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ofsappho · 1 year

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Heartless, Chapter 2

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

Your wedding night. Tags under read more.

Tags: degradation kink, praise kink, size kink, consent negotiation, they egg each other on, gaslight gatekeep girlboss reader, pet names (whore, love, doll, good girl, pretty girl, bitch (yes this is used as a pet name I promise))

You watch the military chaplain sort through the prepared marriage license while the world’s largest butterflies do artistic gymnastics in your stomach.

Soap is the religious one out of the two of you, the Catholic one. You would’ve preferred a judge and a courthouse wedding more than this. But there was no time, and the headache of getting an American recognized by the multi-national special forces whatever-the-fuck just wasn’t worth it.

So a chaplain it is.

Soap has told you little about the soldier you’re set to marry. In his defense, he argued that there was very little to tell. Lt. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley’s personnel file is too classified for a mere civilian, and there are only two single-sided sheets of paper’s worth of information in there anyways.

The bare bones - he’s British. (Of course, he is.) He wears a mask that he never takes off. He’s served many tours, in many places. And while Johnny was remarkably diplomatic about the wording, he did caution you that Ghost’s reputation precedes him and terrifies almost everyone who hears it. With good, justified cause.

Lovely.

But the cold, crawling fingers of desperation and the memory of the times when you couldn’t afford to go to the doctor reminded you of your priorities. And so you have agreed to bind yourself to some dude with a ridiculous, overwrought moniker.

After more than a few years of dealing with medical bureaucracy, military bureaucracy is hardly a match for you. You’ve come prepared with the family accommodations application filled out. You have copies of your identifying documents, birth certificates. The basic background check completed.

Once this is done and solemnized, Soap has volunteered to run it personally to his commanding officer like a good little messenger boy. An early wedding gift, he called it.

You’ve asked him for a Keurig just to be an asshole. And whether or not he got one, for real, Soap won’t say.

All that’s left is to… well. Say the vows and hope no one looks close enough to demand ‘proof.’ Like you’re in some awful fucking medieval romance novel. It’s 2023. You refuse to relinquish any bedsheets. Gross. And they’re expensive.

Lt. Riley still has fifteen minutes before the ceremony is supposed to start.

You’re only early out of an abundance of caution and anxiety. There was only so much sitting around in your old apartment and waiting for the clock hands to move you could take, not after you spent all night packing your life into your car and then climbed out onto your roof to watch the sunrise.

The next one you see, you will be a wife.

Even though Soap refused to show you a picture of Lt. Riley, you did your best to look somewhat presentable. For the pictures. And maybe a little bit for him.

The nicest dress you own, the jewelry you always wear.

Shit. Jewelry. Ring.

“Soap. Soap. I don’t have a ring.” Oh, that’s just your fucking luck, isn’t it? You have remembered literally everything. Your potato masher, your books, and the last of your immunosuppressants are packed into a cooler filled with ice.

Other than the one thing you absolutely need.

Your friend stares at you from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean, you don’t got a ring?”

The chaplain’s going to turn and ask what’s wrong any second.

Before he notices, you grab Soap’s bicep and drag him into a corner as the last of your forced calm flees. “I don’t have a ring,” You hiss as your polished nails dig into his dress uniform.

That’s something you should thank him for after this calamity passes. At least your maid of honor is appropriately attired as if this were a real wedding. Or maybe Johnny is a matron of honor because he hasn’t been a virgin in years? Whatever.

His exasperation is less than reassuring. “Alright. Calm down. Calm down, lass. We’ll sort that out later-“ The chapel doors open, cutting him off.

Wow. You thought that Soap was kidding about the mask. That’s a mask.

A balaclava. With a skull on it. Edgy.

Oh, but he’s tall. Taller than you, taller by a couple of inches than Soap. That must really piss your friend off. He is… very tall. And heftily built.

No dress uniform. Just a black sweatshirt showing ripples of defined, bulky muscles underneath and dark wash jeans. And eye black obscures the skin around his eyes, everything his mask doesn’t cover.

It seems impractical, though you can’t deny the shiver of awe that flicks through your nerves when Lt. Ghost meets your inquisitive gaze. His irises are so dark that you can’t distinguish his pupils, leaving you with the impression of looking into twin black holes.

Do you shake his hand? Do you…

You wait for him to make the first move, and he makes no move at all.

“Hi, Lt. Riley,” You say softly, almost timidly. First impressions tend to go better when you make yourself smaller.

For a moment there, you almost think he didn’t hear you. You watch him narrow his eyes as if you’re more than what he was expecting. “License?” He asks after a painfully long awkward silence.

You shove the other papers at Soap, so you have a spare hand to find it. And if you conveniently remain deaf to his protests at being used as a shelf? That’s what maids of honor are for - whatever the bride need.

“License? Oh- uh, yeah, here.” The half-completed form crumples slightly in his hand. It’s from those bulky gloves, and you die a little inside at the sight.

When he hands it back to you with a messy, scrawled signature at all the highlighted blanks, you turn your body away to ensure he overlooks your vain efforts to smooth it out. “Just call me Ghost.”

Damn, this one wrinkle won’t come out. The chaplain will think you’re unprofessional. “Okay, Ghost,” You respond absentmindedly. He hovers in the corner of your eye like his namesake, which is annoying. It’s not as if you’re hiding a fucking bomb over here-

And you stop thinking that immediately. You know, in case they can read minds in this heavily guarded, highly secret special forces base or utilize some tinfoil hat conspiracy theorist's secret weapon. That’s mostly an inside joke you have with yourself. You leave a little room for healthy paranoia to offset the healthy humor.

The chaplain and his small glasses interrupt now that the groom has arrived, and you hand him the still-messed-up license with an embarrassed flush on your cheeks. Thankfully, he takes it without complaint. Maybe a little judgment - and then you remember you have that issue with the rings. There will be more judgment to come.

“Are you ready to begin?” The middle-aged man asks.

Ghost nods almost at the same time you do.

“We are gathered here in the presence of this witness for the purpose of uniting in matrimony Lt. Simon Riley and…”

You tune out the entirety of the cookie-cutter wedding ceremony. The chaplain goes on and on, all sorts of shit about love and forever that you know he has to say but is remarkably humorous in light of your circumstances.

Lt. Riley’s eyelashes are blonde. You couldn’t see it before, but now that you’re inches from him, you can’t look away. They’re a pale platinum blonde that stands out against his dark eyes like threads of ice, and you count each one. Fascinating.

The chaplain clears his throat, then gestures for Ghost to take your hand.

The glove stays on. But he is gentle about it, gentler than what seems natural for his movements. “Do you take Lt. Riley to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?” That’s laying it on a bit thick, you think.”

“I do,” You say, voice low and confident.

“Do you, Lt. Riley, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?”

Something shifts in his gaze. He tilts his head to the side and tracks the features of your face, your full mouth, and your cheekbones. “I do.” You wouldn’t even know where he was looking, had it not been for the stark whites of his eyes darting back and forth.

“The rings?” Your officiant asks.

You hear Johnny stifle a chuckle. Damn him for standing so far away; if he were closer, you’d step on his foot with your heel. “We- the rings are in the mail. They haven’t gotten here yet.” You smile winningly as you hold the chaplain’s bemused stare, practically daring him to call out your poorly-concealed lie.

Ghost hasn’t let go of your hand this whole time. Even he lets out a small huff after seeing your perfect poker face.

“I see. Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

You won't kiss him in front of everyone if he doesn’t lower his mask. As he obviously won’t, you stand on your very tippy-toes and kiss his cheek like you’re at a middle school dance.

Then it’s done, and you’re married.

Ghost pulls his hand back as if you’ve burned him, then steps away before you can ask him any questions.

Just as you try to chase him- “Congratulations, lass,” Soap exclaims, sweeping you into a hug that lifts you off the ground.

It’s got a hell of a lot more than excitement in it; you can feel his relief, and he goes as far as to kiss your forehead like a brother before letting you down.

There’s nothing on earth you can do to repay him. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.” For a moment, you’re children again—two kids against the world.

Johnny takes the license and the rest of your paperwork. “Gotta run this to Chief Laswell. But- you’ll be fine. Don’t be too scared.” You can tell he’s fucking around, but there’s an edge to his voice that you don’t love.

No person can be scarier than a hospital bill. “Worry about yourself, Johnny,” You tell him.

It takes a second for the steel in your eyes to reassure him. Eventually, he nods. “Good luck.” Then he makes his way to Ghost.

They speak in murmurs too quiet for you to hear, and you can see Soap grip his forearm tight enough to bruise. Then they come to some sort of silent consensus. Ghost’s mask gives away absolutely nothing, but your friend seems satisfied enough.

“Uh- pardon me, I’m sure Lt. Riley and yourself are eager to… celebrate the evening.” The chaplain’s acting like you and Ghost are about to start going at each other right here, right now.

That is a known stereotype for hastily-married couples, and he’s probably seen some traumatizing things in this very chapel. Either way, you coordinate a retreat into the hallway to give the poor man a break.

Ghost holds the door open for you, and you wonder what torture Soap promised to get him to do that. He doesn’t seem pleased. You’d tell him that he doesn’t need to bother, but you’re not so invested in Ghost’s immediate happiness, and that’s a lot of work.

Someone’s waiting for you in the corridor. A poor uniformed soldier has been conscripted into acting as envoy on behalf of the Special Forces, and he asks you both to follow him to your temporary quarters.

Right. Yes.

Ghost doesn’t say a word. He matches your steps with uncanny accuracy, and you’re beginning to understand why people sincerely call him by his preferred moniker. It’s fucking freaky, how quickly and efficiently he moves without any sound at all. You might even forget he was there if not for the heavy, uncomfortable weight on your back that reminds you he’s still watching.

Then the soldier rounds a corner and presents you with an open door. The lights are on, and a bouquet of fresh flowers is on the table inside with a little white card.

Your guide hightails it out as soon as you’re through the doorway.

And then Ghost closes the door behind him.

You and him. Alone. There’s no one in the other room or close enough to hear if something goes wrong.

You watch him keep himself busy, circling perimeters and learning exits and entrances, and you think… you wouldn’t mind it if something went wrong.

Reading people is something that can’t be taught, not really. You’re lucky to have come out of the womb with that ephemeral quality clutched tightly in one hand. While the mask makes it difficult, you are… learning. You are noting shifts in posture, inflections of voice, where those dark eyes linger.

You need to collect more data.

“Do I have to call you Ghost? I can’t just call you Simon?” Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and the tension in the air tastes electric on your teeth. It will be a coin toss to see which way that tension goes, you think.

“Don’t say that name. ‘M not gonna repeat myself.”

You’ll do as he says because now he’s staring into your eyes without flinching. “Hm. Fine.” Which is what you wanted.

Ghost removes his gloves for a moment to fiddle with his phone, and you can’t help but stare.

He has beautiful hands. Long, thick fingers, knuckles marked with a lifetime’s worth of scar tissue, more scars wrapping themselves like cords across the backs of his hands. Beautiful.

There are tattoos blanketing his left forearm. You can’t see them from here, and you doubt you’ll get to examine them in detail sometime this century. Tattoos are so personal, and it would take words a lot tougher than a question to get through his shark skin persona.

Gloves go back on. And he’s caught you staring. You don’t give a fuck.

You relish the challenge.

Like a feral raccoon or a bored weasel, you’ll push and push and push until you’ve found something entertaining.

Does Ghost think that if he menaces you in silence long enough, you’ll scream when he says ‘boo’? How cute.

Out of nowhere, he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’re lookin’ at me.” You could make a snide comment about noticing the obvious, but that’s not the fight you want to pick. Yet.

You’re far more intrigued by the issue of his ghastly, ghoulish, fearsome camouflage. “Do you really, like, wear the mask all the time? Even to sleep? What about eating? You don’t care about getting crumbs all over it?” Your voice would sound genuine if you put a little more effort into it.

Silence. He knows you’re trying to pry him out into the open, and he thinks he can ignore you until you give up.

Your eyes narrow. “Oh, come on. I’m your wife now. I’m allowed to ask questions.” Those fucking icy eyelashes. Your feet move before you realize it, bringing you closer to him so you can repeatedly run the contrast in your mind.

Ghost crosses his burly arms over his chest. “Not if they’re fuckin’ annoying ones,” He snaps back.

That’s one hell of a British accent. Not a posh one; working class, probably not from London.

Like his eyes, hands, and stature, his low, raspy voice is beautiful, too. “Isn’t that what wives are for?” You bait.

You catch his eye roll and match it with a dirty glare. “Do you ever shut up?” Ghost asks, advancing so quickly that you find yourself trapped against the wall, some primal flight instinct activated by his sinuous, menacing stride.

And you’ve been asked that very same question many, many times in your life. “Um… not really,” You toss out. Smugly, like you’re winning whatever fucked-up game is brewing between you. You totally are.

Like this, you must tilt your head to meet his furious eyes. “Fuck. That’s tedious.” Obviously, this is not nearly as tedious as he complains. He’s still here.

Your eyes flick between the door and Ghost’s mask, indicating he’s free to walk away. “Oh, I’m being tedious? Look at me. Look at me. Say that again.” Under your dress, your skin feels warm. As if he’s already touching you.

Ghost takes another step forward. “You… are… being… tedious.” Close enough that his combat boots touch your fancy low heels.

Kissing someone through a mask is very stupid, both in theory and practice. Just as you thought earlier.

Somehow, some way, Ghost makes it work.

Gentleness seems to be a foreign language to him; he wraps one large hand around your jaw, pushing you against the wall, so roughly that pain radiates across your scalp, and digs his index finger and thumb in until he’s holding your mouth open.

And that’s how he kisses you. Forcing you to be exactly as still as he wants and pressing his mask over your lips, and your eyes flutter shut as if this were a real kiss. If this were a real kiss, you’d have your teeth halfway through his bottom lip by now.

Great idea. Just as Ghost moves back, you nip his mask with your teeth. Nothing serious, no real damage. Enough to teach him something about you, more important than words can say.

For only a moment, it lifts from his face. Not in any type of direction where you can see more, but the fabric stretches, and it reminds him that that’s all his mask is. Fabric. Not metal or bone.

“Nah, don’t do that,” Ghost warns before leaning in again.

Fine. This time, you dig your nails into the tiniest revealed sliver of his pale neck as you kiss him until he’s forced to pin your wrist above your head with one gloved hand.

He seeks to chastise you again, but you put a stop to that by arching into his chest instead of away.

This sets the beautiful, pristine line of your neck on display as you tilt your head just the right way. You know your angles, and you bet he probably enjoys holding fragile things in his palms before crushing them the next second.

The unmarked skin above your pulsing carotid artery sure looks fragile.

And, of course, it invites Ghost to dip his burning gaze lower.

You look good. You know you do; you know that your cleavage pops in this dress, you layer perfume to be the most memorable woman in the room, and this confidence has been insulating you all day.

He’s not immune to it. His other hand runs along your exposed collarbones before dipping between your breasts. He takes the fabric of your dress between his fingers, testing the strength of the cloth and construction.

Wait, hold on, this shit was expensive. And unless he’s going to replace it-

Ghost has been too busy staring at your boobs to notice that he’s let go of your wrist, and you pounce on the opening. You’re out of his grasp immediately before peeling the dress off. Shame is for the weak.

His appreciative groan goes straight to your nerves, to your nipples hardening under your sheer bralette and your panties beginning to stick to your skin.

All that newly exposed skin and soft curves turn the desire in his dark eyes into a ruthless hunger.

You watch him walk towards you, circle you. He checks your ass out in the most blatant way possible, so you feel the compliment more than you hear it.

You turn to look at him through lashes all dolled up with mascara and make your eyes round, doe-like - as saccharine as artificially-flavored taffy.

Even through the balaclava, Ghost grins.

“Can I help you with that?” He asks, gesturing to the flimsy metal clasp in the center of your back that holds the bra in place.

His gloved fingers trail down your spine when you sweep your hair from your shoulders. “What a gentleman.” There are dozens of other more productive things he could be doing right now to get you naked.

He coaxes a slight, involuntary shiver from your spine when he digs his fingertips into the curve of your breast, and you dread what will happen when Ghost finds all the other weak spots.

Just as you’re about to end his fun and get this bra off yourself, he undoes the clasp. “Don’t want to ruin your pretty clothes.” A harsh, jagged leather glove edge clips your skin as he does so. While it won’t make you bleed, not even close, you feel he wouldn’t care if something did.

Fuck.

Instead of dropping both arms out obediently so he can slip you out of it all at once, you have the genius idea of sticking out one arm after another.

This forces Ghost to face you as you let the bralette drop.

A flush crawls up your chest, blooming pink and flustered between your breasts. “You think I look pretty?” You ask, barely suppressing the whine from your tone. It’s a real whine, one that speaks to how badly you want this to escalate.

Someone wolf-whistling at your tits usually makes you angry enough to hit them, but Ghost’s whistle makes the blush in your skin burn brighter. “Christ,” He mutters. The bone-white teeth on his mask distort, then stretch, like he’s licking his lips.

You spent a little extra time this morning hunting down a nice pair of lace-trimmed underwear, and now you’re thrilled you bothered. “Gonna make me wait forever?”

The answer is no. He’s on you in the next second, palm flat between your collarbones as he practically shoves you towards the bare regulation mattress, the kind of thing you’d see in a college dorm.

When you land, the slight impact takes your breath away.

But then he sees your thighs pressing together, your hips shifting, and your eyelids flutter. You’re fucking melting from that force alone. “You like it mean?” He wonders, half-mocking, half-genuine.

You push yourself up on your elbows, making your tits bounce more than necessary. Just to watch him lose his train of thought again.

You’re dripping through your panties, you can feel slick arousal on your skin, and he’ll know as soon as you spread your legs. “I like it mean.” Your smile is wide and beckoning. And filled with your own intentionally-grating menace.

After all, he’s asking the wrong question.

The right question is whether he can be mean enough, whether he can touch you with enough cruelty to make you come. Already, your pussy twitches at the thought.

Something glints in his sin-dark eyes. “Good. That’s a good girl.” No, he promised you something else.

“That’s not very mean.”

You get no further warning.

He braces one muscled forearm across your chest to force you down before shoving that hand under your jaw, so your face is entirely in his control. He keeps you looking at the ceiling, and you realize it’s so he can pull his mask down.

Dammit. You try to fight it, dip your jaw to see his face, but his grip is tougher than iron and so tight that it will leave bruises on your chin.

Then you feel his teeth bite into your throat, mark after mark along the length of your neck, and it hurts. It fucking hurts, and your eyes roll back into your head, skin on fucking fire. “God, real eager, ain’t you?” Ghost hisses as you cough and struggle for breath against his hand. “Haven’t known me for twenty-four hours, and you’re already spreading your legs like a whore.”

There are lingering kisses that are just shy of gentle, long lathes of his tongue along your sweaty skin, and then there are savage bites into the side of your breast, in between them, his fingers plucking at the hardened bud of your nipple.

Your mind is empty, completely empty, as your hips grind up towards his and the thick, heavy erection you can feel through his jeans. “You do that for every man who looks at you twice?” You can hardly hear him over your squeaks of pain mixing with pleasure. Now he’s slotted a knee between your thighs, giving you something to rock your covered pussy on.

“Only for the ones who deserve it,” You get out between clenched teeth, holding back your moans, so he doesn’t get that satisfaction.

He chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Fuckin’ hell.” When he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking, licking, sending jolts of pleasure through your nerves but hovering on the edge of real damage…

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to put together a retort. “Jealous that you haven’t had a turn yet?”

“Naw, I ain’t jealous. Ain’t gotta be. I know you want me.” He punctuates his words by cruelly pressing his knee harder into your clit, wrenching a long, tortured sound from your throat.

If he keeps that up… already, something hot and vicious begins to simmer low in your stomach, a hollow ache.

Then he fucking lets up on covering you in marks to watch your face twist in rapture when he does it again. “Come on then, Lieutenant. Big, scary, mean Ghost,” You tell him breathlessly.

Again, his knee, your aching clit, you don’t wanna come all over his pants except you kind of do, and if he realizes that, he’ll make you.

His fingers pluck your nipple one last time. “Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ show you.” Then he shoves his mask on haphazardly, withdrawing his hands so he can pull his gloves off. “Take that shit off. Right now,” Ghost orders.

The fabric of your soaked panties rips a little in your enthusiasm to get them away from you, and you toss them in some corner without looking.

And as you hold his gaze, face flushed and dewy from his kisses, you part your legs.

Ghost is so taken by the sight of your glistening, aroused core that he has to sit back for a second and just… “Fuuuck,” He groans, eyes lidded with want.

You run a single teasing hand along the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Still pretty?” Your smile is all teeth, hunger, and a promise that you don’t need him to have a good time.

He shakes his head. “I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches,” Ghost warns. As if he isn’t literally rolling up his sleeves as he speaks. As if you can’t see his muscles strain and flex with the effort of not touching you.

His shoulders are so huge that he casts a shadow when he looks over you. “You will.” You pause to make a show out of sliding your wicked gaze down to his jeans. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to your…” Then Ghost grabs your hips before you can finish your sentence and drags you to the edge of the mattress.

You hear him sigh through his teeth. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. Prettiest tits, prettiest ass… Where have you been hiding?” It seems that he does, in fact, like you self-absorbed. You’ll drag more compliments from his mouth before the night is over, you swear it.

When you try to slip a leg over his shoulder before he’s ready, Ghost traps your soft thighs open and in place with his hands. “The United States of America.” Fuck. Fuck.

He strokes through your folds with two fingers, not deep enough to do anything but tease. Still, you jump as soon as you feel him brush your clit with a feather-light touch.

Ghost takes those two slick fingers and lazily holds them out in front of your mouth. “Look at me, and this is over. You hear me? I don’t give a fuck how much you whine or complain.” You take them in your mouth in a show of obedience that surprises him, eagerly lapping up your musk and the salt of his skin.

But not entirely obedient - you nip his fingertips before you pull away, and a string of saliva stretches between you. “I hear you.” Whatever. Avoiding peeking at his face is, like, the easiest thing someone could do to get eaten out.

He waits until your head is properly thrown back, and you rest a hand over your eyes, so there’s no chance you will look down.

As if remembering your reaction to his earlier mercy, Ghost takes his sweet fucking time doing everything but eat your needy, dripping cunt. Your stupid, annoying, evil husband covers the soft, plush flesh of your thighs in kisses, he licks up the arousal that’s leaked onto your skin throughout this game, he leaves more love bites in the crease of your thigh.

Asshole.

And it feels good. Of course, it feels good, and you’re already a squirming, pleading mess, holding back your sighs because you’ll be damned if he thinks you’ll fold with no effort.

When he finally licks a hot stripe through your folds, carefully sucking at your clit, your resulting moan fucking bursts out of your chest, drawn out and desperate.

You can feel him laugh against your sensitive flesh before he just…

Your hips can’t get closer if you tried, you’re caught between grinding on his face and trying to flinch away as he fucks you with his mouth, Ghost’s tongue moving with unerring precision to pour pleasure like lightning through your veins.

Your cunt clenches around nothing as he goes back and forth, licking, sucking, making your thighs tremble around his face. “Shit, shit, keep doing that, fuck-“ You beg, mouth open because it feels like you can’t breathe. The air tastes hot, like sex, like smoke and bourbon.

Ghost’s groans are barely audible over the sloppy, explicit sounds of his mouth coaxing more slick out of your core, all over his face. “You taste-“ He presses two thick fingers inside. “So fucking-“ It stings, it’s a stretch, he has to lap at your swollen clit with a delicate touch to get you to loosen up. “Good-“ Your muscles twist and spasm around his fingers, fluttering in time with each thrust.

Then he picks up the pace. “Ghost, Jesus, what the fuck are you-“ You sob, gasping as you try to get control over your body. He’s got every reaction, your vocal cords, your nerves, your needy, desperate cunt, entirely in hand.

His free hand digs into your leg, nails aimed to hurt. And like the whore you absolutely are, every time he does that, your stomach tightens further. “No need to say my name twice, love,” Ghost tells you in a voice as smooth as velvet, like he’s endlessly amused at your expense.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” You bitch before getting that knee over his muscled shoulder and dragging his hot, wet mouth towards your pussy again.

Your shriek fills the air when he bites, like really bites your thigh in revenge. “‘M busy fucking you. Come on, lemme in. Lemme find it.” His fingers-

They’re thrusting into you deeper, he slides his other hand under your hips to angle your pelvis up.

And then you feel him brush something deep inside your pussy that makes you clench as tight as a vice around his hand. “Um, fuck, I-“ Your back arches off the mattress, and you’ve got your eyes screwed shut in pleasure, your free hand flailing around as you try to just- just get everything under control…

You can’t think, can’t speak, he touches that patch of sensitive flesh inside of you, and it just wipes your brain clean, replacing everything with Ghost. “There we go. That’s it,” He coos at your helplessness, smug with the knowledge that all your bravado and rationality fail when his fingers fuck you harder, rougher.

Ghost helps you chase the orgasm gathering on the horizon, so powerful that you can feel it humming like power lines in your teeth. “Hn-“ Your moans rise and echo off the bare walls, and he drags his fingers inside you at the same time he places his mouth on your aching, swollen clit.

“Got 60 seconds to come, or I’ll stop.” It’s right there, just out of reach, like your skin is on fire and your body is so, so, so desperate for everything he can give.

Tears gather in your eyes. “No, please, don’t stop,” You beg, words garbled up with whimpers and cries, tears tracking down your sweaty cheeks.

Whenever your leg tries to hold him in place to fight off the pleasure or your core clamps down so he can’t withdraw his fingers, he fucks you harder. “Pretty girl.” Holy shit. You just need to breathe, to try and focus, but you can’t. It’s so- “Good fucking girl.”

You need to come. You need to come, you’re trying, you don’t want him to leave you like this, so much arousal pours out of your flushed, oversensitive core that it covers his wrist, and your hips begin to buck and shake. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1-“

“I- I’m coming, oh my fucking God-“ Your orgasm drags you down in a fury, pulsing hot and violent. Every muscle trembles and your whimpers reach a fever pitch. And Ghost pries at each scrap of your pleasure he can get, sucking and sucking at your flesh, and you can’t do anything. You have to let him swallow you whole.

You forget how to fucking breathe, and you’re sobbing under the hand over your face, trying to escape the sensation, but you can’t stop coming, clenching, chasing the high.

He lets you ride out the last of it on his hand, helping you through the aftershocks and gentling the pace of his tongue until you’re spent.

When that ringing sound clears from your ears, you sit up with sore stomach muscles and reach for him; mask be damned. Ghost gets the balaclava down over his nose, exposing his mouth shiny with your cum.

Your first real kiss is messy and slick, lips slipping against his and saliva going everywhere. His sticky hands tangle in your hair, and you gasp into his mouth from the sudden, sharp pain. It’s his turn to sigh when you nip at his full bottom lip, a deep, raspy sound that you could become addicted to very easily.

Your fingers slip under the edge of the mask - just where it covers his neck, and Ghost pauses for a moment, lips suspended over yours.

It takes three thundering heartbeats for him to return to kissing the air out of your lungs.

His hair feels short under your fingertips, bluntly cut to a regulation length. You’ve done it before for Soap when he first enlisted. You take your nails over the back of his neck once, then again, hard enough to make it sting.

“Bitch,” Ghost hums, and it’s the softest thing he’s said all evening. Like your teeth and claws are more impressive, more beautiful than your obedience.

Clearly, no one taught him how to behave toward a wife. “Manners.” This time, you draw a little blood from his mouth, and Ghost almost melts into a puddle in your hands.

“Let me fuck you.” He has one hand on your throat, not a chokehold so much as a loose necklace. A wedding ring on your finger couldn’t be more possessive than Ghost’s lingering, eager touch.

And when you press your forehead to his through the mask, he permits it. “I thought you just did.”

Something about his eye roll makes him seem younger. Lighter, more playful. “Let me fuck you again,” He tries. Yeah, no. You’re not a cheap date. “Turn around. Come on.” He has to do better than that.

The look on your face makes him sigh. “Don’t make me beg.”

Next time, he shouldn’t try and give you ideas. Definitely not for free. “What happened to ‘I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches’?” You ask coyly. You could ask him for anything right now, you think, and Ghost would give it to you.

Pained, aching frustration blooms in his dark brown eyes.

“Jesus, you’re never going to drop that, are you?” Ghost is so cute like this, squirming in his own vaguely-repressed way. He answers you quickly, far more quickly than someone who’s only tolerating this would. “You were right.” The hand on your throat moves delicately across your shoulders, massaging your neck, all luxury and indulgence, a slow seduction.

His words are like music to your ears. “I usually am.” You’re a sucker for that specific compliment. And with Ghost determined to caress every inch of your skin, your arms, the dip of your waist, well…

You bat his wanting hands away and flip yourself over. It takes a little care not to tweak anything, but being on your hands and knees is better for your spine in the long run, anyway.

His large palm runs up and down the length of your back, leaving warmth wherever he goes—softening your muscles, getting you used to his presence when you can’t see him, until you’re relaxed and pliant on the bed.

Fabric rustles behind you. It’s the balaclava; he’s pulled it off and tossed it to the side. You can just see it out of the corner of your eye. “Spoilin’ me with this view, love.” Then Ghost kisses the small of your back as he kneels on the bed, covering your skin with appreciation as he makes his way up.

You can’t help your small, genuinely breathless laugh when he kisses the side of your neck. “Make this good, and you’ll see it a second time,” You promise. Then he palms one of your tits, and you grind your ass against his hard-on, so he doesn’t get too lost in the sauce.

He nips your earlobe. “I’m the best you’re gonna have.” When he withdraws, he takes all his warmth with him, leaving you cold and bereft. “Might be a tight fit, doll,” Ghost tells you as he unbuckles his jeans.

Ooh, doll. That’s a new one. You haven’t been called that before. You like it.

His fingers dip between your thighs, nudging at your clit until you’re gasping and writhing. When he works two, then three digits into your cunt, he stretches you out with brisk efficiency.

The slick sound of skin on skin - Ghost pulls his fingers from you to spread your arousal over his dick, pumping himself a few times.

“I can take you.”

One of his palms rests on your back as he carefully, so so, so carefully slips the blunt head of his cock inside. “Ohhhhh, oh fuck.” You go completely slack, cheek dropping to the mattress. He’s big. He’s fucking massive.

Ghost is hardly moving at all, and still, your pussy is trembling, desperately trying to clamp down on him, but you’re too stretched out-

He’s gasping, exhaling hard through his nose while he tries to re-adjust. The feeling of you squeezing him is unbearable.“God. My fuckin’ God. You’re-“ Ghost cuts himself off, and you hear him curse. He pulls himself out slightly, then pushes back in. “Loosen- loosen up a little. Please.” You can’t even make sense of his pleading, not when his dick is so big inside your belly that you don’t have room for thoughts.

When he plays with your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb, you feel the pleasure grow and churn and make you shake. “I- you’re so big, I can’t,” You barely succeed at getting out.

But- he rolls his hips again, and your body opens for him bit by bit. “Please. That’s it, that’s it, pretty girl. Doll. Good girl,” He chants.

And what can you do but let out an answering moan, a strung-out, needy, desperate sound for words your brain doesn’t know?

Your nails are seconds away from tearing the plastic mattress cover. God, if only- if only your cunt wasn’t stuffed so full. “Ghost… fuck, you’re splitting me in two.” He bottoms out, and he’s so deep, like he’s molding you around him. After a moment, Ghost starts fucking you in earnest.

“Holy shit, yes, right there-“ You gasp when his hard cock presses against your g-spot, your core shivering around him.

Ghost keeps at it with both hands on your hips to hold you steady. “I know. I know. I have you. I have you, love.” Your body trusts him to guide you through this - he’s sturdy and strong, and you feel every inch moving inside of you with his thrusts. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, Christ.” Sweat gathers at your hairline before tracking down your face to join the little pool of saliva below your slack, open mouth.

When he grinds into your hypersensitive, tender pussy, you shriek, his cock fucking the sounds out of your strained vocal cords. “Feels so good,” He groans in a shaken, undone voice.

Despite your fucked-out head, despite getting the best dick of your life, you find another ounce of spite you haven’t tapped into yet. “B-best you’ve ever, hngh, had?” You’re dripping around him, so soaked that the wet sounds of your cunt echo almost drown out your nonsensical, cock-drunk noises.

Ghost laughs before fucking you harder, determined to make you scream. “Yeah, best fuckin’ pussy. Best girl. Fuck. Fuck.” And just as he does that, you hear him lick his fingers before pressing them to your swollen clit.

Oh no. Oh no. Your pussy begins to tighten and twitch, and you didn’t plan for this, the pleasure sneaks up on you as you fight it, trying to keep your head above water and your body from… “I’m not gonna last, shit, you’re too good to me,” Ghost growls, relentlessly pounding into you.

Your stomach aches and screams with your orgasm, but you’re not ready yet, you need a second. You- he’s manipulating your body so keenly, you’ve never felt anything like it.

His hips snap into your ass, aiming viciously for your g-spot. “You’ll come again. Like this,” Ghost orders, then presses down on your back, so you drop your chest and cant your hips up.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can,” You confess, each sound chopped up and breathless as he fucks you harder and harder.

He keeps his fingers on your clit at the same pressure, same speed, and it feels so good that you’re going to start sobbing at any second. Your knees are about to give out, and Ghost’s thrusts get wilder, messier.

“Come. Come for me.”

You’re screeching, crying, wailing as you come. Cunt spasming on his dick, your lungs empty and howling for relief. Your hips keep pushing back towards him to chase the high. Each wave is more painful, more powerful than the next, leaving you a twitching, helpless mess.

You come so fucking hard around him that you think you were meant for this. It’s the sweetest relief, like hot fire licking through your veins. It’s all Ghost and the cock he’s breaking you open on. Your pleasure slices into your gut like a sharpened knife, and your slick covers his pants, your thighs, the bed below you.

He shoves himself into you one last, impossibly deep, painfully good time, and Ghost comes with a long, drawn-out moan as your muscles milk him. There’s a burst of warmth - except your spasming, still-orgasming pussy is packed to the brim with his cock, so you feel his come drip all over your trembling, weak legs.

When he pulls out, he slides an arm around your waist before gently lowering you to the bed. Then Ghost lays on his side so he can draw your bare, sweat-soaked back to his chest, tucking you into him. And while you’re insensible, he grabs the balaclava and shoves it over his face.

You come back to yourself in increments, your head hazy and filled with small snapshots of tenderness.

Ghost adjusts the open buckle of his belt, so it doesn’t hurt you or irritate your sensitive skin. Your hand seeks one of his blindly until he wraps his fingers around yours. He stops your shivering by unzipping his hoodie and draping it over your naked body.

Your heart rate slows to something more reasonable, and as your eyes open, you see his tattoos. He’s got your head cushioned on his shoulder, so your hair has draped itself all over his arm.

You can see monochrome shadows dancing on his muscled, scarred skin, skulls, bombs, and dog tags, all of it peeking out.

Beautiful. Edgy, scary, beautiful. “I like them,” You say as you outline a lovingly-detailed sniper’s scope with the tip of your finger.

He doesn’t laugh, he’s recovering too, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Not too shabby, eh?”

Barbed wire in that faded, blue-black color that tattoos turn with age, greyscale fire, and brimstone… “They suit you. And so does the mask.” Ghost exhales softly, air fanning out across your skin.

Then he shifts, tightens his arm around you, and brings you closer. “Thanks,” He murmurs after a long, substantial moment.

You try to banish the exhaustion creeping on you to the recesses of your mind. It makes your tongue slippery, makes the thoughts fall straight out of your head and into the world. “Yeah, no problem. Did you know that your eyelashes are blonde? I’ve been thinking about it since I first saw you.”

There are many other things you want to say, but you chew on the inside of your cheek and manage to stop them.

“Have you now?”

Aw, damn. So you did say that out loud, and he heard you. “Yeah. Yeah.” Each time you blink, you do it slower, like gravity is somehow increasing as time goes on, and you’re losing the power to resist it.

Where’d he go? “Gotta fuckin’… put some sheets on this bed. Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, love.” You poke your head up for a second and look around. No Ghost behind you, no arms cradling you.

Then you spot him by the door, shoving his keycard in his pocket. “Mmph.” You don’t lie down until he circles around and curls his palm around your cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” Ghost promises, and with his blessing, you roll over and close your eyes.

Tagging @abbiesxox @thedevillovesflowers @poohkie90 @averyyreads @lialacleaf @backupgal @kitty-satan1 @androgynoushellscape @555ilovecats @pinkwigonmytv @almightywdm @discowizard88 @castielsangelsx @jaymicrosoft @rengokulover96 @copiasratscheese @fluffysmiko @d3athtr4psworld @drugsaftersex @teenagegever2k22 @badame0224 @toilet-paper-headbands @itsrosebabe @bangirl134 @silverianni @nezukos-number1fan @deadpoetsandhoney

Idk how tag lists work so i guess just reply if u want to be added? and reply/shoot me a message if you want off!

Thank y'all so much for the support and love <3 <3 <3, the next chapter will be more smut, as well as the 141's reaction to your wedding!

One last thing - please do not ask a disabled author/person in general to disclose intimate details of their disability because you think their disability should limit them from doing something. that is very rude, and also very ableist. the only person entitled to my medical history is my doctor, and I've already had someone act entitled toward my medical history over this fic. i am super uncomfortable that i had to disclose anything at all, but i felt that if i didn't, they would pick a fight. my pinned post contains the comment i made on AO3 about this, including said details that I wish I didn't feel forced to tell people. I am not going to be responding to questions of that kind going forward. thank you.

(as always, dedicated to cuckoo <3)

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laundryandtaxes · 1 month

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@fetusdeletustotalus I actually happened to take pictures the most recent time I made beef burgundy, which is very handy here. What I usually make is basically an extremely simplified, totally stove-top version of the dish. I don't necessarily reference a specific recipe, but ATK has a version called Modern Beef Burgundy that's similar, though theirs is much more complex and probably, resultingly, better. I find that using fairly few ingredients works perfectly well for me, and allows me to cook this routinely without any fuss and without needing a special trip to the grocery store for anything other than a shallot if I'm out or some fresh thyme. I rely on method to build flavor, and it works for me.

Basically, for one pot:

1 lb or more of chunks of high connective tissue beef- I usually just buy what is labelled "stew beef" by the grocery store

As many carrots as I want (about twice the amount pictured), half cut into circles and half cut into quartered chunks

One onion, half cut into big chunks and half diced

A tablespoonish of butter

1 shallot, half quartered and half sliced

As much garlic as I'd like

As many potatoes as I'd like, cut to roughly similar sizes and then submerged in cold water to keep them fresh in the fridhe while everything else works. This recent batch featured maybe too many potatoes even for me, an extreme lover of potatoes

1 bay leaf

A few sprigs of thyme

3ish cups of chicken broth (not beef broth, because the storebought stuff just isn't good ime, though I've been meaning to experiment with better than bouillon beef since the chicken is so good)

3ish cups of red wine, ideally something drinkable and robust

Corn starch dissolved into a little bit of cold water- more than I, at least, initially guessed I would need

S&P

Prep all your items, and you can spend almost no time touching anything after the first few minutes.

Steps post prep:

Sear beef over medium high heat in a generousish amount of oil, just enough to get sufficient color on all chunks. I salt in the pan, and cook in batches. The reason I do this is to prevent crowding the dutch oven/steaming the meat rather than frying it. Once a chunk is ready, set it aside on a plate, etc, working in batches. You will need to monitor heat, and likely lower it at some point in this process to prevent oil smoking or anything burning. This is the only step that's trickyish.

Lower heat to medium low. Add a tablespoonish of butter. I do this for yumminess reasons and because it helps to prevent the oil/beef fat in the pan from burning. Add in the roughly chopped half of the carrots and alliums. S&P in pan. Cook until everything has some light charring. Then, add in chicken stock, wine, the bay leaf, and maybe 2 sprigs of fresh thyme. Salt again. The reason that I do this is basically to make a richer beef stock- the flavor from these carrots and onions is part of the stock, and these will eventually become mush. These are not to be eaten as pieces.

Bring to a low/moderate boil and let it reduce a little. I let it reduce until I no longer really strongly smell wine. At that point, add in beef chunks, submerging them as much as possible in liquid. Reduce to a simmer. Walk away and forget the stew for a minimum of 2 hours.

Pull beef chunks, set aside. Pour the stew liquid into a bowl through a strainer. You will be left with very mushy vegetables and your herbs in the strainer, and basically finished stew stock in the bowl. Toss the bay leaf and thyme. I personally mash the vegetables up as much as possible, then add them to the stew and stir as much as possible. If I were being sophisticated, I might immersion blend the veggies in for texture uniformity. But it's stew, and I don't have an immersion blender and this sure isn't worth using a standard blender for me. The only reason I don't just mash the vegetables in the dutch oven is that I use a potato masher and don't like using metal in my dutch oven. Otherwise, I'd just mash it in the pan directly after removing the beef.

Put everything back into the pot, and add your more nicely cut carrots, onions, and potatoes. Simmer for another 30 minutes minimum.

Prep corn starch. Once added to the stew, bring it to a boil for a minute minimum to allow the corn starch to set up.

Profit

Basically, once the veg is cut and the meat is seared, you're doing very little. This is definitely not the most classic or involved beef burgundy, it's just how I personally choose to make beef stew when I make it. Some people like to remove the fat from the broth, and there is a special measuring cup sort of device you can purchase cheaply for that purpose, or you can use an ice and ladle trick that I've heard works well. Or you can do what I do and just leave it.

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ronsenthal · 5 months

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Ron Speirs x Nurse Reader

Summary: During wartime some stories were created to scare and keep the soldiers on the line, but some other ones were slowly written to have a happy ending, just like fairy tales.

A/N: This was based on a prompt kindly sent to me by a lovely anon who wanted something with Ron x Nurse Reader and since then I was so OBSESSED with this idea so I had to try something. So dear anon if you are reding this I hope you like it, I had to change it a little bit because I'm truly awful with requests, hope you don't mind. Also this was slighthly based on the Rolling Stones song, because it so Ron coded and apparently I can't write anything not related to music? So here we go!

The first time you saw him was one week after D-Day, everybody was still scared and lost, many people went missing so naturally the first place the men went looking for their friends was the Aid Station. It was completely madness, you couldn’t take a pause to catch your breath even when your feet hurt, even when you couldn’t tell what time it was, when your stomach made loud noises, you pushed through pain, tears and tiredness.

During one of your shifts you were attending to a private who was hit in the head by shrapnel after a potato masher exploded close to him. He was bleeding heavily since he arrived so you had to change the bandage from time to time. The Aid Station was always a noisy place with some people screaming in agony, others nurses and doctors were giving orders trying to save someone else and a few lucky ones were just chatting to pass the time. But in that afternoon it went quiet as if some spell was cast and suddenly the world was frozen, you could see heads following the footsteps of this soldier who walked in.

He slowly walked in your direction, you couldn’t see his features until he was at the other side of the stretcher of the man you were aiding. At first he didn’t say a word as he was looking at the other soldier, as if studying the damage that was done by the germans. He took a deep breath and finally asked quietly, “Is he gonna make it?” and looked at you with those big dark green eyes to which you couldn’t lie, so you honestly said “I don’t know”, he only shook his head giving you one sad look before turning into his heels and heading out.

You were awfully quiet that evening trying to eat some bread while the other girls were chatting. You tried your best but your long-suffering patient didn’t make it and yet you could only think about those sad green eyes. Some weeks went by, people would come and go but your thoughts would often drift aways to this face you couldn’t even put a name to.

The second time you saw him was even less fortunate than the first one, this time he came in angrily shouting that he didn’t needed any help and assistance, but anyone would notice that he was limping and there was even blood on his uniform coming from his leg, his hands also were bleeding.

Poor Jane, your friend was the closest nurse available, you only watched from a distance as she was addressing his wounds. At first he was reluctant but then finally gave in and let the woman quickly put some bandages on it, she only asked a couple of questions, filled a piece of paper and gave it to the man. Just as he went in he was suddenly gone, as he was heading out he saw you and nodded with his head before putting back his cap.

Dinner was always gossip time and that night you made sure to sit near Jane to get some food but also try to get some information.

“So who was that guy who came in earlier making a scene?”

“Are you kidding Y/N? That is Lieutenant Speirs, he is the one everybody keeps talking about, he killed 15 german POW or something on D-Day” Linda said, swinging her spoon

dramatically.

“I heard it was more like 20 guys, he even offered some cigarettes before shooting them” the other nurse called Grace.

“And do you believe those stories?” you asked them not even daring to take your eyes off your food. This couldn’t be true right?

“I don’t know Y/N, I heard it from one of my guys the other day, he was telling his friend that they sergeant saw it” Grace told you two before changing the subject to talk about some soldier named Talbert that they both find so cute.

Lieutenant Speirs so that’s him, after that day you were always looking for his name in the morning reports at the Aid Station, you heart almost skipping a beat at the letter S but you never saw his name. You never forgot his name nor his eyes or his dark hair.

From time to time you would see him with a cigarette on his lips from one side to the other, he was always followed by strange looks and a couple of whispers, his bad reputation was growing as time passed by, some stories were clearly too absurd to be true, others were creepier to say the least.

Third time's the charm right? Bastogne was a real nightmare, you had to move to the front line due to the heavy losses of people who had basic medical training, the supplies were short and the was was getting brutal, specially due to that fucking cold. One night you were trying to get some warm soup in the foxhole you shared with Eugene, you both couldn’t feel your fingertips as if they seemed to be frozen so you decided to try and warm your hands while eating something.

“Y/L/N” came from a hard and harsh voice from behind, you were caught by surprise as you jumped from the scare “Y/L/N did I get your name right?”

“Yes sir!” you quickly said

“Pleased to meet you, I guess you know who I am. What are you and Roe doing here? It’s not safe enough you should stay aways from the line” he said as you both nodded quickly taking your belongings and starting to move, he kept watching you and offered his hand to pull you from the foxhole to which you said a shy “thank you”, his hands were strong and warm and you had to fight the urge to ask him how he could keep them so warm in the freezing temperature, but you didn’t said a word.

Holding a gun in his hand he slowly and carefully escorted you through the white snow. Eugene was following you two but suddenly Joe Toye called for his help with something else. Speirs even helped you to settle in the new foxhole, putting some twigs and sticks to reinforce the cover. He then wished you goodnight before disappearing again. The man walked like a shadow between the lines, you took your time to thank the guy from above that he was at your side in this war, you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you thought that he was the enemy.

Just a couple of days later the only thing the men would talk about was how the now Captain Speirs ran through the streets of Foy to link up with I Company after he released Foxhole Dike from his position and how bravely and fearlessly led Easy. The guys were so happy to have a good leader again, you were happier too because it meant now they were saffer.

The fourth time he was shot in his butt during one of your night shifts back at the Aid Station, he was soaking wet, pale and so tired that he didn’t have the energy to be stubborn. You asked what happened and Sergeant Lipton said he was hit while going across the river into the germans territory to get some information on the germans. You promptly gave him some medicine and started to take care of his wound as fast as you could.

It was strange but you kept your cool and gave your best to stay calm and do your job as if he was just another guy. Except he wasn’t, after the bullet was removed he let out a big sigh of relief and as the medicine was starting to kick in he slowly falled asleep in a feverish state.. You couldn’t help yourself and stare at the man you’ve been thinking about for so long, you stayed by his side trying to quietly read a book but your eyes would move away from it and watch how his eyelashes peacefully rested, how soft his facial expression was and how his now slightly wet hair was falling in his forehead.

You reached your hand to it with the excuse to feel his temperature, he was burning hot and as you were taking a wet piece of cloth to use it to cool him off a bit he opened those same green eyes you’ve been thinking about.

“Am I gonna make it?” he said with a weak voice and caught your hand in his

“Yes” you said, but this time you were 100% sure and when you realized you were smiling at him, he gave you a cute smile back before closing his eyes and falling asleep again. He was certainly a handsome man but on that night you could swear he looked like one of those princes from fairy tales your mom would tell you at bedtime. You couldn’t help but think how he could be soft and yet so stern, so scary but also so gentle and caring, you felt sympathy for the Devil after all.

The next day he was feeling so much better and tried to get away as quickly as possible but you preferred to stay cautious and ordered him to stay a bit longer, which he couldn’t refuse and finally gave in. After some minutes of awkward silence he started to small talk asking where you are from, if you had any siblings back home and even if you had a boyfriend. You tried your best to keep talking just to keep him with you a bit longer but your peace was interrupted when a couple of soldiers came by heavily wounded and you were required to take care of them.

When you finally came back he was gone, he only left a note apologizing for leaving without a proper goodbye but promised he would somehow make it up to you later.

Of course he did it as soon as you set foot at Berchtersgarden, there the mood was totally different, especially after the german army officially surrendered. He took you out to enjoy some coffee at this beautiful place with an incredible view of the mountains, even through you thought that the view of the captain in front of you was even better.

You were so happy with everything that you couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear and as you reached from his hand across the table, he didn't moved it and intertwined your fingers, then gave you a sincere and beautiful smile, you felt butterflies all over your stomach because you felt more than just sympathy for the Devil.

Taglist: @mads-weasley , @footprintsinthesxnd , @sweetxvanixlla , @xxluckystrike , @malarkgirlypop , @lostloveletters , @next-autopsy , @ewipandora

#ronald speirs #ron speirs #band of brothers fic #ronald speirs x reader #ronald speirs fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #mw*#mf*

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kurooscoffee · 4 months

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📝ENG Translation: Even in London, they can take good care of themselves

The Joker Out boys are not only great musicians and stars on stage, they also get by really well in the kitchen.

Article published on 21.1.2024, for Slovenske novice (Suzy), available in Slovene here.

Joker Out PHOTO: Lea Remic Valenti

Since they moved to London to work on the material for their next album, they have surprised us every day with their housekeeping skills.

Photo caption: Kris bought what was needed to keep the fridge in London stocked. PHOTO: personal archive/Instagram

They're even so inventive that they've excited their fans with the idea of a cooking channel. They would post recipes and videos of activities behind the stove.

They know how to divide up the duties evenly, so that one person is in charge of food preparation, another is the chef, another does the dishes, while this time Kris had to do the groceries shopping.

They also coordinate their tastes, so it's everyone's turn to have their favourite dish on the menu once. Even if they don't have all the utensils or ingredients they have at home, they are masters of improvisation and can even make silky smooth mashed potatoes, even without a proper masher. Dober tek*! (*Bon Apetit//Enjoy your meal).

#i love gossip articles that read like a fake post but are in fact real #some poor soul got paid to write this down...#and now here I am transalting this dfgdfv #joker out #kris guštin #they just HAD TO use that pic didn't they dfhdfhgd

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mogoce-nocoj · 4 months

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Groningen (Part 1) 17.01.24 (Part 2)

a partial gig report or also known as an agglomeration of thoughts I'm currently having

Bojan being a bit tense at the beginning of the showcase

all front rows completely slaying it and Bojan visbily relaxing knowing that there's fans present (we were like. 20 or something?)

"You guys suck!" -> to the general audience because they were confused by the screaming part in ssol

"Not you, you're doing great!" -> to us in the front rows

they only had forty minutes so they pretty much rushed through most of the songs without any real banter between

Bojan: "I'm not gonna speak too much because I don't have anything smart to say"

People singing a Dutch birthday song for Kris and Bojan being like "🤨 what's that. okay?" meanwhile Kris just said "thank you 🥰" and moved on

Nace deliberately smacking his head into Jan's shoulder during Tokio. Yeah idk what he was thinking

Bojan saying that they planned to play New Wave instead of Novi Val but seeing that there were so many fans they were gonna play the Slovenian version instead

(when we asked Nace later when they decided to change it, he seemed a bit confused and said "I don't think we ever played New Wave" so, Bojan might've just been talking nonsense.)

Nace, Kris and later Bojan coming out from the backstage area after the gig and being gifted the potato masher! then they went back inside and recorded the instagram story

Directly afterwards they went back outside to the front of the venue and chatted with people for a bit

Nace talking. a lot. favourite moments were when he started justifying why he only had an ugly beanie ("I have so many cute hats but I could only find this ugly one in my pocket"), when he pointed out my Kris sweater ("Hey! You're wearing the Kris sweater!), confirming that Kris still has it somewhere and that the holes were made by their former stylist

Apparently they were also thinking about playing the new song but decided not to 🙄

Kris in person is so awkward in a funny way. Picking up from Nace's info we talked about his sweater, he awkwardly thanked me for buying it? I then gave an awkward response back and said that it was on sale, so no worries. good times! never talking to him again 🫠

Since everyone knew that they were gonna play at the record store the day after, it was a very weird "okay, see you tomorrow!" between everyone

#joker out #gig report #Groningen gig

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duck-in-a-spaceship · 6 months

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Relistening to The Adventure Zone Amnesty and listening to Duck's french onion soup story and like idk fuck dude. It's kind of a cheesy (ha) sentiment of "living for the little things" but like...

Alright bear with me for a moment but I was making some soup the other day. Potato soup, not french onion, and I was on a call with a friend the whole time, for some company while I cooked. And man it took like 2 hours to make this soup that was supposed to take thirty minutes. I didn't have half the stuff for it, I put pumpkin spice in to try and substitute for old bay because we decided that checked out, had to improvise a potato masher, the shallots made me cry. But the point is, I had a really nice night just talking to my friend and making soup.

And it kind of makes you think, what would I give up for more nights like that? What would I turn down? For potato soup? For french onion soup?

Also I forgot their nonna comes in at the end and tells them the best french onion soup she ever had that was very SWEET

#taz amnesty #duck newton #just kind of thinking out loud here honestly #not super sure if any of this makes any sense but it does to me #also dont judge my soup making skills okay #the pumpkin spice turned out great we were right and i'll fight someone on that #“these things have like two ingredients in common this checks out”

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felinecryptid · 5 months

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Revelations

(or how Pav and Miles Fucked Up and Maya Auntie Fucked Miguel Up)

Maya did not think her day was gonna end with her trying to chuck a belan at a thug wearing a blue and red body suit.

But then again, she was not expecting to find herself another nephew and a niece too.

Perhaps she should rewind a bit.

***

Maya's eyes opened to the light of sunrise shining through the thin curtains. Her phone rang with bird whistles under the pillow, and she stepped out of bed, already thinking about what to put in Pavitr's lunchbox. She loved her nephew, her baby since- since everything, but he ate like a buffalo and yet, he was still wasting away.

She could make him his favourite Pav Bhaji, she thought, taking out the vegetables to warm them up before she cooked them. Lord knows he suddenly started loving it out of nowhere, some months ago, around the same time he started staying out late and coming home exhausted and screaming 'Auntie, kuchh khaane ko hai kya, itni bhook lagi hai, pura imarat khajaun,' and proceeding to finish the entire contents of the refrigerator, including the karela bhaji. Pav never looked at karela bhaji. Even when there was nothing else in the house. It was very suspicious.

At first she thought it was that model girl, what-was-her-name, Gayatri. Maya warned Pavitr to not get very attached to her, she did not want her boy to get hurt, no. But this change of heart couldn't be because of Gayatri, no matter how much she snuck around when Maya wasn't home. She could smell the designer perfume in her nephew's room, the boy wasn't sneakier than his aunt. Pavitr looked visibly happier on days the perfume smelled the strongest. He laughed louder when she was over for snacks or homework, and Maya couldn't fault him for that. She might need to have a little talk about girls with him soon, Maya thought, spitting out toothpaste and rinsing her face.

So it wasn't the girl. Maya refused to think it was his other friend, Hobie. They were so sweet, even if she thought they could do with a little more substantial clothes than thin stockings and ratty jackets. She had mistaken them for a robber the day she met them, but hey, all that ends well? Right?

She walked back to the kitchen, in time to see a curly haired boy swing in through the window, barely missing her pudina plants.

"Are- arey?! Aap kaun?" Maya reached for the ladles she kept in the left drawer, fingers scrabbling at the smooth handle.

"Woah! Sorry for this, Maya Auntie!" The boy raised his hands. "Didn't think I'd run into you, I'm so sorry-"

"Who are you?" Maya pointed the potato masher she'd grabbed at him. "Why do you know my name?"

"Pav talks about you a lot, I'd be a bad friend if I didn't know your name," The boy said, tilting backwards over the water filter to avoid her potato masher. "I'm Miles,"

"Eh, I don't know how much is a mile, convert to kilometers."

"No, no, my name, its Miles," The boy looked at him, eyes wide. "Didn't Pav tell you?"

When did her boy start hanging out with another American boy? "He didn't say anything about you-"

"MILES!" The pink spidergirl Maya saw swinging around sometimes, landed on her sill, almost flipping all her pudina. "Miles, you're not supposed to be here!"

"And you are not supposed to be there, beta, khidki se utar jao," Maya gestured at her to get down, fearing for her plants. "Who are you now?"

"Ummm, I'm Spiderwoman?"

"Dikh raha hai. I meant who are you, not what do you do, dear."

"Oh, I, um-"

"Gw-wanda!" Pavitr called out, barging in unceremoniously in his sleep pants, without a shirt.

"Hey, um, Pav-"

"Pavitr beta, baniyan daal ke aa, kitni baar bola hai ladkiyon ke samne nanga mat ghoom," Maya stopped every conversation happening, pointing back at his room.

"Nanga kahan hun main," Pavitr muttered, pulling on a shirt lying just out of sight in the kitchen. Teen boys, kab sikhenge saaf safai. "Abhi thik hai?

"Han." Maya nodded at him, before turning to all three of them "What is happening, Pavitr dear, why do I have a random boy in winter clothes and spider didi standing in my kitchen?"

"It's a long story?" Pavitr tried.

Maya thought for a second. "You don't have to go to school today. Take the day off, explain this to me."

Maya definitely heard him cursing as he left to freshen up.

***

Maya set down plates full of poha and tall glasses of orange juice for everyone while they told her their 'long story'.

Handing out spoons to everyone, she sat herself down on the last armchair, reaching for the achaar jar on the table. "So Pavitr, why don't you introduce me to your friends? I would love to know how you are friends with- What's your name, honey?" She directed the last part at the girl in the spider suit.

"Gwen."

"Right, with Gwen."

Pavitr had stuffed his mouth full, chewing slowly. Gwen had taken her mask off, gingerly biting a piece of carrot picked out from the poha. Miles answered with something that made Maya almost spit out the spoonful of poha in her mouth.

“Uh, Pav you haven’t told her that you are spiderman yet?” Pavitr choked, and Maya thumped him harder than strictly necessary. Even if the Miles boy was lying, clearly Pav knew these kids and didn't tell her. Miles muttered a soft ‘ow’ as Maya turned back to him.

“Miles, beta, what are you saying?”

Miles looked like a deer in headlights, as Pav sunk down his seat trying to stuff even more poha into his mouth, giving the unmistakable impression of the squirrels she likes to feed on her walks.

Gwen shifted around like she would love to be anywhere but here. Maya stared at them, waiting for one of them to explain something about the situation.

It was Pavitr that finally broke the tense silence with a “I’m spiderman, Bua.”

Maya stared some more.

“I’m the kid that’s been swinging around the city, fighting the gundas, the bad guys. I hid this from you, because it wasn’t safe for you to know, so I won't ever be sorry for that, but I'm really sorry for hurting you by hiding a part of who I have become now.” Pavitr looked down at his lap, his voice hoarse like he was trying to not cry and Maya couldn't hold back anymore. She leaned over and hugged Pavitr tight, feeling his sigh of relief as he went limp in her embrace. Maya mostly felt, rather than see, the other two kids leave.

“I love you, beta, I’ll love whoever you are and will be, there is nothing in this world that could make me hate you or love you less.” Maya murmured, petting her nephew’s, no, her son’s hair.

Pavitr’s laugh was the best sound she had heard in months.

***

Pavitr called Miles and gwen back in after 3 minutes of intense embracing. They strolled in looking thoroughly uncomfortable. Maya glaced at the clock. It was hard to believe it had been only 20 minutes since Miles crashed into her kitchen.

“Im really sorry Maya Auntie, but we need to get going, or Miguel will-” Gwen clamped a hand over Miles’ mouth.

“Could you please stop revealing everything to her immediately before Pav’s had a chance to explain to her?”

“Who’s Miguel?” Maya asked.

“He’s like our employer? in a way, Pav can explain better,” Gwen looked pointedly at Pavitr.

Pavitr looked long suffering as he turned heavenwards for strength maybe, or just moral support because he knew Maya was not one for employment before he was an adult. Way too many people out in the world to take advantage of minors and their naivety.

“Miguel is like our organiser, he lets us know when there’s a job to be done, like assigns us on different vil- uhm- people,” Pavitr scratched his neck.

Maya has seen that exact tell since Pavitr was old enough to lie- from getting caught with malai around his lips at age 5 to sneaking gayatri or hobie into his room to turning his face away only months after his uncle, her husband had passed, hiding the tears still streaming down his face- all accompanied by the same scratch of his neck. She knew he was holding something back. “Pavitr, beta, organiser? Tu dallon ke saath kaam karta hai? Aur jobs? Kis tarah ke jobs?”

Pavitr turned red, but continued bravely, “Miguel dalla nhi hai! I mean, ek tarah se hai par, woh hame bas kuch bure logon ko marne bhejta hai aur mujhe toh itna zyaada bhi nahi bhejta, bua, mein baba ka kasam khake bolta hun, mujhe kuchh bhi nahi hua hai,” Pavitr wasn’t looking at her anymore.

Maya was furious. Not at Pavitr, never at him, but this random man, whom she has never met, told her nephew, her son, her baby, got him running around, doing his bidding? No way she was going to stand that. “Marne? Kya matlab? Jaise laat ghusa ya jaan se? Nahi rehne do, jo bhi karwata hai, dallali hi hai. Pavitr, you stay away from that man, and keep your friends away too.”

“I can’t, he is the reason we met in the first place,” Pavitr went on with a voice Maya couldn't quite place.

“What do you mean?”

It was Gwen who spoke up next. “He gave me a place to belong to when my dad was going to arrest me because he thought I- when he thought I k- killed someone dear to both of us, without ever hearing me out, and it is because of him and another woman that I met this bunch of nerds.”

“Are we just forgetting the fact that he also tried to kick you out of the society because I fuuh- ruined some stuff? And you actually were rooming with Hobie?” Miles frowned at Gwen, and it felt like they had had this conversation before and this conversation was going down the exact same route as the previous ones. Pav nodded along, agreeing with Miles.

Maya was furious and lost. “Wait, you were rooming with Hobie? As in Pav’s friend Hobie?” Gwen and Miles nodded. “What society? Why is Hobie associated with it?” She whirled onto Pavitr.

Pavitr shrunk like he wanted to melt into her kashmiri carpet instead of having this conversation, again. “The Spider-Society. A club, kinda, for all the spider people and spider animals and spider objects. Hobie is also spiderman, for their- place, in London. They travel here frequently because they have speciality transport clearance as Hobie’s crew. Well, ex-crew as of some months ago,” Pavitr shrugged. “They still have some perks for travelling, but they stay over sometimes.”

“When did they last come over?” Maya asked, doing some serious math mentally.

“Uhh, Thursday?”

“And what was the last time Gayatri came over?”

“Monday.”

“And what did Gayatri gift you for your birthday?

“A perfume from Versah- oh, shit. Sorry, uh, I'm just, gonna shut up now,” Pavitr blushed so deep, Maya was worried for his heart.

Maybe she should have a talk about boys with him instead.

“We are discussing this later, I want to know what exactly you've been doing with them that requires spraying half a bottle of perfume after they’re gone,” It was Gwen and Miles’ turn to look confused. Maya didn't bother to clarify anything.

“Tell me more about this Miguel dude,” Maya leaned back in her armchair.

“He tried to throw Miles off a train.” Gwen said, looking Miles straight in the eye.

“And sent all the society after him, like two thousand people,” Pav added.

“More like two hundred but go off, I guess,” Miles muttered, avoiding Gwen’s eyes

“Wait, how are you still alive? And how old is he?” Maya asked incredulously. These kids needed better guardians, and she was adopting them immediately. They can't be running around with this Miguel guy without adult supervision-

“He’s maybe thirty three? I’m not sure, Peter would know,” Miles shrugged, forgoing the first question entirely.

“He is an adult? And he tried to throw you, a kid, a child, off a train? I need to meet this guy, maybe have a little talk,” Maya Auntie stood up, fuming.

“What they didn't tell you, that Miguel also put Miles in a cage, so he would be unable to go save his loved ones from certain disaster,” Spoke a familiar British dude on her windowsill, thankfully not on the one with pudina on it. Maya’s favourite friend of Pavitr’s, though she wasn’t sure if friend was the correct word anymore, if it ever was.

“And Auntie, if you really wanna meet dear ol' Miggy, I can take you,” Hobie grinned, holding up a watch that glitched in and out of reality.

Maya missed the terrified looks on Gwen, Miles and Pavitr’s faces as she reached for it.

*****

Part 1 of 2

translation (as always, this is not direct translation, just close enough, or whatever fits better in context) (non direct translation marked with [])(also jsyk, everything is pronounced, exactly the way its written):

beta- son / [means as good as son]( i bet yall have this memorised)

belan- rolling pin

pav bhaji- buttered and toasted buns with curried potatoes and vegetables (as much as it pains me to describe it so, its simplest explanation and i have no patience its nearly 6 in the morning and i haven't slept a wink)

Auntie, kuchh khaane ko hai kya, itni bhook lagi hai, pura imarat khajaun- auntie, is there something to eat, im so hungry, i could eat a whole building

karela bhaji-spiced stir fried bitter gourd (which is very bitter, as you might have guessed, i personally like it, most people hate it)

pudina- mint plants (lmao)

Are- arey?! Aap kaun?- hey! who are you?

beta, khidki se utar jao- child, get down from the window

Dikh raha hai- i can see that

Pavitr beta, baniyan daal ke aa, kitni baar bola hai ladkiyon ke samne nanga mat ghoom- Pavitr dear, ive [literally told you so many times] to not roam about naked in front of girls

Nanga kahan hun main- [how am i naked]

kab sikhenge saaf safai- when will they learn cleanliness

Abhi thik hai- [is this fine?]

didi- older sister (term of respect, usually)

poha- stirfried soaked flat rice flakes and cubed vegetables with spices (again the simplest description)

Bua- aunt, who is the sister of your father (yep hindi has a word for that)

gundas- goons

malai- cream from milk

Tu dallon ke saath kaam karta hai? Aur jobs? Kis tarah ke jobs?- you're working with [ring leaders]? and jobs? what kind of jobs? (bc dalla (dallon- pl.) famously means pimp, but it actually also means 'person who leads extremely questionable stuff')

Miguel dalla nhi hai! I mean, ek tarah se hai par, woh hame bas kuch bure logon ko marne bhejta hai aur mujhe toh itna zyaada bhi nahi bhejta, bua, mein baba ka kasam khake bolta hun, mujhe kuchh bhi nahi hua hai- miguel is not a ring leader! i mean, he is kind of, [but he tells us to deal with bad people, and i don't even get assigned a lot, auntie, i swear on my father, nothing bad has happened to me]

Marne? Kya matlab? Jaise laat ghusa ya jaan se? Nahi rehne do, jo bhi karwata hai, dallali hi hai.- [deal with? as in beating them up? or taking them out?, no stop, i don't want to know, but whatever hes been doing, he is brokering you out, using your services]

kashmiri- [from Kashmir]

A/N:

i havent forgotten miles’ hypocrisy, we’ll definitely come back to that

the reason maya auntie didnt call miles out in the first place is that she doesn't know what is the etiquette for someone coming out as spiderman ( i say it like thats a new category in the alphabet mafia lmao) and she is a desi gossip queen, shes not refusing any source of information about anything (one thing i know that if desi aunties ran intelligence services, we’d all be fucked as hell) , we love her in this household

more seriously tho, family dynamics in india is just on a different plane of existence, and privacy, until like 20 years ago, was a ‘western’ concept, ‘made to weaken the integrity of society’ and as maya auntie is a product of that generation, she doesn't see anything wrong with miles exposing pav like that

i, however, know that is very wrong, and do not endorse or encourage it in anyway, and miles would be getting his sweets bc of that lil moment of breaking trust

it is just plot babyyyy

a little bit of explanation of the employment thing, bc the norm for employment is like 16 right? in india it is 18, or more normally 22, being a third world country, exploitation, generational trama and everything, yk

if there's something that's missing or wrong just lemme know bc im editing this at no sleep in 72 hours, pls don't be shy 💞

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