magic

cw: smut, jealous!price, light choking

part 1 2 gaz soap

-

Price had been looking at you funny all day. You’d invited him over for breakfast and from the moment he walked in, the whole vibe was just off. You tried talking and he would give short, chopped answers and you couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t mad at you; he had no reason to be. You didn’t say anything that could be misunderstood at all. He was just weird.

You try to ignore it and just cook, but the tension and silence was killing you. You end up botching the waffles because you were so distracted and you just give up and look at Price. “What’s with you? You’ve been acting weird since you got here.”

He looks up at you from his mug and does that thing where he makes his lips hide under his mustache. He just shakes his head, eyes darting away. “Nothin. Just…”

“Just what?”

“Who marked ya up?” He finally blurts out, lifting the mug to vaguely motion at your neck and exposed collarbone. “Sure as hell weren’t me.”

You laugh, looking down to try and see what he was talking about. You check your reflection in the microwave glass and turn your head, finally seeing the marks that weren’t completely faded yet.

“Oh, Simon came over a couple days ago.” You explain and go over to where Price sat, draping your arms across his shoulders and kissing his cheek. “Why, you jealous?”

“Maybe.” He turns in his seat and moves your hair out of the way so he can get a better look. And he looked pissed. “Didn’t I tell em to be more careful?”

He grumbles to himself some more, pulling you on to straddle his lap. His fingers trace over the soft bruises and keep tracing down your body until he’s at your hips. He glances up to meet your eyes and slips his hand into your bottoms to paw at your ass.

“Ya shoulda told ‘im not to do that.”

“What, bite me? You know how he gets, John.” you argue, arching your body into him enough to press your chest up against him. “He’s got a thing for it, I think.”

“Course he does.” He closes the distance and kisses you, the way his teeth clash with yours making it very apparent that he was in fact jealous. He keeps grabbing you anywhere he could and takes the chance to push your hips down so you could feel his growing bulge better. You gasp softly against his lips, your own hands moving down his front to free him from the pants. He helps you get them off and makes you fully undress in front of him, stroking himself while you did it.

“Get over here baby, ride me.” He beckons you over with his finger and shifts in the chair so you could get back in his lap. You sink down onto his cock with ease, beginning to move up and down when you feel one of his hands wrap around your throat. You look at him already glassy eyed and you let out a quiet mewl when he squeezes.

“Good girl, ya always ride me so well.” He squeezes again, using his hold on you to keep you at a steady pace. “Yeah, like that. Up…and down.” Price talks you through it and nods mostly to himself whenever you do something right.

After a while of letting you do the work, he releases your throat and grabs your hips to grind you down back and forth. Your nails dig into his arms as you reach your peak, shuddering in sync as Price reaches his own. His head falls back, eyebrows set in a deep crease while he lets himself empty into you. “Ya gonna let yourself get bit again?”

cw: smut, getting walked in on, photos being taken and shared, squirting

-

“I’ll go fucking crazy if I have to wait any longer,” Gaz pulls you back into the briefing room after the team meeting and bends you forward over the table, rubbing you through your pants.

“Oh! Kyle please, won’t someone hear?”

“Let em.” He laughs and sucks in through his teeth as his hand pushes harder, getting a proper reaction out of you. You arch into him desperate for more friction, his dick grinding against you instead of his hand, anything. He quickly gets the message and you hear his belt clinking so you follow suit. Being as impatient as he was, he doesn’t even let you remove your panties, just shoving them to the side so he could fuck you sooner.

Sounds of skin slapping fills the room and you grip the edge of the table, trying not to fall off with the way he was fucking you. Gaz is groaning and cursing behind you from how tightly you were gripping him while your orgasm approached way too quickly.

“Kyle? Kyle I’m so close, oh my-“ you try to speak through your moans but it was impossible and you feel Gaz’s hand petting your neck and shoulder.

“Yeah baby I knowww, I know.” He coos, not letting up the pace. “Ya gonna squirt f’me? Can feel it coming. Know you better than any of those other bastards. Come on baby, let it out.”

You choke on another moan and squeeze your eyes shut as your thighs tremble and a ridiculous amount of juices soak them and the floor below and Gaz. A weak cry escapes your lungs and you just barely register the door slamming open and Soap scoffing half surprised.

“Shoulda known ye’d be gettin yer fill, Garrick.”

Gaz looks over his shoulder and grins at Soap, cocking his head to signal him over. “What can I say? You know how I get.”

“Aye,” Soap comes over and rounds the table to get a good look at your face. “Aw looks like our bonnie’s a bit cock drunk, ain’t she? Ain’t ye?”

You open your eyes and nod lazily, only able to respond in tiny squeaks and moans. You can’t even protest when Soap takes out his phone and opens the camera. He grabs your jaw and makes you look at the camera when your head starts dropping and he snaps a few photos, making sure Gaz was visible in the background. He kisses your nose before getting up and going behind you. He takes more pictures and even a video of Gaz’s length going in and out of you before snickering to himself.

“Lads are gonna love this. See ya later,” he waves as he walks out, sending all of it to the group chat.

.˳˳✧.⋅ॱ needy!reader x sleepy!price

18+ only. afab!reader. grinding. angry, unprotected p in v. cream pie. dirty talk. mw4 price with a beard. daddy kink. ignoring pleas. drooling. holding down. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. implied somnophilia.

.˳˳✧.⋅ॱ word count: 1.8k

You look everywhere for him after working out one day, asking everyone you could, but no one seems to have seen him around. An hour later, he pops up in the dining hall with excuse after excuse. You eventually pay no mind to it.

Everyone has their things after all, that is, until you skip your after-workout shower one day, deciding to retreat to your room, finding none other than a very awkward-looking Scot. 

“I wasn't expecting you to be here..” 

“Here as in…my room?” 

“Right”

“soap…”

You end up cornering him into telling you why he's been sneaking into your room every day. Turns out, he has been replacing your clothes that seem inappropriate, after listening to his lieutenant complain about how your clothes don't seem up to code, too tight for work. Right then, nothing maliciou-

"What?"

"Shite! just pretend I said nothin lass. ill uh be out of ye hair now!'

Well. He calls you sweet. Everyone else looks at him like he’s crazy.

Because you are sweet to Nik, sure, he helps you take care of your scales, and takes you flying in beautiful high mountains, and keeps your instincts well satisfied with his genuine gold jewelry. Every glint of his gold studs in the sun, or the shine of his necklace has your eyes locked on to him, nothing else matters but his words. Because you know if you listen and obey well, he’ll let you touch them, run your sharp claws over the gold links, brush against the rings adorning his thick fingers.

The same claws that have ripped through dozens of men like tissue paper, that have come back to him soaked in dark blood, turn soft against his skin, reverent in the way you touch him.

Now, to everyone else on base, you are a feral little beast. Even Price, who used to be drawn to the gold-covered Russian same as you when he was your age, is not safe from you. He’ll come back to his room after a long day, tired and ready for bed, only to find you curled in HIS nest, snarling and puffing up your wings in a threat display once you notice him, like he’s the one intruding here. Price learned after the first few times that it’s better to just go get Nik to extract you, bribe you back to your own nest in his hanger with promises of shinies.

Ghost is the only one who gets similar treatment to Nikolai. He’s big, and barrel-chested, and most importantly, warm. He regularly finds himself crushed under your scaly, fast asleep body, your tail curled tightly around his leg and wings twitching over his arms as you dream. Price found the two of you reversed, once, thought he was going to have to tell Nik his precious dragon had been crushed, with the way you could barely be seen squished under Ghost’s bulk. The only clue you were alive under there was the loud, happy purring that vibrated through both of you.

Your favorite is when Nik brings Ghost back to the hanger with him. You can drag the big man into your nest, use your jabbing claws and nipping teeth to keep him where you want him while you peel off his mask. Your purr rumbles through his chest as you lay on top of him, tracing over each and every scar crossing his face, shining adornments just like Nikolai’s gold.

He’s dying. His insides are failing. Slowly but surely. They’re giving out. 

He’d warned you. He’d said he’d had one too many heat strokes, concussions, and what-have-you’s while deployed. You had taken him seriously, sure, but you didn’t think it was all failing *that fast*. You didn’t think you could possibly lose him before even getting close to what you called “too old”.  

The quick research on what each blood test meant had sent you into a downward spiral and now you were just sitting here, in the middle of your apartment’s living room, staring at your husband’s medical paperwork while trying your best not to cry.

You feel cold and your chest is heavy and the feeling doesn’t go away even when you somehow pull yourself to stand. You make dinner so that Simon has something nice and warm and filling to eat when he gets home, if he gets home.

The “if” plagues you. It always has, but right now it seems so much worse. It’s eating away at every fiber of your being as you cut up chicken and vegetables and wash rice and try to pretend that everything is okay.

You don’t feel when you slice your hand, but you panic as you try to clean your blood off of everything. 

You feel ill. Not because you’ve gotten blood everywhere or that you’ve seriously injured yourself, no, you’re nauseous because now you’ve burdened a dying man once more.

How many times have you complained? Have you brushed things off and inconvenienced him? 

How long will you spend your life regretting it?

You’re stuck there again, staring, when Simon finally comes home. It’s late, but he’s already texted you a few times that he had to stay on base longer than he had originally thought. 

You hadn’t answered. You were trapped inside of yourself, internally screaming and crying, and he’d been worried.

The guilt bubbles over, spills out into the kitchen alongside of your blood that you hadn’t cleaned up yet. 

He slowly approaches you, like he always does when your emotions bubble over like this, and he wraps you in his arms. 

He stinks. He smells like sweat and carbon and cigarettes and his breath has that odd twinge to it.

But he’s alive. His heart is still beating in your ear despite everything. He’s still talking and trying to get you to calm down.

And he’s here. He’s alive. 

For now at least.

You’re so polite nonnie ofc I can 🤭❣️ I hope you like it.

Don’t worry, be happy

Boys of task force 141 reacting to reader panicking.

cw: mention of torture (super detailed ?), blood, cuss words, ofc panic attacks. Etc. English isn’t my first language. grammar mistakes plenty. Not proofread. :)

ps: reader is gn but “ma’am” is mentioned.

Captain John Price

It happens right after watching that recorded video of your lieutenant being tortured for hours.

Lieutenant Walker strapped to a chair, face battered painted with blues and purples, blood spills out of his skin and bruises blooming deep. His cries doesn’t help either.

Piece by piece they stripped him of his skin, carving him with knives, needles, nails.

He’s begging, pleading, screaming…

For you..

To help.

But all you can do is watch.

“This is what you get..” another voice can be heard behind the camera.

Breathing becomes suffocating as your vision slowly tunnels, and the room starts to violently blur and spin around you. If it wasn’t for the British blue eyed captain catching you before your fall, you’ve would have became one with the ground.

He yells your name over and over.

Blue eyes silently plead for you to snap out of it, but all you can offer them is a look of distant as Walker look of terror consumed your vision again on the monitor.

“Stay with me solider-“

Tears spill over before you could catch them, shaking your head.

“I know. I KNOW” he tries.

And when you slowly give out he shakes you and yells

“LOOK AT ME.” he grips tightened “I got you..”

“I’m tired… Captain…” painful gasps “ I cant do this..”

And he knows this feeling so well.

“Not yet sweetheart… “ voice low yet certain “we aren’t done yet.”

You can’t answer, just cry.

“We’ll get them..”

A promise that he know he has to keep.

——————————

Kyle Gaz Garrick 

You clawed at your shirt, desperate for air that never comes.

“Hey-“ hands grip yours tightly, halting its attempt.

You barely register Kyle towering over you, his voice cut through the beeping of monitors and neon light that washes over you both.

Voices drift behind the curtains and through the hallways.

Where am I.

Everything is too muffled yet loud, too much, too close.

You make out the sergeant yelling for a doctor.

“I can’t” you desperately try to explain.

Words stuck on the tip of your tongue, muffled with cotton, yet he still understands.

“It’s okay” voice low. “I know”

His expression softens with concern, the worry in his eyes impossible to hide, you almost feel guilty. his thumb trace over your knuckles slow and reassuring, grounding you with each and every gentle touch.

Doors swung open, nurses and doctors crowd the room answering the echoing alarms from the roaring monitors.

His fingers slip from yours, hesitant yet gentle. Eyes stuck on yours as the doctors make their way around the bed.

Taking a step back away, Kyle eyes never leave you.

“I’m right here” he says across the room.

Across the monitor, the frantic beeping of your heart rhythms that once filled the room now seemed to slowly surrenders itself to a steady sound.

At ease, your eyes stuck on him

“thank you” you try to say but the darkness consumes your vision once again.

———————————

Simon Ghost Riley

“Look at me” his voice low and calm, as if he wasn’t the one bleeding through his tactical gear, gushing blood.

Hours ago, you’d been shopping for a new apartment. Nitpicking wallpaper and cutlery but now you were kneeling infront of a SAS solider, somewhere in the wreckage of a bombed out building, who thrown himself over you when the explosion hit.

“I-I’ve never done this-“ your hands tremble violently “I don’t know- I don’t kn-“

You apply pressure but the warm scarlet seeps in your clothes and between your fingers and drenching your arms no matter how hard you press and plead.

Oh my god. There is too much blood.

“Look at me.”

A gloved hand cups your jaw firmly, pulling your gaze away from the crimson pooling around you.

Your eyes meet the dark hollows of his mask, pale skin and brown eyes.

“I’m sorry” you sob “you’re going to die and I’m-“

“No one’s dying, sweetheart”

“But you’re bleeding” you say with a shaky breath.

“Still breathing.”

Your chest refused to loosen

“need you to stay with me” he forces your chin up again when you tilt them down to look at the blood once again.

There wasn’t an ounce of frustration nor fear in his voice, it’s almost as if he lived through this before.

“I can’t do this sir..” tears mixes with blood.

“You can.”

“You’re going to die.”

A beat of silence.

“You want me dead that badly love?” The faintest hint of a smirk beneath the thick fabric.

Is he seriously flirting with you in the middle of a terrorist attack?

“No.. I don’t..” you shake your head.

“Thought so, beautiful”

No fucking way.

“breath for me love.” His eyes soften “I’ll get you out of here”

“You just keep those pretty eyes on me yeah?”

“Yes sir…”

————————————

John Soap Mactavish

“Did you get the ham?”

“Fuck.” Johnny stills.

Your stomach dropped.

“Hen…” your eyes widened.

“Listen before you panic-“

“One fucking thing Johnny” voice cracked

“This is the first time I’m hosting the family dinner” panicking “you forgot to BRING THE GROCERIES”

There it was.

The look of panic he knew you were trying so desperately to to hide since the moment you woke up.

“Hey” John reaches you, not too close to touch you.

“Look at me” he tries.

“They’re going to look at me- I’m not even ready john” hyperventilating “and the oven stopped working too” hands pulling at your scalp

“What if they think-“ breath uneven.

“Slow down”

A pause.

“I messed up big time yes.” Guilt clear in his blue eyes.

“I’ll go get everything right now baby” he promises.

Your tears threatening to spill.

“But I need you to breath and calm down”

“I can’t calm down when my husband is being stup-“

“Aye” he smiles “I deserve that but please.” Begging.

You nod, slowly breathing through your nose.

“Get the ham Johnny..” wiping your face, still annoyed.

“Yes ma’am “

Of course <33

Platonic Yandere 141 Apocalypse Au Part 2

Simon fishes out the fully cooked MREs out of the boiling water with a pair of small metal tongs. They are hot, but his thick combat gloves protect him from the heat. He passes the meals around to the rest of the boys, who thank him. They all have their utensils ready to go.

Simon is about to pass the last one to you automatically but he pauses, you are so out of it. Would you even be able to feed yourself?

“Who’s gonna feed the stray?” He asks in a gruff voice, cutting open your MRE with the same knife he used earlier to stir the pot of boiling water. He puts his extra fork in the bag for you to use.

“I’ll feed 'em after I eat, Lt.” Johnny says with his mouth full of food. He says with food in his mouth before he goes back in for another obnoxiously big bite of food. He’s always been a fast eater anyway, not a lot of time to eat in his line of work.

“Close your mouth, that’s so gross.” Gaz mumbles, he hates the sound of chewing. Johnny knows this and he chews a little louder to piss off Gaz. But at least he’s stopped talking with his mouth full.

Your head lulls to the side a little bit, it’s way too heavy for you to hold up. Your hair falls around your face as you blink sleepily, a little bit of drool on your lip.

Price gently puts your head back in place, wiping the drool off of your lip with his thumb, he wipes it on his leg afterwards.

“Really gave you the good stuff, huh?” He jokes before going back to eating his meal. Gaz laughs a little bit, looking into your eyes. They are glazed over and your pupils are really big. You are definitely high out of your mind.

Johnny quickly finishes his meal, grabbing the one Simon prepared for you from beside Simon. Johnny pulls up a log right in front of you so he doesn’t have to constantly bend down to feed you and make his back sore. It’s sore enough these days.

He tucks the blanket under your chin so the blanket isn’t in the way when he feeds you. He gets a small amount of the meal on the extra spoon Simon so generously lended to you and he holds it up to your mouth.

“Here comes the airplane~ Say aw..” he holds the spoon to your lips, prepared to help you eat. He had a goofy grin on his face, he nudged the spoon into your mouth and pulled it out. You chew silently, not awake enough to appreciate the warm food, the flavour…

“There we go.. good job..” he coos at you, already feeding you a second bite. Simon scoffs at all the cooing and the babying.

“Chew it up and spit it in their mouth why don’t cha?” He says dryly, his mask lifted up enough for him to feed himself. Gaz cringes at the thought.

“Shut up, Lt. You’re just jealous.” Johnny glances at him, a teasing smile on his face. He scoops up some more food for you, perfectly content with this arrangement.

“Not jealous.” He sighs, shaking his head in disbelief at Johnny's attitude. “Disgusted maybe.”

“Quit bickering, you lot. I have enough of a headache.” Price murmurs, throwing another log on the fire. Embers fly into the air before they burn out into ash.

The group falls into a comfortable silence, the food is warm, the air is fresh, and the company is alright. Johnny stays quiet the rest of the time he’s feeding you, but he still has a slight smile on his face.

He wipes away any food that’s missed your mouth, you’re already dirty enough. You're not horrific like they thought you would be, you have some dirt on your face and your hair is a little messy. Johnny is glad that it isn’t matted, otherwise he might have to give you a Mohawk like he has.

You start to get tired, the sun is setting and the sky is a warm pink that’s beginning to bleed into a deep purple. Johnny nudges you awake, you need to finish your meal, you need more fat on your bones. He doesn’t like how skinny you are.

“No no. No sleeping yet. Gotta finish your food.” Johnny mumbles, scooping up the last of the meal, scraping the bottom of the bag, every calorie counts for you.

He feeds you the last bite, patting you on the head when you swallow.

“Good kid.” He praises as he tucks the blanket around you one again. He watches as your glazed over eyes finally flutter shut. The garbage collected in a small bag and put into someone’s bag, no trace of them should be left behind.

Gaz stands up from his camping chair, stretching his arms above his head as everyone else begins to set up their sleeping bags and tents. He goes back towards the tree house, clad fully climbing up the ladder because it’s not so bright out anymore.

It’s impossible to see in the treehouse, it’s completely dark. Gaz reaches for his flashlight on his vest and he clicks it on, a beam of light igniting in the treehouse. He scans the room, looking for your sleeping bag, the one he saw earlier when he was up here.

He finds it, it’s in pretty good shape. He grabs it from the floor, taking another look around the tree house. He notices things that he didn’t see before. Trinkets, dried flowers, and some personal items. Nothing worth noting.

He climbs back down the ladder with his flashlight between his teeth and your sleeping bag slung over his shoulder.

He gets to the ground without any troubles, walking back over to the campfire. The tents are set up, everyone is ready to go to bed. Gaz approaches you, taking the blanket off of you. You groan, the chill of the air waking you up in an uncomfortable way. Your face scrunches up as you try to reach for the blanket to stay warm.

“Relax..” Gaz takes off your shoes, setting them to the side for tomorrow. He shimmy’s the sleeping bag up your legs then up your torso with a little more effort. He grabs your arms so he can tuck them in as well.

“Don’t fuss with me.” He says as you tense up a little bit. He gets your arms inside and he zips you up. He puts the hood over your head and he tightens the drawstring so it won’t come off when you're sleeping.

“Looks like a worm.” Price comments, scratching his beard as he stands beside Gaz. Gaz smiles a little bit at the comment but he doesn’t laugh.

He picks me up and he puts you in one of the tents, he is careful not to hit your head on anything or jostle you around too much.

The date was by all accounts going swell. Even as it had only been around twenty minutes or so, when he ordered you were messing around with your necklace, rubbing uncomfortably against you nervously sweat-kissed nape, so you had no forewarning for what was about to disgrace the table.

To call the steak rare would be an exaggeration, because even the outside looked too meaty for comfort.

What he was now happily chewing on was closer to still-alive than it was steak, so raw you were sure whatever it may harbour could kill a man of even a stature as grandiose as his.

“‘S rude to stare at people’s plates luvie.”

You gapped indignantly, swallowing a gasp that was—to you—so valid it was hardly theatrical at all, with a bite of your own steak, the actually cooked one that was neither dry nor melting in your mouth like mash.

“I’m not staring at the plate.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You wanted to punch him in his ruggedly handsome face.

But most of all you’d have liked for him to be vegan, because now you’ll hesitate to kiss a mouth, when it is one that enjoys raw meat from restaurants that are certainly shoddy enough to buy way marked-down cuts of it.

“I just don’t think it’s right, is all.”

✴︎⋆°.⋆༺ ⚔ ༻⋆.°⋆✴︎

Prompt: You are a doctor on base and become the 141's work wife.

The double doors fluttered shut behind you, nearly thrown off their hinges in your flurry to escape the cacophony of the ER. Your heels clicked a staccato rhythm on the tile, echoing your irritation.

Your morning wake-up call was a code blue for an unlucky private that choked on his own vomit after attempting to drink his entire liquor supply before inspections, and that immediately spiraled into two cadets that nearly blew off their fingers messing with fireworks.

Sometimes it feels like you are a pediatrician and not a military physician. All things considered, you are now in desperate need for a cup of coffee and a little peace and quiet in your office.

"Morning glory," Soap, one of your 'work husbands' as you've taken to calling them, was sat in your chair with his boots up on your desk.

"Johnny, I told you to stop calling me that."

"Why not? It's morning and it's a glory to see you." He winked, standing up and gesturing for you to take a seat. Your aching feet thanked him as you dropped down into the warm leather chair.

"Don't you have things you need to do?"

"Something more important came up." Soap answered, cheeky. His hands found your shoulders when you sat down, calloused thumbs massaging into your nape.

"Mm, that's nice," you hummed, eyes closing.

A quick knock on your door woke you back up. Gaz, another 'work husband', stood there with your favorite mug in hand. "Hope I'm not interrupting," he said, inviting himself inside.

You moaned at the smell of coffee. "You're a life saver, Kyle."

Gaz set the mug down on your desk, flashing one of those smiles that made your nurses giggle whenever he stopped by. "My pleasure, love."

Behind you, Soap scoffed. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

Another pair of boots entered your small office. Price sighed at the sight that greeted him. "There you idiots are. We got debrief in 15." His gaze turned warm when he looked your way, "Morning, beautiful."

"Good morning, Captain." You took a slow sip of your coffee, letting your eyes run over him. "Busy today?"

"Let's just say you're a sight for sore eyes." Price spared you the details, but the lines in his face told you the big picture.

"Where's your shadow?" You asked, looking for the Ghost.

"Over here."

You jumped out of your skin, nearly splashing coffee on your scrubs. The men in the room didn't react at all, turning a leisure gaze over to the corner where Ghost's looming figure stood silently.

"Were you there the entire time?" You questioned, hand over your heart.

"Yes," Ghost and Soap both answered.

Mildly terrifying experience aside, you didn't have time to dwell on it before your work buzzer went off. You cursed, quickly gulping down the rest of the hot coffee.

"Duty calls?" Ghost asked, amused.

You wiped away a bit of the coffee that clung to your lips, gasping. "Unfortunately."

When you stood up, you wobbled a bit on your heels, getting whiplash from the shot of caffeine and their undivided attention.

At once, all four of them reached out to steady you. You waved it away though, fully capable of walking on your own two feet.

"Thanks for the visit, boys." You said, tapping Gaz's cheek affectionately when you passed by. "And the coffee, handsome."

werewolf!Simon Riley x afab!reader

synopsis: a wolf and his obsession with a lamb

warnings: explicit sexual content(18+), body horror, gore, child abuse, obsessive behavior, stalking, religious fanaticism, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, power imbalance, teratophilia, etc.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Summary: You wake up, for real now. Simon tries to prove to you that he is indeed who he is.

Additional Tags/Warnings: -

Wordcount: ~ 770

A/N: This is a new chapter 4, inserted between chapter 3 and the old chapter 4 which now becomes the new chapter 5... sorry for any confusion xD

—

This chapter on AO3: here Previous chapter on tumblr: here Next chapter on tumblr: here

—

When you finally came to again, the leaden exhaustion had given way to more of a tingly exhaustion.

With only your good eye moving, you looked around, and found yourself in a somewhat standard hospital room. In stark contrast to the general brightness of your current surroundings, a napping visitor, clad in dark clothes, was slouched on a chair beside the bed, arms crossed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You tried to stretch your limbs but couldn't help a groan from how achy and rusty everything felt. Of course that was enough to awaken your vigilant visitor.

"Easy there, sweetheart." 

You locked eyes, and the dark hazel washed over you like a whiskey on the rocks.

"Where am I?"

"Safe."

"More specific, please."

"Hospital."

"Where?"

"Secret. That's why it's safe."

"... - ... The world has lost a great comedian on you..."

"I know." 

You huffed a little laugh and noticed you were thirsty. You took a few swigs from the bottle on your nightstand. The cold liquid refreshed your limbs and mind. You started wiggling everything gradually from toe to head, wondering: Was this guy really your BFF from back in the day? The one you'd shared your lunch with?  The one you'd tried to reenact Jackie Chan movie fights with? The one who'd helped turn the utter embarrassment that was prom night into a cathartic night of laughter and just a tiny bit destruction?

Memories started flooding in as you stared into his eyes that seemed so familiar, and yet, so different, older, colder maybe? Like he'd seen some shit.

"Who are you?" you eventually wondered aloud.

He quirked an eyebrow. "You know who I am."

"Could be an imposter."

Conceding head tilt. "Could be. Am not."

"Big words for a man with a mask hiding his face."

"Big attitude for someone who's been out cold and trusting for almost a week."

"I was not consciously trusting anyone. Wait, a week?"

He nods, and you sigh.

"Tell me something only you would know."

"You're testing me." It was less a question than stating the obvious.

"Yes."

"What if I fail?"

"I'm not gonna disclose my plan of action to an imposter."

"Atta girl," he chuckles, approving. "I'll point out, though, that you still have that needle and some electrodes attached to you."

"You're stalling, mate."

He draws a breath in and sighs it out. Then he leans forward, counting on his fingers as he lists your full name and old address, stopping to see if that was enough.

"Banal basics. Go on."

So he continued his list with the little competition you two had going about who could fit more blueberries into your mouths, a teacher who'd been unfair to you once in grade 4 and how he, Simon, had helped you to get back at him without getting caught (it involved a bunch of meatballs and rats), and how you tried to make caramel candy yourself and got burned in the process.

As that still was not quite enough, he then also recounted how your prom date stood you up, so to cheer you up he helped you build an effigy of that loser with scrap at the playground late at night which you then proceeded to throw acorns at, and, eventually, pulverized it with a forgotten baseball bat you'd found in the shrub that teared up your prom dress (which you did not care about anyways, because you hated dresses). Deflating the tires of your date's new car had been your idea, perfected by his idea of removing the pins so the tires couldn't be inflated again. 

"And then we sat at the docks and shared a milkshake."

"Best night," you croaked, and he nodded. "Best night."

"Si...," you whispered with a finality that sank deep into your heart and struck a dusted chord that you hadn't noticed in years, but that now started to crescendo.

"Told you."

Neither of you said something for a quite some time, thinking on what might have been, eyes locked in silent dialogue, in silent dream.

Eventually, the moment passed, as the door opened, and a middle-aged woman with light-brown hair entered the room with an air of urgency.

"Ah, you're finally awake."

Simon deslouched. "Laswell."

"Ghost," she acknowledged him with a nod, and continued to talk to you.

"I am sorry to ambush you like that right after crossing the border to the land of the waking, but there's a bunch of people waiting to talk to you."

First thing after he comes home from a hard day, he just wants to strip to his briefs and flop face down on the bed between your spread legs.

He starts by licking you through your panties. There’s something he finds so alluring about basically straining for a taste of you. He likes when he has to work for it and that’s why he’s wrapped around your fingers.

The cloth of your underwear is soaked with his spit and your arousal by the time he finally slips it off. His movements are slow, almost reverent. His fingers trace your skin as they slide down your legs, and he plants kisses as he goes.

When he begins eating you out proper, he’s making love to your pussy. He French kisses it— tongue giving light swipes, lips and teeth devouring, hands bringing you closer and holding you in place for him. The kisses get deeper, and he begins to moan. The more pussy-drink he gets, the more he babbles about how good you are for him and how he loves the taste and feel of you. You’re almost too gone to get any of that. His voice muffled into your cunt gets you trembling.

His thumb plays with your clit sloppily. He likes spitting on it or massaging a bit of his pre into it. And every once in a while, he’ll pull back to stare at your folds like it’s the most unique design he’s ever seen. His other fingers spread and play with your cunt, but he can’t stay away for too long, so he’ll give you a big lick from hole to clit or shove his tongue deep in you before returning to gazing. His eyes are wide with wonder for two whole minutes before he dives back in.

✴︎⋆°.⋆༺ ⚔ ༻⋆.°⋆✴︎

You had never hissed at him before, but as it were, here you sat. Fangs bared making that feisty noise, hardly fearsome so much as you were cornered.

You could smell perfume on him, cheap perfume, the type women going out to the clubs wore for one purpose—and one purpose only.

Top that off with his lateness and the heady, musky scent that was only sloppily disguised, and it was a recipe for disaster. At least with a roommate such as you, if that was what he would now call you, following such brazen disrespect.

Owner and pet was not usually an exclusive relationship.

But pets were also not commonly genetically altered humans, so that kind of excuse wouldn’t fly. Not when he would lay with you purring sweetly on his chest every night, telling you sweet things and feeding you ever sweeter treats.

Sure, he had never kissed you on the lips or anything of the sort, but the way he would kiss the apples of each cheek, your temple and your collarbone was hardly saintly. Whether it be the hunger of love or lust you were uncertain, but you knew it had to be one of them.

“Luv-“ he tried when he observed your fiercely knitted brows.

You hissed, louder again, noises of discontent pitching in tandem with the rising inferno of rage and jealousy bubbling in your chest, thunderous heartbeat a betrayal of what pricked wetly at your shiny eyes.

“I hate you!” It was a sob, you loathed your emotions now.

His form was blurry and uncertain from your point of view, growing smaller as you ran to the bedroom, ducking into the closet with the old scratchy blanket, stewing in your heartbreak and hiding away from pitying—but never seeing—eyes.

Simon was royally fucked, and for what? A lousy shag?