#operator be like *static noises*
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Radio Silence
The mission required you to separate from the rest of Task Force 141 but when the operation is compromised, all he can do is listen to the panic through the comms until everything goes silent.
Pairings: Captain John Price x GN!Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader
Reader Aliases: Breeze (Callsign), Bravo 1-5 (Squad-Member Code)
Genre: Angst (open-ended), Drama
Warning: Descriptions of violence/crashes, blasphemy/religious references, (probably) inaccurate military terms
Word Count: 3k (~1.5k each)
Captain John Price
The captain was not a superstitious man, but when you’re on the battlefield, you take all the good fortune you can get. With age he’s picked up a range of small habits and lucky paraphernalia to get him through the mission; an aged penny in his left breast pocket, a four leaf clover stored in another, he finds himself reciting the lord’s prayer even though he’s not particularly religious (and if there is a god he’d like to personally go up and sock them across the face).
When you noticed his little rituals, you added on a good luck charm of your own - his favourite by far. A quick peck on the cheek followed by a teasing little “good luck, captain” in his ear. Price swears there’s something divine in your affection, it does wonders for his morale and efficiency. He thought nothing of it the first few times, but when he realised that this little gift of yours was here to stay, he started to reciprocate in kind when the others weren’t looking. His soul has become tainted over the years - if anything a kiss from him should be a bad omen - but your beaming smile in response convinces him that maybe he’s given you some luck your way.
And perhaps that’s why, after your ritual good luck kiss, he feels a little more than bothered when Laswell calls you away before he can reciprocate. You notice the slight furrow of his eyebrows and laugh, telling him not to worry and that you’ll see him on the other side. The hold you had on his arm disappears as you pull away, bidding him and the rest of the Task Force good luck as you join your own squadron. Price then returns to commandeering his own men, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind. Perhaps you need that extra little bit of luck today.
Price hates how good his intuition can be.
“Bravo 0-6, do you copy?”
With his squadron grounded and on the perimeter of the site, he stiffens at the tone of your voice. That’s not how you usually sound like over comms, that hint of uncertainty didn’t suit you.
“Loud and clear, in position of Site A.”
“Copy, we’re at the compound but… we’ve got company.”
“Al-Qatala?”
“No, looks like Al-Qatala is buddy-buddy with some mercs and- shit.”
“Breeze, what are you seeing?”
“How’d they get us surrounded…?” You mutter more to yourself than to Price but his blood runs cold regardless.
“Bravo 1-5 you are to fall back and wait for backup-”
He’s cut off by various layers of static but he’s learnt to decipher them. The deeper base of the rustle of fabric as you manoeuvre, the sharp trill of gunshots all overlaying the white noise of distant shouting.
“Price, our exits are blocked, they knew we’d be here, how’d they- Corporal! Fuck, stay with me! We’re dropping like flies here. Bravo-1, we’ve got no choice, we have to push through, full offensive!”
He hears the screams of nearby soldiers. While he’s grateful none of them are yours, he knows that the ride back to base will be a rough one regardless. He feels the eyes of his subordinates burn holes into him and the walkie talkie. Gaz, who was beside him, was the only one moving, animatedly talking to Laswell and filling her in on the situation.
“Bravo 1-5-”
There’s an audible sigh on your end that shuts him up.
Through the time it has taken for Price to become captain, he’s learned a lot the hard way. One of the most important things he’s learned is that earning Lady Luck’s favour is more crucial than any skill for the battlefield. Some of the best he’s ever seen has fallen because they pissed her off somehow, but he still never expected her to shun you.
“Just my luck…” your voice starts off quiet as you curse to yourself. A gulp breaks up your panting as you stabilise your breathing. Your next words are far too calm.
“I’m sorry, Price.”
“Sergeant.” Price’s voice was low, cautious. A warning. He knows how you fight, he knows you don’t do anything extreme unless the situation he calls for it, and once again he’s praying to the unknown that it hasn’t come to that.
“I said next time we hit the pub with the 141 that the first round will be on me but I don’t think I can make that.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, Breeze.”
“The merc company goes by Order of Ashes.”
Your words are becoming harder to hear as the explosions seem to be getting closer and closer. Gaz is becoming louder, literally screaming into his comms as he near begs for an evac for your squadron. The rest of his team is becoming restless. Price’s grip tightens impossibly tight on the walkie talkie, any tighter and he could probably crush the metal.
“Rain hell on them for me, yeah?”
Price starts calling for your name, only to be interrupted by a deafening static that has him reeling from his own technology. Inexperienced privates that surrounded him flinched at the sound while Gaz fell silent. Soon Price’s walkie talkie falls silent too.
He brings his hand up to activate communications again, a tentative check in.
“Bravo 1-5, do you copy?”
He waits for a moment.
“Fuck. Breeze? Do you copy?”
The next time he calls out to you is the first time he’s hesitant, to the untrained ear he sounded as strong as ever but to him he recognises how his own voice wavers. A gentle call of your actual name, the last resort.
Silence.
Price gives you a few more seconds to answer, each moment more damning than the last. Gaz sends a concerned look his way but words fail him. He’s a good sergeant but his inexperience is showing. He hasn’t fully mastered the poker face, not like Price has.
Eventually he lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, counting each racing heartbeat it takes until it has marginally slowed.
Gaz instinctively straightened up, he didn’t need to see Price’s face to know his captain was transforming before his very eyes. Price adjusts his hat, looking at the rest of his team under the brim.
“Alright, we’ve got double the work and half the manpower. No time to lose, I want this site cleared within the hour, and then we're finding our other half."
With affirmatives all round, the soldiers get to work and so does Price. To the untrained eye, he’s calm, eerily so. As captain, Price can’t afford to lose his cool, it’ll bleed over and smother his team, blanket them in a tense atmosphere of panic and uncertainty. So he stays resolute, acting as the team’s anchor as he guides them towards the objective with precision.
The only emotion that breaks his facade is anger. Pure, unbridled rage that casts a frightening glaze over his eyes. His allies can see it as Price stomps towards the entrance of the site. Al-Qatala most certainly feel it as their lackeys are pummeled to the ground, bones cracking against stone and tiles. They’re not gifted the mercy of a quick bullet, but the pain of slowly bleeding out with broken bones, bruised bodies and limbs jutting out in all the ways they should not. Every bruising punch, every bullet delivered does little to quell the raging storm within him. It brings him closer to the mission objective but it doesn’t bring him closer to you, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. There’s no hostages, no chance of salvation for his enemies. Any form of good will in Price was taken away when you were taken away from him. He hopes whatever god that sees the carnage he’s inflicted knows that it is only a taste of what to come if he ever meets that poor sod.
When his side of the operation is done and the squadron is now leaving the site, Price returns to his comms. He needs to address the other half of the mission, you. Suddenly his tongue feels thick in his mouth as his throat tightens. His collar is suffocating.
“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher-1 do you copy?”
Laswell’s voice rings out.
“Affirmative. We’ve already dispatched birds to Bravo-1’s location, we’ll do what we can and sort out that compound.”
“Do me one more thing. Find me everything you can on the ‘Order of Ashes’. I want names, locations, families, the whole fucking mile.”
“Can do. … Is this for Breeze?”
“Breeze wanted me to rain hell on them…”
Price’s voice is low as he puts a cigar in his mouth. He lights it up, even when the cigar smokes he keeps the lighter on. His eyes narrow at the flickering flame, fixated on it for a moment longer. He’s never been a particularly superstitious man, but he’s asking for Lady Luck to be on his side once again. For the slim chance that you’re somewhere out there, breathing. He’s never been worthy of her favour, but you damn well are so surely she’ll put that into account. She’ll consider that you still have a lot to do, you still have a good luck kiss that Price needs to return. He puts his lighter away.
“... and I intend to deliver.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Ghost preferred his quieter missions. Others feel safer when in a team but more people mean more variables, and more variables mean more fuck ups, and heavens know he’s had enough of those. For Ghost, the less, the better. And yet, when it came to 141, and in particular to you, he’d pick company over going solo in a heartbeat.
Reconnaissance missions were a personal favourite, they were quiet, less violent if done right and often required only a few people. Of course his first person of choice is you, even if you’d always call these missions an “impromptu date” and then chastise him for not planning something more extravagant just to rile him up.
Even now, when you two were starting on opposite sides of the target site a good few kilometres apart, you were connected through communications. He’d listen as you ramble about anything and everything on your mind when the mission gets quiet. It was endearing, it was soothing. Ghost never thought he’d find someone like you with the power to give him a respite even when on duty - or if he ever deserved such a thing. And yet here he was, sitting against a wall, waiting for further instructions from Laswell as you started the purely hypothetical debate on who in the 141 would best survive the zombie apocalypse.
“Honestly, with a mask like yours you could probably blend in with the horde. 10 out of 10 you’d last your entire life like that.”
“Surrounded by brain dead morons? Already have that.”
He heard your laugh that you tried to mask as an exaggerated scoff.
“How long do you think I’d last?”
“One hour at most.”
“Oh come on Ghost, have a bit more faith in me.”
“All Bravo to Watcher-1, we’re awaiting further action, copy.”
As Laswell replies, Simon can already imagine your offended expression as he changes the topic.
“Bravo-1 this is Watcher-1, you are all clear to close in on the perimeter. Do not engage, just tell us what you see.”
“Watcher-1 this is Bravo 1-5, I’m already seeing hostiles.”
Ghost stills, his hand reaching back up to the comms. You’ve always managed to keep it cool but he heard how your sentence ended with a slight waver. It was too early for speculation, but the alarm bells were already going off in his head. The enemy should be clustered within the site, nowhere near where you currently are.
“I’m counting a dozen men, a couple of trucks and- that’s looking like some impressive cargo.”
There’s some extra static as Ghost finds his pace increasing. He won’t be able to reach you soon, but it doesn’t stop his legs from moving towards the site.
“They’re moving quickly, they’ve got an agenda.”
“Stay frosty, Breeze.”
“Got it, Simon.”
Your voice is more of a whisper now, almost blending in with the static. Was the enemy that close to you already? Usually, he loved when you used his actual name. Everyone calls him ‘Ghost’ even off-duty, but you were proper enough to at least always call him by his callsign in battle. You were getting spooked and he was too far away to even try and comfort you.
It was a strain to unclench his balled fists. He wasn’t going to have a mission go wrong, at least not one that involved you. He’d be damned if something took you out before him, because he refused to return to a life where you weren’t yapping his ear off.
“Breeze, head back to exfil.”
“Fuck, they’re heading this way.”
If you found a good place to hide, Ghost could reach you before any enemy did. He had to.
“I’m heading towards your position. E.T.A 20 minutes.”
“Ghost, my spot is now crawling with hostiles. I know you’re a one man army but I think you’re pushing it this time.”
Your laugh was different this time. It wasn’t as hearty as the one he heard before, it was a weak wheeze. Half-hearted, the sound of a bitter and quiet defeat. He could hear your rugged breathing against the end of the mic. If he was actually with you, he’d stand beside you in moments like this, letting you put your body weight on him discreetly as he anchored you to the world. His gloved hand instinctively curls as he imagines himself holding onto your arm.
“Breeze, stay with me. Focus on the objective.”
“You owe me a proper date after this, Ghost.”
“Then make sure you get back in one piece-”
The comms are disrupted with a voice that Ghost can’t recognise, with you returning an indistinguishable shout and a curse. He can’t help calling your name into the comms, only to hear the static of indescribable commotion, bodies shuffling and the harrowing crack of broken bones and limbs. It escalates into a deafening crescendo spanning only a few seconds before the grand finale of a thump of a fallen body. The transmission ends with a damning click. He stops in his tracks before he returns to the comms.
“Breeze? How copy?”
The line has gone dead. Ghost slams his fist into the nearest wall, but it does little to quell the pain from within.
“Bravo this is Watcher-1, what’s your status?”
Ghost pauses at Laswell’s request, he wants you to be the one who replies on his behalf, you usually do. Never did a moment feel so heavy, outweighing his military gear and weapons, almost bringing the hulking man to his knees. His hand reluctantly comes up to activate his walkie talkie. He takes his sweet time, giving you the chance to interrupt. When he finally speaks, his voice is slow as he draws out every syllable, every pause a desperate invitation for you to speak up.
“Bravo 1-5 is M.I.A.”
Laswell is silent on the other side. Ghost lets his head tilt back until it rests on the wall beside him, the guilt made his skull too heavy. With that sentence alone he felt like your executioner, as if he just brought the possibility of you being gone into reality. The only thing he can hear now is the slight rustle of grass against the wind, a backdrop to the rhythmic bass of his pounding heartbeat. This was a typical ambience for solo missions, and Ghost was used to being alone.
But lonely? He had forgotten how it felt ever since you barged into his life. And now that the feeling has returned, he forgot just how utter shit it feels.
“We’re sending immediate backup to their position. We’ll meet you there.”
But by the time he and the squadron make it to your position, there are only the remnants of a battle left in your wake. A few unrecognised bodies are slumped against the walls, furniture is overturned, and dried blood paints the floor as a macabre dye. Most - if not all - of this must have been your handiwork, and if it was any other circumstance Ghost would feel proud, but you’re not beside him for him to praise you. That being said, there is no sign of you, and that leaves him optimistic, but the other soldiers seemed to think differently.
“You know, they say Al-Qatala never takes prisoners,” one jittery private said to another.
“What’re you trying to say? I've seen the Sergeant. Breeze is tough.”
“I’m just saying, even if we can’t find their body they’re probably d-”
“That’s enough,” Ghost snaps his head to them, eyes alight with a rage usually reserved only for his worst enemies. His voice is near unrecognisable, more akin to a growl than any human sound. He will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of you or doubting your capabilities as a soldier. He tells himself he does it for your honour, nothing more, nothing less. He disregards the selfish need for you to return to him as it wittles him down to the bone and contorts his face to a scowl concealed under his mask.
The soldiers hurriedly salute before exiting the room, leaving the lieutenant alone, shoulders and chest heaving before he moves to continue the search.
The team returns empty handed, but that means nothing to Ghost. Even as he’s issued new missions he does not falter. He fights with the same brutality, killing his enemy before they can kill him because he needs to return home. Return home so he can organise a covert mission of his own - retrieving you. No matter the rank or squadron that separates you, no matter if you’re shipped out to the other side of this godforsaken earth, you two are a team. Combat has hardened Ghost into a brutally honest man, many would call him a pessimist, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refuses to believe that you’re gone. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be dating him. He’s seen you stare death in the eyes only for you to stand back up beside him. And so he faces forward and doesn’t look back. Because until he has to rip off the freezing metal of a dog tag from your neck, he swears on his stone cold heart that you’re still out there. Maybe a little tattered, perhaps even broken, but living.
Call of Duty Masterlist
#cod x reader#task force 141 x reader#call of duty x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#captain price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#captain john price#simon ghost riley#cod 141#cod mwii#call of duty modern warfare#/*avery actually writes*/
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A Demon’s Ache — Part 20
Eyeless Jack x Reader
A Demon's Ache Masterlist
Commissioned by @cookiereblogss — thank you so so much for your whole support throughout this entire series! It genuinely wouldn’t be here without you, and I appreciate it so much 💓💗💖
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Masterlist: x
Pain
Before he can even begin to understand where he is, all he can register is pain
His body’s numb with it
A groan escapes him
Blood pounds in his eardrums
It feels like his head’s being split open from the inside—he can’t remember the last time he had such a bad migraine
He reaches up to press his hands to his head, as if doing so could alleviate his headache, and the movement is accompanied by the sound of metal clanging against metal
He pauses, his body stiffening as he realizes there's a weight around his wrists
He’s chained down to something
With a disgruntled sound, he forces his attention to his surroundings
The first thing he notices is that he’s in some sort of basement, with dark wood-paneled walls and bare stone floors
He’s not wearing his mask, his face uncomfortably exposed for anyone to see, but that’s the least of his problems right now
He's kneeling, chained to the wall, he realizes, in front of both you and The Operator
Worry laces your features
The scent of your stress and fear permeates the otherwise stale, dead air
Panic infiltrates Jack's system as things start to click into place
What happened?
He tries to think back to the last thing he remembers; something about running through the forest, something about wanting to kill
But the more he tries to remember, the louder that dull pounding in his head grows, and he realizes he just can't concentrate properly
Not right now, anyway, not like this
He tries to shake the discomfort off, and then, feeling awkward just kneeling there in front of the both of you, he stands
Or, at least, he tries to stand, but his legs are shaky and unstable, like he recently over-exerted himself, and his muscles are too stiff to function properly, so he gives up, and simply stays on the dirty floor
“Jack…” you say his name, then hesitate, like you’re scared or uncertain about something
It breaks his heart
He wants to reach out and comfort you
Before anything else—before even figuring out what happened and why he’s here—he just wants to make sure you’re ok
Jack Nyras
He flinches at the sound of his name, his real, full name, echoed in his mind by The Operator's rumbling hiss
He can't remember the last time he heard that name—it feels like lifetimes ago
He'd almost forgotten it entirely, and, in all honesty, he would've preferred to keep it that way
You have violated the laws of the Safe House
Static fills his mind, growing in intensity with every word
What is your defense?
Defense?
He can hardly remember what happened, and now he's supposed to defend himself?
He tries to concentrate again, tries to think through the noise crowding his head
He remembers making it to a cabin—the proxies' cabin?
He remembers wood splintering and glass shattering, and then there was something about a fight, something about squeezing someone's neck between his hands, feeling pleasure as their life slowly drained away
He shivers, repressing the memory
What is your defense?
The question is repeated, louder this time, noticeably less forgiving and more commanding
"I-I don't know," Jack admits out loud, "I don't have one"
You are aware of the consequences of violating the laws of the Safe House
Even though it isn't a question, it's phrased as though The Operator expects an answer
And so, with a nod, Jack complies
"I am"
The faceless monster tilts its head to the side, the motion, of which, might’ve been unnerving if Jack hadn’t grown so used to it
Do you accept the consequences?
The hybrid furrows his brows
The biggest rule of the mansion was to never intentionally harm another resident
The punishments ranged in severity depending on circumstance, but Jack definitely had the intention to kill—and to kill one of Slender’s beloved proxies, nonetheless
Having him ask if he accepted the consequences could only mean one thing; he was about to face expulsion
How could he just accept that?
He looks up at you, at your fear, at your nervousness and confusion and uncertainty
What about her? Why did you drag her down to see this?
He doesn't say it out loud, but he directs his question to the eldritch being
Her presence is for her own benefit, seeing as her fate is tied to yours
It takes him a moment to register the low timber pervading his mind
And, at first, he almost thinks he didn't understand correctly
"What do you mean?"
He asks the question slowly, carefully, keeping his voice low as if to contain the mix of emotions threatening to surface
He doesn't look away from you as he asks, either—he can't
He wants to see your reaction, wants to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling
Part of him is also curious to see if you understand what they're talking about, based solely on his side of the conversation
Or maybe you’re having your own internal discussion with The Operator at the same time
But then he notices the obvious confusion and burning curiosity stirring alongside your fear, and he realizes you really don’t know
She has become inherently tied to you; she will share your decided fate, it repeats
"What? Why? That doesn't make any sense," he jerks in his chains; a futile attempt to free himself
She didn't do anything wrong
He adds in that last part in his head because he doesn’t want you to know what they're talking about
Part of him still insists on sheltering you from as much of this mess as possible
It is simply how things must come to pass
The Operator expresses it with such an air of indifference that it makes Jack's blood boil
"I refuse," Jack hisses
After everything he's done, everything he did to you—he can't be the reason you're expelled
He's caused enough disorder in your life as is
You have no choice, The Operator answers simply
"Give me the choice," Jack insists, a snarl accidentally rippling out of him as his anger bubbles out
And it isn't like him at all to succumb to his anger so easily; he usually prides himself on his ability to remain calm and collected, even in tense situations
But it’s like this whole thing is just grating on his nerves at this point
And it’s even worse since you’re involved in this, too
And that's when it suddenly clicks that this must be one of the many effects of the mark
You have no choice, The Operator repeats, and as the voice fills his head, so does an overwhelming wave of static
Jack chokes back another snarl
His muscles tense, and he grits his teeth, trying to bear the pain threatening to split his head open again
"S-stop—don't hurt him!"
Hearing you cry out for him, he looks up, right as another surge of agony knocks the breath out of him
It's dizzying
The pain pushes and presses up against his skull, like his head's suddenly way, way too crowded and it's on the verge of bursting
Once it's filled his mind, left with no other space to invade, it travels down his nervous system like a flash of electricity, burning every single nerve ending along the way
It's excruciating
The intensity drowns out everything in his surroundings
Somewhere at the back of his mind, he hears you crying out again, but he can't make out the words over the shrill ringing in his ears
He sees you trying to reach for him, sees The Operator's tendrils appear out of nowhere to wrap around you, to hold you back from helping him
Jack hisses out through gritted teeth
His chest heaves with labored breaths as he’s violated from the inside-out
Something cold licks up his thoughts, and then all at once, his memories are forced to surface
Every interaction, every intimate moment shared between the two of you is brought up and laid bare for The Operator to pick through
The steamy exchanges, the longing, the private glances, the first kiss—all of the back and forth, the tangle of emotions and miscommunications that'd been treasured in his memories is yanked from the privacy he'd previously taken for granted
No, no, no—stop—stop doing this—make it stop
Even through the burning pain, the words repeat themselves over and over in his head—as if merely thinking it could stop him
He'd rather be tortured than forced to expose everything like this
It’s beyond violating—he’s tarnishing the intimacy of the memories by being so rough and cruel with them
He doesn’t know how long it lasts—it feels like a short, endless eternity
And then, before he knows it, it’s all over
The agony subsides like it was never there to begin with, and he's left dizzy and nauseous, and torn between wanting to cry and wanting to kill the damn bastard with his bare hands
When he looks up at you, an apology hangs at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't have time to express it as he notices the fear in your eyes, now more intense than ever, as The Operator's tentacles twist and writhe around your form
One quick snap would be all it takes to kill you
He lurches forward, about to plead, about to say anything to save you, when you open your mouth and speak
"I- I don't know," you say, and he realizes The Operator's in your mind now, having a conversation about God-knows-what
He wants to interrupt, wants to beg him not to hurt you, but at the same time, he's scared doing just that will jeopardize your safety
You chew at your lip, looking at Jack with uncertainty clear on your features
"It's-it's complicated—please, just, don't—"
You cut yourself off with a wince, and when you squirm in Slender’s hold, the tendrils tighten even further around you like he's planning on suffocating you
Jack holds his breath
He doesn't know whether or not he should say something
He's never felt so helpless
You wince again, squeezing your eyes shut
"Yes," you answer, and Jack's just about dying to know the context of the exchange
The following seconds trickling are unbearably slow and agonizing
Your eyes keep darting back and forth uncertainly, looking at him, looking at Slender, then back to him with your brows furrowed in contemplation
Just free her, he pleads internally, just let her go and I won't cause any more trouble
But almost immediately as he thinks it, your breath catches in your throat with a gasp
“N-no—don’t,” he tries to beg, knowing what’s coming, but as soon as he opens his mouth, you scream
Pain contorts your features, your body going rigid before you twist and jerk to try to free yourself
God, he can’t stand it
He can’t stand the sound of your pain, the sight of your visceral gut-wrenching agony
"Stop, stop! Make it stop—I'll do anything!"
Pleas falling on deaf ears, he snarls, jerking forward only to have the chains snap him back into place
Your screaming overrides his humanity—whatever was left of his rational mind evaporates and leaves behind his baser instincts
It turns him into a monster
He doesn’t hear himself snarling and growling over your pained cries
He doesn’t hear the chains groaning in protest, doesn’t register the feeling of them bending with strain as he pulls against them with all of his force
He just needs to make it stop
The metal creaks unpleasantly as he gains an inch, and then another one after that
The fixture restraining him to the wall goes taut, and then, all at once, it finally snaps off
The tentacles disappear as he rushes toward you
He wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to his chest, as if the less distance there is between the both of you, the better he can protect you
The last thing he thinks is that he'd die for you, and then everything goes dark
He wakes up sore and disoriented, which seems to be a recurring theme as of late
Except, this time, instead of being in some shady basement, he's... outside, in the forest
Sun peaks through the canopy of the trees, dappling the grass in bright patches of warmth
With a groan, Jack sits upright
His mask is staring up at him from a bed of wildflowers
He picks it up, fixes it over his face, and looks around
He doesn't immediately recognize this part of the forest, which would worry him—if a more intense kind of panic didn't immediately seize his chest at the realization that you're not anywhere around
He wastes no time standing up, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles, and moving in the direction of the sun
But he only makes it maybe 20 minutes or so when he feels a presence behind him
He tenses, knowing it could only be one person
And, surely enough, when he turns around, he finds Slender facing him expectantly
"Where is she?"
He wastes no time asking the question
Fuck everything else, he just needs to know you're ok
(Y/n) has made a bargain, it informs, and it sets Jack on edge even more so than he already was
She has 24 hours to decide, among other things, whether or not she is willing to become your mate
Jack's throat tightens
Failure to accept, or failure to decide, will result in both of you being expelled from the Safe House
He’s condemned you, Jack thinks, much to his horror; because of this mess he’s created, he’s inadvertently forcing you to either live a life you don’t want, or lose the one you currently cherish so deeply
It's all his fault
Nausea like bile rises in his throat
“Is there… is there any other way around this?” he insists, “Can't you just expel me, and leave her out of this? She didn’t do anything to deserve punishment—she didn't break any rules”
The Operator tilts his head to the side
The mere notion that a compromise is being permitted is an exception not permitted to most. There is no other way
“What about—“ he tries again, balling his fists at his side as he refuses to accept things, “what about if—if things don't pan out," he takes a deep breath, knowing it's a plausible reality, "and we're both kicked out—if we sort things outside of the mansion, and come to some kind of peaceful agreement or understanding together—could she still be allowed in?”
A tense second passes as The Operator considers his question
If, it clarifies, you and (y/n) come to an agreement that guarantees you will not be jeopardizing the sanctuary of the Safe House, I may consider her re-admittance based on a very strictly defined set of terms
The burden on his shoulders lightens somewhat
It isn’t much, but it’s something—something he can cling to if nothing else works
Some kind of hope
You are to remain here until the decision is taken, or the time otherwise reaches its end
And, just like that, he vanishes
For the rest of the morning—or, at least, what he assumes to be morning, based on the position of the sun—Jack wanders aimlessly through the forest
He thinks about the past few hours, how quickly everything spiraled, how it's all his fault
He doesn't know how you could ever manage to forgive him—much less accept being his mate
He runs through hundreds of scenarios in his head, trying to figure out the best course of action that would guarantee you keep your spot at the mansion
Jack's not an idiot; he's always known Slender's had an eye on him, so to speak
Maybe he could strike up his own bargain; becoming a proxy in exchange for your guaranteed residence at the mansion
He'll sell his soul to the devil for you, if he has to
Time trickles by slowly, painfully so
He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he just overthinks, and overthinks, and overthinks some more after that
The sun crests over the midway point in the sky, dips down a few inches, and still, no word from Slender
He sits, leaning his back against a tree, and tries to relax, tries to fall asleep or something to pass the time—but it, of course, is impossible to do so
He digs his fingers into the soft dirt
He feels the earth give way beneath his nails, and it reminds him of the feeling of tearing organs from a body
He pulls out a patch of grass, sprinkles it around him, repeats the motion
He’s ripped out maybe half a dozen handfuls when he feels that presence in front of him again
He looks up, and sees The Operator looking down at him
You are free to return to the mansion
It’s all he says before disappearing
The demon’s heart leaps up his throat
He stands, and starts making his way toward what he can only guess to be the mansion’s general direction
He doesn’t know why the damn bastard couldn’t have just teleported him there, or why he was forced to wait in this forest, but none of that matters right now
All that matters is he has the chance to see you again, to make sure you’re ok
It takes him longer than he would’ve liked to make it, but a few hours into his trek, he spots that familiar shape of the large building just up ahead
He picks up the pace, nearly jogging the rest of the way
He doesn’t wait a moment longer to make it to your room
As soon as he reaches it and makes it to your room, he notices that your door’s wide open, but you’re not inside
He takes in a slow, steadying breath
His room
He should check his own room; maybe you figured it’d be better to meet him there
After everything that’s been said and done, even despite Slender’s verdict, he doesn’t want to get his hopes crushed
Which is why he keeps his expectations exceptionally low as he beelines it to his room
And after everything that’s happened up until this point, it almost doesn’t even feel real when he sees you there; curled up in his bed, your eyes closed and your breathing slow and steady with his pillow hugged to your chest
He walks up to the bed, careful to not wake you
But either you weren’t sleeping, or you weren’t in a very deep sleep, because you immediately open your eyes when he gets to the edge of the bed
“…Hey,” you say, softly, your voice gentle, with a faint smile on your lips
“Hey,” he answers
You move over a few inches to make space for him, then pat the empty space next to you
He’s, admittedly, somewhat hesitant, somewhat nervous to accept the offer
But when he does, and when you cuddle up next to him, and he can hold you in his arms again so that nothing could hurt you, he finally relaxes around you
It wasn’t a secret that the hybrid had a thing for you
But now you knew; knew how badly he wanted you, knew the lengths he’d go to please you, to make you his
Maybe he’s not so hopeless after all, he thinks
Maybe, just maybe, things are going to be ok
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𝐃𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬
Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader
wordcount: 6.1k words
summary: The night that death granted you mercy you swore to never let yourself become vulnerable again. That was until you started to be haunted by a man who knew your feelings all too well.
warnings: smut, mask stays on, slight breeding kink, angst, injury, mentions of past trauma, super fluffy, established relationships, (Ghost is highkey obsessed with you)
“Who’s your crew?” Laswell asks while sighing, exasperated by Price’s persistence. He swipes up the stack of files she got for him before going through them.
“Sergeant Garrick.”
“Kyle?” she recalls.
“They call him ‘Gaz’. He never said anything.” Laswell looks over the front of the file before he pulls out another. “John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper- demolitions. Goes by ‘Soap’.” Once again Price hands it to Laswell.
“Why?”
“That’s classified.” Price’s tone is even before he moves on chuckling. “There he is… Simon Riley.” When he places this one down, Laswell’s eyebrows knit, “There’s no picture.”
“Never.”
He softly whistles before saying your name, “… but she only answers to ‘Rose’.”
“Rose? That’s a delicate name.” Laswell arches a brow when Price lets out a dry laugh.
“Anything but.” Price taps the photo attached to the folder. The woman was mean mugging the camera with a hardened expression that made even him shudder and was the envy of any of the men who joined her ranks.
“Now the rest…” Price swipes the files back while staring down the CIA station chief across from him. “That’s need to know. Unless we got a deal.”
Laswell stares back at him equally stoic, “What are you calling this task force?”
A light smirk plays on Price’s lips, “1-4-1.”
Sweat percolates from every inch of your skin as you make your way to your designated post. The heavy fatigues and protective gear that use to bother you now act as a comforting weight. A reminder of where you are and the mission you are about to accomplish with your team. Not some sissy team, but Task Force 141; a special operations task force military unit that housed the best and… wildest.
Wildest was far more apt than the word brightest to describe the band of seasoned soldiers Captain Price brought together. He recruited you from the United States military special force known as 75th Ranger Regiment. Anyone who has met someone you fought alongside knew the female killing machine that holds the moniker “Rose”.
At first, you wanted to decline Price’s proposition to join. You’d worked under the command of General Shepherd before during your time with the U.S. Army Rangers, but you were still hesitant. After surviving unspeakable horrors in Afghanistan, you became far too deep in your itch to maim and kill.
Not only did you need the structure being a part of a force gave you, but the thrill. When your old captain tried to give you a base job after recovering from severe injuries you went berserk. Hell, you were even moments away from joining the French Foreign Legion. Of course, Price caught wind of this and promised to put you to work. Luckily for him, he kept up his promise.
You are a specially trained fucking soldier; not a rookie, not a gun polisher, but a sharpshooter that rivaled the likes of Simon “Ghost” Riley. The statement might sound crass, but you didn’t have the luxury to lapse in confidence. Every corner you turn, every order you follow, and every shot you take must be concise and without a shred of hesitation. This wasn’t fun and games, it was life and death.
Well… maybe it’s a little bit of fun sometimes.
Scuffling noises and grunts fill the coms until they abruptly cease.
“Rose, do you copy?”
Silence.
“Answer me, Rose. Do. You. Copy.” Now the question turned into gritted demands. Each word leaves a sharper bite than the last.
Silence is the only answer yet again. Before Ghost can crush the radio in his steely grip, static meets his ears.
Grunting you push the now limp body on your chest to the ground. “Copy Lt.” Blood audibly squelches as you reclaim your knife. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Wiping the trusty blade on your pant leg you chuckle at a joke in your head, “What has two arms, two legs, and ten holes?
Soap can be heard groaning. You are just as bad as Ghost when it comes to so-called “army humor”. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin-“ Someone clicks their mic to cut off Soap’s grumbling.
“What?” A gravelly voice that gives you goosebumps plays along.
“The guy I just stabbed.”
“Ten holes huh?”
“Men have nine, thought he could use an extra one in the neck.”
“You’re bloody sick.”
“No, I’m quite blood free right now and I don’t have a stuffy nose. Thanks for your concern.”
A deep huff cuts through the coms and you recognize it as Ghost’s version of a laugh. Triumph fills you with being the one to elicit that rare sound. Thankfully, no one else was around to catch the subtle blush rising on your cheeks.
Focus, Rose.
“What do you call a Russian sniper from the Soviet Army who never misses his target?” Ghost asks you right after you finish clearing the hallway that held the stairway leading to the roof of the building.
“Go on.” You encourage as you start to make your ascent.
“The most skilled marxman in the military.” Now that had to be the most military dad joke you’ve ever heard.
“Please tell me you’re at your spot Rose.” Soap once again groans and for a second he regrets every decision that got him stuck with the two of you.
With an amused lilt in your voice, you push open a metal door, cold night air giving a second of reprieve against your hot skin. “Fortunately for you and unfortunately for me, affirmative.”
Taking a deep breath, you crouch before setting your M21 EBR sniper rifle on the edge of the roof and maneuvering the ACOG Scope attached. The semi-automatic rifle has extremely low recoil and you liked its dual use for medium and longer ranges. Other soldiers had a hard time with the scope’s slight sway, but you tamed the gun how one would a horse; using a subtle, soft touch to steer it in the right direction.
Electricity thrums through you as you anticipate what is about to take place. You adjust your scope until you’re finally focused on the building across the street. Standing behind one of the windows was your target, Nabeel Bashar, drinking and laughing with other men in the room.
Nabeel Bashar is a close associate of Hassan Zyani and one of the lower-ranked leaders in the terrorist organization Al-Qatala. Although he’s not important enough to give you information you don’t already have, his death is important enough to make an impact.
That’s it Nabeel. Move one more inch to the left and I got you.
Your leather gloves slightly squeak as you adjust the grip on your sniper rifle. The gun is an extension of yourself, and it’s about to send a message to Hassan. After a few minutes that feel like hours, the man steps perfectly into your line of sight.
“Rose to Bravo 0-6. I’m in position and have a clear shot.”
“Hold your position until Ghost gives the order.”
“Copy.”
Captain Price’s command sits at the forefront of your mind as your anticipation grows. You might have an itchy trigger finger, but you’re too seasoned to pull it prematurely. Years of training and discipline that started when you were a child kept you steadfast in waiting.
To say your father was proud of you was an understatement. As a U.S. Army Vietnam Veteran, he was a stickler for raising tough kids. Sprain something? Walk it off. Lose at a sport? Try harder. His motto is, “When all else fails, your mind is the only thing that can save you.” Advice that not only helped save your life but was engrained in your bones.
Over the years and during your time in Afghanistan, you accrued accomplishments and honorary medals that you thought of as just “chest candy,” but your father gladly took them to display in his living room to show off to his fishing buddies. Based on the way he constantly brags about you; you are most definitely his favorite.
So much so that he has more than once grilled you endlessly about the man you told your mother about. Simply calling him a man didn’t do enough justice though. Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t just an apparition, but a carnal animal outside and inside the bedroom. Unforgivingly rough as he gets to what he wants while thrumming with a deathly power that practically begs for someone to challenge him.
Unsurprising to everyone, that’s what you did when you joined Task Force 141. The tales of the heartless Lieutenant with the seemingly permanent skull-patterned balaclava never scared you. If anything, it made you want to test your sparring skills with him. When you finally convinced him to practice with you and he managed to pin you down after an hour, he was far more than impressed. Intrigued, surprised, and aroused captured the essence of how he felt.
Ghost admires your brutality. You never hesitate, never give anyone the inkling that you’ll be an easy target. Some would say the element of surprise could work in your favor, but you like a rough fight. If you’re not feeling the aching reminder of it the next day, you don’t feel like you won. That philosophy may be dangerous, but that’s what Ghost loves about you.
Yet what he covets the most is the vulnerability you gave him the pleasure of witnessing. Everyone got to see the bloodthirsty soldier, but he got to see the resilient woman who soaked in her complex emotions behind closed doors. A woman who liked his stern voice and uncharacteristically soft touches.
You always melted in his hands like a kitten snuggling close for warmth. At times the rumbled moans that came straight from your chest even sounded like purrs. Ghost craved that soothing sound. A rare sign of mindless comfort from his “pretty rose.”
“Red Rose” was the full cover name you were given. You were as fresh as a rose when you joined the 75th Ranger Regiment, the only experience under your belt being from your short time in the army. During those beginning years of your career it was just “Rose”, but it became far too tame to describe the person you are now.
Anytime you clean sweep a room that had more than enough men to overpower you, Gaz said you “painted the roses red”. Are you a part of Task Force 141 if you didn’t have a sense of dark humor?
Like any rose, thorns covered the outside of you, not a protective shield, but a visible threat that you will bite back when handled. It wasn’t a secret what was done to you; as unspeakable as it may be. Not only did your mind plague you with vivid memories in the middle of the night, but it manifested physically as well.
Deep scars that left phantom pains in their wake littered your body. No matter how hard you itched or rubbed the pangs hit you with a vengeance. They were etched reminders of not only the pains of living but the miracle of survival. You were deeply respected for surviving what you went through, but it morphed into fear when you continued to be a part of the force.
Some people let the venom of the past take them down, but others will use the searing pain as motivation to push forward. You’re the latter.
Despite your hardened exterior and savage nature amidst combat, you get along with your team swimmingly. Yes, you snap, bark, and bite, but like any good Doberman when someone shows you they are trustworthy, you are fiercely loyal. And by this point, 141 felt more like home than anywhere else. They treated you like any other man on the team and would take a bullet for you without hesitation.
The only thing that was akin to what you feel like, is a Doberman shaking with the excitement for its next command. All you needed was that one word. Once you get that command the metaphorical leash can be dropped so the beast can attack.
“Shoot.”
In a millisecond your finger pulls the trigger. Glass shattering mixed with the whistling shot is like music to your ears, a symphony of justice executing its judgment. You watch as Nabeel Bashar falls limply to the ground, the hole in his head forming a crimson puddle underneath him. Pulling away from your rifle you grab your radio, “Nabeel’s down. Enemy K.I.A.”
One down.
“Clean shot, Rose.” Price praises through the coms. “Now let’s get you-“
Yelling erupting below makes your focus turn to the street. Stationed soldiers yell in a language you don’t understand while rushing into the building you’re in.
Shit.
You manage to duck when bullets ricochet off the concrete next to you, making dust spread in the air. “I’m under fire and they’re making their way inside.” You have to practically scream to be heard over the sudden gunfire. The cadence of your voice held not even a semblance of a quiver as you barked the information. You’ve stared at the face of death before; you can do it again.
“You will do it again.” Ghost’s voice pops in your head almost in a warning. The last time you were trapped in a situation like this you had the infamous man alongside you. Except then you had a nasty stab wound to your side and Ghost had even nastier gunshot wounds to the thigh and shoulder.
Enemies are everywhere. Stray bullets whizz past your head as you make it into the empty house with half of Ghost’s weight against your hip. The plan didn’t go awry, but totally nuclear. Now you both are left surrounded and injured. Concerningly so based on the dark stain your partner was leaving on the floor. He tried to help you barricade the room, but the moment he started to tip to the ground you helped him sit down. No matter how bullheaded he is, he can only withstand so much blood loss.
Ghost’s head slowly starts to fall forward as he sits against the wall. The chopper is on its way and the only body you planned to haul with you was a breathing one. Thick fabric meets your palm as you slap Ghost awake. Even though he is sluggish, he captures your wrist before you can step back. When you try to tug out of his grip, he only squeezes harder.
You opt to instead crouch in front of him, eyes blazing, “If you leave me now, I’ll come after you.”
When he simply blinks at you, you move your face until it’s inches away from his masked one. “Do you hear me, you bloody bastard? I mean it.”
A wet chuckle leaves the man below you, “Bloody, eh? I’ve rubbed off on yah already?”
“Make it through this and you can rub off on me all you want.” Now Ghost truly laughs despite himself. Despite the pain. Jokes made the hurt go away, mental or physical, but what really made the bleeding man tick was the way your eyes twinkled with promise. You truly do mean it.
Slippery fingers intertwine as Ghost holds your other hand as well. Despite the danger and the blood, there was something so intimate about his touch.
“Deal.”
That was the night you officially fell in love with Simon “Ghost” Riley.
“Backup is on its way now. Stand your ground, Rose.” Price’s words are meant to be comforting, but they only make you curse.
You know the team is set up in houses nearby, but these men are coming in fast. The sound of heavy footsteps pounding against metal steps further confirms your thought. Rolling your shoulders, you let a cold smile spread across your face.
Game on.
-
“Fuckin’ hell…” Ghost couldn’t help but breathe out the words when he finally makes it to you. He’s never mowed down enemies so fast. Any person who got in his way was given a swift death, and apparently, so did any in yours.
You’re a vision in red. Blood and entrails cling to your body as you stand in the middle of the wreckage. Fingers still twitched around the blades in both your hands, sniper rifle long forgotten somewhere. When your bullets ran out you opted to use it as a baton, cracking enemies until it got lost during a scuffle. Bodies are strewn across the rooftop like it was nothing. Like it was normal for someone to have the capabilities to fight all these men by themself; let alone a woman half their size.
Ghost has never seen anything more breathtaking. The gore only illuminates the primal energy that surged through you, through him. Every instinct urges him to run to you, feel you, and claim you just as you are now.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
With a shaky laugh, you sheath your weapons, not looking away from the man in front of you. The air is fraught with tension not stemming from the surprise attack. “Sorry, you missed the party, sir. I hope you can forgive me.” Your voice practically keens with a desire only Ghost can quell.
“Sir”, a formality laced with sin that unfurls from your tongue to snake into his ears. The sound of it coming from you so desperately, so needy, for him, calls to every fiber of Ghost’s being. You take without recourse every day; lives, commands, jests, anything you could while leaving nothing in return. Until it came to him. That three-letter title was you giving your power over to Ghost. An exchange of trust that never ceased to rock him to his core.
A grunt is given to you in response. A silent warning that said, “If you keep it up with that, I can’t be held accountable for what happens next.”
You knew that verbatim since the last time he grunted like that and you continued to push his limits, you were left with such a bad limp the next day that Captain Price made you go to medical for a check-up since he was convinced you were injured. Technically with how bad you were aching, it did qualify as an injury, but the dull throb between your legs indicated it was the good kind.
Before Ghost can make a step forward, Soap and Gaz run up in quick succession. They stop short just as Ghost did as they also take in the sight. Dark eyes continue to stay transfixed on you. Almost like you were the only person in the whole city.
Although, after a couple of minutes of three pairs of eyes ogling you, you decide you had enough for one day. Exasperated, you reach for your radio, “All clear Captain.”
-
By the time the team makes it to the safe house, you are utterly drained. Everything aches. The thick layer of sticky human splatter covering your form begins to gnaw at your senses. The lights feel too bright, the air too hot, and the atmosphere too quiet.
You tug off the pounds of clunky armor and gear, tossing it on an open countertop like the others. For a moment you just stare at the items. The dismantling got the surface mucked with dirty substances. Not only that but your hands, arms, and the sweat rolling down your forehead makes it spread even more.
Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. The mantra leaves you frozen, not knowing what to do, not knowing what else to say.
Someone pats you firmly on the shoulder, “I’ll take care of it, eh? Go clean up. Lord knows you deserve it.”
You can’t distinguish the voice of who’s talking when your feet begin to move at the command before your mind can register it. Normally you didn’t become this frazzled so soon, but you haven’t had time to be alone for weeks now. No time to scream into a pillow or cry in your room or feel his touch.
Every high has a crash, and you are free-falling. Fast.
Soap lets out a sigh of concern before grabbing a rag to start getting to work. He doesn’t say anything when he sees a dark shadow larger than your own follow you down the hallway.
When the bathroom door closes seemingly by itself you don’t hesitate. Nails scratch your skin as you practically tear off the clothes clinging to you. When you hear the fabric of your shirt rip you don’t care. You don’t have the wherewithal to even try. Yanking back the curtain, you blindly search for the handle. When water starts pouring down you practically jump into the shower.
You arch your head back into the stream of water. Clear, turns red, then turns black with the mixture of blood and soot as it sinks into the drain, taking your adrenaline with it. Limbs quake and memories flood uninvited into your brain. To escape the onslaught of emotions you close your eyes and try to focus on the sounds around you. Water is dripping, slipping, and sliding in your mouth. Water that was meant to soothe, but once smothered you and used as a tool to make you talk, to make you break.
Large hands encompass the sides of your head and pull you from the stream internally ripping you apart. Only then do you hear the sobs spilling from your mouth. Your eyes fly open and are confronted with misty blue ones surrounded by pitch blackness, equally searching and equally pained. Pained not only for you but for the fact that he knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows how the past is twisting your guts until the only thing your body wants to do is destroy or be destroyed.
“Focus, angel.”
The words come out in a deep yet soft command. A shiver travels across your skin and an ache settles in your heart. Ghost is here with you. You aren’t in that place anymore. Your hands cling so desperately around his wrists as if he would drift away at any moment. Like he’s the answer to your salvation.
In actuality, you’re his.
With a harsh tug, hungry lips slam into yours. You hadn’t noticed that his balaclava was pushed up, but you couldn’t be more relieved to truly feel him. The kiss is as possessive as it is sloppy. Tongues don’t dance but spar as Ghost uses his grip on your head to keep you locked in place. Not that you would ever dream about pulling away.
He tastes of metal, grit, and something addictively sweet. He’s like one of those candies in sketchy wrapping, but when you pop it in your mouth it’s the best thing to ever grace your tastebuds. Moaning you back up against the cold shower wall to make room for the large man. His lips only move to start descending on your neck. Lips and teeth and tongue tease with a fiery passion that make you gasp at each little assault of his mouth on your skin.
Something hard presses against your slick stomach as Ghost blankets your body with his own. He towers over you not only in stature but width. Your body is perfectly hidden in front of his own like a human shield. The pure notion of what he can do to you makes heat pool in your core.
Your sudden reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. They seldom do.
A thick finger instantly meets your folds, sliding through the wet sensitive flesh in agonizingly slow pets. Ghost lets out a satisfied grunt at how willing and wet you already are for him. He pushes the digit inside your pussy with ease. You desperately grab his biceps to keep yourself from melting into a puddle at his touch.
“Please.” The wobbled plead comes out like a mewling kitten. When you say it so sweetly how could he ever deny you? When a second finger joins the first the delightful stretch that follows makes your nails dig into his taut skin. Ghost doesn’t pause as he begins to fuck you with deep, slow thrusts. Fingers curve to hit the spongy sweet spot inside your pussy that has you clenching around him like a vice.
The hardness against your stomach twitches at the sound, feel, and look of you. So devastatingly perfect, devastatingly his.
In your haze, you look down at where his body meets yours. Each stroke of his fingers makes you dizzy, but all you can focus on is his cock. The tip is ruby red as it throbs and leaks with precum with the anticipation to take you.
“Simon.” His head snaps up to search your face. The name comes out in a whisper as your eyes say a thousand more words you can’t possibly string together in a coherent sentence.
His lips ghost the shell of your ear, “My strong girl did so well today. She deserves my cock don’t yah think?” You feebly nod, unable to make any sounds except for pathetic moans. Strong hands lift your legs so they’re dangling atop his muscular thighs. He’s like a makeshift seat as he keeps your back pressed against the wall to keep you propped up for him. Now the head of his cock is resting between the lips of your sex.
Breath eludes you as you watch Ghost look at where your bodies are joined. He gently rocks against your pussy, rubbing your clit with each slow stroke. The new position leaves you no room to buck against him. You’re completely left at his mercy.
“…so fuckin’ pretty.” The admiring words rumble from his chest as he finally pushes inside. It’s almost too much. His cock never fails to split you open to the point that you think you might rip in half. He’s too hard, too long, too thick, too big. Yet you can’t help but whine when he stops moving after only half of his cock is nestled in your pussy.
Ghost shoves his face in your neck and you can feel his body trembling, not from physical exertion, but from the force he was using to control himself. Teeth nip and scrape at the tender flesh above your collarbone as he begins to slowly push more of himself into your quivering pussy. In silent submission, you crane your neck further to give him better access to your pulse point.
You don’t want Ghost to hold back. You want the delicious pain that comes from him tearing you apart because you know he’ll always sew you back together again.
“Fuck me, bite me, take me, please.”
“Copy.” Ghost’s tone is deceptively playful and you swear you feel him smirk against your neck.
Cheeky bastard.
Any semblance of lightheartedness quickly disappears when he slams the rest of his cock inside you. Instead of biting, he sucks the spot his teeth were previously teasing. Ghost’s hands settle on your ass to pull you on and off his cock in tandem with his thrusts. He’s everywhere all at once and all you can do is desperately moan at the contact you’ve starved for.
The pace starts deep and languid before rapidly turning rough and downright feral. Gravelly groans tumble from the usually composed man as your tight walls cling to him at every pull of his cock. You’re almost too tight and he’s almost too big. Almost.
“That’s it... take my cock, angel.” Your bottom lip trembles when Ghost moves to rest his forehead against yours while continuing to fuck into you hard enough to bruise. The soft skin at his pelvis abuses your clit to the point of overstimulation with the onslaught of movement. It’s so intense that you’re sure you’ll fall apart by the next jut of his hips, but he never gives you more than you can handle. Ghost is the only person you’ve trusted with your body in many years; and for that, he’ll be forever grateful.
His eyes never leave yours as he takes in every little emotion swirling in their depths. Before you were on the brink of darkness, now all he sees is lust and a four-letter word that would be his undoing.
Once you almost died and went to hell. Now you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven. Euphoria made you docile and pliable, a mewling, dizzy, sweet mess that only made Ghost fuck you harder. The sounds he’s making are like brimstone and ash as he fucks his fallen angel.
“Angel” was an especially fond nickname Ghost gave you at the beginning of your relationship. One he saved for your most intimate moments together. To him, you’re a celestial being; too good to be with the likes of him. He sees your drive to do good, to protect people from the torment you’d endured. Outsiders may see a bloodthirsty soldier, but he saw you for who you really are. A woman who strived to do good, to protect people from horrors unimaginable. Even if it meant sacrificing herself. Although Ghost may not be as noble, he is as driven. He’ll be your patron saint, your protector till the end of days; but even then, he’ll be too selfish to let you go. Ghost would cut down Gods and travel through hell and back for you. Anything for his angel.
A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out. You’re so close you can feel the electricity crackling between the two of you. But neither of you cared for things that came easy. In an instant Ghost pulls out of you and flips you around with the grace of a seasoned fighter. The spray of water hits the sides of your bodies as you’re bent with your front against the shower wall.
Your forearms support your weight as you slam your palms into the wall in a poor attempt for leverage. Each aching muscle in your legs shakes from the pressure of standing on your tiptoes to reach closer to Ghost’s hips. Emptiness gives way to fullness when your pussy is once again invaded by his cock. His front molds into your back like you are made for him. You fit so perfectly tight against him, around him, pushing and squeezing as your velvet walls flutter to accommodate him.
Fingers slip between your own in an act so tender it betrays the rough slap of his hips against you. Truly an enigma even you had yet to completely figure out. But with your fast-approaching climax, you didn’t have the room to dwell on the concept. You can tell Ghost is close too; his thrusts are growing sloppy and his fingers that are intertwined with yours squeeze in a white-knuckled grip to attempt to ground himself.
His hands slip from yours to find purchase on your hip with one hand while the other snakes around to descend on your clit. Even lost in desire his movements are precise and expert in how they derive pleasure from you.
“Do you want me to fill you up, angel? Make you mine?” Ghost’s voice is distorted by growls and full-blown lust. Your emphatic moans and confirmations blend only to heighten as he slams into you and rolls your sensitive bud just right. Ghost’s ministrations, cock, voice, words, and noises all blend together in perfect symphony as you reach your rapture.
His grip on you is like steel as you meet each of Ghost’s thrusts. Your heart thumps like a hummingbird and sparks feel as though they’re lighting under your skin. A loud groan reverberates next to your ear as heat blooms in your core. You’re so tight in the throes of your own orgasm, milking Ghost for everything he’s got.
Ghost continues to push his cum inside you, thrusting in deep, hard strokes to secure it in and make it stick. The insatiable need to make you his in a permanent way motivates the overstimulating pounding. His fingers knead the flesh at your hips, coaxing you to stay open for him.
Only when your whimpers waver and turn whiny does he reluctantly slow his movements before coming to a complete stop. Ghost pulls you from the wall so he can lean you against his chest, cock still buried deep inside you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest would lull you to sleep if you weren’t acutely aware of your surroundings again. You don’t know how much time has passed, but when Ghost pulls out of you, you shiver from the newfound emptiness.
When you start to adjust your limbs, you feel that the skin on your fingertips is pruned, indicating that you’ve overstayed your welcome. You turn around in Ghost’s grip so you can properly gaze up at him (even if you still have to crane your neck). Your hands absentmindedly rub the muscles in his chest that rumbles like a dragon. Truly an unwavering force in every sense of the word. Unfortunately for both of you, you couldn’t stay like this forever.
“We have to get out sometime, big guy.” Grunting, Ghost grabs your hand before pulling it to his lips, kissing your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of them. Satiated blue eyes look at you with an emotion that makes you swallow thickly. He was going to be the death of you.
Wordlessly, Ghost reaches around to finally stop the stream of water before scooping you into his arms. A part of you wanted to protest that you could move on your own, but you wouldn’t ever deprive his need to feel you. You wince as Ghost helps you out of the shower. At first, you think it’s from the ache between your thighs, but the pain stems from somewhere lower.
In an instant, you’re plopped on the bathroom counter. “Didn’t care to tell me about this?” Ghost elevates your right leg with an edge of anger in his voice. Not at you per se, but the fact that you’re injured. A streak of red is trailing down your outer thigh with the other droplets of water to the floor. The gash isn’t concerningly deep, but after your exertions, the area was irritated from being neglected.
“I’ve been so caught up I didn’t even feel the damn thing.” The knife wound must have occurred when you were fighting off those men on the rooftop. Everything happened so fast since you came to the safe house that you didn’t take the time to look over yourself.
When a white-hot bolt of pain hits your gut, you’re reminded of your oversight again. You sure as hell can feel it now though. Sighing, Ghost makes quick work of cleaning and wrapping your wound with items from his bag. Of course, he brought it into the bathroom with him. The man is never unprepared.
“Wish you gave me the chance to kill those bastards, love.” The comment only makes you laugh. Leave it to Ghost to think of vengeance right after fucking your brains out.
You admire his concentration in silence. Before you met him you always “licked your own wounds” after every mission you went on, never having someone care so intimately about you to tend to your injuries themself. Now you had Ghost’s expert hands piecing you back together. Despite your pride, you cherish that those hands, invisibly coated in so many people’s blood, takes extra precaution while cleaning up yours. At this moment you feel nothing but lingering bliss and something you thought you’d never feel again… love.
Lightly twisting your leg, Ghost looks over his handiwork with a satisfied grunt. Thick fingers start to card through your wet strands of hair before moving down to cup your cheeks. His thumbs draw small circles on your skin in a manner so soothing it made butterflies awaken in your stomach.
“Do you think they heard us?” They had to of heard, but you knew that they would make themselves think they didn’t. If one of them even uttered a single syllable about it Ghost would pop their head off like a cherry stem.
“That’s the goal.” A wicked blush flames your cheeks as you playfully swat his chest.
Possessive bastard.
Sighing, you hop off the counter and grab your undergarments. Can’t delay facing the team any longer. The comfortable silence continues to stretch as you both get re-dressed. Thankfully Ghost hands you a spare shirt since you tore yours before getting in the shower. It all feels strangely domestic, especially when putting where you are into consideration. But home is where the heart is, and Ghost has yours in the palm of his hand.
Strong arms pull you to a hard chest once you’re fully dressed. A ghost of a smile plays on your lover’s lips and the sight makes you smile in return. Ghost leaves you with one last searing kiss before pulling his balaclava back down and exiting the bathroom.
Amidst war, death, and a lingering past you were able to fight your demons and find love. And as fate would have it, you love the angel of death himself.
Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.
#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley smut#cod ww2#cod wwii#delirious masterlist
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on the road // george daniel x oc
valentine's week - day 5: lovers' quarrel
a/n: this is a bit shit but i wanted to resurrect george and cleo and give them a valentine's day because i miss them. also because i need motivation to finish the series
cw: nothing much, just a bit of crying
wc: 3k
if someone had told cleo a year ago that she’d be spending valentine's day with george daniel, with her boyfriend george daniel, she would have cackled until her stomach hurt. she would have called them insane for even thinking such a thing and moved on with her life.
but the night before the big day, cleo sighs into her pillow and turns to glare at her empty bed, and by extension her empty apartment.
turns out she actually isn’t spending valentines day with her boyfriend—not in the way she wants to, at least.
she picks at a hangnail and hmms noncommittal to whatever matty’s just said on the phone.
“are you listening to me?” matty asks, and she can practically imagine him snapping his fingers at her. “i said george is picking you up tomorrow. 8 am.”
cleo gapes and sits up in her bed. “no he’s not!”
there’s a silence on the other end of the line, some static. “uhhh… yes he is,” matty says, confusion clear in his voice. “i just confirmed that with him.”
“no, i meant… he doesn’t have to. i’ll take the train.” she chews on the pad of her thumb, waiting to see how matty would react to this. predictably, there’s some shuffle on the line. then the background noise dims before matty speaks again.
“cleo,” he begins, exasperation clear in his voice. “have you fought again?”
her first instinct is to be defensive. what does he mean again?! it’s not like they fight a lot! sure they bicker maybe, sure they bicker a bit more than a regular couple whatever that means but they don’t fight. well…
apart from a few days ago. and she’s still dealing with the fallout from that.
“you did, didn’t you?” matty sighs. “no wonder george was so short with me.”
“it’s just a spat,” cleo mumbles and massages her temples. “‘s fine, matty. i’ll take a train tomorrow. he doesn’t need to go out of his way.”
she expects him to argue back, to insist that george should pick her up as planned. instead he just hums.
“sure,” matty drawls. “if you’ve got 160 quid to throw away, be my guest.”
cleo almost chokes on air then, her eyes wide as saucers. “fuck off!”
but matty only laughs at her. “it’s either that or a road trip with george. you pick.”
and then the little shit hangs up, leaving her to fume in silence.
cleo curses at her empty room, at the any and every train operator she can think of. she even plops herself back on the bed to dramatically check for train tickets only to discover that matty absolutely wasn’t lying. once the annoyance drains away, though, her eyes sting with unshed tears. her throat feels tight.
she really misses george, so much so that she doesn’t even want to sleep in the empty bed anymore. but she settles for hugging the other pillow tightly and closing her eyes.
cleo promises herself that she’ll talk it out with him tomorrow. she has to. there’s no way she’s going to be stuck with him in a car for six hours while they both fume silently in their respective seats and not talk for the entire duration of it.
george is there 8 am just like matty said. cleo looks at him through the window of her apartment, curtains half drawn so she could sneakily ogle at him and gauge his mood. to her annoyance, his face is absolutely blank.
not that that’s the first thing she sees of course.
he’s in a plain white t-shirt that fits him perfectly—it’s just the right amount of loose on him, the sleeves cut off at the perfect point on his arms and the sun reflects on his stupidly gorgeous hair making them shine. to cleo’s utter annoyance, he looks fucking hot. just like he always has.
on top of that, he’s leaning against the car, a cigarette dangling between his lips so carelessly, every time he holds it between his fingers, the rings on his hand glint and her mind flashes with all the times she’s spent obsessed over those fingers, all the times they’ve made her feel maddeningly amazing. over and over again.
he takes his phone out to type something and two seconds later her phone buzzes.
something warm spreads through her chest—sure, they’re mad at each other but at least he’s texting her. at least, there’s some form of communication.
she runs to look at her phone and it’s like a bucket of cold water’s just doused the warmth in her chest. it’s not a text from george, it’s a text from matty – he’s waiting downstairs. where are you?
then a moment later – pls don’t make me your messenger pigeon
she stomps like a child and staches the phone in her back pocket. then, just to be annoying, she takes extra two minutes to perfectly apply her lipgloss—let him wait. she’s not in the mood to be nice to him anymore. no matter how good he looks.
by the time cleo gets to the car, it’s already ten past eight. his eyes widen just a smidge when he sees but he quickly schools his face into a neutral expression and flicks the cigarette butt away. then he stomps on it a couple times and turns, about to go to the driver-side door, leaving cleo to gape at the back of his head.
he’s never, never let her open the door even once since they got together. not even a single time. but this time he simply slides into his seat and taps impatiently on the steering wheel without saying a word.
cleo yanks the car door open and slams it shut once she’s inside, she even clicks her seatbelt in place with a scoff and then resolutely turns to the window, turning her face away from him as much as possible.
by the time they’re out of her neighbourhood and onto the freeway, she can feel his burning stare at the back of her head, so much so that she can’t help but turn around slightly and take a peak at him from the corner of her eye. a muscle feathers in his jaw when someone honks at them and george mutters a low curse under his breath.
it’s the first time she’s hearing him speak today, and even this isn’t directed at her. the realisation makes her throat feel tight but she refuses to cry any more about the fight than she already has. and so cleo stares straight ahead, vowing not to be the first one to break the silence.
“coffee?”
cleo startles when george speaks out of nowhere. they haven’t been driving for that long, only about an hour judging by the time blinking on the car’s radio but the tension in the vehicle is thick enough to cut with a knife.
he looks at her briefly and then points to a costa on the side of the road. cleo nods and waits for him to park the car.
“i’ll get it for you,” he mumbles just as she’s about the exit the car and flees before she can make a single noise of protest.
cleo just sits there, absolutely stunned.
is this what it’s going to be like for the next six hours? tense silences and george running out on her whenever he has the chance to? bitterly, she thinks about how he can’t even stomach spending any more time with her than absolutely necessary. sighing, cleo closes her eyes and gathers her knees to her chest.
“i just… i don’t get you!” george almost yells, exasperation coating every syllable. they’ve been at it for thirty minutes now. ever since since they got back to her apartment from fucking ikea of all places.
every since george mentioned “their” home and cleo shut down on him.
“what’s not to get?” cleo yells back. she can’t even bring herself to stand up and fight, she just sits in the corner of the sofa, a throw blanket on her lap almost like a shield. her hair’s a mess from running her hands through it so many times but her scrunchie is around george’s wrist and the middle of a fight is not the time to ask for it.
“cleo…” he tiredly rubs his face and her heart cracks just a little. “we’ve been together for four months. it’s been amazing. hasn’t it been amazing for you?”
she just nods, not trusting her voice enough to speak.
“an we’ve lived together before!” his voice cracks.
“that was different! we were roommates. not– not—”
“oh you can’t even say it now?”
he completely stops pacing then and stares at her intently. cleo tries not to curl into herself under the sudden attention, she tries not to let the anxious ball in her stomach get the best of her. she tries not to be such a bad girlfriend.
but one look at george and she knows she’s doing a pretty shit job of it. her heart breaks at how upset he looks but cleo can’t bring herself to say the words he really wants to hear.
“so it’s a no then,” he sighs, “you don’t want us moving in together.”
the weight of his hope settles on her chest, almost suffocating her and george’s shoulders slump.
“okay,” he says quietly and picks up his car keys.
cleo doesn’t move when she hears the front door shut softly or when his car comes to life and drives away. she just fidgets with the blanket and wallows in self pity. she could have said yes so easily.
but cleo’s scared of how much she likes him—maybe even how much she loves him at this point. she’s scared of going all in so soon after how it ended up for her the last time. she’s scared of letting him see the cracks in her armour.
she wants to make a decision so badly! but her heart wants to give in and her brain reminds her of the last time and cleo can only sit there miserably on her sofa and not come to a decision at all.
“cleo?” his voice makes her head snap up and she blinks against the sudden brightness. “did you fall asleep?”
she’s about to say something but her throat feels clogged and her eyes sting. quickly, she averts her eyes from him and takes the coffee cup from him. george lingers by the door, almost like he wants to say something but then he shuts it gently and goes back to the driver's seat. the whole time she says nothing, not for lack of trying. but she knows the moment she opens her mouth the dam is going to burst and everything’s going to come out and she definitely can’t stand another fight within the first hour of a six hour roadtrip.
so she shuts up and takes a gulp of her coffee, hissing when she scalds her tongue.
“you okay?” george asks, then inhales like he’s about to say something more but cleo quickly hums and turns to her window once again.
with a pang in her chest she realises it’s a caramel latte with extra drizzle of caramel, her favourite. even in the middle of a fight, he’s remembered her favourite.
she chokes out a quick “yeah” and takes another sip of her coffee. it’s so sweet, she knows george would make a face instantly if he had a sip of it. she wants to see him make that face now—his nose all scrunched up, his mouth twisted in a grimace. and then she wants to kiss the grimace away.
quietly, george slides his hand into hers over the gear stick. and that’s the thing that finally breaks her. big fat tears roll down her cheeks like she’s a cartoon character and she can’t fucking stop sniffling like a child.
“oh baby,” he whispers softly and cleo just cries harder. she’s already made a mess of everything, she can’t stomach his kindness on top of the guilt. but he’s having none of it.
george takes the cup from her hands and puts it in the cupholder. then unclicks her seatbelt, slides his seat back and, as if she weighs absolutely nothing, he pulls her from her seat and onto his lap. his hold around her is so gentle, it makes cleo cry harder.
“i’ve messed up everything,” she wails and buries her face in his chest. his t-shirt is so soft (she makes a mental note to steal it later) and fuck, he smells so good too. everything about him is familiar and nice and he’s just… he’s her george. but then his hand wraps around the nape of her neck and she remembers his sad face from a few days ago.
she remembers his quiet “okay”
“you haven’t, love—”
“no i have!” she states adamantly, “i made you sad.”
he holds her even tighter then, his fingers gently stroking the back of her head but he doesn’t say anything. at any other time she would have huffed and bickered with him about using her own tactic against her, about staying silent until she feels the overwhelming urge to fill it.
“can i ask you something?” george asks and she lifts her head up to look at him properly. up close, cleo realises how tired he looks. there are circles under his eyes, and she could easily attribute them to late night studio sessions but she has a sneaking suspicion she’s the reason behind them.
she can so clearly imagine him too, tossing and turning in his bed, waking up from a half-sleep only to find her not there, not spending the night with him just like she does at least five times a week.
“yeah,” she chokes out again.
“do you really not want us to live together?”
“that’s not—” her throat closes up again and she swallows forcefully, “i didn’t mean— it’s just—”
“okay deep breaths,” he encourages and starts rubbing small circles on her hip. the pad of his thumb is rough and scratchy, it creates just the perfect kind of friction against her skin that keeps her grounded. and cleo does as she’s asked.
when she feels sufficiently calm, she tries again. “it’s really scary,” she starts and looks at him again to try and gague his reaction, but george just presses a kiss to her temple and encourages her to go on. “the last time i let someone in so quickly, it didn’t… it didn’t end well.”
“i’m not him,” his jaw ticks for a moment but he swallows again and gives her another little kiss.
“i know you aren’t. you could never be.”
“so then…why?”
it takes cleo a minute to mull it over in her head. he’s right to ask that question. he’s right because she has absolutely no answer for it.
“i don’t know,” she mumbles quietly and looks down in shame. they stay like that for a minute. no one moves, no one speaks, but cleo feels his desperation. she knows he wants it so bad. fuck! she wants it so bad—
“a drawer,” she says. “i’ll clear out a drawer. and we can work up from there? please?”
for thirty whole seconds he says absolutely nothing and cleo’s brain conjures up horrible scenarios—he’s going to flinch away from her and tell her to get out of his car. he’s going to call her something hurtful and abandon her in a fucking costa car park an hour away from home. he’s—
george snorts. “did you just suggest exposure therapy?”
cleo blinks at him in surprise. for a beat they both stay silent, and then just like that cleo cracks up, george following suit. two seconds later they’re giggling like teenagers. a couple more tears leak from her eyes but this time she knows it’s not tears of sadness. she’s laughing too hard for that.
“you’re a fucking idiot,” george flicks her nose and she kisses him. it's their first kiss in the last few days and if she could melt, right here in his lap, she would. she would be an absolute puddle right here but george holds her together and kisses her back so deeply that her head spins. she kisses him with equal ferocity and in that moment none of it matters, not their fight, not this stupid roadtrip, not even her fears. in this moment he’s the only one that matters.
“but you’re my idiot,” he whispers on her lips once they pull back just enough to breathe. cleo is breathless and blushing. she hasn’t been kissed like this in, well…days, and she kind of hates the fact that they’re in public.
“i am,” she nods and hugs him tightly. “sorry for being such a loser,” she mumbles into the crook of his neck and feels him nod sagely.
“‘s alright. not everyone can be as perfect as me.”
“fuck off, george!” she pokes him in the sides, “or i’ll—”
“or you’ll what, huh?” he pokes her right back, “revoke my drawer privileges?”
“too soon!” she whines but they’re giggling once again, kissing each other like they’d die if they don’t make up for the last few days.
“we’re going to be so late,” she mumbles once they’ve stopped kissing. “matty’s going to yell at us, i hope you know.”
george just shrugs and looks at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. it makes cleo’s chest ache, it makes her whole body tingle.
“i’m going to give you the best drawer in my apartment,” she promises.
“yeah?” he smiles at her and kisses her forehead again. it’s so tender that she almost cries again but george tickles under her chin. silently cleo makes a promise to herself—she’s going to get over this silly fear. she’s going to be the girlfriend he deserves. and most importantly, she’s never going to make him sad again. he’s far too precious for that.
lemme know what you think <33
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#valentine75#valentine's week#george daniel x oc#george daniel x reader#the 1975 fic#george daniel#keep your enemies closer
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@dca-prompts @simpalert
Original prompt:
Trying this a different way this time! ~1500 words today. Takes a little bit to get there, but I hope you enjoy it!
______________
Nothing ever happens on Wednesdays. Well. Not from the hours of midnight to 6am at least.
It’s the perfect night to come back.
Around and above you, the lights of the pizzaplex flick off, casting your path in wells of deep shadow between islands of neon glow.
It was unsettling walking to your office the first few times. Management wanted you clocking in no more than five minutes before your shift officially began, and unless you sprinted from the time clock, there was no way in hell even that would get you from point A to your office down in the depths of the place before it got spooky in the pizzaplex. You used your phone flashlight for a bit - speed walking between neon streams and the glowing eyes of the ever-watchful wet floor bots - but, well.
Then Moon stole your phone.
It was your fault, to be fair.
You’d been late, you’d been hurrying, you heard a noise behind you and instantly thought ‘horror movie’ and whipped around and uh. Kind of flashbanged him in the face from two inches away. In your defense, no one had ever bothered to tell you what the other night security was, or tell you that it had a mischievous streak a mile wide.
So you figured you deserved it when he stole your phone and spent a good fifteen minutes suspended above you, sulking like a kicked cat before you gave up and stumbled your way to your office in the dark. And there, in between staring at the screen static of a completely empty plex, you decided to write him an apology.
One, you wanted your phone back. You’d just paid it off.
Two, call you a sucker, but he’d been kind of… cute? You’d never seen an animatronic sulk before and he’d sold it so well you’d really wanted to beckon him down and pet him.
You left that bit out of the apology. Which was a good thing, because when you’d clocked off in the morning and slipped by the daycare looking for the guy with your actually neatly written letter of apology, sealed with a sticker and everything, Sun looked at you like you were about to grow a second head.
And then, insisting that he was just checking it over for you, read the whole damn thing. Out loud. With acting.
You hadn’t been allowed to leave the tiny table he’d plonked you down at.
You’d been so mortified, your brain didn’t even register it when he whipped out your phone from somewhere and made you re-enact the incident with him - except Sun, wearing a hat also produced from places unknown, followed up the flashbang with dramatic wailing on the floor. Smote down, cruelly wounded, etc.
Which was all well and good, you’d said. But Moon’s was a lot cuter.
Yeah.
You know in those choice games, where like. Sometimes it brings up a notice? ‘There will be consequences for this action’?
There were consequences for that action. You still don’t dare go to the daycare during operating hours.
Sun, the menace, had gotten this gleam in his eyes and started howling and you fled like literal hounds were on your heels.
You hadn’t expected to clock in late the next day, the lights off before you even made it to the time clock, and then turn around to Moon right there.
And. Look, ok.
He was too big to be in that pill box of a room. So he was kind of scrunched up a bit. Hunched in on himself, his hat more crooked than usual, long legs and arms drawn in like. Like a cat, sitting behind you, with those big red eyes watching you.
He was cute. And you didn’t know about his and Sun’s whole situation - that liar - so you just. Did what you’d wanted to do the night before.
You reached out and pet him and that big cat just melted.
He made the deepest, happiest purr, eyes dimmed in contentment and next thing you knew, you were on the floor with an animatronic oozed across you, his face in your hands and his claws kneading the shitty carpet. Only, worse than a cat, there was no way to move the big cute lug to go anywhere.
Once Moon cuddled, you were stuck.
But you worked things out.
As much as the two of you enjoyed sitting in your office, his chin resting on your thighs as you watched the security feeds and idly pet him or wiped him down, he did have to do patrol, so you’d made a deal.
Wednesday, when nothing ever happened, Moon could come flop on you.
It wouldn’t take him long to show up tonight. After all, you’d been gone last week - vacation - and it’d taken a lot of pacifying to get your sulky cat to accept he’d have to go without cuddles for one week.
You unlock your office, flicking on the light switch beside the door and leave it open as you dump your overstuffed bag beside your chair and set your drink on your desk. If you didn’t keep the door open, Moon would claw at it. The exact same way a cat would paw at a closed door, except his are titanium and explaining it to management is a lot more… awkward. They always seem to expect so much more from your answers when they ask.
You only manage to get the screens turned on and dig out the wipes from your bag - the scrubby ones, a little treat - before the lights overhead go out, leaving you in only the faint light of the security feeds. And when you turn, you try very hard not to laugh.
All you can see are Moon’s eyes, staring accusingly in at you through the window beside the door.
“I’ve wronged you,” you say, as solemnly as possible.
His eyes narrow.
“Truly,” you turn, pulling out the starry blanket and new pillow wedged into your bag. “I have been a most cruel friend, to leave you uncuddled for a week.”
His claws creep around the edge of the doorway.
Almost everything else, you pull out from assorted hiding places in your office. Pillows. Not one, but two giant sleeping bags, spread out across the floor as you shove your chair to the edge of the admittedly small space. By the time you’ve finished, fluffing up the sturdy pillow you sacrificed from your old couch, Moon sits in the doorway.
Now for the final bribe.
Under his watchful optics, you set the wipes on the floor near the couch pillow. And then your drink. And then, with a wink, you reach into the bottom of your bag.
And pull out a massive power cord which you hold out in both hands, head bowed.
His eyes gleam, a quiet cackle hissing from his voice box.
“As an apology, please accept this offering of a night of cuddles and charging - just as long as you don’t blow up the circuits again.”
“No promises,” he hisses, already slinking inside and burrowing under the top sleeping bag as you huff out a laugh, pushing aside a bit of shelving to reach the heavy duty plug hidden behind it. You plug in the stupidly heavy cable and drag it over to the jingling blanket lump, grinning as he pops out his head. Just like a cat, he takes up 90% of any surface he deems his bed, and you drop the cable on him with a clunk as you clamber over him to the other side to your stash of wipes and drink.
The screens flicker as Moon plugs in the cable, and for a second you pause, wipe in hand, before he slinks an arm around your waist and plops his chin in your lap with a soft purr.
You laugh softly, checking over the security feeds for a second before you tilt up his face, smiling at his dimmed eyes and take the wipe to his forehead.
“I thought you were gonna knock us offline there, Moony.”
“Mmmm.” He hums, curling his lanky form around you until you’re hemmed in, his arms deceptively loose around you. “Still thinking about it.”
“I guess I’ll just have to convince you otherwise, hm? Can’t clean you up all nice if I can’t see a damn thing.”
You pat his head, settling back into your pillows as Moon mumbles something and, slowly, as the trash can fills with dirtied wipes - your eyes flicking to the screens each time you grab a new one - his purr evens out.
It’ll be a long night. Somehow, you suspect he’s not going to let you up until the end of your shift this time.
With a fond sigh, you hook an arm around him in turn, fiddling lightly with his hat as he snoozes and turn your eyes back to the wall of security monitors. His fingers rest loose and light against your sides. Every now and then, his claws twitch. His inner machinery ticks and whirrs lazily.
He really is a sweet thing, underneath all that mischief.
You almost want to kiss him. But, ah. This is enough, isn’t it?
#HOWLS my tab keeps eating this whenever i open discord#i have done this TWICE like a DINKUS#prompt fill#moon x y/n#moon x reader#dca-prompts#moon can be a bit moe as a treat#anyway i hope this works right and you see it and also like it#have some schmoop#lunewriting
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Arknights VFX question: Any highlights or personal favourites as far as the "Stick a whole background/huge jpeg in there behind the character" category of skills goes?
Oh I like this question. This made me consider things I've never looked at before, so thank you for that. I had to do research.
So, there's not a lot of ops like this, and shockingly, I don't have many positive things to say about them. BUT I did find a few interesting highlights I think are worth discussing.
First off, I will leave Eine Variation out of this, as I have made my thoughts on that Thing very clear.
But, my favorite skin in the game actually does indeed have the Background.Jpeg - Specter's As One!
Aaaand it's easily the worst part of my favorite skin. Don't get me wrong, i think it's probably one of the better executions of the idea, since it's like, a skybox, it matches the pallette, matches the artstyle of the skin, it's almost perfect. I wish it was a LITTLE less static, maybe have some distortion ripples across it like waves to keep the stars moving, or maybe have them twinkle a bit or something. But it's fine. But a good effect isn't everything.
Effects relies heavily on the principles of animation, too. Appeal, weight, color, and most importantly of all - timing. Having a proper lead in can make a bad effect good, and having a bad lead-in can make a good effect fucking terrible. And having no lead-in at all will absolutely fuck your effect and make it super clear that you took a jpeg from the skin art and superimposed it behind your operator.
Here. Look at the picture above. Now, I am going to tab back literally just one single frame in the animation and...
oh ...there's no fade in at all. It just literally appears in a single frame. It draws way more attention to itself than it needs to just by virtue of literally popping in. It's SUPER obvious that it's just Skybox.jpeg. If it faded in with some sort of noise mask (which takes literally less than 2 minutes to make,) it would be so so so much better. Again, this is my favorite skin in the game, and I already think S3 is quite beautiful, so this is nitpicking, but this skybox always bugged me a lot.
Now to say a sentence no one has ever said - going up a step in quality from Specter to Hoederer!
I can't fully get this one in a still image and I'm too tired to record a video / gif so just go with this, alright?
This one is ALMOST GOOD. ALMOST. IT'S SO FUCKING CLOSE. The texture is being distorted by a wavelike noise that is giving it the rippling effect of fire, which is the standard thing to do for making a stylized fire. The problem is that... The texture itself doesn't fucking move? It's just being UV distorted, just a bit of offset to the material and I just AUGH.
It's so so so obvious that it's just a static jpeg of fire that's being waved around like a flag to get it to contort into being fire. This wouldn't bother me if the actual fire texture didn't have implications of movement in the little waves and fades and stuff. I hate it it's so irritating it's so CLOSE. But also, animating an entire fire flipbook would have taken a lot more time, and I can 100% guarantee you the VFX artist is also unhappy with this one. Their A team was probably on Arturia or something. Speak of the devil -
I've had a few people ask how I feel about Arturia's S3 after I expressed my hatred for Eine Variation, and I am here to say - this unambiguously fucking rules, for a few reasons.
First and least importantly, THE MONSTER MOVES. The monster itself has slight movement, you can notice its arms wiggle a little and mouth open and close. This is a small thing that goes a LONG way to make it feel way more dynamic and alive. It's also being distorted by a noise like Hoederer is, which is quite nice as a touch, really helps to make that limited movement feel way more significant than it is.
Second, is that the texture is monochromatic, but in a different way than Arturia is. The grays are colder, harsh blue-grays to contrast Arturia herself, who is a very warm gray. This makes it so that it adds a really nice background that looks like part of her, while also standing out and allowing her to stand out against it. It's a really smart use of monochrome to create visual interest using just different subtle shades of gray.
But that bluish hue also serves to compliment the only color in the effect - the blue light from the cello. Your eyes are naturally drawn to brighter glowing things, which is also the only colored spot on the effect - the cello from which her Arts emerge. As a result, the Beastie.jpg fades out of your attention, becoming monochromatic noise, which, due to being just kinda chaotic and aesthetically dissonant, you interpret more as abstract Shape than anything else. That abstract shape then makes a cone which leads you down into Arturia's center, which is her cello, which is where her Arts are coming from.
This is basically to say - These are very emblematic of what I think makes good effects textures in general. They work best when they're not alone. When these backgrounds are part of a larger whole that's all coming together to make an effect, rather than being the centerpiece of the whole thing. When I notice the background, it's a problem, in my eyes. Maybe people disagree. They keep putting them in skins, and a lot of people thought the Eine Variation goat was cool as hell, so clearly I'm in the wrong here, but hey. Who gives a shit.
I'm sure there's way more examples of this, (actually I know there are,) but I'm extremely tired and need to go the fuck to sleep. If there's any particular backgrounds ya'll want me to take a look at, lemme know and I'll get back to you when I've woken from my dread slumber.
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I have a few old self-insert dca fanfic excerpts (part of a larger story in my brain) I come back to from time to time to edit and I thought I could share one of them with anyone interested
Look if you want! I like it but it’s also heavily self indulgent and im going to try and not edit it too much to retain the initial feel I wanted from it
===========================
Basic premise: Y/N came to the Pizzaplex with their friends and wandered off into the daycare while no one was there and (due to their smaller than average size) was briefly confused for a lost child by the Daycare Attendant and stuff happens
In this case, Y/N is just about to leave when the lights go out and has a bit of an anxious breakdown (also they’ve already met and introduced themselves to Moon)
===========================
Whoops
(that’s just what it’s called in my notes don’t ask)
A waning noise blared throughout the daycare, and I froze as my vision appeared to dim. No, that couldn’t be… Was this a power outage?
“Shit.” Before I knew it, I was back in the dark. I tried pushing on the doors to the exit, but they refused to move. I was locked in. There was screaming from outside the daycare. The entire plaza must’ve gone out.
Well, at least I’m in here, so I don’t have to deal with all that chaos. I hope the guys were alright, though…
“WhAT?!” I heard Sun shriek, causing me to jump. “No.. Nononono!! It’s opening hours! The power shouldn’t be going out like this now!! I-I’m not ready to—”
He sounded like he was on the verge of laughing and crying. Sun was panicking. Why was he panicking?
“Sun?” I called into the dark. “Sun, are you alright? What’s happening?”
“I, I don’t know, star!! Hahahaha!” The attendant crackled back. “Jus-Just don’t come any closer!”
I don’t think I could’ve gotten closer if I tried. My feet felt like they weighed thirty tons. I was paralyzed. People were still screaming. I couldn’t see. The only other individual in here with me was acting strange, and I couldn’t see where he was. The doors were locked. What was going on? It was just a power outage right? Why did everyone have to be screaming?
Somewhere in the daycare, I could hear Sun muttering to himself. He sounded like he was in pain, his voice box sending out garbled static between utterances, as if gasping for air. I couldn’t move. My breaths became deliberate since it felt like my lungs wouldn’t operate otherwise.
I… was scared.
Come on, Y/N, you know the drill. Let’s just lie on the ground for a second and take some time to calm down. It’s just a power outage. The staff should have it back on in no time.
I slowly lowered to the ground until I was lying on my side. I curled my legs in for the added warmth and got my head comfortable on the matted floor. Just deep breaths… Take deep breaths..
In… Out… In.. O-Out…
A deep chuckle caused my breath to hitch. “Y/N~ I know you’re not asleep~”
Oh… Oh no..
I opened my mouth to say something, to let Moon know I wasn’t trying to pretend to sleep, but no words came out. My throat only allowed a whimper to escape before I quickly cut it off, throwing a hand over my mouth. Fuck.
There was a light rhythmic clanking of metal, deliberate and slow, in tandem with the sound of bells, growing louder with each step. I couldn’t help but stiffen when my periphery began to glow scarlet, telling me the light was aimed straight at my back. He was right there. I’ve already met him, already knew what he looked like, but right now… Right now just wasn’t the time.
Stubbornly, I swallowed my cries and blinked away the tears. I didn’t want to cry, really. My body just tended to react this way under stress. Sensation was beginning to fade in my hands and feet, creeping up my limbs. I felt cold…
There was a pause. He hadn’t moved. “…Y/N?”
I flinched, the sound of my name suddenly grating to the ears. My heart beat fast and loud, pounding in my chest, painfully. Static burned under my flesh. No, no, please don’t ask me anything. Don’t speak to me. I’m not here.
I could hear a slight shifting of fabric. He may have crouched down. “Hey… Starlight, what’s wrong?”
I remained still.
“Can you speak?” The question caught me off guard, but I nodded my head, letting him know I was listening. Normally, this kind of question would make me outrageously upset in a state like this, but the way he asked it didn’t feel condescending. It felt like he was actually asking, checking what he needed to know, like how something programmed to care for children would act.
“I’m going to pick you up off the floor. Is that alright?” I watched as the red light moved through the dark, becoming more concentrated. In my head, I could imagine Moon looming over me, reared up but steady, waiting. Weakly, I nodded my head, barely managing a whisper.
“Yeah… you can.”
My skin shuddered the moment Moon’s hands made contact, his touch icier than I remembered. He kept them there, however, resting along my waist and back as he waited for me to acclimate. When it appeared that my muscles had finally relaxed, Moon gently scooped me up, pressing me close to his chest.
As soon as he had a secure hold on me, the attendant’s body seemed to… buzz somewhere inside. I squirmed at the feeling, worried that it meant something wrong had happened, but then a warmth brushed over my head, stunning me—his hand.
“Shh, shh, starlight,” Moon purred, voice box crackling softly with white noise. “It’s okay. I’m just warming you up.”
Ah, so it was a feature. I let myself relax and snuggled closer to the animatronic’s chest plate, which now radiated a gentle heat. Seeming satisfied with my satisfaction, the attendant started moving us elsewhere, continuing to caress my head.
“Letting the lights shut off outside of nap time…” Moon muttered, or at least the imitative equivalent of it—a low, bit-crushed fizzle of sorts. “Witless staff, they should’ve gotten this under control by now.”
My breaths still shook a little when I exhaled, but at least I wasn’t on the floor now. The robot had a point, why haven’t they turned the power back on? It couldn’t have been a total outage, could it? No, those things don’t just happen. Could they?
Eventually, Moon stopped walking and sat down, pulling me onto his lap. Large, folded hands laid across my back in a loose embrace, the broad, gentle weight almost insistent that I stayed put—not that I planned on parting ways with this oversized heat pack any time soon. I found myself bathed red under a steady, luminous gaze, the light so saturated that it would be almost laughable to wonder what the animatronic was staring at. It was strangely not as unnerving as I expected.
When I rose to meet his eyes, the attendant swiftly dimmed them, making it easier to make out the rest of his face. I was met with a familiar wicked grin, forever fixed onto his faceplate.
“You’re very nice,” I said aloud, reaching up to touch his cheek in curiosity. The material was smooth and felt neither cold nor warm, likely a durable plastic cover of some kind—easy to clean and without the strong odor of metal. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. His eyes pulsed.
“Ohhh?~ Is that so?~” he inquired, returning to his singsong-like cadence, sounding almost pleased. “Why thank you, little one~ You’re very kind, yourself.”
“…Where do you go when the lights come back on?” Moon seemed to pause at this, his natural, subtle idling coming to an immediate halt. “Sun seemed really upset when the lights suddenly went off. Maybe you’d know where he went.”
Silence. Moon adjusted me in his hold, coaxing my head back to his chest with a warm hand.
“…He is safe,” he answered curtly. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Without warning, several loud clunks resounded throughout the plaza—the sound of large ceiling lights turning back on. Moon’s arms tightened reflexively around me. A hiss of corrupted audio emitted from him as light suddenly filled the daycare, blinding us both.
Moon scoffed, his voice beginning to stutter and cut out randomly. “A-Al..waysszz the wo—orst ti, ti-timing…”
The attendant hastily took me off his lap and forced himself to stand up, hunching over as if in pain. Harsh pulses of static imitated labored breaths. He looked down at me, practically rattling as he resisted whatever was overtaking him. I could only stare back helplessly.
“IIII—It seems.. that s—sSSun… will be here soo—n, starlight,” Moon gritted. “Farewell…”
The attendant suddenly unfurled, back arching, hands clawing at his faceplate as he cried out in agony. The sounds of clicking and grinding of internal mechanisms filled the air. Moon’s nightcap inverted itself, flattening, as it got vacuumed back into a compartment inside his torso. The animatronic’s clothing rapidly shifted in color and pattern, like those heat-sensitive novelty pencils, dark blue with pale yellow stars melting into bright red and yellow stripes. All the while, his body shook in a seizure-like fashion—erratic tremors—as if his insides, themselves, were rearranging. The sight was equal parts disturbing and fascinating to witness.
Eventually, everything seemed to still. The attendant’s body moved as if heaving from nonexistent lungs, face still covered. The uncontrollable shaking stopped, but a faint whirring of motors had started. Familiar triangular flaps extended out from behind the robot’s faceplate, one after another until they circled his entire head. Each sun ray gently clicked itself into place before the motors went quiet. The attendant finally lowered his hands, revealing Sun.
I gaped, the realization already long soaked in. They lived in the same body.
Sun glanced over and noticed me still on the floor. “Y/N!” He cried, rushing to my side. Kneeling down, he quickly pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! Are you alright?? I shouldn’t have left you like that alone in the dark, you must’ve been so scared! That was TERRIBLE of me, none of that should’ve happened—“
“I’m okay now, Sun, the power’s back on now,” I reassured him, returning the embrace. “I panicked a little at first, but Moon was there to help me.”
“Oh really? Well, that’s a relief!” Sun nuzzled the side of my head. “I was so scared that he would.. would…. would..”
… Would what?
“BUT I’m SUPER DUPER glad that DIDN’T happen!!!“ He quickly resumed, releasing me.
I chuckled nervously, mind still stuck on that incomplete thought. “Yeah, everything turned out fine!”
Just as I felt myself finally relaxing, I remembered what I was doing. “Oh shoot! I was on my way out!”
Sun gasped. “Oh!! Right right right! You gotta get going! Your parents must be worried sick!”
Oh yeah… My “parents”.
He ushered me back over to the large wood-façade doors and moved to push one open, which it thankfully did. I refused to look at him as I knew he was surveying for anyone who had arrived to come get me, only to find no one. Aside from the wandering S.T.A.F.F. bots, it was just as deserted as when I first got here.
“Where are your parents, friend?” I felt my face redden in shame. This was it…
“W-Well…” I started. “I actually have something to tell you, Sun.”
“Hm?” I stared down at my shoes.
“My parents weren’t actually going to come. I came here with friends. I’m not that old, but..” The next words stuck in my mouth. I gulped. “I… I’m still not legally a child.”
My eyes turned up to the attendant, his static smiling expression staring back at me. God, I must look pathetic. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
Sun’s rays fluttered. “Oh, I already knew, silly!” He warbled. “In the visitor database! Your Daycare pass logged you in as an adult!”
I blanched, the animatronic’s cheery reply somehow deepening my shame more. This was somehow so much worse. “Th-Then why did you—“
“You looked like you needed a friend! I couldn’t just kick you out after seeing you wandering around all alone like that!” He gleefully explained.
The robot felt bad for me. Oh my god, I got pitied by a robot.
“Besides! You played along anyway! Like a game of pretend!” He looked away for a moment. “And… you were actually a lot of fun.”
I didn’t have any words. What was I supposed to say? How I was supposed to come back from being told I was pity-friended by a fucking children’s entertainment robot?
“It’s not every day I—we get to just have a conversation, or just some company, outside of the kids,” Sun admitted, his tone uncharacteristically reserved. “Moon, especially.”
Realizing the mood seemed to have shifted, I blinked. “Huh?”
The attendant’s rays quivered nervously. He released the door, playing with his hands. “I—I mean, you were fun to have around! We didn’t mind t-taking care of someone older! I-It felt refreshing! Yeah! You took time with your words and you never made a mess and you were always super polite, you were as sweet as any other good child! N-NOT THAT YOU’RE A CHILD!!”
Large, panicky hands waved wildly in my face. I recoiled, which the robot seemed to notice, leaning away. His head hung low in his hands, defeated.
“Ahhh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say anymoore!!” He whined. Were I not still grappling with my own thoughts, I would’ve better acknowledged that I haven’t seen Sun get worked up in such a human way before. He seemed genuinely flustered. It was… rather cute.
So… The robot doesn’t think I’m a lonely loser? Because he’s kind of a lonely loser as well?
I placed a consoling hand on the animatronic’s waist, seeing as I couldn’t reach any higher without looking stupid. “No, no, I get it. I had fun too.”
Sun lowered his hands at my words. “Really? You did??”
I nodded with a smile, feeling myself redden again. “Yeah. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind visiting again… if I was actually allowed back in here—“ Large hands seized me by the shoulders as Sun’s face swallowed up my field of view.
“Nonono, you’re allowed!!” he insisted, rays spinning. “You can come back any time! Any time at all!! You’ll always, always, always be welcome! You could even help out with the kids, if you’d like! Do you mind kids? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it could be just the two of us again! I could let the staff know and—“
Listening to the attendant excitedly ramble away—so eager at the thought of spending more time with me—made something in my chest flutter. Feeling tickled, I let out a laugh, causing Sun to go quiet. He quickly straightened himself and went back to fidgeting with his hands, appearing somehow small despite towering over me.
“Is… Is that too silly of an idea?” He laughed back nervously.
“No, no, it’s not that,” I smiled, shaking my head. “I mean, it’d probably be a little weird for me to visit here so much…”
Sun visibly drooped.
“…but if there are any job openings, I have been looking for one! The plaza isn’t too far of a drive.” The speed at which Sun’s head snapped back up would’ve literally snapped any human neck under the same forces. I was torn between finding the reaction hilarious and a little worrying, had I been a few inches closer to his head.
“Y—You, you…” he stuttered, a faint buzzing noise coming from somewhere. “You mean…!!“
I could barely give him a nod before I was swept up in his arms, spinning around a few times. “YES YES YES, THIS IS THE BESTEST BEST DAY EVER!! THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU—“
I threw my head back in laughter, endlessly tickled by his overflowing enthusiasm. After a few more spins, Sun raised me higher and nuzzled into my torso. I gasped at the unexpected warmth of his face. It didn’t burn, but I never remembered him running this hot before. Sun seemed to have heard me as he immediately pulled away.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Did I hit something?” He did a quick—maybe literal— scan of my body.
“Nothing wrong, I was just surprised,” I told him, placing a hand on his cheek just to make sure I wasn’t just imagining things. I definitely wasn’t. “I know you’re the Sun and all, but… Were you always this warm?”
The heat under my hand almost seemed to intensify after I mentioned it.
“W-Warm, you say?” Sun repeated. As if on cue, the sound of vents seemed to whir louder somewhere within the animatronic’s body.
#dca fanfic#fnaf sun#dca sun#sun x y/n#sun x reader#daycare attendant x y/n#dca x y/n#sun x oc#daycare attendant sun#sun and moon fnaf#cw anxiety#idk what to tag here ive never posted fanfic before akdnsk#dca#text post
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Being the receptionist at the RPD and you’re always lonely in the big echoey main hall when its work time :(
As everyone filters into their respective offices, Chris sees you eyeing the groups longingly with a little frown on your face and those kicked puppy eyes before shaking it off, checking your watch and turn to your computer. He decides to initiate…
OPERATION: KEEP YOU COMPANY.
STATUS: HIGH PRIORITY
He sits at his desk, today was pretty much a paper work catch up day for everyone, so some S.T.A.R.S members have their heads down and some are idly chatting. Chris could normally be dubbed the chattiest to his desk mates, the one that people gravitate to for some social relief from their work…but not today.
Today any other member would say he was quiet, but all the others didnt see that his desk telephone wasnt on its mount, no, the phone was left speaker-side up on his desk, he had dialled reception and you, the receptionist, have been sat on call with him, primarily in silence. Honestly, both of you are working away and only speaking when you need a breather from writing every now and then but it makes your day so much brighter, even though every now and then you have to blow into the reciever or make a loud enough noise to let Chris know you wanna tell him something due to the phone balancing on his desk while he types/writes. He does the same with a not so quiet whisper of your name, his mouth practically smushed up to the receiver and causing chaotically loud feedback noises that never fail to make you admonish him while snickering along with him at his antics.
When hes not jump scaring you with static-y screams, you overhear the bumble of the S.T.A.R.S office, you eaves-drop and chime in with little comments/quips about whats being said, making Chris chuckle and throw one back, banter always coming natural to you two.
One day when he does this, he keeps prodding you about needing to tell you something but that he needs to do it in person, meaning you’ll have to wait till lunch break or the end of the day. Of course, you’ve been whining and trying to charm, bribe and THREATEN >:) him into telling you, but alas, Chris is stubborn asf. Plus he really wants this to go perfect.
Break time comes and you hear that Chris has hung up, before you have time to be glum about it, the sound was followed by heavy steps unevenly bounding down the stairs to the right of you, the thought of him skipping steps and leaping makes you giggle to yourself and shake your head.
“Something funny, (L/N)?” He rounds your big marble desk with his eyes remaining on you, a fluid move of just his hips and a sidestep as his hands are occupied with a little paper box.
“Oh, because i was laughing? nono, that just happens when i get a real good look at you, you know, you’re reaaal funny looking, Redfield” you hold back a laugh as he feigns shock horror and is holding the box away from you
“Oh..oh HA-HA! You know, its comments like that that are gonna make me keep all these top-notch S.T.A.R.S exclusive doughnuts to myself, even after i went through the trouble of smuggling them for you” He present 3 of some of the yummiest doughnuts you’ve ever seen to you, your eyes dart from him to the doughnuts a couple times before you put on an angelic, heart melting smile, batting your eyelashes.
“But Chris! we wouldn’t want your effort to go to waste now, would we?! Besides, you STARS are already living the good life up there in your super cool office together, throw a girl a bone sometime! it gets lonely down here ya know, All i have is the occasional Rita or Branaugh to talk to, if im lucky :(“
He smiles earnestly with a tilt of his head and squats down to your level, still holding the doughnuts in presentation to you.
“Well lucky you, I came all this way just to talk to you.” you flash a coy smile at him witha raise of your brow as his smile goes from teasing to adoration and he lowers his tone
“I actually have something to ask you”
“It’s not for more staples, is it? Someones gotta teach Irons how to use em cuz he wastes all mine like crazy-“
Chris lets out a boyish laugh and a bow of his head, not expecting you to take a shot at the chief, but he’s back to the task at hand quick.
“I…wanted to ask you out, like this weekend? I just cant get enough of being around you, I kinda miss you even just from clocking in to walking up to the office. Thought about lugging my work down here and just chilling with you just about every time Wesker opens his mouth-“ You both share a laugh “So whaddaya say?”
“I think you’re the sweetest and I cant wait for the weekend.”
He lets out a breath through his smile, staring at you with nothing but pure boyish love before he animatedly looks left to right and plants a whiplash inducing kiss on your cheek and leaves you with the box of sweet treats.
“These definitely sweetened the deal, Christopher! Good play!” you joke to his retreating form, he turns and winks at you all while maintaining his swaggering walk away. Its so obvious he feels like a million bucks right now, and you do too.
You finished the doughnuts and at the bottom of the box, Chris’ personal number is written with a little love heart <3
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I wrote this spontaneously at 1am after seeing Jim and Pam with their little ear piece ass phones when Pam moved office
So wholesome :3 Is it just me though or does reading your own writing feel so JARRING?? like idk if this is shit or im just reading it differently to how you guys will
#chris redfield x reader#re x reader#re1 chris#re1 x reader#resident evil x reader#resident evil 5 x reader#Chris x reader#Chris is such a golden retriever#Like a sweetheart but omg
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Alice idk what the FUCK kinda drugs you smuggled into this simple, singular ask, but goddamnit it made me sprint to my docs and start writing for the first time in God knows when. I literally have created an au in a matter of hours of seeing this. Fuck you and thank you🫣😋😈
[this is currently an untitled au and a WIP]
Photographer!Dark!Bucky Barnes x RunwayFashionModel!Reader
The overhead spotlights drop the second the showrunner points to the cameras, who, in turn, point to you. Big white bounce cards blind your peripherals and the sound of murmurs throughout the studio, executives and assistants alike, work their way into your ears. The voices swirl into one drone of static and the lights start getting brighter and brighter. Your grip on the arms of the chair grows tighter. Manicured fingernails threaten to dig into the upholstery, the gaudy necklace resting on your chest beginning to brand into your skin. The makeup caked onto your flesh feels like it’s melting, taking your dermis with it.
You can't tear your eyes away from behind the host's head, staring off into space and trying not to focus on the bile beginning to bubble in your pitted stomach.
You knew you should've eaten something.
As the host waits for her after-ad-break cue, shuffling her question cards and sipping coffee from her custom show-branded cup, you feel restless. Legs bouncing out of sync, begging to get up, to run off set and out onto the bustling streets below and never look back. Maybe a bus or cab will make it end, make it stop. You were never cut out for this, never supposed to be here.
"Bunny."
You gasp, your trance broken as the deep bass sounding out your nickname cuts through the noise. It's like oxygen for you. He is oxygen for you. You can’t escape him willingly- he’ll only find a way to be there. To always be there.
You whip your head around to face the herd of people and producers staring at you. Out of all of them, through the blinding lights, you meet his gaze. All six feet four inches, built-like-a-god, broad shoulders of him. His eyes shine like sea glass behind the camera operator, baby blue and looking only at you. For that moment, you are the only one he sees. His target. His. You are the only one he can touch, who he can feel, halfway across the room.
The pit only grows larger, filling your hunger with nausea. You'd bet all the money in the world he schmoozed some P.A. just to make sure he was there to see you. To surveil you.
You wish you were playing in traffic.
#jen writes#ask#answer#snippet#preview#UGHHHHHH#alice#flordeamatista#bless and curse you darling#prompt ask#i miss him sm#trying to channel the devil wears prada and the neon demon and black swan and other shit into this#did i mention i have a playlist already?#dark!bucky barnes#dark!bucky x reader#dark!bucky x you#fashionmodel!reader
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GDScript vs C# in Godot
GDScript pros:
the built-in ID is way better at highlighting GDScript syntax and pointing out mistakes as you go. it doesn't do this at all for C#
you can negatively index arrays in GDScript, which is really nice
the engine is actually fully documented for GDScript, which it most certainly isn't for C#.
GDScript cons:
the modulo operator works wrong, i.e., it doesn't work for negative numbers. -1%5 == -1. it took me ages to figure out why i couldn't index this damn string correctly.
i fucking hate gdscript. why do i have to type "var" before each new variable if we're not doing static typing? why do you only have two types of collection, "array" (really "list") and "dictionary"? i could sure use stuff like tuples and sets and so forth. why can't functions return multiple values? you also can't unpack arrays like in python (var1, var2, var3 = array_with_three_values), which is annoying as shit.
you can't overload functions. or define operators for custom classes. all the time you are saving me by not having to type semicolons and curly braces is being wasted writing the most ungainly shit known to man.
fuck this noise. i'm going back to C#. yes, i have to wait for your rickety ass to compile it every time, but the better integration to the engine is not worth having to use your weird fucked-up python wanna be scripting language.
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THE END
Part 3/3
~
Screaming and crying from the baby monitor woke the blonde from his slumber. In a daze, he walked to their 5-month-old son's room.
Luckily, a good rocking and baby formula was all the little guy needed for him to fall back asleep.
Too exhausted to walk back to his bedroom Naruto sat on the rocking chair.
Since their son had been born the omega had been on autopilot. He was far from happy, but operating like this felt easier than the first few weeks after giving birth. Anytime the baby made a noise he ran away. The sight of it made him want to hurl let alone touch it- but the alpha shaped him up real quick. Sasuke understood postpartum depression on an academic level, but refused to let Naruto have any say in his emotions.
Since then he now sees the baby as something to keep him occupied since the alpha slowly returned to work.
Static came from the baby monitor before a voice could be heard. "Naruto."
Gripping the handles of the rocking chair the omega's heart raced at the sound of the alpha's voice from the monitor. "Come back to bed."
He nodded in response as if he was in the room with him and got up from the chair. He walked with vigor back to their bedroom not wanting to give his mate any reason to be any more upset with him.
Behind his calm demeanor, Naruto was unfortunate enough to experience the alpha's temper.
Heart still racing he slid under the comforter facing away from him. He prayed the alpha wouldn't make a fuss over his small hiccup.
Sasuke pulled him into his chest. "...after you get the baby to quiet down or go back to sleep at night-what are you supposed to do?"
His face grew hot panicking over his words-voice cracking "...Right away-I'm supposed to come back to bed..right away."
"-so why didn't you?"
"...sorry-I'm sorry Sasuke. It won't happen again."
His grip tightened around the blonde. "-you didn't answer the question Naruto."
He blurted "I was too tired to walk back...please just...I'm sorry."
Silence filled the room a moment longer than the omega felt comfortable with.
"-don't do it again."
He nodded relieved at the alpha's response, but that relief left as quickly as it came.
His mate kissed and sucked at his neck leaving Naruto frozen in place. Tears involuntarily welled in his eyes. His grip tightening on the sheets.
"Sasuke-what are you...what are you doing?"
"-I thought you forgave me...please-not tonight."
The alpha reached around to his mate's member stroking it as he continued sucking and kissing at his neck.
"Forgiving you has nothing to do with my needs does it..?"
He shook his head. "-don't think I haven't noticed." The alpha leaned into his ear. Smugness evident from his voice. "You're scared of me aren't you?"
Hesitantly the blonde nodded. He felt the alpha's erect cock push against his ass.
Sasuke had been using sex as a form of punishment to his little omega to keep him in line. Sex was painful and violent-but Naruto's body always betrayed him.
The alpha was right-despite how the omega viewed him-his body knew he was his mate. He hated this the most.
In an instant, Sasuke had removed their clothing-cock hovering at his mate's entrance from behind.
He was too scared to fight back. His ass in the air-he clutched the sheets tears flowing down his face.
The alpha taunted him slowly pushing his way into the him. "...no fight left in you..?"
He shook his head then let out a yelp at the sudden pounding felt from behind. Sasuke pinched at his skin- pushing his face into the sheets.
"-wake the baby up and you're really going to get it."
The blonde let out a muffled response. "...sorry."
The alpha released his grip continuing to pound into his tight hole. He leaned onto the omega's back-mouth hovering over his mark. He bit down hard onto the area earning a muffled scream and whine.
~
Naruto lost track of time when the alpha was done with him-but he guessed it was morning when the sun began to rise. He lay flat on his stomach- muscles sore and asshole filled to the brim with his mate's seed.
He knew trying to get up would be futile so he lay contempt-until he heard baby noises coming from the monitor.
Sasuke lay flat on his back head turned toward him. "Our son's awake-go check on him."
He pathetically pushed his way up from the bed only to flop back down. After a few more attempts he managed to sit up right-arms shaking at his sides.
The alpha grew impatient deciding to check on their son himself.
Naruto sighed in relief relishing in the few minutes he was able to spend alone.
He laid down flat on his stomach feeling the alpha's cum slosh around with every move-but he was too exhausted to care.
Quiet moments like these made the omega's mind race with ideas. A reoccurring thought always made its way back to him-now that he's not pregnant he could leave.
Sure he was marked by the alpha and had a child-but he could leave.
The only thing stopping him were the keypads at every window and door in the house-not to mention Sasuke rarely let him out of his sight. It would be difficult, but not impossible.
A sense of normalcy sounded like Heaven to the him. His thoughts were interrupted by heavy footsteps.
Sasuke plopped onto the bed pulling the blonde into him. "... he just needed some attention."
The omega merely nodded.
~
Days passed but for Naruto, the days ran the same. He was used to it crying at night, but tonight felt unbearable. It screeched, wailed, and flailed in the omega's hold. He was at his wit's end. His frustration grew and his patience withered. Hot tears fell onto his son. The omega placed him back down into the crib as the baby continued to cry out. He hastily left the room-hands covering his ears as he grits his teeth.
He came to a halt halfway through the living room at the sight of Sasuke staring at him with an unreadable expression. "-our son is still crying...so why are you not in there with him..?"
The blonde's hands only pushed onto his ears harder as the tears fell faster. "...I can't-this is too much...I can't take this! It keeps crying and-"
The alpha's eyes widened-he grabbed at the omega's hair pulling his face closer. "What have I told you about referring to our son as an it..?!"
He was losing his temper and Naruto knew that, but everything felt too overwhelming.
"...I don't care-I don't care about that thing!"
He looked to the ground eyes wide. "...that thing is here because of you!-so you deal with it...I'm not doing this anymore-I can't."
The alpha pushed him to the couch-he now lay flat on his back. "You don't have a choice. How many times do I have to pound that into you...?!"
He scratched and thrashed at him barely making the alpha budge. "Let me go, you sick bastard...I hate you...! I hate you! You ruined everything for me...!"
Lips pursed- Sasuke grabbed the blonde's neck as a warning. "Shut up! I've had enough of your whining and moping. Our son is 5 months old...you were pregnant for 9 months...You've had more than enough time to get it together..!"
His grip tightened. "...you're not leaving me or our children. If I have to be more forceful to get that through your thick skull then I'll do that."
He let go of the omega's neck- he choked at the alpha's release and his words. "What do you mean children?!"
Sasuke hovered over him-pinning his hands above his head. "...you didn't know?...you're pregnant."
His heart sank. "No...there's no way-I can't be. It's not true! You're lying to me!"
The alpha's brows furrowed. "No way..?.. what do you mean no way Naruto? I've been fucking you raw nearly every day. You were bound to get pregnant eventually."
Tears cascade down the omega's blushed cheeks. "You did this on purpose, you selfish jerk...I hate you!"
"Hate me all you want but that baby will be here in 9 months."
Sasuke let go of the omega's wrists getting up from the couch to tend to their son.
"Go wait for me in the bedroom."
Shut down in disbelief Naruto got up from the couch and walked to their bedroom. He sat in the middle of the bed legs pulled toward him. His head leaned against the headboard as he stared off into the distance.
The blonde thought to himself. I'm pregnant again. I have to go through this..again.
Sasuke returned to the room making a beeline toward the shared bathroom. He threw a box in front of the omega. "If you don't believe me then see for yourself."
Naruto looked down to see the pregnancy test at his feet. He yanked the device from the box and marched to the bathroom.
Time moved slowly as he sat waiting for the results. Sasuke leaned against the doorway-arms crossed.
Two lines appeared. His heart ached-covering his mouth in his hands.
The alpha walked toward him crouching down- looking at the positive pregnancy test. He teased. "...see-I told you...looks like my little omega's pregnant again."
He grit his teeth. "Please...just go away Sasuke."
He tilted his head a smug look on his face. "-you're not going to try and run away are you...hmm...?..barefoot and pregnant." He snorted at the thought.
The omega threw the pregnancy test across the room. "Leave me the hell alone...!"
His eyes narrowed at the blonde. "...watch yourself."
He stood up bringing Naruto up with him by the arm. "-aren't you tired of fighting?...you're stuck in this limbo that's only bringing you down. Give up."
He flicked his eyes to the omega's lips and then back to his eyes. "I marked you...we have a son together..and now you're carrying my child again. You belong to me Naruto."
"...think you can go back to your family and friends at this point?...huh..?-think if you go back now everything will return to normal?"
The omega's voice barely a whisper. "I know-I know that already..."
He let go of his arm making his exit from the bathroom. "Then start acting like you know."
He nodded staring down at the floor. He clutched his stomach horrified at the thought of his belly swelling again with his mate's seed.... but maybe Sasuke was right-life would be a little more bearable if he gave up-if he gave in.
Droplets poured from his eyes. He looked in the mirror still holding onto his stomach-and gave a weak grin at his reflection.
~
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If so, please be on the lookout for a bonus chapter soon!
٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡
#omegaverse#bottom naruto#omega naruto#yandere#sasunaru#naruto#naruto x sasuke#narusasu#tw babytrapping#SNS month#alpha sasuke#alpha beta omega#mpreg
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Toby Rogers x NB!Reader
[Angst/Comfort] Comforting him through his nightmares, taking care of him no matter what. This is a revamp from my old account @juconix!
Word count: 753
Trigger warnings: graphic nightmares, PTSD, swearing.
——
Five nights. Five nights of heart pounding, agonizingly long, gut wrenching night terrors. Toby Rogers has only managed three hours of fitful sleep in those 120 hours. Anyone who looked upon him could easily tell that it was draining on the young man. His shoulders were tense and shuttering as he sobbed– deep, ragged, and wheezing gasps escaped him as he tried to muffle the sound by holding the pillow to his face. Maybe if he suffocated the screams of his sister would stop, the sounds of glass shattering and tires squealing. The feeling of warm blood hitting his face, and he couldn’t tell if it was his own or from his sister.
But those dreams would never go away, and neither would the mourning ache that weighs his heart down heavily.
Toby Erin Rogers would never be able to purge those memories from his skull. He would never be able to shake the survivor’s guilt that held a death grip on him. Lyra was good, she was pure. She was happy and protective of him and his mother, she was capable of absolutely anything. He had hoped that she would go to college and take him with, taking him away from his father. But no. Some stupid fucking driver took everything from them. And now he couldn’t breathe. When she died, a large part of him was taken with.
He could not fathom a world where it would end before she did.
Yet when she left, life continued moving– unbothered by the loss that shook him to the core.
Any time he got close to recovering from the loss of her, the dreams would return– Along with the static that filled his mind, and the rage that moved his hands. And in those moments he took the lives of others, and dragged him further into the murky depths of despair. The Operator preyed upon his tragic life, and used him like a puppet to remove as many people as he could.
Toby had believed he was doing better. He had found someone who truly loved him, who looked past the twitches and the mood swings– someone who did not pity him nor laugh at him, but laughed with him and healed him with their warmth. They had welcomed him into their home, and into their bed. They laid undisturbed and peacefully next to him, and he desperately did not want to wake them with his sobs. So he stuffed the tear soaked pillow into his mouth, trying to stifle any noise.
Though that peaceful sleep wouldn’t last one. They seemed to always know when Toby needed them most.
[Y/n] shifted, rolling from their side onto their back and groggily rubbing their eyes. They hummed out in a raspy sleep ridden voice, eyes scanning Toby’s shuddering form through the inky dark room.
Their hands wrapped around the pillow held to their boyfriend’s face, and they gently removed it, plopping the fluffy contents to the side. Toby’s hiccups filled the quiet space as the love of his life placed their hand gently on his cheek, rubbing along the height of his cheek bone gently with their thumb before pulling him over so his head rested against their chest.
They always seemed to know when he needed something to ground him.
Their fingers embedded themselves into his hair, nails scratching as his scalp and working to gently detangle the knots that were plentiful in his curly hair. Their heart beat was steady and soothing, as they cooed softly at him. His hands found purchase in their shirt, tightly gripping on as his sobs slowed down and breathing became easier.
“It’s okay, Toby… I’m here, I will always be here…” their voice echoed gently through the room.
“I just… just… Fuckshit… I want this to st- sto-stop…” His neck creaked as he twitched, jerking his head away as a loud pop! And a whistle broke through the silence. “I want to stop stop seeing her… I can’t keep doing thissssssss…”
“I am so sorry, Toby…” They paused, humming gently as their free hand moved to rub his back, “I can’t make the nightmares go away, but I will be here to protect you when you wake up.”
The silence settled in the room once more, Toby’s hiccups slowly subsiding. Sleep was gripping him slowly, trying to pull him down finally for a night of unperturbed rest.
“Do– Do– Do you puh-promise?” Speaking was always hard for Toby, only becoming worse for him after a breakdown.
“Always.”
#Toby Rogers#Toby Erin Rogers#Ticci Toby x Reader#Ticci Toby#Fuck Kastoway#Toby Rogers x Reader#Toby Erin Rogers x Reader#Toby Rogers x you#Ticci toby x you#Creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x you#juneywrites
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This was originally meant to be for that prompt. the Virgil one. Ummm and I don’t know where it went, somehow its more Alan and Gordon. It almost completely avoids the prompt. Its probably not that great. Yeah Im running on about 5 hours of sleep because I stayed up last night to finish that Scott and Bereznik thingy. Now Im tired and my brain just isnt. Yup. But sticking it up here anyway because ‘hey two cakes.’ Maybe Ill fix it up at some point. Or something.
------
Alan couldn't see Virgil from where he was standing. He was too short, too small and the concrete dust obscured everything. Only part of Scott’s back was visible, the blue of his uniform turned greyer than his baldric.
Oh yeah, and Gordon’s blond head, right in his face. Deliberately placing himself between Alan and his big brothers who needed him. He was doing it on purpose. Like he was trying to protect Alan from his big brothers.
Scott’s voice was harsh and snappy at John over the comms. Alan couldn’t make out the words but he could hear him. He wasn't the calm Commander anymore, not the Scott who charged into missions as their leader. Alan knew exactly what a worried smother-brother-hen sounded like. He’d heard it every single time a brother was injured, but usually Scott wasn't so mad. Scott only got angry like that when he was scared.
John’s response came cool and professional. His brother was giving Scott orders all the way from space, and by how Scott’s shoulders dropped, he was following them.
The comms screeched with static, drowning John out and maybe John was freaking out in amongst it too. He didn’t know.
Alan needed to know what was going on. Just to see for himself that his brothers were alright and everything was going to be fine.
Each time he tried to step around him, Gordon moved with him. One side, then the other. Alan tried to fake him out, go for the left then dart to the right, but it was like Gordon predicted exactly what he was going to do before he did it.
Couldn't Gordon just turn off the squid sense for a second? And then let him through. He wasn’t even looking at Alan.
They’d both seen the bridge come down.
Alan took a deep breath, squeezing his hands into fists. He was being childish and impatient. He was a rescue operative, he should be helping or something, somehow, but he just needed to see his brothers first.
Alan shoved past Gordon and caught a glimpse of what was happening metres away from him. A set of green booted feet stuck out at an angle. Virgil’s boots.
Gordon pushed him back. Alan threw his weight against him, because something had happened and no one was letting him see.
Strong arms wrapped around his middle and picked him up so only his tiptoes were brushing the ground. His arms were pinned between them. He writhed in Gordon’s grip, kicking at his brother’s feet but Gordon didn't react. Because Brains had just happened to build hard toe caps into his dive booties like he had for the rest of them. The over engineering was serious.
The tubes of Gordon’s rebreather against IR blue filled his entire vision. Alan glared at at them. Just stupid Gordon and his stupid scuba gear, keeping him away from Scott and Virgil.
Alan suddenly let his entire body go limp, forcing Gordon to hold up his dead weight unless he decided to let Alan go and save them both the trouble. But nope, Gordon tightened his grapple until Alan couldn’t drop an inch, because he was the fish who swum a thousand laps of the pool a day and had the muscle to show for it.
Sharp curses in the background cut through their struggle. He could hear a grunt of pain he was pretty sure was Virgil, then a tiny choked off noise. What was happening? Gordon was still blocking his view.
The stupid, cheery yellow of Gordon’s baldric mocked him. It was the only sunshine left in this place and it was keeping him from his big brothers.His heart was pounding and didn’t Gordon get how scared he was?
Alan growled and smacked his fists against Gordon’s chest. Not hard enough to hurt him, he’d never actually want to hurt him, but hard enough that Gordon would fucking know he wasn't happy.
“Stop wriggling, Allie,” Gordon murmured, and he sounded so tired.
“Just let me go. I have to see them,” Alan gave his brother one last shove. “Please.”
“We can’t do anything for either of them right now,” Gordon said softly, “We’d just be in the way.”
Gordon was right and he hated it. No matter how good of a rescue operative he was, he was still the youngest, the baby of his family. His older brothers didn't want him to see them in pain. But half the time that just made him worry more.
Alan slumped. Their grapple of Gordon trying to stop Alan from running headfirst towards his injured brother, shifted into a hug. Gordon holding him close was now his comfort rather than enemy.
Virgil would be okay, Scott would make sure of it. He had John too. His brothers would be okay. As soon as they got back to the island and Virgil’s injuries had been treated, Alan would be giving him a big hug and not leaving his side again.
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Recently I've been missing writing a lot but haven't been feeling very inspired by anything. My autistic burnout makes it hard to do literally anything at the end of the day and my weekends are usually devoted to recovering. It makes me kinda sad sometimes bc I feel as though I have no hobbies to enjoy anymore but hopefully there will be time in the future for that to turn around.
In the meantime I did find this little drabble deep in the trash fire of my Google docs and fiddled with it a bit. It's not much but I was pretty happy with it. It's a short character study of Stein during an episode of his madness.
TW self harm, paranoid delusions, violence
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It comes on slowly at first, like a tickle in the throat that steadily intensifies, grows into a cough, a sickness. Nagging. Persistent.
Stein feels it first in the back of his skull. An itch, buried deep in the occipital lobe. It’s...distracting, but nothing that can’t be pushed aside. Ignored.
But much like a wound: when ignored it festers. Grows. Rots the surrounding flesh. Eats away at the rest until it’s poisoned the body with infection. Septic.
So the itch grows, spreads like cancer. Slithers its way down the spinal cord and settles in the nerve endings. And Stein can no longer ignore it. Can feel the electricity thrumming under his skin -- deep under the epidermis, the connective tissue, the muscle -- feels the static that has replaced his bone marrow. His body hums, like the fluorescent lights that glare over his operating table, like the computer screen he can't look away from, and the madness hooks into him like a parasite.
Click. Click. Click.
Next, he gets restless.
The static becomes audible. Gets louder. The feeling of it isn’t gone – in fact, it might be worse. But the crescendo of white noise drowns out everything else, and for a while Stein forgets the deep-seated itch under his skin in favor of the roaring nothingness stuffed like cotton in his ears.
And then he breaks. Comes apart at the seams -- even quite literally, sometimes. Tears himself apart to keep himself from tearing others apart. Peels back his own skin in a final manic, desperate attempt to rip the shadows out of his body, to rip out his own soul from his rib cage. Someone laughs.
He turns on the radio but it plays nothing. Just adds to the static. He tries to drown out the voices, but they lurk in the frequencies. Conspiring whispers so quick he thinks he misses them, but he knows they're there. What they say he can't be sure, so he turns the volume up to a roaring squall and he listens. He knows they're there and he won't let them get him.
Stein used to have a TV– used to watch it as a distraction, until the people on the screen started talking to him. Their faces would warp with sharp smiles, telling him to do things he thinks he shouldn’t. The voices would echo and blend into one loud accumulation of all of them, something of its own kind of static. One day Stein finally set his fist through the glass, shattering the screen to shut them up. It sits in one of the many empty rooms, alone, a reminder in the shadows.
He must keep himself whole, fights to hold himself together, keep the cracks from fracturing further. He drags the needle through his skin, pulling the thick black thread taut. He is precise, surgical, just like a doctor should be. If he can't rip the madness out then at least he can keep it inside, bound under crusted stitches. Controlled. As he sews himself back in place, he tries to think of the words an old partner once said to him, but those belong to the shadows now, too.
It’s almost like kintsugi, but that is an art devoted to beautiful things. Stein is not a beautiful thing. And that is not a thought rooted in insecurities, for Stein has never understood something so superficial as vanity. Madness is an ugly thing. Gruesome and bloody, devoid of morals. And because of what sleeps inside Stein’s bones -- because of what tears him apart, leaves his body a broken, visceral mess, he is no porcelain deserving to be fixed with gold. He is flesh, torn up and stitched back together.
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Crossroads
Chloe Grant saw stars.
Their blind leap of faith rewarded her with a coppery taste of blood in her mouth. It was, as is said, not the fall that kills you, but the landing. In their case, the landing itself didn’t serve to kill anybody, though, it just hurt like hell. The kind of fall that would cover you in green and blue spots.
To escape the living tide of a swarm of dog-sized insects surrounding them, they had backed up and ran through the blinding light of the Anomaly. Mischchenko gasped in surprise, Ruiz shouted in pain, and Grant herself felt the world spinning all around.
The Anomaly, connecting two different points in time, failed to offer them stable footing on the other side. In the Appalachian mountain woods of 2024, the glowing orb of light had been hovering inches off the forest grounds. On the other side, the Anomaly must have been hovering several feet above the ground, because their combat boots found no solid footing after their leap of faith, and the three field operatives from Future Proof immediately tumbled down a grassy knoll.
That’s why Grant saw stars. Bit the inside of her cheek. Black-gloved fingers tore up loose earth and turf where she grabbed the ground in a futile attempt at braking her fall.
The bright spots and blinding light refused to subside. She not only saw stars, but something far more breathtaking.
Light. Everywhere.
All around them, orbs of light shimmered… scintillating, glittering, blinding. Spinning, hovering, glowing, flashing, flickering. Some of them flared up, growing brighter. Others dimmed. One of the Anomalies flickered and vanished, and another opened seconds after, like an exploding sun.
Dozens and dozens of Anomalies surrounded the agents. So many Anomalies that their combined light engulfed the world around them.
The trio had landed on some kind hilly grasslands. Something resembling a blue sky almost shone through the brilliant curtain of anomalous luminescence. The light drowned out anything beyond their immediate environs.
Even their black body armor and jumpsuits looked bright gray under such brilliance.
The sights were stunning and invited Grant to ponder what this meant. Mischchenko cut those ponderings short as she yanked at Grant’s arm, helping her back up.
The three operative scrambled.
Just like the light, noise also surrounded them. Even through the helmet, the Anomalies sounded like they were singing. Like a choir of wind chimes. Amplified by their numbers in close to proximity to one another, and… eerily pleasant to the ear.
Through that soundscape, the skittering and scuttling sliced through. The swarm of mutant insects poured through the anomaly atop the hill down which the agents had tumbled. Chitinous bodies with flightless wings scampered and poured out like pulsating waves of black tar, flowing down the hillside.
Acting on instinct, Grant and Ruiz fired more shots. Their futuristic EMD rifles hurled bright blue electric blasts at the small creatures—and the Anomalies reacted. Lightning arced between the blasts and Anomaly orbs, crackling and flashing ever brighter. A pulse of pure pressure pushed the agents and insects both backwards, away from the reactions, staggering and stumbling the agents and dispersing the front rows of the living flood of insects.
Then the mad chase continued.
Ruiz swore.
The dog-sized bugs hit by blasts immediately fell, only for the living tide to wash over them and sweep them up in pursuit of the three human agents.
The volley of shots had accomplished nothing but a strange chain reaction—
Mischchenko yelled something at them; something about conserving their batteries, though her words were otherwise incomprehensible—static crackling and fuzzy clicks almost eclipsed the speech Grant heard in her headset.
The agents turned tail and ran.
They ducked past another Anomaly, swerved past yet another, and the tide chased them. The humans had no idea where to go, avoiding the Anomalies on instinct. They were just trying to outrun the insect swarm. Its horrid buzzing mixed in, tainting the pleasant chimes of the Anomalies.
The coppery taste of blood only grew in Grant’s mouth, coating her tongue in a terrible film. She wanted to spit, but couldn’t because of the helmet. And she suppressed her instinct to unload her EMD’s battery for more suppressing fire against their pursuers, as another survival instinct kicked in. Having seen the chain reaction between EMD discharge and the Anomaly cluster was almost like…
Touching the stove. She still had the scars to show from touching a hot stove as a kid.
The chain reaction now resembled that hot stove, so she wasn’t going to place her hand on it.
She was going to keep her hands off it. And like that, she stopped her finger from squeezing the trigger.
Ruiz and Mischchenko must have shared that sentiment. Their run took them outside the cluster of hovering, star-like orbs, though black spots remained in Grant’s vision, long before and after she screwed her eyes shut.
The grassy hills sloped down to a wide and serene beach of bright white sands, with no signs of humanity or life otherwise.
The mutant insect swarm chased them from the cluster of Anomalies. Their hundreds over hundreds of black bodies glistened in the broad daylight of this age—wherever, whenever they were now.
The creatures looked like a crossbreed between locusts and wasps. Sleek, deadly, and with snapping mandibles, their flightless wings glistened in beautiful rainbow colors. Had they come from the future to feast?
Once they had gained distance from the cluster of Anomalies, Ruiz decided to belay Mischchenko’s previous order. He took more potshots at the swarm, downing another handful of insects. It wasn’t even close to making a dent in the unstoppable onslaught on their heels.
All those snapping mandibles, working together, could probably strip the armor from their bodies in seconds, then eat the flesh from their bones even faster.
Mischchenko shouted, “What the hell did I just say?”
Ruiz stopped firing.
“This way!”
The team curved away from the Anomalies, running for the beach.
Without mercy, without stopping, the insects changed direction in perfect harmony, like a well-drilled army. They honed in on the three agents without fail. The living tide curved in the exact same direction, giving relentless chase.
“Water! Get… get in the water,” Mischchenko shouted, losing more and more wind as they ran and ran from the unyielding swarm.
Grant didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question it. Her mind was too busy imagining the swarm, all around her, suffocating her. Eating her alive. Thus, she ran. Mischchenko’s orders were as good as any others to secure their survival now.
The soaking sensation inside her combat boots immediately turned her socks into sponges, while water splashed up to their waistlines. In a frenzied charge into the ocean waves, the agents sloshed and splashed, all holding their EMD rifles up high to secure them from exposure while backing up from the swarm. Even so, even with how useless the weapons seemed against this menace, they all aimed at the big bugs.
The ocean afforded them time to breathe. They panted in their helmets. And their labored, winded breathing still fizzled with static.
This swarm would not follow them into the water. The living tide had stopped just short of entering the watery waves where they lapped against bright white sand. The locust-wasps scuttled up and down the beach, searching for a way to reach or find their prey, and always shying away, backing up from the wet waves like frightened animals.
The tide shook Grant, but its waves weren’t strong enough to sweep any of the agents away.
Against the coppery taste in her mouth, she had never been so glad over the stinging scent of saltwater, burning in her nostrils.
Still, the insects refused to wade into the water like the humans had.
The three field agents waited. Watched.
The insect swarm flooded up and down the beach, visibly confused over having lost their free lunch.
This finally afforded Grant some glimpses of the Anomalies. So blinding was their combined light, and so erratic their patterns of flaring up, flickering, and dimming, that Grant gave up on counting after thirty orbs.
One of the Anomalies flickered, then vanished entirely. Grant suppressed the urge to swear out loud, in case that had been the one they fell through to get here—potentially stranding them in a time millions of years ago. Or thousands of years in the future? Who knew?
Yet the many Anomalies remained.
Where did they all lead? How was this even possible?
None of the records she had pored over at Future Proof could have prepared her for this. And Grant sensed the same air of fascination from her colleagues, who, like her, stood in stunned silence.
They stood in the ocean waves of this alien beach, waiting as minutes passed them by like the elements, and the briny water soaked them, while the mutant-insect swarm slowly changed direction, dispersing, turning, and eventually leaving. They had given up on their prey.
The flood of creatures poured back uphill, heading towards the Anomalies. Were they responding to the sounds?
Only once the swarm was far out of sight, did anybody speak up.
“Good thing they don’t like water, huh?” Ruiz mumbled into their radio intercom.
Mischchenko cackled. Without doubt a stress response. Grant followed up with her own: a litany of profanities without rhyme or reason, just venting into the void of their closed radio comms, as they were stranded somewhere in another era of Earth’s history, or somewhere in Earth’s future.
The swarm crawled its way back up the grass hills, pouring into an Anomaly at the edge of the cluster, until the last ones of them vanished. Even the ones that had been stunned by EMD shots were gone, dragged along by the living avalanche. Perhaps devoured.
Hard to tell.
“I hope one of you got an idea which Anomaly we just exited from,” Grant grumbled, “because I sure as shit can’t tell them apart.”
Ruiz said, “On the bright side—sorry, pun not intended—those bugs went in a different one, right there at the edge of the Anomaly… crossroads? This is like a crossroads, huh?”
Mischchenko emitted a shuddering sigh.
“We better not waste any time—get back to those Anomalies—start knocking on different doors till we find the one back home. I don’t know about you two, but I am not getting stuck here, wherever ‘here’ is. I got family to get back to.”
Dripping with oceanwater, they slowly marched back up the beach, then the hills. Their advance started cautious, slowed by the weight of their drenching. Then courage or fear drove their pace, swifter steps into the blinding jungle of light.
The rest of the landscape around them looked so familiar and yet so alien. So untouched by mankind, so distant, yet so vibrant—its grass glistened bright green in the sunlight and the light of Anomalies.
Grant’s mind reeled with the possibilities, as to what time they had wound up in. What if there was a way to navigate these wormholes?
And she wondered how it was even possible for so many Anomalies to appear in a single spot like this. Connecting different eras, bridging disparate worlds that had existed and would exist on their planet. Crossing all through time.
Crossroads.
On cue, halfway back up the hills, an Anomaly flared up brightly. A man ran from it.
He wore armor. Ancient armor. In his hand, he clutched a sword, and sandals clung to his bloodied feet. Cloth on his body was dyed in a bright blue, while the rest of him was covered in a slick, dripping crimson. Whose blood it was would have been impossible to say, leaving no space for examination, for this stranger from the past ran headfirst into the next Anomaly, vanishing as abruptly as he had appeared.
A monster followed. Chased him.
Its appearance froze the blood in Grant’s veins. And all three field agents from Future Proof froze where they stood, standing rooted to the grassy grounds like statues.
At the size of a horse, the terrible creature chasing the ancient warrior featured four long, stalky limbs, all ending in deadly claws. Its upper torso was hunched and the silhouette of its gaping mouth revealed long, jagged teeth that could mangle and entrap their prey. This predatory beast crossed the hills in frightening, leaping bounds. It vanished into the next Anomaly that the ancient man in armor had run into, gone again as fast as it had appeared.
A streak of crimson amidst the blinding light, from the blood that had coated its gray and slender body.
“Holy what the hell?” Grant blurted out.
“My word,” Mischchenko said with trembling voice, “my cue. Let’s get the hell outta here!”
Neither Ruiz nor Grant needed to be told twice.
With EMD rifles raised, ready for any threats to leap out at them from the Anomalies, they waded into the maze of glowing orbs, seeking one atop a hill.
The eerie singing chimes welcomed them like a heavenly choir. Now, though Grant’s heart pounded like a drum, she sensed a deep resonance between these Anomalies.
A hum. A thrum, resonating with her own pulse, all the way down to her very bones.
It was both menacing and soothing somehow. Awesome in the original sense of the words. Like standing in the presence of something divine—something that could wink you out of existence by accident, and very prone to such mishaps.
“This one, I think,” Ruiz said.
“Wait,” Mischchenko answered.
Too late. Ruiz walked into an Anomaly atop a hill.
“Shit.”
They followed him in.
No crossroads awaited them on the other side of the blinding light. The resonance also felt weak here.
Fierce winds howled all around them, strong enough to shake them in their boots, and cold as ice. The sky was red and bleak, drowning in clouds of dust on the wind, and ominous thunder rolled in the distance.
Only a desert of rock and sand yawned all around them.
A monstrous shriek echoed across this wasteland.
Mischchenko shook her helmeted head and was first to back right out, returning through the Anomaly to the crossroads. The others followed.
“One down, huh,” Ruiz muttered, “how many more to go, now?”
“Shut up,” Mischchenko said, leading them to the next hill, with confidence and dread alike in every stomping step of her stride.
EMDs still raised in anticipation of the worst, they walked into blinding light.
Grant’s heart fluttered. She stifled a shuddering sigh of relief at the sight of Solomon’s new Anomaly Stabilizer, the upgraded Anomaly Locking Device.
They were back in the foggy Appalachian woods. The generator attached to the ALD chugged with merry rhythm. And no insect swarm in sight.
“Shit, I can’t believe it,” Ruiz said. “Holy shit.”
“Stay on your damned toes,” Mischchenko said. “Ruiz, you and me, quick sweep. Grant, you lock that Anomaly now.”
Wait—
Something inside of Grant screamed to rebel, to resist. She could barely believe what she herself was thinking, yet it couldn’t be helped.
They had stumbled upon something incredible. If Future Proof’s R&D department—or really anybody among humanity at large—if anybody could study all of what they had just experienced, who knew what revelations awaited them?
Grant finally gave her protest a voice. “Wait, wait, what—what about—what about the pterodactyls, putting them back, or stabilizing this Anomaly? I mean, we got everything recorded on helmet cams, but I think R&D should investigate this place.”
“Grant,” Mischchenko sighed. Shades of disappointment, grief, and despair turned her next words sharp, sharper than Spencer had ever spoken to her. “Are you out of your damn’ mind? Do you realize how dangerous that place is?”
A crossroads of Anomalies.
“Yeah,” Ruiz butted in, “you wanna hear my two cents, I say we send the big birds to containment, get this bad boy locked up. I’m with Mischchenko on this.”
“Thank you,” she replied to him.
Grant shook her head. She was torn. She agreed with them, and every fiber, every survival instinct in her was screaming at her to just lock up the Anomaly.
Yet she could not help but wonder what they might lose by losing their connection to that crossroads.
She turned to stare at the Anomaly. Much fainter than with the resonance amplified between the many of them hovering together in a cluster, the one’s solitary presence here still emitted an eerie, pleasant chime, nearly inaudible, though Grant now almost felt more sensitive to it.
A nervous laugh escaped Mischchenko’s throat. Then she said, “Shit, whatever, I know how you’re feeling, Grant. I wanna know more, too, even if it’s just so we can deal with these things more safely, hell, save more lives, maybe. And, hey, like you said, we got it all on headcams. Trémaux’s going to have a field day with it, let’s—”
Burch had warned them about the pterodactyls.
That it might only be at the last moment when the beating of their wings heralded their presence.
In line with the warning, a huge flap echoed across the mountain woods like a thunderclap, and a winged beast descended upon them.
Mischchenko was the first to react, but her EMD’s shot missed, hitting only a pine tree.
The pterodactyl screeched in response.
Right when it pounced on her.
#spoospasu#spookyspaghettisundae#horror#short story#writing#literature#spooky#fiction#mystery#thriller#scifi#science fiction#Primeval#Future Proof#fanfic#Chloe Grant#Ruiz#Mischchenko#crossroads#Anomaly#time#phenomenon#strange#insect#swarm#ocean#unknown#stranded#isolation#helplessness
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hara-kiri (1962) and its 2011 remake both devote themselves to presenting the deep juxtaposition between the well-composed, dignified dedication to ritual and propriety fundamental to the concepts of honor on which the mythologized system of samurai operates, and the ugly and deeply human greed and desperation that puppet those rituals to its own rotted ends. the 1962 film chooses to situate itself within the first paradigm, with evidence of the second paradigm leaking through jarringly at the seams. the film’s rashomon (1950)-like structure, with onion layers of narration revealing the unreliability of each properly and honorably told account, and its cinematography, with long, wide, largely static shots occasionally supplanted by shorter, closer dutch angles, serve to frame the manifestations of human nature beneath the farce of honor as unexpected but unignorable intrusions onto the stable and emotionless status quo, exactly as the characters (purportedly) see them. by contrast, the 2011 film really sinks its teeth into the second paradigm, emphasizing the ordinary, unpleasant sensory experience of day to day life that no amount of ritual can disguise. from foley work emphasizing the sounds of eating and dying to lush, colorful, mobile camera work emphasizing the visual noise of the sets and the physical textures it is comprised of, renowned horror director takashi miike makes full use of the medium—full-color and filmed for 3d and the big screen—to make the characters’ every muted experience as visceral to the audience as those of ichi the killer (2001). not only is the overall sensory experience heightened, but much of the storytelling is moved from the structure to the symbols, with framing narrative techniques toned down and individual gestures, items, and moments imbued with such intense emotional significance there were multiple points when i gasped out loud. in comparing the two, i think there is no doubt that the 2011 film is a top-notch adaptation, making full use of the changes and advances in medium while remaining in close dialogue with the themes and argument of the original. however, i do feel that the themes and argument are more clearly and effectively conveyed in the 1962 film, with the 2011 film serving to supplement and expand upon the argument and characters but not standing on its own quite as effectively. notwithstanding, both films were beautifully and poignantly done, and i would highly recommend both hara-kiri (1962) and hara-kiri: the death of a samurai (2011)
#it’s rare to see a really good 3d film#as in a film made specifically for the medium rather than having the medium added as an afterthought#and even though i saw this in 2d i could tell that it would be simply overwhelming (positive) in 3d#and goddamn i wish i could have seen it#ryddles
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