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leclerc-hs · 4 months

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don't wake the kids - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x nanny!reader (fem) summary: in which you got his daughter to finally fall asleep but risk waking her up not too long later warnings: 18+, slight smut, oral (f-receiving), bad french (please correct me i was tired while writing this lmao), not proofread!!!! word count: 1608 author’s note: i think i’ll write more for them bc i like the idea of single dad charles LMAO. this was fun xoxoxo

PART 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THERE WAS SOMETHING about Mr. Leclerc that always made you stare at him in admiration. Maybe it was the fact that he always excelled at everything he did. For instance, raising a daughter on his own couldn’t have been easy. Hell, merely spending a single night watching over his kid has you feeling thoroughly drained. So, when Charles came home to you sprawled along his couch with the TV on a low volume, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, the sight brought a grin to his lips. You were the absolute cutest thing he had ever seen. Aside from his own daughter of course.

You weren’t even aware of the impact you left on him and his daughter. There wasn’t a day where you weren’t mentioned by his daughter. She adored you, and he did too.

“Comment était-elle?” How was she? His voice was deep as he dropped his keys on the table of the entry way table. “Fatiguée?” Tired?

You barely moved as he approached the room, too comfortable to even sit all the way up for him. His hands rest in the pockets of his dress pants as he leaned up against the arch of the living room, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, eyes never straying from yours.

You felt yourself swallowing harshly at the sight of him. He’s so fucking hot. “Elle était un ange!” She was an angel! There was a soft glow of moonlight that seeped through the curtains, casting a gentle radiance on the room as you whispered those words. You were whispering, careful to not wake her in the next room over. But also, in attempt to hide the desire in your voice. It would be a complete lie if you said you didn’t find him attractive. If you didn’t think about him that way.

With a subtle exhalation, Charles gracefully moved away from the archway, making his way towards the couch. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his head finding a comfortable perch on the back cushions, a gentle smile gracing his features. His legs extended languidly, and the contours of his thigh muscles subtly asserted themselves through the delicate fabric of his dress pants.

Turning his head to look at you, “Would you mind staying in the spare room tonight?”

His eyes, an enchanting shade of green, held you captive in a mesmerizing trance. Lost in their depths, his question became a distant echo, momentarily forgotten in the captivating allure of those verdant depths.

It wasn’t an abnormal question. At least, not anymore it wasn’t. You’ve been watching his daughter for months now and have occasionally crashed at his when it was too late at night. When you didn’t answer right away, lost in thought, Charles felt the need to wearily add an “I’m too tired to take you home.”

It’s not that you didn’t have your license, but you didn’t have a car. And because it meant more money, you always said yes. At least you always told yourself it was for the money. But it really was for all the times you got to see a shirtless Charles in the morning. His hair all disheveled, eyes full of sleep. The rasp in his voice. And also, the breakfast.

His hand swiftly dropped to your exposed thigh, the tennis skirt adorning your body doing little to cover you. He patted the area right above your knee softly for your attention, “Je suppose que tu n’as pas de vêtements; je vais te trouver quelque chose.” I assume you don’t have clothes; I’ll grab you something. The touch was so miniscule, so quick, that you could barely grasp the concept that it happened before he was already standing.

Although staying over wasn’t new, borrowing his clothes was.

You found yourself unable to speak as he stood from the couch and made his way to his room. The air was charged with a delicate tension. You were convinced it was the suit that had you stumbling for words, or maybe the fact you haven’t had sex in months and Charles is just that fucking hot, and in front of you, looking at you, touching you.

“J’espère que cela est assez bon.” I hope these are good enough. Bathed in the gentle luminescence of the room, Charles gazes down at you with an intensity the captures the essence of the moment. In his hands, he holds a neatly folded pile of clothes, extending them toward you with a certain grace. A faint, sleepy smile graces your lips as you accept them.

With a languid elegance, you begin to rise from the comfort of the couch, only to find Charles extending his hand toward you. His fingers confidently entwine with yours, pulling you up. Although, it seems Charles underestimated his strength because you are sent flying to your feet, awkwardly tripping in the process. But before you can make a total fool of yourself, Charles is slipping an arm around your waist, holding you to his chest.

You can feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment, “Je suis tellement désole.” I’m so sorry.

You feel Charles laugh reverberate in his chest, making you more alert of just how close you two were. “Ne sois pas désolée.” Don’t be sorry.

In that suspended moment, time seemed to stretch, creating a timeless place where you and Charles were encapsulated. Locked in a shared gaze, the world outside this intimate bubble ceased to exist. Uncertainty lingered in the air, an unspoken question hovering between you two. Charles’ firm hold persisted, grounding the moment in the tangible warmth of his touch.

As the stillness enveloped you, his eyes were fixated on your flushed cheeks, a canvas painted in hues of warmth. The intensity of his gaze conveyed an admiration that transcended words. To Charles, the sight of your blushing complexion was nothing short of captivating – an endearing revelation of vulnerability that only heightened your allure.

“Tellement jolie,” So pretty. The words were so soft. Barely audible if it wasn’t for your proximity. It was as if he didn’t even know he said them out loud.

You felt frozen while trying to decide if this was a dream or not. But when the pads of Charles thumbs made way to your face, tracing your bottom lip slowly, you knew you were fucked.

“Est-ce que je peux?” Can I?

You wanted to scream. Yes! You felt your stomach churning with need. But externally, you were calm. You needed to be quiet.

You made the move to nod your head when his lips collided with yours. It was slow and tentative at first. Like he was trying to test the waters. He pulled away for a moment, eyes staring into yours once again, as if he needed to make sure you were okay with this.

But as soon as he saw your lips draw into a smile, he knew he was fucked.

The second time your lips met it was feverish and messy. All tongue and no air. The clothes that he handed you previously, now lay on the floor in a messy pile, your hands sliding around his neck. You both go tumbling down onto the couch.

He groaned quietly into your mouth – a sound as if the taste of you was something he craved his whole life. His hands dropped from your jaw, closing around your neck, as you felt him push your further into the couch cushion with the weight of his body.

“J’ai besoin de toi,” I need you. You managed to slip the words out, your fingers trailing through his hair on the back of his head.

Before you had the chance to press your lips back together, he was pulling away, leaving you breathless and a little confused until his hands dropped to the waistband of your skirt. His fingers shoving their way in and pulling them down, your underwear being yanked off in the process. His gaze met yours once more, filled with anticipation and eagerness.

“Tu as l’air tellement putain de bien comme ça.” You look so fucking good like this.

Like this. Spread out and beneath him. Completely bare and whimpering for him.

You could hear him curse to himself as he draped your leg over his shoulder, seeing how wet you already were.

The first drag of his tongue on you was enough to make your back arch instantly. He groaned, his nose brushing against your clit as he dipped his tongue inside of you. Every dip of his tongue sent you bucking your hips harder against him. And he loved it.

With every stoke of his tongue, your fingers fisted his hair tighter. You began to buck your hips, so close to reaching your orgasm, but he denied. His hands were quick to push your hips down onto the couch. He wanted to hear you beg.

“Charles,” you sighed softly.

“Hm?” You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking. His tongue was placing slow licks to your clit, light enough to keep you right on the edge.

“S’il te plaît.” Please.

Charles was back sucking on your clit in less than a second, his hands sliding up to your covered breasts, squeezing them. He moaned into your pussy, the sound enough to send you spiraling over the edge. You gripped onto anything that was near and placed it over your face, trying to cover the moans that were escaping your lips.

Your body shook as you pressed the pillow into your face. He licked you as you came down and didn’t stop until you were practically shoving him off.

His lips were glossy and puffy, coated with you. A smirk on his face as he stood up and looked down at you completely flushed on his couch, half bare. You looked at the bulge of his cock, pressing against the seams of his dress pants, and then back up at his eyes.

“Bedroom?”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #don’t wake the kids cl16

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lucindarobinsonvevo · 2 years

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i wish neighbours.com still housed character bios and stuff like it did in the 2000s rather than simply existing as a splash page for tenplay. i think bridget’s diary is (was?) somewhat contentious within the fanbase (based on comments I’ve read on contemporary message boards) but i really like that sort of thing. i find it very very charming in the same way pipe up! was charming, you know? i love when media does stuff like that.

#there ARE character bios on tenplay #but they're very out of date #and tbh not really as charming. i mean #the old neighbours bio for elle was straight calling her erinsbourgh's next best bitch #i think it's heavily based on how the interest used to be the wild west and you could say something like that with no backlash #while now you can't say that because it might impact your advertising (and there's nothing tenplay loves more #than making me watch seven ads for three minutes of show)#neighbourspost

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charles-leclerizz · 2 months

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AISHA PATEL

"You walk a fine line between beautifully macabre and uncharacteristically psychotic."

AP77 🇮🇳

Nickname : Phataka [hindi : Firework]

Born : April 13 2002

moodboard

First and only child of Priya Patel & Arham Patel, both Indian born adults.

ESTP

Slytherin

Neutral Evil

Aries Sun , Leo Moon , Gemini Rising

[NOTE!: Thank you so so much to @witchthewriter for natal chart lessons, Hogwarts house, MBTI and the Moral alignment, links and in depth explanations. Made making this character sketch, so much fun!]

Social media

instagram

twitter

twitch

spotify

tiktok

Interviews

VOGUE - Racing in Style: Aisha Patel's Fashion Journey

GQ - The Gentleman Racer: Aisha Patel's Grooming Tips

ESQUIRE - Beyond the Checkered Flag: Aisha Patel's Life Off the Track

HARPERS BAZAAR - Beauty Beyond Borders: Aisha Patel's Global Perspective

ELLE - Breaking Barriers: Aisha Patel's Impact on Motorsport

VANITY FAIR - Driven to Succeed: Aisha Patel's Philanthropic Vision

ROLLING STONE - The Soundtrack of Speed: Aisha Patel's Musical Influences

PEOPLE - Family First: Aisha Patel's Personal Journey

TOWN & COUNTRY - Luxury Living with Aisha Patel: Racing in

INTERVIEW MAGAZINE - Artistic Vision: Aisha Patel's Creative Perspective

ALLURE - Trackside Beauty Secrets with Aisha Patel

ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST - Home Sweet Home: Inside Aisha Patel's Racing Residence

FOOD & WINE - Fueling Victory: Aisha Patel's Race Day Recipes

ENTREPRENEUR - Driving Success: Aisha Patel's Business Ventures

TRAVEL + LEISURE - Globetrotting with Aisha Patel: Racing Around the World

HEALTH - Mindful Racing: Aisha Patel's Mental Fitness Routine

FASHIONISTA - Trackside Trends: Aisha Patel's Racing Fashion Forecast

TECH CRUNCH - Driving Innovation: Aisha Patel's Tech-Savvy Approach

TIME - Racing Against Time: Aisha Patel's Journey to Success

OPRAH MAGAZINE - The Power of Positivity: Aisha Patel's Inspirational Story

Introduction

Aisha Patel, born and raised in the United Kingdom to Indian immigrants, Priya and Arham has finally made it to the big leagues! Having nurtured an intense interest in racing and motorsport, often watching Formula One races with her family, her long-time dream is finally coming true.

Her parents, much like most Asians, tried to push their daughter into a more stable profession but soon relented as they watched her skill grow and her flame burn like an inferno.

When it came out that Porsche would be replacing the beloved Haas F1 team on the grid, she jumped at the chance, displaying her racing skills in F3 & F2 by dominating the podiums and impressing a talent scout who hand-picked her for the spot.

Aisha is an ambitious woman, determined and headstrong as she blazes through any blockages that may present themselves whilst consistently pushing herself to the limit both on and off of the track.

Her confidence is infectious as she holds her own candle, always perfecting her skillset whilst embarking on her travels to becoming the first South Asian woman to win a World Drivers Championship. Yet, she remains humble, remembering her roots and maintains a down-to-earth persona that embraces all of those around her.

Driving style

Aisha's driving style is ruthless and aggressive, she becomes a killer when on track as the adrenaline fills her up to her ears and all she can think of being first and staying first.

Although, the young driver has also proven herself to being one of the most calculated on the grid, maintaining her killer instincts whilst upholding an ice cold strategy, whether her race engineers like it or not. She can easily adapt to different tracks and wastes no time in becoming one with the tarmac beneath her wheels.

Yet, she still needs to mature her driving sense, sometimes some fights are not worth it and are not worth sacrificing a front wing for. Her predator like rivalries can sometimes leak over into post-race cool downs, and it has been observed, one too many times that she has been squaring up drivers who made, in her words, "A wrong fucking move, and cost [her] a podium." despite their seasoned years in the game, and her lack thereof.

Radio Snippets

[NOTE! : Graphic created by me [@charles-leclerizz]]

📍Australia, Melbourne

⎯ AP77 : “Guys, is it just me, or did I just see a kangaroo trying to overtake me? What's the strategy for dealing with wildlife on the track?”

📍Monaco, Monte Carlo

⎯ AP77 : “Can someone remind me which one is the gas pedal and which one is the brake? I feel like I'm playing Dance Dance Revolution with these hairpins.”

📍Canada, Montreal

⎯ AP77 : “These curves are more confusing than deciphering my ex's cryptic texts. Can we dial up some clarity with the next strategy update-”

📍Austria, Spielberg:

⎯ AP77 : “Yodeled my way through the last turn like a true Alpine pro. Can we add some lederhosen decals for good luck?”

📍Italy, Monza:

⎯ AP77 : “These curbs are bumpier than a rollercoaster. Can we add some extra suspension or a chiropractor on standby?”

📍Japan, Suzuka:

⎯ AP77 : “Think I found Godzilla's cousin on Turn 3. Can we arrange a family reunion after the race?”

📍USA, Austin:

⎯ AP77 : “Can we paint the car like a cowboy hat for the next race? Yeehaw vibes for extra speed.”

📍Brazil, Interlagos:

⎯ AP77 : “I may have mistaken the Senna S for a dance floor. Can we get some rhythm in the next set of turns?”

📍Mexico, Mexico City:

⎯ AP77 : “Trying to break the lap record to earn a lifetime supply of tacos. ”

📍Belgium, Spa-Francorchamps:

⎯ AP77 : “Eau Rouge, more like Eau Confusion with all these ups and downs. Can we add a rollercoaster warning sign for the next lap? ”

📍Netherlands, Zandvoort:

⎯ AP77 : “Feeling more like I'm dodging tulips than racing on a track. Can we add some windmills for the full Dutch experience? Over.”

honourary tags [for special pookies] : @disneyprincemuke, @weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun.

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serenescribe · 9 months

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ell, i hope ur request is still available??? lol but im submitting a fic idea for now-- its been laying on my art ideas for awhile but im just not sure how to draw it so im sharing it now-- (this ask is long T0T im sorry-)

so basically the story right now is Lilia's dream and I believe the point of this dream is having Lilia be on time to save Malenoa and Levan from the Silver Owls???

i read a lot of theories that Silver might overblot mostly from magical exhaustion from using UM but its also possible that he might overblot by just the mental stress of it all lol so i think the moment that he'll really snap is the moment he'll found out he's a Silver Owl.

u see, I'm kinda hesitant to support the theory that Silver is one of the Silver Owls (even tho its so likely TT)---

bcuz,,, guys,,, do you the impact of that twisted info??? it means that IF Silver is one the Silver Owls;;;; he's from the nation that destroyed the Land of Briar, the reason why Briar Valley is such a small secluded nation and hates humans a lot, the probably main reason why faes and humans are distrustful to each other, the people who murdered Malleus' parents, the reason why Malleus had to grow up in isolation, the people who killed Lilia's most important people: Malenoa and Levan (which we can assume the only people he can refer to as family), and the reason why his father is dying early and is falling out of magic because he had to exhaust all of it for Malleus to live because his ancestors killed his parents---- if Silver is from the Silver Owls actually, can he truly still have the audacity to refer to Lilia as "his father" knowing well now he's the root of all his misery?

He'll never meet Lilia if he's from Silver Owl/if Land of Briar won against them)-- unlike Sebek and Malleus who's family is tied with Malenoa and Baul

He's realizing that his existence to his father life was born from losing everything he had and he gets engulfed by the darkness

"because this is Father's true family…" Silver realizes as he looks at the expression of Lilia genuinely happy in relief that Malenoa and Levan was saved and the enemy is defeated and he'll never meet Silver anymore because his nation lost.

"We were never meant to dream together" (this is in contrast of Silver's UM's message; "let's share the same dream")

you. you are WICKED for this utter monster of a prompt. lian, i cannot believe you. i woke up, read it, and just couldn't stop grinning. i genuinely hope i did this justice. thank you for letting me write this!

The relief on his father’s face hurts Silver to the very core of his soul.

There is a celebration erupting around him, the chaotic, spontaneous festivities of a war long-won. Victory is theirs; the Valley has prevailed over her enemies, all human intruders either slain or driven out, the Silver Owls and their Knight of Dawn thoroughly suppressed.

And yet, as Silver lurks about at a corner of the room, back pressed against the dark stone wall as he observes from afar, all he can feel is a deep-rooted agony. There is a light happiness to his father’s face, so unlike the stern disposition of the general that Silver had gotten used to, having adapted to it despite how strange it feels to interact with his father in his callous prime.

Near his father is Princess Malenoa and her betrothed, the former carrying her egg in her arms. From where he stands, Silver watches as the draconic fae’s face creases as she laughs at a comment Lilia makes, the three of them enraptured in their own little world.

He bites his lips, heart aching as it thumps against his chest.

It hurts.

It hurts because Silver knows who he is, what he is now. He’s put it all together, uncovered all the missing pieces of the puzzle throughout his time fighting by his father’s side, hoping to wake him within his dream. There was an uncanny resemblance Silver shared with the Knight of Dawn, one that had struck him upon laying his eyes on the man. Even now, it makes him sick to his stomach thinking of the implications.

But appearances could be coincidental. There were many people in the world; surely some people were bound to share similarities in the end? And yet, there was another piece of evidence, one that had casted away any lingering doubts Silver had clung to, one that damned his fate.

Silver’s fingers close around the ornate ring in his palm, its necklace chain draped over the side of his wrist, swaying slightly.

He’d found the very same ring in the Knight of Dawn’s tent, when they’d ransacked it after a lengthy battle. It had been nestled in a tiny locked box that opened at his touch, and Silver’s breathing had stuttered to a gasping halt as soon as he laid eyes upon the tiny piece of jewellery — a perfect replica of the ring slung around his neck.

“Hey.”

The sound of a voice snags his ear, swaying his attention away from the cheerful face of his father — though does Silver truly reserve the right to call him that, after everything he’d learnt? Glancing to the side, Silver relaxes at the sight of Yuu shuffling over, standing next to him, their hands buried in the pocket of their jacket.

Silver dips his head at them. They smile weakly at him in return.

For a while, they stand there together, simply observing the rest of the room. Silver’s gaze flits around, from the thronging groups of fae celebrating their victory, to the sight of Sebek laughing up a storm with the younger form of his grandfather — an apparition of Lilia’s dream, but still an indulgence for the boy — until finally, they land back at his father.

“How’re you feeling?” Yuu asks, out of nowhere.

Silver exhales. “I… I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Mm. I don’t really think fine constitutes standing in a corner of the room like this,” Yuu points out with a shrug. “Isn’t now probably the best time to… what was it, try and wake up Lilia?”

It is the best time to do such a thing. And yet, whenever Silver considers the thought, eyes darting back to his laughing father, he hesitates. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Princess Malenoa passing her egg off to her lover to lean over and wrap his father up in a warm embrace, lifting him off the ground as she whirls around in giddy joy.

The peaceful bliss on Lilia’s face is familiar to him. It’s an expression Silver’s seen many times before while growing up.

“...We can wait,” Silver eventually says, stifling a sigh. He crosses his arms. “It would not hurt to let him enjoy this a little longer.”

“If you say so,” Yuu hums in response. “Not that Grim would complain, I think. Pretty sure he’s off gorging himself on food somewhere, the little rat.”

Another pause, only permeated by the constant sound of festivities.

“...Something isn’t right, huh?” Yuu exhales. “I don’t really… know much about Hornton— um, Malleus, apart from what he told me, and… what I’ve learnt here.” They gesture at the room. “But I kinda get the feeling his parents aren’t exactly around anymore. And yet they’re alive, huh?”

Silver doesn’t even need to turn to know just what Yuu is looking at — the very much alive, not missing, Princess Malenoa and Levan chatting happily with Lilia.

“...Yeah,” Silver eventually breathes, voice weak. “They’re alive.”

Maybe— no, not maybe. It’s definitely better this way. How can Silver restore the status quo after everything he’s learnt throughout his father’s dream, of the wretched past that Lilia never told him about? His father looks so unbearably happy now, in this peaceful dream of a war won without the losses that happened in reality. Lilia had lost his closest companions, his childhood friends. He’d spent years presumably exhausting his magic, to take care of Malleus in their stead until the draconic fae finally hatched, because Malleus’ parents had been killed.

And he’d taken Silver in, despite the hue of his hair, the colour of his eyes — all little bits of evidence that should have clued Lilia in on his son’s true identity: a descendent of the Silver Owls.

A ragged exhale spills out of his mouth.

How can he look at Lilia now and call him his father? Silver is sure of it; he has to have been descended from the awful humans who ravaged the Valley and bled her dry of her resources, all before slaughtering the fair folk’s princess before her child could even be hatched. They’d been responsible for her bethrothed’s disappearance too, Silver is certain of it.

How can Silver have the audacity to think of Lilia as his own, when he is tied to the root of all his father’s misery?

And to make matters worse, in such a selfish, wretched way that it makes him feel sick—

Silver cannot stop thinking about how, in this other world, this perfect fantasy that his father supposedly longs for, he would have never found his son.

(Can Silver still call himself that?)

“SILVER!”

That familiar, thunderous voice startles him out of his swirling thoughts. Sebek frowns at him, hands resting on his hips. When had his friend arrived…? “We ought to get a move on with waking up Master Lilia,” he declares, attracting a few glances from nearby fae, chittering to each other about what Silver presumes is the sound of Sebek’s voice. “That IS what we came here for, no? And then after, we shall go and save Lord Malleus!”

“And on that note, I should go find Grim,” Yuu says, turning with a wave. “I’ll meet you guys when you’re ready to dream hop, Silver!”

Silver watches the human prefect depart, vanishing into the throng of shifting fae.

He bites his lip.

“Silver?”

Sebek’s voice is stern. And yet, there is a hint of what Silver knows is concern weaved into it. He glances back over at his friend, noticing the scrutinising arch of Sebek’s eyebrows, the way he inspects Silver closely. “What are you waiting for?” he demands. With a wave of his hand towards Lilia’s general direction, Sebek says, “Let us depart!”

“I can’t.”

Those two words spill from his lips before he can stop himself. Silver winces at the sight of Sebek’s eyes widening, pupils constraining at what he said, thoroughly taken aback. “What— Whatever do you mean, Silver?” Shaking his head, Sebek narrows his eyes. “Now is not the time for such foolish jesting—”

“I’m serious, Sebek.”

Silence. Sebek gawks at him, and Silver averts his gaze. His heart hammers in his chest, so loud he can hear it in his ears. He feels vaguely lightheaded. And it still hurts.

But it is precisely because it hurts that Silver is doing this, that he is refusing to wake his father up from his dream. What right does he have to do that, to disrupt such a wonderful fantasy, a world where everything turned out right for Lilia in the end? It would make him no better than the selfish, greedy humans who pillaged the Valley, killing fae left and right, and wrecking such havoc upon them all.

In the end, to wake Lilia up would be such an audacious, inconsiderate desire on Silver’s part. How dare he strip his father of the happiness he deserves?

Because, Silver thinks wistfully, gazing upon Lilia and Malenoa and Levan all over again, this is Father’s true family. It was never me. It is an epiphany that dawns upon him. And all of a sudden, everything feels clear.

(“Silver? SILVER!”)

Yes, this is the way it should be. Lilia should remain here in blissful paradise. Silver can move on, can take Sebek and Yuu and Grim with him — unless they wish to stay, of course, to which he wouldn’t fault them; he’s seen how attached Sebek is to his grandfather, after all. They don’t need to bother his father with the likes of their plans to save Malleus from his overblot. They can find other people instead!

(“SILVER!”)

We were never meant to dream together, Silver thinks wistfully. It’s like his focus has narrowed down to solely his father, everything else in his peripheral vision blurring together into a mess of darkness. But that’s the truth of it, isn’t it?

What sort of a selfish son would he be, to strip his father of his hard-earned happiness?

“SILVER!”

He jolts at the sharp sensation of a slap, lurching back to his senses.

The first thing he notices is Sebek’s face, contorted with such abject fear, hand raised in front of him.

The second thing he notices is—

The darkness, bubbling around him, sucking at his heels, clinging and sliding its way up his legs.

Hands wrap around his wrists, trying to drag him forward, away from the sloshing pit of inky blackness that claws at him. “Get OUT!” Sebek screeches, in part a furious demand, in part a desperate plea. But as soon as Silver stumbles his way to clean, even ground, the darkness slides right back in, nipping at his ankles, dragging him back in.

And yet, all Silver can feel is an overwhelming sensation of calm. There is a dull ache that throbs in his chest, one that sobs and wails and causes the darkness to clamber up his body even further. A single realisation makes itself clear in his mind.

He’s overblotting, isn’t he?

That’s the only explanation Silver can muster, the reason why the darkness has returned for him. It’s not reacting like it has in the past. No, this time, it’s surging straight for only him while ignoring everyone else in the room.

Perhaps he’d overexerted himself a bit too much. Perhaps he’d let his tumultuous emotions get the better of him.

What will happen if he stays? Will he lose control of himself? Silver exhales, a melancholic acceptance overtaking his soul. He knows what he has to do now.

And it is with his newfound purpose in mind that Silver pulls his hands out of Sebek’s grasp. He steps back, a sad smile on his face as the other boy stares at him. “ARE YOU INSANE?” Sebek screams, voice erupting through the air, dragging the room into silence. “SILVER, YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY THINK OF GIVING INTO THE DARKNESS!”

All Silver can do is hang his head, and take another step back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs — and he truly is. But it’s safer this way, isn’t it? He can handle an overblot. He knows how to get himself away, so he cannot hurt anyone else any more than he already has.

And as Silver readies his magic, hands clasped firmly around the ring in his palm, beginning to murmur the words under his breath, his gaze flits around the room once more. From a panic-stricken Sebek to a distressed and frozen Yuu, Grim tucked under their arm, to the whispering fae backing away from the scene, until finally…

He meets crimson eyes that widen, a glint sparking within them, face contorting into one of realisation and pure fear.

“Meet in a Dream,” Silver whispers with a sad smile, raising his ring to his lips, breath ghosting along the glistening gem — slowly clouding over, losing its lustre and shine.

And as the general breaks away from his two closest companions, boots slamming against the stone floor as he sprints for Silver, one arm outstretched, the scream of a name emerging from his lips—

Silver allows his magic to tear himself away from this dream, taking him somewhere far away, where he can let the blot swallow him whole.

At the very least, as he loses his mind—

He knows his father will be safe and happy.

#writing requests #my writing tag #tumblr drabbles tag #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland spoilers #twst ch7 #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #twst yuu #lilia vanrouge #twst fanfiction #twst writing #again i am on holiday at da beach as this goes up... B)#enjoy the horrors while i have a good time!!!

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octopiys · 3 months

Text

The Screaming, Heaving, Fuckery of the World

Relationships(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

Warnings: blood, violence, explosions, Soap faints like a Victorian woman, religious imagery, Graves

Chapter 4

"-ell's fucking bells!" Johnny had exclaimed over the comm, surprise and fright written clear in his voice. It took Ghost a minute to find his comm button, was it a minute too late? But then Johnny continued. "Do... D'ya see the caged dog?" He was quiet.

The other man wasn't far behind him, in fact, he had avoided the house almost entirely. The dog was originally chained outside, frothing and barking its head off at Ghosts's sudden approach, alerting a few Shadows in the process. He slunk back into the darkness of the looming houses and kept moving. They must've put the dog inside after that.

"Big geezer. If he barks, shoot him and repo quickly." He had responded. A few more moments of silence, and he realized that Johnny wouldn't engage with it, either.

"Yer st-ne cold, Simon." Came Soap's reply, effectively stopping his heart for a second, at least.

Simon. He called him Simon. But Simon wasn't here, not anymore, Ghost was. This was Ghost. This is what happened when he killed Simon. There was nothing left of the man who came before.

Was there?

"What has two legs and bleeds?" Ghost changed the subject suddenly, was it too suddenly? He didn't know. But he had something to quickly ease the situation that his own mind had created, an endless pit of darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

"-on't....Don't tell me...." Soap's strained reply came, as Ghost went quiet. Two of Graves' men had rounded the corner of the square, bickering amongst themselves. Americans. He recognized them as two of the younger transfers, ones Graves had put in for personally, 3-1, and 3-2. 3-2 was a bit of a pretentious ass, which is why he could see Graves had wanted him. 3-1, on the other hand, seemed to be in slight support of the 141, before being quickly shut down by 3-2. They entered a house and were gone. He kept moving.

"'Alf a dog." He replied, smirking to himself without knowing at John's horrified response.

After that, there was a bit of quiet on the other end of the Station, aside from the two's different breathing and the rain, it was quiet calm. Too calm.

Something splashed behind him, and Ghost turned on a dime, firing his silenced pistol twice into the one who snuck up on him, but not before the attacker fired.

The Shadow dropped to the ground, red spilling profusely from his chest and he weakly reached to radio. Ghost kicked his hand away and watched the light fade from his eyes.

"Give me a sit rep." Ghost said, trying to stifle his own wound. It wasn't anything major, but the bullet grazed his leg, leaving a less than deep laceration on his thigh. He pulled some supplies off the body and bandaged it up, tying himself a tourniquet around the upper leg of his pants, wincing.

"I'm outside. Gated alley." Soap said, the strain in his voice now only slightly worrying Ghost more.

"Stick to the sides. Stay low." He advised, glancing around his area and deciding to keep heading towards the church. One of his knives soon became embedded in another silent attacker, but the barks of men below him made him stumble for escape.

"Copy."

"You may get a brag rag for this." Ghost said, cutting himself off as he painfully hit the ground after vaulting himself from a window.

"A medal...?" Soap asked.

It took a second for Ghost to respond, the makeshift bandages bleeding through on the impact, and he crouched behind an ac unit, trying to fix it. "Chest candy."

"That's all rubbish." Ghost could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

"Said you wanted a win. Congratulations. You're a winner." He deadpanned. The bleeding slowed, only a little.

"Away an bile yer heid...!" Soap spat, thoroughly confusing Ghost more than the other man usually does.

"English, Mactavish..." Ghost murmured, doing a quick inventory check. He was down three of five knives, and he had probably six good bullets left in his gun. Gotta make them count, somehow.

"Sorry sir, let me translate. Go fuck yourself."

"Much better." Simon smiled.

Soon enough, he found his way into the church through a hole in the locked iron gate. He snuck through around the back, the janitorial door having been left unlocked. Surprisingly enough, the church was empty. Firelight spilled through the stained glass onto the floor, highlighting the pews like it was a hint.

Ghost wasn't a religious man, never wanted to be, never will. The effects of Simon's father had made good on that. He left the pews behind, and found the staircase leading to the steeple.

"Church is on the north side of the city." Ghost informed, the stairs taking him longer than usual with a wounded leg. "I'm gonna find a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there, you might just make it."

There was a pause before Mactavish responded. "Graves is roundin' up cops...."

"He's judge, jury, and executioner now." Ghost snarled, looking through a bin he had found that had spilled its contents down the staircase. It almost made him trip up, not having seen it all in the darkness. He wished he still had his flashlight, but he had lost it somewhere between he and Johnny, no matter how far that was.

"Found a bottle."

Ghost's mind jumped into gear. "Use it as a distraction if you're in a pinch."

There were a few minutes of silence that confusingly worried Ghost. He worked alone, he didn't care much if that's how he continued doing so. But for once, once in a very long time, he hoped that would be the case.

"Worked li-e a charm." Soap crackled over the radio.

Ghost breathed out a sigh of relief. "Told ya. Listen to me for once, and you might just learn something."

"-big boy with the skull, and you're already dead." He heard another voice, mousely quiet. Background noise. Johnny told him he had picked up a few items that Ghost recognized that could be made into an impromptu smoke bomb.

"Sweet, I like it." Soap smiled, he could hear.

"Guarantee you they won't."

"I wanna - English motherf-ckers. The one with the sk-l and the leprechaun." More background noise he could hear. Soap had forgotten to click his mic off.

"Leprechauns-? Dude, th-'re Irish, I - you." Sounded who he could barely recognize as 3-1.

"Yea -udes with the skirts."

"It's ca----d a kilt."

"It's a dude in a dress. That's all I know." 3-1 said. Ghost took a shaky breath. He'd kill him if he ever saw him again. This can't stand.

"You- an a--ho-" The comm cut off abruptly. John must've noticed, but that didn't keep Ghost's blood from boiling. How close was he, already?

"Ghost, you missing a knife?" Soap asked suddenly.

"Several." Ghoat reached a door at the top of the staircase, barely winded, but his leg hurt like a bitch.

"I think I found one."

"Some of the dead Shadows are my handiwork." He said proudly, trying the handle. Locked.

"Ya come through here?"

"On my way to the church." Right before he bucked himself through a window and his behind the air conditioning.

"And ya left me?" Soap sounded betrayed, leaving a pang in Simon's chest.

"I'm used to working alone." He defended, being the first thing that came to mind.

"So much for no man left behind." The other man grumbled.

"Just get yourself to the church." Ghost replied, quietly. "Busy trying to keep you alive and get here in one piece. One of us needs to survive to tell the tale." The last part he didn't exactly mean, but it still came out that way. He wanted them both to get out alive, or Johnny at the least. But there was always that feeling in the back of his mind that any mission he took with someone else, they never turned out well. He worked alone for a reason.

He was cursed, after all.

Soap paused, unsuccessfully hiding a shaky voice. "....what're my odds?"

"Don't make me bet against you. You still got a lot of ground to cover." He said softly. His way of apologizing.

"Found a mousetrap." Soap informed suddenly.

"Very useful." He whispered, breaking through the door, using the butt his other empty gun to bash the handle.

"Can act li-e a tri--er?" John had asked, sounding hopeful.

"Good, Johnny. Not an airstrike, but it'll do." He murmured, setting a few of his things down to secure the door.

He could hear John's breath catch on the other end, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in amusement.

"Black powder...." Oh. Not the reason he thought.

"This could get interesting..." Ghost said, getting in a snipers position after securing the door, the jostle of his gear unwillingly adjusting his mic, and sending a fresh throb through his leg.

It was a few minutes before he heard shouting on the other end. Johnny had gotten rather close to the comm, his breathing ragged, he could hear, and other voices started the trickle through, shouting commands.

"Mactavish? What's going over there?" He asked, feeling his blood pressure start to rise.

Static.

"Soap?"

....

"Johnny! Come in!"

He was almost shouting into the mic. Had they gotten to him? Had Graves found him? Was he dead?

"Mactavish!! Johnny! Status, Johnny!!" He was full on shouting now, foolishly not caring if any of the enemy heard him from his perch. Worry was evident in his voice, but he did not care.

A drawn out groan from the speaker. "......fuckkk..."

"Soap! Soap, come in! Sit r- Sit rep, Johnny!" He commanded anxiously.

"Copy, Simon." A vague mumble.

"Bloody christ, Johnny. What the fuck happened?" He took a minute to calm himself down.

"Not sure. Blacked out.... I think...." The Sergeant trailed off, voice wavering.

"Stay with me, Johnny. Find a gun." If there's anything that Ghost can relate to, it's pain. Or more of, getting through it. In his head, if you can focus on something else, than it'll distract you from the fact that your life could be about to end momentarily. It wasn't healthy, Price made him sure to know that much, but it was a mechanism he hadn't been able to shake.

"Got yer knife..." Soap said, his voice fading in and out.

"Not for suprise combat you don't. How injured are you?" He almost scolded him for not telling sooner.

".......arm." Soap said weakly. He could hear the self hatred in the admittance.

"I stand corrected." He softened his voice, only slightly. "Stifle the bleeding. We'll get you outta there." Ghost promise.

Johnny screamed on the other end, almost shorting out his comm.

"SOAP?!" Ghost panicked.

Silence.

"Killed a Shadow." The other man whispered.

"Take his gun, move on. We'll deal with it later." Ghost's voice was still soft, surprising himself. He knew how the Sergeant must be feeling. We'll deal with it later, when we're safe....

"Ghost...." Soap started.

"All clear?" He asked.

"Appears to be."

"Good. Stay on guard and keep moving to the church." Ghost hesitated, but asked anyways. "Feeling weak, are you?"

"...a bit shaky sir, yeah." Mactavish said faintly.

"Graves tried to kill us. Makes sense you'd be a bit off. Find a stim. It'll give you a good boost." Ghost advised, taking out a too curious Shadow near the gate.

The rain was coming down hard now, almost obscuring his vision. The streets were starting to flood, and Ghost watched, as if mesmerized, as the Shadow's blood flooded out, mixing with the water, and going down a storm drain.

"It's pishin' it doon out here." Soap grumbled incoherently.

"Speak english." Ghost groaned in frustration.

"It's raining fucking hard." Soap, the Now American with a Terrible American Accent, said. Ghost's lips twitched.

"Then say so."

"I did!" Soap replied, mock offended.

"Rain'll cover your tracks." Ghost said, taking aim on a group of Graves' men that were crawling the streets like rats, just discovering their fallen comrade.

"It'll cover theirs too. Found a stim." He heard the slight squeak that Mactavish made when he presumably stabbed himself with said stim. Undeniably....

"Let's just focus on you, Johnny." He murmured, shifting.

"So you do like me." Soap's smug scottish accent purred through the mic.

Ghost choked, unwillingly. "I- I like you alive..." He spluttered. Nice save, Simon. Ghost.

"Ghost...."

"Soap?"

"Found a tripwire attached to a shotgun. Disarmed it. Took the gun. It's nice..." Soap was clearly more excited about it than he let on.

"Open hearts and open minds with it Johnny." He paused, watching a clearly defined figure nove into the streets and curse loudly enough to hear over the rain. The commander. "Graves is burning the midnight oil to find us, Johnny. Why?"

"Graves and Shepherd are both involved." Soap theorized, but it was as much as correct as Ghost hoped. "No matter what, this is an unprecedented amount of fuckery." Johnny was angry. Simon almost laughed. "We need to get to the bottom of it."

"Deadly accurate shots are one way. Right now, we're not safe here." Ghost said to enforce, just in case.

"Right now...? We're not safe anywhere L.t." The Sergeant's anger wasn't misplaced, but he had no other outlet. He went quiet after that. Until... "L.t., about to play rough with the Shadows..."

"I like the sound o' that." Ghost grumbled affirmively..

"Fashioned a trip mine."

"A man after my own heart." Ghost responded, sounding almost fond. Simon.

God, he had to shut himself down. Not again.

"You have a heart?" Soap interrupted his thoughts.

"A cold one."

"I'm in the coffee shop." Soap informed the Lieutenant. He almost had a visual.

"Get us a tea."

"Fucking Brits..." Johnny breathed, sending a flare through Ghost's chest.

Shut it down, Simon.

"Yer gonna owe me for this." Soap said in a warning.

"Why?" Ghost asked curiously. As far as he knew, Johnny would owe him, not the other way around.

"We're fixing each other's problems." He said it like the simplest thing in the world. There was too much of him to fix, and he wasn't entirely sure Johnny could fix them all. Could he?

"What's my problem?"

"The mask.... take it off." Mactavish whined, sending Simon into a heated full body flush.

"Sh- Show my face?" Ghost stammered.

"Yes sir."

".....Negative."

He can't look himself in the mirror. It was December 26th. The day after Christmas. There was blood running down the drain, from his wounds, and from whatever washed off of him. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn't get the light heaviness of Joseph off his palms. He was so small, so broken- he was-

"Are you ugly?" That was one thing he... enjoyed, about Soap. He cut straight to the point. No sugarcoating.

It was his fault, he believed. Simon's. The moment of letting guard down. They were gone. He could see the mirror. The Ghost of who he was shined back at him. Soulless. Unfeeling.

The mirror shattered on impact.

"Quite the opposite."

"I doubt that."

Ghost debated killing Graves then and there. He was too distracted.

The commander stormed down an alleyway, for lack of words. The combination of the wind and rain chilled Ghost. He hoped Soap was doing okay.

"Johnny... Towns full o' tunnels. One leads out across from the church. Be advised. The tunnel is flooded." He warned. "Prepare for a cold swim."

"Can't wait." Soap responded sarcastically.

He had managed to avoid the tunnels entirely, but he wished he had gone through them, for he wouldn't have the pain in his leg if he did.

"Found some oil!" Soap said enthusiastically.

For a few intervals of time, he heard gunfire. It seemed like someone had gotten onto Soap. But it continued. He held onto the sliver of hope he had bathed himself in.

"Oil, bottle, find some rope for a wick..... Time for a cocktail." Ghost mused, wiping some rainwater from his scope.

"You still standing, Johnny?" He asked when the gunfire ceased.

"Think I'm clear...." Came his stressed response.

"Good. Stay sharp and meet me at the church."

Soap eased himself into the cold water of the flooded tunnel. By 'easing himself,' he means mindlessly sliding down the algefied slope with no way to stop himself or prepare him for the cold. The water iced him all the way done to the bone, and he chattered almost immediately. "Creepin bloody jesus...- Ghost-"

"Talk to me Johnny." Came the Lieutenant's immediate reply.

"Found the tunnel."

"The church plaza is on the other end of the tunnel. Push through, you're nearly there." He couldn't help but hear the anxiety in the usually emotionless man's voice.

Something fired, and pinged wildlessly off the walls. Shadows had found their way into the sewers.

"Ghost! I got Shadows wearing body armor!" He called, not being able to keep his voice quiet, and fired back. "Here we go...."

"You'll have to get in close and find the gaps." Ghost said quickly.

"Rog." This meant he had to swim. God, what kind of foreign materials and bacteria would get in his shoulder.... He didn't even want to think about it. He ducked under the surface of the water, only popping back up for air or to shoot a Shadow in the back, their blood mingling with his, and the other nuances in the water.

Soon enough, he found the staircase that lead upwards. He came out roadside, the church and its towers in wondrous glory.

"Got eyes on the church?" Ghost asked.

"Aye. I think I found a way in." Soap said, hopping a fence. He wasn't as graceful as he'd wished, landing on his feet and stumbling some. Ghost was always graceful when he jumped a fence. The perfect control over his entirety of body mass movement. And that ass-

Hold on a minute.

He shook himself free from his thoughts, an indescribable look crossing his face.

"-crawling with Shadows. I'll hold em off until we RV in front of the church and secure a vehicle for exfil." Ghost had continued speaking over Johnny's thoughts.

"Roger that." He agrees, moving through the hallway.

"Give em hell, Johnny, we're almost there." Ghost encouraged, and he could hear the slight slip in his voice into something else unidentifiable. He'd have to ask later.

There was a door into the courtyard he had to get through, fashioning a prying tool he used to open it. It opened much easier than the others, mainly because of the help from a not so friendly nor helpful Shadow. He seemed as surprised as Johnny felt, uttering his confusion before body checking the Scot, sending him flinging to the floor. John cursed, raising his gun in his left hand, his right arm to pained to do much with from the impact on the floor.

"All Shadow stations, got one near the church!" The attacker said into his comm, kicking the gun from his hand.

"Kill him!" There was one unmistakable voice that he did not wish to hear right now. Graves.

Just then, the soldiers exclaimed, and his body jerked as a bullet pierced his chest. He went down like a lead balloon, trying to stop himself from bleeding.

"Holy hell...." Soap grabbed his gun. "Ghost, was that you?" He put a bullet through the helmet of the Shadow.

"Who else? Now go!" Ghost was pissed. This was not a good sign for anyone who he had deemed an enemy. So... that meant everyone.

He ran into the courtyard, sliding to a stop behind a car, firing some at the oncoming soldiers.

"Give me a bloody break.... Ghost, how copy?" Soap yelled into the comm. "Ghost! How copy!?"

"Got -ompany in --- church! They're not here for forgiveness!" Ghost ruggedly shouted back as gunfire raged in the background. "Get to the -- steps! I'll be there!"

"Copy L.t!" Soap ran.

He ran for what his life was worth, but bothering to fire backwards, or fire at all unless someone was directly in front of him that wasn't Ghost. None of them were.

The church was in sight, and well in reach. He slid on the wet cobblestone, but kept his forward motion. He could see a figure at the open doorway.

Ghost.

Something was flung overheard, a small round object sailing through the air. It fell through a window of a car he was just about to pass, and he realized too late what it was.

Everything turned dark the second after he was sent flying.

The grenade blew, launching the car into immediate flames.

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taglist: open

#call of duty #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #modern warfare 2 #ghostsoap #captain john price #alejandro vargas #alerudy #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw3 #shadow company #phillip graves

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fanficwriterlover · 10 months

Text

Undercover

18+ Reader's Only

Chapter 2: Little Goddess

Summary: You're tasked with Ghost and Soap to go undercover, they're to stand watch and make sure you succeed. Everything goes great- well so you thought.

Expectations: Blood, Killing, Flirting, Cursing, Slight indication of Smut, teasing, S.A (18+ Readers), and more

Pet-Names: Aphrodite or Little Goddess

══════ ⋆Undercover MasterList⋆ ══════

═════════ ⋆Chapter 3⋆ ═════════

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A gloved hand caressed your cheek, it was gentle, yet you could tell his hands were big. Peeking your eyes, you see piercing brown eyes, blonde long lashes, and the skull mask of the Lieutenant Ghost. He was looming over your laying body against the bed you both were sharing in. His shirt was tight, you could see his perfectly sculptured body frame. He was muscular under his thick attire. Still wearing his balaclava, he leaned closer to your ear, his hands grazing down to your thighs letting a moan escape your lips as you could feel his pressing bulge, it was unbearable. You wanted him...needed to feel him. He was teasing you with his bulge, it felt endless, you began to feel his lips linger over your neck with the mask still covering them. Even in the dream you wanted so badly to remove his mask to reveal his face, yet he had you pinned under him, you were entirely at the mercy of him. The teasing seemed to drag on for a long time the aching between your legs for his bulge as you rock your hips against him, he continued pushing yet not doing any more than that. Just when you thought he was going to kiss you, he moves his head close to your ear, they says in his low gruff voice "Y/n....wake up"

And just like that, you snapped up seeing the Lieutenant already ready for the day ahead in his bodyguard outfit. He wore a black leather jacket, dark cargo pants and his usual hiking boots. You grumbled, it was just a dream, a stupid one you told yourself. Dreaming of your lieutenant was really inappropriate. Yet you couldn't ignore your heated arousal from the dream. You got out of the bed groggily "I'm up I'm up...what time is it anyways." He simply stared at you, he was wearing his typical skull balaclava and gloves with his arms crossed leaning against the wall. "Time to get to work that's what." He grunts. Moving away from the wall seeing you're still not wearing a bra turning to the door "Gonna wake Soap up, get dressed, we have work to do. Laswell wants to brief before we go." You watch him leave the bedroom combing through your hair frowning "Okay-" Without a moment to consider what his deal was, you went into your bag to find what Laswell had packed for you, seeing the attire she picked up for this mission staring at it with horror "You've got to be fuckin kidding me-"

Ghost was taking a moment for himself standing in the hall way outside of their room scanning to make sure no one was near or lurking. Honestly he should wake up Soap, but the truth was- during the night you moaned out his name. As you slept you were rocking your hips, it was arousing. Ghost could see you craving but he didn't know how to process it. You were attractive no question, in fact he would indulge in a one night stand but he feared it would impact his work. Instead through the night he had to handle his arousal with the thought of you. Shame was all he could feel. You were a subordinate, nonetheless, he didn't want to use you for his own needs. Despite how much he'd crave you. Snapping back to the moment to prevent another annoying boner, he instead decided to take his anger onto Soap. He banged on his door loudly not caring he'd wake other people. Few minutes later, Soap begrudgingly woke up, opening his door "Bloody fuckin 'ell mate, I think I could hear your knock from Scotland." He rubbed his face as Ghost let himself in as Soap looked behind Ghost as if expecting someone else to follow "Where's y/n ?" Ghost glanced at him "Getting ready. She needed space" Nodding his head yawning "And I don't get any privacy?" Ghost glared at him as he lifts his hands up "Aight aight, Away n’ bile yer heid!" Hearing him speak made Ghost irritated "English, McTavish!" He had his arms crossed Soap huffed "Sorry, sir, let me translate: ‘Go f-ck yourself’." Ghost scuffs a bit at that "Much better" his eyes casted at the busy streets as Soap started getting ready himself.

You slid on the outfit picked out from Laswell, that'd make you look like a hooker, it was FAR too revealing. You groan grabbing your longest coat to cover yourself in, until you arrived at the club. You put on some high heels , did your makeup to match your outfit adding some rhinestones attaching near your eyelashes to give a sparkle. Putting on some earrings and necklace, you placed your fake blonde wig on, having it curled and put into a claw clip. You walk out of the bedroom, knocking at Soap's bedroom after not seeing Ghost down the hall. In that second Ghost answers, his eyes glowering down at you, this time covering yourself. He seems to be furrowing his brows in confusion but said nothing letting you in. Walking in Soap waved at you, yawning preparing the laptop for the briefing. Ghost stood a good distance to listen as Laswell spoke.

"We got words Gusev is making his way there to start transaction. He'll be there in about two hours." You frowned impressed who ever infiltrated knowing that kind of information. "Y/n, you wearing what I packed you ?" Hesitantly you nod, squeezing at your knees with your coat wrapped tightly around you, Laswell nods "Good, it's his favorite color and is something he won't refuse. Remember get the briefcase, hear what you need to hear, then have Ghost or Soap escort you out. The rest I'll leave up to you. Good luck." Nodding your heads the screen blanked as Soap put an arm around you "Alright lassy, let's do this !" You laugh softly, it was a nervous one but you stood up nodding your head. They both looked like typical bodyguards.

Arriving at the Club

When they arrived, Soap and Ghost looked from the backstage to see if he arrived. Soap went to guard at his station. He hugged you gently "Good luck, you know what to do when you need one of us" you smile gently nodding your head watching him walk off to take position, he definitely looked the part. That left Ghost alone with you. Your eyes glanced at him as he looked at you intently, before walking towards you handing you a Bluetooth headphone that'd camouflage inside your ear "That way, we can hear everything as well." You knew the reason. An actual female hooker shouted your undercover hooker name "Aphrodite let's go !" You shouted back "Coming !" You sigh out, unbuckling your coat, Ghost watching you seeing you pull off your coat.

If he wasn't wearing his mask you would've seen how much he was blushing. It was a sequin sunset color samba two piece. It definitely showed more skin, and it went well with your complexion. You let your wig hair down it was curled pulling over your shoulder. Rubbing your arms awkwardly seeing him look at you "It's weird isn't it...." You were definitely blushing more than ever. Especially when he said "You look good." He clears his throat taking your coat "We'll be there when you need us." His eyes looking into yours as you smile gently. You lean up, hands moving to his neck beckoning to lower himself thinking you had to whisper something only to feel you kiss the side of his cheek over his balaclava standing on your tip toes. "Thanks..." You walk off to do your job and find your target. Not daring to look back. Ghost stood for a moment processing the sensation of your touch, before going into position. He was to stand at the exit where luckily he'd have a view of where Gusev would be tabled at for his personal show. This made Ghost grip his hand as he stood like a bodyguard blending into the darkness. He mumbled softly "Soap, you in position?"

Apparently Soap must have just noticed you as he was gaping his mouth, one Ghost wanted to shut "Holy fuck-" he grunts grumbling "Focus Johnny, we're here to make sure everything doesn't escalate. Don't get distracted" looking around the club, the music was blasting loudly, it would cover anyone's scheming let alone shooting. The dancers were everywhere dancing and moving their hips, Ghost was really uncomfortable with watching so many lustful men here who would touch you. Made it harder for him. That's when Price came through "Ghost, Soap, we at the entrance he's here." Ghost locking eyes with you seeing you were blending into cover serving people drinks until you caught his eye sight. You knew. Time to get to work.

Seeing Gusev walk in with a partner and their bodyguards, your "boss" seemed to know he's a regular. They spoke some words as he seemed to already have his eyes on you. You could feel his gaze as the boss pointed in your direction as well indicating he was getting to take his pick. Next thing you knew "Aphrodite, Goldie, & Mariposa ! Seat 5" the girl that went by Goldie came at your side mumbling softly "This man, is picky, don't disappoint, he seems to already have an eye on you. You'll do great, just let him have his way" she struts over getting her high pitch squeal on as you process her words for a moment. Snapping into character you approach Gusev running your hand over his shoulder giving a playful smirk and wink "Already can see you been watching me..." He finishes your sentence "Gusev, but for tonight you can call me daddy" he laughs leaning in as you put a finger onto his lips playfully and flirtatiously "Daddy huh ? Cant let you have me that easy" this obviously intrigued him as he gave you a devilish look "You're a bold lass, I am going to enjoy the night with you. Why don't you sit pretty on my lap" you grin, you got him on your fingers already following him to where he was going to sit.

Ghost watched the whole interaction from his spot, you were definitely good at what you do. If he was going to be honest, he probably would've fallen for it too, he would have never suspected you for being a CIA undercover. He mumbles into his microphone "Gusev took bait. Briefcase in his possession" he was carrying it as he set it to the side of the seat with you sitting down on his lap. You were aware of it, but it was too soon to take a hold. He wondered how you intended to grab it as you sat on his lap. It made Ghost, feel something, almost, jealousy? Seeing you giggle and whisper in the man's ear, flirting, and lingering your hands over the man made Ghost clench his fist. He definitely didn't like how touchy you were with the target. Grumbling to himself as Soap mumbled, "I almost jealous of the bloody bloke" Ghost huffs "Stay sharp Soap, there's other matters to focus on" Minutes turned to an hour, you would just be sitting on his lap, as the man touched you, however you didn't act like you cared, you sure were in character, listening to the conversation between Gusev and his partner something he said caught your attention "You heard about that Hassan ? Says he wants to bloody bomb the place. That be a view won't it." They both laugh, this made your stomach churn, what did they mean bomb ? They continued as you kept your giddy act "Yeah, just think if we had more in our possession what we'd do ! Stupid Americans. They fell right into our hands. Wait till he sees our last one, he'll want his hands on it." You think you heard enough as you then encouraged Gusev to come give you some "attention" was then you made your move, you tried to encourage Gusev to walk with you to a private vip room. Your eyes directed Ghost to follow which he gave a subtle nod. Of course the man grabbed the briefcase, following you close behind staring at your ass, before smacking it, it made Ghost boil with anger more. He was looking forward to torturing the man. Once you got into the VIP room, Ghost left his post grumbling into microphone "Leaving post cover me Soap" the hall was full of VIP rooms yet, you left a subtle non obvious sign that he would see, it was one of your rhinestones attached to the door. He waited for a moment then heard you speak up louder "It would be a SHAME, if someone ruined our fun" this is when he burst in, of course you had already moved behind the man grabbing the briefcase while Ghost had a gun drawn at him. Shutting the door behind him "Alright. Now to business. You so much as shout, I'll put a bullet through you. Ya hear ?" He says gruffly.

His eyes scanned you making sure you were not harmed as you slipped around him panting softly as you move to his side. The man figuring it out cursing "You fuckin who-" but Ghost had punched him in the stomach "Watch your tongue !" The man coughed wincing from the punch Ghost threw, he was straight to business "What do you know ? Who were you meeting with tonight? " He was agitated you could see that the man spitting at his face. This definitely hit a spark. Ghost pulled on his gloves "Stand guard up front love. Don't come in no matter what." You didn't need to be told twice, you took the briefcase with you exiting the room. You hid it in the maintenance room, before standing guard at the door. Luckily the music cancelled out the man's screaming in agony but you could hear it and it was unnerving.

As you were leaning against the wall, a man came around the corner, now you had to play coy, it was Gusev partner looking for him. "Where's Gusev ?" You bite your lips, you were screwed, if he comes closer he'll definitely hear Ghost torturing the man. So you strided up to the man running your hands over him "He wanted a moment, poor guy finished so quickly he wanted to be alone" you were batting your eyes and biting your lip. He seemed to be oblivious as he huffs "Smh, what a loser. I'm sorry for you doll, but hey, I could use some attention" he smirks lifting up your chin, keeping a coy face "Another time maybe" Obviously drunk while being rejected was not a good mix as he slams you against a door to another room. The door swung open upon impact, you could feel the pain shoot up your back, it knocked the wind out of you, you didn't realize how weak these doors were, it took you longer to compose yourself, because he had already shut the door behind him. You were screwed. You were reeling in pain from getting thrown, just when you were about to stand up to run out, he pins you down hands over your head with one hand, your eyes were wide, you felt vulnerable, it felt like the last time. You struggled to push him off which only seemed to piss him off more as he punches you in the stomach making you cough in pain. He grabs your face making you look at him "Don't fucking fight me you w***e" you spit at his face as this only angers him more, he pulls out a knife holding it to your throat now pressing it as this made you whimper, mumbling "Get.The.Fuck.Off.Me!" The blade pressed harder the more you struggled cutting more as you stopped and froze feeling the blood drip until-

Ghost could hear struggle in the room near his, he frowned at the limp man's body. Deciding to inspect the noise, he notices you were no where in sight, as he immediately concluded you were in the room near his, the door was locked he could hear you shouting as he broke down the door quickly seeing the man over you. Rage filled him, he grabbed the man by the shoulder which surprised the man throwing him into the wall, taking the knife slitting his own throat and stabbing him in the gut.

In a blink of an eye, Ghost killed the man, you grabbed a hold of your neck, blood was seeping between your fingers, he luckily didn't kill you but it was very close. Ghost obviously saw this, eyes wide, as your blood dripped down between your chest. You spoke up softly trying to keep your voice low because it hurt "The case- maintenance room floor" you gave him a pleading look, he refused to leave you though calling for Soap "Soap, VIP room ASAP. Get the briefcase in maintenance room." He carefully peeled your hands away as Soap replied "On it LT" He wanted to see how bad it was, it was a big cut, your eyes were looking at his, as he met yours "You'll be alright.." he grumbled pulling out his first aid kit, putting a gauze on it the wrapping a wrap around your neck you stayed still, your wig coated with blood. He finished, Soap had found the briefcase in hand as noticed the door open seeing you "Y/n, the fuck happened ?" Ghost glances at him then back at you picking you up, you could stand but Ghost wasn't having it. He swooped under your knees picking you up as he passed by Johnny leaving the VIP section "Another time Soap, let's get out. Grab Gusev we'll interrogate him more somewhere else." He radios for Price "Price we're leaving. Y/n wounded. Got the briefcase, come pick up this mess." Going out the back way, Alejandro and Rudy were there seeing you their eyes widen, but not saying a word as they went in to get Gusev to interrogate more. Ghost said nothing. He took you back to get you taken care of by their medic. He felt like he failed. You were hurt because of him.

You could tell he was blaming himself as you squeeze his hand that was holding at your waist "I'm fine." You say softly his makeshift wrap was bleeding through "And thanks for saving me" he glances down at you putting you into the separate car passenger seat they had, he seems to be looking at you every inch seeing bruises appear on your wrist and stomach as he asks softly "Did he-" you shook your head silently knowing what he meant as this seemed to make him feel relieved. "Good, let's get you back and tended to, little Goddess" you smile softly sitting in the seat as he got behind the wheel, everyone else would be taking the other vehicles with the beaten up Gusev so it would be just you and Ghost driving back to get you looked after. It was a long night. And you're not even closed to finishing. There was a lot dwelling on your mind too, hearing the conversation between Gusev and his men, it made you wonder: What the heck they mean Bomb and Americans ? Is there a traitor ? Does everyone know about this already ? These were questions that ran through your mind the whole drive, Ghost seemed silent the whole way, which was fine. You had a lot on your mind and the ordeal was stressful to think about what could have happened.

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Thanks for Reading !

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