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the-californicationist · 5 months

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he lets you watch

When you overhear Captain Price watching porn in his office, you decide to turn his fantasies into a reality.

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

TW: femdom, gagging, one slap

You were working late. Again. It was the most frustrating part of any operation: recon review. All the footage collected from all the soldiers’ body cams had to be reviewed and documented. Any dialogue? Syntactically tagged. Any shots fired? Counted. Any kills? Confirmed. You were glad to help the team, but this stage of discovery was dreadfully boring.

Even worse, your new-found crush on your captain was driving you insane. To be honest, you’d had your eye on him for a while. There was something about a man in charge, but it was when this last set of footage came through that you really went off the deep end.

Price had gone with Gaz into a warehouse that was suspected of housing enemy munitions, and the captain had uncovered crates and crates of target-marking spray paint. Huge canisters that attached to the bottoms of planes were all stuck in little rows, lined up and ready to use.

Unfortunately for the captain, one of the canisters was propped open on the top of its box, and when he lifted the lid, he got covered in red dye. You watched it explode, covering the camera, and then when it reconnected, there he was. Shirtless. Down to his boxer briefs. Wiping red dye off of himself with his clothes. Gaz had brought a full kit, so Price was changing out, hoping to stay covert and camouflaged in the clean gear. Couldn’t well be a glowing red dot while trying to escape enemy territory.

His chest was broad and full of dense, dark hair, laying flat like soft fur, untrimmed and natural. His beard was streaked red, and half his face was painted, making him look like an ancient Celt, ready for brutal highland battles and bedding willing lassies. He was frustrated by his accident, so all of his movements were sharp and aggressive, his muscles raging and wrestling against his skin. Then, he moved closer to the camera, and the bulge in his underwear became glaringly apparent.

Hung. Thick. Not so long that it was out of place, but heavy. His cock was imposing, and when he readjusted himself, you could see how dense the muscle really was. You couldn’t help but pause the film, staring, in glorious 4k. You nearly had to wipe the drool from your mouth.

Price looked so confident here. He was always self-assured, but sometimes, when you spoke with him, there was something that he was holding back. Some shyness perhaps, maybe just a reserved nature, but not here. Not in his livid rage, he was like a wounded beast - angry and virile. Full of righteous energy. It made you imagine making him come undone in other ways, in the ways a woman was meant to make a beast like that come apart at the seams. Ripping the constricting threads and freeing the hulking creature looming within.

Now, he was sitting in his office, right next to yours, and he’d started watching footage of his own. Or, at least, you thought that he was watching the cams…until you heard a woman’s salacious moan penetrate the thin wall between you.

Your eyes grew wide, and your breath caught in your chest. You sat in the silence of your office, hearing your heart pound in your ears. You waited to hear it again, just to be sure.

Then, a very quiet,

“You wanna come?”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. It wooshed from you like a wave crashing against miles and miles of sand.

Something snapped, some darkness possessed you. You found yourself standing, walking toward the door to his office. It was so late, everyone else had turned in. Just you and him in the west hall of the base awake. He never slept, it seemed. A night owl like you.

You opened his door without knocking. You’d never done that before, and objectively, it was a truly insane choice.

In your mind, his hand had lingered when he took his cup of coffee from your hands. In your imagination, he’d cocked a sly smile when you made a joke, just between you and him. You thought you’d seen him checking out your ass in the gym. But, you didn’t have any real proof.

Popping open his door was the equivalent of pulling the trigger on a bazooka.

He stood, caught like a fox in a snare, his chair clattering as you came into the room and shut the door behind you quickly.

“Sergeant, uh,” he recovered, “What happened?”

“Captain.”

It was a full sentence. And, it was all you had. You were finished.

The video was still playing. The lurid slapping of skin on skin. Her over-acted moans, his ritual panting. Every few seconds, you counted three, there was another soft,

“You like that, daddy?”

You smiled. He turned red, just like he’d been painted again.

“Sergeant, I was just…”

He paused the movie. Then, with his body, with the hand roughly rubbing down his face, with the palm tightly covering his mouth, he said a million other words. He was still pink with shame, and then he laughed,

“Yeah, no. I was ‘bout to have a wank. Not sure why I was trying to make you believe otherwise, love. Sorry. It’s too loud?”

You smiled wider. His genuine honesty was so smooth and effortless. A thief caught with his hands in the cookie jar, begging you to punish him for it.

“No,” you shook your head, “Just wanted to see what you were watching.”

He didn’t register what you said at first, still staring down at his boots. Then, realization washed over him and he looked up at you, eyes shining, brows arched.

“Oh? That so?”

You nodded,

“Let me see what’s got you up so late.”

The captain rubbed a big, calloused hand across his mouth, smoothing his beard, a bit nervous. Then, he pulled a chair around and motioned for you to sit beside him. You sat. He sat. He hit play.

A woman was straddling a man, both of them hairless and slick like brand new Barbie dolls, spray-tan orange and bleach-blond hair. Americans. She was riding his larger than average dick slowly, deliberately slow, edging him with her pussy. She had a hand around his throat, grasping his jaw tightly, pushing his head back. He was tied to the chair, straining against it, clearly desperate as he writhed beneath her, fighting his restraints.

“Please, baby. Please, let me come?” He begged.

“You wanna come, daddy?” She teased.

“Yeah, can I come?” He begged.

“Ah-ah! I don’t think so…” She teased.

Begging. Teasing. Begging. Teasing. A vicious, uncontrollable cycle of cruelty on her part, always pulling the proverbial carrot farther and farther from his snapping jaws.

You turned to Price who was watching, rapt. He noticed you staring at him. Before he turned to face you, he smiled, sighing,

“Sometimes, when you’re the one barking orders all day, it’d be nice to turn your head off and follow someone else’s for a change.”

“You could follow my orders,” some psychotic part of you spoke.

He gripped the side of the chair, his once-relaxed hands now making the cheap aluminum frame creak and pop.

“What’d you say, Sergeant?”

“You heard me, Captain,” you didn’t know if you should call an exorcist or what. Who was this version of yourself and how quickly was she going to get you court martialed?

“You think you can order me around?”

You leaned in, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath, Cuban cigars leaving earthy notes of vanilla and licorice behind. You whispered,

“I know I can.”

He breathed out, his exhale caressing your lips, threatening to kiss you.

You didn’t move. Not a muscle. You locked eyes with him,

“Sit on your hands, Captain.”

“Sergeant,” he tried to kiss you, but you pulled away quickly.

Part of your body screamed at you, wondering why you’d avoid his advances, but your mind knew what he wanted. He needed to lose control. For a man like Price to lose it, it must be taken from him. Forcibly.

“I said sit... on... them,” you sneered, making yourself larger by standing over him, placing your hands on his thighs to press into his skin.

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, patronizing and light-hearted. It made you want to break him of that habit. Of thinking you were just his sergeant. Just the girl who brought him coffee. Just his gym buddy.

He still hadn’t complied, chuckling to himself. Out of no where, you straight up fucking slapped him. Hard. Right across the jaw. Grabbing him by the collar,

“Sit on your fucking hands, soldier. That’s an order,” you barked.

He sat on his hands, staring at you like you had doused yourself in gasoline and caught yourself on fire, in awe.

You pushed his chair back until you had room to move in front of him, and you began peeling off your clothes, one by one. Your shirt, your cargos, your bra, your panties; they all ended up on the floor, leaving you naked and touching yourself lazily, letting your hands wander.

He moved to lift his hands off his seat, wanting to touch, so you backed away from him. It was a warning: move and this ends. Follow my orders, and I’ll stay. He settled back down.

“You know, I should punish you for slapping me, Sergeant. That’s insubordination,” he chided, trying to regain control of the situation.

You took your panties off the ground and found the wet stain he’d caused, showing it to him coyly, like you’d picked up a pretty shell from the beach. It gleamed in the light of his desk lamp. Then, you walked over to him, swaying your hips, and bent down as if to kiss him.

As he opened his mouth to kiss you back, you pushed your panties into it, past his teeth, clutching at his jaw with the other hand as roughly as you could, knowing you couldn’t hurt him. You shushed his surprised noises, putting a finger to his lip,

“Shh, Captain. That’s enough. You’re not in charge anymore, are you?”

He furrowed his brow as if he would fight back, as if he would remove his hands and teach you a lesson. Then, as he tasted you on his tongue, he realized that you were offering prizes for obedience. He would reap the rewards, if he was willing to play along. His face softened, and he shook his head no.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

You kissed his mouth, awkwardly, since it was full of your wet panties, there was little he could do except experience your kisses. He reacted as if he wanted to kiss you back, and as you moved to kiss his jawline, he moaned.

Price’s moans were rumbling and deep, long and low like a bull elephant’s roar. You wanted to drag that noise out of him again. Your hand found his belt buckle, and you rugged at it, willing it to loosen. As you kissed his neck, you drug down his zipper and freed his cock from the fabric.

The captain was not soft. If anything, he was harder than he should’ve been for a little teasing and some neck kisses. You decided to use that to his disadvantage,

“My, my, my. Someone’s eager…”

You tugged up and down with length in a long, languid massage, feeling how his foreskin slipped over the head and down the shaft, smooth and supple. He was hairy around the root of his cock, just as you’d hoped, and after seeing the video of him covered in paint, you wished you could strip him down and run your fingernails through his chest hair, delicately scratching his skin and peaked nipples.

For now, you spit on his cockhead, using it as lube as you rubbed him. He threw his head back in ecstasy. You removed your hand. He snapped back to attention, staring at you a bit desperate for relief.

You giggled,

“Is this for me, or for her?”

Pointing over your shoulder, you motioned to the paused video. You took your hand away, feigning hurt feelings.

His body arched toward you, missing your touch, and he shook his head, trying to say something.

“For her? How disappointing,” you pouted, playing with the head of his cock with one finger, drawing circles around the edge.

Price was saying something muffled through the fabric of your panties, shaking his head, scooting his chair closer with a quick thrust of his hips, making his cock flag from the jolting movement.

“You know,” you whispered, drawing him in with your quiet tone, “if this was for me, I’d really be looking forward to feeling it inside of me.”

“Mmm. Mm, mm!” He tried to correct you, his shoulders straining as he pulled them forward, struggling against his self-imposed restraint.

“Oh?” You caressed his face, rubbing your hand through his soft beard, feeling the stubble on his chin, “It is for me after all?”

“Mm hm,” he nodded, leaning his cheek into your palm, eyes hooded with relief.

You could tell he was enjoying the game. You were enjoying it, too. You could feel how wet you were, watching him gaze at your shining folds hungry. Impatient.

“In that case…” you straddled him, planting your knees on either side of his hips, trapping his cock between you both. His body felt warm, and his breathing was labored.

You rubbed your wetness up and down his shaft, spreading yourself along his length, making wet little sounds as you smeared him until he was slippery.

Carefully, you moved his head into your eager pussy, your walls pounding for him like a heartbeat. Then, you held his throat with your hand, forcing him to look at you.

“You don’t get to come until I tell you to. Do you understand, soldier?”

“Mm, hm,” he nodded, rolling in the ecstasy of your tight cunt.

“Good, boy.”

#captain john price #captain price #john price #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod

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freedomfireflies · 7 months

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Home

Summary: An extra for Mine*

The one where your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has finally gotten you back.

But everything is about to change.

Word Count: 3.3k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Mama…you have to let go now.”

Your shaky hands tighten around Asher’s arm, fingers curling into his skin in a blatant act of defiance.

You hear Harry sigh from behind you before he steps closer to take hold of your shoulders gently. “Sugar, it’s time to go. You need rest.”

“I can’t,” you exhale, glancing back through tear-stained lashes. “We can’t leave him like this, Har. We can’t, it’s…he’s alone.”

“He’s not alone. And even if he were…it’s not like he knows.”

You feel a soft sob travel up the expanse of your chest, lodging in your throat almost painfully as you glare at him.

He sighs again. “We can come back tomorrow and see him. But I need to take you home now, sweet girl.”

He’s tugging on you, attempting to guide you away from where Asher lays, but you plant your feet into the ground and argue, “Harry, we can’t.”

“Mama—”

“No, he’s…what if he wakes up and he doesn’t see us? What if he thinks we left him?”

“Sugar—"

“And what if he thinks we’re angry at him? Or what if he gets worse—”

“Baby—”

“What if he doesn’t make it? And we never get to tell him—"

“Please,” he suddenly exhales, in a voice so strained and riddled with exhaustion, it takes your breath away. Drops a pit deep in the bottom of your stomach that blooms into fully formed guilt as you slow to a stop. “Please let me take you home. I have to take you home, I have…please. Just let me do this. Please let me do this.”

You think this is the first time you’ve really looked at him in hours. The first time you’ve actually noticed the dark bags and red rings around his eyes. The physical proof of the torment he’s been through painted so perfectly on his perfect face.

He’s been so patient, so gentle. Despite everything else, he’s stayed by your side as Asher was brought into his warehouse to be taken care of privately. Without involving the authorities, Harry found medical personnel he could pay off without jeopardizing his work or his men’s safety to get Asher the help he needed.

He’s taken care of everything. Every little detail and instruction without so much as flinching. He’s held it all together.

For you.

You study him with a sink in your stomach, palm pressing to his cheek as you nod once. “Okay. Okay, take me home.”

He releases his relief, nearly sinking into your touch as he nods as well and takes you by the hand to lead you out of the warehouse.

And you go home. Maybe not to the same place you used to call home, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

Wherever he is…is your home.

The rest of your night is quiet. You’re both exhausted, bodies riddled with fatigue, stress, and lingering trauma. Harry’s bruises are beginning to darken in color, and before you go to bed, you work on cleaning them up and bandaging them properly.

Then, he takes you into his arms, and brings you to bed.

He doesn’t let go all night.

Not when you turn, or shift, or cough. His arms remain snaked around your torso like a vice while his face nuzzles into your neck as though he can’t breathe any other way.

And you don’t mind.

In fact, you become quite used to the heat that radiates from his strong frame and the sound of his soft exhales in your ear.

So, when you wake to find both missing…you realize something has gone wrong.

You sit up in the large, empty bed and glance around the large, empty room for any sign of the man you love.

When you don’t find him, your mind is tempted to jump to the worst possible outcome. He’s been taken, or he’s left, or Asher took a turn for the worst and Harry went to say goodbye.

And then…you hear it. The sound of knuckles hitting the shredded foam of the punching bag. Over and over and over, followed by soft, strained grunts after each hit.

Your stomach wrenches, and with great trepidation, you slip from between the covers, and begin to pad your way through the halls.

The house is quiet and cold. Eerie, in a sense, with only the light of the moon to guide you down the stairs.

Your arms curl around your shivering frame, a fruitless attempt at finding warmth. You wonder how long he’s been gone. How angry he must have been to leave you so willingly in the middle of the night after everything else.

You find him in the basement, his back to the door as he lays hit after hit to the black bag hanging from the ceiling. You can see the muscles ripple beneath his shirt with each blow, can see the veins in his arms cord and push against his sweaty skin.

And you can see the blood. The dark droplets that trickle down his hands from the torn skin of his knuckles. He wears no gloves or wrapping to protect him from the harsh strikes. Almost as if welcoming the pain.

Encouraging it.

You step closer, finding his face in the mirror across the room. His expression is anguished and outraged. He glares at his hands like they’re the reason for his resentment, and it breaks your heart to see him so tormented.

“Har?” you call the moment he’s taken a quick pause, moving a bit closer.

You notice him hesitate, but his back remains to you. Perhaps afraid of your reaction.

Or maybe he’s afraid of his.

You frown. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

A rather silly question, you realize. Because everything is wrong. A shorter list would be things that aren’t.

But there’s something he’s holding onto, something he hasn’t shared that keeps him up. The reason for his bruised fingers and punishing strikes.

“Baby?” you murmur, hoping a softer tone will encourage a response.

Instead, all he does is shake his head.

You feel pulled to him, your feet moving across the cold, cement floor until you can wrap him in your arms and press your cheek to his spine.

“Harry,” you exhale while he braces himself against the punching bag and succumbs to your comfort. “Please…”

He sucks in a sharp breath, yet still, he remains silent. As though the words on the tip of his tongue have been swallowed by the grief.

You clutch his shirt in your hands and tug. “Talk to me. I can’t…I want to help. Please let me help. Let me make it better—”

Another breath, but this one is strangled and wounded. Breaking free of his lungs while his head drops. “Don’t,” he whispers, and you feel your pulse stagger. “Don’t, not after I…not after…”

Your brows furrow, and you grip the material on his chest a bit tighter. “After you what?”

He sighs. It’s so very heavy.

Even still, you hold on with everything you have left. “Har?”

A beat. Then—

“I let them take you.”

The admission is ushered with quiet shame, and you can hear the remorse bleed through each syllable, can feel the way his body recoils from truth.

Your lips press together as you keep your fingers tangled against his heart. “You had to.”

He scoffs to himself, palms pressing harder into the bag. “Doesn’t matter, I fucking…I let them take you. I sat there, and I listened to you cry, and I fucking…I…”

You turn him around; despite the way he attempts to remain planted to his spot. You force him to look at you, and it nearly guts you to see the way he glowers like he’s furious with himself. Like he’ll never accept the choice he made.

“You had to,” you repeat, as firmly as you can. “Harry, there was no other way. And I know that. Just like I know you didn’t want to. But this was the only option we had left.”

His teeth scrape together like the idea irks him yet there’s a sadness behind his eyes that says more than his response ever could.

And then…he lowers.

He drops to his knees, settling himself at your feet as he looks up at you with penitence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you suck in a sharp inhale. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for everything I’ll have to put you through again. I’m so fucking sorry for ever making you feel scared. Or alone. And I’m sorry that loving me comes at such a high cost.”

You can feel a rush of tears swimming their way up the back of your throat but before you can speak, he drops his head, looks down at the floor, and rests his hands on his thighs.

He submits to you.

“Please,” he says softly. “Please forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. And I know that there’s nothing I can ever do that’ll make it up to you, but please…please forgive me.”

You reach down and slip your fingers under his chin, forcing his attention back. He seems to find comfort in your touch and yet at the same time, he wilts. Like he doesn’t feel worthy of your affection.

“Please,” he says again, and it creates a hole in your stomach a mile deep. “I’ll do anything.”

You take both his cheeks against your palms, thumbs gingerly dancing across the heavy bags beneath his eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive, Har. There never was.”

He nuzzles his face against your hand and takes in a shaky breath. “You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me, and I’m too selfish to let you go. But maybe I need to. Maybe I need to get out of your way so you can find somebody that isn’t going to hurt you—”

“No,” you interject, dipping down with a pointed squeeze to his jaw. “Don’t. Don’t do that—”

“I want to protect you. I want to keep you, but what if I can’t—”

“You can,” you murmur, and your voice cracks as the first tear falls down your cheek. “You can and you have. I’m with you for a reason, Harry. I love you. I love you, and I can’t be without you, so stop saying it—”

“If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do—”

“But you didn’t,” you argue, attempting to sound more confident than you feel. “You didn’t. You never will. Just…please. Please come to bed.”

His lashes flutter, but those pretty eyes you find so much serenity in never leave you. “I’m so sorry,” he says again. “I’m so fucking sorry for not being the man you deserve.”

And it hurts you more than anything else ever has. Because you can see that he actually believes that. But even worse, you can see that you’ll never be able to change his mind.

So, you kiss him. You kiss him hard and with more love than you know what to do with. You offer it all to him, your time, your devotion, your affection. Everything you have, you give to the man on his knees.

You’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to convince him that you’re safest with him. That nobody else could ever do for you what he does. That you’re meant to be with him…even if it’s on the run.

But you suppose you’ll just have to spend the rest of your life showing him.

You whimper against his lips, hands moving for the hair on his neck as you tug. Desperate for more, for all of it. Anything he’ll give you. Needing to prove to him and to yourself that things are okay again.

In turn, he reaches out for your hips, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath your shirt as he attempts to pull you down with him.

But just before you can revel in the idea…the phone rings.

You both turn, glancing toward the wall where the landline resides, and Harry sighs as he stands back up.

“One minute, okay?” he promises, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping past you to answer.

You watch closely as he brings the headset to his ear, his expression filling with something you aren’t sure you recognize.

Your stomach drops before he nods, mumbles a quick response, and hangs up.

He turns to you. “It’s Asher.”

You step closer, the tears already flooding back to your waterline, desperate to fall.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip…and smiles.

“He’s awake.”

“You’re a bloody fucking idiot is what you are.”

Asher laughs and nods his chin toward his boss. “You didn’t think so when I suggested it.”

“I didn’t suggest you get shot,” Harry corrects, arms crossing over his chest almost defiantly. But he’s smiling, and it makes your heart warm. “You were supposed to take her and wait outside. I would have handled it.”

“If I hadn’t stayed, they would have killed you,” Asher argues, and Harry’s expression falls. “And nobody can protect her better than you.”

Harry’s eyes drift to yours.

“Besides,” Asher adds, “it’s kind of my job to take the bullets meant for you.”

And just the thought makes your breath hitch, your throat contracting almost painfully as you glance between them.

Harry nods once. An acknowledgement of understanding. And gratefulness.

Now, Asher turns to you, frowning some as he straightens up. You rush to help, making sure his pillow is fluffed just right, and that he isn’t putting any strain or pressure on his wound.

But as you flutter about, he begins to chuckle, hand reaching out to gently ease you to a halt.

Yet you feel helpless simply sitting by his side, unable to offer much more than an encouraging smile and a few words of comfort. You want to do something. Make it up to him in some way. Repay your debt.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, calling your attention to him. He frowns when you look over. “I need to apologize to you.”

Instantly, you shake your head as you step back, almost as though trying to avoid his attempt. “No. You don’t. It was part of the ruse, I know. Harry told me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Speaking to you that way crosses a line, and I’d like to apologize for the harsh things I said—”

“Asher,” you exhale, glancing down toward the bandage on his chest to avoid his gaze. “You’re alive, and that’s all I care about. You had to sell it, you had to make him believe you were on his side.”

He sighs, but you can tell he’s not exactly convinced. “Even still, I promised to protect you. And I’m so sorry if I ever made you believe anything else.”

“Ash,” you say again, but there’s a long pause as you swallow a rather large lump. Desperately working to find the right words. “You did protect me. You protected both of us. And even if I didn’t know why at the time, deep down, I always trusted you. I know you. You’d never do anything to hurt me.”

He seems slightly relieved by your reassurance, but you can tell the regret goes deeper than a few apologies can reach. This isn’t your wound to tend to. It’s his.

You know both boys will wrestle with the choices they made for years to come. And despite how frustrated that makes you, it simply proves how much they care.

And you imagine, if the roles were reversed, you’d react about the same.

So, with great care, you surge forward and wrap your arms around Asher’s neck. Making sure to mind his injury as he laughs and allows you to bury him in your embrace.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whisper, eyes falling shut as he slips his hand around the back of your neck. Keeping you close. “Seriously. I’ll kill you myself.”

He smiles. “It would be an honor to die by your hand.”

It’s a touching remark, yet even the thought makes your stomach wrench, and you nuzzle your face into his shoulder. “Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“…I love you.”

You feel him let out a deep breath before he holds you a bit tighter. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“But I mean it. Don’t ever do that again. Just…duck and run.”

He chuckles again as he releases you, forcing you to regretfully step back. “I’ll remember that.”

“You better,” Harry calls, pushing off the wall to come up behind you, hands finding your shoulders. “Especially now.”

Asher’s eyebrow raises.

You feel your pulse spike, hands gathering in front of your stomach while Harry squeezes your arms reassuringly.

“I’m taking her away,” Harry tells him, and there’s a heaviness to the way he speaks. “Somewhere outside of the states, somewhere they can’t find her. Where I can keep her safe. At least for a little while.”

Asher leans back, eyes flicking between you both as you look toward the floor.

You and Harry had discussed it at length before coming to see him. It wasn’t your first choice, and you knew it wasn’t a suggestion Harry made lightly.

But after a bit of back and forth, you realized it was the only way. He would do anything to keep you safe and he’d never know peace again until he could make that a reality for you.

And now after everything…he can. He can start over somewhere new. He can bring you the serenity he so desperately wants you to have.

And the serenity he so desperately deserves.

“You’re leaving,” Asher repeats slowly.

You press yourself back into Harry’s chest, wanting to disappear from the conversation, and the look of surprise on his face.

And the subtle trace of disappointment.

“Just for now,” Harry answers, and you glance over your shoulder to catch his solemn expression. “Maybe a year or two. Until there’s not such a large target on my back.”

Asher nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs before straightening up. “Good, yeah. I’ll clean things up here, and make sure the shipments are still on track.”

“Good,” Harry echoes before smiling down at you. “But I’m gonna need you to do a bit more than that.”

With a curious head tilt, Asher waits.

“I need you to take over until I get back,” Harry tells him, and you feel your breath catch. “Manage the imports and exports. Make sure the suppliers don’t fuck us over, and that everyone is doing their job. Handle the shit I can’t.”

You watch the realization settle, his eyes growing wide with intrigue and slight confusion. “Are you serious?”

Harry nods his chin at him. “Deadly,” he says with a wicked smirk. “Look, you know I don’t trust anybody else not to fuck this up while I’m gone. You’re the only one who can manage it and still keep me in the loop. You’re the only one who would do it the way I would.”

Asher smiles, and you can see years’ worth of memories and admiration pass between them.

So, you step aside, and allow Harry to move closer.

“You’re still a fucking idiot for pulling a gun on him like that,” he murmurs, making you both smile. “But I trust you, Ash. And I need you to do this for me. For both of us.”

Asher studies him for a moment, but you know he’s already decided. Know that they’d both do anything for each other.

“Of course,” he finally says, looking from Harry to you. “As long as you are coming back.”

Harry glances over to you as well. And he smiles. “Yeah. We’re coming back.”

You reach out to weave your fingers with his before looking to the man in the bed. “Promise you’ll be here when we do?”

Asher laughs again, and it’s a sound you’ve never been more grateful for.

“Fuck yeah,” he agrees, making the three of you smile. “Come on. Where else am I gonna go?”

And you grin wider than you have in weeks.

No matter where you move or where you stay, as long as you have them…

You’re finally home.

OKAY I KNOW THE ENDING WAS SAPPY, BUT I SWEAR THIS ISN'T THE END OF ASHER!!! JUST A CHANCE TO EXPLORE SOME OTHER THINGS!!! 😭💞💞💞

Credit for the amazing divider to @firefly-graphics 💞

Previous Part:

~ Found (Extra)

~ Full Mine Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @acesofspadess @stylesfever @virginvirgo @pagesfalling @creativelyeva @char112244 @snwells @armystay89 @oh-my-hecky-padalecki @blackbookwhore @nellylayhoohoo @22fallenangel22 @watercolorskyy @ilovedilfs32 @nicodoesntexist @lelenikki @happypoptart @caynonmoondreams

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wilwheaton · 2 months

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youtube

I have a small part in the 1987 television movie (failed pilot) version of The Man Who Fell To Earth. Lewis Smith played the titular character. Beverly D'Angelo played my mom, his love interest. (Fun Star Trek connection: Bob Picardo is also in it).

My character was a Troubled Youth, which I gotta tell you was not a stretch for me at all. I was deeply, deeply hurting at the time we made it. I was struggling not to suffocate on all the emotional and financial burdens my mom put on my shoulders, and fully aware of just how much my dad hated and resented me. You need a kid who doesn't want to be an actor, whose eyes can't hide the pain? I'm your guy.

Anyway, one of the scenes I was in took place in a record store, where Troubled Youth steals some albums, before he is chased by the cops and saved by the Man Who Fell To Earth, who uses a glowing crystal to save his life from ... some scratches on his face.

We filmed the interior of the record store at Sunset and La Brea, in what I think was a Warehouse, and at the end of the day, I was allowed to buy some records at a modest discount.

I was deep into my metal years, on my way from my punk years to my New Wave years, so I only bought metal albums. I know I bought more than I needed or could carry (I was making a point that I was allowed to spend my own money, mom), but the only ones I can clearly remember are:

Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind

Judas Priest - Turbo and Defenders of the Faith

W.A.S.P - The Last Command

(I know this was in March of 1987, because Turbo had just come out.)

Of those, Piece of Mind is the only one I never really stopped listening to, even through all the different it's-not-a-phase phases. I still listen to it, today.

Ever since I became an Adult with a Fancy Adult Record Player And All That Bullshit, I have kept my records in two places: stuff I want right now, and stuff I keep in the library because of Reasons.

Generally, records move in one direction toward the library, even if it takes years to happen. I just don't accumulate albums like I once did, because I'm Old and set in my ways.

Earlier today, I decided that I wanted to listen to an album while I cleaned up the kitchen, and because I wanted to make my life more interesting, I opened the library cabinet for the first time in at least five years.

There was the very same W.A.S.P album from that day in March, 1987. I don't have any of the others -- I looked -- but The Last Command was right there.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I put it on the Fancy Adult Record Player and dropped the needle.

I watched four decades of dust build up with a satisfying crackle, and there was something magical and beautiful about hearing all the skips and the scratches, realizing I remembered them from before.

The title track was just as great as I remembered it. It struck all the same chords in me that it did in the late nineteen hundreds. The rest of the first side was ... um. It just didn't connect with me, and for the few moments I spent trying to find a connection, I don't think it ever really did. I would remember.

But I did remember how much I loved making those mix tapes, and what a big part of them that song was. I did remember how empowering it felt to not just spend my own money that I earned doing work I didn't want to do, but to spend it on music my parents hated, right under their noses. I did remember how impressed Robby Lee was, when I showed him my extensive heavy metal album collection.

Remembering all of that, in one of those cinematic flashes of rapid cut visuals and sped up sounds, told me why I kept this record, while I gradually sold or replaced the other records I bought that day with CDs, then mp3s, then lossless digital files, before finally coming all the way back to records, where I started.

I didn't listen to the second side. I didn't need to. I took it off the Fancy Adult Record Player, and put it back into the library, next to the George Carlin records.

#music #memories #records #Youtube

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inkykeiji · 7 months

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warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, drugging, noncon, blood, messy rough sex (slapping + biting), hint of mikey at the end, fem!reader words: 650

i literally, genuinely cannot express how badly i want to get absolutely fucked up with bonten rindou + ran. like i am talking super sloppy fucked up, can barely fucking walk fucked up, slurring words in a single continuous stream only interrupted by little bubbles of giggles fucked up.

it’s become a voracious, all-consuming, downright intoxicating need.

you need them chuckling softly as they hoist you up between the two of them and drag you out to their sleek, souped up mercedes, sharing devious looks over your drooping head, so heavy and full of whatever the hell they’ve stuffed down your throat and shoved up your nose and shot into your veins that your pretty little neck just can’t seem to hold it up.

you need them shoving you in the backseat, a mess of limbs and sparkles, hem of your slutty little dress already bunched up around your hips and fraying stilettos, now ruined and bloody from being scraped against the concrete, slicing into their leather seats.

you need them cooing and pouting and spitting in your face because you’re so fucking dumb, you’re so fucking cute, you’re going to be so much fucking fun, aren’t you?

you need them fucking you raw for hours on end, until the sky turns from star-speckled onyx to strokes of lilac and corals, until their condo is smeared with the gold of the rising sun, as the world flips over then flops right side up again, more drugs tangling in your veins.

you need imprints of each of ran’s hands seared into your cheeks, all five fingers and both palms stinging and raised and etched into soft skin. you need all thirty-two of rindou’s teeth carved into the flesh of your ass, so deep they’ve left grotesque, purplish-grey gouges, so deep they’ve pierced through the skin and left the indents pooling with thick blood.

you need them stuffing you full of so much cum that it’s drooling from the corners of your mouth and oozing from your abused little hole, dribbling all over your neck and collarbone and chest in stringy dollops infused with your saliva, slathered all over your inner thighs in fat strokes of cream.

and then, when they’ve had their fun, when they’ve shattered you to bits and stained the shards with themselves, you need them to offer you to their boss, who takes a single look at you and considers just passing you off to his second-in-command, because christ she’s sloppy and you two really did a fucking number on her, who split her lip like that?

still, mikey’s grateful the terror twins reincarnate will share their spoils with him—real generous of them, you know, they could’ve kept this little doll to themselves and, really, you gotta give her a go, she’s a lot sturdier than she looks, and we just shot her up with another two ounces, and she’s got the prettiest moans i ever heard, mikey, swear to god, cross my heart, and mikey reconsiders.

because then you’re opening your eyes, bleary and blissed out and shimmering so beautifully in the harsh white light of the warehouse, and you’re reaching out for him, cute little grabby hands that claw at nothing as melty murmurs seep from your lips, and oh, he thinks he gets it now.

because then he’s jumping down from off his wooden crate and stalking toward you, rhythmic slaps of his flip-flops echoing throughout the dense space, and he’s taking your jaw between his thumb and his forefinger, squeezing hard enough to pucker your lips and elicit a sticky little squeal, and he’s leaning close, so close the stench of sugar stings your nose, mixed with something clean and brisk as his breath wafts across your face, and you wanna play with me, precious?

because precious things are meant to be used, after all, aren’t they?

#bonten x you #bonten smut #haitani rindou x you #haitani rindou x reader #haitani rindou smut #haitani ran x you #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran smut #mikey x reader #mikey smut #bonten mikey x reader #tw:drugs #tw:noncon #tw:blood #inky.haitanis #inky.tr

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punkshort · 1 day

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What did a day in the life look like for Joel & reader, during the peak of their relationship, before her accident?❤️‍🩹💘

Never Enough

An I Know Who You Are drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), fluff

WC: ~800

A/N: At the peak of their relationship, they were very soft for one another. It took a while for them both to get there, each of them pretty hardened by their own traumas. So when reader lost her memory and Joel had to start over with her, he took it really hard but tried to hide it as best he could. Obviously, suppressing his feelings didn't work out too well but let's take a look back at a simpler time.

Joel usually woke up before you, his internal clock way too finely tuned to allow himself to sleep in. You normally didn't like to sleep touching him because he ran hot as it was, but if it was winter and you were cold you always found your way into his nook.

Coffee was a must for both of you in the mornings. Most of the time you barely spoke on the days you had patrol until you had at least half a cup of coffee in your systems. You didn't like heavy breakfasts but you needed something or else you got too lightheaded, so you kept it simple. Maybe some fruit or a piece of toast. And if you were making yourself something, you always made sure to make some for Joel, too, because he was terrible at taking care of himself.

You didn't mind. You actually liked taking care of him.

On the way to the barn you would talk about which routes you were assigned that day, or you would ask how his back was feeling, or he would ask how you slept the night before.

Always before parting ways, you would make sure to kiss him. You never rushed that part because you never took a single day for granted.

It was rare you got paired up for patrol together. Both of you were seasoned and your roles were to mentor the younger groups, so typically you were paired with someone greener.

Whoever got back first always waited for the other to return, then you would walk back home together. Usually it was in the afternoon so sometimes you cleaned up around the house while Joel restocked the fireplace with wood. Sometimes you would go to the warehouse and restock your pantry, other times you would help Maria watch Violet.

Depending on the day, you might go to the dining hall with Ellie, but if you were particularly tired or if Joel didn't feel like being around people (which was often), you would stay home and cook something together.

Usually both of you ached after a few days of patrol in a row, so sometimes you took a bath together. He would sit between your legs and rest his back against your chest while you washed his hair. His eyes would close as he got lost in the feeling of your nails gently massaging his scalp, all the stress and tension melting away under your touch. He would skirt his fingers lazily over your soft curves under the water, making you shudder. He adored being the one to get those reactions from you.

Admittedly, your sex life wasn't as wild as when you first met. Over the years it became more intense and loving rather than frantic and needy. He made sure you felt every inch of him while he dragged in and out of you, slow and deep, pulling the sweetest sounds from your throat. Little whispers of his name in his ear, murmurs of I love you against his throat, whines warning him you were close and don't stop and you feel so good.

No matter how many times he fucked you, it was never enough. Each time set his heart on fire. The feel of your soft skin under his rough hands, the taste of your wet heat all over his mouth and beard, the feel of your hips grinding against his while you bounced on his cock. He never felt more close to you than in those moments where he was buried deep inside you, doing everything in his power to make you feel good and give you everything you needed. He loved watching you fall apart, your perfect face contorting in pleasure before you stilled and your eyebrows relaxed with a sigh. He loved the feel of your cunt squeezing him when you came, fluttering and pulsing around him. It always brought his own orgasm to the surface within seconds, pulling out of you feverishly, usually without a moment to spare, and spilling his release all over your thighs or ass or stomach or breasts.

Afterwards, he would clean you up, but he would be lying if he said he didn't take a moment first to admire the way you looked: all satiated and relaxed and covered with his spend.

You curled up against him and wrapped your arm around his stomach while his hands wandered over your shoulders and back, soothing you to sleep with kisses pressed into your hair.

You brought out a softnes in him. No one else got to see that side of him. He reserved that just for you.

#anon ask #ask #ikwya fic #drabble

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tacticaldiary · 9 months

Text

Where One Goes, The Other Follows

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Angst.

Note: Mentions of attempted suicide. Death on a mission

"You said we'd get out of this, remember? You promised."

She feels him shake his head minutely, a movement she might have missed if not for how close she was pressed against him. "Promised you'd...get out."

A/N: I don't feel great, so you get to not feel great with me! You're welcome!

Masterlist

It hurts.

Everything aches, a deep-seated anguish pulsing through her entire body. Like a shot to heart...no, a shot to the heart would have been quicker than this. Painless. Instant.

Merciful.

She chokes on shallow breaths as blood pools between the shaky hands pressed to the middle of her abdomen. Crimson gurgles up in her throat, so metallic she can almost make herself relax with the familiarity of it.

A simple mission, they had told her. A simple in and out, no clearance to engage. Keep it clean and quiet. When Price had handed her the packet of information, Ghost already flipping through a similar one, she'd joked about it being a vacation from the gruelling environments the team is usually forced to tough out.

It was supposed to be easy.

So why does she have a bullet lodged in her stomach? Why did they pick up the intel in a suspiciously empty warehouse, only to be ambushed by a few dozen Russian soldiers laying in wait? Their intel was rotten, she grits her teeth at the thought.

Pinned behind a metal container, the roar of gunfire crescendos over her ears. Pressed thigh to thigh, she feels hopelessness claw at her when Ghost makes a frustrated sound at the empty clicking of his last pistol.

Nothing. They had nothing but the slowing beat of their hearts and the uncertainty of their lives.

Despite the situation, she laughs. A tortured, humourless, choked sound as her head hits the metal behind her. One soldier injured, the other soon to be ripped apart by dozen. What a way to go out.

Ghost glances at her, eyes a little too wide under his mask.

It was funny. Everything was a little funny under the prospect of dying right now.

"Keep pressure on that." He orders when her hands slip. "They don't know we're out of ammo." Patting down his vest for a second, he unclips a grenade. The last one there, a last resort. You didn't throw a grenade like that in a close quartered environment unless it was a last resort.

"We'll make a run for the shutter on the left once this goes off, yeah?" He says, eyebrows knitting together in what's blatant concern when she doesn't respond. "Copy, Sergeant?" He says sharply, moving to shake her shoulder.

"I can't move, Simon." Comes a soft reply, the resigned tone sends chills down his spine. "I'll stay here and distract them. You take the shutter. Gotta get this intel to Price."

"Negative." he barks, shifting into position. "We move as I planned. Evac is just beyond those doors in the field. They won't follow us there, not enough cover against heavy fire."

For a moment she comes back to herself. Did he not hear her? "I can't...Simon I can't move-"

"Heard you the first time, love." That's all he says before pulling the pin out and tossing the object. There are a couple of clinks as it rolls, then the shouts and yells of their enemies as they recognise the threat. "I'm gonna get you out of here."

Hope dwindles, like the last rays of light before the sunset. There was no getting her out of here. She knows that. Dead weight is tough to deal with, useless in their line of work.

"Promise?" She breathes out roughly, a joke for a dying soldier.

The conviction he meets her eyes with, fierce and determined makes even her dark thoughts halt in their tracks. "I promise."

She closes her eyes, braces for the loud noise and flying shrapnel, only to be yanked to her feet and thrown over a broad shoulder. The movement makes pain wash across her body, enough to make black dot her vision, but she gets her bearings and clutches onto the back of his vest anyway, letting him do as he pleases.

The explosion sounds, ringing in their ears and Simon takes off instantly. Ducking behind containers, he almost makes it to the exit before shots start firing again.

He grunts, jolts more than a few times before he reaches the shutters, slipping out and slamming them shut behind him.

The metal and concrete is scraped from her vision, replaced with a green field and the sound of a chopper's blades whirring. Wind blows against her hair and for a moment it seems surreal.

She thought she was going to die. A shuddering gasp makes its way through her as they stop midway through the field. Simon moves to set her down gently-

And sways.

"Simon-?" She starts to ask, halfway to the ground. Eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, she can't help but notice the way his mask is damp from sweat...his clothes too, and surely that much of a run wouldn't have been enough to wear him out. She's so making fun of him the moment she can suck in a full breath if that's the case, and-

Simon buckles to the ground, taking her with him. She lands on top of him, pulling a strangled groan out of the man. "Shit, are you...you okay?" She pants, clutching a hand to her wound before sitting up on her knees next to him.

Her entire front is covered in more blood that it had been before, and that's odd because...oh.

His front is stained with enough blood to make his previously green vest the colour of wine.

The sight stuns her, knocks the breath out of her because...what?

"Hey, you-Simon you're bleeding." She gasps, abandoning her own woes to take a better look at him. Blinking away the sluggish dizziness from her own blood loss, she carefully tears off his vest and-

His torso is riddled with bullet holes.

Too many to count. All of them bubbling and bleeding, pouring out liquid that should be inside him because he needs that, it's important and he's going to bleed out if this keeps going...

Hands hovering over his chest, they move from injury to injury, not knowing which one to press down on. For each one there were three more, and the fight against the rising panic and bile rising in her is getting tougher and tougher by the second.

"Made it out, at least." He breathes, shallow and raspy.

"You-you're bleeding." Is all she can manage to say, voice shaky.

In shock.

"I noticed." His humour isn't appreciated.

"I'm sorry." She chokes out. "I didn't...you got shot because I-"

"Oi." He grits out. A shaky, trembling hand moves to cup her jaw and despite the state he's in the touch is grounding and as rough as ever. "None of...that."

"You can't die." She encases his palm with her own, keeps it pressed there uncaring of the blood slicking her face. "You can't. Simon, you-it's okay. It's going to be okay." A sob rips its way out of her, though she tries to choke the rest back.

"Can't...can't kill someone who's already dead...love." He mumbles into her hair, blooding it with blood that he's coughing up way too fast to not be concerned about.

"Don't leave," She begs, hunched over him, clutching onto his gear. She wants it off, wants to rip it all off and feel his skin, press her hand against his chest, and make sure his heart never stops beating. "Don't leave me, Simon. I can't- I need you." With a scratchy voice, she pleads and begs, trying to keep him talking. "You promised, remember? You promised we'd get out."

She feels him shake his head minutely, a movement she might have missed if not for how close she was pressed against him. "Promised you'd...get out." He croaks, bleeding out but nevertheless the same strong, still presence as always.

Still...still?

Her breath chokes her, her entire body trembling as her grip on his shirt tightens. "Simon...?" She whispers. No answer.

A sob rips out of her, raw and painful because this wasn't real. It was a dream. There was no other explanation.

She'd wake up in her room, head pillowed on his chest and pretending to still be asleep just to have a few more minutes of his warmth. Simon would chuckle, she'd feel the motion under her skin, and he'd prod at her side, line kisses against her forehead until a smile broke free and her ruse was up.

They'd be happy.

She'd be happy.

Her face stays pressed against him, her grip iron. She doesn't pull away, letting the primal fear and grief mix with the senseless hope that maybe he was still alive. She hadn't confirmed it. Hadn't peeked up to see it, so maybe he was still there, waiting for her. Like he said he always would.

Hours, days, maybe minutes? A period of time later footsteps thunder behind her. Shrouded in delirium and grief, she's still a soldier, and her instincts kick in.

Protect, protect, protect.

It's a mantra in her head as she curls over him, unwilling to let them take him away from her.

People surround them but her grip does not falter. Hands grab at her shoulder and someone's speaking, saying words, what...

"-go, you have to let go." The voice is...shaky?

Gaz?

Confused, she tilts her head up a centimeter to catch a glimpse of the person who has her. Gaz. It was Gaz. Looking exhausted, shaken but determined. His eyes flitter away from Ghost on the ground repeatedly.

"Gaz?" She asks, voice cracking. He nods, taking her confusion to his advantage and pulling her to her feet. When she makes a strangled sound and hunched over, he finally notes the wound on her abdomen and curses.

"We need a medic." He calls over his shoulder, pulling to sling her arm over his shoulder. "We've got you, exfil's here. You're gonna be alright now, yeah?"

"N-no." She shakes her head, fuzzy and full. "Not me, I-...Simon...Ghost, you have to help him he's..." A hacking cough cuts her off, sending sharp flares of pain all across her body. Gaz firmly keeps her head towards the front when she tries to look back. "What-...no, not me." A weak attempt at pulling away is made, "Simon, Gaz I need to help...Ghost." Mumbling to herself half incoherent, she finally bats his hand away and turns to cast a glance back.

Her steps falter into nothing when she sees her boyfriend.

The sliver of skin beneath his mask is a sickly pale, blood dripping out from under it. His balaclava is soaked in blood, a strange waterboarding technique to chart for the future, her delirious mind unhelpfully supplies.

It's the stillness that jarrs her, makes the reality finally sink in.

Simon was quiet, he was purposeful, he could lay looking through a sniper scope in one place for hours but he was never still.

This kind of stillness was one brought by the absence of the warmth of light.

Gaz is talking...is he? His mouth is moving that much she can see out of the corner of her eyes, but all she can hear is static as her mind clicks together a devastating picture, a scene that would haunt her for as long as she lives.

Dead.

She thinks she might throw up.

Simon. Ghost. Simon was dead.

They were supposed to be a pair. Unbreakable. Where one went, the other followed offering the silent reassurance that neither of them would ever be alone.

Where one went, the other followed.

She lunges against Gaz's hold, the strength in her battered form surprising the soldier enough to allow her to rip free and stumble over to her lover.

Shaky hands fumble around Simon's body, one of them grips his gloved one in her own tightly, God he was cold, how was he already cold? until cool metal meets her fingertips, slicked with their blood.

People call her name. One person...maybe five? It doesn't matter, nothing matters right now but the press of the barrel against her forehead.

There's no hesitation when she pulls the trigger.

But there's a distinct lack of blinding pain.

A stunned, heavy silence takes hold of the field. Slowly, guilt and dread and hate and self-loathing curling up in her gut, she peels her eyes open to see her team. Her family.

And if the cold corpse of her lover beside her wasn't already punishment enough, the devastated, broken, confused looks on theirs' definitely does.

Soap makes a strangled noise when she pulls the trigger again, her head full of cotton.

Click.

Oh.

That's right.

The chamber was empty, wasn't it?

Staring numbly at the gun, at the pistol that Simon had carried with him throughout his entire career, she doesn't fight the hands that grip at her, that pull her up.

Doesn't fight the way Simon's cold hand slips from hers. When the gun is gently pried from her iron grip.

Words fall upon deaf ears, a buzzing sound accompanying her glazed over expression as she stares at two soldiers dragging over a body bag towards him over Price's shoulder.

"It's alright, lass." Soap mumbles in her ear, and distinctly she notes the sheer of tears in his eyes out of the corner of his own. "We've got ya."

"He's..." She says faintly. Simon's head is zipped into the bag out of view. "Gone..."

And then she cries. No, crying is too lenient a word, for what leaves her is a sound reserved for a wounded animal, a sound that not even the most experienced interrogators could ever hope to coax out of her. She wails and cries, hoarse and raw because nothing about this was okay. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Because she was alive.

And her other half was dead.

And she was still alive.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(1/08/2023)

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magictouchcleaningservicesukltd · 11 months

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#Restaurants Cleaning #Warehouse Cleaning #Deep Cleaning #Carpet Cleaning #Business Services

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greyskyflowers · 4 months

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Ugh the fics with the Visored/Ichigo having strong hollow instincts are fabulous. Also Kisuke having some type of instincts or predator type vibe to him.

Personally I love the idea that most Shinigami are a little instinctive at times, especially the wilder ones. The 11th for example, or maybe some of the captains.

I also love the idea that Ichigo can really relax around Kisuke and the Visored, in a way he can't quite do with others.

Like Ichigo's instincts would be thrilled to be under Kisuke, recognizing a fellow predator and practically purring at the smell of iron that lingers on a soul like Kisuke's.

It's the same instincts that sometimes make him sleepy around the Visored, something deep in his belly insisting he's safesafesafe under their watchful eyes and he rarely gets to feel truly safe. It probably says something that he feels that way around people who most find creepy or terrifying.

So no one can blame him if he occasionally takes advantage of that feeling, after training and cleaning up he often goes to find one or more of them to curl up next to. And they always allow it.

He's managed to control the urge to build a cozy nest and coax them into it with tempting purrs and lazy sprawls, somewhere dark and small because he wants them close but big enough for all of them. At least so far.

They all must have discussed it though, he blames Kisuke and Shinji, because one day it starts getting much harder to ignore those instincts. It's like they're all purposely putting him in situations that make his skin crawl like he's trying to shed it.

They use firm and purposeful touches, usually focused on his neck or back but they take full advantage of situations where they can pet at Ichigo's belly. He's not stupid, he knows those are vulnerable spots and they're making their touches familiar and comfortable. But it feels good and it's just them, the thought of anyone else touching him so freely or intimately makes his teeth hurt.

They grab the back on his neck when he's a little too wild or upset. Fingers pressing into spots on his neck that make his knees go weak and his mind go fuzzy. He doesn't know how they do it, he's tried to find the spots on himself and he can't recreate it.

There's something deeper at play here too. Everything feeds on itself. The healthier and happier Ichigo is, the healthier and happier the Visored are. Kisuke says it's something about pack dynamics and hollow instincts.

They're confident in everything they do and Ichigo's instincts are thrilled because it's obvious they're strong enough to handle him. It settles something in him that they're able to defend and protect themselves and him. It allows him to relax in a way that he hasn't since his mom died, not since grief renamed him protector.

Some days he gets both Kisuke and Shinji, and he spends the day feeling like a pampered pet. He drapes himself over their legs or curls up in their laps and melts into the touches. His toes curl and uncurl happily, hands kneading at whatever he can get his hands on.

Sometimes they get too invested in something or their attention gets taken by other things and Ichigo is left to entertain himself.

If he doesn't have anything to do then sometimes he'll go find a spot where the sun comes though the window and lay in it like a lizard sunning itself.

He doesn't realize that they've been slowly accumulating things for him until it's too late. He has a collection of pillows, blanket and cushions at the Visored warehouse and at Kisuke's. He tends to find himself in them after training and spars, skin clean from a quick wash and happily disappearing into the scents caught in the fabric.

Kisuke makes something for him, small pills of black and white that he claims are just a type of vitamin pill. Ichigo doesn't believe that for a second. For one thing, he only gets them when he's with Kisuke and Kisuke always gives it to him when he's in the fuzzy, instinctive headspace. It's easier for him to coax Ichigo into taking it from between his fingers with too sharp teeth and a quick curl of his tongue or to open his mouth and let Kisuke place it on his tongue.

After a few weeks of getting it from Kisuke, the Visored also have it. They take one occasionally, which also makes him think it's something for his hollow, but never as many as Ichigo. They take up the same way of giving it to him as Kisuke.

He nips sharply at Kensei's fingers when he lingers too long placing one of the pills on his tongue. The brief burning look in Kensei's eyes and the big hand that grabs his jaw in warning makes all the teasing he gets later worth it.

He knows this is weird. It's even strange from what shinigami would want or understand. He knows that trying to explain this to his sisters or friends would be very hard to do without making it sound unhealthy and wrong but it's not. Maybe if they were all normal humans then it would be different.

The things that he needs now are so very different.

💀 💀

Is it power dynamics, hollow instincts, or trauma? The world may never know.

Tbh I set out to write something about Ichigo being spoiled by Kisuke and Shinji but then my love for the Visored all adoring Ichigo got involved. So here we are.

I just think slightly feral characters are neat.

#bleach #ichigo kurosaki #kisuke urahara #shinji hirako #uraichi #visored #ichigo x visored #ichigo x shinji x kisuke #ichigo x kisuke x visored #idk ship names #poly and/or qp #ichigo x everyone tbh #hollow instinct au?#reaping souls with greyskyflowers

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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months

Text

— HOLD ME LIKE A GRUDGE

SUMMARY : dean is a demon. it’s Christmas Eve and it’s exhausting to keep fighting him, but he’s accidentally knocked out by the reader. so, she took him back to her parents’ place to clean him up... but her whole family is already home.

PAIRING : demon!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : cenric (OMC), guren (OMC), koro (OMC), kandora (OFC), meliora (OFC)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, implied cheating, fluff, fun family time, toxic relationship, rough sex, intoxicated sex, p in v, unprotected sex

WORD COUNT : 4.8k

A/N : fall out boy song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — hot tub sex and drunk sex. let's pretend demon!Dean lasted for a long while. wtf is that name? it’s from the video game Destiny, probably (they have badass names, especially the villains/sometimes they’re ridiculous, lmao). XXxx

Y/n and Sam split up in their search for Dean.

Both were in search of him… and Crowley. But mostly Dean.

Dean didn’t behave much like any other demon. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He settled for over drinking, dancing, singing bad karaoke, sleeping with random women—which stung, killing people in self-defence. The list goes on, but he’s more bored than evil.

She knew Dean, even now, as a demon. This was Dean when he was bored. Not Dean being evil. That just wasn’t Dean.

She didn’t know it, but he was keeping tabs on her, too. He’d fool Crowley by promising to seal deals, pretending he was going off with a girl or two, getting away for some ‘Dean time’ doing random shit…

He was just going out to see her. There’s something that he can’t shake off about her. It might be the possessiveness, the ownership he feels towards her… it’s something he doesn’t understand, a tug deep within himself that yearns to be whole. A part of him that’s sure that missing piece is her.

Crowley sent demons after her. Of course he did, to slow her down, to throw her off. Dean lied to Crowley, the way he always did to get what he wanted. Instead of fleeing because ‘you’re getting too attached, let’s move on’, Dean stayed behind to make sure she made it out safely.

It irked him to feel that guardianship, that… need or whatever the hell it was that compelled him to keep her safe.

But, one thing led to another, she was outnumbered by about fifteen demons. She’d gotten at least five of them by the time Dean decided to show himself. He didn’t completely protect her from harm, but he saved her from possibly deadly blows.

She was stunned to see him there and she looked absolutely ravishing. Covered in blood. Her soft hair falling free from the tie holding her hair in place and out of the way. The focused furrow of her brows. The irritated scowl on her pretty face.

Dean got distracted. It was his first mistake, ever since he became a demon. He felt time slow down with only three demons left, the two of them moving in sync like nothing ever happened, like nothing stood between them.

“Six!” She shouted, expecting him to get down, but he didn’t. She punched him square in the face and his body fell loudly with a thud, but she didn’t let herself get distracted.

She killed the last three demons in a breeze because even they were astounded that the knight of hell, Dean Winchester, was knocked unconscious by a smaller hunter. By a human.

She didn’t bother cleaning up. Fifteen bodies? If Crowley didn’t want to be tracked, he’d clean it up on his own. Instead, she carefully pulled Dean out of the warehouse she was staying in as she stalked her boyfriend and Crowley.

She found his car nearby, poor Baby was a complete mess. She hid her stolen car behind the warehouse next to a bunch of tumbleweed, took everything that was hers, wiped it clean of prints and other evidence, and left in the Impala.

With Dean in the backseat, she wondered what she would do now. She didn’t expect for this to happen. The plan was originally to see what Dean and Crowley were up to, call Sam, then go back home as Sam took care of the rest.

It was too late for that. Her family was home waiting to celebrate the holidays. All of them cleared the schedules to get together, they’d planned it a whole year before, even she did and she was supposed to bring Dean.

Guess that’s still the case, except he’s a demon now… and she’s kidnapping him.

It was a long ride back home. It was inevitable that Dean would wake up completely pissed.

He glared at her from the backseat, cuffed with his arms behind him. The road was empty so there was nothing to put them in danger as he wasn’t secured with a seatbelt. Most importantly, it wouldn’t matter that she swerved so hard that he fell onto his side with a grunt before letting out a deep growl.

“Bitch!”

“Oh, stop it, it’s the least you deserve after everything you’ve done,” she muttered, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. Her heart hammered rapidly with anger and hatred, but she focused on driving herself home safely.

“I just helped you out,” he reminded her darkly, leaning against the car door to sit back up.

“Yeah, and I’m thanking you by saving your life,” she retorted.

“I’m fine.” She scoffed at him, but stared at him from the rearview mirror for a few seconds before he looked back at her. She realigned the car when it veered off slightly.

“You’re a demon.”

“I’m still me, sweetheart, just because you don-”

To prevent further conversation, she pulled out the first cassette tape she touched and shoved it into the car deck. The ride to her family’s home was tense and irritating because Dean decided to sing along tunelessly.

It was better than having to hear his insults or cruel comments. He was funny sometimes, too, when they made pit stops… even if she currently hated him.

“Ah, here we are, awesome,” Dean murmured sarcastically as she killed the purring engine of the Impala.

“Shut up, I’m tying you up in the basement,” she glared at him. He scoffed as she got out of the driver’s seat, walking around the front of the car to unlock the door for him.

“Hey! We’ve been waiting for you!” She heard from the doorway. It was her little sister who was now walking towards them.

“I’m going to shout,” Dean told her, gazing up at her with a feigned innocent expression. Green, sparkling eyes wide and a pout that almost reminded her of when he was human.

“Shut up,” she whispered harshly before lifting her head with a sweet smile towards her sister. “Hey, Dean’s got.. an embarrassing situation going on, think you can distract everyone for the meantime?” Her sister stopped where she was, her eyes flicking to Dean for a heartbeat or two and then to her older sister.

“Sure,” Kandora shrugged, quickly turning around and jogging up to the door.

“Cute,” Dean grunted. Y/n gripped the back of his red flannel and harshly yanked him out of the car, holding back a snicker when Dean bumped his head on the top of the inside of the car. “You know, this is the body of the man you used to make love to,” he reminded her with a sneer, leaning his back against his car as she shut the door.

She smiled at him sarcastically, “yeah, and then you used this body to fuck whores, so I don’t really care.” She grabbed the middle chain between the cuffs and tugged him the whole way to the entrance where they removed their shoes.

When she was fully inside the house she could hear her sister telling a story loudly while laughing hard along with her family.

She quickly made her way down to the basement, turning the light on before pushing Dean. He stumbled over the stairs and glared back at his lover when he regained his balance.

“Smart, no one could hear me here,” he told her with a smirk. She frowned at his words, freezing in the middle of uncuffing him after leaving him over an ugly rug where a devil’s trap was painted underneath.

She had a few quick flashbacks of her and Dean having sex in the soundproof basement when they could get away from all the family time. No one could hear them—and hopefully no one knew what was going on. Those were the perks of a retired hunter family.

She undid the cuffs and he gently massaged his wrists even if they healed up quickly. She watched curiously and then looked away to hand him a few clean up supplies that weren’t necessarily dangerous to her or her family.

She turned to look at him and opened her mouth.

“Let me guess: shut up and stay put?” He smiled down at her in an attempt to be charming, but she rolled her eyes, pretending it didn’t work.

“Oh, you’re so smart,” she praised bitingly, patting his cheek in a demeaning manner. He scowled and moved away from her to clean the demon blood off himself.

She made her way back upstairs to join her family who were now somewhat silent. Music played softly in the background. Thankfully, it wasn’t irritating Christmas music, but songs she recognised were her oldest brother’s favourite songs.

The scent of her favourite food wafted up her nose, arising hunger into her stomach that growled like a great beast. The lights weren’t too bright either, which allowed her to relax when she settled in the kitchen with her family as they waited for the food to get ready.

Her mother, father, two older brothers, and little sister sat around the table doing random things waiting for the food to finish cooking.

“Honey, you made it,” her mom, Meliora, smiled happily, halting when she saw the bloody state of her daughter, but her happy expression didn’t falter.

“Hey, mom, guys,” she smiled at her family bashfully, not looking them in the eyes. “I’m gonna clean up, just wanted to say hi before going upstairs,” she informed them.

“Good, you stink,” her brother Koro snorted playfully.

“Yeah, you didn’t have to say come hi, we could already smell you were here,” her oldest brother Cenric remarked just as mischievously.

They all broke into laughter and Y/n shook her head, giving her dad, Guren, a kiss on top of his greying head before making her way out of the kitchen to clean up.

Once she was done cleaning up—wearing cosy clothes from her past that her mom kept—she made her way downstairs again. Much to her dismay, she saw Dean wearing only a black t-shirt having the time of his life telling the embarrassing story about the time she got so flustered, she spit her milkshake out into the face of a woman who flirted with her when they were undercover for a Lamia case.

She wondered how he got out of the devil’s trap. She figured that maybe her parents removed it, but that wouldn’t be safe.

He smiled brightly when he looked up and saw her, acting like nothing was wrong in the world. It looked domestic, way too painfully domestic. The casualness of him leaning against the couch next to Kandora who was holding a mug of warm Champurado in her favourite yellow mug looked too natural. He wore only some socks and really looked like a boyfriend right now.

“Hey, babe,” Dean grinned and she forced a smile, making her way to him.

“Hey.”

As he wrapped his arm around her he murmured into her slightly wet hair, “you’re so lucky.” She hummed a laugh, feigning amusement and wrapped her arm around his waist to pinch his back harshly.

He tightened his grip around her and released a strained laugh before adding to the conversation, talking to her family and answering their questions the same way he would have if he weren’t a demon.

“I know we said no partners, but Dean and I were working a last minute case,” she began explaining to her mom.

“It’s okay,” Meliora smiled, “Dean explained already.” Her mother kissed her forehead and got up to check the food. “Besides, he’ll make sure there are no leftovers that will go bad.”

“Right,” she murmured, laughing softly as her mother disappeared into the kitchen with Guren getting up to help her out as well.

It was almost normal, except he’d sneak a couple of drinks—mostly alcoholic eggnog—until she could smell it in his breath, but he seemed completely unaffected by the alcohol. It was something her family didn’t catch on to throughout the evening. Although, the only one who knew about Dean’s drinking problem was Kandora—they told each other everything.

Dean was a bit more handsy as he got less sober, and he held his tongue most times to keep the conversation appropriate and respectful, save for a couple of swear words he’d exchange with Koro as they told each other stories.

When they all sat at the dinner table to finally eat, Dean kept his hand on her thigh. Occasionally, he’d pet her, sneaking his fingers teasingly between her thighs, brushing over the thin material of her thick leggings.

In response, she’d pretend to be cute and couple-y by lifting food up into his mouth and whispering warnings into his ear. She knew it only egged him on, he’d stare at her with a little smirk and even dared to kiss her with his mouth full of food, the corner of his lips smudged with tamale sauce.

He was even playful. It would have warmed her heart, except it was very irritating and hurtful to know it wasn’t even real. When Kandora dared him to eat her mom’s spiciest salsa with his tamales, he accepted the challenge, and permitted her to serve him what she wanted him to finish.

Y/n didn’t know if he was pretending or not, half the time.

Still, Dean kept up appearances by overeating, taking at least two servings of everything, even the cherry pie her little sister made especially for him once he finished eating tamales with Meliora’s spiciest salsa.

Even she resorted to drinking eggnog with alcohol to make the night easier, to loosen up a bit as Dean got clingier. She played along with Dean and finally, she was able to get away as midnight came and her family cleaned up to go to sleep.

It sucked to watch Dean help her mother wash dishes, the way he would have if he were human. As if he were truly her Dean. She was just glad he didn’t plan on hurting them, at least so far he hasn’t tried.

He just fit in perfectly with every single one of them, the way he always did. Easily moulding himself into whatever environment he was placed in. Everyone adored him, he was always so real, so loveable, so easy to talk to. He had a light to him that no one could recreate, one everyone was drawn to like moths to a flame.

“You drank too much,” she commented as she walked upstairs to her room with Dean behind her.

“Was the only way I could deal with you and not be an asshole with your whole family there,” he grunted, stepping in front of her to open the door, falling straight into her pink bed rather than holding the door open for her or shutting it behind them.

“Real thoughtful,” she muttered, shutting and locking the door of her childhood bedroom. “Get off my bed,” she ordered, making her way next to him. He only smiled, eyes closed, trying to be cute as he snuggled her pillow, verdant eyes fluttering open as he gazed up at her through long, beautiful lashes.

“Just join me instead and we can show this bed the action it’s been missing since you moved out,” Dean purred, turning over onto his back. He reached out for her wrist and tugged her forward, catching her with his arms around her waist. “You’re criticising me for drinking, but I can smell it on you, too,” he narrowed his eyes up at her.

“Shut up,” she muttered, squirming and wiggling until he let her roll over next to him. “I can’t stand you.” She grabbed the pillow beneath his head and yanked it out with a snicker, placing it between her legs as she turned over on her side.

“I’m still me,” he retorted, turning on his side to face her back.

“So ya keep sayin’,” she mumbled in irritation, trying to make her head stop spinning when she closed her eyes.

He sighed and scooted up on the bed, staring up boredly at the pink ceiling, the bright light at the centre. He knew she wasn’t asleep, she kept moving, trying to make her drunkenness stop her from sleeping peacefully.

He knew she wasn’t going to stop being angry at him, which was a complete one-eighty from the last time he saw her. She’d begged for him to come back to her, professed her undying, unchanging love for him… now, she seemed almost disgusted by him. It made him wonder what changed.

Irritation boiled in him, even jealousy made heat rise up his chest to his ears and neck. What if there was someone else?

“I’ve always wanted to get in a hot tub,” he broke the silence, staring at the back of her head as she stilled. She grunted in response after a few moments of silence and lifted the pillow between her legs up to her mouth, tight against her stomach as the alcohol decided to turn against her. “Wanna… get in?” He asked, grasping her hip and squeezing.

“We’ll… drown..” she lied, tightening her grip on the pillow when his touch sent sparks of pleasure down to her clit.

“Nah,” he murmured, sliding his hand beneath her shirt against her warm stomach to turn her onto her back, tight against his body. “Come with me,” he murmured, sliding his hand up higher.

“Fine,” she inhaled sharply, getting up faster than she should have to avoid his touch. Dizziness from the alcohol made her stumble, but she caught herself on the wall, facing the Christian Bale poster on her wall.

“Careful,” he told her, getting up from the bed to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

“Let’s just go cross it off your weird bucket-list.” She made her way to the door, forgetting to unlock it as she tugged it hard.

“You’re drunker than me,” he chuckled, unlocking the door, wrapping his large warm hand over hers to turn the doorknob and open the door. She pursed her tips and unfocused her gaze on the door until he removed his hand from hers.

They quietly made their way down the stairs and she held the wall to balance herself while Dean watched her closely. Making their way blindly through the house to the backyard, Dean laughed softly to himself, which made her shush him.

“Sorry,” he whispered, completely unapologetically, “it’s just that you’re such a good girl,” he began explaining, an undertone of sexualness in his words, “I can’t believe you agreed to this.” He sighed gleefully, opening the glass door to the outside where the hot tub was.

“I… not always,” she argued, noting a few times in which she proposed scandalous ideas to him. He started to unbuckle his belt, his shirt riding up his tummy.

“No, not always,” he agreed quietly, staring straight into her eyes as she stared hungrily at the bit of exposed skin. “But you never want your family to know we have sex,” he told her, shoving his jeans down his legs, revealing the lack of boxers.

Her eyes widened and she looked away, walking past him to fill and turn the tub on. He smirked, pleased with her reaction.

“You were really loud in the basement, though,” he recalled, pulling the shirt over his head and toeing his socks off. “So pornographic,” he added dreamily. Her face heated up and she turned to glare at him. “Hey, sorry, beautiful… Come, take your clothes off.” He laughed, then bit his lip seductively, trying to reel her in with a tilt of his head.

She scoffed at him, but began removing her clothes. He shrugged and dipped his fingers into the tub, testing the waters before stepping inside. She tripped down to her bra and underwear, which he tilted his head at disappointedly with a frown. He held his hand out for her to take and carefully helped her inside.

She scooted far away from him and slid inside so only her chin rested above the water to combat the biting December wind. He rolled his eyes at her, but let her do as she wanted, staring up at the sky which was frosted with stars, the whole gated community dark and asleep.

“How’d you get out?” She broke the awkward silence, looking around the white glazed bricks separating her parent’s home and the neighbours’ homes. The lights inside were shut off, except for the Christmas lights decorating the inside and the outside of their houses. No one was awake to peep.

“Devil's trap not gonna work on something like me,” he told her smugly, playing with the water. She hummed in irritation, looking at him. “Come closer to me,” he requested, making his way halfway to her.

Begrudgingly, she made her way to him, staring curiously at his still handsome face.

“What?” She murmured, tilting her head at him. Dean gently brushed his knuckles down her cold cheek and she moved away slightly, brows furrowing with perplexity.

“You know, to really cross it off my bucket list, we need to have sex,” he reminded her. She considered his words and grimaced, moving away from him. It stung, demon or not, to see the woman who once loved him unconditionally become disgusted by the thought of sex with him.

“No,” she whispered, “we’re drunk.”

“It’s not like we haven’t done it drunk before,” he pressed, splaying his hand over her back and cupping her jaw. She inhaled and became tense, pushing him away.

“You getting separation anxiety?” She asked scathingly, hoping to change the subject. He released her reluctantly and relaxed on his side of the tub.

“From who? Sam?” Dean asked boredly, playing with the water again, his mood sour.

“Crowley.” He glared at her, this time, he pounced on her, holding the back of her head to press his mouth to hers roughly. His tongue forcibly parted her lips, tasting the sweet eggnog and bitter alcohol in her mouth. As bile rose up to her throat, she whimpered and pushed him off. “You ass!” She splashed water into his face and he growled at her, eyes flickering black.

“Why are you being difficult?” He shouted at her, gripping her arms tightly.

“I’m not some meaningless lay,” she spat, reaching up between his arms, burying her fingers into his hair to pull roughly at his longer, honey strands, until he loosened his grip on her arms and hissed.

“I never said you were,” he seethed, wrapping his hand around her throat. She tugged his hair harder and so he immediately let her go, running his fingers down his face tiredly. “Is that what this is about? The women?” He inquired casually, like they meant nothing.

“What?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest, shuddering at the cold breeze despite the flush of alcohol and the hot water.

“You heard me,” he whispered threateningly.

“Yes! Okay?” She admitted, then sighed, tears welling up her eyes. She blinked them away and clenched her jaw to keep her breath steady. She turned away, ready to climb out of the tub when Dean grabbed her elbow, moving them both into each other.

He didn’t say anything, but for the first time since he was a demon, his green eyes were cast downward in shame and regret.

“You told me that if you couldn’t have me, no one could,” she reminded him quietly.

“I meant it,” Dean reaffirmed, pulling her closer.

“That just applied to me, then?” He remained quiet, averting his gaze from hers. “What makes you think I’m letting you go now that I have you back?” His eyes snapped back to hers and they darkened.

He leaned down to kiss her again, but this time, she took his face in both of her hands, angling his face to control the kiss. Dean wrapped his arms around her, keeping her tight against his body.

Her soft tongue smoothed over his, teeth scraping, and lips bruising. Possessive and hot, she slid one hand away from his face between his legs where his cock was already erect. She curled her hand around him, pulling a deep groan from him.

He slid his hands up her back, finding the clasp of her drenched cotton bra, darkened red from the water. He quickly rid of it as she pressed and kissed him, her hand tugging his cock slowly.

His blunt nails scraped the silky skin of her shoulders, pulling down the straps until she released him for total removal of it from her body. He walked forward with her until her back was pressed against the heated wall of the tub and pulled away from her mouth to catch his breath.

He panted against her mouth, kissed her deeply once more before trailing open-mouth kisses down her neck and shoulders. His tongue picked up warm droplets that rolled from her velvety skin, his teeth grazed her collarbones and the tendons of her neck, suctioning her pulse and the sensitive parts of her.

“Remember that cat your sister had?” He murmured against her skin, moving her up slightly to attach his lips to her nipple and remove her underwear.

“Um, yeah, Tickle-toe?” She mumbled absent-mindedly, arching her back.

“Yup,” he chuckled, removing her underwear completely, throwing it out of the tub. “Always tried getting into the room when we were having sex? And then when we finally did let him in, he’d just stand there watching, or he’d lick you, or scratch me, like it was trying to be a part,” he retold, grasping both of her thighs. “Yeah, that’s Crowley.”

She laughed softly, wrapping her arm around his shoulder, her nails digging painfully into his skin to the point of breakage. Dean moaned softly, pushing her fully against the wall of the tub, spreading her thighs wide open so they were pressed against the wall.

He nuzzled his face into hers, brushing his lips softly against hers as his cock nudged teasing through her folds and past her clit. With her free hand, she wrapped a hand around his cock and guided him to her entrance.

Dean was gentle at first, slowly pushing in while his teeth sunk into her bottom lip. The pull out and the push in was slow as he felt the drag of the water, the way it slowed him before he began to fuck her earnestly. He released her lip to smash his mouth against hers, matching the painful thrust of his hips against hers.

She clung to his waist, moaning wantonly into his mouth as his cock stretched her walls, the length of it brushing wonderfully against the most sensitive parts of her, driving her crazier and crazier, driving her deeper into pleasure.

“Think I’m gonna fuck someone this good, this raw, with this much passion?” He panted against her mouth as she pulled him closer. She gasped loudly, squeezing his cock so tightly he growled deeply against her. “D’you think I’ll ever feel this love for anyone, for someone who isn’t you?” Her toes curled and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, moaning his name softly, pulling his body closer to hers.

“Please,” she whispered, chuckling breathlessly as he thrusted roughly and shallowly into her. He tightened his grip on her thighs, bruising her thighs, cutting her soft flesh with his fingernails, moaning with her as his body thrummed with life he hadn’t felt since he became a demon.

She squirmed as she approached her orgasm, her warm walls pulsing around his cock. Her mouth found his once more, their lips moved together messily, violently like their love, until they both fell apart.

He sucked her bottom lip and pulled away breathlessly with a smirk.

“Come with me,” he whispered, unhanding her thighs so she could wrap her legs around him instead. He held her closely, too, folding his arms around her waist.

“Ask me again in the morning,” she murmured, kissing his prickly jaw. “When I’m not drunk. When the afterglow’s gone.” She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth and he nodded in agreement, staying in the tub for a few moments before they untangled each other's limbs.

“Will your answer be different?” He quizzed, holding her chin between his two fingers. She tongue poked out to lick her bottom lip, followed by a thoughtful bit of her lip.

“No.”

Dean dipped down to peck her lips, lingering for a few thuds of his heartbeat before pulling away and kissing the top of her head.

“I’ll stay,” he promised, moving both of them out of the tub into the freezing cold. Dripping in water, they put their clothes back on with much difficulty, laughing quietly. Somewhat drunk still, they cleared out the tub and tried to get dry with Dean’s t-shirt before heading inside to shower and sleep in her childhood bed where they continued to do unspeakable things in the darkness as quietly as they could to not be discovered.

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis

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#12daysofspnkinkmas2023 #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x female!reader #supernatural #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction

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superiorcleaningma · 2 years

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 8 months

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Strong Enough

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, slight John Winchester x daughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: John thinks you can’t hunt, you go out to prove him wrong.

“You could use my help!”

“You’d get in the way.”

“That’s not true!” You stepped in front of your father, demanding his attention. “I took out that shapeshifter, I don’t see why you’re mad.”

“I’m mad because you hesitated!” John brushed past you, grabbing his gun. “And because you hesitated, Dean almost got hurt. If you’re not gonna shoot first and ask questions later, then you’re not gonna hunt, plain as that.”

“It was wearing your face! I had to be sure about which one was you!”

“We’re done talking about this, you’re staying here. You’re too weak out there for me to trust you.”

You looked to Dean for support, but he just shrugged and headed out the door, John following behind him.

You sighed, turning to your desk and grabbing your laptop.

If they wouldn’t let you in on their hunt, you’d have to find your own.

…

“No way,” you breathed as you went over crime scene photos. In the boys’ hurry to take down the ghoul they were after, they’d failed to notice an irregularity with one of the victims.

The ghoul had somehow been interrupted while he was eating a man, and the man had been discovered several hours later. But as you looked now at a close up shot of the man’s face, you saw puncture wounds on the side of his neck.

“A ghoul would’ve just taken a bite,” you muttered to yourself. “So…a vampire and a ghoul in the same town.”

The ghoul must’ve attacked the man, and the vampire, smelling the blood, was drawn there, where he scared off the ghoul and had his own little snack.

“Alright boys, you can have the ghoul. The vamp is mine,” you grinned, grabbing a machete and heading out the door.

…

You talked to several locals, trying to pinpoint the location of the vampire. It didn’t take long, and after a conversation with a nice guy around your age, you emerged with a lead—and his number.

Dean would’ve been proud.

You got out of the taxi about a block from the warehouse—why was it always a warehouse?—where you knew the vamp would be holed up.

You snuck around the back, pulling the machete out of your pack and keeping it close to your side.

“Alright bloodsucker, get ready.”

…

“Dean?” You despised the quaver in your voice as your hands shook trying to hold the phone.

“Kid, where are you?” Dean demanded, anger prominent in his voice. “We got back to the motel and you were just gone, I-“

“I-I’m at a warehouse on twelfth street,” you dropped your voice to a whisper when you heard footsteps. “It wasn’t just a ghoul, there are vampires here. I-I thought just one, so I went, but-but it’s a nest.”

“A nest?” You heard a door slam on the other end, and then the impala’s engine start up. “I’m coming, just hold on.”

“Dean I’m so sorry, I thought-“

“Yeah, we’re gonna talk about it later, for now just don’t get killed.”

…

“Pretty small nest,” Dean commented as he cleaned the blood off his machete.

“Yeah, well I didn’t think I could take it alone,” you wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye as you followed his example with your own machete.

“Have anything to do with that kid that I ganked?” Dean questioned.

“What kid?” You were a horrible liar, and both of you knew it.

“The teenager. The one you ran from instead of fought.”

“Hm, I don’t remember that.”

“Y/N,” you looked up at Dean’s stern voice. “Don’t lie to me. Why’d you call me here? Why did you run from that vamp?”

“I…I couldn’t kill him,” your voice came out in a hoarse whisper as you once again ducked your head. “I m-met him earlier today, he was the one who gave me the lead…” you shook your head as tears started to pool in your eyes. “I thought he was nice, but he set me up. He killed people, he tried to kill me, and I-I still couldn’t…” you took a deep breath. “Dad was right, I can’t do this, I’m not strong enough.”

“Hey,” Dean lowered his head to look into your eyes. “No, he wasn’t right. You’re not weak. Hesitancy isn’t weakness.”

“It almost got you killed.”

“Ok, so you’re not gonna be the world’s best hunter,” Dean amended. “But it makes you a better person. You and I have both seen what happens when you go extreme in the other way, when you don’t hesitate. You become like Gordon, kill anything that moves. You’re never going to be like that, and do you know what that means?”

“What?” You wondered, still not convinced.

Dean placed his hands on your shoulders.

“It means you’re good. It means that you’re human. And, most importantly, it means that I know I can always trust you to do the right thing. And I’ll take that over the world’s best hunter any day.”

“Thanks Dean,” you gave him a halfhearted smile.

He grinned.

“Any time, kiddo.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean and sam #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural dean #the winchesters #mary winchester #spn sam winchester #john winchester #the winchester brothers #winchester x reader #winchester #winchesters x sister #winchesters x reader

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strniohoeee · 6 months

Note

Can I request something with Matt x fem!reader where they go on a walk or something and all of a sudden it starts raining like crazy so they rush back home and get in comfy clothes and then start making out or something? Can get as smutty as u want it to be

Also sorry if you’ve already written something similar, im new to your page and only read a few things but I love your work really really much!!

Torrent

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is having a bit of anxiety, so she stays back to try and calm her mind, but when Matt comes home he decides to take her for a walk to clear her mind, but then the weather gets crazy, and they head back home🫂

Warnings⚠️: This is SMUT! There’s shower sex, but nothing crazy. It’s pretty cute actually🥹

Song for the imagine: Cigarettes out the Window- TV Girl

⚠️This is an 18+ story, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

Today just felt like a drag. I was having the worst anxiety, and I didn’t even know why. I spent the whole day with my heart thumping, my head racing and my body shaking. I hated this feeling, and the only person who could help me was Matt.

Sadly Matt was out today filming with his brothers, and doing some stuff at the warehouse. He had asked if he wanted me to join, but I was so anxious I simply couldn’t get up.

I knew they would be gone pretty much the whole day, so I tried to keep my mind off of things. I decided to cook, clean and do some laundry while listening to music. I lit some candles to ease my senses, but still I couldn’t shake this anxious feeling.

I was trying to eat lunch, but my mind wouldn’t let me. I began to feel nauseous. I just wanted to feel okay, and for some reason I couldn’t. I was watching Cars on Disney plus since it was my favorite childhood movie, and taking deep breaths, when suddenly my phone pinged with a message, it was from Matt

Hey baby, how are you doing? I miss you

Hey baby. I’m doing okay. I miss you more

are you sure? You seemed off this morning

yeah… just having a bit of anxiety, but I’m doing alright

want me to come home??

No baby don’t worry I’m okay! I’m watching Cars and eating now. Thank you my love

okay! Just let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be over real quick

okay.

I decided to take a nap to keep my mind off of things since I couldn’t eat, or really calm down.

I had fallen asleep around 2, and woke up when I heard the front door opening. They were home!!

They came up the stairs as I was stretching

“Hey! It looks so clean in here, and smells amazing” Nick said looking around

“Thanks! Did some of that anxiety deep cleaning” I said smiling at them

“I appreciate it! You didn’t have to tho” Chris said

“No, don't even worry! I love it” I said getting up and grabbing my plate to bring to the kitchen, Matt had followed me into the kitchen

“You didn’t eat?” He asked looking at my plate still full

“I tried to, but I just couldn’t” I said

“Baby why didn’t you call me? I would’ve came and spent the day with you” he said looking at little but upset

“Don’t worry baby! I’m okay” I said tossing the food out

“Want to go for a walk?” He asked me

“You know that might actually help me a lot” I said

“Alright let’s go” he said. I went and put my shoes on and grabbed my phone, and we headed out

“So tell me how dirty was the house” Matt said laughing

“Actually it wasn’t too bad. I mean not till I got to Chris' room to put his laundry on his bed for him. That was something out of this world” I said laughing

“Oh god. Chris is actually a child. His room looks like it got flipped upside down repeatedly for 10 minutes” Matt said laughing

“I cleaned it up a bit for him, just so it wasn’t too bad” I said

“Aww you’re so sweet cleaning up after that pig” he said kissing me on the cheek

“I love to clean helps my mind clear” I said to him

“Oh look at that flower” he said pointing behind me

I quickly turned around, and saw a beautiful pink flower hanging off of a vine on someone’s fence.

“Oh that’s so pretty” I said grabbing it and looking at it

“Take it” he said

“No it’ll die by the time we get home” I said frowning a little bit

“But it’ll be a memory” he said

“Yeah, but it looks so pretty right now” I said back to him

He was looking into my eyes, when all of sudden it started to poor on us

“WHAT THE FUCK” we both screamed and started to laugh

“Since fucking when was it supposed to rain” he said grabbing my hand as we started to jog back to the house

We were laughing, and running back to the house trying not to slip or step into any big puddles on the way back

When we got back to the house we were drenched, and cold, and laughing about how bizarre this situation was

We had taken our shoes off at the door, and started to walk up the steps. When we got to the top I slipped and fell to my knees

“OH MY GOD” Matt said laughing so hard, and trying to help me up, but we were laughing too hard we couldn't even focus on each other

“Oh my fucking god” I said holding my stomach and laughing

“Get up” he said doubled over laughing and holding his stomach

“I’m trying” I said as I was trying to get up, and all that we kept hearing was my wet feet squeaking on the floor trying to get up

“I CANT FUCKING BREATHE YOU SOUND LIKE A SQUEAKY TOY” Matt said trying to help me up, but we literally could not get it together

Finally we calmed down, and I got up holding onto Matt as we kept laughing and walking to his room

“Oh god. My knees are going to be tore up tomorrow” I said walking into his room

“It’s okay I’ll put some ointment on them for you” he said shutting his door

“I’m colddddddd” I said shaking my body

“Want to take a warm shower with me?” He asked stripping himself of his wet hoodie

“Ouuu yes that sounds nice” I said also taking off my wet hoodie

We had stripped ourselves of our clothes and left them in a wet pile in his room, and then walked to his bathroom

He got the hot water started, and we both got in

“This feels great” I said letting the hot water hit my back

“It really does” he said also letting the water hit him

We showered together talking and laughing about how funny my fall was, and that he wish he had it recorded

I had finished washing my face when I turned to Matt, and we already looking at me

“You’re so beautiful” he said looking down at my lips

“Thank you baby” I said wiping the water out of my eyes

“Kiss me” he said before pulling me in by my waist

I smashed my lips against his as I ran my fingers through his wet hair

“How does shower sex sound to you?” He asked pulling away from me

“It sounds hot” I said kissing his neck

Matt continued to kiss me, and went down to my neck peppering little love bites here and there.

I sighed at this

“I love you so much Matt. You treat me so well” I said

“I love you more baby” he said coming back up to kiss my lips

“I would get down and suck your dick, but my knees are already hurting from falling” I said, and we both started to giggle thinking back to the fall I had

“Don’t worry baby. I wanna pleasure you” he said laughing a little bit

“I’m ready Matt” I said to him kissing him one last time

Matt had pushed me back against the shower wall allowing the cool tiles to kiss my warm skin. He grabbed my leg lifting it up slightly and with his other hand guided his dick to my entrance.

Slowly he started to slide into me. And then completely bottoming out

“Fuck” I said throwing my head back a little bit

“Shit baby” he said looking at me

Matt started to slowly thrust into me. Making sure we both don’t fall this time. He was kissing my neck as he thrusted deeper and deeper

“Shit matt this feels so good” I said starting to get wobbly in the knees

“I know baby” he said putting one hand on the shower wall next to my head, and the other wrapped around my waist to keep me close

Matt kept fucking into me as a delicious pace, allowing me to feel every inch of him. This felt amazing, and I needed this so badly. He was keeping my mind off of all my worries by fucking me in the best way

“Shit Matt I think I’m gonna cum” I said pulling at his hair in the back of his head

“Me too baby, me too” he said still thrusting into me

“Fuck Matt” I moaned one last time before cumming on his dick. My legs shaking, and my upper body convulsing

He allowed me to come down from my high to catch my breath before pulling out of me

Matt started to jerk himself off before moaning my name and cumming into his hand.

He started to come down from his high, trying to catch his breath before cleaning himself off one last time, and I did the same

“Thank you baby that was amazing” I said kissing his back as he cleaned himself up

“Always for my pretty girl. I’m always here for you to help you take your mind off of anything” he said turning around and kissing me

We both hopped out of the shower and got dressed in his room. Changing into some warm clothes, and then putting our wet clothes to wash

“Wanna watch The Notebook” I asked him laying in his bed

“I’ve never seen it. I’m down” he said after shutting his door, and coming to lay with me

I put the movie on, and we snuggled into each other while watching. Eventually we fell asleep….in each others arms watching a romance movie…..oh how cliché

The End

I’m powering through these requests🤞🏽, and hope you guys enjoyed this one. And for the person that requested this I hope you liked it as well lmk!!!!❤️

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplet smut #smut

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mistyresolve · 16 days

Text

| His Foresight - Simon "Ghost" Riley X

Medic!Reader (Part 7)

Word Count - 4.7K

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn. This chapter describes scenes that some people may find disturbing, such as war crimes, mutilation, and death.

A/N - This chapter is tuff ngl.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3 ❤︎ Part 3.5 ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 6

Masterlist ❤︎

“Better,” Ghost said from somewhere at your side, his attention divided by watching you practice your throwing knife skills and cleaning his rifle, “But stop flicking your wrist, it’s unnecessary.”

Since you arrived here Ghost had dedicated a surprising amount of time to teaching you how to throw a knife. Your aim was still off and you had the occasional miss, but you were improving. He’s had you standing in front of the piece of wood for the last hour throwing the knives he’s so graciously let you borrow, picking them up and doing it all over again. He was a good teacher, but a tough one. Not even you could be spared from his hazing lectures of form and technique. And on more than one occasion you stomped off on him in frustration, only to sheepishly return after some time to restart after cooling off.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression bored, “Are you even watching?”

“Yes. Now, throw,” he instructed, dark eyes flicking up to you, and when he saw that you were still looking at him he twirled his finger in a “turn” gesture.

With a sigh, you turn back around and aim at the center of the target painted into a wooden board. You lined yourself up, your tongue instinctively sticking out, a habit you had since you were a child when in focus, and threw the blade. The handle banged off the board and clanged to the ground.

“I just told you to stop flicking your wrist,” he commented as he slid ammo into one of his magazines.

You spun on him, annoyance twinging your tone “You come over here and throw one.”

He placed the magazine on the table beside him and strode towards you with a confidence you envied, plucked the blade right out of your hand and threw it. It embedded itself deep into the wood. Right in the middle. He held his hand out for another. Again, it landed in the middle with a satisfying thud. Impressively close to the first. He threw two more and only one of them wasn’t a bullseye instead it landed in the next ring.

You clicked your tongue, “Alright,” you pushed him back towards his guns and ammo, “Go away.”

For the last two days, it’s done nothing but storm, and everyone has taken shelter in the warehouse where there was still a working heater. But now that the nightly meeting and dinner had been served, everyone was headed back for the bunks for the night. The emotions have been running high the last few days and the weather was making it even harder to get things done. Soap was trying his best to keep up morale, but even he grew weary of waiting. Price and Gaz had gone on recon today to check out the town and came back with the news that the military was pulling out. Laswell was less than thrilled to have the entire team invading her space while she tried to work.

She, out of all of you, felt the pressure the most.

Tonight it was your turn to take the night watch, and Ghost stayed behind until midnight to keep you company. He even went on the few patrols he was with you for, “You never talk about your family,” Ghost clutched at his rifle as he strolled beside you, purposefully shortening his stride so you could keep up.

“Well, I could say the same about you,” you knock your shoulder into him, trying to come off as playful but in truth the last thing you wanted to do was unpack the fuckery that was your family.

“That’s because I’ve got skeletons in my closet,” he shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about it. You’ve become accustomed to his casual attitude; where normal people would become skittish with that type of admission, he wasn’t.

You hummed, inching closer to him. Even in the rain his body heat radiating from him.

“Well,” you started, chewing on the inside of your cheek as unease rippled through your gut, “My parents divorced when I was sixteen. My mother is the kindest woman I’ve ever met. She used to take me to the theatres every Sunday for the matinee.”

“And your father?” He asked carefully, sensing your hesitation on the matter. His attention was on you but he made it less intense by looking off into the darkened shadows of the trees beyond the fences.

“He’s…” your throat narrowed at the memory of him, of his hardened face and emotionless eyes, “He’s the worst man I’ve ever met. And I was his favourite,” you wrung your fingers, the tips of them going numb from the cold air, “He’s estranged now and I haven’t heard from since the divorce.” A lie. You knew exactly where and what he was doing. You also knew he kept a close eye on you and yours. “My mom has since remarried. To a guy she went to high school with, it’s quite adorable,”

“Any siblings?” He asked as he opened the door to the warehouse for you. He didn’t push for more information, understanding that were some things better left unsaid.

“Two,” your heart skipped a beat, “Both significantly older. But one of them died when I was in high school. A car accident,” you didn’t give any more detail than that. Didn’t think you could handle dredging up old wounds.

You silently thanked Simon for not giving you a half-hearted “I’m sorry” at the mention of your dead brother.

You told him about your childhood friends, and about the sports you played. You told him about how your brothers used to have epic fights in the backyard, and how one of them had ended with your father making them run laps at the track until one of them collapsed and the other threw up all over the grass.

Ghost quietly listened, adding little comments here and there. He just liked hearing you talk and would sit here for hours completely content with doing just that.

As soon as the clock struck twelve a yawn interrupted him mid-sentence and you sent him off to bed.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll keep out of trouble. But you were up last night for your watch, you need to sleep,” you shooed him out the door. Before stepping out the door he turned to you, bending down to catch your lips with his. It was a quick, innocent gesture, and the boyish grin of his that accompanied it was even more so.

The rest of the night was fairly tame, but your raincoat never seemed to dry and you were forever cold. Gaz had pulled out a space heater at some point but even that couldn’t seem to thaw your frozen bones and muscles. What you really wanted was a hot shower. Or even better, a bath. You’d grown weary of the cold showers.

The silence and isolation of the night watch were welcomed. It gave you time to think and to work through your ever-flowing thoughts and emotions. You were beginning to wonder what comes after this. If you were labelled as deserters, would they just “let” you get back to your normal job once you exposed Spector? There were so many questions and you were too afraid to find out what the answers would be. Would anyone even believe you guys?

You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself before you found yourself spiralling. You reorganized the makeshift kitchen area, sewed a rip in your jacket pocket, and read the first few chapters of a particularly boring book Gaz had brought with him. You had quickly become thankful for the hourly strolls outside.

“What are you doing up?” You asked, setting your rifle down, having done a patrol. It was a little past 4 am when you returned to find Soap lounging on one of the chairs at the makeshift table.

His cheery blue eyes found yours, “Thought I’d come and keep you company.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” you took a seat across from him, fiddling with a propane lamp before lighting it.

He yawned and stretched out his arms above him, “Have you been able to?”

You shook your head. Truth is, you haven’t had a good sleep since you got blown up. You grabbed a deck of cards someone had left on the table for everyone to use, “You shuffle,” you said, handing it to him. With practiced hands, he shuffled and dealt out a hand of canasta.

He won the first round, and he sighed, “One more game, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”

“Laswell find anything?” you asked. Laswell had left to meet up with one of her contacts and wasn’t going to be coming back until tomorrow.

“Not really,” he scratched at the growing beard on his face, and exchanged a card from his hand, “She’s stressing. So is Price.”

“I don’t blame them,” you murmured. If you were going to ask anyone and not fear that they’d think you a doormat, you were going to ask Soap, “Are we still going to have our jobs once we figure all this out?”

He blinked at you, “Our job?” then his expression softened in realization. You’d been uncharacteristically recluse these last few days and everyone had noticed it. And Soap was just relieved to have finally understood why that was, “When we find that bastard Spectator and pull his pants down in front of the brasses we’ll be handed medals.” He leaned back in his chair and it creaked against his weight, “There are, of course, probably going to be some legal measures that will need to be addressed, but when are there not? A few years back we were being hunted down by every allied force for ‘espionage’.” He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the idea. “We’ve got our hands tied behind our backs a few times, and yet they haven’t gotten rid of us.”

The looming misery that had been breathing down your neck for the last few weeks backed off at his answer.

“That makes this a little less stressful,” You wished there was more you could do, but none of this was your specialty. “You want tea?” the chill you developed from your patrols was becoming unbearable. You got up to heat up water in a pot on the propane stove before he could answer.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

You turned back towards him just in time to catch him trying to peek at your cards, “Are you joking?” you threw up your hands in disbelief. You’ve played a lot of cards with Soap in the last two weeks, and never once did you win against him. Now you know why. You tossed a tea bag at him.

He slid back into his seat with a sheepish grin.

“I’m not making you tea anymore,” you glowered over at him, “You can make your own.”

You cracked open the door to take a peek outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the ground sodden with water. It smelt like fresh earth. An hour later Ghost joined the two of you, claiming that Price was snoring so loud that he woke up thinking someone was attacking him with a chainsaw. Soap asked if he cared for a game of cards to which he curtly replied with a very stern, very definitive “No, you little crook.”

After a brief discussion, you and Ghost decided it would be as good a time as ever to check in on the town. He wanted to scope it out to see if the military had pulled out yet. You wanted to check in on the school.

The drive into the town was silent, the pit of your stomach was turned inside out. Your intuition screamed at you that something was wrong.

Thick fog clung to the trees and made the drive more unsettling.

A strange pungent smell invaded the cab of the truck a few miles back from the town. It smelt like smoke and something else you couldn’t place a finger on. The smell got stronger and stronger the closer you got, to the point where you shoved your nose into the collar of your shirt.

“Ugh,” your eyes began to water, “What is that?”

A large dark form lay on the side of the road as you turned a corner and Ghost slowed the vehicle, his hand dropping to the pistol at his thigh.

So he feels the unease too.

That thought alone was alarming.

As you rolled forward confusion clouded your thoughts. The corpse of a horse was left in the ditch. Its brown coat stained darker in some spots—with dried blood. From the looks of it, this happened days ago.

“They killed off all their livestock,” Ghost grumbled, his attention fixed on something ahead of us. You followed his gaze. The herd of cows he passed every day we drove into town was left to rot in one of the fields surrounding the town. Their bodies are already half-decomposed. In their state, it was obvious this occurred days ago.

“Isn’t this a war crime?”

He nodded, features hardening.

You wondered why no one had tried to dispose of them.

In fact, as you neared, there wasn’t anyone around. No passing cars or people walking their dogs.

As the town came into view, and the fog fell away from the buildings to could better make out the shapes hanging from the sign. You squinted, leaning forward. Your blood ran cold, “Riley–”

“I see it,” he grunted.

Three bodies hung from the town's welcome sign. The faces were mottle shades of blue and grey. Hands tied behind their back and feet bound together. Two men and one woman. They had died long after the cattle. Their clothes and hair remained dry, despite the last few days of rainfall.

Ghost nodded his head towards the woman, “That’s my informant's wife.”

If you hadn’t known him as well as you did you would have thought him indifferent to the sight but guilt lined the edges of his words.

You looked back to the women and your stomach rolled. Her neck bent at an unnatural angle, “Did–” you shook your head in disbelief, “Why would they do this?” It was hard to believe that the same army you fought for could do something like this. Something so animal.

Beside you, he didn’t answer. His eyes scanned the empty streets, finding nothing and no one.

“Take me to the school,” you breathed, worry piling up inside you.

He opened his mouth to say something, probably to argue but thought better of it.

He rolled to a stop just outside the school, his brows furrowing, “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t find it within you to smile at him.

“You just need to click twice on your radio and I’ll be right back,” he was going to go check in on his informant. If his wife was dead, the probability that he was too was high.

He waited for you to enter the building before he pulled out and went on his way.

The school was desolate, no single child milled about. No teachers lined the halls. It was a school day, you were sure about that, yet no one was around.

You followed the now-familiar path to the classroom at the back of the school. Peaking into empty classrooms on the way there.

Your hands shook as you reached the door to the classroom, and eerie silence on the other side. You knocked but the door wasn’t shut properly and creaked open. The lights were off, and no voice answered from within as the sound of your approach. You swallowed the lump in your throat before pushing the door completely open.

The room was empty. Yesterday's date is still etched in chalk on the chalkboard.

Along with the angry rushed words, “Your sympathizers will be killed.”

You didn’t need to ask to know those words were meant for you. You looked around the room once more, searching for any sign of life. But the room was nearly spotless, there was no blood, no sign of a struggle. Textbooks and pencils still lay on the desks of the students, ready for their next lesson.

You picked up one of the books, examining it.

Something outside caught your attention, a flash of a silhouette as it rushed across the courtyard.

You peered out the window and into the courtyard in hopes of seeing who was out there.

The breath wooshed out of your lungs, and the textbook in your hand slipped from your grip. You didn’t even hear it fall.

Outside, hand-tied above their head to a wooden post was what was left of a female body. There wasn’t much left of her but the chard-blackened flesh. Gone was her scent of rosemary and pepper. Gone was her soft voice and youthful face.

A hand flew up to cover your mouth as bile rose up your throat.

The door behind you creaked open and you spun, hand going for your gun.

A small familiar figure appeared, her usually emotionless face tear-stained. When she caught sight of you her face contorted into one of distrust and hate.

It was the girl you had been helping heal the wound on her arm.

Then she was rushing at you, her slim fist slamming into your armoured chest, her voice cracking as she yelled up at you. She kicked her feet out at your shins and ankles. You couldn’t understand her but her face revealed what she was saying. There didn’t need to be a language barrier to know what she was calling you. What she was saying.

“This is your fault. You killed her. You’re a monster. A killer.”

There was no doubt that her screams would draw attention if anyone was still here. You covered her mouth, hushing her. She trashed against you, nails digging into the exposed skin on your wrists. Her feet stomped on yours.

Voices echoed down the hall and the both of you froze. Wide eyes connecting in dread. She stopped breathing entirely. You lifted a finger to your lips, prying she’d remain silent. Slowly and as quietly as you could you brought her to the windows, opened one of them and signalled for her to slide out. Her brows furrowed with skepticism but she obeyed.

I was the lesser of two evils in her eyes.

“Run,” you whispered to her, palming a throwing knife into her hand and she climbed out the window.

She didn’t turn back to look at you as she sprinted to the other side of the building. You watched as she hesitated before running past the brutalized body of her teacher. You watched her dip out of one of the many doors.

You tore yourself from the window and the scene beyond it, wishing you could at least cut her down from the post.

But there was someone else here.

You crept back out into the hallway, following the same route to the main foyer, trying to avoid the direction the voices came from.

Wrong.

At the end of the hallway were two men, their attire and the patches on the side of their arms making it obvious that weren’t here to be friendly. You considered ducking back behind the corner but they had already seen you. Their concealed faces snap towards you.

Your hand reached for this radio at your shoulder and clicked it twice.

“What are you doing here?” one of them called out, his head tilted to the side trying to get a better look at you. There was no way in hell you were going to get away with pretending to be a local. You were decked out in a bulletproof vest. Instinctively, your hand dipped for the pistol at your thigh but stopped short. They weren’t the enemy, they were here following orders.

You cleared your throat, “I was told to meet the lieutenant here,” you could only hope they didn’t ask for a name.

They shared a look, the postures stiffening, before turning back to you, “Lieutenant, Smithers left yesterday morning.”

Welp.

You pulled one of the knives Ghost had given you earlier this morning from its sheath, “I don’t want to have to hurt you,” you swore.

But it was too late, and this was going to be a short-lived fight. You were outnumbered and outmuscled. You could only hope you would be able to hold them off until Ghost got here.

The first one moved quickly, and you flung the blade in his direction. You were aiming for his throat but missed. It landed in his shoulder, which worked well in slowing him down but wasn’t going to put him out of this fight. The second one closed in on you, throwing a dangerous left hook that for sure would have knocked you out cold if you hadn’t sidestepped him, now behind him you kicked out at the back of his leg. His momentary loss of balance was enough for you to drive your knee up into his face. Bone cracked, and his nose immediately started spewing blood everywhere.

The first guy was still recovering from your knife, but he was still more than capable of doing major harm once he regained his composure.

Your fingers found the warm metal of the soldier dog tag and wrapped your fist around it, tugging at it until his gargled protest echoed. You grabbed for the second knife equipped at your chest.

An arm wrapped around your waist and you were being hauled up into the air and slammed into the wall behind you, knocking the wind out of you. You brought your elbow down in the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. Once. Twice. He let you go, driving his fist into your jaw. Your head snapped to the side and stars blossomed in the corners of your vision.

You grappled at your assailant for purchase, but you were already being yanked into the other soldier's arms, your hand twisted painfully behind you.

“Bitch,” he missed in your ear.

Your vision was swimming but your eyes landed on the blade still jutting out of the first guy's shoulder. You leaned your weight back, lifting your feet to kick the blade in again. The man stumbled back, screaming. You dropped your weight as fast and hard as you can, bringing the last guy down with you.

He was faster than you. Climbing on top of you, pressing into your back with a knee. His finger gripped at your scalp, bringing your head up only to smash it back into the ground. Again and again.

There was a bang that cracked through the air. And you waited for the searing pain that usually accompanied a bullet.

The heavy weight above you began to suffocate you, and you struggled for breath. A whimper escaped you.

There was the sound of a struggle somewhere above you but you couldn’t find the strength to so much as look up.

The weight was lifted off of you, and you came face to face with the unseeing, dead eyes of the soldier who was just bashing your face into the floor. Then you were being flipped and your eyes met familiar brown ones.

Alarm flashed across his face, “Shit. Can you walk?”, his arm slipped under and around you.

“Yes, I think,” You blinked up at him, your vision blurring. You wiped at your eyes, “I can’t see.”

“You’ve got blood everywhere,” Ghost hissed, shifting your weight onto him. The floor beneath your feet was slick and you fought to keep them under you. He nearly carried you to the truck before shoving you into the passenger seat. He was driving off before you could register where you were.

“Was it just them?” He asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road but they kept snapping over to you.

Your arms felt heavy and you slumped in your seat, “I didn’t see anyone else.”

He drove fast back down the road and out of the town. If there were two soldiers still here there was bound to be more. And he wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

He reached into the back to find something, anything for you to wipe the blood from your face. You weren’t sure which of it was yours and which of it was the now dead soldiers.

He found a plain white cotton shirt from his pack.

“You’ll never get the blood stains out,” you half joked as you wiped at your face.

“I’m not too attached,” he ground out but you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for jests right now.

“Did you find your informant?” you strained as you wound a particular sore spot above your brow. A break in the skin that would surely scar.

“He was dead.”

Nausea gripped your stomach and you weren’t sure if it was the signs of a concussion or because of the aftermath of what you’d seen at the school. Most likely both, “Riley,” you struggled, fingers finding the door handle, “Pull over.”

“What?”

Saliva flooded your mouth, “Pull over.”

He turned into the ditch, tossing you a concerned glance before he moved to open his door.

“Stay in the truck,” you ordered, before slipping out your door.

You were retching before your feet found the earth. You retched until you couldn’t anymore. Until your stomach was empty and your legs were useless.

He didn’t say a word when you stepped back into the truck, but his knuckles turned white in the steering wheel.

He handed you the bottled water from the cup holder and you rinsed your mouth out before speaking again, “We can’t involve any more civilians,” even to your ears you sounded defeated, “They will hunt them down. They did. They…called her a sympathizer,” you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. You told him of the school, and the message written on the chalkboard. You told him about the little girl and the teacher had to leave in the courtyard. “Did you informant know anything about the rest of us? Did he know I was at the school while you were with him?”

He stiffened, “No and yes. He wasn’t aware that anyone other than us two were on the run,”

We drove for another few hours before he turned off the road once more.

He was jumping out of the truck and reaching into the back seats before coming around to your side. His head was on a swivel, as he walked, looking for any signs that we had a tail. He opened your door, “We can’t go back to camp just yet,” he handed you your pack and placed his at his feet.

You had noticed that he was going in the complete opposite direction of the base a while back. Those soldiers knew we had been to that village, and they had been waiting for us to turn back up. There was still a chance they were following us, hoping we’d bring them back to everyone else.

“Agreed,”

“Dress in your civi’s,” he took out a fresh pair of jeans and a plain grey sweater, “The closest safe house isn’t as secure as the last,” He looked over your face and removed his vest, “I can stop on the way there and get you some ice for your face.”

Then he was shirtless, then he was nearly naked.

And too soon he was dressed again. His sweater pulled tights across his chest and shoulders. He looked even better in regular clothes than he did in his uniform. He moved to help you with your vest, the velcro a harsh sound in the silence. He helped you wiggle out of your shirt. You were sticky, cold, wet and with blood. He handed you a hoodie and waited for you to put it on before closing the door.

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