chance Enid, she’ll kill us!” You laughed.

“Her parents said it’s fine! Just think about it?!” She pouted.

Hanging the coat hanger on the top of your door, you walked back over and picked up your phone, making your way through your home as you shook your head.

“Nope, nope and nope.”

“Fine I’m just going to come to yours then.” She huffed.

“Enid I swear to god.” You laughed.

She laughed back and grinned at you.

“I’m going to do it! Your dads going to love it!”

“He’s not!” You chuckled.

You walked in to the kitchen and propped her up on the counter as you started to go through the cupboards.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad called.

“Mr Hotchner! Mr Hotchner!” Enid yelled.

“Hey! Shut up!” You yelled.

Hotch walked through to the kitchen, kissing the top of your head, he waved at the phone with a smile.

“Hello Enid, how’re you?”

“I’m good! Can I come stay with you for a few weeks during summer?”

“I can’t see any issue with it, Jack will be going away on his camping trip at the end of this month.”

“Awesome! Let’s ask Wednesday!” Enid gushed.

“Dad!” You whined.

While the phone rang again you started to snack on some food you had found and turned to your dad.

He was just smiling, amused at your childish behaviour about him agreeing for your friend to come stay with you.

“What? Enid comes a few times a year anyways, and since I’m working you guys can have the house to yourselves.”

“Ooo parties.”

“No.” He said sternly.

“I’m kidding! Wednesday would kill us. Can Wednesday stay to?”

“Sure, just make sure that you keep Thing away from my room, I really don’t want to find it a mess again.”

“I’ll make sure your doors locked.” You laughed.

Your dad kissed your head and you cheered when Wednesday finally answered her phone.

It took some convincing but she finally agreed to come stay, and the following week your dad was driving you to pick them both up.

You and Enid excitedly talked away in the car about how your summers were going while Wednesday just sat there staring out of the window.

Hotch helped them carry their stuff in, and he set them in your room where you had set up two air mattresses and put yours on the floor with them.

“Where’s your bed gone?!” Enid yelled.

“Clearly she moved it for more room idiot.” Wednesday said.

“Hey play nice.” You scolded.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at you and started to unpack her things, putting everything in a space around the bed she had chosen.

“Hey dad is having a BBQ tomorrow night with his team do you guys want to join?” You asked.

“Oh yes yes yes!” Enid cheered.

“Sounds awful.”

“I’ll bring you food up Wednesday.” You laughed.

You guys spent most of the night playing games, talking and eating snacks.

The next morning, Wednesday woke up before you, making her way down the stairs where your dad was making breakfast.

“Morning Wednesday.” He smiled.

“Hello Mr Hotchner.” She greeted.

She sat down at the table and just stared at him.

When he first met her he was slightly uncomfortable, but now he was used to it and he simply set a plate of pancakes down in front of her.

“Help yourself to whatever, I’ll get the other two up.”

“Must you? It’s so peaceful without them talking my ears of.” She sighed.

“Unfortunately yes, (Y/N) will kill me if I don’t wake her up for pancakes.” He laughed.

He set two more plates on the table.

He walked away, waking Enid up first before he spent the next twenty minutes trying to wake you up.

Enid and Wednesday both came back up the stairs and shared a look.

“We’ve mastered this.” Enid grinned.

Hotch stepped back, watching as Enid stood over you.

Wednesday ripped your covers off, and before you could react Enid dropped herself on you, making you let out a loud groan while slapping her back.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!”

“If you stay there you might finally end her talking.” Wednesday said.

“Get off you lump!” You laughed.

Pushing her off you, you slapped Wednesday’s leg and jumped up, rushing down to quickly eat the food your dad had made you.

“I’ve got to go to the office, I’ll see you girls tonight!” He called.

“We’ll be home late going shopping!” You called back.

“Can we at least go to a bookstore this time?” Wednesday asked.

“Sure! Let’s go!”

You guys spent all day out, and Hotch started the BBQ without you.

“Wheres the little lady?” Rossi asked.

“She’s shopping with some friends from school?” Hotch smiled.

“What school does she go to? You’ve never said.” Derek asked.

Hotch didn’t reply for a moment, he focused to flipping the burgers before he closed the grill and turned to his team.

They’d been asking him this question for ages, and he never gave a straight answer.

“She’s goes to a boarding school, it was her mothers wishes she attended the same school.”

“But is it close? Far?” JJ asked.

“It’s quite far, it’s a nice place though, great students and staff.”

“So Jack will go to?” Reid asked.

Hotch shook his head and went back to tending to the food.

“No he’s got his friends here.”

They all nodded and finally dropped the subject, they knew they weren’t going to get any information out of him.

About an hour later you came home and ran up to your room to drop your shopping before grabbing Enid’s hand.

“What food do you want?”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t get moody if you don’t like it!” Enid called.

You guys ran back down the stairs and into the back yard.

Letting go of your friends hand, you let her run over to your dad while you crept up on Rossi and jumped on his back.

“You’re going to knock me down one day you know!” He laughed.

You let go and let him turn around to hug your properly.

“How was school?” Emily smiled.

Hugging her, you quickly went around and gave the rest a hug as well.

“It was good! A lot of drama this year, and a new student, she’s really weird but she’s cool!” You beamed.

You bounded over to the table where the food was, and started to help Enid pile food on to a plate.

“So who’s this?” Derek smiled.

“Oh this is Enid!”

You introduced them, and explained that your other friend was in your room because she didn’t like people very much.

While Enid took the food upstairs, you stayed to talk to your aunts and uncles for a little bit before you excused yourself to go and eat.

“They’re not as loud as I thought they would be.“ Wednesday noted.

“Well they are adults it’s not like Ajax trying to hide the fact he’s having a party in his dorm.” You snickered.

Another hour passed, and Hotch decided to light the fire.

“I’ll go get the girls!” Garcia squealed.

She was so excited to see Wednesday, and so she rushed up the stairs to your room.

She stopped outside to the door and went to knock when she stopped to look at the uniform that was hung on the door.

She stared at the crest, and through the crack in the door she could hear laughing and cheering.

“Do it again!” Enid laughed.

You laughed and held out your hand, raising a book in the air before you let it drop on the floor with a thud.

“You two are so childish.”

“You agreed to come!” You sang.

Enid laughed and you slapped her leg to make her go quiet.

“Aunt Garica?” You asked.

She squeaked and rushed back down the stairs before you could stop.

“(Y/N) goes to Nevermore?!” She yelled.

Every turned to Hotch in shock, and he looked a bit nervous, shuffling around on his feet.

“Nevermore?” Rossi asked.

“It’s a school for outcasts, students who can’t fit into normal schools because of their particular… abilities and family bloodlines.” Reid explained.

“So she’s an outcast?” Emily asked.

Hotch sighed, opening his mouth to reply but you spoke before he could.

“Yes, I go to a school for outcasts, so do Enid and Wednesday. Though to be honest Wednesday is only there because she didn’t have much of a choice and kept getting expelled.”

You sighed, giving them all a little smile.

“You guys know dad adopted me from my mom, who was best friends with him. But she was an outcast to, so was my father. And I inherited both of their abilities.”

You then sat down and explained everything, not giving them a chance to get a word in just in case they tried to stop you.

By the time you finished no one knew what to say.

Looking at you, you were still their little weird niece, you were still part of their family.

“So Enid you’re an outcast to?” JJ asked.

Enid nodded her head, looking to you for permission and you nodded.

So Enid explained what she was and it added even more shock to the whole situation.

“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you, but we know how people can be towards people like (Y/N), Enid and Wednesday.” Hotch sighed.

“It’s… strange that’s for sure…” Derek mumbled.

“Kinda cool though.” Garica smiled.

“You guys are still family, we’re just glad to know the whole story now.” Emily laughed.

You laughed as well and smiled brightly.

If there was anyone you could count on it was your dads team.

They happily asked questions about all of you, and you answered all of them if you could, even Wednesday helped with answering the questions to try and make it easier for your family to accept you

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds imagine

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wiypt-writes · 2 years

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Rock ‘n’ Roll People, In A Disco World

Part 17: Disco Dancing With The Lights Down Low

Part 2: Well hello, Stud.

Summary: You and Paul take an ‘adults’ only trip to Mexico. Sun, sea…and all the other things beginning with S…

Warnings: Bad Language, NSFW (18+)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction. I do not own any characters contained within, bar the reader and any other OCS that may be mentioned. I do not give consent for my work to be reposted/translated to any other site. Reblogs are fine and are my jam, baby.

W/C: 5.9k

A/N: Okay, so… i know I said by end of the month but I realised that’s not that long off so…here it is. Remember, Part 3 will be the Paul Diskant entrance for mine and @spectre-posts Kinktober

Rock N Roll People Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 1

When feeling returned to your bodies, the pair of you collapsed into bed as the sounds of the ocean at night lulled you into a deep sleep. The next day was as promised, sun, sand, laziness. Around lunch the two of you returned to the villa and with snacks in hand, fell asleep together sharing the macramé hammock on your deck.

Before dinner, you face timed again to check in with the kids who gleefully told you all about their day at the pier with Grumpy and Nanny. Connor won Jack a new teddy, Jack unfortunately won another fish but Paul's parents just seemed so happy with them both and Woody was doing just fine being a good guard dog.

“So Batman has his Robin, huh?” Paul snorted as the pair of you both laughed at how Jim explained he’d been forced to go back to your house and deposit him in the tank in Jack’s room.

“I was hoping he’d miss,” Jim snorted, “but we also realised next time you wanna do this we can just come to stay at yours. Don’t know why we didn’t do that this time round. Would be the most logical thing to do…”

"Change in scenery wasn't going to kill them, Pop.”

“Hmmm more like you wanted them to trash our house so you didn’t have a mess to clean up.”

Dot laughed, "I wouldn't leave it like that."

Jim rolled his eyes as Paul laughed, “it was an adventure for them. Camp Grumpy, remember? You know they love coming to stay with you guys.”

"How's Jack behaving?” You asked.

“He’s been fine.” Dotty assured you. “They both have. We’ve had a few small little squabbles but nothing major. And they’re sharing a room. We heard Jack crying on the first night but just as Jim was heading across the hall to get him, he saw Jack take himself over the landing and crawl in with Ceej. And that was it.”

You smiled, the news having warmed your heart. Your eyes welled up as you glanced at Paul. He winked at you before he looked back at the screen. “They love each other deep down.” He smiled. “Well, we gotta go get dinner. Let us know once they’re handed over tomorrow and we’ll call Nick and Maria.”

"You got it," Big Jim nodded.

You missed the goodbye between Disco and his parents as you'd gone to slip into your dinner dress. It was a casual affair, so you slipped into a backless linen halter dress, black and long.

You heard Paul shuffle into the room and two large hands fell to your hips, bearded lips kissed your neck from behind.

"You look beautiful." He whispered in your ear.

"Thank you.”

“Gimme five and I’ll be ready.” He kissed your cheek and then moved to pull his outfit from the closet.

You headed down the stairs and waited for Paul there, looking out across your patio at the beach. Your mind flashed through your entire life together and it made you emotional. The love you felt for this man, a man who absolutely worshipped you and desired you daily was indescribable. Sometimes, you felt unworthy of such a love, of such a man. But most times, you kept in the forefront of your mind how lucky you were.

And a reminder of just how lucky, was permanently on display through that now well faded, but still visible, scar on the left side of his neck.

He'd made this trip all about you, the two of you. Not rekindling of romance, as your relationship had never lacked on that front, but it was certainly unearthing the connection the two of you had that had somewhat been set aside with work and parenting. Now, as you waited in the warm evening air, you decided that after dinner you were going to make the evening about him. You knew each and every trigger Paul had that would arouse him, make him putty in your hands and it all started from that mark, that reminder of so much in your lives.

He disturbed your thoughts as he walked out onto the balcony, dressed in a pair of khaki coloured chinos and a short-sleeved black button down

“Well hello Stud," you smirked.

“Mrs Diskant,” he winked, his hand outstretched, “let’s eat, babe.”

You held hands as you walked along the plank board walkway through the outskirts of the jungle and towards the main lobby. You dined along the sand that night, the beach lit by Tiki torches and thatched roof coverings over the tables. It was local fare, a combination of Caribbean and Mexican flavors. You shared wine over your meals and when you were through, you walked along the rolling tide back to your villa.

Paul opened the door and then stepped aside, letting you in first, his hand falling to the bare base of your back. When you heard the click of the lock, you turned on your heel and looked at your husband. Your eyes roamed his frame, his thick, muscular and broad shoulders filling out that button down. You stepped forward, closing the gap between the two of you. Your fingers touched his collar and dragged along the buttons of his shirt. You plucked the top two and whispered, "find a spot to sit", as you worked the rest of his shirt open.

A flick of his eyebrows and a smirk made sure you knew he’d understood as he backed up to the soft sofa along the edge of the room. You untied the halter of your dress while you stalked toward him, the garment falling to the floor as you stepped out of it. Your eyes were locked on his as you kneeled between his legs.

He said nothing, merely watched you as you slid your hands up and over his toned thighs. You worked his belt loose, popping the button open to his chinos and slid the zipper down along its teeth.

"Lemme take care of you, huh, Stud?" You said with a rasp.

Paul’s large hand curled softly around your face, “as long as I can repay the favour.”

Your hands worked at him, pulling his waistband away from his skin while the other dipped into his boxers and wrapped around his hardened cock. You pulled him free with a gentle twist and tug of your wrist. Your lips enclosed around the tip of his dick and you sucked. You glanced up, his eyes still locked on yours as he gave a soft murmur and a sigh of delight. Hollowing your cheeks, you swallowed his shaft as your free hand cupped his sac.

His right hand rest on the crown of your head, the other gripped at the cushion of the sofa.

You played with him as you sucked him down, rolling his balls in your palm. You bobbed your head and sucked with the hollow of your cheeks, your tongue laving against that vein on the underside of his dick. Your breasts bounced a little as you sucked him off, your knees on the floor of the villa.

“Jesus, baby…” his hips tilted gently, “fuck…so good.”

You hummed around him, careful to find the balance of not too little but not too much so you could claim your prize above; his scar. You knew, of course, just how far you could push him. How could you not after all those years together?

His fingers gripped your scalp through your hair, blunt nails running along your skin. He was close so you backed off and rose to your feet. He watched you, a little v between his eyes as he pouted at the loss of your warm mouth. But he didn’t protest, instead he merely waited.

As you began to take a knee to either side of his hips, your fingers pushed against the open collar of his shirt. You lowered yourself into his lap as he shifted to remove his button down. His hard cock nestled between your folds, moistening him with your arousal.

“Baby?” He questioned softly, his hands on your hips.

"Hmm," you leaned forward to kiss him, his face in your hands. He kissed you back, eagerly, thick swipes of his tongue against yours.

You rolled your hips, sliding your folds along his dick. You pulled back and kissed his jaw, along the cut line of bone toward his ear and down his neck. Your tongue licked at the dip above his collarbone before finding your mark. You kissed the skin tenderly at first, then ran your tongue along the raised shape of his scar.

“Shit…” his neck strained as his fingers dug into the flesh at your waist. His hips jolted upward a little, a groan slipping from his swollen lips.

"You feel that, huh, Stud?" You whispered against him.

He swallowed, a little nod of his head to show you he did. Your left hand cupped his chin and turned his head a little to his right, exposing his neck more. Your lips covered the scar and you sucked at the mark like you had just done to his tip.

You felt a rumble in his throat as his body trembled beneath you, his hips pushing up again as he rubbed against you. His tip hit your clit and you whimpered. Reaching between the two of you, you brought his dick upright so you could slide him right into your aching hole. All the while your assault on his skin with your lips never ceasing.

“Fuck, fuck…” he chanted as he rolled upwards into you, “sweetheart…”

"Yeah, baby," you hummed, "right there, Stud."

“I can’t…” he groaned, “can’t…I need…”

"Give it, baby," you titled back.

He looked up at you, and in a flash you found yourself on your back, the cool floor of the villa beneath you, as a surprised squeal escaped you.

“Jesus…” Paul gripped your hips as he pushed back into you, his hand sliding down your legs to wrap them round his waist.

Your back arched off the floor as he thrust into you. "You better fuck me hard," you managed.

His reply was simply a growl. "Fucking tease me like that, fuck Sugar," he grunted, “you’re such a fucking minx at times…”

Now you chanted profanities as he railed you. His eyes were blown black as he stared you down. He groaned as he pounded into you, his hands placed flat on the floor either side of your head. His hips snapped and snapped, and you could feel every inch of him inside you. Over and over he hit that sweet spot, and you were fast building towards cuming.

“Come on, Sugar…” he almost snarled through his teeth, his jaw twitching as a sheen of sweat covered his brow, “come on…come on…”

You knew he was struggling to hold back.

"I'm... So.... Oh shit," you cried out.

“Oh, god…fuck, fuck…” he practically roared as he came, the pair of you lost in the throes of your bliss.

He collapsed over you, barely missing a crush to your frame as he rolled to his side, taking you with him. The pair of you couldn’t talk, instead you laid there, drawing in ragged breaths.

When you could finally move, Paul pulled you to your feet and grabbed your clothes. You showered together before collapsing into bed.

*****

The morning of your spa day, you found yourself delightfully cuffed to the driftwood headboard as Paul had his breakfast between your legs. You were boneless when he finished, and your spa day only further added to your blissful relaxed state.

The day nearly spent in luxury pampering, the two of you returned to your villa for a nice, long, deep nap. And when you woke, you wanted to do nothing but lie in bed and listen to the beach and jungle surrounding you.

"Can we just have room service?" You asked Paul as he lazily drew circles up and down your spine, your face led against your forearms.

Propped up in his palm and elbow, Paul spoke, "I'm fine with that, but I was looking forward to the tasting...."

“Oh…I forgot!” You giggled.

"That relaxed, huh, Sugar?"

“Mmmhmmm.” You hummed.

"Good." Paul kissed your shoulder. "I'm gonna shower, want to join me?"

You grinned, “to save water, right?”

"Dur..." He sniggered.

“Okay…but you’re gonna have to help me up.”

He smirked, "with pleasure."

You were quickly in his arms as he carried you bridal style to the open air shower.

There was nothing more than a little bit of kissing and a lot of laughter, and soon after you were both heading towards the main part of the resort, ready for your evening activity before your dinner.

The mezcal tasting was a lovely private affair, just the two of you on an air conditioned little hut with thematic decor and a gentleman from Tulum, expertly scholared in Nakawé Mezcal. You both enjoyed it thoroughly, and left a little buzzed and slightly peckish but not fully hungry following the snacks and sides you’d had during the tasting to accompany the drink.

So, you had tacos, small in size and loaded with fish and shrimp in the street style manor as you sat in the sand and ate. You were nestled between Paul's legs, beer each on either side of his knees, stuck in the sand. The waves rolled along the shore as a dark sky was nearly settled overhead. The stars were out and you just sat there, together quietly. Then you thought of something.

"This reminds me of our early dates. We used to get the corn dogs or hot dogs from the pier and a couple of drinks and sit on the sand."

“Yeah…” Paul chuckled, “both of us living with our parents, working all the shifts we could, raking in the rookie overtime.”

You smirked but he couldn't see, however, you turned your chin toward him to speak, "I adored our early days, but I love this life now."

“I wouldn’t change a second of any of it, babe.”

"Me either."

You nestled back against his chest and the two of you stayed that way for quite a while. His hand gently ran up and down your arm as he drank his beer with the other. You had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually you were forced to concede you needed to move for high tide was close as the water reached your toes.

Paul rose to his feet, and offered you his hand to pull you to your feet.

“Can you believe we only have two more days," you sighed as the pair of you began to walk towards your villa.

“I know…but we’ve had fun. And we’ll do it again.” He squeezed your hand. “Maybe not here but somewhere.”

"Maybe the next one is in winter..."

“Yeah, you got somewhere in mind?”

"Whistler?"

“Yeah?”

"Could be fun." You shrugged, "in another five or so years." You then chuckled. "This one cost us a fortune, gotta save again."

“We don’t do it often, I just wanted something special for us. But, we’ll get somewhere alone again before five years is up. In the meantime, I was thinking…maybe we could take the boys to Disney. Florida, I mean.”

"Great idea, Jack's just big enough."

He nods, “I know we have Disneyland a little more local but…well, I like the idea of the different parks. We can go for a fortnight, get a villa…bet Mom and Pops would come.”

"Probably mine too."

You reached the villa and Paul led you inside.

“Which is good…”he grinned, “as it’s on tap babysitting so we can sneak away.”

You smirked. "I love you, Disco."

“I love you too.”

"You wanna take me to bed or take a break?"

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

"Legitimate one..."

“I always wanna take you to bed…but I also know I might have worn you out.”

You sighed. "A little," you lowered your chin shyly.

Paul’s finger gently tipped your face to look at him. “Then we can sit out with a beer, and then curl up and fall asleep.”

"Okay," you said softly. "I'll go change."

When you came back in your sleep shorts and cami, Paul was on the balcony. He smiled, passing you to change quickly himself. Soon after he was back, a pair of shorts and a tee nestled on his frame. It was an easy night, the pair of you sat out until the early hours talking and laughing before you both headed to bed. There, you curled up next to him, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as you closed your eyes

*****

The two of you were bathed in morning sunlight from the open wall, the glass having been slid open by Paul before bed. Today saw your last adventure trip, a day in the Gran Cenote. A continental breakfast awaited you and Paul, delivered once again to your room while you readied for the day's trip.

You slipped into a rather cheeky one piece while Paul wore a different coloured pair of the same trunks he'd had all trip. A single backpack with sunscreen and essentials was all you needed and you'd quickly charged Paul with carrying it. You slipped your old LAPD SWAT cap over your head and pushed your aviators up your nose, following your handsome husband out of the villa and to the awaiting Jeep.

Through the jungle they drove you to the spot where the opening of the Gran Cenote sat and after some rules, and a hand off of your snorkel gear, the pair of you were free to explore the caves.

It was unbelievable. You’d snorkelled before, seen some pretty cool marine life up close but this was simply stunning. The waters were cool and clear, the rocks and nooks and little overhangs you found were adorned with so much greenery and flowers. And you couldn’t breathe for laughing at one point when a turtle got very up close and personal with Paul, biting his toe as he lay on his back, floating in the water.

You couldn't remember a time when the two of you had this much fun or felt this close in a while. And while you missed your boys, a part of you wasn't ready to go home.

Again, you retired with a quiet night in your villa, room service for dinner, the night sky and the double hammock calling you both as the meal settled with you. You had mezcal cocktails and relaxed, his hands on your body. But as things began to get a little heated in the hammock, the pair of you ended up flipping the entire thing, dumping the two of you to the deck.

Your laughs were uncontrollable and your sides hurt, your giggles interrupted by your phone ringing and two very happy boys' faces filled your screen.

Jack and CJ were calling from your parents’ house, just before bed.

“Hi my babies!” You grinned

"Hi, Mommy!" Jack beamed as Conner waved excitedly.

“Are you having fun?”

"Yeah, we got to go to the zoo today," Connor beamed.

"I saws a awigater," Jack bounced. "And feeds the..the futter-byes!"

“Oh wow!” Paul joined in. “Was it a big alligator?”

"Dis big!" Jack's arms flew out straight from his sides, almost smacking CJ in the face.

“Hey!” CJ warned him, “careful!”

“Tell me about the butterflies,” you cut in quickly.

"Dey tickewld." Jack giggled.

"Papa said they're good luck," CJ added. "They were orange ones and blue ones and all kinds, Mommy."

“Wow, that’s amazing!” You smiled. “We’ll go back one day all together.”

"Cans we sees the ewifants?" Jack wondered.

“We can see anything that’s there, buddy.” Paul nodded

"Otay!"

“What else have you been up to? Ceej, you ready for soccer tomorrow?”

"I am.”

“Is Grumpy going to watch you this week?”

“Yeah. Nanny said she'll film it and send it to you." He said with a slouch to his shoulders.

“I’ll be there next week, bud.” Paul said gently.

“I know."

"I goes," Jack said in an odd caring change of character. Normally, you stayed home with him, as he was a nightmare to keep an eye on when you were trying to watch, usually complaining loudly he was bored. Occasionally, you left him with grandparents or Barnes, meaning you could see the odd game too but it was very much Paul that was there week in, week out on the sidelines with the other parents.

CJ blinked and looked at him. “You can’t. You don’t like it. You’re staying here with Papa.”

“No, I wanna goes.”

“But last time-“

“Ceej,” Paul cut in, and Ceej sighed. Paul then turned his attention to Jack. “You promise to behave if you go this time?”

“Yeah. I cheers. Go Ceej!" Jack looked up at his big brother.

Despite himself, CJ smiled a little, then he gave a roll of his eyes and grinned. “Okay, you can come.”

Your heart, which had just shattered at the look in your eldest’s face, now was mending at the warmth your little Tazmainian devil had shown and the fact CJ was allowing him to go. You felt Paul squeeze the back of your neck gently.

"Be good for Nanny and Papa, okay, and call us right after your game, Connor." You said cheerfully.

“Okay!” He beamed, “Nanny says she wants to say hi…hang on…”

“Bye Mommy, bye Daddy!” Jack yelled as he hurried off.

Soon, your mom's face hit the screen, "Hi kids."

"Hi, Mom," you said at the same time Paul said, "hi, Maria."

"How's everything?"

“Absolutely fine, they’ve been so good. Your dad had them grilling with him before and they’re off to bed with a movie.”

"Thank so much, Mom," you smiled warmly. "I was worried. But you guys and Dot have said they've been so good."

“They always are for us,” your mum chuckled, “and as I keep telling you. If they behave for everyone else, and keep the naughtiness for Mom and Dad, then you’ve done your job.”

With a snort you shook your head.

“Anyway, I’ll let you go. Have a good evening.”

"Night, Mom," you nodded.

"Lots of pictures and video tomorrow, huh?" Paul hoped.

"It'll be borderline spam." Maria winked.

He chuckled, “did I ever tell you that you’re my favourite mother in law?”

"I better be your only mother in law, Paul Diskant."

"Night, Mom!" You called and snatched the phone from Paul, ending the call.

Paul closed up the villa on the first floor as you headed up for bed. You washed your face and brushed your teeth before he'd even come back up. You were just tucking into the sheet as he appeared.

"I'm exhausted," you chuckled.

“Yeah…” he yawned and nodded. “I’m kinda whacked too.”

"C'mon, Daddy, let's nuggle," you patted his side of the bed.

“Two minutes…” he leaned over and gave you a quick kiss.

You nodded and hunkered down into the soft bed. Your eyes were heavy as Paul climbed in. The second he was settled, you rolled into his side, your head in his chest. His hand gently ran up and down your back, fingers soft. It was the last thing you could remember feeling before the world went dark and dreams filled your eyes.

*****

The day was already mid-morning when the two of you woke up. Drained from such a great day before, you were thankful for the lie in. The sun was glowing across the water, the sand almost pure in color, the ocean a glittering match to Paul's eyes. This was paradise and you softly sighed knowing it was your last day. But you smiled knowing that by tomorrow night, you'd be holding your babies in your arms and hearing all about their adventures with both sets of Grandparents.

You checked the time and it was still early back home, by two hours, and Connor's day hadn't started yet. His game wasn't until 10 in LA.

“We’ll call in an hour or so.” Paul spoke softly. “Wish him good luck.”

You looked over at your husband with a smirk, "you always know."

He chuckled, “I was thinking the same thing as you, Sugar.”

You led your head back down on his chest contently. "Room service for breakfast?" You began running your fingertip along the bottom edge of his medallion. Back and forth along the metal, the semi-circular motion soothing.

“Sounds good,” his hand gently stroked between your shoulder blades as he kissed your head. “You want coffee?”

“Oh, yes please.” You sighed happily.

Paul kissed the top of your head just before you turned away so he could leave the bed. Minutes later he returned to you, fresh faced from cool water, a minty scent to his kiss and a mug of delicious Mexican coffee in his hands for you both.

You ordered your room service and sat on the veranda with your mugs, the ocean lapping the shore with high tide. You glanced at Paul, his sunglasses wrapped over his eyes, his bare and newly tattooed chest flexing unknowingly. Your heat pooled at the thought of what he could do to you with the flip of a switch.

“You want a photo?” He smirked a little.

“Just admiring the view.” You popped a shoulder.

He snorted as he lifted his mug to his lips.

The morning carried on. Breakfast on the veranda, topless sun bathing for you on the lounge chairs next to your dipping pool. This time it was Disco who cheekily quipped about taking a photo.

For the time that you sunbathed, your mom spammed your phones with images from CJ's game. Your heart ached a little knowing you hadn’t been able to make him his usual special pre-soccer breakfast, and undoubtedly Paul's had to have been missing being there to watch and cheer on. But your boy looked tough out there, enjoying the game. Jack seemed to be the faithful cheerleader sat atop his Papa's lap in the still images while the grainy video showed an assisted goal.

And then you let out a little gasp as the latest video came through.

“Paul…he got the ‘Man of the Match’ award.”

You watched as his face expressed pride and a hint of sadness. "I can't wait to talk to him!"

“He’s so happy…look!” You passed your phone over for him to watch CJ accept his little trophy from the coach.

Almost simultaneously, Paul’s phone pinged with a message from his Dad with a great photo of CJ and Jack. CJ’s kit was a little dirty with grass stains and various other marks from the game, his face was sweaty but his grin was enormous as was Jack’s as they stood next to one another, CJ’s trophy held in his hands.

"Oh, Sugar, look at this one," Paul turned his phone toward your line of sight.

You gasped at the happy photo in surprise. "My babies."

“Maybe this means we can both start going to watch now, and you’ll get to see him play more than you do.” Paul shrugged, a hopeful tone to his voice.

"I'd love that. It's frustrating when Jack can't sit there and just watch or play with his toys when he's disinterested. I miss half the match."

“I know.” Paul wrinkled his nose, before he snorted, “remember the last time when you gave up and decided you’d just stay home?”

“Don’t remind me.” You groaned at the memory. Jack had been playing with his truck, or so you had thought. You’d been watching the game when the referee had blown to halt. At the same time, loud laughter had rung out and you’d turned to see Jack was on the pitch running towards CJ with a water bottle, trying to squirt him with it.

Paul laughed, “Ceej was so mad, remember him declaring Jack was officially banned forever?”

"Oh I honestly can't forget it." Your head fell into your hands. "I love those stinkers. We've been so lucky really. From how hard it was to have CJ to how fast Jack came out, I'd do it all again."

“Yeah?” Paul grinned, “I mean, we could always…you know…” he wriggled his eyebrows.

You popped your shoulders, "yeah, I think I want one more. But it's not a have to thing either. Just if it happens it happens and if it doesn't in the next year, we're done. What do you think? How do you feel about it?"

“I’d have a football team full with you.” He grinned, “a team of disco balls.”

You smiled warmly, and when you opened your mouth to say something, your phone started chiming for a FaceTime from your mom's number.

“Oh, it’s mom…” you sat up and grabbed a towel, holding it round you to cover your bare chest. When you answered, immediately CJ’s excited face and voice blared out of your phone as Paul moved so he could see.

"Hey, Pal!" Paul grinned. "How was it?"

“We won, five nil! And I didn’t score any but I helped with three and I also stopped their side scoring as I kicked it off the line!”

"That's great, Ceej! So proud of you, bud! Nanny was sending us the videos so we can watch later!"

“And I won player of the match!”

"Oh my gosh, That's great, baby!" You chimed in. "I'm so proud of you, Connor!"

He beamed as Jack then pushed his way into the picture. “I hit the nasty boy.” He grinned, proudly.

"What?!" You and Paul shouted.

Hastily the phone was taken and it was your dad then who was looking at you, his face a mixture of amusement and sheepishness. You could hear Big Jim in the background with your mom, and you waited.

“Well…to be fair, the kid asked for it…” he began.

"Nice way to start the conversation, Dad."

“So, there was a bit of a commotion on the pitch, and this kid shoved CJ over then kicked him. We got a little distracted. Jim was shouting at the ref, I was trying to stop your mom running on the pitch to see if Connor was okay…and somewhere in the middle of it all, Jack barrelled straight on and ran over. Punched the kid straight in the gut.”

“Great right hook…” you heard Jim add.

"Oh my God," you cringed, mortified and now concerned there would be repercussions from the boy's family.

Paul, however, let out a snort. “Any trouble?”

“Well, said boy started crying like a right baby,” your dad chuckled, “Jim and the kids dad went on the pitch to sort it out. He then cried even more when he got a red card for pushing and kicking CJ. No hard feelings though, Jim took CJ over afterwards to shake his hand. We also took Jack to apologise.”

"Oh good." You sighed in relief.

“And he did.” Your dad was now actively fighting back his laughter. “Here, Jack Jack, tell mommy and daddy what you said.”

Jacks face filled the screen and he grinned. “I saids sowee.”

“And?” Your dad prompted, “what else did you say?”

“Whats Daddy says. Ack-shuns has con-see-quentzez.”

You bit back the laugh as Paul snorted next to you.

“They do…you’re right.” You licked your lips. “But you can’t just hit people, baby.”

“He hurts Ceej.” Jack frowned

"I know. This time you're not in trouble, but you can't always do that." You shook your head.

“Otay.”

“Buddy, let me speak to Ceej, huh?” Paul directed the conversation back to your eldest.

"Otay…”

Jack disappeared and Ceej’s face once more filled the screen.

“That douchebag hurt you when he kicked you?”

"Paul!" You scolded at his douchebag comment

“What?“ he gasped as CJ cackled.

“A little…” he grinned, “I got a bruise on my leg…look…” the phone panned down and CJ showed you the mark just above his knee, in the space between his socks and his shorts.

You shook your head and groaned. "Get some ice on that, baby."

“It’s okay, mommy. Nanna says she has some stuff to help the bruises. But…he did say some mean things before he pushed me. He was real mad coz I tackled him.”

You frowned, "What'd he say?"

“Well, he called me a rude name…and then said his dad would beat my dad up.”

“He sounds like a peach.” Paul scoffed.

“But I said my dad was a police officer and he could beat anyone up.”

Besides you, Paul grinned with pride. "Oh, Connor." You chuckled.

Connor shrugged. “But I didn’t swears at him like he did to me. Grumpy said he was just a rude little moron.”

"Grumpy's not wrong." Paul agreed.

“So, what are you doing tonight?” You hastily changed the subject before Paul could carry on.

“Papa says that grumpy and nanny is coming over to their house for food and drinks.” CJ beamed, “and we’re getting tacos!”

"Who doesn't love tacos!" You beamed.

“I nots want tacos!” Jack spoke as he pushed his way back into the frame. “I’ms getting fan-jee-tas!”

“Jack, you don't like those! You just want chicken and red peppers." You shook your head.

“No!” He frowned, “I wants dem!”

You started to try and explain but Paul hushed you by placing his hand on your shoulder. “Your mom knows.” He said gently, “leave him be, babe.”

“I gets dats and grab-a-moley.”

“You love guacamole,” you chuckled before you sighed, “we can’t wait to see you both tomorrow. We’ve missed you.”

CJ smiled, “we can have a movie night?”

“Absolutely.” Paul smiled.

"You guys enjoy your last day. We'll see you tomorrow!" You mom popped into frame.

“Thanks mom…” you took a deep breath. “Sorry there was trouble today.”

"There was nothing of the sort."

“Okay…” you bit your lip, “enjoy your evening, sounds like you guys have fun planned.”

“Don’t let my dad drink too much scotch. He can’t handle it like he used to.” Paul grinned.

“You cheeky little shit.” Came Jim’s reply off screen followed by Jack’s loud yell.

“Dass a no-no.”

“Yeah, what you gonna do about it?” Jim shot back, his tone playful.

“Yous needs da bad word jar!” Jack continued.

“You tell him, son!” Paul laughed.

Loud giggles and shrieks came from off the camera as no doubt Jack was now wrestling with his Grumpy and you chuckled.

“Love you guys, see you soon!”

The screen went dark as the line cut off and you chuffed as you shook your head, then rest it against Paul's bicep. “So maybe Jack doing karate isn’t quite such a good idea.” You scoffed as your husband roared with laughter.

Paul pressed his lips to the crown of your head with a deep chuckle, "I think it'll be good for him."

“He just hit some kid, like what, two, three years older than him?”

“He was sticking up for his big bro. I’m not gonna lie, Sugar, it makes me both proud and very happy to hear.”

"Alright, you're right," you groaned. "But if it becomes a habit, you're on the hook for it, got it?"

“I will take the full consequences of my actions.” He smirked

"Deal." You sat up on your knees from the lounger and then stood. "Let's get some drinks and head to the beach?"

“Sounds good.”

You grabbed your sarong and bikini top, fixing them both as Paul grabbed his tee. He slipped it over his thick and cut frame before following you out the villa.

****

Part 3 KINKTOBER DAY 5

#rock n roll people in a disco world #paul diskant fan fiction #paul diskant x you #paul diskant x reader #paul diskant #street kings fan fic

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vitaliskravtsov · 1 year

Note

For Spotify wrapped - #88 and nurseydex or patater! :)

okay ngl this is a bit of a toughie bc this one is instrumental but i did my best!!!!!!!

88) the thrombey estate - knives out soundtrack

patater!!

Alexei is kind of absolutely bone-tired from the drive and he’s even more tired from camp, and more than anything, he wants to just pass out on his sofa.

Unfortunately, it’s like 3pm and any passing out will just mean that he’ll wake up at about 2am, starving and unable to go back to sleep, so he has to tough it out.

That’s what he uses to explain why he’s seeing another person in his house, his brand-new house (okay, it’s an apartment), and doesn’t question it.

The realtor had told him the house had history in the community, whatever that meant, but the plumbing was good and there was no water damage, so he’d taken it without interrogating that statement too deeply.

Now, though, he’s staring down a five-foot-seven blonde kid who looks like he’s straight out of an eighties sports mag.

“Mmh,” he grunts, and throws his stuff at the floor.

The boy stares at him.

“That’ll dent,” he says, vowels lilting just a little. Weird accent.

“Mmh,” Alexei says again.

“Eat,” the boy says, and then stalks off.

Eventually, Alexei does get up and get a protein shake going. He pours it over a bowl of pasta, immediately regrets the decision, and eats the whole thing anyway.

He’s not as concerned as he should be, but by the time he goes to bed, the boy is gone, so it’s probably fine.

Over the next couple of weeks, he keeps appearing in Alexei’s house, staring at Alexei’s Russian books or petting Alexei’s sticks or leaving little notes about the decor (or the dishes, or the cooking situation, which is maybe a little more abysmal than it should be after two and a half years on his own).

He’s pretty, in an ethereal, incomprehensible, untouchable way.

He’s kind of horribly, awfully, exactly, Alexei’s type.

As the season progresses, he starts leaving hockey-related notes, but also commentary on Alexei’s music selection and on Alexei’s nutrition -- notably different from the cooking-based notes in that these have to do with macronutrients and vitamins and some things Alexei’s not entirely sure how to pronounce, at least in English -- and Alexei discovers that the boy likes Ziggy Stardust and Metallica and Aretha Franklin and Queen, and he stars putting that on more when he knows they’re both around the house.

The hockey notes are good, too, if focused on kind of old-school stuff, but Alexei doesn’t mind; he’s always down to try new stuff in his play, and he does start producing more, so. It’s a win in his book.

He learns, eventually, that the boy is called Kent and that he’s from the hellhole of a city that Alexei cannot begin to imagine why anyone would choose to live in if they weren’t here for hockey.

He starts watching movies with Alexei, too, and in that, their tastes are more similar. Kent is kind of game for anything, including Disney movies, and Alexei’s desire for Russian subtitles or dubs at the end of a long day is very on board with that.

It’s -- it’s nice, to cohabitate with someone who never generates any dishes (or if he does, meticulously puts them away totally clean) and never makes a mess, and who seems to instinctively understand when Alexei needs to be alone.

It’s really fucking nice.

Alexei blames that on the wire-crossing that happens one night when he gets home from a game and sees Kent on the couch, sprawled out all warm and inviting, and his brain, the little part of his brain that still misses the piece of shit who dumped him when he realised Alexei would never be a millionaire, says kiss your boyfriend, and Alexei does, no hesitation.

Or, well, he tries to, because his lips go straight through Kent’s forehead and he lands face first in the arm of the couch, confused and hurt, lips and nose smarting.

When he lifts his head, Kent is gone.

#patater #kent parson #alexei mashkov #*mine #ask #ask answered #stardew-allie #omgcp #ghostfic kinda

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preggomancer · 2 years

Text

There had been many times in the last few months when Alan had considered murdering his former roommate, and this was definitely one of them.

After Dave had managed to get himself knocked up in perhaps the stupidest way possible by performing a spell to birth a series of ancient heroes anew on a dare, Alan had felt a sort of responsibility toward him. Alan and his girlfriend had both gone through magical pregnancies of their own, and Dave… wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to take great care throughout the process.

As it turned out, though, trying to teach Dave about pregnancy was sort of like trying to give cooking lessons to a microwave. Apparently Dave’s baby was under some protective enchantment, so it wasn’t in any danger from Dave’s rampant bad life decisions, and he wouldn’t even be keeping the kids—there was an entire ancient order that had prophesied their return and would raise them for their divine purpose. All of which Dave took as great reasons to disregard all pregnancy advice and drive Alan completely crazy in the process.

Unfortunately for Alan, he did still care about his friend, which is how Dave had ended up here, camping out at Alan’s apartment while he waited for the baby to come.

Dave had spent most of the last nine months shockingly active, in total disregard of the baby growing inside him, but Alan had outright refused to let him spend the last couple weeks before delivery in his wild party house. Alan liked to think he wouldn’t mind babysitting his pregnant friend so much if Alan hadn’t also had an eight-month-old of his own and two more on the way, rounding out his own belly at seven months enough to already outmatch Dave’s full-term bump, and if Dave’s little impregnation stint hadn’t landed his due date smack dab in the middle of finals week.

Alan was good at multitasking, but right now, this was pushing his limits. He was trying to finish a twenty page paper, keep his baby entertained, all while Dave was apparently on a personal mission to drive him to distraction.

Dave was on the couch, propped up on pillows, using his protruding belly as a table for his laptop, complaining nonstop about the math final he was supposed to be studying for. Alan tried his utmost to just ignore him, but once he heard Dave mutter “fuckin Greg, more like gre… gre.. more like… peg, cuz he’s such a stiff fuckin loser,” he put his head in his hands.

“Dave. I am trying. To focus.”

“Oh right, sorry bro,” Dave said, very sincerely, and then continued to mutter to himself loudly.

Alan turned around in his chair, which was no small feat with a belly that size to maneuver, and glared at his guest. “What has gotten into you?”

“Uh, a baby?”

“You’re not usually this annoying!”

“Thanks!” Dave rubbed his taut belly. “Sorry, man, I kinda have a stomach ache…”

Alan paused. “Wait, are you having contractions?”

“Uhhhhhh no.”

“You hesitated.”

“Nah, bro.” Dave waved his hand. “I just ate some weird wings or something. It’s been happening like all day.”

“Okay, are you sure, because early labor feels a lot like regular stomach cramps—“

“Alannnnn my maaaann I’m fiiiiine!” Dave rolled his eyes, giving Alan the look of an irritated teenager. “But, uh. Could you help me up? I gotta whizz again.”

Hours passed, and Alan continued to tap away at his essay, all while Dave was getting antsier and antsier on the couch.

“Hey, uh, Alan,” he called.

“What.”

“Do you have any anti-tummy ache shit maybe?”

“Dave, are you sure this isn’t—“

“Yes! I ate week-old hot wings, okay?”

“Why. Why would you have done that.”

“I’m living la vida loca!”

“God, I hate you.”

Alan managed to find some Tylenol, trying to conjure up some sympathy despite how worn-out he felt dragging around his own massive belly, his swollen chest aching and back screaming with the weight of his front. Night was falling, and after he got his son to sleep he returned to find a very uncomfortable looking Dave.

“You feeling any better?”

“Yeah so no actually—“ Dave cut off with a grimace. “…I would say worse is actually the one. Yeah.”

Alan sighed. “Okay, why don’t you go lie down in the other room for a bit?” Dave nodded stiffly, and Alan finished, “And if you don’t feel better soon, we are calling the hospital, okay?”

“You mean the ancient order dudes,” Dave corrected. “Cuz they have the magic shit. They said normal medicine won’t work for the pain or whatever.”

“See, that is the kind of information that would have been helpful to know weeks ago—“ Alan stopped himself and took a breath. “Okay. Let’s get you comfortable.”

Once he left Dave, Alan returned to his chair and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Reveling in the quiet, he dove into his essay headfirst, only to be broken out of his trance when by his son’s cries on the baby monitor. When he got back from rocking little Benny back to sleep, he finally glanced at the clock and realized just how many hours had passed.

A feeling of dread crept up in Alan’s stomach. He glanced at his bedroom door, where he’d left Dave.

“Please just be asleep, please just be asleep,” he muttered to himself, and peeked into the room. There, Dave was lying on his side, limbs curled around his heavy belly. Alan paused for a second, almost smiling at how sweet he looked. Until he heard a low, quiet moan come from the bed.

Ah, fuck.

Alan rushed over to the bedside. “Dave!” he hissed, only to be met with another moan. Alan’s eyes widened as he realized he could see the contraction passing over Dave’s belly, the muscles of his torso contracting violently around his womb.

He shook Dave’s shoulder as the contraction passed. “Dave! Why didn’t you say something!!!”

“Oh, hey, Alan…” Dave’s voice sounded weak. “Hey, uh, I think I might be in labo–hrk.” Dave convulsed again, breathing in sharply.

“Please tell me you called the wizard guys at least.” This was bad. If Dave couldn’t get out a full sentence between contractions, that was not a good sign.

Once Dave could catch his breath, he squinted. “Oh shit. Right. Forgot. Ow.”

“Fucking hell, Dave. How far away are they?”

“Uh ow ow ow fuck ow, uh, um, like, threeeee hours?” He gulped a breath of air, wincing.

“I’m going to kill you someday, you know that?”

“Can it be now?” Dave replied weakly.

“Okay. Shit. Um. Can you take your pants off?”

Dave gave him the look of someone who was incredibly confused about the truck he was being hit by. “...Why?”

“I need to see how far along you are, okay?”

Dave nodded, then groaned as another contraction hit. Alan waited through it, then tried to disrobe his friend as casually as possible. He was glad Dave was at least distracted. Then his eyes widened.

“Jesus christ,” he whispered. Dave looked like he was almost fully dilated. Alan thought hard. There was a very, very good chance Dave wouldn’t last until the order showed up. He had no doctor, no midwife, nothing. The nearest hospital was far enough away it would risk the baby coming in transit–or, best case scenario, Dave would have to give birth alone, in a cold, strange place, surrounded by strangers, with zero pain management options. Not a great option for anyone, and definitely not for a young trans guy.

“Okay.” Alan put a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “Dave. Listen. I had a home birth, I was there when my girlfriend had her daughter. I’m gonna help you do this, because you’re gonna do it here.”

Dave’s eyes widened. “Huh? No nononono, I don’t wanna do that–”

“Then you shouldn’t have–okay. Never mind. I’m gonna grab some supplies.”

Alan quickly shuffled through his apartment, tossing things aside as he tried to remember everything on his own home birth checklist. Ask he tore through his linens cabinet, a cry came from the other room.

“ALAN! ALAN SOMETHING IS WRONG ALAN ALAAAAAAN—”

Alan stumbled into the room, dropping his supplies and scrambling over to find Dave had pushed himself into a semi-seated position, and had a horrified look on his face.

“What?? What’s—” Alan took a look, and stopped. “Oh. It’s okay, Dave, your water just broke. That’s supposed to happen!”

“WHAT.”

“Man, there go my sheets…” Alan looked mournfully at his bed. There was no saving that bedspread now.

Alan dunked a washcloth in a small bucket of water he’d brought and wiped it across his friend’s brow. “Hey, come on, let it out, Dave! You’re keeping it all in.”

“A-FUCK OW—hhhhh-actually I think it’s coming out against my will??”

“No, I mean, you can scream and shit.”

“Oh.” Dave blinked, and then started screaming his head off.

Oh dear god please nobody call the police on us, Alan prayed to no one in particular. He stayed close to Dave, trying to get him to breathe, stop thrashing around like a maniac, and stay calm, mostly to no avail.

“Listen, Dave, listen to me,” Alan said, catching Dave in a brief moment between contractions when he stopped yelling long enough to hear anything, “this is called transition, and this is the hardest part, right? So after it you’re going to—“

He was cut off while Dave started screaming again. He waited a minute. The scream ended.

“Okay so you’re going to start feeling the urge to push soon, and that means transition is over. So right now it’s just about—“ (scream, thrash) “—about getting through the pain, so just try to focus on your breathi—“

Dave’s back arched, and he let out a howl of agony so intense it felt downright cinematic. Dave turned to Alan. “BRO. WHY DOES THIS SUCK SO MUCH.”

“Well, um, when we evolved as apes to stand upright we sort of sacrificed a pelvic structure wide enough to accommodate a reasonable birth canal, so—“

Dave panted. “That fucking SUCKS, FUCK monkeys all my homies hate monkeys let’s go back to being wolves or whatever the fuck—oh Jesus fucking christ—“

Alan’s eyebrows raised as Dave made the most strangled expression he’d ever seen on a human being. “Um, Dave, you okay there?”

Dave responded with a sound sort of like “HHNNNRRRRGGGGKkHH.”

“Hey, talk to me, what’s—“

“HOW DO I NOT PUSH??”

“Wh—” Alan’s eyes widened. “No, DO push! Pushing is good!”

“OH. HOW DO I PUSH??”

“Uh. You just.” Alan thought for a moment. “Huh, that’s interesting, I actually don’t know how to describe it! I just sort of did it on instinct, now that I think about it. Hm, how to explain it… well, it’s sort of li—“

“HNNNNNNNERGGGGGGGGGH.”

“Yeah, like that.”

Dave’s chest heaved, his forehead glistening with sweat. “Is-is it stuck or something??” He looked desperately at Alan. “Do you have to pull it out??”

“Boy, I sure hope not.” Alan started helping Dave into a squat. “It’s gonna take more than one push, man.”

“Wh-how many? Three??”

“Um, well, the pushing phase lasted about four hours for me, though that was on the longer side…”

Dave’s eyes widened in horror.

“But it’s okay!! It’s, uh, it’s not that bad!”

“I FEEL LIKE I AM BEING STABBED WITH NINETEEN KNIVES.”

“Okay yeah it is that bad.”

Quickly arranging the towels he’d managed to grab from his closet, Alan guided Dave into a reasonable position, legs spread beneath him. Alan slowly lowered himself down to kneel in front, offering his shoulders as a support. Dave continued to rotate between his sort of grunt-moan-yelling as he pushed with all his might and the brief pauses of respite between contractions in which he mostly looked… kind of bewildered.

“You’re doing great,” Alan said softly while Dave caught his breath. “Just keep breathing, try to relax while you push…”

“Is this—is this-“ Dave took a huge gulping breath. “Is this like, normal??”

“Well, every birth is unique!”

“But the-the stabbiness? And the wanting to chew your skin off thing?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s, that’s kind of standard. Unless you have an epidural, I guess. Uh, I don’t know about the skin part though?”

“Yeah man I’m really not a fan of having skin currently I’m kinda fixating on i—“ Dave cut off as another contraction crashed into him, and he pushed with all his might. Then, Alan gasped.

“The baby’s crowning! Come on, just a little more!”

Dave looked down and screamed.

“Oh Jesus, please tell me you at least knew that’s where the baby comes out of—“

“YES I KNEW THAT BUT OH MY GOD THERES A BABY THERE??”

“Yes, please stop thrashing around, that’s the baby—”

“NOO NONONO I DO NOT LIKE THAT.”

Dave’s look of terror turned quickly into pain as he let out a strangled sound and gave into pushing.

“Oh boy, um, Dave, maybe don’t look down.”

Dave’s eyes opened as he panted and immediately looked down. He let out an even higher pitched shriek.

“AAAAAAAAAA???”

“This—Listen, it doesn’t come out all at once-“

Dave continued shrieking. Now, personally, Alan had been too relieved and excited to feel much else when he’d been at this step. But he was starting to see how having a baby’s head sticking out of you could be… a little disturbing.

“AAAAAAA GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT”

“Then push!”

“OKAY.” Dave made a noise, his breaths coming hard and fast. Then he dug his fingers hard into Alan’s soft shoulders and pushed with all his might, yelling from the strain even as Alan yelled back in excitement, reaching forward, cloth ready.

Dave opened his eyes to see Alan hold up a crying baby. He blinked, staring at the tiny screaming infant, and collapsed immediately.

When Dave came to, he was tucked neatly into Alan’s bed, the fresh smell of clean sheets surrounding him. He turned to see Alan sitting next to him, feeding the teeny baby from his breast.

“Heheh,” Dave mumbled weakly, “titty…”

“Dave! You did it!” Alan grinned.

“Wooooo.” Dave pumped his fist about one millimeter in the air. “I am a bad bitch.”

“Members of the order should be here in fifteen minutes.” Wiping the baby's mouth, Alan held her out toward Dave. "Do you want to hold her?”

Dave squinted at Alan, looking over the wrinkly little thing in his arms. It was strange to think, but even as Dave’s belly deflated, he knew he wasn’t done yet. His ritual still bound him in its terms, and even now the next baby would be forming its first cells inside his worn-out womb. It would remain full of life until all four children were born, one after another.

“Nah,” he answered. “I don’t really like babies.”

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thecagedbard · 1 month

Text

Oh Look, another Tav story! This is currently posted over on AO3 in its entirety but I thought I’d post it to tumblr as well. If you’d like to sneak a peak at some of the chapter names, if you don’t want to read the whole thing yet, have a listen to the title playlist: here. There is also just the ‘Here’s what I was listening to while writing' playlist, and my Faetrala Uncaged playlist which serves as inspiration for Vesper’s siblings. A lot of the songs tend to overlap but who knows, you might find one you enjoy.

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Astarion/Tav (Vesper), Astarion/Halsin, Astarion/Halsin/Tav(Vesper); Mentions of Karlach/Shadowheart/Wyll; Mentions of Gale/AFAB OC

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Canon Divergence, Child Death

Word count: 12,986/300,000+

Summary: Vesper needed someone to protect her from an abusive husband should he appear after she was abducted by mind flayers. Astarion needed someone to fall for him so he had protection from Cazador. He's got two hundred years of manipulation and she has the soft heart of a lamb being led to slaughter. While subconsciously healing each other they both realize they also need to heal the druid of all damned people.

Chapter Eight

They stayed on the surface a day longer than necessary. After finding a safe area where they could make camp for the night, they snacked on dry rations and tried to keep warm as the moon rose. Astarion had excused himself to go hunting on his own and while the spawn was gone the other companions had a visitor. The cub from the camp came looking for food. Karlach quickly roused Vesper from her sleep and had the bard talk to the little creature.

Vesper was kneeling before the cub, a hand extended to pet through its feathers when the spawn returned. His appearance alone startled the creature, making it stutter and cry out no before running away. “Aw,” tsked the high elf as he filled the space between the bard and barbarian, “you scared off the little snack.”

“Yeah, it was us…wasn’t it Ves?” Karlach pursed her lips, her arms crossing over her chest. Astarion turned to look at her, a smile ghosting his features, “What?” The tiefling only shook her head before returning to where she’d been trying to sleep.

During her second trial of meditation, a nightmare was projected from the bard to a few of the others, their dreams morphing to view that which haunted the party’s drow. They wouldn’t mention the instance to her directly, though she did catch Shadowheart and Wyll with their heads together as they walked through Ethel’s bog, Gale wouldn’t meet her eyes until after the fight was over, and Karlach kept admonishing Astarion when he would be his normal, bastardly self.

The poison from Ethel’s liar had weakened many of the party, Shadowheart having focused her protection from Poison on Astarion so he could try and disable the vents on the way done–unfortunately, the clouds were so thick in places he just couldn’t find them without kicking the explosive flowers and harming himself, so Vesper asked if they wanted to stay topside one more night before venturing back into the Underdark. No one had declined.

They were a bit braver the second night, Lae’zel joining the bard and Astarion to hunt small animals to cook on the fire. Their makeshift camp wasn’t as quiet or as careful now that they had removed the Hag threat and no one had seen or heard a goblin since demolishing their camp. While the three were gone the other four talked.

“No, no, I saw him as well,” Gale poked at the fire with a stick trying to push the logs closer, “but what did he mean by ‘She’s gone because of you?’ You don’t–” he turned and peered in the direction the others had left in before bending forward, “you don’t suppose she killed someone before all of this?” Karlach’s face blanched, and her eyes rounded, “Vesper? No! No way!”

Shadowheart’s head also shook negatively, “No, you didn’t see her on the nautiloid. There were mindflayer thralls in these chairs in front of my pod. She actually protested when Lae’zel gave them a mercy killing. To even imagine she could kill someone is…” the cleric paused and removed her circlet to trace her fingers along its metal, “no. Her first kills were on that ship. You’d agree, right Wyll, that the first time you take a life it changes you?”

Wyll had been quiet for the most part but when the cleric called to him, he lifted his head and nodded, “For most. I’ve seen changes in her, for certain. Trying to talk her way out of things rather than follow along…I thought she might actually be able to free that woman for a moment.” He scratched at the base of his horns grimacing as his fingers touched the still-new appendages, “I don’t think she’s killed before this adventure. On the battlefield she is still unsure of where to go, looking to whoever is closest to her and sticking by them even if she gets in more danger. I don’t believe for a second she killed whoever this Mariwen is.”

“Mariwen? You heard the name?”

“Wait, you’re certain you heard ‘Mariwen?’”

Wyll looked first at Gale before turning his attention to Shadowheart, “Yes and yes…I–it’s possible I experienced an earlier portion of the dream but she said the name. Sobbing over,” the warlock swallowed hard as the memory of the nightmare flashed over his eyes, “a wrapped babe, she kept saying ‘Please Eilistaree, not Mariwen.’”

Karlach turned to Shadowheart expectantly, “Who’s Mariwen?”

The cleric didn’t get the opportunity to answer the question as thudding footsteps pulled them from their hushed conversation around the fire. Lae’zel and Astarion were the first to enter, the githyanki carried the majority of the weight of the boar they had hunted while Vesper brought up the rear and held up three rabbits, “They wanted me to leave them but I’m kind of hoping that the cub shows up again.”

Gale only gave a nod and pointed to an area for the recent kills to be laid.

Again, Vesper’s rest was interrupted, this time by Astarion alerting her to the cub’s appearance. With Shadowheart’s assistance, they healed the cub's foot and fed him again. When yet another nightmare plagued the sleeping drow it wasn’t broadcasted to the other companions, it instead roused the meditative high elf nearest her. When his eyes jerked open his hands flexed above him, swiping through the empty air. As the bard’s whimper reached his ears yet again he rolled from his back to his stomach and looked around, expecting to see someone hovering over her or even the owlbear bearing down on her. But the only thing that he saw was how her head jerked to the side while her body was rigid.

Silently the rogue slid across the ground and moved the bag he’d been using as a pillow to rest next to hers. He chanced a look at the other companions who snored or muttered in their sleep, no one else took notice. Looking over the bard again he wrinkled his nose as he lifted a hand to push the sweat from her brow, freezing when she leaned toward him. Again he looked to see if any of the others were awake, nothing. Laying down next to the bard, Astarion pushed one of his arms under her head and pulled her close to him, tucking her into his side. When she pushed against him, he began to shush her, “Calm darling,” he whispered, his head bending to reach her ear, “you’re fine. I’ve–” his face scrunched as he tried to recall things he had heard one of his spawn siblings say, “I’ve got you.”

His hand ran the length of her spine until she stilled and her breathing eased. If he was tempted to roll her back to her ‘pillow’ she wouldn’t know, because when the sun rose over their little clearing she awoke with her head still resting against the spawn’s chest.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Halsin was relieved to see them once the party returned, a little surprised by the addition of the owlbear cub, but relieved all the same. “Two days without contact and I was beginning to wonder if I needed to bring everything to the mountain pass,” he motioned to the chest they packed most of their stuff into, “I was just about to start reorganizing to make room for everything. You’re all okay?”

After reassurances from everyone that they were all healthy, Vesper excused herself to set up the alchemy tools and attempt to make a potion that would make them resistant to being poisoned. From where she was she could listen as Karlach told the druid about the dagger they had forged and how Ethel was no longer among the living. “Aha,” Halsin’s uneasy laugh made the bard look up, “Unfortunately you may be surprised to learn that Hags have a failsafe if they ever get injured enough for their forms to die. It’s likely that Ethel has just returned to whatever hell she was born in and after healing she will begin her scheming again.” Karlach’s head fell back as she groaned, “Why can’t evil just stay dead?!”

Vesper turned back from the group to laugh softly. She began picking up the herbs she had, having to keep them from being pulverized since she couldn’t label them. It would be a labor to try to figure this out on her own, a lot of trial and error that they didn’t have the time or resources for. She began muttering the properties of each herb she could remember before hanging her head and sighing in frustration, “Is there something I could, perhaps, help you with?” Halsin’s voice was deep but soft as he crouched next to the drow. She lifted her head and heaved another sigh, “I know there are potions that can make a person pass through poison gases easier, or even keep them from being poisoned at all, but I can’t…I don’t know how to make them.”

The druid smiled and Vesper tilted her head as she gazed at him, “Then it’s a very good thing I brought those books I told you about. Just a moment and I’ll be glad to help you.” Once he returned he took a seat next to the bard and set the book in front of her, “I might be overstepping, but if you would like I could also teach you how to read this yourself. “ Vesper looked at the book, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar words, “I don’t know. I feel like doing this is taking a lot of your time already…”

“Well,” the druid began, his cheeks flushing just a hair, “I fear if I were to leave the camp I would be rushing you to Moonrise. I have something of a goal-oriented mind, and reaching Moonrise Tower is part of my goal at this current time. But I understand that exploration may be a part of your process, so, with that in mind I had intended to stay here and guard your camp. Keep Scratch and now the little cub company I suppose…though I will admit the newest addition does bring a bit of unease.” Vesper lifted a brow as she began setting her supplies to the side, “The cub? We’ll name him soon, I’m–”

“Not the cub…the skeletal man…”

“Who?”

Her head turned as she regarded Halsin before turning to look in the direction the druid now pointed. Bending down she could just make out a figure near Wyll and Gale’s tents, “What do you—”

“I will meet thee again shortly.”

The voice had been so eerie she thought perhaps it was a dream after being resurrected, but as she got to her feet and rounded the corner to look up the hill to the warlock and wizard’s tents there he stood. A skeletal man stood in dark gray robes, a golden cage over the stretched skin on his skull, his arms and legs were wrapped but she could see how the bandaging was falling in places.

He lifted his head from the scroll he held, “Ah, so we meet again.”

She could feel the presence of the others as they walked to stand at her back. She could hear the whispers, but unlike the rest of them, while they felt panic and unease, Vesper felt…comforted. It was an odd feeling, considering how she felt about necromancy, to begin with, but the creature before her simply looked back down at his scroll and continued to count.

“Vesper? Vesper,” she heard Gale calling to her, felt his hand holding her elbow as he gave it a little shake. She turned. “Who is your new friend and why is he making himself comfortable so near mine and Wyll’s tents?” The wizard was tensely smiling, his lips tightly pressed together, “There’s an undead creature near my things, Vesper…”

“We can take him,” she heard Shadowheart and whipped her head in the cleric’s direction, “No!”

The others all looked from the skeletal man to the bard, she saw the hint of amusement on Astarion’s face. “He was there…when I died,” she said as her eyes shifted back to Gale, “he said it wasn’t my time and I think he sent me back.” Gale coughed as he inhaled sharply and nodded, “Right then…I suppose he may remain…I’m claiming one of the bedrolls by the fire just to be…certain.” He turned his head to look at the others and Wyll was nodding, “As am I. No offense to our new…ally,” his voice lilted in question, “but I’d feel more comfortable near the flames tonight as well.”

The undead took no notice of them after his first sentence to Vesper. He did not look up from his list, he did not speak to them, or even motion in their direction. One by one they all walked away. The bard was the last one, staring at the creature for a moment longer before returning to Halsin’s side so he could teach her something new.

With the druid’s help, which she thanked him for multiple times as he would read from the book to correct her on ingredients, she was able to start brewing a resistance potion. “Tomorrow, while you all continue to look for the Nightsong, I will see if I can gather more herbs. I’m almost certain some of the ingredients we’re missing can be found here,” he said as he closed the book and set it aside. “Shadowheart mentioned you were taking first watch?” his questioning tone had the bard turning and her head bobbing in the affirmative, “Then I will offer to take over for a second shift. It will give me time to prepare for the gathering and to make a meal that should sustain you all. And if you’d like you can take my tent, I’ve noticed you are something of a light sleeper at times.”

Vesper groaned for a minute and her head cocked away from him, “Sometimes. I didn’t have an easy time before being abducted, sometimes—” she trailed off as a haunted look took over her face before she shook her head trying to shake the memories away. “But I don’t want to impose…speaking of,” she cleared her throat and leaned to the druid, “I know I was extremely drunk during the celebration a while ago, I wanted to talk about it that next day but…” she gestured to the book.

The druid watched her passively waiting for her to continue. “Uhm, what I mean is,” she had a fleeting memory that had come back to her during a meditation; sitting next to the druid and leaning into him asking him borderline inappropriate questions. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with anything I may have said, or done,” she knew she had laid her head against his shoulder at one point and even commented on how warm he had been. Remembering her actions the drow’s cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat again.

Halsin chuckled, the deep and warm sound chasing the awkward silence that she had left. “In no circumstances would your questions have made me uncomfortable,” he said as he leaned closer, she watched his eyes as they moved down her and she felt a chill sweep through her, “if things had been different or it had been another night I perhaps would have—” he stopped himself as he met her eyes again and realized there was a shift in her. “But that is perhaps a conversation for another time,” he cleared his throat and leaned away, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Vesper.” As her own comfort was called into question her face split into a large smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and she shook her head, “I’m not uncomfortable!”

His mouth turned downward as he nodded to her and tentatively hovered his hand over her shoulder before gently laying it over the fabric of her armor that she had yet to remove. “All the same,” Halsin bowed his head, “tomorrow, if you are willing, I’d like to start your reading lessons.”

“Reading Lessons?”

Vesper swore softly as she jumped at the new voice that had crept up behind them. She had set the alchemy tools away from the campfire, worried that the smell from the potions would bother those trying to rest or to eat; she hadn’t expected anyone to actively choose to come over to her, and yet here was Astarion. Again, heat flooded her face and she felt it travel down her neck.

Turning to look at the vampire she slowly nodded as she tilted her face downward and stared at his shoes. “I can’t read,” she admitted out loud, the second time in a month she had said that sentence. Illiteracy wasn’t something to be ashamed of in the Isles, tutors were expensive and hard to come by back home. But it seemed in Faerun everyone could at least read the common thorass alphabet, something that had been drilled into her by Issac and his ‘friends.’

Astarion was quiet for a moment before she heard the rustle of cloth and his knees came to share her view of his feet, “Why not ask me to teach you?” His fingers found her chin and tugged it upward. She inhaled deeply and looked at Halsin before looking back at him, “I didn’t want to seem like a bigger burden than I am already. I’m not good at fighting and apparently am easily killable,” Astarion’s mouth twitched as she continued, “I hardly seem worth keeping around if I can’t even read.”

Halsin’s head shook, “Don’t say that. You saved a grove full of innocents…you tricked a drow into being in a vulnerable place.” Astarion nodded in agreement, adding, “The druid is right…but,” his gaze shifted away from her, a thought taking his attention into the distance, “do you know your letters? How to sign your name?” The bard’s head shifted from side to side, “I know my letters…but reading and writing weren’t high on the list of priorities for my parents. Rarely anything required me to sign something so I’d just make a mark if I was told to.”

The corner of the vampire’s mouth twisted upward, “Did Issac have you sign anything? Ever?” He dropped the hand holding her chin up as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. “Did your brother, the one who lost the bet, did he write?” there was another moment of thought and Halsin looked between the two.

“If this is a more private conversation I can–”

“Halsin, shh!”

“Octavius learned from a girl in the village. He used to make up poetry and she wanted it written down so she taught him, then he’d sell those same poems…” Vesper said after she thought back to seeing her brother selling sheets of parchment to husbands in the village.

One of Astarion’s knees rested on the ground now and he chuckled, “I may not remember much of my life before Cazador tortured me, but I do recall how the magistrates handled things. Marriages, at least in Baldur’s Gate, had to be registered with a magistrate and both parties had to sign in front of the clerk or a judge. I’m not sure where you and this ‘husband’ of yours lived but—”

“Rivington, just outside of Baldur’s Gate.”

The rogue’s smile lifted more, “And you never signed anything with him?”

She shook her head, “No.” There was a glint in his eye that Vesper didn’t recognize as he clapped his hands together, “That settles it! If there is no record in the courts of Baldur’s Gate you were no more than a slave. That record will have to be dealt with but I’m sure we can find your paper–”

“Papers?”

“Well, yes, generally when someone is sold as a slave there’s an exchange of the bill of sale, or in your case, it would be the exchange for the loan…”

“What if there wasn’t an exchange?”

Halsin seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable, his brow furrowing as he listened. When Astarion called the redhead a slave he let out a puff of air and the two turned to look at him, “Forgive me. I’ll leave you two to your conversation. Remember, Vesper, I’ll take the second watch and you can stay in my tent if you’d like some peace.”

Astarion watched the druid stand and walk away before looking back at the bard with a raised brow, “I might have ruined his night…” Vesper shook her head dismissively, preferring to return to the previous conversation, “I don’t think there was an exchange of anything paper. I never saw one and Issac made sure I was too…” She swallowed hard, “he made certain I wouldn’t run away even if I was left alone, let’s just say.”

The vampire reached out and palmed her cheek, “I can understand exactly what you mean. But if there’s no paperwork anywhere, no bill saying that you belong to him or a writ of your marriage to him…you are a freer woman than you ever thought.” Vesper studied Astarion’s face, he was giving her a smile she didn’t think she’d seen before, the lines around his mouth were deep, and his eyes were even crinkled, it was… infectious. “So…even if I went back he couldn’t make me go with him?” she asked and Astarion shook his head, “I mean I wouldn’t allow it anyway, it’s why we’re like this aren’t we?” Vesper flinched and pulled back from his touch, Astarion’s face fell, “I’m sorry, my sweet, maybe that joke was a touch too soon to tell after all. All the same, no. He cannot force you to go back to him. At the very least one of us will be free when this is all over.”

The bard lifted her eyes again, “We’ll kill Cazador.”

He chuckled and leaned back from her, “Were it only that easy. He is strong, Vesper. When this is done I will run as far as I can, hopefully, his influence is dependent on distance.” Vesper shifted until she was on her knees and she was leaning into his space, “We’re getting stronger. We’ll kill him. I mean, if we can kill a stupid cult leader trying to play as a god what makes you think we can’t handle Cazador?” His head tilted as he gave her a more familiar smile, “You’re sweet. Naive but…sweet.”

A voice called out to them from the fire and Astarion straightened, “Right. I was supposed to come and get you for dinner. Gale cooked again so take your time with…whatever this is.” She turned back and looked at the simmering potion, “Poison resistance…” Astarion made a noise of approval and stood, “Useful.”

After dinner, the others began preparing for bed. Vesper returned to her potion careful to muffle any noises that could wake the others. In total, she had enough ingredients to make a single potent resistance potion for each member of the party, including Halsin. The rest of the night she sat near the animals, petting and soothing them as they slept. Pieces of her conversation with Astarion slipped back into her mind and she felt something she hadn’t recognized in years bloom within her chest. She wasn’t married to Issac. If there was no slave paper she didn’t have to go anywhere with him. She took a deep breath and felt herself fill with that old emotion that had been dashed by the man she’d been forced to be with for ten years.

Hope.

Sometime during the night, she had found a book with empty pages past a certain point. Whatever this was, she’d found the book buried deep within the trunk, it looked handwritten. With a piece of charcoal from the fire she began to sketch on the empty page. It wasn’t a portrait of anyone, she was never skilled at drawing people, but she did sketch the camp.

Vesper didn’t know how long she had been up for when she began to yawn. Rubbing her face she could smell the campfire and sighed as she used her other hand to try and wipe the coal marks off her face, she heard a hushed chuckle and looked up at Halsin who nodded to her, “Well met.” He stepped closer, bending to use his cleaner hand, and wiped the smudge from her cheek, “Get some rest.”

Her cheeks flushed again and she nodded setting the book down beside her, “Goodnight, Halsin.” The druid was looking at the sketch she had made before he nodded to her. Vesper stood and walked to the last empty bedroll by the fire, Karlach had come to sleep with Gale and Wyll since they were ‘absolutely not frightened by the skeletal man they hadn’t spoken to yet.’ She was just about to lay down when she looked up at movement just above her, Astarion had stuck his head out of his tent and was waving to her.

She looked at Halsin who was now reading the front of the journal she had commandeered for her art before getting up to approach Astarion. “Yes?” she asked as she crouched at the opening of his tent. “Stay with me tonight…you’ve had nightmares the past couple of nights. While I think it would be hilarious for another one to frighten Gale, I’d also rather not wake up to all of our belongings being burned in a fireball,” he said as he held the flap open, when she hesitated he lifted a brow. “My behavior has been better than my best since the other night, I won’t attack you just because the others can’t see,” his insinuation that she didn’t trust him had her looking to the ground, he sighed, “Come on, little bard, I’m tired and would like to get at least a meditation in before we’re made to keep moving.”

He reached through to the outside and secured the flaps of the tent open before he laid down on the far side of the bedroll. She hesitated only a moment more, sparing a glance at the empty place by the fire before crawling in with him. Lying down on her back she stared at the ceiling of his tent, her body going rigid as his hand pushed a piece of her hair from her face, “Relax,” he suggested, “I…I wanted to ask a favor.” Silently she turned her head to look at him, “I need you to trust me, I swear I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with…or well, you’ll likely be uncomfortable—” he cleared his throat, “I won’t make this sexual.”

Her bottom lip was again being worried between her teeth before she nodded, “I trust you.” A small grin formed on his face before it slipped away and he scooted down, lifting her arm just enough that he could lay between it and her torso he placed his head against her breast. Her heartbeat began to race and she waited for a remark, a jeer, or even an unwanted touch between her legs, but the only other movement he gave was to place his arm across her midsection. “Is–is this the favor?” she asked and he hummed in acknowledgement.

“I just wanted to hear it…your heart,” he said softly and adjusted his head until his ear was flush against her armor. “Wait,” she said as she nudged him. They both sat up and she worked on the belt that held the armor closed, when she laid back down she was only in the leather top she’d been wearing for over a tenday, “Okay.” He looked down at her and his eyes followed the exposed skin between her breasts and down her torso, “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

Astarion laid back down, the sound of her beating heart clearer and the warmth of her skin spread over his cheek. He made no attempts to expose more of her skin, his hand was still as it rested over her hip, his fingers curled around it but not gripping. Vesper felt her heart slowing down. It was okay to trust him to do this. She’d woken up on his chest that morning and was safe, now she’d let him rest on hers and be safe. Her left arm which had been awkwardly extended to the side moved to wrap against his back and she carded her fingers into his hair.

She knew she wasn’t the only one with nightmares and never had Astarion welcomed her into his tent. The bard had no evidence to back up her suspicion that he may have had another nightmare, but just as she had done for Carwyn when he was little and had nightmares, Vesper began to hum as her blunted nails scraped against Astarion’s scalp. Her other hand reached for the arm on her midsection and she just held it, her thumb mindlessly rubbing circles. She felt his body stop breathing, no movement came from the vampire beside her and she had to remind herself that he made a conscious effort to breathe while he was awake. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable rest she’d gotten during this adventure, but the dead weight on her chest did make it a bit more difficult to breathe once she’d drifted to sleep.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

“I’m about this close,” Astarion held his gloved fingers practically closed, “to stopping you from agreeing to nice things.” Vesper giggled as she climbed down the stacked mushrooms, “I mean it,” he continued, “We just killed those duergar to exact revenge for these spore people–”

“Myconids.”

“Shut up you walking encyclopedia!”

“Be nice, Astarion!” Karlach called out.

“I am–regardless! We just got revenge on those underdwarves and now he’s demanding we behead a drow,” Astarion landed beside the bard as he continued to rant. “Don’t you feel a little bad, hunting an elf of your own kind? Or has that mind flayer’s potion scrambled your tadpole too much?”

Vesper looked through the myconid village, looking for the area that Sovereign had supposedly opened up for them. When Wyll jumped off the large fungi and landed beside her, “Well if we go by the history known of the duergar, and by that I mean their sometimes relations with mind flayers, it's possible this has something to do with the Absolute.” The warlock paused and turned to the bard, “How do you feel after that potion?”

The drow still had an amused grin on her face before she too paused and took stock of herself, “I feel fine? But also…odd?” Lae’zel stepped around the others to face the bard, grabbing her chin and lifting her face upward to study it. The githyanki didn’t pause as Vesper’s entire body went rigid, nor did she seem to take notice when the others called out to her, “I warned against trusting that ghaik, now you’ve made it stronger. The sooner we get to the crèche and are purified the better.” Just as roughly as she had grabbed the bard, Lae’zel dropped her hold quickly, “We should do this before dealing with this Nere.”

“You don’t get to make decisions like that, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart approached from behind Karlach who was lifting her hands. “She’s right, Lae, we’ll get to your people…but this dream visitor we’ve been having says there’s no safe way to remove it,” Karlach waved her hands as she spoke, while trying to keep them from everyone.

“Tsk’va! More lies fed to you by the parasite. Purification is the entire purpose of the zaith’isk, once we find the ghustil and you see the power of the zaith’isk you will understand. Without these tadpoles we will be all the stronger to destroy these cultists,” Lae’zel shifted her attention away from the group, signaling an end to her contribution to the conversation. Wyll looked from the gith to the drow before reaching out to the bard, “I saw movement this way.”

Vesper stood at the opening of the area while the others began to go through what was in the once-sealed cave. Gale stepped away from the body in the center, turning a book he’d found in the drow’s possession over in his hands. Standing beside the bard he held it up to her, “The Mating Rituals of Flumphs. Can you make anything out of it?” The bard looked at him oddly before taking the book and turning a few pages, “Is this a flumph?” she asked pointing to an illustration. Gale peered over her shoulder and nodded, “It is. Though I’ve never been certain if it was a fey creature or one from the underdark. I’ve never encountered one myself.”

Vesper continued thumbing through the pages, she paused long enough, she hoped at least, to give the impression she was skimming through the text before handing it back. “Seems alright to me, why?” Gale frowned and opened the book again, “Call it intuition, but something just feels…off.” The wizard quieted again before his attention was grabbed by the dwarves who were packing up their things near the cave’s entrance, leaning toward the bard Gale whispered, “Why did you lie about the noblestalk?”

The bard lifted her gaze and leaned back when she realized how close Gale actually was. “Well,” she whispered before leaning close, “it can bring back memories.” Gale frowned as he turned to look at her before following her eyes as she turned to look at the cleric. “Oh…oh!” he said as he realized the bard’s plan. “Do you think she would do it?

“I don’t know, but I think she should be allowed her memories…she called it an act of faith, but I don’t know how she can stand so many secrets from herself,” the bard said. Gale’s brow furrowed, “Hmm?” he looked down at the bard before shaking his head, “How are you? Lae’zel was a tad rough when she grabbed you. I thought Astarion and Shadowheart were about to jump to your defense.” Vesper lifted a hand and rubbed her chin, “I’m fine. She may have surprised me, and I can understand how it could have seemed rough, but she didn’t hold that tight. I could have pulled away if I wanted.” When Gale’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted Vesper rolled her eyes, “Seriously. She…” the bard sighed, “she’s not like those that we fought before. She waited for me to save Shadowheart. Even put herself in the way of hellish creatures so I could make it to the transponder.”

Gale looked away from the bard and instead focused on the others as they finished clearing the room, “I’ll have to take your word for it, and I do. It doesn’t, however, stop me from worrying how things will end up if she’s the first one purified. Her people may decide that with her pure we’re nothing more than fodder for them.” Vesper nodded, a frown forming on her face as if she hadn’t considered that, “That’s…that’s fair I guess.”

Karlach hefted her axe on her shoulders, “We still haven’t seen those minotaurs you found before. Should…should we go looking?”

The others seemed a little weary but Lae’zel was in agreement with the barbarian and eventually, the others came around. Vesper approached the hobgoblin again to ask for directions to the Selunite outpost from the village and they set out. Of course, the one thing standing in their way was a field of torchstalks and timmask plants. The bard hadn’t descended any further once she saw the orange glows, yet she felt the weight of hands on both her shoulders ready to pull her back if she tried to go any further.

The others took out the exploding stalks while she waited on the fungal steps leading out of the village. Omeluum’s ‘bypass’ had nearly consumed her mind when she tested it, even now she couldn’t remember why she had agreed to the kindly mind flayer’s test. All she knew, as the hands at her shoulder pressed her forward, was that the tadpole in her mind had gotten stronger from the mixture of timmask spores and tongue of madness.

The bard was about to voice that she thought it was the timmask spores in the potion that were befuddling her when she felt a new hand lay on her and her mind cleared. Inhaling deeply, Vesper looked around and turned to see Shadowheart’s hand still extended with an amused grin on her face, “Better? You looked nearly asleep.” Vesper nodded, “Yes, thank you. I don’t think I’ll be trying something like that again.”

She had thought the hands on her shoulders had belonged to Astarion, but now with her mind cleared she could see him ahead of her with Karlach and Lae’zel. Glancing behind she found Wyll squinting ahead, “Can you not see?” Wyll looked at the bard and let loose an embarrassed chuckle, “I had hoped you would be alright being my eyes. Despite my devilish appearance I still lack the ability to see in such a clouded dark.” Vesper looked at Gale, the human wizard walking alongside her, “If it wasn’t for the fact I had to concentrate on the spell I’d gladly extend the ability that the weave lends me to see. Unfortunately, I am not powerful enough to separately concentrate on two incantations,” he gave a tight-lipped smile to Wyll who shook his head. “That’s alright Gale, if it bothers Vesper I can stop,” he tilted his head, but the bard had no complaints.

Finding the minotaurs wasn’t the hard part, even killing the first one wasn’t difficult. But when the second one leaped from where Karlach and Lae’zel had it cornered onto the path with Gale and Vesper…well, things got just a little dicey. Hearing Gale swear was jarring enough that the bard paused just a moment too long, missing the opportunity to leap away from the half-bull’s hammer swing. It scraped along her back as it crashed into the ground. Crying out she turned towards it and her magic swelled, “You know Gale, I choose to believe in female minotaurs.”

The wizard, recovering from throwing himself onto the ground, rolled over, “Now isn’t the time for a joke, Vesper.”

“C’mon, I have a lass-half-bull mindset!” her voice boomed with the punch line and the minotaur stopped and stumbled backward before its inhuman laugh began spilling out of its maw. “Okay, now we run!” she spun on her toes and began shooing the wizard. Shadowheart stood just ahead of them her mouth agape, shouting, “That was intentional?” Wyll grabbed hold of the wizard with his free hand, “Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, I’ve heard of the spell but never seen its effects.”

As the spell caster rushed away from the large creature, Lae’zel and Karlach were running towards it. The minotaur, still laughing heartily, fell to the ground, its weapon teetering on the edge of the Underdark’s broken floors. “Good going, Vesper!” the tiefling yelled out as she leaped forward and brought down her axe on the beast. Lae’zel followed behind her, the githyanki’s greatsword coming down on the bull’s neck and then again before the spell’s effect could end. With a sickening crunch, the gith severed the head’s connection with the spine.

Vesper bent at the waist as she heavily exhaled, “Right…well…they’re dead. Now what?” She directed her question to Karlach whose smile shined through the blood covering her face. “Uh…I didn’t think that far, but I just…” she poked the dead minotaur with her axe, “It gave you problems and I wanted to solve them.” Shadowheart and Wyll released exasperated laughs as she looked back up at them with a wide smile.

“Vesper!”

Turning around the bard started looking around, “Yes?” She answered Astarion’s voice though she couldn’t see him, then he peeked over the edge of a natural bridge, “Up here. You’ve mentioned Eilistaree right?” The drow’s eyes narrowed in confusion but she nudged Gale’s arm, “Come on.” The wizard took her elbow and followed beside her, the others not far behind.

A sword was standing still in a stone.

“Something about this, aren’t these offerings to your little dancing goddess?” Astarion looked up from the rock and seemed to pause his gaze on the hold Gale had on the bard’s arm. Neither spoke of the look he gave them as Vesper approached and looked over things. Shadowheart walked up behind her, “Are you a devotee of Eilistaree?”

Vesper looked back and shook her head, “Not really. My grandparents on both sides devoted themselves to her when they came to the surface. My parents' offerings were mostly so we were talented, or that’s my understanding.” She turned to Astarion and reached for one of the daggers on his hip, “What are you doing?” He quickly gripped her wrist. “Oh,” she said as she looked up at him, “it requires an offering…so I was going to give it one.”

Astarion hesitated before releasing his hold and watching her. The bard turned back around and cut into the palm of her hand before placing her hand against the blade letting her blood run down it until it touched the stone. “Don’t look so sad, Astarion, I’m sure she has enough to spare for you,” teased Wyll from the side. The bard giggled softly before gasping as the blade began to slide through her hand, lifting from its stone sheath.

Handing the dagger back to the rogue the bard took the hilt into her hand and released a puff of air.

Feeling a presence behind her, she rested the sword’s blade against her still-bleeding palm, “It says something here but…” she looked up at Astarion who was looking over her shoulder. “Undercommon,” he said, “Gale don’t you have something that can read anything?” The wizard stepped forward and held his hands out, “It’ll take about ten minutes to complete the ritual but I should know.”

While Gale set up an area to conduct his ritual to cast ‘Tongues’ Vesper remembered what Wyll had teased about and turned to offer her hand to Astarion, “Hmm?” A playful smile danced across her face and the rogue looked at her palm before cutting his eyes back up to her, “Tempting…but no. Heal it you silly elf.” He pushed her hand away gently and climbed down the bridge to look around.

After ten minutes Gale held the long sword up by the hilt, “Phalar Aluve or in less elven terms, ‘Though I have to leave you,’” he turned and passed the sword back to the bard, “‘I will dance forever in Eilistraee's light.’ All yours, dear Vesper, unless you wanted to pass it on to someone else.” The bard took it into her hands again and looked at each of them, “Anyone for it? I wouldn’t mind using it but it's much larger than this rapier…and well,” she motioned to her shoulders.

“When will you get rid of your weakness?” asked Lae’zel as she stepped forward. The gith took the sword from Vesper’s hands and spun it in her grip. Frowning she offered it back, “Any perceived weakness could prove lethal once you are in the zaith’isk. It would be wise to get rid of it.” Vesper’s eyes grew round, “I thought it was supposed to purify us?” Lae’zel nodded, her face still devoid of emotion, “And it will. However, istik, your diminutive build will already prove to be a problem for the githyanki technology. It may decide that you, yourself, need to be removed and purified.” Shadowheart bristled, “Are you calling her weak? You’re no larger than she is, Lae’zel! How is she considered weak and you aren’t?” Lae’zel lifted a brow and her head tilted, “I am made of Vlaakith’s strength and power. I have honed my body to endure. We have already seen Vesper fall once.”

“Because Gale threw her into a torchstalk!”

Karlach raised her hands, “Alright, alright, ladies…” The tiefling stepped between them, “It’s not up to us when or if she removes the collar. It’s her choice.”

The bard was staring at the gith’s back, the fighter having turned to face Shadowheart. Muttering to herself she healed her hand and turned to follow after Astarion. “Hey,” she called to him as he was bent over a skeleton, picking something from the pile of bones, “Think we’re ready to go kill that drow?”

He lifted his head and shrugged, “Are you ready to kill your own kind? It’ll just be us this time, no tieflings to help like with Minthara.” Vesper rubbed the side of her neck, “I’m not thrilled about the idea of killing at all, but they’ve got those gnomes,” she ignored the look of disgust on the high elf’s face, “and they’re destroying the Sovereign’s people. Besides, if they’re with the Absolute…it might get us closer to a path for Moonrise.”

Astarion shifted and looked behind her before picking up a skull, “Think Shadowheart would like a Selunite skull?” The bard lifted a questioning brow before the rogue shrugged, “Probably not,” and tossed it behind him. He reached over and picked up a rusted dagger before pocketing it and standing, “Well,” he motioned to the others as they approached, “seems like it's time to cross that dark lake. Anyone sitting out?”

Shadowheart looked at the others, “Perhaps we camp one more night before crossing. There’s only one boat and we need to be prepared in case we can’t come back straight away.” Vesper nodded in agreement, “And,” Astarion added, “we need to check the last of these notes on this forge we keep finding. Decide if we’re going to search for it or not.” Gale nodded, “I can agree with that plan. Though I haven’t exhausted my use of the weave today, it would be most useful for us to be as prepared as possible. Ruins surrounded by duergar won’t likely be the safest place for the likes of us. Vesper notwithstanding.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” questioned the bard rather quickly.

“I mean no offense, it's just…well, I suppose they don’t exactly have the best relations with the drow, but if they’re absolute followers it seems like she’s been placing dark elves in positions of leadership. We may need your voice to get past all of this quickly,” Gale explained as quickly as he could. He hadn’t meant to cause harm with his words, but the bard’s face had fallen just a bit. “I know you aren’t Llothsworn, we all do, but they won’t know that…not if you adopt that facade you put on before and perhaps that face you had before?” he offered.

“My sister’s face,” the bard adjusted her hold on the long sword. Gale’s head tilted, “Your sister doesn’t have your complexion?” Vesper shook her head, “No…Octavius and Yasmine look like dark elves like we’ve met. Paler, but still they have ashier skin than I do…well you saw her.” Karlach cleared her throat, “Let’s talk about it at camp.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

It was late when they finally got to the talk. Gale retired to his tent, he’d had a conversation with Withers that morning and was now comfortable being near the new member of the camp, to sort through his spell book to decide what was best for him to prepare in the morning. Not to mention a few scrolls he had purchased from Blurg.

Wyll and Karlach left with Halsin to get any gatherable herbs. Karlach went mostly for the protection aspect, and she liked talking to Halsin. Shadowheart had joined Vesper in her little alchemy corner, at least she had been there until the third time the bard asked her to reread the directions to the potion, “You have two eyes, Vesper, you can read it yourself.” After that she’d gotten up and left, leaving the bard embarrassed and flushed in front of the small steaming cauldron she’d been kneeling in front of her.

While the cleric was still muttering about forgetful bards, Astarion stepped from his tent and looked from the Sharran’s tent to where the bard sat with her hands in her lap. He moved closer and sat down, “What happened?”

“Timmask spores…not as strong as being hit with their full force but I inhaled just a little while pulverizing them…I–” she looked down at her lap, “I keep forgetting what she said.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, “And I can’t read it so I don’t know what the next step is and now she’s upset and I–” her eyes closed tightly as she held her breath trying to calm herself. Astarion reached forward and picked up the book, “Get your tools. I’ll read it to you.” She looked up at him and caught his eye, her lip quivering before she bit down on it, “Thank you.”

They worked quietly, she’d purchased herbs from the dwarven woman in the myconid village. It was purely out of guilt for lying about the noblestalk. Vesper knew the value of the rare fungi and when the woman had lamented how they would be down there even longer she knew she needed to do something to make up for it. When she was finished with the greater healing potion she sat back on her heels and sighed, looking over at the elf beside her, he was flipping through the pages of Halsin’s book. She wasn’t sure if it was the spores still in her system that gave her the courage or if she just didn’t expect him to react harshly; the bard leaned close and quickly pressed her lips to his cheek. Sitting up again she cleared her throat, “Thank you, again, Astarion.”

The rogue had pause, his eyes wide and his fingers holding one of the books pages aloft as he’d been the process of flipping it. “You’re more than welcome, my darling,” he grinned, “was that my payment for helping or were you just feeling generous?” His smile grew as he watched her cheeks flush. “Don’t tease me,” she practically begged as she lifted her stirrer to attend the potion again. Astarion placed the book down and let his hands rest behind him, holding him up, “And why not? It’s practically the most fun I can have in this camp…you haven’t wanted sex so I have to get my pleasure somewhere.”

Her head jerked sideways as she stared at him before turning to look away, “How do you even know…”

“Hmm?”

She swallowed hard and leaned over some of her other ingredients gathering them together for another potion, “How,” she lowered her voice, “how do you know when you want to have sex?”

Astarion frowned. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, “Are you saying you don’t feel desire for me?” Vesper inhaled deeply and set everything in her hands down, “Not so loud, please.” He chuckled.

“There are things I want to do…but I don’t know,” she frowned, “I feel ridiculous trying to explain. Never mind. Forget I said anything, please.”

The rogue looked away and took a breath, “I know how you feel…in a sense.” He glanced back at the rest of the camp, Shadowheart was messing with the prism again and Lae’zel was once against sharpening her long sword. “I didn’t always want to bed Cazador’s victims, but they weren’t all terrible,” he admitted and looked back to Vesper who was twisting a rag in her hands. “Did you never enjoy sex? None of that bastard’s friends give you a good time?” he asked cautiously. She shook her head, “He had one. A man started coming around with him and he was kind to me.” Vesper lifted her head as her eyes unfocused, “He paid me compliments, would help me take laundry off the line if I was outside and he came to see Issac. Even told Carwyn not to speak to me so harshly a few times…”

She looked down at her rag again, “He would come by when Issac wasn’t there…tell me things he thought I deserved and said some of the kindest things. But then he tried to kiss me…” her hand reached up to the corner of her mouth, “he didn’t like that I didn’t want him to touch me. None of them kissed me…none of his friends anyway.” Astarion leaned close, “Except the one you imagined.” Vesper nodded.

Astarion exhaled heavily and sat back again, “Hmm. That does throw a wrench into things doesn’t it…” The bard turned, and her knees pressed against one of his, “There are times when I do want to kiss you. I may not have had sex when Issac took me but I had kissed someone…I know when I want to do that, but I don’t want to push myself on you.” The rogue chuckled, “My dear, push yourself all you like.” His laugh ran through her as she dropped her head again, “What I mean is I know when I want to do that, but not…anything else. Not yet.”

She knew she was being watched by the vampire’s spawn. When her gaze drifted just behind her lashes she could watch him he leaned forward and rested his hands on his fist, “Can we work on that? Despite some of the horrible bedmates I’ve had…I do enjoy some of the carnal acts of desire. And as I told you before, I want to know what you really sound like instead of those shouts and screeches you were making in the woods.”

“Uhm,” she felt his fingers under her chin and nearly fought against him before letting him pull her head up. He was so much closer than she’d realized, his nose grazing against hers, “I can only imagine just how sweet your blood is in the throes of passion.” His lips grazed hers and her heart began to pound in her ears, her breath catching and the heat that she normally felt in her face raced through her extremities. “My little bard, I cannot wait to drink you up,” he smirked, and their eyes met as he opened his, “and I don’t just mean your blood.”

She felt his tongue ghost against the seam of her lips and gasped in a silent breath. Noises from the camp's entrance had him backing away for just a second before he turned her chin and pressed a kiss to the scar on her lips, “Soon?” Dumbly she nodded and closed her mouth tightly, when Astarion turned and got up she pressed her hand to her chest and turned back to the table nearly yelping when his voice was a whisper in her ear, “That, love, that is desire.” He tugged a strand of her hair before walking away.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

During dinner, Karlach pulled out of her pocket a grouping of vines. “Right, so we need Vesper to go on the boat just because she’s a drow right?” she asked and looked at Gale who nodded as he spooned a mouthful of ‘sad soup,’ Astarion had taken to calling their underdark meals as such, “Right. I should probably also go, I nominate myself only because I don’t believe our resident bard can cast a teleportation circle.” Vesper shook her head as she ate and looked at Karlach, “What are those for?”

The tiefling glanced at Halsin before clearing her throat and holding them out, “We were talking about it on our little gathering trip. Since we probably all want to go if only to make sure the rest of you are safe, Halsin suggested drawing straws to see who goes. So, there are two short straws for those that will be going.” Lae’zel tutted and rolled her eyes before reaching over and quickly plucking one out of Karlach’s fingers, it was a very short vine. “Right then, one more short one…Lae’zel…” Karlach made a face at the gith before looking at the others, “Unless someone can make a compelling argument as to why they should go.”

Vesper looked around the campfire before the others reached out to grab for the vines. Shadowheart held up her short straw and the others threw theirs into the fire. Astarion stared at them and then turned to Vesper, “Finish eating, we need to work on your lock picking.” He sat his bowl of soup in front of Scratch before getting up and returning to his tent.

The bard frowned for a moment and turned her bowl up to her lips, “He didn’t mean right now, did he? You can take your time to eat at least,” Shadowheart said as she watched the redheaded drow. Halsin chuckled, “He’s in his right to be worried. I’ve not seen them apart since I joined your camp.” Vesper choked on the last bit of broth and brought her bowl down to look at the druid who was smiling. Wonderful, she thought, someone else to tease me.

She felt the tadpole wriggle and Karlach and Wyll began laughing, Wyll tilted his head, “Well it’s only because he’s saying what we’ve all seen. You and Astarion are close…it’s nice to see he cares about someone other than himself.” He turned his attention to Halsin, “You’re right though, this will be the first time he’s been left behind in camp…hell, it’ll be the first time for several of us, actually.” He looked at Lae’zel and Shadowheart, “Will you two be alright without Karlach as a buffer.” “T’chz.”

“I hardly need a babysitter, Wyll. As long as Lae’zel stays on her best behavior I’ll have no reason to knock her into the Ebonlake.”

Vesper shot the cleric a pleading look and Shadowheart sighed, “Fine. Yes, I’ll behave…as long as she does.” Lae’zel made another noise of difference, “We are allies as long as we have these tadpoles, though if your usefulness runs out I may have to dispose of you.”

Karlach looked between them, “I’m rethinking the vines.”

Vesper shook her head, “Don’t. They’ll be fine. Right? Because without either one of you, things could go poorly for Gale and me…” She gave each of them a pleading look and Lae’zel lifted her chin, “I will remain nonhostile to Shadowheart if you agree to remove the collar.”

“I’m leaving,” the bard muttered as she stood quickly and walked away toward Astarion’s tent, the high elf now standing just outside his tent with a pair of gloves, a set of thieves tools, and an ordinary chest lock in his hands.

Halsin looked around the campfire and frowned, “What is the matter with the collar she wears?” Wyll shook his head when Shadowheart opened her mouth, “She was upset when she found out you told me.” The cleric sighed and shook her head, “Halsin is a member of this team now, isn’t he? He needs to know about her shortcomings…” Turning to the druid she began to explain what she knew about the bard. The druid’s jaw set in a hard line as he listened, and his eyes glanced over to the two elves.

“If it’s simply sealed together, surely it is something that can be removed easily,” he said as he watched the bard, “and I would hardly call an accessory like that a shortcoming.”

“It hides her broken collarbone. Or rather, her poorly healed collarbone.”

Even at this distance, he could see the bard’s shoulders straighten, and her ear turned towards the fire, her chin down as far as it could go.

“A poorly healed injury is also not a shortcoming,” he said to the cleric. Halsin turned to look at Shadowheart, “I have seen you flinch when that mark on your hand flares. Do you consider it a shortcoming?” Shadowheart looked down at her hand and blanched, “No.” The druid bowed his head, “Then why would you consider her injury to be a shortcoming?”

Shadowheart had no answer.

Lae’zel sighed, “It needs to come off, no matter how anyone thinks of it. Her shoulder needs to be healed if it can, lest something happen to her in the zaithisk.”

Karlach smiled, “It’s almost like you like her Lae.” The githyanki tsked and lifted her chin again, “She has impressed me since reuniting after the nautiloid. Though I prefer battle to be won through bloodletting I can respect her magic.”

Gale, who had been quiet up until now, chuckled, “Agreed…though she could use some better jokes.” Wyll hummed from his spot by the fire, “I dunno…lass-half-bull was pretty funny.” The tiefling laughed and nodded, “And her mockery is getting better. Probably saved my ass today with those dwarves.”

Across the camp Vesper listened, she could feel Astarion’s hand on her knee, her own hand was over his. When she turned back she was chewing on the inside of her cheek, “Don’t listen to them. The druid’s right.” She glanced up at Astarion and spared him a tense smile before she focused on the lock again, “Is he though? I’ve got a perfectly useful sword today…can’t use it because I can’t even lift it properly.” The lock finally clicked and Astarion pulled it back to reengage the lock and held it out once again, “Again. Taking off the collar is your choice. Everything is your choice now,” he told her as she bent over his hand and began working on the tumblers inside the lock.

“Should I agree to what Lae’zel said?” she asked as she stuck the tip of her tongue out from between her lips. “It’s your choice…I won’t deny I’d like you to remove the collar only because I worry about your fragile little wrist.” When the lock popped open again he took it away and reached behind him for another one, “Again.”

“How many of these do you have?”

“When it took you longer to just pick a lock than it did for me to disarm a trap and open the lock…I began collecting. Less talking more picking,” he pushed her head down and grinned when he heard her snickering.

“But, if you weren’t so beholden to keeping your promises…” he tilted his head before reaching to adjust one of her hands, “you could agree to it and then just never do it.” She looked up at him for a second before looking back down as one of the tools in her hands became tight, “I can’t do that. All I have is my word…literally, I own nothing.”

Astarion glanced over her head and saw the others were tossing looks in their direction, “Perhaps. Maybe I’m looking to corrupt you just a little bit, after all, in all my years visiting taverns of Baldur’s Gate, you must be the most squeaky clean bard I’ve ever met.” he sighed and shook his head from side to side, “Fine, besides the pickpocketing and the lock picking….it took you too long,” he said as the lock finally popped, “try again.”

He glanced up again and raised a brow, “Gith coming.” Vesper lifted her head to look at him before turning, Lae’zel had her arms crossed over her chest, “Karlach is threatening to go against her own set rule if I do not agree to ‘behave.’ I still pose that I will act as you expect of me if you remove it.” Vesper took a deep breath and looked at Astarion who cast his eyes away from her, she looked back to Lae’zel and nodded. “Fine, but after we deal with the drow,” Lae’zel nodded once and left the two to their devices, returning not to the fire but to her tent.

Vesper sighed again and looked at Astarion, “Why do you want it gone anyway?” The rogue lifted his brow and looked towards her neck, “I wasn’t lying, I worry about your wrist.” He lifted her hand and tugged the glove off, she could see healing puncture marks. “I will admit your thigh was much more enjoyable, and perhaps it’s the spawn in me…” he leaned closed and whispered, “I like necks.” The bard pursed her lips as he leaned back before she began to shake with laughter, “Really?” He nodded, “Your neck is a mystery to me…it could end the whole thing if it's not enjoyable.” He looked away from her but allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk upward, “Then who will I enjoy? Halsin has a nice throat I suppose…think he’d let me have a taste?” He turned to the bard who was now covering her mouth to keep from making noise.

Vesper let Astarion drink from her that night, ignoring his teasing about how she tasted. She also ignored his advances about ‘pleasing’ her but did give in when he told her to deny him a kiss. Part of her had expected it to go beyond what she was comfortable with, but the high elf had sweetly pressed his lips against hers before pulling away. “Go prepare for your watch before I don’t allow you to leave,” he goaded her as he pushed her away. The bard laughed softly as she left him for the evening.

After bottling her potion, the drow walked quietly around the campsite careful not to disturb those around the fire. After her round was finished, Vesper did her best to sneak out of the camp proper, shushing Scratch and the owlbear cub as she left. She didn’t go far from the protected entrance, Shadowheart’s warding glyph pulsating as her feet scuffed across the arcane ward.

Perching on the naturally formed bridge that led to their cave Vesper pulled her knees to her chest and let her fingers dance across the bottom of her collar. Words from Issac and his family rang between her ears as she touched it. Memories of the way her neighbors looked at her flashed behind her eyes. She was so lost in thought she nearly leaped forward when a blanket was dropped over her shoulders, “Whoa! Don’t–” Halsin’s sleep-deep voice nearly echoed in the chamber they were in, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Scratch was worried about you being alone,” he said as he crouched down beside her before fully sitting, his legs hanging over the edge.

“I didn’t mean to worry him…or you, or wake you up at all,” said the bard as she tugged the blanket over her leather-wrapped shoulder. “I wasn’t resting yet, attempting yes, but I had not yet reached reverie,” he told her before he glanced in her direction, “Vesper…may I ask an uncomfortable question?”

She could already hazard a guess as to what he wanted to ask. Glancing at the large druid she inhaled deeply and nodded, “Of course, you’ve helped me a lot recently. How could I say no to a question?” Halsin’s frown deepened but he pressed on, “Your companions seemed to have concerns about the collar around your neck. An injury, no matter how grave, shouldn’t be hidden in shame. It’s a mark of your survival…”

It was exactly as she’d been expecting. Nervously she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and listened. Halsin reiterated himself several times, that she shouldn’t wear the collar just because she’s ashamed of the scar her collarbone left. Finally, she held up a hand, “Halsin… it's not because of the injury…” The druid stopped talking and waited, when she didn’t continue he pressed, “If not the injury…why? Even Astarion told you the other night you are not beholden to this man you called a husband…” The word ‘man’ was hesitantly said, as if Halsin were trying to come up with a word befitting his thoughts on the image he’d created of Issac from the little information he’d been given.

“I may not be ‘beholden’ to him as you say,” she reached through the blanket and touched the collar’s edge, “and yet he does have a hold. But…” she let one leg fall off the edge of the bridge and the other adjusted as she turned to the druid. It was time the others knew the truth, might as well start with the one who was talking to her now. “When the collar was sewn together the woman who did the work sewed deeply, running the threads through my shoulders. When I complained…well,” she could hear Issac’s mother’s laughter, “she didn’t care. So removing it isn’t exactly a simple task…and I’m a bit of a baby when it comes to pain.”

Vesper watched the druid’s face as it shifted from curious understanding, to rage, and finally softened into a sympathetic smile for the bard. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand as it raised and carefully rested against her shoulder, his weight held so as to not put pressure on the blanket or leather, “I am deeply sorry for your pain. I can only imagine…” he paused and removed his hand as his chin fell, “this was not the first cruelty you experienced?” When she shook her head he sighed, “Nor was it the last,” she said in a hushed whisper. “But, believe me, Halsin…when I say it was far from the worst cruelty I experienced before this tadpole…besides Astarion, I may be the only one thrilled with the turn of events…not that I want to be a mind flayer, of course.”

From where she sat, Vesper could have sworn that Halsin was having an internal crisis. She lifted her head to look at the druid fully and reached out placing her hand against his bicep, “Don’t feel sorry for me, Halsin.” The druid shook his head, “I just…I cannot help but wonder what else he put you through.” Her eyes widened as she thought about it all and she had to shake her head to release herself from her thoughts, “Oh, you know…daily physical harm just because I slept wrong or allowed our son to be a child and make noise when he wanted silence.” “You had children?”

The bard’s head nodded, “Yes. Three little babies all at once…” She looked away with a melancholic smile, “Of course, I only have the one now.”

“Childhood can be very hard–”

“Childhood didn’t kill them…” she quickly corrected him before biting down on the inside of her cheek. “Mariwen was the weaker of the three—” “Triplets?” asked Halsin as he leaned closer, the bard’s voice was softer as she recalled her children. “Yes…not unheard of in my family,” she glanced at him before looking away, she could feel the burn in her eyes, “Mariwen was the weaker one but she was still so strong, my sisters always told me that the more babies cried the stronger they were…so when she got sick and just kept crying I didn’t mind. The other two got over their illness, but not Mariwen. I thought it was fine, that her crying would come to an end but Issac…” she blinked rapidly and swiped her hand over her eyes, “Issac threw us both into a room and barred the door so we couldn’t get out.”

Vesper refused to look in Halsin’s direction as he scooted closer to her, when his hand warmed her back through the blanket she bowed her back to keep it off of her, “I didn’t hear the buzzing until her cries were screams.” She took in a shuddering breath, “Hornets had somehow built a nest beneath the floorboards…which I still find so interesting considering the room we were in was mine and I had just cleaned it the day before…no buzzing. No hornets. But somehow it was my fault for not keeping his home free of pests.”

Halsin said nothing. When she bowed her back to get away from his touch he pulled his hands back, “What happened to your other daughter?”

The bard gave him a pained smile and laughed humorlessly, “Isn’t that a question I would love to know.” She turned her eyes to the druid and tilted her head, “After burying Mariwen I didn’t want the other two to get very far from me. So I’d have them sleep in my bed rather than their crib. For Issac, I learned how to sleep like a human, he has always hated the idea of meditation and reverie, so I didn’t hear the men when they came in. I didn’t know they were there until the one nearly stabbed through my neck and he ripped Ffion from my arms.” The druid sucked in air and she reached out to pat his arm again, her hand was quickly covered by his, “I wanted to go after them. But they said they’d take Carwyn too or kill me and leave him to die…Issac was going to be gone for weeks. The only person that would come by would have been his brother…Evard didn’t care about the children.”

She licked her dried lips and shame colored her face, “I chose to save my son…to save myself and I let them take Ffion away from me.”

Her hand was slid down Halsin’s arm until he held it in both of his hands, “You were given an impossible choice. To go after your daughter it would have put more lives in danger. There was no right decision to be made.” He heard another scoff from her and she turned to look at him, “If only it had been you instead of Issac…he believed I should have found a way. Should have thrown myself at those men, given myself to them in hopes that they would have been satisfied with the drow whore of Rivington.” A rebellious tear streaked down her face and her hand rushed to catch it.

“After that of course, I never did anything that would put Carwyn in danger. I gave Issac whatever he wanted the moment he mentioned it…no matter how much I hated it…or it made me hate myself,” when Halsin opened his mouth she guessed his question and shook her head, “It didn’t stop the abuse. This collar happened after my girls were gone…after Carwyn turned four he was taught to hate me. They taught him to not listen to my instructions and then he would get angry because I couldn’t control my child.” She looked at the druid and stretched a smile across her face, “But I have to be happy. Because I’m alive…my son is still alive. Now I’m free from him and of them.”

Halsin’s hands warmed the one of hers he still held. His thumb massaged the lower portion of her palm and he had cast his eyes downward. “Yet you still cling to that which was to shame you,” his words weren’t meant to be accusatory but she flinched all the same. The druid released her hand and patted the top, “You’ve made an agreement to remove the collar, but if I may…I don’t think that you are ready for its removal.”

She didn’t answer.

Silence fell between the elves before Halsin made to stand, “Come. I can keep watch tonight and rest while the rest are in camp tomorrow. We don’t know how long it will take for your boat to cross the Ebonlake. You need all the rest you can get.” Vesper wanted to deny him, but old habits are so hard to kick. Even with Astarion’s help she still had difficulty turning men down. Standing she dusted off her backside, “I’m sorry if I ruined your evening…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Halsin turned to face her, he’d nearly made it back to their camp’s entrance. “Knowing what someone has gone through can help when that person is struggling. For instance, now when Astarion’s barbs get a little more… ambitious I know that I should probably stop him before he truly hurts you.” He held an arm out to the bard and his fingers curled, “I won’t leave you out here alone, but it’s much safer within the wards.”

She tucked the blanket around herself tighter and followed the druid, he paused at his tent before he shook his head and guided her to Astarion’s, “The others think you have fewer nightmares when you’re beside him.” Vesper frowned, “How would they know I’m having nightmares?” Halsin lifted a brow and then tapped his finger softly against her head, “Apparently your parasite likes to share that information with the others.”

The already pale drow blanched further, but she nodded, “Thank you. Here,” she passed his blanket back to him before crawling into the rouge’s tent. Even though her staying with him that night hadn’t been discussed, Astarion had kept the second bedroll beside his, the cushion she used to pillow her head lay next to his, and the threadbare blanket was folded exactly where she had left it that morning. She tied the opening closed and sat back on her heels until she felt Astarion’s nails trail up her arm, “Lie down…get some rest.”

“How much of that did you hear?” she asked as she followed his orders, her knees curling upward as she threw the blanket over herself.

“Enough to know these next few days will be awkward until you address the others,” he said sleepily. His head turned and he opened his eyes to glance at her, “Come here. You’re going to worry about it for too long and be exhausted come morning…Lae’zel will blame me.” Astarion allowed her to curl against him, only reaching down to bring one of her knees up to rest on his thigh, “Comfortable?” he asked before laying his head back down. The laid there in silence before he sighed, “Close your eyes or I’ll kill you and have Halsin revive you come morning.” When her head shot up he looked at her, “It would be peaceful…bad timing?” She nodded and he wrinkled his nose, “I won’t harm you. Just close your eyes and count your sheep…”

Getting to sleep wasn’t easy for the bard. Guilt over subjecting the party to her dreams ate at her, but Astarion’s nails scraped against her scalp just as she had done for him previously. He found a rhythm that finally lulled the bard to sleep. Glancing at her once her breathing evened out, Astarion frowned and looked at his hands. Comfort from his hands.

“How odd…”

#the caged bard #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 #tcb: vesper #astarion/tav #astarion/halsin/tav coming later #halsin/tav later #astarion/halsin later #tav's story

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toasecretsanta · 1 year

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When It Rains

Hello!! This is [ @returnofthemackles]’s Secret Santa gift for @bluefoxchild !!! I had fun writing this and I really hope you enjoy it! I combined two of the prompts you gave me for this piece: Two people in a cornfield at night. The darkness is not as empty as it seems to be, and Thunderstorms at night. I also really liked the third prompt you gave me but unfortunately I didn’t have the time to write a second piece to include that one. But! If I am ever able to articulate my idea enough and write something with it, I’ll be sure to tag you in it if I end up posting it! (Little fun fact: the “Clancy” that Will addresses is my friend’s child of Apollo OC, thought I’d give them a little cameo.)

Some quick content warnings for this piece: semi graphic descriptions of death, topics in death, grief, minor swearing/cursing, very brief mention of an ED. If there’s anything that I missed I apologize!

Without further ado, here it is! Happy holidays and please enjoy!!

…

Nico had already known that Jason was dead. He didn’t have to be told; he simply knew. It wasn’t like the knowledge just popped into his head, it was more like a feeling. Or a series of feelings. He saw him in his dreams: glimpses of searing pain and blood stained clothes, cold surrounding every inch of his skin with rushing water roaring in his ears like drowning in the coldest, darkest parts of a winter ocean. Flashing images of a thunderstorm, a California beach, Jason’s face drained of all color, bringing out the shocking blue in his cold, dead eyes, wet sand stuck to his cheeks and in his hairline. His glasses were gone. He could hear the screaming voice of a girl, though everything sounded canned and distant. Nico hardly slept for days on end as these dreams haunted him every waking night.

But the creeping suspicion of Jason’s death didn’t only come to him in the night. Even during the day, awake, just a passing thought of Jason, or the mere mention of his name sent a mind numbing ringing into his ears. It was a ringing he was all too familiar with: the ringing that occurred only when in the presence of death. When he would tell Will, his boyfriend, about everything he’d been seeing and experiencing, Will would try to reassure him that surely Jason was okay, that his anxiety was just getting the best of him, but they both knew that wasn’t true. They knew full well what came along with Nico being a son of Hades, and they knew that his powers were scary and accurate. His gut was never wrong.

So when Apollo showed back up at Camp and told them of Jason’s fate, he was only confirming what Nico already knew to be true.

He was beyond upset and frustrated. Jason was the closest thing Nico had ever had to a brother, and now he was gone. He didn’t blame Apollo or anyone else for Jason’s passing, no one except the psychopath who took his life. He knew better now than to hold pointless grudges over people who really had nothing to do with the situation. They did what they could, and Jason made the choices he did to save them. He was a hero. But that didn’t make Nico any less upset.

There was always the option of summoning Jason’s spirit; getting to talk to him one last time and getting some closure on the situation, but he had only learned just how disrupting that could be to a person’s peace in death. As badly as he wanted to see Jason, he couldn’t do that to him. As hard as it was to sit idly by when he knew he had the power in his hands to do something, he knew he had to let the dead be dead. Jason deserved that at the very least.

So he tried to carry on. And so is the life of a demigod. People die. You carry on. You have to. Or at least that’s the mentality that kept Nico from feeling like he was going insane on the daily.

But one day, something changed.

The weather was usually pretty temperate in Camp, that was a nice thing they had going. Never too cold, never too hot, it never rained or snowed, unless of course if Mr. D wanted it to, or if something else major was going on.

This day started just like any other, but Nico could tell something was off. He woke to cabin 13 feeling particularly cold. There was a weird sort of static electricity in the air, leaving the hairs on his arms standing on end and a tingly feeling crawling across his skin. He went to flip the light switch in the bathroom, but as he touched it, a small shock zapped at his fingertips. He flipped the switch up and down a few times. Nothing. No power. Strange. He got ready in the dark, which his drowsy morning eyes didn’t particularly complain about, and headed out thereafter.

The sky was overcast and thunder rumbled in the distance. He could see dark storm clouds peeking out over the trees surrounding the valley, but they weren’t supposed to be able to cross over the border at Half Blood Hill. Emphasis on ‘supposed to.’

The day carried on and Nico noted the dark clouds rolling around the edges of the camp’s borders, like normal, but it almost seemed like they were building up: billowing and getting darker, thicker, behind an invisible wall. Campers were murmuring and looking up nervously at the sky throughout the day, but nothing out of the ordinary happened until around dinner time. Almost as though someone popped a hole through the barrier in the sky, the storm clouds broke through and started spilling over the top of the valley.

Some Apollo kids were standing at the edge of the dining pavilion, pointing and gawking at the sky as any last remaining glimpses of their father’s symbol in the sky disappeared behind the dark murk of the clouds.

“It’s just clouds, guys.” Will told them, a reassuring yet stern tone to his voice, “A little rain isn’t going to hurt you. Come back to the table and eat.”

“Should we be worried?” An Aphrodite kid asked, pointing their question at the head table all while attempting to pat the frizz out of their hair from the humidity.

Chiron stood in his full centaur form near the head table, the gray sky reflecting in his eyes. He spoke in a calm tone, “I don’t see a reason for concern. Some healthy rain here and there shouldn’t be bad for our crops or our spirits. Unless Mr. D senses any issue on the matter?”

He cocked an eyebrow at the man sitting at the table next to him, his purple leopard print shirt seeming extra bright in the overcast lighting of the dining pavilion. The man, the god Dionysus, or as they knew him, ‘Mr. D,’ popped a plump grape into his mouth and gave an uninterested shrug followed by a distasteful grunt, “Seems fine to me. The old man in the sky is probably just grumpy about something or other. I wouldn’t get my tunic in a twist over it.”

Surely enough before long it started to rain, starting as a drizzle, turning more steady, and by nightfall it had turned into a torrential downpour. All of the campers sought shelter in their cabins as thunder wracked across the valley, shaking the very floorboards of the cabins.

Nico had become quite the regular in the Apollo cabin, what with him dating their head counselor, so they didn’t hesitate to let him in at any point during the day, and especially that night with the storm raging outside. Will knew especially how Nico could get in his own head on nights like these, but his siblings had also really accepted him as one of their own in the recent months. He didn’t hesitate to feel at home in their cabin anymore.

“Alright, campers.” Will said in his best Chris McLean impersonation as he entered the room with a clipboard and a pen behind his ear, “With the storm being as bad as it is, Chiron has asked the head counselors to do a headcount tonight just to make sure everyone is safe and accounted for. So when I call your name please acknowledge your presence in the most obnoxious way possible.”

You see, Will took his role as head counselor very seriously. He cared for his siblings deeply and it showed, but he could also tell when their nerves were high, that was one thing that came naturally to him, which made it easy for him to know when he needed to try and lift their spirits. Nico appreciated that about him.

“I know you’re here.” Will put a hand on Nico’s head and gave his hair a rustle, “Don’t go slinking in the shadows on me, di Angelo, I want you safe.”

Nico rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way possible but Will just smirked at him. Eye rolling was a form of affection in this relationship.

Will began calling names and his campers responded in their best and most obnoxious ways, just as he had asked. They all laughed together and the room began to seem a little brighter, even in the dim candlelight, as the power in all the cabins were still out.

He got about halfway down the list before calling, “Kayla?”

No response.

His eyes flicked up from his clipboard, their blue seeming a tad darker than usual, “Kayla? Anyone seen Kayla? Austin?”

Austin looked up from the ukulele he was stringing on his bunk, “I haven’t seen her since dinner. She left with some Demeter kids.”

Will breathed and made a mark on his paper, “I’ll have to check in with Miranda then to make sure she’s not-”

Before he could finish speaking, the door to the Apollo cabin flew open, flashes of lightning filling the room as a thick gust of wind blanketed across them all, extinguishing all of the candles in the room.

In the doorway stood Kayla Knowles, dripping wet from head to toe, her ginger and green hair plastered to her face. Her breaths were labored as though she had been running. She had her bow slung over her shoulder.

“The pegasi,” She wheezed as rain poured sideways into the cabin from the jarred door, “They got out of their stables. They’re freaking out, we’re trying to round them up, but the storm is only getting worse.”

Will immediately ditched his clipboard and moved into action, barking orders at his campers, “Clancy, go get Chiron. Austin, grab some apples and sugar cubes from the kitchens. Nico, come with me.”

Everyone responded to his commands in a flash. Nico grabbed his jacket and threw it on, and they ran out the door into the pouring rain.

Kayla led them through the dark across camp, and it took less than ten seconds for both Nico and Will to become soaked to the bone. The only thing protecting Nico was the leather of his jacket, but that could only do so much.

They made it to the pegasi stables, where they found multiple Demeter campers running around frantically, trying desperately to wrangle about six very riled up pegasi. The ground was littered with wet feathers plastered into the mud.

Will skittered to a halt next to Miranda Gardiner, who had managed to get a lead around the neck of one of the pegasi. He managed to shout over the roaring rain, “What happened? How did they get out?!”

She spit rain water out of her mouth as her Pegasi reared onto its hind legs, “Woah girl! Calm down, it's okay! I don’t know! It's almost as though someone let them out! I could’ve sworn they were all locked up when I left before the rain started!”

Will took another step forward, arms outstretched Jurassic World style. He spoke in that calm, healing voice he used when soothing one of his patients, “There there Starla, it’s okay. No need to panic, it’s just a little thunderstorm.”

He managed to place a hand softly on the pegasi, Starla’s, neck. She flicked her head anxiously as he brushed his fingertips of his other hand along her muzzle. Even from several feet behind him, Nico could feel the warm, calming energy just oozing off of him. The warmth of the sun in the middle of a cold storm.

Starla exhaled from her nose as she leaned into Will’s touch, relaxing by the second.

“‘Atta girl.” Will smiled as he secured the lead around her neck. At that moment, both he and Starla had seemed to have forgotten about the storm that still raged around them.

“I’ll never understand how you do that.” Miranda breathed.

“You can thank my dad.” Will gave her a wink, “But let’s get her back inside.”

Nico took a step forward, “What do we do about-”

As soon as he spoke, Starla’s eyes went wild once again, as she let out a distraught cry and reared back onto her hind legs, yanking Miranda off her feet and into the mud.

“Will, get him out of here!” Miranda yelped, grasping desperately for Starla’s lead, “He’s only going to scare them!”

Nico took a step back, taken aback by what she had just said. He had gotten so comfortable here, he had really started to feel welcome for the first time in his life. He saw these people as his family. Because of all of that, he had almost forgotten who he was. Of course they’d be scared of him.

“I’m sorry, Nico.” Miranda said to him, pushing dripping strands of blonde hair from her face, “It’s nothing personal, but you know how it is.”

He did. He did know.

“He’s fine.” Will said in a stern tone, “She’s just spooked, any sudden movement will scare her.”

He turned to face Nico, his blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness. He seemed to read Nico’s mind, “You’re okay. Stay. Help. I need you here.”

Before he could speak, there was an extra bright flash of lightning, accompanied with an earth shaking crack of thunder, seemingly right on top of them.

They all spun around as a camper screamed. Standing before them was a pegasus much larger than the others. No wait, it wasn’t a pegasus. A horse, a regular horse. A massive black stallion, its mane so wild it almost seemed like it was a part of the storm itself. It was as though the rain poured heavier around its silhouette, making it almost hard to look distinctly at it. It definitely wasn’t there before.

“Demon!” One of the campers shrieked.

“It’s not a demon!” Miranda croaked as she struggled to stay on her feet with a panicking Starla, “It’s just a horse! Someone do something about it, please!”

The stallion planted a hoof in the mud, misty clouds billowing up around its ankles. At that moment, it looked directly into Nico’s eyes. Or he could’ve sworn it had. As it did, he felt a tingle shoot up his spine, and under the leather of his jacket sleeves he could’ve sworn every single one of his hairs was standing on end. The longer they locked eyes, the more Nico saw. Lightning flickered throughout the horse’s body, like bombs flashing behind smoke.

“That’s not a horse.” He announced, not even shifting his eyes.

Flashes of his past dreams sparked across his mind. A different storm. Sand. Empty, soulless, dead blue eyes. The ringing in his ears. He became aware of just how cold he was, standing soaked to the bone in the dead of the night.

A name came to his mind. He wasn’t sure how he knew it. Maybe it had been told to him before, he wasn’t sure, but he spoke it without thinking, “Tempest.”

“The Gray Sister?” He heard Will’s voice somewhere behind him. He hadn’t realized he had gotten closer to the stallion.

“No, the ventus.” He took another step closer, the stallion unwavering.

“This isn’t Kingdom Hearts!” Will shouted, “Nico, do you know this horse?”

“Solace, will you stop being a nerd for two seconds?!” Nico shouted back to him, still not looking back and away from the billowing figure before him, “A ventus is a storm spirit. This one is just choosing to take the form of a horse.”

It was almost as though his eyes were locked in place. He couldn’t look away, and he found himself inching closer to the spirit, slowly taking one step after the other. He could feel Will’s presence somewhere close behind him, not letting Nico get too far from him; Will had that kind of aura about him, Nico could always feel him when he was near. There was something about this ventus, the way it was looking at him, the way it was just standing there. It was like it was beckoning him, telling him to come closer. He knew he had the mental willpower to fight whatever the spirit -Tempest- was putting over him, but something in his mind told him not to. He did not sense any sort of malicious intent coming from it. It was as if it knew him.

“Nico, I don’t like this.” He could hear the caution in Will’s voice, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s okay, I know him.” Nico said, outstretching a hand towards the stallion. He didn’t, he didn’t know him, so he wasn’t sure why he said that, yet he didn’t feel like he was lying. He wouldn’t lie to Will, but there was something familiar in Tempest’s eyes. If he didn’t know this horse, then someone he did know must’ve sent him. That at least had to be true.

Nico was hardly noticing the frantic campers still scrambling around, trying to wrangle the pegasi, or even the rain still dumping buckets over their heads. It was all white noise at that moment.

He was right in front of Tempest now. With his outstretched hand he was close enough to touch his muzzle. He hesitated, just for a moment, as Tempest placed one hoof forward and let out a puff of air from his nose. A puff of a cloud released from his nostrils, static electricity crackling within it. It was as if he was sending a message: it’s okay.

Even in the cold of the storm, Nico felt the warmth of certainty creeping through his veins. He didn’t feel an ounce of fear. He had to do this.

With a decisive inhale, he took a final step forward and placed a hand on Tempest’s muzzle. As he did, several things conspired in about half a second, all playing in slow motion that lasted an eternity. The sky lit up so bright he could’ve sworn Apollo was gracing them with his presence. He felt a bolt of electricity streak across not only his body, but he could feel it transcending into his soul, across his entire being. Every vein, blood vessel, and cell in his body lit up like a Christmas tree, lighting a fiery pain under his skin that he couldn’t even begin to describe with words.

This is how it ends, huh? His brain asked him in a moment of panic, You got electrocuted by a horse. Good job, bud.

As all of this was happening, he thought maybe he felt his soul leap out of his body. He had spent a lot of time around dead people: spirits without bodies, bodies without spirits. He had felt his own body nearly melt into the shadows themselves, but he’d never experienced the sensation of his soul leaving his body. It was always others: those he commanded. He’d seen it, he’d felt other people’s deaths countless times, but feeling his own existence split at that moment was maybe one of the most mind shattering things he’d ever experienced.

But he still didn’t feel a lick of fear. Especially once he felt Will’s arms around him.

He heard Will’s voice shouting his name somewhere behind him, but there was a delay. It was like when you’re watching fireworks, and you see the explosion before you hear it. Like a sonic boom on a jet. His soul, outside of his body, yet still attached to it, was perceiving everything a half a second later than his body was. But he felt Will’s arms wrap around him. It was like every other embrace he’d ever given him, but as he felt the warmth of Will’s body collide with his own, it continued farther, reaching out past his body, into the ether, and around his soul. He felt Will touch his essence itself, the very existence of his soul. Like torn paper being ripped from a book, his soul left his body, and then once again in reverse, he slammed back into himself, colliding into his own body with such force, he could feel his brain rattling against his skull.

They fell backwards, and as their butts hit the ground, everything played back into real time. The lightning flash that lit up the sky finished with a crack of thunder. And like they had entered a vacuum chamber, the rain was sucked back up into the sky, sealing with a pop. And they were slammed back into reality. Or so Nico thought.

When he opened his eyes, they were in a different place. The rain had stopped completely, though he still heard the far away sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. There was a cold, sharp breeze blowing through his hair, miraculously dry, and biting the skin on his face. It was dark: the kind of darkness you only see in your nightmares. The smell of what he could only determine to be farmland lingered on the breeze. Lightning crackled across the murky sky just barely enough to give him a sense of the environment around. They were in the middle of a corn field.

He was on his behind in the dirt, and he could still feel his boyfriend’s arms around him. He was practically in Will’s lap with the way they’d fallen. He probably would’ve hit the ground harder had Will not broken his fall.

Will let out a disgruntled groan, “What happened? Where are we?”

“I’m not sure.” Nico’s eyes darted around them. He grabbed Will’s hands and unwrapped his arms from around him. He hauled himself to his feet and offered a hand to Will, who took it and pulled himself up.

Nico was very hyper aware of every physical sensation he was feeling. Everything felt so much more present and real after having that out-of-body experience. It had been so mind boggling he had to double check just to make sure he was in fact in his own body.

“Is that what doing drugs feels like?” He asked out loud, “If so, I am never doing drugs.”

“Not on my watch, you’re not.” Will huffed, wiping the dirt from his shorts, “What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed, death boy!”

“I’m not sure I didn’t.” Nico remarked, scanning his surroundings, “And don’t call me death boy.”

“Right, sorry.”

Will had begun to glow like a human glow stick, a trait that Nico deeply admired, though he knew Will was self conscious about it at times. It gave enough light to the surrounding area that they weren’t completely submersed in inky darkness any longer, though the farther reaches of the cornfield that Will’s light couldn’t touch still remained hidden in shadows.

Tempest was gone, along with all of the other campers who had previously been present. The only sound was the wind whistling, and rustling the corn stalks around them.

“Either way, I’m glad you’re okay now.” Will added, “Don’t scare me like that, Nico. I’m not trying to lose you.”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere.” Nico reassured him, giving his hand a squeeze. He wasn’t much of an affectionate guy, but he loved Will and understood that he needed to be comforted sometimes, “The only place I want to go is out of this corn-”

Before he could finish his sentence, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

He spun around, putting an arm out in front of Will. He went to draw his sword, only to realize he didn’t have it. He simply held a hand out towards the darkness.

“Who’s there?” He called out.

There was no response.

“There’s no one there.” Will whispered after a moment of silence, “I’m not sensing any other life near us.”

Will had some weird abilities as a healer son of Apollo, but Nico had never known him to be able to sense life like that without physically touching someone. Maybe there were still things he didn’t know about his boyfriend.

Nico closed his eyes and reached out into the darkness with his mind. If there was someone lurking somewhere in the shadows, he would know. He would be able to feel their presence. His consciousness raced through the aisles of corn, to the outer reaches of the field. It was endless. It was like an infinite maze of corn, stretching further than even he was able to sense.

As far as he could tell, he and Will were the only living things in this field.

“There’s no one here, but we’re not alone.” He announced, opening his eyes.

“Yes thank you, babe, that makes a whole lot of sense.” Will said, sarcasm dripping off of his voice. He was in a defensive stance, and Nico realized how silly they probably looked at that moment. They were both standing defensively with their arms out, trying to protect each other. Neither of them had weapons.

“I mean,” Nico continued, “There’s no one alive here. But darkness is never as empty as it seems. I know better than that. And I definitely saw something.”

Will’s eyes darted around, the blue in them looking almost like a neon sign as he shone from his internal light source, “Well I can’t see shit, cap’n. This is your scene, you lead the way.”

There was an ever so sudden wave of uncertainty in Nico. It was gone as soon as it had come. Nico thought he could hide it well, but there was no hiding things like that from Will. As soon as there was any moment of tension from him, Will would pick up on it.

“It’s okay.” Will said in a soothing tone, “I’m right behind you. You’re not alone.”

Calm washed over him.

They were quite a funny duo. A son of Apollo who could calm anyone with a touch, and literally could harness the power of the sun to make himself glow. And a son of Hades, dark and touch starved, having command over the shadows themselves, who had developed a fear of the dark. Will was like Nico’s own personal nightlight. Metaphorically and literally.

“Tempest brought us here for a reason.” Nico said after taking a moment to center himself, “So I’m thinking maybe we’re not supposed to be finding the exit of this corn field.”

“There’s something in the corn field we’re supposed to find?” Will finished his thought.

“Yes, that or-” Nico began, but then cut himself off. That’s when he heard it. He thought it had been just an after effect from his little out-of-body experience, from being thrown into this alternate plane of existence or wherever they were, so he hadn’t paid much mind to it. But it was still there, lingering, persistent. The ever slightest ringing in his ears. He was very familiar with ringing in his ears, and it was never a good thing. But in this case, it was the answer to their question.

“Or someone.” He finished. He spun around and slowly turned his head to one side, turning and listening, waiting for the direction where the ringing was the strongest. As soon as he found it, he pointed.

“This way. Let’s go.”

He grabbed Will’s hand and took off into the corn. Lightning crackled here and there, illuminating the sky, but Will’s light alone was enough to lead the way. They weaved past endless stalks of corn. Every so often, Nico would stop, listen, then take off in another direction, redirecting himself to follow his mental GPS.

“Where are we going?!” Will shouted, his voice thumping with every step as he ran.

“To be completely honest, I don’t know!” Nico shouted back.

“That’s very reassuring!”

“Just trust me!”

“I do!”

As he ran, the ringing got louder and louder, until it was so loud he could no longer hear the wind howling in his ears, or their shoes smacking in the dirt. He thought maybe Will was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear it.

Finally, after running for who knows how long, they finally broke into a clearing, and Nico halted to a stop. Will nearly slammed into him, but they managed to stay on their feet.

They both took a second to catch their breath before taking in what they saw before them. In the clearing stood the figure of a large stallion. Now that it wasn’t raining, it was more evident that Tempest really was a storm spirit. Instead of the sleek coat of a regular horse, his body was formed with swirling clouds filled with flickering lightning. Rain poured out from underneath him, spurring up billowing mist around his hooves. His eyes were dark and foreboding. He let out a whiny as he turned, revealing the figure of a person standing behind him.

Nico’s voice caught in his throat as he stared forward. He thought he might’ve cried if he spoke.

He swallowed hard and took a shaky breath, “Jason?”

Jason smiled at him. He had a hand on Tempest’s neck. He wore an old worn sweatshirt, much like one Nico had seen him wearing before. He was wearing his glasses. It was such a relieving sight, not only to see him here, but to see him how Nico had always known him. Not as the way he’d been seeing him the past couple months in his nightmares. With blood stained clothes, no color in his face, glasses gone, cold, dead eyes. He was dead, Nico knew he was dead, but there he was, standing right in front of him, and he didn’t look dead.

“Hey Nico.” He said, real casual-like, “I see Tempest found you. I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.”

Will snorted from behind him, but Nico just raised an eyebrow in confusion, “I- what?”

“It’s- you know,” Jason laughed and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, “It was a joke, sorry. Probably not a good way to start this conversation. You’re probably confused.”

Will raised his hand like a student in class, “I can say I am in fact very confused.”

“What’s going on?” Nico asked, taking a step forward, “Jason, I… Apollo told me what happened to you.”

Jason had a somber look on his face as he stroked Tempest’s stormy mane, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Nico shook his head, “Don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. I miss you, we all miss you, but… You died a hero, Jason. You never have to be sorry that you died.”

“Funny,” Jason gave a small laugh, “As I was dying, I was actually worried about you.”

Nico pointed at himself, “Me?”

“Yeah,” Jason started, “I know it’s hard for you to open up to people, and you opened yourself to me. I was honored to be your friend, but I know you’ve lost a lot of people. So knowing that when I died, you lost another person, I felt pretty shitty.”

Nico couldn’t help but laugh, “You were literally dying and you were worrying about me? I wasn’t even there.”

Jason scratched his head, “Yeah… But I took solace in knowing that I was protecting my friends. That, and not to toot my own horn or whatever, but I knew I’d be going to Elysium, which meant that I’d get to see Leo again. But when I got there…”

Nico had a realization, “He wasn’t there.”

Jason nodded sadly, “I just don’t understand, why wouldn’t he have gone to Elysium? He should be there.”

“You don’t know.” Will gasped, stepping up next to Nico.

Jason looked up at them, “What do you mean? What don’t I know?”

“Jason,” Nico said, “Leo’s alive.”

Jason’s eyes got wide, shock and confusion on his face, then he exhaled and put a hand on his chest, “That’s such a relief. I might cry right now, seriously. I thought that goof got himself sent to Asphodel somehow. I knew The Fates were cruel, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, no.” Nico shook his head, “He’s alive and fine. And he got Calypso off of her island.”

Jason smiled a large grin, “Really? That’s awesome! Man, I’m so happy for him.”

“Eh, their relationship is questionable, to be honest.” Will remarked, “I’m glad she got off that island and all, but… I won’t get into all of that. But anyway, I stand by my comment about being confused. Can someone please explain what in Hades is going on here?”

“Right.” Jason snapped his fingers, “I sent Tempest to find you, Nico.”

“But…” Nico rubbed his temples, “How? You said you were in Elysium? What is this place? This cornfield? This isn’t exactly how I imagined Elysium.”

Jason laughed, “Right. This isn’t Elysium. I found this place kind of by accident. I think, maybe it’s because I’m a son of Jupiter and all, but I could tell even in the underworld when it was storming in the mortal world. I accidentally stumbled into this weird plane of existence one day while there was a storm up above. I think it’s some kind of in between place? It’s in between the land of the dead and the land of the living. It doesn’t always look like a corn field, this is just how it’s presenting today for whatever reason. Kind of spooky if you ask me. But, I thought if anyone on the living side would be able to enter this place, it would be you, Nico. So I managed to contact Tempest through the storm and sent him to find you. Though, I see you brought a plus-one with you.”

Will gave a casual wave and a lazy grin, “Hi.”

Jason nodded at him, “Hi, Will, it’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too.” Will told him, “Kinda weird if I’m being honest, considering, well, that you’re dead and all.”

They both laughed.

“But why did you summon me here?” Nico asked.

“Can’t I want to see my friend?” Jason suggested.

“I- well-”

“Don’t strain your brain thinking about that.” Jason waved his hand, “I know it’s a hard concept to grasp. But I just wanted to talk to you.”

He took a step around Tempest. Nico went to step closer as well, but Jason held out his hand, “Don’t get too close, I don’t want to risk breaking the connection.”

“Right.” Nico took a step back.

“Now don’t fight me on this.” Jason started, “Just let me talk, okay?”

Nico hesitated, then nodded.

Jason gave him a soft look, “I know you struggle, Nico. I know you’ve been through a lot, I know you’ve lost a lot. I can’t say that I can begin to understand how my death affected you, or how anything else you’ve been through has affected you. One of the last times I saw you, and I’m being brutally honest here, Nico, so I’m sorry, but you looked like ass. You were skin and bones, you had no color in your skin. You were sick. I was worried we’d end up losing you even though the war was over. But look at you now! You look great, healthy even. I don’t know what you’ve been through since I’ve been gone, but I can only hope you’ve been getting better. I know it’s an uphill battle sometimes, but I wanted you to know that I believe in you.”

Nico couldn’t help but smile, “I… I think I’m healing. It’s a slow process, but I can feel it happening. All thanks to someone.”

He shot a glance at Will.

Will puts his hands up, “I can’t take any credit for this one, this is all you, sunshine. I’m just here to make sure you’re not doing it alone. Being alone makes pulling yourself out of a hole that much harder. I’m just your alarm clock that doesn’t let you sleep until noon every day and reminds you to take your meds.”

“Which I appreciate.” Nico added.

“I appreciate you too, Will.” Jason butted in, “Thank you for taking care of him. I can tell you make him happy.”

Will kicked the dirt with his shoe, “Aw shucks. It’s my pleasure. Whether he wants to believe it or not, I enjoy his company.”

Jason’s eyes turned to the sky, still rumbling with thunder and lightning. He took a deep, slow breath, “I can feel the storm breaking, we’re running out of time.”

“But there’s so much I want to say to you.” Nico took a step forward before remembering, then leaned back on his heels.

“It’s okay.” Jason reassured him, “You’ll see me again someday. I’m sure of it.”

Nico thought about his sister, Bianca. He had thought he’d get to see her again someday, but after she died, she had decided to be reborn into her next life. It was a guarantee that he would never see her again. He didn’t want the same to happen with Jason.

“Don’t worry about that.” Jason spoke, seeming to be reading Nico’s mind, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve thought about it, but I think I’ve decided to wait to be reborn. There’s too many people I want to see again. I have to see Piper, I have to introduce her to all the cute girls I’ve met here. I have to see Leo, that jerk, making us think he was dead. He’s actually going to die one day and when he does, he’s getting a piece of my mind. Not before I hug him of course, and thank him for saving my life. And I have to see Reyna too… I know things were weird between us but she was my best friend for so long, she’ll always have a place in my heart. Then there’s Frank, Percy, Hazel, Annabeth… all of them, the list goes on and on. And you of course. So… I think I can chill in Elysium for a while. It’s pretty nice here.”

That was a relief to hear. Nico felt selfish for feeling that way, but he was relieved that Jason was deciding to wait. Of course, he would try not to be upset with him if he decided to move on, he went through all that grief with Bianca, and he knew he had grown beyond that. He couldn’t withhold Jason or anyone else from their peace. That was a choice a person had to make themselves, for themselves.

“Just remember,” Jason continued, “I may be dead, but I’m not gone. When it rains, I’m there with you. When you go outside and you feel the electricity in the air, or when you grab a doorknob and it shocks you, just think of it as me, saying hello. I will always be with you. Death isn’t the end of the line. You of all people should know that.”

Nico wouldn’t admit it, but he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. It was weird to him to know that people cared about him, but it was a realization that he was slowly making. Yes, he was a son of Hades. Yes he was dark and foreboding and creepy sometimes. Yes, he lingered in the shadows and managed to convince himself that he was not welcome anywhere or with anyone, but he was slowly learning that he was very wrong. People liked him for who he was. He remembered Miranda’s words: I’m sorry Nico, but you know how it is. He did know how it was. He was allowed to exist and take up space. He was still trying to convince himself of that, but deep down he knew it to be true. And he didn’t have to do anything alone anymore.

Lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder shook the ground beneath their feet.

“It’s time for me to go.” Jason announced, “I’m glad things are working out for you. And I’m glad I got to see you one last time. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope it’s a long time before I see you again. Not because I don’t want to see you, but because I hope you’re able to live a long, prosperous life. You’re still so young, I’d hate for you to have the same fate I did.”

“I understand.” Nico told him, “But don’t feel like you have to wait for me. When you feel like it’s your time… do what your heart tells you to do.”

“I don’t feel that way. I know it’s my choice and no one else can make that for me.” Jason gave him a smile, “But my choice is to wait for now.”

Another crack of thunder and lightning. Like a switch, a heavy, thick sheet of rain began to pour onto them. The corn around them shook with the weight of the storm.

“Goodbye, guys!” Jason shouted over the rain, “It was nice to see you both! If only for a few minutes! And Nico! Please don’t forget to eat!”

“Jason, wait!” Nico shielded his eyes from the rain.

“I agree, Will is definitely more your type than Percy!” Jason waved at them, “Don’t tell him I said that, though! You know what, actually do tell him I said that!”

“Jason, I-!”

Suddenly the wind picked up, and the rain turned sideways, and with it so did the world. Nico fell backwards, reaching out and desperately grabbing for Will, who was also now falling. They found each other’s arms as Jason’s feet stayed firm on the ground. Tempest reared as lightning streaked across his body. Rain was pouring straight down onto Nico’s face and soaking his clothes once again.

Jason waved one last time as the world began to warp around them. Things moved into slow motion once again, Jason became further and further away, the rain forming a sort of wind tunnel around them. Things slowed to the point of feeling like a video, moving frame by frame. Nico and Will were both screaming, but they could no longer hear themselves as the rain roared louder and louder. The ringing in Nico’s ears became so loud, he felt like his mind was being split with an ice pick.

Until it all stopped.

Nico woke with a start, frantically trying to regain his bearings.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, it’s okay! You’re safe.”

He turned to see Will next to him, concern in his eyes. He had straw sticking out of his hair.

Nico took a moment to breathe and take in his surroundings. It was daytime, and they were on the ground in what he realized was the pegasi stables at Camp. Their clothes were damp from the rain, but dry enough to make it seem like they’d been laying there for hours. All of the pegasi were in their stalls, looking at the two of them like they were a nuisance for being in their house so early in the morning.

“That was real, right?” Nico asked Will, grabbing his arms, making sure he was really there, “Tell me I didn’t just dream all of that.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” Will seemed unsure, “I don’t think? Whatever it was, it happened. We saw Jason.”

Nico was relieved to hear WIll acknowledge out loud that he’d experienced the same thing and that Nico’s mind hadn’t just made it up. They had really seen Jason. Talked to him, even.

Nico felt some sort of peace at that moment. He felt as though he could lay to rest his lament over Jason’s death. Would he still miss him? Of course. But something was different now.

“We should get back into camp.” Will said, pulling himself to his feet. His butt was covered in dust from the wooden floor of the stables, “Everyone has probably been wondering where we’ve been.”

“”I’ve been wondering where we’ve been.” Nico muttered. Will offered him a hand and he took it, managing to get back onto his own feet.

“Yeah, that was kinda freaky.” Will agreed, “But kinda awesome at the same time?”

“Tell me about it.” Nico shook his head, “Come on, sunshine, let’s go home.”

They walked to the doors of the stables. As Nico’s fingers touched the handle, a small shock zapped at his fingertips.

He smiled, “Hello to you too, Jason.”

And with that, they left, probably on their way to a week’s worth of dish duty.

#toasecretsanta #returnofthemackles #bluefoxchild #nico di angelo #will solace #jason grace #pjo tempest #solangelo #trials of apollo #toa #riordanverse #trials of apollo fanfic #toa fanfic #riordanverse fanfic #character death

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yeenybeanies · 1 year

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This is the Way I Pray | Chapter 2: Monday

whew! another long-ass chapter --w-- idk if they'll all be this long, but we're two for two at over 10k words lmao. WARNING: this chapter mentions nazis/white supremacists, & the desire to cause great harm to said nazis/white supremacists. also, bold+italic text is meant to be interpreted as non-english previous • next call of duty | wayne “champ” champagne (oc), john “soap” mactavish, simon “ghost” riley, kate laswell 11,400 words strong language, mentions of violence, alcohol use thanks for reading!! patreon ✨ ko-fi ✨ read it on ao3

Ghost was awake before his alarm would have gone off, as was often the case. He stared at the clock on his nightstand, watching the digital numbers flick from 4:59 to 5:00.

He’d gotten about four and a half hours. For him, that wasn't bad. He turned his head to see Soap still sleeping. He looked peaceful. Ghost almost didn’t want to disturb him.

Sitting up, Ghost pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket, rubbing away the weariness clinging to him. “Johnny,” he said, his voice heavy with sleep. The Scot stirred and hummed back at him. “You gettin’ up?”

Technically, neither of them needed to be awake yet. Their day wasn't supposed to start for another three hours. Soap lifted his head to glance at his own clock, then dropped it back onto his pillow. “‘Nother hour,” he mumbled. “Alarm set.”

Some days, Soap liked to join Ghost in the early mornings. Evidently, today was not one of those days. Ghost took no offense, and silently slipped out of his bed to get ready.

No need for the full kit of tac gear right now. Ghost pulled on a plain, black t-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. He brushed his teeth in the bathroom and applied his greasepaint over his eyes, then donned a balaclava.

Soap was rolled over onto his back when Ghost exited the bathroom. One more hour. Ghost could be back by then with breakfast for the both of them. He grabbed his room key, wallet, and phone from the dresser, and made for the door, but paused before opening it. There was a new text notification on his phone from a number he hadn’t saved yet—Champ’s number. Curious, he tapped the notification. Champ had sent him a photo of the ghost plushie that Soap had won him last night, and a message attached saying “forgot someone” with a cowboy emoji.

Ghost rolled his eyes. He hadn’t forgotten the damn thing.

He stowed his belongings in his pockets, grabbed his jacket from the closet, and exited the room.

With an hour to kill, the Brit wandered the hotel with no real destination in mind. Yesterday, he and Soap had scoped out the amenities, but now Ghost figured he could take a better look at the gym. He might hit it up at some point this week, time and mood permitting.

Unfortunately, but nevertheless unsurprisingly, the hotel gym was rather disappointing. Camp Sasha was a small base, so it made sense that everything on it would be small. This “gym” only had a couple of treadmills, an assisted pull-up machine, a smith machine, and some weights. Very bare bones.

No, Ghost would probably not be hitting that up after all. His physique would survive a week without a proper gym.

He moved on, slowly making his way to the little shoppette in the lobby. Breakfast options weren’t particularly exciting, but neither him nor Soap were picky eaters. He settled for a couple of protein bars, two croissant sandwiches, a coffee and a tea, and a blueberry muffin.

The muffin was for Soap, of course.

Breakfast in hand, Ghost headed back to their room. It was 5:58 when he swiped his key and pushed the door open. Soap was still sprawled out on his bed, now on his stomach. The muscles in his back tensed upon hearing Ghost enter.

“That you, LT?” he mumbled.

“If it wasn’t, you’d be dead already.”

Soap snorted, and slowly pushed himself up onto his knees. “Good morning to you too.” He lifted his arms over his head and stretched, soft noises tugging from his throat. Some of them were pleased, some of them not so much. He was definitely still feeling the soreness from his wild trail ride yesterday.

“That coffee I smell?” he asked.

“Sure is,” Ghost said, taking a seat on his bed. He set the coffee on Soap’s side of the center nightstand. “One sugar.”

“Och, you know me so well.” Soap took the still steaming cup and held it between his hands, enjoying the warmth before taking a sip.

It was shit coffee, as expected, but it was hot and had caffeine.

Ghost handed over Soap’s portion of their breakfast, then pulled his mask up to his nose and bit into his sandwich.

“Hm.” He chewed thoughtfully. “America has some good food. This isn’t it.” Also unsurprising. Military bases weren’t known for having excellent chow.

Soap huffed and took a bite of his own. “Better than an MRE,” he mumbled around his mouthful.

“Christ, Johnny, finish chewin’ before you open your gob,” Ghost admonished.

A shit-eating grin spread across Soap’s lips. He finished chewing and swallowed, then said, “Oh, now you have a problem with me talkin’ with my mouth full?”

For the second time today, Ghost rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to dignify that comment with a response.

They finished their breakfast, Soap stashing the muffin for later, then Ghost checked in with Price and Laswell for any updates while Soap got himself ready. They sent over a couple new information packets to review, which Ghost skimmed over briefly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the Brit muttered. Soap leaned around the bathroom door, toothbrush in his mouth. Ghost held up his phone, “Latest intel thinks we’ll find more info on this politician by goin’ to a bar.”

Soap ducked back into the bathroom to spit his toothpaste out and rinse his mouth, then reappeared with a towel around his neck. “A bar?” he repeated. “What kind of bar?”

“Doesn’t say,” Ghost said. He scrolled a bit further, finding nothing. “Some place called the ‘Thunder Lounge.’”

–– –– ––

A quick exchange of texts had the soldiers meeting up with the cowboy at oh-nine hundred. He was waiting for them in the conference room set aside for this mission.

“Mornin’ fellas,” he greeted, cheerful and chipper. He had on his signature cowboy gear and bandana, the red fabric pulled up over his mouth and nose like it had been yesterday. His sunglasses sat perched up on the brim of his hat. Unlike yesterday, though, the sleeves of his button-up shirt were rolled up to his biceps, showing off blackout tattoos that covered the skin all the way down to his wrists.

Also unlike yesterday, he had a gun belt around his hips, with a pistol nestled into the holsters on either side; and a pair of holster bags around his shoulders in a harness.

“You always dress like that?” Ghost asked, taking in the sight. “Thought it was a costume for the rodeo.”

Champ snorted, unoffended. He gave the Brit a dramatic once-over, one brow arched. “If that ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black,” he said, gesturing to the skull balaclava.

Ghost stared blankly at him for a long moment, then turned to Soap. “You know what that means?” The Scot shook his head.

“Means you got no room to talk,” Champ clarified. His grin was evident enough in his voice. Soap snickered, earning himself a glare from Ghost.

With pleasantries out of the way, the three of them settled around the conference table in the center of the room. Laswell was due to call here shortly and give them more information on today’s tasks.

Soap’s wince when he sat down in one of the chairs did not go unnoticed. Champ tilted his head, a twinkle in his mismatched eyes.

“How ya feelin’?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. It was pretty obvious.

“Sore,” Soap said, pushing faux-bitterness into his tone. “Dunno how you’re still standin’ after what you did yesterday.”

Champ waved a nonchalant hand. “If it makes ya feel better, I am a lil’ bit sore m’self. Bull had some kick to ‘im.”

“Actually, it does.”

The phone in the middle of the table rang, making all three men stiffen. Ghost leaned over to answer it, and put it on speaker. “Laswell?”

“Good morning, boys,” she greeted. “Have a good first day in Kentucky?”

“Soap did,” Ghost replied. Champ chuckled.

“I heard,” Laswell said. Soap made an offended noise, and muttered a curse to Price under his breath. “Good thing today shouldn’t be too strenuous. I’ve sent you all some information already on what’s going on; this meeting is for further details and instruction.”

Champ pulled out his phone to glance over said information while Laswell continued. She provided a few more updates and went further in-depth on what they already knew, what their goals were, and what other units were up to.

As for them: their job was to place bugs around this bar so that Laswell’s team could listen in, see if they could identify this politician and find out about his involvement with terrorists.

“Did you say the Thunder Lounge?” Champ interrupted. All eyes fell to him. He scrolled through the information packet, brows furrowing when he found the name of the bar. He bristled.

“I did,” Laswell confirmed, her voice lifting with an unasked question.

“That’s a fuckin’ Nazi bar.” Champ set his phone down and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Even with the lower half of his face hidden, his displeasure was clear. It practically radiated from him in waves.

Ghost and Soap exchanged grimaces.

“Deadass. That’s the local meet-up for all the white supremacist pukes in this neck a’ the woods,” Champ explained. “Fuckin’ vile.”

“Damn, and here I was hopin’ we’d get to enjoy a drink while we investigated…” Soap said.

Laswell sighed. “Of course it is. Doesn’t surprise me. We suspect that’s where the Ultranationalists are meeting. We need you three to go in there and—”

“Hell naw.” Champ shook his head. “I ain’t goin’ in there. Sorry, fellas. No can do.”

The soldiers looked at him, Soap sympathetic, Ghost unreadable.

Laswell tried again, “It’d only be for—”

“Said I ain’t doin’ it. Ma’am.” Champ pushed off from the wall and leaned his palms on the table, shoulders hunched. “‘Cos if I do go in there, someone’s gonna bleed. I’ll keep an eye on things outside.” He regarded the other two in the room with narrowed eyes, watching them for any signs of argument. Neither of them had any.

Another sigh over the phone broke the silence. “Fine,” Laswell said. She wasn’t going to try and fight him on this either. “That might actually be good, having a pair of eyes on the outside. Ghost, Soap, does that work for you?”

The soldiers perked up. “No arguments here,” Ghost answered.

“Good. And boys? We’re not looking to have any bloodshed today. This is supposed to be recon only. For all of you.”

Ghost nodded. “Understood.”

Champ scoffed, but added no further comment. He snatched his sunglasses from where they sat on his hat and put them on.

Laswell continued on with some more information, then dismissed them to prepare for the day.

–– –– ––

The bar wasn’t set to open until sixteen hundred, but, at Laswell’s suggestion, the three men went to scope the area out well in advance.

Champ had driven them, his old truck inconspicuous without the giant trailer behind it. It blended in with every other old truck in Kentucky. Even still, they only drove past the bar twice, not wanting to risk any chance of suspicion.

On the outside, it really didn’t look like anything special. The building was well-maintained. Its front wall was covered with wood pieces, meant to look like a cozy cabin in the woods.

Just laying eyes on it set a fire in Champ’s gut. Soap grimaced as well, feeling a similar sentiment. Even Ghost kept clenching and unclenching his fists.

None of them liked this.

The only thing keeping Champ cool was the thought of watching those scumbag fucks through the scope of his rifle, envisioning their brains spraying against the walls of the establishment with the pull of his trigger. What a lovely image. He could only hope that he’d get to make it a reality soon.

They decided it best to park the truck in one of the back rows of a grocery store around the corner. Champ chose a spot where they had a clear view of the front door. The bar also had big glass windows out front, which worked well for Champ’s purpose.

“Alright,” the cowboy said after a while, noisily slapping the steering wheel. “‘M gonna get up on the rooftop ‘cross the way. Scotty, hand me that case back there?” He pointed to a black hardcase in the back seat that housed his rifle—a military-grade bolt action sniper.

“Bar doesn’t open for another three hours,” Ghost said, glancing at his watch. “Is it gonna take you that long to get set up?”

“Naw,” Champ replied. Soap passed him the case, and he popped his door open to get out. “I’ll be ready n’ a few minutes. ‘M jus’ tired a’ waitin’ here.”

“So you’re going to go wait… on a rooftop?” It was a question, but Ghost said it like a statement—one he was having trouble believing.

Champ paused, thinking for a moment. “Mm… yep. Sounds ‘bout right.” He fished his car keys from his pocket and tossed them to Soap in the back seat. “If y’all wanna move to another spot, be my guest. Jus’ don’t get me a ticket or towed.” Case hiked up on his shoulder, the cowboy tipped his hat to the both of them, and jogged off towards the building he needed. Soap and Ghost watched after him until he disappeared in an alleyway, then exchanged glances.

“Can’t seem to sit still,” Ghost commented. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Soap shoved the lieutenant’s shoulder. “Oi. Be nice. You’re just mad he gave me the keys an’ not you.” It had been a deliberate move on the cowboy’s part, since Ghost was the one in the passenger’s seat, and Soap was in the back. Soap met Ghost’s stare with a smirk. “Don’t think he trusts you to drive.”

“Ridiculous,” Ghost muttered. “Did you say somethin’ to him about my driving?”

Soap held his hands up. “I would never—”

“Johnny. ” Ghost turned in his seat to better face the Scot, eyes narrowed through the opening of his balaclava. Soap scooted back against his door, his smirk blooming into a grin. Ghost didn’t miss how he stashed the keys in his back pocket, out of immediate reach.

“I didn’t! Honest, sir! I’ve not said a word to him that you haven’t been privy to!” he defended.

Ghost didn’t quite believe him. The further narrowing of his eyes said as much. But he righted himself in his seat, a sharp breath through his nose, and set his attention back on the bar. He could also see the building Champ would be using for overwatch—some Greek restaurant with a big, gaudy logo that extended well above its roof. It made for a good spot to conceal the barrel of a rifle.

Three more hours.

If they were lucky, they’d start to see some activity here soon—employees coming in to set up for the night.

Soap settled into the back seat, making himself comfortable in the space. They were going to be at this for the rest of the day, and likely through much of the night, too, unless they got some new intel. Surveillance was always the boring part of these missions. Scouting on foot? That could be fun. But just waiting around all day, watching?

He definitely understood why Champ dipped. Watching through a scope, going into the sniper mindset, felt different than this. He was half-tempted to find the cowboy and join him on the roof.

Unfortunately, he knew that wouldn’t fly. They were going to have to go in that bar at some point tonight, and Ghost would stand out too much if he went in alone. Hell, he was already going to stand out as it was, even with Soap with him, but it was going to work better if they went together. Besides, the two of them could plant bugs in the place more efficiently, without arousing any suspicion.

“All set up over here,” Champ’s voice came in through their comms.

Soap leaned into his mic, “Good view?”

Champ lay out on the rooftop in sniper’s prone, with a light blanket covering him to protect from the blazing sun. Situated inconspicuously behind the big “O” of the restaurant’s sign, he peered through his scope into the bar. From his vantage point, he could read the labels of the various bottles on the shelves. “Oh yeah. I can see just ‘bout everythin’ in the main bar. Hate t’ see it, but they got a pretty decent selection a’ whiskey. Some good vodka… Shit gin selection… An’ that tequila is just sad.”

“What kind of bourbon?” Ghost asked. If they were going to have to go in there and play nice with a bunch of Nazis, he might as well get a good drink out of it if he could.

Champ hummed, skimming the labels. “I’d suggest goin’ for the Bison Sketch or the Creator’s Stroke. Ooh, they got Logtown Supply too.”

“Not bad,” Ghost noted.

“What about Scotch?” Soap interjected.

Another hum and pause. “Nothin’ too impressive as far as scotch goes,” Champ answered. “Sorry, Scotty.”

“Can’t win ‘em all, I suppose,” Soap said.

Over the next hour, Champ leaned off of his comm and fell silent. As was par for the course with the two soldiers, Soap did most of the talking to fill the time, with Ghost offering commentary here and there. Soap, at one point, remembered the muffin from their breakfast earlier, and shared it with his lieutenant.

Another hour in, and the skies darkened with rain clouds. Distant thunder rumbled. The first fat drop hit the windshield with an audible splat, and then the ensuing downpour crashed down upon the town.

“Hell’s bells…” Soap muttered, leaning forward to peer up at the sky through the windshield. He glanced at Ghost, a twinkle in his eye.

“Don’t fuckin’ say it,” the Brit warned.

“What? Wasnae gonna say a thing, LT.” But the grin spreading across his face told them both exactly what he was thinking.

It’s pishin’ it doon oot there.

Ghost sighed, suppressing an eyeroll, and pressed his comm. “Champ, how copy?”

There was a pause that lasted just long enough that Ghost opened his mouth, ready to ask again, but the country twang came through. “Solid. Still no movement.”

“You must be gettin’ soaked,” Soap said. “You doing okay up there?”

“Peachy,” the cowboy replied. “Rain’s a nice relief from the heat. It’ll pass in a few minutes, though. Don’t you worry ‘bout me.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, then shrugged in mutual acceptance.

As predicted, the rain did fizzle out within the next ten minutes, the gray of the skies splitting apart to let the mid-afternoon rays of sunshine filter back through. The air was ripe with the smell of petrichor. The fine citizens of Lexington continued on as normal, shaking out and stowing their umbrellas.

It wasn’t until just before three thirty that something noteworthy finally happened. From their stakeout spot, Soap and Ghost spotted the silver sedan that pulled into the bar’s parking lot. It took the turn a little too quickly, and pulled into a far parking space a little crooked. A frazzled-looking woman rushed out and, after fumbling with her keys, unlocked the bar doors and slipped inside. Champ watched her through his scope until she disappeared somewhere in the back, beyond his view.

“Guessin’ that’s the bartender,” he reported. “She must be runnin’ late.”

“Sloppy,” Ghost said. Champ hummed in agreement.

The interior lights flicked on, illuminating the bar with a dingy orange glow. The woman reappeared after a few minutes, an apron tied around her waist and her hair pulled up in a messy bun. Champ kept an eye on her as she moved about the bar, setting the space up for tonight’s business. She had some tattoos, he noticed, but he couldn’t see any outwardly Nazi-like symbols. Just normal tattoos. Of course, there was always the possibility that she kept any vile imagery concealed; Champ didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

Probably worse, he decided. He’d prefer to recognize a Nazi from afar, rather than let them get in close.

By the time four o’clock rolled around, the woman had the bar set up, all the lights and signs on, and the doors unlocked. She was efficient, if nothing else, having opened the whole establishment by herself in half an hour.

Right on the hour, another vehicle pulled into the parking lot, taking up the space right in front. It was a black, oversized, obnoxiously-lifted truck. Champ felt a twinge of annoyance at how it partially obstructed his view into the bar. The man that stepped out was a burly fellow in a patch-covered denim vest. A Confederate flag was sewn onto the back, spanning the width of the man’s shoulders. Champ sighed, eyes narrowing.

“First confirmed piece of shit,” he noted. “Fuckin’ idiot.” He shifted his rifle, settling the crosshair on the back of the man’s skull. It would be so easy…

But no. Not now. Killing this one now would not only compromise the mission, landing him in hot water with Nikolai and Laswell, but it would also tip off any other fascist shitbags and ward them away. It was better to let them feel safe, gather together, and then…

“Easy, Champ,” Ghost chided, as if reading his mind.

Yeah, yeah.

The man stepped behind the bar to chat with the bartender. She seemed at ease with his presence, her body language relaxed and friendly. It only soured Champ’s image of her more.

“‘M thinkin’ he works here too. Manager or another bartender or somethin’.” His money was on the former; this place didn’t look big enough to necessitate two bartenders—certainly not on a Monday night. “When’re you boys gettin’ in there?”

“Probably should soon, aye? Before too many people show up,” Soap said. The less eyes on them, the better. And the sooner they got the bugs set, the more conversations they could snoop on.

Ghost grunted in agreement. He tugged off his balaclava and quickly threw on a black surgical mask in its place, then donned a plain black baseball cap. Flipping the sun visor down to access the mirror, he pulled out a wipe from his pack and swiped it across his eyes, clearing off the greasepaint as best he could. By the time the wipe was saturated in black, he still had dark smudges smeared across his face. He pulled out another one with a grumble, but a hand on his shoulder gave him pause. In the mirror, Soap’s blue-gray eyes met his. He held his hand out for the wipe, silently offering his help. Ghost thought it over for a moment, then passed the wipe and turned to face Soap. The sergeant smiled and scooted in close, gently cleaning up the smears of black that lingered around Ghost’s eyes. Once he was finished, he gave Ghost’s clean, lightly-freckled cheek a pat and leaned back.

“Good to go, LT.”

“Thanks.”

“Didn’t think you’d take that off,” Soap said, nodding to the balaclava on the center console.

Ghost grimaced, the movement creasing the skin around his eyes just so. “Had a change of heart. Figured it’d help me blend in better.”

“Aye, because you blend in so well as is.” There was a tease in his tone that Ghost allowed himself to rise to.

“I could always put it back on. Brought some eyeblack with me—”

“No, no,” Soap said quickly, his lips pulled in a grin, “let me enjoy this.”

Ghost scoffed and rolled his eyes, but there was some humor in his demeanor, albeit slight. Still, he had half a mind to tell the sergeant that this wasn’t for him. It was for the mission.

“Fellas?” Champ interrupted. Ghost felt a pang of alarm, and checked his mic, then Soap’s. They were cold. Champ hadn’t heard any of that.

“What?” Ghost answered. “You see somethin’?”

“Naw, not yet. Y’all just didn’t give me an answer.”

Ah. Ghost twisted around to reach for a bag in the back seat, and pulled out a little pouch containing the bugs. He dumped some of them into his palm, then handed the rest to Soap. “Settin’ up the bugs now,” he said, “then we’ll go in. Sit tight.”

“Roger that.” Not like he had plans to go anywhere for the next several hours still. “Make sure ya lock my truck up when ya leave.”

Ghost grabbed a case from the bag that housed a computer and harddrive, to which the bugs were synced. He pressed one of the headphones to his ear and switched on one of the bugs, giving it a few taps. A dull thumping noise rang through the speaker. Soap repeated the test with one of his bugs.

“Sounds good,” he confirmed. “Champ, we’re headin’ in.”

“Copy. I’ll be watchin’ from out here.”

Soap hopped out first, and gave himself a pat down to make sure his comms and his concealed firearm were hidden. Ghost followed suit, shrugging on his jacket to cover up the holster at his side. He still stuck out like a sore thumb, of course, being as hulking as he was, and wearing jeans and a jacket in the Kentucky summer heat, but at least he didn't have the balaclava to make him more conspicuous.

Soap made sure the truck was locked, then trotted up to Ghost’s side, and the two of them made for the bar. Before crossing the street, Soap glanced over his shoulder, spotting the barrel of a sniper rifle peeking out through the big O of the restaurant’s logo. He gave a subtle nod, pleased to know that they had someone watching over them.

Ghost pulled the door open, a chime overhead ringing to announce their presence. The two workers stopped mid conversation to stare him and Soap down as they stepped in and took up seats near the end of the bar. They exchanged glances, then the woman approached with a friendly, albeit nervous smile.

“Welcome in, gentlemen. What can I get’cha today?” she asked. Her accent was similar, but not identical to Champ’s. It wasn’t quite as… charming.

The fact that she was a bartender in a Nazi bar wasn’t helping either.

Scanning the selection of liquors, Ghost decided on a glass of Bison’s Sketch on the rocks. Soap, after frowning at the scotches available, settled for a glass of Creator’s Stroke, also on the rocks.

The bartender poured their drinks, and Ghost passed her a few bills to cover the tab.

“Never seen you two in here before,” she said, eyeing the two of them with cautious curiosity. “Y’all don’t sound like you’re from ‘round here either.”

“Good ear,” Soap said, taking a sip of his drink. Bourbon wasn’t his favorite, but it was drinkable. He swallowed it down without complaint. “UK.”

“Ah,” the bartender said. “Brits.”

Over their comms, Champ snorted. The soldiers had their mics on, so he could hear everything they heard.

“Close enough,” Soap said, forcing his jaw to move so he didn’t speak through his teeth.

“Lots of foreigners comin’ in this week,” she mused. She shot her coworker a glance, “But the other fellas that’ve been comin’ in—they’re all Ruskies, ain’t they? Wonder if we’ll see ‘em again tonight…”

Ghost, Soap, and Champ all perked up, though the two soldiers did so subtly, so as not to tip off the civilians.

The other man shrugged. The bartender returned to Ghost and Soap. Mostly Soap, since he was the one willing to engage in conversation. “What brings y’all to Kentucky?”

Soap held up his glass of bourbon and put on a grin for the lady. “What else? This is Bourbon County, no?”

Ghost stood up suddenly, startling the bartender. “The loo?” he asked. She stared back at him, confused. “Restroom,” he clarified.

“Oh. Down the hall, to the right,” she said, jabbing a thumb in that direction. Ghost nodded and disappeared, hands in his hoodie pockets. The bartender shot Soap a bewildered look, brows raised. “Your friend’s a bit strange.”

It was Soap’s turn to snort. “Och, he’s a wee softie once ya get to know ‘im,” he said. In his ear, Ghost growled a warning, and Champ chuckled.

In the bathroom, after Ghost finished up his business—which he did turn his mic off for—he stuck one of the bugs under the sink. This one, he assumed, would just record a bunch of pissing and shitting, but it didn’t hurt to bug the place just in case someone decided to have an important conversation in the loo.

Outside of the restroom, Ghost noticed a small lounge area, and a couple of closed doors beyond. Switching his mic back on, he asked, “Champ, everyone still up front?”

“Yessir,” the cowboy answered.

“Soap, keep ‘em busy. I’m gonna snoop.” He didn’t wait for an answer, knowing Soap couldn't give him one anyway—and silently stepped up to the first door. He pressed his ear to the wood, listening for any signs of life beyond. As expected, he couldn't hear anyone. The doorknob was locked, though, which presented a bit of a problem.

“Anyone know how to pick a lock?”

“Sure,” Champ answered. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a lock pick?”

“Negative.”

Champ hummed. “Some sort of multi-tool?”

“I have several knives,” the lieutenant said bluntly.

A heavy sigh left the cowboy’s lungs. “Alright… might have’ta brute strength it a lil’ bit. Use a knife with a tip that curves upward…”

It took a couple of tries and, as Champ suggested, a bit of brute strength, but Ghost managed to jimmy the lock and gain access to the room. Or rather, access to a stairwell that led downward.

“Looks like a basement,” Ghost reported.

“Hurry up, LT…” Soap muttered through his teeth, “These two are gettin’ suspicious.”

Right on cue, the bartender spoke up: “Your friend okay? He’s been gone a while.” She frowned at Ghost’s drink, untouched and half melted. “His bourbon’s all watered down…”

“Aw, y’know, he was complainin’ of stomach pain just before we walked in. I’ll give him another…” Soap glanced at his watch, “ three minutes. If he’s not back, I’ll go check on him.”

Three minutes. Plenty of time. Ghost was already down the stairs, but he paused at the bottom, a little taken aback. “Fuckin’ hell…” he muttered. It was a storage room, the shelves lined with extra bottles of booze and paper products. But it was also a den of sorts, with a small table in the middle, and Nazi and Confederate iconography all over the walls. Disgust stirred deep in his gut. “If there are any secret meetings happenin’ in this place, they’d be down here.”

“Hurry and bug it then,” Soap urged. “Gonna have to break a glass if you take much longer.”

Ghost placed two bugs: one under the table, and another behind the big, ugly flag with a swastika on it. Just touching the damn thing sickened him, but he kept his complaints to himself, and quickly made his exit up the stairs. He closed the door behind him, smoothed out his hoodie, and put a hand to his stomach as he strolled back into the front bar area, selling the look of someone that had recently suffered from some gastrointestinal distress. He discretely stuck another bug to the underside of the countertop as he passed.

“There ya are, ya dobber!” Soap exclaimed, grinning wide. “Feel better?”

Ghost played along with a grunt of affirmation and took his seat. He stared down at the watery mess that was his bourbon, brows furrowed. “Should have ordered after…” he mumbled.

The bartender reached across and plucked Ghost’s drink up, startling him. “Let me get that for ya, darlin’,” she said, dumping and repouring the drink. “Want it served up this time, in case you have another emergency?”

“Cheers, that'd be lovely,” Ghost said, forcing politeness into his tone. It sounded unnatural—at least to Soap and Champ. The bartender didn't seem to notice, though.

“Y’know, you don’t gotta wear that in here,” she said, gesturing to the mask on Ghost’s face. “We never enforced the mandate.”

Of course they hadn’t.

Ghost took his new drink and lifted his mask from the chin with that same hand to take a sip, all while maintaining eye contact and keeping his lower face obscured. He swallowed the bourbon down, its smoky sweetness warming his mouth.

“Personal preference,” he said simply.

The woman shrugged her shoulders and let it be.

Soap waited until she walked away from them, then knocked his shoulder lightly to the Brit’s. “What’d ya see down there?” he asked, voice low.

“Lots’a evil,” Ghost answered. He took another sip of his drink. “ Definitely a Nazi bar.”

“Is that fuckin’—” Champ’s voice cut in over their comms, almost a yell— “ Rage Against the Machine?!” Soap winced at the sudden outburst, and pushed a finger subtly to his ear.

The other worker—the man in the vest—had turned on the juke box situated in the back corner. Sure enough, “Sleep Now In the Fire” blared through the speakers.

“They’re playing Rage,” the cowboy said, his jaw slack in disbelief, “in a Nazi bar. I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“Calm down,” Ghost growled in warning. “Or get off the comms.”

“Not even a hint of irony…” he grumbled, but resigned himself to continue his seething in silence.

Soap finished off his bourbon and set the glass down with a loud clink. The bartender regarded him with a brow raised, presenting him with a silent question. He leaned forward, squinting at the liquor bottles behind her, his lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Got any other scotch?” he asked.

The bartender turned to look at the scotch present. “Pretty sure this is it,” she said. “Thought you said you came here for the bourbon.”

“Aye,” Soap conceded, lips pulled in a charming smile as he idly swirled the large ice cube in his empty glass. “But I’m feelin’ a little homesick. Sure ya don’t have anything in the back?”

Ghost caught on to what he was doing. He took another sip of his drink and watched in silence. Maybe if he stared hard enough, he could unsettle the lady into cooperating.

The bartender frowned. “Think that’s all we got…” She caught on to Ghost’s stare, and shifted uncomfortably. “But, uh… sure, I can go look…”

She shuffled away, disappearing down the hall. The man remained in place for a moment, then followed her after he too caught Ghost’s stare. Ghost watched after him, and saw him slip into the second door—the one Ghost hadn’t gotten to explore. It looked like an office, from the momentary glimpse he caught before the door closed.

“Mean mug ya got there, Spooky,” Champ said. Ghost grunted, turning his gaze out the front windows. To most, it sounded like a noncommittal noise, but Soap recognized the hint of smugness buried under the gravel.

There was something truly satisfying about making Nazis squirm without even needing to lay a hand on them. Ghost still wanted to bash their heads in, of course, but that wasn’t in the game plan tonight. Unfortunately.

Now that they were alone in the bar, Soap wasted no time. He stood up and made a beeline for the lounge to stick a bug behind one of the frames hanging on the wall. He looked around, thinking if he should place another one and where, when he noticed some particularly unsettling posters. Lots of numbers. Dog whistles. Glaringly loud, to someone familiar with them, but innocuous enough at a glance to any poor sap that may mistakenly wander into the bar.

“Fuckin’ filth back there,” he muttered, returning to his seat. Ghost hummed in agreement, his stare now directed to the bourbon left in his glass. “This place makes my skin crawl.”

“Y’all are doin’ great,” Champ said. “Holdin’ up better n’ I would, that’s for sure.”

“Kinda wish you were in here,” Soap replied, “to provoke ‘em, then we could get our hands dirty.”

The cowboy laughed dryly. “If only. When I tell you my trigger finger’s itchin’ like I got a fire ant in my glove…”

Ghost shushed them with a sharp hiss. The bartender walked back in a second later, empty-handed. “Sorry, darlin’,” she said, leaning her hands on the counter in front of Soap. “Only scotch we got’s what ya see.”

Soap pushed a frown, head lolling dramatically to the side to exaggerate his disappointment. “Aw, that’s a shame. Guess I’ll have another a’ this.” He swirled his empty glass, then pushed it forward for the bartender to refill. Ghost finished the last of his drink, then wordlessly asked for a refill of his own, which the bartender obliged.

Together, they sipped at their new drinks, making casual conversation as they subtly surveyed the empty bar. The bartender, upon recognizing that her attention was not currently needed, settled at the far end of the bar with her phone. The other man was still locked away in the office. It would have been nice to get a bug in there, but it was seeming less and less likely that there would be any opportunity to make that happen.

Champ kept his vigil, watching steadily through his scope. His wet blanket and clothes were starting to feel a little uncomfortable against his skin, but he paid it no mind. It was nice when a breeze passed over him, graciously wicking away some of the heat bearing down on him.

Another vehicle—a black sedan, not luxury, but not exactly cheap either—pulled into the bar’s parking lot, taking up a space on the side of the building. Champ tried to peer in through the windows, but they were tinted too dark for him to get a good look inside.

“Incoming,” he mumbled into his comm. “Three fellas.” He swept his crosshair over all of them as they stepped out of the car and approached the door. They all had blazers and jeans on, but Champ did catch a glimpse at a hand tattoo. A Russian flag, and some writing that he couldn’t catch. “At least one of ‘em’s Russian. An’ all of ‘em are packin’.”

The three men walked into the bar, pausing momentarily as they noticed Ghost and Soap seated at the counter. The two soldiers pretended not to pay them any mind.

“My god… that fucker is huge…!” one of them said in Russian, garnering a few snickers from his companions.

“Americans. What do they put in their food to make such a big man?” another commented. Champ snorted at that one.

Ghost had a distinct and familiar feeling that he was the topic of conversation, despite the language barrier. A low, quiet growl settled in the back of his throat.

“They think you’re American, Spooky,” Champ supplied, which made Ghost growl louder, offended. “Marvelin’ at how big ya are.”

“I’ve killed for lesser insults,” the Brit grumbled, to the amusement of Soap and Champ.

The bartender, having put her phone down, stepped up and greeted the three newcomers with a smile. She spoke with a sense of familiarity, welcoming them back in. They must have been the Russians she’d mentioned earlier. The men returned the greeting and ordered their drinks, then settled at a table in the back lounge. Between the distance and the music on the jukebox, the soldiers couldn’t hear them well—not that they had any idea what they’d be saying anyway.

Champ, however, pulled out one of his earbuds and popped in another, connected to the bugs. He cycled through the channels until he found the bug nearest them—the one Soap had placed under the frame in the lounge—and listened in. It didn’t matter too much, since everything was being recorded anyway, but he listened regardless. It might save them some processing and administrative time with Laswell later.

“Don’t recognize any of ‘em,” Soap noted, and Ghost agreed with a nod.

“Nor I,” Champ replied. His earlier amusement was gone, tone now stony and serious. “But one of ‘em just mentioned somethin’ about a meetin’ happenin’ later on tonight. Got a good feelin’ these bastards’ll lead us to somethin’ good.” Which meant, unfortunately, that he had to leave even more patrons of the Nazi bar alive. For now.

Soap pulled out his phone and sent off a text to the secure group chat Laswell had set up earlier. Members included herself, Price, Nikolai, Champ, Ghost, and him.

>> Bugs set. >> Got three Russians in here talking about a meeting later.

laswell << Understood. We’ll be monitoring the bugs from here on out. << Good work, gentlemen. You can leave when ready. We’ll let you know if anything comes up.

Ghost glanced over the messages, one brow quirked, then downed the rest of his drink and dropped another couple of bills on the counter. Soap followed suit, trailing after the lieutenant, out of the bar without so much as a goodbye to the bartender.

“All done?” Champ asked. Ghost looked up, scanning the gaudy balloon letters for the cowboy’s rifle.

“Affirmative,” he grunted. “Laswell’s takin’ over from here.”

Champ hummed thoughtfully. “Think I’m gonna stick around for a while longer,” he said after a moment. “See who’s comin’ to this meetin’. Y’all can head out if you want to, though.”

Soap and Ghost exchanged glances. While Soap wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of another several hours of stakeout duty, he couldn’t deny his own curiosity regarding the meeting. He nodded to Ghost, then replied, “We’ll stay too. Got nothin’ better to do.”

“Sounds good. Move my truck though, will ya? It’s been there for a hot minute.”

Soap agreed, and led the way back to the grocery store parking lot where they’d left the truck. He climbed into the driver’s seat and, after adjusting it to accommodate his larger size, shoved the keys into the ignition. Blessed AC blasted from the vents, immediately staving off the suffocating heat in the cabin.

Ghost lingered outside, staring across the street to the rooftop Champ was on.

“All good, LT?” Soap asked, rolling down the window.

“You move the truck,” he said, “I’m gonna check up on the Yank.” He strode off before the Scot could answer, following in Champ’s earlier footsteps to the restaurant. There was a ladder in the alleyway at the back of the building that he scaled, bringing him to the roof. Champ’s location wasn’t immediately obvious, the cowboy having taken some measures to hide himself behind some discarded crates. As Ghost approached, he spotted the wide-brimmed hat first. The rest of him, laid out in sniper’s prone, was hidden under his still-damp blanket.

Then Ghost heard a click. It was a familiar noise. Too familiar. He stiffened immediately, before realizing that it had come from under the blanket. The cowboy hat was turned slightly in his direction.

Ah yes, he’d neglected to inform Champ that he was coming up, and he’d essentially, albeit unintentionally, just snuck up on him. While he was lying down, no less.

“At ease, Marine,” he growled. (Marine. Not soldier. He knew that American servicemembers, former or otherwise, could be tetchy about their branch and their titles.) “It’s just me.”

The cowboy hat tipped down, a sigh escaping from under it. “Heavens to Betsy, Spooky, don’t fuckin’ do that.” There was another click—this time, the sound of a pistol decocking under the blanket. Champ’s figure visibly relaxed as he turned his attention back to his scope. “I was two seconds from shootin’ ya, I suwanne.”

(Who the fuck was Betsy? Suwanne? Christ, he was just as incomprehensible as Soap.)

Ghost huffed and stepped up to Champ, taking a knee at his side. “I’d have been on top of you in one.”

“Bullshit. I had at least three.”

“Hmn.” He called his own bullshit, but didn’t press the matter. “Move,” he said, nudging Champ’s ribs with his knuckles.

The cowboy tensed, head whipping around first to Ghost’s hand, then up to his face. His eyebrows shot up over his sunglasses, surprised to see Ghost still in his “civilian” mask, but he didn’t comment on it. “Wha…?”

“Give us a look,” the Brit clarified. “Take a break.”

“Don’t need a break. ’M good.”

“Not askin’.” He nudged again, a bit harder this time. “Move over.”

Champ still didn��t move. “Five minutes.”

“Thirty.”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen.”

For a second, Ghost thought that Champ was going to argue with him some more. And Champ wanted to. He side-eyed the lieutenant, lips pressed together under his bandana, then reluctantly shuffled away from the rifle. The whole front side of his clothes was just as wet as the back, but from sweat, rather than rain water. It was a bloody hot day, same as yesterday.

Ghost took up the space behind the rifle, settling in with practiced ease, and peered through the scope. He could see the bartender and the other man back behind the bar, and one of the Russian men leaned against the counter.

“They sayin’ anythin’ interestin’?” Ghost asked.

Champ tilted his head, listening in on the lounge bug where the other two Russians continued their conversation. “Nah… talkin’ about their recent sexploits. The other fella, though…” He switched around until he was listening though the bugs in the front bar, so he could hear what the first Russian and the bar staff were saying.

And his face blanched.

Ghost glanced back over his shoulder, one brow lifted.

“Ain’t that—...” Trailing off, Champ fished out his phone and rapidly typed into the group chat.

>> the name LASKIN ring any bells? >> that’s an idaho congressman, yeah?

“Champ, what’s goin’ on?” Ghost prompted.

“Might have just gotten a name.”

Laswell sent a response.

LASWELL << Harold Laskin. US Representative from Idaho, yes.

>> mmk. one of these russians just namedropped

LASWELL << We won’t know if it’s him for sure until he shows up. If he does at all.

“Champagne, report,” Ghost ordered. He would check the chat himself, but someone had to keep an eye on the bar front.

“Sorry—” Champ stowed his phone and pushed a hand under his hat, through his hair. “The bastard in front mentioned that someone named Laskin would be around later for a meeting. Laskin’s also the name of a Representative from Idaho.” He scowled under his bandana and shook his head in disgust. “Fuckin’ nasty piece a’ shit. Ultraconservative. Racist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic—the works.”

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes. He dragged the crosshair over the Russian man still leaning against the bar, then the two workers. This new information didn’t exactly confirm that the staff were privy to the Ultranationalist plot—hell, there wasn’t any hard evidence yet that there was an Ultranationalist plot unfolding in this bar—but things were not looking good for them. For any of them.

“I’m stayin’ right here tonight,” Champ said. “Gonna keep a look out. See if I can get a visual confirmation.”

“Laswell can get confirmation from the bugs.”

“No such thing as too much evidence,” Champ replied. And Ghost couldn’t argue with that.

“Oi,” Soap’s voice cut in over the comms, “I’m parkin’ down the street at a pharmacy. You boys gettin’ along up there?”

Champ answered before Ghost could, “Yep. Like white on rice, the two a’ us.”

Neither Ghost nor Soap responded immediately, neither of them knowing what exactly that saying meant. Their confusion made Champ chortle.

“I’m gonna assume that’s good,” Soap said eventually. “So ya think this Laskin guy’s the government official we’re chasin’?”

“He fits the bill,” Champ replied. “Definitely wouldn’t be surprised, given the shit he says on the regular.” He searched the Representative up on his phone and skimmed over an article about him. “His district’s up north, in one a’ the reddest parts of the Redoubt.”

He went on to explain what exactly the “Redoubt” was, and some talking points and policies the Idaho Rep often spewed. It left the soldiers with bitter tastes in their mouths and a burning in their guts. How someone like that could be elected into government was beyond any of them.

Ghost made a disparaging comment on the state of the American government, but Soap chimed in to remind him of the UK’s political turmoil as well. None of them had any room to speak, and yet all the room to speak.

Kettle calling the pot black, or whatever.

The topic of Champ’s life in the US came up, as it naturally would, but the cowboy just scoffed.

“Oh, I don’t live here,” he said with a shake of his head. “I live in St. Petersburg.”

“In Russia?” Ghost watched him in his peripherals, a little surprised.

“Yeah. I mean, that’s where my boss lives. An’ they got free healthcare. Sure, it’s got plenty a’ problems of its own, but…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t too bad. ‘Cept the winters. Russian winters’re miserable.” Just the thought sent a shiver up his spine.

“That explains why you speak the language,” Soap said. “Dual citizenship?”

“Naw. Got a work visa.” Champ glanced down at his watch, then looked over at Ghost, still prone with the rifle. “Alright, Spooky, my break’s over. Up an’ at ‘em.”

Ghost didn’t stir yet. Instead, he addressed Soap, “Sergeant, we’re gonna keep a lookout for a while longer.”

A groan filtered in through the comm, the Scot none-too-happy about this news. “How much longer?”

“Until we see who this Laskin bloke is.”

Champ frowned. “Y’all don’t gotta stay. I can do this on my own.”

“And leave you without backup?” Ghost huffed. “Better yet, leave you alone with that itchy trigger finger? Don’t think so.”

An offended noise left the cowboy’s lips. “'Ey! I don’t need a goddamn babysitter, a’right?” He moved in, pushing a hand to Ghost’s shoulder to encourage him to move. The Brit stiffened, muscles going rigid, like a wall of stone. Champ froze much in the same way. Ghost’s eyes slid away from the scope, down to that hand, then up to Champ’s face.

Most people didn’t touch him if they could avoid it. Only Johnny dared to lay his hands on him. Sometimes Price.

Champ kept the contact for a heartbeat more, then pulled his hand back, but he remained nearby. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, voice firm and unwavering, even under Ghost’s scrutiny. “We agreed, right? It’s been nearly twenty.”

A noise behind them made the cowboy flinch, his gun out of its holster and cocked with a flash. Ghost tensed further, his shoulders tight, ready to swing the sniper rifle around in an instant if he needed to.

From behind the lip of the roof, where the ladder hung over the edge, a dark tuft of hair popped up. A second later, Soap peered over the ledge, blue eyes wide and curious. Champ breathed out and decocked his firearm for the second time today. Ghost didn’t ease, though, until he heard the Scot’s voice call out.

“Hello?”

In lieu of a verbal response, Champ waved his hand to indicate where they were. Soap quickly made his way to them, three bottles of cold water in hand. He handed one to Champ, who graciously accepted, and set another down next to Ghost.

In his earlier eagerness to get set up, Champ had neglected to bring his own water with him to the roof. He put his battle of wills with Ghost on pause for the moment while he cracked the lid open and took a few long swallows under his bandana. He gasped softly when he pulled the bottle away from his lips, the chill settling comfortably in his core.

Damn, it was hot out.

“‘Preciate ya, Scotty,” he said, offering his fist for Soap to knock with his own. “Now could ya please get your boy to shove off so I can have my gun back?”

Soap looked between the two of them, his own bottle raised to his lips. He took a sip before speaking. “You hoggin’ the man’s rifle, LT?”

Ghost grunted, neither confirming nor denying—but there really was no denying it.

“Ghost…” Soap drawled, almost chiding.

“How’s this,” the lieutenant said gruffly, “We take shifts. Two hours per.” It was not a request, so much as a compromise offered out of courtesy, but that didn’t stop Champ from trying to argue.

“It’s my fuckin’—”

Soap interrupted, “Aye, you just wanna stare at Nazis through that scope, don’t ya, LT?”

His next grunt was definitely not a denial. “Can’t let the Yank have all the fun,” he mused.

Champ let out a frustrated groan, and anger-chugged another few gulps of water. He checked his watch, petty enough to deduct the twenty minutes Ghost had already stolen, and mentally noted when the shift change would be.

“Soap’s next,” Ghost replied flatly, as if reading Champ’s mind. “You already had four hours.”

“Feels like you’re tryin’a pull rank,” he grumbled, glaring at the back of the lieutenant’s head.

“Feel free to try and move me,” Ghost offered. And Champ was tempted. He really was.

Luckily for all of them, though, one of the Russians inside mentioned an important word: Ultranationalist.

Or maybe it wasn’t so lucky. Champ lunged, shoving at Ghost’s shoulder again with more fervor. “Move move move—” Taken by surprise, Ghost did roll onto his side, moving just enough for the cowboy to slip in under him and stare through the scope.

“Bloody hell, what—?” Ghost snapped, unhappy to be virtually lying on top of Champ.

“Confirmed they’re Ultranationalists,” Champ said. “They jus’ said so. I heard ‘em.” He scoured the bar, and growled when he couldn’t see any of the Russian men. Only the bartender remained in the front. Everyone else must have retreated into the lounge.

A heavy hand clamped down on the back of Champ’s harness, threatening to yank. It ignited a feral instinct in Champ’s gut. The cowboy snarled and shoved the hand off of him, his body tense, ready to retaliate.

“‘Ey!” Soap cut in, shuffling closer before things could escalate. “Let’s calm down, a’right?” He held his hands up to placate the both of them. Few and far between were the times when Soap was the calming voice of reason. “Champ, settle down.”

Play nice. Champ dropped his head, closed his eyes, and took a breath to steady himself. He reminded himself that he was supposed to work with the SAS. No fighting, per Nikolai’s very strict instruction. They were on the same side. They were working together. Allies, and all that.

He was fine. He was good. Water under the bridge.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Champ said, his voice calm and collected. He put on a smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the skin beyond the rim of his glasses. “Jus’ got… excited.” He scooted out from under Ghost and sat back up, hands swiping down his clothes to dust off any dirt. Ghost settled back into place behind the rifle, unfazed and unperturbed.

Soap reached over, hesitating for a moment to pat Champ’s chest. Neutral territory. Not aggressive. “All good?”

“Dandy,” he said. He pressed his earbud into his ear, tuning back into the Russian conversation. Their voices were hushed now, but the bug could still hear them. “They’re discussin’ what the meetin’ might be about. Guess they don’t know yet.”

“That goes for all of us,” Ghost said. “Let’s hope this Laskin bloke shows up soon so we can find out.”

Over the next few hours, things stayed relatively quiet. At around eighteen hundred, more people started to filter into the bar. Some of them showed their filthy politics more freely than others on their skin, their clothes. When Soap got a turn behind the rifle, he entertained himself with the thought of wiring the place up with explosives and blowing it to shit with all the Nazi and Ultranationalist fucks inside.

Oh, how he loved it when he got to utilize his demolitions expertise. It wasn’t nearly often enough, in his opinion.

As tidbits of information came in through the bugs, Champ updated the group chat. Sure, Laswell had her team also listening in on her end, but Champ figured he was faster, being able to translate and relay directly. She didn’t complain.

By the time Champ (finally) got his turn with the rifle— his goddamn rifle!—again, the sun was sinking in the sky. As he settled down behind the scope, he let his mind clear and shift back into the sniper mindset. Calm. Focused. Alert.

He could have done this by himself. A few hours spent in sniper’s prone was nothing compared to the days-long stretches he’d pulled in the past. But… despite the tense moment in the beginning there, and his reluctance to accept help, he found he didn’t mind the company. He’d spoken the truth last night when he’d told Nikolai that he liked these SAS fellas.

He and Soap got along well. They were chatty, perhaps to Ghost’s annoyance. They talked easily. Bantered.

Hell, Ghost even told one of his trademark jokes, which Champ got a kick out of. Soap, not so much, but the Scot still had an amused twinkle in his eye as he criticized Ghost’s shit humor.

Another vehicle pulled into the bar’s steadily-filling parking lot. The fact that it was filling at all disgusted Champ, but he’d long-since resigned himself to swallow the anger and focus on the mission. This new vehicle stood out amongst the others in the lot. It was a high-end luxury model. Something expensive. Champ settled his crosshairs over the window, and his breath caught in his throat. Inside was a pale, middle-aged man with short hair dyed brown, presumably to hide any grays. He had a sharp nose and a weak chin, puffy cheeks, thin eyebrows, beady eyes. He was a skinny man, his suit doing little to bulk up his frame.

He looked like a weasel. Fitting, given the approximate translation of his name.

“Laskin’s here,” Champ growled. His trigger finger itched with a new ferocity, but he kept it still. “It’s the Rep.”

“Wha—for real?” Soap leaned over Champ, peering through the giant O. “Holy shite… tha’s him a’right.”

Ghost didn’t bother to look, trusting the other two to confirm it. Instead, he sent a message to the group chat.

>> Got a PID on Representative Laskin. He’s just arrived at the bar.

LASWELL << Understood.

PRICE << Do not engage, boys.

LASWELL << This is good. Pull back for now. We’ll monitor their conversations from here.

>> Roger.

“Laswell says to pull back,” Ghost relayed, stowing his phone. Soap turned his head around to look at Ghost, his brows furrowed. Champ remained where he was, watching the Rep enter the bar and disappear into the back. “There’s nothin’ we can do right now,” he continued.

Fuckin’ bullshit. Champ clenched his teeth and glared through the scope. This sucked. Ghost was right—to an extent; they could definitely do something right now, but then they’d all likely end up on the run from the cops. They had their PID. Laswell was listening in.

The three of them, right here, right now, were now effectively redundant. Their job was done until they got more intel.

“Puta madre,” he spat. Reluctantly, the cowboy pushed himself up to his knees and lifted his rifle. Practiced hands folded it up and stowed it away in its hardcase.

They dropped down from the roof and discretely headed back to Champ’s truck. Soap, still having the keys, was given the okay to drive them back to Camp Sasha. Champ climbed into the back, lying down across all three seats, while Ghost took up shotgun.

“You don’t trust me to drive?” Ghost asked, staring at the cowboy through the rearview. Champ met his gaze for just a moment, then tipped his hat down over his eyes as if to hide.

“Never said that,” he said simply. Though true, it wasn’t a convincing answer. It wasn’t much of an answer at all.

“So let me drive,” the Brit pressed. He didn’t actually care to drive at this very moment, but this had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Champ hummed a high, uneasy note. Ghost twisted in his seat to face him directly. “Who said somethin’ about my drivin’?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Spooky,” Champ said, retreating further under his hat. “No one’s said nothin’.” That almost sounded convincing. Soap snickered as he started the truck up.

“Was it Soap?”

“Oi—!”

“Wasn’t no one,” the cowboy insisted. “Don’t get yourself in a tizzy. It ain’t nothin’.”

Props to him for refusing to snitch under Ghost’s questioning. But the lieutenant was still annoyed. (And he still suspected Soap.) He was about to grill Champ more, but the man lurched suddenly, curling in around his middle with a groan.

“Ah! Oh… fuck …”

“Champ?” Soap glanced back, immediately concerned.

“It’s a cramp. M fine,” Champ said, his voice a little strained. “Jus’... ah, fuck, I don’t think I’ve eaten’ anythin’ since…” he paused for a long moment to recall his last meal. “Shit. Before y’all got here, I think.”

Soap damn-near slammed on the breaks, but he had a reputation as the good driver to uphold. That left Ghost to stare deadpan at the cowboy.

“You fuckin’ jokin’?” he asked. Champ looked up, his brows furrowed behind his sunglasses.

“Uh huh. Guess I forgot… It’s fine, though. I’ll—”

“You forgot?” Ghost repeated dubiously. Fuckin’ hell. “‘Ow the fuck did you forget to eat for… over thirty two hours?”

Champ could only shrug. “‘M fine. Just a cramp. I’ll eat when we get back to base.”

Base was a half an hour drive away, though. Wordlessly, Ghost righted himself in his seat and searched up local restaurants on his phone. Truth be told, he needed to eat as well. Neither he nor Soap had had anything (other than bourbon and water) since the muffin several hours ago.

“Chinese restaurant comin’ up on the right,” he instructed. Soap flicked on the turn signal and got over. Champ looked like he wanted to protest, but he thought better of it. He was hungry, after all. So he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back, making himself comfortable in the back seat.

Once they pulled into the parking lot, Soap volunteered to go in and place the order. He was getting a sesame chicken, Ghost wanted a sweet and sour pork, and Champ opted for a Sichuan tofu, extra spicy. That earned him a couple of raised brows.

“What?” he said, looking between the two soldiers. “ Trust me, I can handle spicy shit.”

“You vegetarian?” Soap asked.

“Naw. I jus’ like tofu.” He hiked his hips up to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket, and handed the Scot a hundred-dollar bill. “Get some krab rangoons and some spring rolls too. No change.”

Soap accepted the cash and, with their order in mind, strode into the restaurant to place it. He was back in a few minutes, the worker behind the counter having told him that he could wait in his vehicle if he wanted to. He and Ghost fell into idle chatter—Soap doing more of the chatter than Ghost—while Champ was happy to fall into a light doze in the back seat.

Fifteen minutes later, a worker handed off their food through the driver-side window. The smell immediately made Champ perk up. His stomach let out a low growl, reinvigorated. Soap settled down the communal foods on the center console, then handed Ghost and Champ their individual meals. Champ, with chopsticks in hand, tore into his tofu like a ravenous, half-starved dog. Soap, despite having actually eaten that day, chowed down similarly, albeit with a fork.

Ghost… hesitated.

Soap noticed first, slowing his pace and swallowing his mouthful. He looked between Ghost and Champ, frowning. Awkward. “Er…”

“It’s fine,” Ghost said. “I can wait.”

Champ looked up, noticing Ghost’s untouched food. “Oh! Shit, sorry, here—” he shifted around and situated himself so that he wouldn’t be able to see the Brit’s face, his back pressed to the back of Ghost’s seat. “This work? Won’t peek, I promise.”

Ghost still looked uncertain, but Soap gave him an encouraging nod. With some apprehension, Ghost pulled down his mask to eat.

Like the mannerless military men they were, they each cleaned their takeout dishes in five minutes flat. The appetizers lasted a little bit longer, needing some negotiation on who got the fourth spring roll (Champ) and who got the last two rangoons (Soap and Ghost).

Once all of the garbage was stuffed in the bag and Ghost’s mask was back in place, Champ stretched out as much as he could in the back seat with a satisfied sigh.

“Good call, Spooky,” he said, not bothering to pull his bandana back up. His sunglasses had been replaced atop his hat, no longer needed with the sinking sun. “Only complaint’s that those workers pro’ly took one look at you, Scotty—” said Scot glanced at him in the rearview as he pulled out of the parking lot— “said ‘white European boy,’ an’ held back on makin’ the Sichuan really spicy.”

Ghost and Soap snorted in unison. “Dunno what ya mean,” Soap defended, “yours was plenty spicy! My mouth is still burnin’! You tried it too, LT!”

The Brit shrugged. “Wasn’t that bad.” He was a liar and Soap knew it. Champ could tell too. Ghost, cursed with a British palate, had even less of a tolerance for spicy food; he just had a supernatural talent for enduring the pain.

“Aw, off wit’ ya!” Soap groaned, slapping his lieutenant’s shoulder.

The rest of the drive back was relatively quiet. Despite the day being recon only, the three men felt a familiar, tired weight tugging them down. Pretending to play nice with Nazis, and watching the bar for hours through the scope of a sniper rifle was exhausting.

Rock and metal music spilled from the radio at a comfortable volume. Ghost eyed the screen when a band called “Ghost” popped up. Soap made a tongue-in-cheek comment about the lieutenant moonlighting as a singer. Ghost just rolled his eyes and turned to stare out of his window.

“...Are you ready to swear right here, right now, before the devil…?”

The band was okay. Not bad. A little uppity for metal.

In the back seat, Champ was conked out. Having done most of the overwatch throughout the day, he was feeling the mental drain. His hat sat on his chest, sunglasses set on the brim. The soldiers let him be until they pulled up to the camp gate, then Soap reached back and tapped his shoulder.

“Need your ID,” he said. Champ mumbled something unintelligible and fished the ID from his holster bag, handing it off to the Scot. Slowly he pushed himself up to sit, and stretched his back until it popped.

“Drop me at the stables,” he said. “You can take the truck back to the hotel.”

Soap nodded and turned down the road leading to the stables. “Give the ol’ mule a pat for me, yeah?” he said, slowing the truck to a stop.

“Will do,” Champ said with a salute. Hat back on his head, he popped his door open, but paused before stepping out. “Ah.” He reached down in the footwell and grabbed the plushie Ghost had tossed back there earlier. “Don’t forget this, Spooky,” he said with a grin, dropping it into the Brit’s lap.

“Fuck off,” Ghost grumbled, glaring down at the toy ghost. It smiled back at him, unfazed.

Champ left them for the stables. Soap pulled back onto the road and drove them to the hotel. He left Champ’s keys with the front desk worker, then he and Ghost headed straight to their room. They both were in need of a shower, eager to scrub off the residue from that goddamn bar.

Tomorrow, their work would continue.

#call of duty #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod oc #john mactavish #simon riley #kate laswell #hyena writes #hyena ocs #wayne champagne #idk what it is about this story that compels me to make such LONG chapters dkfgfdgjk #only two in & the whole thing is already over 25k words #that's more than the current 5 chapters of make it better 😵‍💫

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