#he wanted to get well and everything played out to where it simply wouldn't work sigh..

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ sergeant johnny 'soap' mactavish

cw : sexual theme

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why did john have to get married so far away from the airport? it wouldn't have bothered you if you didn't have to spend the car trip stuck with mactavish. ever since you were part of the 141, there had always been something that bothered you about soap. you couldn't really explain what. it didn't help that something about you bothered him too.

unless you two were on a mission, you would always bicker with one another like five-year-olds. at first, your teammates had been amused by it, but now it was getting old. they couldn't understand why you couldn't get along. you had gotten along fine with everyone else, even ghost, but you had drawn the line at johnny? it didn't make sense.

your explanations were always the same: he was childish, borderline dumb, and most of all, a whore. you shared a wall with him back in base, and you had lost count of all the women, and men, he had brought back to his room. all of them worked at the base, and you still didn't understand how he hadn't fucked everyone yet.

you had tried everything to make him at least turn the noises down. you had asked nicely, you had knocked on his door during his fun, you had knocked on your shared wall, you had put on some crazy music, you even went as far as waking up your captain in the middle of the night. let's say neither john nor soap had been very happy with this. but you had slept like a baby for at least two weeks after that.

you had asked simon how he slept next to the brothel that was soap's room, and he just threw earplugs at your face. you hated earplugs; they made you feel way too vulnerable, but you didn't have a choice.

when they asked johnny why he hated you, he simply said: "dinnae hate her, but she's a right pain in ma arse." the rest of task force 141 had to give it to you, you had arguments, where johnny didn’t.

soft music was playing in the car while you looked outside the window. you loved your captain, but at this very moment, you wanted him dead. you had been erratic when he had announced his wedding, invited you all, as well as laswell. you had been more sceptical when he had told you where it was taking place, in the middle of nowhere, five hours away from london. and with your luck, you had missed the rest of 141 at the airport, leaving you with johnny.

you didn't understand what happened, normally, organisation was your thing. you'd asked kyle and simon about their flights, and the time they'd be landing in london to synchronize, but when you had landed, they texted you to tell you they were 30 minutes away from the venue, but soap was waiting for you. least to say, you hadn't been happy to see him, and his disinterest had angered you even more. you almost rented a car for yourself, but you didn't feel like driving five hours into god knows where.

you were snapped out of your daydreaming when the car stopped, in front of a bed and breakfast. what the hell? that was not the plan at all. you knew it was late, but it had only been an hour. soap couldn’t already be tired.

seeing your face, johnny let out a sigh, and before you could run your mouth, he said, "ah didnae have a day aff yesterday like someone," he said, emphasizing the 'someone' before he added, "an' it's near midnight 'cause o' yer flight, so if ye dinnae mind, ah'm gettin' a guid night's sleep."

and with that, he exited the car. he did leave the keys, tempting you to just abandon him here. you didn’t. john had insisted on you taking a late flight, he even went as far as booking it for you. you thought it meant your captain had a plan for you to reach the venue with the rest of the team. turned out, he hadn’t, and you were stuck with mactavish, who wanted to sleep. as if you weren’t trained to go days without an hour of sleep.

you took your bags, the keys, and made your way to the front desk. when you arrived, soap had his room key in his hands. passing you, he took your bag from your hand.

"dinnae bother, it's the last room they’ve got," he said, showing his key and gesturing for you to follow him.

looking back at the lady behind the desk, she gently shook her head, silently telling you he was telling the truth. it's not like you'd never shared a bed with any of the 141, but it was always in a very different context. what had you done to deserve this?

when you entered the room, soap was trying to push the very obvious queen-size bed. it wasn't two mattresses put together, that much was clear. sighing again, you sat down on the armchair, watching as he agitated himself for nothing.

"a'm no takin' the floor, juist sae ye know," he explained, once he understood the bed was not separated.

that's how you ended up awake at 4 a.m. because this man moved a lot. like the child he was. truth be told, you never had to endure his sleeping schedule, always begging your captain to be teamed with ghost or gaz. so you only heard soap move a lot during his sleep, but you had figured the boys were overdoing it. they hadn't.

you had gone to sleep each on one side of the bed, and you had been awoken by him grabbing you and yanking you toward him, quite aggressively. your first instinct had been to crawl out of his grip, but he was way stronger than you. you were sure you wouldn't make it without waking him up. and he was warm, so warm. it was almost lulling you back to sleep, certain he was going to let you go before he woke up.

and then he moaned, right in your ear, pressing his pelvis into your ass.

again, your instinct took over and your elbow jabbed into his stomach, waking him up in pain. that gave you the time to crawl back to your side of the bed.

coming to his senses, johnny looked back at you. he saw something in your eyes, something he had never seen when you usually looked at him: lust. fuck, what had he done? he had been having a very pleasant dream, and from the punch he had received, he must have cuddled you.

did that turn you on?

a small smile made its way onto his lips, and he crawled slowly toward you, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. when you didn't even flinch, he sat very close to you, grabbing your hips to hoist you into his lap. still, nothing came out of your mouth. your eyes were fixed on his lips.

"think i like ye better when ye're quiet, bonnie," and with that, he kissed you. a nasty kiss it was. all tongue and spit. his hands made their way under your shirt, massaging your breast gently, a contrast to the aggressive kiss.

your brain had stopped functioning the minute you felt his hard member against your ass. it was as if you had forgotten everything: who he was, how to breathe, how to work. your body had gone on autopilot, only seeking pleasure. with his hands on your hips encouraging you, you felt good.

you felt even better than with his hips against yours, and he let you lead. watching you move, his back on the bed, johnny felt things he had never felt with any of his past lovers. you made him moan just as much as he made you. he was hypnotized by you: your breasts moving just before his face, the way your hips were rubbing against his pelvis, your face twisted in a pleasure-filled gasp. you had never been more beautiful.

and as you lay together in your post-pleasure glory, somewhere far from here, your captain was smoking a cigar, not knowing his plan had worked better than he had expected.

[omgfangirlland]

I random Idea suddenly appeared in my head (I was about to sleep but this is more important). Originally I had two Ideas but I thought.. Why not combine them? My first idea was a neglected reader who can see ghost.. Like, one day she just developed this abilities. Imagine how it would go if Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne were still in the mansion and looking after the batfam. They can see how Bruce Wayne is threatening his daughter and stuff.

The second Idea was a more realistic neglected reader where she's really neglected and I don't mean birthday is being forgotten or what not.. I mean real neglect where she had to work for money and her own food.. Where she has to learn how to cook for herself and learn how to do things at the very young age. I want to see her actual struggle for survival where there are times she barely makes money so she had to go hungry for some days.. Sometimes she resorts to stealing foods just to eat.

I wanted to combine these two but I'm too sleepy to continue two peace out ✌👉

-🔱

The sudden burst of creativity right as you get in bed is such a serious problem- like pls- I had like 10-12 hours where I could have done all of that- why at 3am?😭😭

When I first read this, it was way so late, and I was like "cooking her own food and working isn't neglect-" and then I realized I am in fact poor, and due to the necessity of my parents needing me to be somewhat independent my view of that point is skewed- also the reader is going to be quite young at the start of being in the family so really, a five or 10 year old shouldn't be operating the stove without supervision or finding jobs to pay for necessities-

Reader is the oldest sibling(I love the forgotten oldest daughter trope) in this for various reasons(angst) and I am so keeping ghost!Thomas and Martha btw-

CW - postpartum mental breakdown/psychosis turned into attempted infanticide via drowning, miscarriage/suicide/drugs mentioned.

My thoughts on how this MC came into Bruce's care come down to three options: Bruce and her mom were actually lovers and married, but after Reader's birth mama either left, had a postpartum breakdown, and is now rotting in Arkham, or she died. I personally prefer the Arkham route, but dying during childbirth is also quite angst filling. (Let's all ignore how I keep fridging Reader's mom, pls)

----

Martha and Thomas were by your mother's side as soon as she walked in with you in her arms, Martha almost crying at the sight of your scrunched up face, still wrinkly and flushed. They were both so happy when Bruce found love, both were so sure he'd die alone in some alley, and when the news of the pregnancy came, they were right there, celebrating with their son as if they were still alive.

But Bruce got busy, too busy with both Wayne Enterprises and being Batman. And while your mom had her friend and Alfred, she needed the reassurance of her husband. Martha was the first to notice the cracks.

They both noticed how you'd look at them as if they were right there, so they'd interact with you. Playing with you, making sure you wouldn't bump into anything when you started crawling five months later- but while Thomas would teasingly crawl after you, Martha couldn't help but keep close to her son's wife.

She tried her best to soothe her, trying to give her some warmth from beyond the veil. She knew what was happening- well... to some degree. Martha, too, went through post-partum depression, however, hers stemmed from losing Bruce's unborn brother. Martha hoped to be there for her daughter-in-law before she tried something she'd regret- The dead woman thought your mom would put herself at risk, try to take herself out. She feels guilty that she hadn't seen it earlier.

Your mom would sometimes stare at you for hours, and while it worried Alfred, he brushed it off as the woman simply admiring the bundle of joy she created. He, like Bruce, had other things to attend to. He was sure everything was fine, your mother simply loved you too much.

None of the living expected what happened, mainly because of their own willingness to ignore the clear changes, but Martha and Thomas did. They stuck around even after nightfall, so when at three in the morning your mom walked in and took you out of your cradle, they were hot on her trail.

Obsessive thoughts about your baby, paranoia, sleep problems, hallucinations, and delusions were all symptoms of postpartum psychosis, easily confused with the similar symptoms of postpartum depression.

It'll be easy that everything went to shit quickly- but it didn't. Martha and Thomas watched with pure confusion as your mom filled the bathtub, the thought that she may harm you not even crossing their mind as she held you close, swaying side to side while humming some lullaby. It was a slow build, but when she did submerge your head under the water and firmly held you there, it sure felt like a hundred years passed right through Martha.

She doesn't know how she did it, but Martha was screaming her lungs out as she and her husband pushed the woman away, making her slump against the opposite wall, but neither could pull the plug out, leaving you fighting to keep your head above the water.

Alfred ran as soon as he heard the yelling, a chill passing through him for a moment as he thinks it sounds way too familiar, and your wailing, pausing just for a second to look at your mom, shaking in the corner as she mutters to herself, before he had you in a tower in his arms. Both of the dead Waynes dropped next to the bathtub, clutching at their unbeating hearts and shaking

Bruce is left depressed, traumatized, and with a baby who keeps crying. This wasn't how it was supposed to go in his mind. They were supposed to be happy, the it couple with a sassy baby to boot, they were supposed to grow old, he was supposed to hand over the Batman mantle to you.

Now the responsibility of caring for you fell on Alfred, Bruce being unable to care for himself, let alone a baby he couldn't look at without bursting into tears. And Alfred did his best... for maybe three years.

As soon as you started walking on your own, Alfred started pulling away, redirecting his attention to his usual work. By the time you were three years old, you barely knew of the existence of Bruce. Not because you actually saw the man, but because his parents tried to tell you about him.

You were a quiet toddler, mainly due to learning that if you cried, only Martha and Thomas would show up, and they really couldn't do much. Hell, they barely taught you to speak, but oh, did they love to hear your little transatlantic accent in the few sentences you could make.

They were indulging themselves, really, especially when you'd call the mama and papa- "No, MArtha! I'm not crying, you are, my dear-" They both were tearing up the first time it happened. They were indulging themselves with you, because if their focus wasn't on you, it would be on Bruce, and both were so disappointed in him.

They tried at first, exhausted themselves trying over and over again to nudge their boy towards his daughter- typing on his laptop, writing in the mirror, leaving her toys where he'll find them- nothing worked.

So they redirected their attention to your education- they were terrible at it, but Alfred sure as hell didn't seem to care- so they did their best. You could read perfectly, however, your writing isn't the best, and your speech was stuttered most of the time as you preferred to be mute. There really wasn't anyone to force you to speak, your father's parents unable to get much out of you, especially if they pushed. Teaching you sign language was the best course of action.

For the early part of your life, Alfred still cooked enough to leave leftovers for you to munch on, but sometime along the way, he stopped. Martha and Thomas were stumped. They were raised with buffets and golden spoons glistening in foods they didn't even think about how they were being made.

There was also the problem of you being too short to reach the stove top. Your newfound diet consisted of toast, sandwiches, salads, and the occasional baked potatoes and meat. As you grew older, you got better at cooking, mainly due to sneakingly searching the internet and quickly writing down recipes.

Sadly, the problems keep piling up. The more you grew, the more you needed new clothes, new shoes, sanitary stuff from pads to toothpaste- Bruce couldn't be bothered to be a presence in your life, so you tried to talk to Alfred. With no avail. The old butler was simply too busy, moving past you with more speed than you could keep up with. But you needed money, so despite Martha's protest and Thomas's worry, you went outside the manor.

At first, you did meager jobs that people gave you out of pity. Washing that, trimming the lawn, throwing away this, helping the old lady with carrying bags. It didn't pay well, honestly, it was mostly trading, some clothes or food for a bit of help. Until a goon of the Penguin stopped you.

You weren't stupid. You knew the package was drugs, but the amount he was willing to pay was simply too much to refuse. You guessed that was the perk of the public thinking you were dead, no fear of being kidnapped for ransom.

You became a familiar face among them, and while most were ticked off by a kid being involved, there were a few who threw in a few extra bucks. Martha and Thomas hated it. But you started having clothes that fit, food that wasn't burned, and even had a few extra to buy yourself treats, so they held their lips shut. You usually just put the extra money away.

By the time you turned thirteen, you just wrote Bruce off as a man incapable of love. But then Richard "Dick" Grayson came along. And then Jason. And Tim. Despite Martha and Thomas trying to tell you that it wasn't you, that they loved you- Bruce was just-... They couldn't justify it.

The more time passed, the more you thought those two were hallucinations your mind made up to stop you from going insane. You stopped talking to them. You stopped even acknowledging them. By the time Tim fully settled in, you had left.

There was nothing for you there, you took care of yourself for so long, you didn't need Alfred or Bruce- no matter how much you cried at night, wishing for an ounce of the attention they give the boys- and threw yourself into the crime world. There wasn't anything else you could do. You had no school, could barely write, let alone speak- but you were a good mule, and if someone picked you up and decided to train you to be a weapon, you were fine with that.

When John Constantine first set foot in Wayne Manor, the first thing he saw was the bat's dead parents glaring at him. He expected a lot of things when Bruce called him in need of help, angry grandparents who were worried for a runaway granddaughter, who had been missing for years, and that Bruce forgot even existed, wasn't one of them.

----

This took quite a lot of hours to write- kinda rushed towards the end.

Other thoughts:

If Reader did get picked up by a rogue, it'll be funny for them to be either Uncle Two-Face or Slade... It'll even be funny if it were Talia or Ra's after Jason left.

I strongly believe the Reader wasn't even sent to kindergarten.

I also think Martha and Thomas may have lied and told the MC that her mom is dead instead of institutionalized.

If there is supernatural shit, trust, John Constantine will make an appearance.

It'll ALSO be funny if Reader came to terms with her being able to see the undead, so she also becomes a mage/hunter on the side, kinda like the Winchesters. So when John finally connects the dots, he's just like- "Oh. Oh no. We have a bigger problem here."

Dick at first thought Batsis was a helper. So did the others until they were corrected by Alfred. Nobody cared to ask for further info, except for maybe Jason, who asked once why she isn't eating with the family, and it made Alfred pause for so long that Jay just assumed she's mean.

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Call of Christmas

Aka the holiday season with 141

COD characters x F reader (One shots!) + smut

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Captain John Price smut

You hurriedly raced through chores, much like being put on a continuous autopilot. Throw the tabs of detergent into the laundry while making sure to separate the light and dark clothes. Put the leftover dishes from the sink inside the dishwasher, vacuum up the collecting fuzz that started to gather on the carpet, and so on.

However, the most important task was yet to be done. Pushed to the edge of your to-due list and collect dust.

Wrapping the presents.

Dear lord. Where would you even start, not only was gift wrapping the most tedious task on earth but most of the time it had a 98% chance of going wrong.

How could such a jolly and festive activity as simply wrapping a gift turn into the worst part of the holiday season? In your case, surprisingly easily.

It was a guessing game on your part, to figure out which wrapping paper to adorn a present in (different wrapping paper for different people of course). Cut the perfect measurements for said gift, and wrap it in some way that would look presentable.

Almost every time you would screw up the last two steps, the cutting and wrapping. You would either cut way too much paper or not enough to cover the gift. And when you finally did get an acceptable length the paper would fold every which way and the tape wouldn't hold it down.

Now, why not go with the simple fix of putting it inside of a gift bag? The short answer was that it was the lazy man's way out.

And this year you were determined to make it work. Your husband John always teased you about your passion for the holidays, but what could you say? You were a driven woman.

So you found yourself near the end of the day sitting inside the living room of your house. A diverse spread of gifts scattered around you beside poles of wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and rulers.

The soft thrum of Christmas music playing in the background for motivation. You were especially proud of the gifts you had gotten this year. One for each of your friends, close family, and John. Having a good gift for him was something to behold on its own. Gift shopping for the man was like pulling out teeth.

“Why would I want anything? I pretty much have everything I need…”

“I’m okay love, don't bother with me…”

“I don't want anything, maybe some socks or something…”

John's words echoed in your ear, but you weren't giving up that easily. This year, you landed on a nice silver watch with a leather band. The one he wore was…distressed to say the least.

So, this seemed like a great choice. You smiled down at the small box that held his new watch. John would love anything you got him, even if it was a scrap of metal he would give you his teddy bear smile and shower you with praise.

But this year you were particularly proud of your choice.

And with the newfound motivation you started on wrapping. You did your best to cut accurate ratios of paper to present, fold it as crisply as you could, and tape it down so it stuck. Somehow, by the grace of God, you found yourself getting into a sort of rhythm.

You looked at work after an hour in, in awe of the fact that it wasn't that bad. Actually, it was nearly perfect! These looked like real gifts, like the ones you'd see in those Christmas catalogs sitting under an 11-foot-tall tree.

You smiled, only one gift left to go. Lo and behold it was John’s gift. The small blue box that hid his watch, looked so menial. You sighed and stretched, easy peasy.

Or so you thought.

That little blue box might as well have been possessed by a Christmas-hating demon.

You huffed, silently cursing at yourself as you accidentally ripped the wrapping paper while you were trying to tape it down. This had been your fifth attempt at wrapping his gift, and every time something had gone wrong.

You stared down at it in disbelief, nearly in tears of frustration. There the box sat, laughing at your feeble attempts at wrapping it.

Just as you were about to go for attempt number six, you heard the chime of the front door opening. It was John.

Like a flash, you pushed the box under the couch until it was out of sight. It was a surprise after all. Just as you turned back around John appeared in all his glory. Slack jeans with his cotton t-shirt and his ruggedly handsome face. His eyebrows raised at the scene before him.

“Love, I think you're supposed to wrap the gifts, not get into a fight with them.” He said, bemused.

You felt your already hot cheeks redden, looking at the mess of wrapping paper around you. It did kind of look like a war scene with the addition of glitter and ribbon. Letting out an exasperated sigh you looked back up at him. “Would you believe me if I told you they started it?”

John's lips curved up into a soft smile that raised his mutton chops. And you couldn't help your heart from swooning at the way his mustache smiled with him. He chuckled and stepped into the room, crouching in front of you to slide a hand across your cheek. Pulling you in for a warm, chaste kiss. Your frustration slightly ebbed away, yet the lingering annoyance remained. John seemed to notice it and gave you a funny look as he pulled away.

“What's wrong?” He said knowing.

Curse him, he knew you too well. You knew giving him a bad lie wouldn't do much so you sighed. “It’s the gifts, I was doing so well wrapping everything but I got to yours and it didn't seem to want to cooperate with me. And well, you can see how it played out.” You breathed, nodding to the mess around you.

John raised an eyebrow, “why not just give it to me as is?” He asked, confused. To which you rolled your eyes as his practicality, typical.

“That’s not the point. Making presents look nice is a labor of love, it shows I care to make it look presentable.” You defended your point, making him shake his head and smile warmly. A fondness in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Baby, you know I know that you care about me. I don't need wrapping paper to prove that.” He said, his other hand guiding yours to his mouth to press his lips over your ring.

You pursed your lips in a tight line, trying not to let him melt your resolve into a sappy puddle. “Yeah, but it's still a nice gesture.” You grumbled, eyes darting away from his gaze.

You heard the familiar thrum of his laugh echo in your ears. You turned your eyes back to look at him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Thank you for trying love. You know I’d like anything you’d give me. But having you is all I need.” You couldn't help the smile that crept up on your cheeks.

For being such an intimidating person and having the reputation he did, he could really be a sap sometimes. Not that you'd have it any other way. His loving nature was a gift in itself.

You hummed and leaned in to kiss him again, his lips meeting yours in a soft embrace. Slowly you pulled him in, hands snaking around his neck to cup the back of his head. He tasted of tobacco and whiskey, not the bitter kind, but the warm fragrant kind. Almost like a spicy cocktail, one that burned at first sip but settled in your stomach.

It was almost second nature when you kissed him. Like your body craved the feeling of being fitted against his larger form. And when his tongue slid over your bottom lip, practically begging for entrance, you had no choice but to oblige.

The soft hum of Christmas jazz still lulled in the background, dulling your senses like sweet syrup. John’s tongue delved into your mouth, the slow rhythmic motion of his lips turning the thoughts in your head to static. His large hands slowly traveled down to your waist, his thumb pressing against the bone of your hip. Without warning his hands suddenly airlifted you up and onto the couch. You gave a small squeak of surprise, breaking the kiss.

“John wha-” You were cut off by another steaming kiss.

After a minute he pulled away, hot breath fanning against your lips. “You were working so hard, figured I'd give you a thank you.” His sly smile told you everything you needed to know. And if they didn’t, the way his hands slid down to grope on your ass did.

Your cheeks burned, and another type of heat bellowed in your stomach. Sending small sparks across your spine. “It's just wrapping a gift, and I didn't even finish yours.” You said sheepishly.

John rolled his eyes, his head dipping down to trail kisses over your neck. “What was it you said before? That it’s about the gesture or principle of it all?” He murmured, large hands kneading your behind. His words made your lips turn up into a smile. To be honest…you could use a break, and this opportunity was one you’d never turn down.

A small giggle escaped you, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “I guess I’ll take that ‘thank you’ then.”

Turning his head back up, he gave you a wolfish grin. The large hands that previously held your behind slid up to hook the hem of your top. With one fluid movement, he coaxed your arms above your head and slipped your blouse off. Then with just as much sneakiness, he undid the clasp of your bra. Tossing the offending garment somewhere else in the room.

Without a moment to lose, his mouth was on your breasts. You shuddered at his warm wet tongue and the way it danced around your nipple. The scruff of his facial hair tickles Your chest.

Your hands threaded into his hair, pulling and guiding him where you wanted. With every small tug or grasp he groaned, enthralled by the way you led him. From where you were sitting, John knelt at the edge of the couch between your spread legs. Hands gripping at your hips as he suckled at your peaks. “So beautiful baby-” He rasped, “-fucking love this gorgeous body.”

Your lips pushed into a tight line, exhaling through your nose. John’s hands migrated down to grab onto your pants, tugging them down slowly. You helped him slip them off until the only thing covering you was your cotton panties. An embarrassingly obvious wet patch now soaking through its fabric.

John’s thumb gently grazed over your clothed center. Earning a soft moan on your part, the pad of his finger sending a jolt of heat through you. His navy eyes flickered up to you as his thumb slowly circled your covered clit. “Tell me what you want sweetness.” He murmured.

You had trouble processing his words for a moment. “I want your fingers, John.” You breathed, looking down at the man on his knees for you.

The corner of his lip turned up, “Yes mam.” Slowly he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your glistening core. You saw his adams apple bob as he stared at you, like he wanted to devour you alive.

With his middle and ring finger, he dragged them through your lips. Coating the skin in a layer of slick, the lewd sound of it makes your ears turn red. “Look at this wet pussy, so needy.” John gruffed. With no warning, he gently pushed his middle inside you. Your walls constricted around him like a hungry snake.

Your lips fell open in an ‘oh shape, whimpering at the burning goodness of his finger. “Fuckfuckfuck-” You panted, the muscles in your legs flexing as you tensed.

With ease, he pushed his ring finger into you as well. Falling into a slow rhythm of pumping his fingers in and out of you coupled with his thumb brushing over your clit. Your brain felt foggy, like how a bathroom mirror fogs up when you take a hot shower. John watched you like a hawk, studying your every movement to see if you were enjoying it.

“John, need your cock now.” You panted breathlessly, impatient for your husband. He gave you an amused look, keeping his fingers at a steady pace.

“You sure?” He asked, bemused. “-I can wait sweetheart.” But you shook your head, desperate for the stretch of his dick.

You blinked and gave him a look, “I'm not asking.” You replied. Making him chuckle, his fingers sliding out of you and leaving an empty feeling in their wake. He stood up, tugging off his shirt and unzipping his trousers. All the while, you watched like it was your favorite TV show. Your eyes drank in his muscles, he was built for fighting, that was for sure.

His pants shrugged down as he pulled his briefs away with it. His large bulbous cock sprang free, the sight almost making you drool. John smiled at you as he wrapped a calloused hand around it, stroking. “Makin’ me feel special when you look at me like that.” He said, giving his dick a few more pumps of his hand.

He nodded at you, “Go ahead and lay back, I want to look at your face when I make you cum.” He said, the words ringing in your ears. You tried not the let the giddy smile show on your face as you nodded and fell back against the cushions. Hastily, he climbed up on the couch, caging you in with his body. Hands planted on either side of your head.

He gave you a knowing smile before using one hand to guide his cock against your slit. Slowly dragging it up and down, making your breath hitch. Fireworks already going off inside your brain.

He leaned back a tad, using his other free hand to stroke your thigh, patting it lightly. “Come on, raise these for me love, want them on my shoulders.” You did as you were told, hiking your legs up on his shoulders. His head was encased by the meat of your thighs and the tip of his cock pushed against your aching hole.

With John’s guidance, he slowly pushed into you. The entrance of his thick cock fills up every crevice in your walls, making you moan. He was right there with you, “bloody hell-” he grit out. His voice was strained and thick like syrup.

“Tell me-” He panted, “-Tell me I can move. Please.” He breathed, voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed, your body burned and ached, yet it felt so good at the same time. And you craved more of it. So much more.

You nodded, “Yes, please.” Per your request, John slowly started to move his hips. His hands are placed on either side of your head and your thighs are locked around his head. The further he pushed into you the more you felt like being folded in half.

Slowly, his cock dragged in and out of your walls only to plunge back in. You moaned and threw your head back into the cushions, a shivering running through you. Every time his thick tip pressed against the spongy bundle of nerves deep inside you, your walls tightened as if to hold him in.

“Fuck, that's it- so tight and wet, like this pussy was made for me.” John groaned, steadily increasing the speed and force of his thrusts. Every time he pushed himself back in you felt like seeing stars. The delicious pleasure of feeling his girthy dick drag against your walls and stuff you full was something you could never get used to. Every time it felt a new shade of amazing.

Soon, his thrusts had gone from slow and drawn out to fast-paced slaps of skin against skin. Your hands dragged against his back, leaving trails of red lines in their wake.

A familiar coil began to burn in your stomach, tightening by the minute. Your head was swimming as you let him mold you to the shape of his cock. “John- can’t hold it, I'm gonna cum soon.” You sputtered.

His response was to only increase the force of his thrusts. Snaking a hand down to your clit and rubbing his thumb in circles around the sensitive bud. You jolted, clamping down around him which in turn caused him to twitch and pulse. “S’okay love I know, I'm right there with you. Let me make you cum, cum on my cock.” He moaned.

The white-hot pleasure turned to burning magma as he played with your clit. Waves of euphoria crashing down on you like a violent tide. Your pussy spasmed and your body went taunt like a bow. John fucked you through it until his orgasm took hold of him. His cock twitched and his hips stuttered, flooding your walls with thick ropes of cum. After a few more forceful thrusts he let up, holding you still as you both came down from the high.

A few seconds later he slid out of you, carefully lowering your legs off his shoulders. “Merry Christmas love.” He breathed with a wolfish smile, a hint of humor in his voice. You hummed, blinking your eyes open just as he pressed a warm kiss to your temple.

A soft chuckle escaped you, still caught in the afterglow. Your hands gently carded through his slightly tousled hair, “Merry Christmas John.”

He smiled, raising his head to look around. Unsurprisingly the room was still a mess of wrapping paper and ribbon. “Guess it falls on me to clean this up eh?” He said knowingly.

You smiled back, “Yep.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Simon Ghost Riley Hurt-comfort

For most, Christmas time was a season of giving. It meant spending time with the ones you loved and putting the cheer back into the more depressing months of winter. It also meant engaging in bonding activities like ice skating or decorating the tree for Christmas, maybe even baking cookies.

For others, including Simon Riley, Christmas was a bitter reminder of what they lacked. It wasn't a cookie-cutter checklist for everyone, but the brunt of it was a lack of Christmas cheer, connection, or lack of loved ones to spend the holidays with. And for Simon, it was all three.

Out of every holiday, Christmas was a loathsome one. It felt as if everyone in the world was brimming with happiness while he was cast out into the dark. Like dangling a shiny new toy in a dog's face knowing that said toy would never be given to it.

So what did he do? What he does best. He closed himself off from the world. During the holiday season, Simon often felt more Ghost than he felt like Simon. After all, it was easier to disassociate and pretend he was Ghost again than to face the bitter memories that Simon went through.

But this year was different, why? Because this year he was spending Christmas with you.

It took a lot of convincing on your end, but he eventually settled for spending the week through Christmas at your flat. Which for him, was a big step. He had stayed over multiple times and vice versa, but considering he never spent Christmas with anyone was saying a lot.

It wasn't even until a year ago that Simon told you the whole story of why he disliked Christmas. By that time both of you had mutually understood that your relationship had shifted from casual dating to a more long-term and serious one.

So now you were determined to make this Christmas a good experience for him. Which turned out to be no easy task. But for your boyfriend, there wasn't anything you weren't willing to do.

It started with small festive activities like taking him to a park to see the Christmas lights. Or letting him pick out the shirt that he had been eyeing as an early gift. Your personal favorite had been getting him to help set up and decorate the small Christmas tree you kept in the living room.

Slowly but surely, he was beginning to assimilate with the Christmas spirit. You had even managed to get him to sit down and watch Home Alone!

Things were finally starting to look up…until now. Christmas Eve.

It was as if all the progress you had made vanished in an instant. Almost like he turned into a Ghost. He had barely said a word to you, didn't want to go out, wasn't eating, and was avoiding you. Simon was hauled up in your room and had been there for most of the day. The only time he had gone out was to smoke from your doorstep. Despite your comments about not liking his smoking or coming inside and eating he brushed it off with a grunt.

He had effectively barricaded himself in his mind. And you were sick of it, sick of the secrets, the going non-verbal with little to no explanation, and sick of the fact that he didn't trust you enough to tell you what was going on in his head.

Enough was enough, so you walked up to your bedroom door and knocked a few times. As expected there was no answer, so you pushed it open. Greeting you was Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, looking down at his skull mask. You had only seen it a few times, not wanting to invade his privacy. Simon was a large proponent of keeping his work and personal life separate.

And why wouldn't he? His work was violent, it was the worst of what humanity had to offer. And you were none of those things. He mentioned to you once that his mask allowed him to be someone else, so that way when he did come back from deployments Simon wasn't the one with blood on his hands.

In other words, to your understanding, the mask was a mentality. A place holder that could do things that the Simon you knew couldn't.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, carefully making your way over. You climbed up on the bed behind him, till you were knelt facing his large back. Gently you slid your hands around his waist, pressing the side of your face to his spine in a soft hug. You swallowed, an underlying nervousness boiling deep inside you.

“Please talk to me, I can't know how to help if you don't tell me.” You whispered into him, a soft plead.

He didn't respond for a good minute, and a part of you feared that he was just going to brush you off like before. Eventually, he did respond, except it wasn't the response you wanted. “I think I should go back to my place in Manchester. Just for a few days.”

You frowned, this wasn't what you wanted. Not at all. You had been making such good progress too, you didn't understand how it could all reverse in a second. “Simon that's not fair, you at least need to tell me why. You've been silent all day and now you want to leave? You promised you'd stay until Christmas was over.”

Simon turned a bit to look at you, shrugging your hands off of him. The warm look he always had when he looked at you now long gone. “I know what I said. But I told you that I don't spend the holidays with anyone, you knew that.”

Your hands bawled on your thighs, “But- just yesterday you were fine. I don't understand what changed.” You said eyebrows knitting together.

His eyes narrowed, “Then have you considered maybe I just don't want to be around you?” He said, his tone harsh and unforgiving. A knife to your heart. You stared at him in silence, shocked that he would say something like that so brazenly.

Your lips pursed into a thin line, trying to regain your composure. “If you don't want to be around me then tell me, don't ignore me for half the day like a child.” The hands that held his skull mask tightened, bunching up the fabric in his grip.

“Alright, I'm sorry. Happy now?” Simon couldn't have been less sincere even if he tried. Yet another stab to your chest.

You shook your head no, “Of course I'm not happy. You're not telling me anything, I’m trying to listen and understand you but you're just shutting me out. It's like you barely trust me at all.” You said sternly.

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. You watched how his face scrunched in irritation, the bags under his eyes sticking out like a sore thumb. “I do trust you, but…I’m just not ready.” He said irritably.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Not ready? Not ready for what?”

“For you, for this-” Simon snapped, gesturing to the air around him. “-fucking caring about somebody. Because every time I have it’s ended up like shite, I don't even know if I can. Or if I ever will.” He said, his voice brimming with a flurry of emotions. Ones you couldn't decipher, but you were still hung up on the meaning of his words. You knelt there, a cold wave washing over you that felt like ice.

He went on, “You shouldn't even want what I am [Name]. I know you think you do but you don't.”

You shook your head, a lump developing in your throat. “Yes, I do-” You tried weakly, your limbs starting to numb up and grow cold.

Simon stood up, turning his back to you. Walking over to the large overnight bag he had packed, kneeling, and started to take clothes that were scattered near it and shove them inside. You felt your stomach drop, clambering off the bed to stop him. Grabbing onto his suitcase and ripping it away to keep it behind your back.

“Simon tell me what’s going on.” You demanded, your voice suddenly raw.

Simon's eyes were wide, the brown pools of warmth replaced by a dark abyss. Looking up at you with surprise and anger. He stood up, towering over you with his massive frame. Almost like an intimidation tactic. He looked scary.

Slowly he outstretched an open palm, deadly silent. “I'm not going to ask you again, give me my things.”

You shook your head, taking a few steps back until you were pressed against your closet door. Blinking away tears into the back of your head, “No. Tell me what’s going on.” Your hands holding his suitcase with an iron grip behind your back.

His eyebrows furrowed, jaw working in frustration. The veins in his neck tensed for a moment. Almost without thinking his outstretched hand seized forward to grasp your arm, yanking you away from the wall with an alarming force. The suitcase dropped on the floor as he tore you away and you stumbled forward.

You made a noise, one akin to the sound a small animal would make before it was eaten. His grip on your arm was hard by any means, but the minute you made eye contact with him again he broke off. His hand released you like he had been burned by a hot iron, terror written across his face.

He looked more horrified than you did, looking between you and his hand like it was somebody else’s. The silence between you was so loud it rang in your ears.

You felt something wet trail down your cheeks. When did you start crying? You didn't know. You looked back at your boyfriend, he had looked so big before but now he only looked scared. You raised your hands as if you were approaching a wild animal. “Simon-” You breathed, “-It’s okay. I'm okay, you didn't hurt me.”

He didn't say anything, basically frozen in time. You walked up to him, praying he didn't walk back. Thankfully, he didn't. Gently, you cupped his face, forcing him to look down at you. “Please.” You pleaded, “-Tell me whats going on. That's all I ask, if you still want to go after, you can.” You breathed hoarsely.

You watched his face, how it was so full of uncertainty and fear. His bottom lip quivered lightly, “I’m so sorry.” He said, “-I didn't mean…I wasn't thinking.”

You gently rubbed a thumb over his cheek, trying to soothe him to the best of your ability. “I know you didn't mean to, you're not your dad Simon. I'm not worried about that, what I am worried about is you just getting up and leaving because you decided that I don't matter to you anymore.” You said, trying to remain firm to the best of your ability. Even when your voice was quivering and you felt like sobbing.

Simon shook his head, “What? Of course, you matter to me.” He breathed, shaky hands still at his side.

“Well, that's not what it looks like from my perspective. You just said you wanted to leave, you said you didn't think you could ever fully care about me.” You said, looking up at him.

His eyes scanned your face, “I know I'm sorry- I'm… fuck love, I'm scared. I'm scared of caring about you as much as I do, whenever I do it just…” He swallowed, “My mom, and Tommy…they're gone and I can't get them back, and if you leave I have nothing. Because you took everything,” He breathed.

“-You already have me, every part of me that I wanted you to see and every part of me that I don't. And that scares the shite out of me, and I try to keep pushing and pushing but you keep coming back to me.” You felt his hands on your face, large calloused palms warm against your cheeks. “Because that's just how you are, you're good. And I thought by creating more distance you'd see that.”

You opened your mouth but he cut you off, “-And this week you worked so hard, just for me. To give me a good experience,” Simon laughed bitterly. “And here I am, barely keeping my shite together.”

You frowned, “Simon.” You cut him off, your voice stern. He stopped, looking at you. “You don't tell me what I can and can't do, nobody does but me. So if you think you have any chance of convincing me to leave you're mad. I want this, I want you. No matter what baggage you come with.”

There was a moment of silence, filled with a thick tension that you could cut with a knife before he pulled you in. Pressing your face against his chest, cradling your head against him. Holding you tight as if you'd disappear if he let go. Your hands wrapped around his back, digging into the cotton of his shirt and inhaling his scent. One of cigarette smoke and pine. His face pressed into the top of your head.

It was intimate, emotions running high, and the force of his embrace. For a while, you stayed that way, grounded by the large arms that held you to his chest. “I’m so sorry, I should've told you from the beginning.” He whispered into the top of your head, his voice that of genuine remorse.

You knew that this wasn't the end all be all of his problems. Just because he addressed things did not mean everything was magically solved. But it was a big step in the right direction. You maneuvered your head up to look at him, chin pressed against his chest.

“I told you that I wanted to make this a good Christmas, for both of us.” You said, “-If you'll let me, I think we can still make the most of it.”

Simon stared at you, his lips settling in a relieved smile. “Yeah.” He breathed, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Kyle Gaz Garrick Fluff

Your room was a complete mess. Clothes were thrown about like a tornado had taken your closet and dispensed its content for everyone to see. But the state of your room was the last thing you could focus on. Because you had thirty minutes until your neighbor two doors down would pick you up for a date.

You felt your cheeks just redden at the thought. A date! Especially with your very hot and very out-of-your-league neighbor Kyle.

You groaned, tossing yet another shirt on your bed. Nothing seemed to fit as it should've, what was one even supposed to wear on a date? It was December so obviously crop tops and shorts were off-limits. You nervously chewed on your nails, cursing at yourself immediately after for forgetting they were painted.

As you slipped on something acceptable (a nice pair of jeans and a coat), you made a beeline for your bathroom. You looked in the mirror, taking a few minutes to look over your makeup for the umpteenth time. Then moving over to fix your hair, tweaking it here and there, and maybe smoothing out the few strays.

You didn't even understand how you got into this predicament, it was all a blur. Kyle had just gotten back from deployment, a normal occurrence, and being the good neighbor you were, you brought him food. (Who wants to cook after they just get home from a long trip anyway?) And being the gentleman he was, he invited you inside. However, due to your inability to act normally around hot men, you panicked and refused.

Swearing up and down that he was probably exhausted and didn't need you to disturb his peace and quiet. You cringed just imaging how red your face must've been.

Instead of taking the hint like a normal person, he doubled down.

“Oh, okay then, why don't you let me take you out sometime as a thank you?”

After that, you were too stunned to say anything so you just shut up and nodded your head. And now you're here, standing in front of the mirror fretting over your appearance like a teenage girl.

You had zero idea where he was taking you. Which, in theory, was cute. But you were so anxiety-ridden that you couldn't find the time to look into it. And just as you were clumsily slipping on your shoes you heard the dreaded knock on your front door. You whirled through your apartment, opening the door with a little (a lot) too much force.

Standing there like a male supermodel was Kyle. Clad in worn-out jeans that he somehow pulled off, a flannel, and a jacket. He smiled, his perfect teeth adding to his handsome charm. “Hey,” He said, looking at you up and down. “-You look great as always.”

You wanted to die, just looking at him was like staring at a beacon of light. But for the sake of your social skills, you forced yourself to respond. “Thanks-” You breathed, trying to smile as normally as you could. “-Uhm you look great too.”

Kyle smiled, the dimples in his cheeks growing more prominent. “Thanks, I appreciate it, love.” He said, looking behind you and then back to you. “-I’m ready when you are, but take your time. We’re not in a rush.” He said casually, hands in his jean pockets.

You nodded, “Oh right- let me just grab my purse.” You breathed, doing a 360 to run back to your kitchen counter and swipe your bag from off the surface. Quickly making a run back towards him, stepping outside “Ready!” You said, trying to work up as much confidence as you could. To which Kyle chuckled, reaching behind you to close the door.

After the initial stress of stepping out the door, Kyle led you out of the complex. To which the subtle awkwardness faded into a comfortable conversation. It was easier with him than with most, it had always been. You'd always had an underlying crush on him but you never actually thought it'd go anywhere. You were more comfortable just looking and making friendly small talk than actively perusing.

After a few minutes of conversation and walking about the town he stopped a few feet away from a large tent. Christmas lights strone about and small lines of people waiting to get inside. And it instantly clicked what he was taking you to do.

“Ice skating?” You asked.

Kyle gave you a boyish grin back, “Yep.” He said confidently, “-thought it matched the Christmas spirit.”

You laughed, to be honest, you hadn't stepped onto an ice rink in a while. You'd never been terrible at it but you weren't exactly a pro either. He gently nudged you with his shoulder, “Scared?” He asked you.

Shaking your head, you smiled back. “You wish Garrick. I think I can hold my own on an ice rink.” You bantered.

Kyle’s shoulders hiccuped as he chuckled, “Alright then. Let’s get in line.” He said leading you over to one of the lines of people. It wasn't a terribly long wait, maybe twenty or fifteen minutes before you made it to the front. And of course, he insisted on paying for your skates even though he had been the one to buy the tickets.

You continued to talk as the both of you laced up your skates. But when it came time to actually get on the ice you found yourself apprehensive. Kyle had already gotten on with ease and was now waiting for you at the small gate entrance.

“Need any help there?” He asked, amused. To which you shook your head, determined to prove to him that you could do it on your own.

“All good.” You breathed, holding onto the gate as you stepped on the ice. “-just uhm, getting my footing.” For some reason, under his gaze, you felt your whole body begin to malfunction. Like you were getting performance anxiety.

You sheepishly let go of the gate, standing statue still. And Kyle simply stood there, an amused smile played across his lips. Arms crossed in front of his broad chest. You swallowed, taking a shaky step forward. And because your life seemed to be one large cosmic joke, you felt your skate slide out and you fell forward.

You tried to put your arms out to catch yourself, shutting your eyes tight with a small squeak before you felt something take hold of you. You blinked as you realized that your face didn't collide with the hard surface of ice but with something else.

Kyle’s arms had caught you just in time, your face pressed up against his warm chest. Large arms encircling your waist, you heard him whistle. A red blush crosses your cheeks from embarrassment. “Careful there, thought you said you could hold your own?”

You were mortified, you had practically thrown yourself at him! (not intentionally of course, but still)

He helped you stand back straight as well as fix your coat. You swore you could almost feel steam coming out from your ears. “I’m sorry, that was an accident I swear.” You babbled. He didn't seem to mind, however, simply holding his hands up and giving you a soft look.

“Hey, it's okay love, I know. Happens to the best of us.” He reassured. Once again you tried to brush off the pet name so as not to implode. Kyle held his arm out to you, “-Why don't you hang on to me for the first couple of laps yeah? Just to be safe.”

You looked between him and his outstretched arm. “I-uh yeah. Sure, sounds good.” You said, taking hold of his arm for more support. He flashed you a smile before slowly skating forward. You tried your best to keep up, and with his support you did.

The two of you did loops around the skating rink, people-watching, talking, and laughing. The thing was, your arm still held his, even after the first couple of loops, he made no effort to detach from you. And neither did you, but that was neither here nor there. You actually learned a lot about him, about his family, his interests, and even a little about his work. Which in his words was “Nothing that you should ever have to hear about.”

You managed to open up to him as well, sharing more of your life with him. Eventually, your time at the rink ran out. But the conversations between you and Kyle still kept up. By the time you were walking back to your complex with him, his hand had managed to sneak its way into yours. Some part of you was still in disbelief that it was even happening, however.

You swallowed, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as he walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you. “Thanks, by the way. It was really nice of you to take me out like this. But you really didn't need to, it was just a meal. A thank you would've sufficed.” You commented.

Kyle glanced back at you, raising and eyebrow. “You think I asked you out just cause you cooked me dinner?” He said, making you stop.

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “…yes? What other reason would there be?” You asked, utterly lost.

At that, Kyle fully turned to face you. Staring at you for a few seconds, his face trying to deduce if you were joking or not. When he realized you weren't kidding, his face broke into a smile. “[Name], I've been trying to ask you out for weeks.”

You blinked, his words only confusing you more. “What? No, I would've picked up on it.” You said.

He chuckled and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes actually, multiple times,” Kyle said. Looking at you with an expectant gaze.

You tried to dive back into all of your memories with him, searching for a time that would've counted as him asking you out. But, you came out empty-handed. “Give me an example then.” You said, brow furrowed.

Kyle raised his eyebrows, “What about the other day when I invited you inside to eat dinner with me after you brought me food?”

“Well, that doesn't really count. That's just something people say to be polite. How was I supposed to know?” You challenged.

He continued, “…Or about that time I told you I had an extra ticket to a football game if you wanted to go?”

You felt your cheeks get a bit rosy. That one did sound a bit more like asking you out when you thought about it. “I- I was under the impression that you were just giving me a ticket. I didn't realize you meant together,” You flushed.

Kyle kept going. “And that time I caught you coming back from a bad date and I said I could show you a better one?”

Okay yeah, you were seeing it now. You bit down on your cheek, trying to stop yourself from melting into a puddle. “I thought you were just being nice.” You said lamely. You saw his mouth open to respond, but you held your hands in front of his face. “Okay, but yes, I get it! I realize now that there might have been some signs.”

You heard him chuckle, he gently lowered your hands. You sighed, feeling your cheeks burn red from embarrassment. How could you be so clueless!? “I'm sorry for not noticing that you were trying to ask me out.” You murmured, trying your best to avoid his eyes.

You then felt his warm hand slide over your jaw, cupping the side of your face to raise it. Your eyes met his, mirth swimming inside his dark brown irises. “It's okay love, you're worth the wait.”

You felt your face burn, realizing the significance of what was happening. His eyes darting between your lips, the way he held your face, the utter cheesiness of it all. And God you were eating it up like your own personal rom-com. But to your dismay, nothing was happening! Like you two were frozen in time. Kyle had been the one to ask you out, to make the first moves, so maybe it was only fair you did this small thing.

Throwing your timidness out the window, you leaned forward. Shutting your eyes and locking lips with him. It only took a moment for Kyle to press back against you, tilting his head and sliding his hand over your cheek to cup the back of your head. It was pure bliss.

You stayed like that for as long as you could, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips. Yet all good things end as you still need oxygen, so you did eventually have to pull away.

Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, face flushed. He looked a little better, but it was cute the way he looked post-kiss. Kyle’s lip turned into a boyish grin, “Does this mean I get another date?”

You couldn't help but laugh, “I guess so.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Jhonny Soap McTavish Smut

Curse your boss for putting you on the late-night Christmas shift. What kind of fucker does that? A greedy one, you supposed. It wasn't like you didn't have plans, not with family, no, but with friends.

But no. He just had to schedule you for Christmas night.

Bartending for a group of sad, lonely, old men wasn't what you had in mind when you thought of Christmas. And even though you tried to get out of it, (bribing every co-worker and staff member you could and asking them if they would cover your shift) you still ended up behind the counter.

You grimaced, dish rag in hand as you cleaned the sticky countertop. It was pretty dead, but not enough that you were free for time. A few regulars sitting at the bar, and others were scattered about the place. Some talking or watching the different channels projected on the TV. Overall, it was a quiet evening. Though some part of you felt a little bad for wanting everyone to leave, after all, some people here didn't have families or friends to go home to.

You heard the doorbell chime as somebody walked inside. You didn't bother looking up, more concerned about the patch of mystery substance that wasn't going away. You furrowed a brow, working your muscles to press into the surface and scrub.

Heavy boots creaked across the wood, getting closer with each moment. Yet you still hadn't made any progress on the counter. With a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and looked up. A frown that could scare off any customer played across your lips.

“Jesus, Bonnie, Christmas shift that bad aye? Y’look like you're about to kill me right where I stand.”

You halted. Standing before you was Johnny McTavish, or Soap, as his other friends christened him. (don't ask, you didn't know why either) He was a part of the semi-regular military group that came in a few times a month. There was a large base a few miles away, so it wasn't abnormal to get your fair share of soldiers now and again. However, what was abnormal was the fact that he was here alone.

Normally, Johnny came in with three other guys. Gaz, another more gruff man who they referred to as ‘Cap,’ and a big scary-looking bloke who always wore a balaclava.

You stared at him for a good few seconds.“I uh, sorry you caught me off guard there.” You breathed. “-And no, it’s not bad in here, just prefer not to be working on Christmas night.”

Johnny hummed, walking up the the counter and pulling out a stool right in front of you. His large arms settled against the wood, “Too bad. Bossman put you on the shift, did he?” He asked, apparently very amused by your grim attitude.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the rag under the counter. “Yeah, I even tried to bribe everyone to cover my shift but nobody would take it.”

He smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Well then maybe this was fate.” He joked, “-Anyway, since it is Christmas, would you mind pouring me a glass? Y’know, as a present?” He said, grinning at you.

You felt your heart stutter a little.

Oh yeah, the other thing about Johnny was that you may or may not have the biggest crush known to man on him. It wasn't even your fault, he charmed his stupid way into your heart. With his ridiculous mohawk, (which wasn't even really a mohawk) pretty blue eyes, and his huge biceps. Very annoying. Not even to mention his rough voice with that thick Scottish accent.

To say you had the hots for him was a giant understatement.

You breathed out a laugh, “Alright, coming up.” You turned around to grab the bottle of vodka, fixing together a Cape Codder. Then sliding the glass over to him. He gave you a funny look, concussion written across his face.

“This isn't my usual.” He pointed out, still taking the drink nonetheless.

You flashed him a smile, winking. “Merry Christmas doll face.” You said sarcastically. To which he simply took a sip. You eyed him as he did, “Where are the rest of the guys?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Johnny cleared his throat, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Gaz and Price are back at base, everyone had drinks earlier and they wouldn't make it. Ghost’s not the biggest fan of Christmas so he didn't want to go out either.” He said casually.

You nodded, “If you had drinks earlier than why are you back here?” You asked.

Soap smiled, his jaw working in a way that made you swallow. “Never said I did, the others drank, but I held off until now. Thought I'd be better if I got shit-faced here where you could see it.”

You laughed, leaning against the back counter. Your arms crossed over your chest. “And you were just betting on me working tonight?”

Jhonny shrugged, taking another sip. “I had an inkling.”

You breathed out another small chuckle, walking back over to grab the towel you'd thrown before. “Y’know, I'm only giving you a free drink because it’s Christmas. Can't pull that trick on anybody else, so be grateful you got me.”

He nodded, licking his lips. His eyes followed you as you walked around. “Trust me Bonnie I am, not every day I get you all to myself.”

Your train of thought stuttered a bit, Jhonny was a flirt, yes. But for some reason, it felt different. His tone had changed, and the way his eyes were tracking your every move felt more real. You glanced back at him as you scrubbed the countertop. “Who says that all my attention is on you?” You quipped with a smile.

Jhonny grinned, shaking the ice in his glass. “You know what I mean.” He set in drink back down on the table. “But for the record, I don't see you givin’ any attention to the other blokes here.”

You shot him a look, trying to hold in your laugh. “Unfortunately, half of the people here are either probably married or well above the appropriate age bracket.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Too bad, here I was thinking I’m getting special treatment. Better think of a way to get on your good side, I suppose.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, intrigued at the sentiment. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?” You asked.

“Depends.” He said, staring at you with way more intensity than you were prepared for. “-What do ya’ want Bonnie?”

You stared back, at a loss for words. There were many things you wanted, or more specifically, things you wanted him to do to you. Your throat suddenly went dry, your train of thought ruined by a barrage of filthy images flashing in your mind. It wasn't until another minute went by that you remembered you were supposed to be responding to his question.

You cleared your throat, “I uh- a solid cash tip would be nice. Or maybe you could cover my shift.” You joked, trying to play the silence off.

“S’not what it looks like to me.” He stated, throwing his head back as he downed the last of his drink.

You halted again, caught off guard. Furrowing your brow in confusion, “Excuse me?” You asked.

He put the drink back down on the table, leaning forward on his arms. His signature impish smile on his stupidly pretty lips. “That's not what it looks like to me.” He repeated, enunciating each word. “Nobody looks at somebody like you just did to me, then makes a joke about covering a shift.”

You felt your heart speed up, so he had noticed your stare? You forced a frown, keeping a skeptical face. Placing a hand on your hip, “I wasn't looking at you like anything.”

“Oh yes, you most definitely were Bonnie.” Fuck that stupid nickname he always called you. It only weakened your resolve.

You rolled your eyes, “And how exactly was I looking at you?” You said, frowning at him.

Johnny’s smile twitched up a little, something akin to hunger flashing in his eyes. “Like you wanted to shag me.” He spoke casually. “-Can’t say I'm not guilty of’tha either though. The drinks here aren't the only reason I'm always stoppin’ by.”

If your face wasn't red before, it definitely was now. You looked around as if somebody was listening in on the conversation. You looked back at him, wide-eyed and flushed. “I-what? I wasn't-” You cut yourself off from stumbling over another word. “You…want to fuck me?” You said slowly, skepticism leaking through your tone.

Without a beat, he nodded. “Yes.”

You stood statue still, absolutely floored by his lack of filter. For a few moments, you didn't know what to say. What could you say? ‘Yeah, I do too now let's have sex right now.’ Yeah right.

…

Well maybe.

You looked around again, there was barely anyone in the bar. They probably wouldn't notice if you disappeared for twenty minutes, right?

You looked back at Johnny, “Meet me behind that door one minute after I go inside.” Without another word, you turned on your heel and marched your ass into the back room behind the drink display. The heavy door shutting with a thump behind you.

You blinked, holy shit. You had just told Johnny to meet you in the back room. What the hell were you doing?!

Just before you started panicking, the door swung open and Johnny marched straight in. “What the hell? I thought I told you a minute later.” You whisper shouted at him.

He chuckled, “Sorry, but I don't think waltzing in here a minute after you would make what we're about to do any less obvious. It was a nice thought, though.” He said, almost patronizingly.

Suddenly, his strides had backed you against one of the back walls that were lined with cardboard boxes. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, “You're such a-” You cut yourself off, sighing heavily. “For the record, I'm only doing this because I'm pissed off about working and I need something to fill the time.” a lie.

Johnny’s large hands slid against your waist, holding you there. “Sure, Bonnie, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Just as you opened your mouth to argue back his head dipped down to capture your lips. You let out a surprised noise but quickly adapted, your hands snaking around his head and pulling him closer. He groaned into you, pushing his hips against yours as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

The kiss was needy, desperate even. Like he wanted to consume you whole. Every moment seemed to heat the tension between you as he slowly ground himself into you, letting you feel the hardening tent between his legs.

He gently nipped at your lip, causing you to gasp. His large hands made quick work of your top by sliding it over your head. As soon as he saw you in your bra, he groaned, “Fuck, this is what I've been thinkin’ bout’ for the past few months.” Without another word, he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. Groping and pawing at your chest like a cat.

You tried your best to keep your sighs and moans down. “You've been thinking about me?” You breathed.

“Every day Bonnie.” He said, kissing a trail up your neck. Red hickeys blossoming in his wake that would undoubtedly remain for the next few hours. But you couldn't find it in you to care, at least not in this moment.

Without warning his kisses began to drop until he slid down between your legs. Kneeling before you like he was ready to worship the ground you stood on. You looked down at him, surprise in your gaze. However, he paid you no mind as he undid your pants. Pulling them down your legs until they pooled at your ankles.

You swallowed, “Johnny you don't have to-”

“I want to.” He cut you off. His breath fanning against the material of your panties, blue eyes staring up at you with haze. His hands gently pulled down the elastic of your underwear until you stood bared to him. “-Fuck, you gorgeous thing.” He breathed, in awe of you.

His mouth was on you at a moment's notice. His hot tongue licking circles around your clit. Your hands immediately went to grab at his hair. Curling around the short locks of brown hair, your other hand slapped over your mouth. Muffling the puffs of air and moans falling from your lips.

It was almost like he was enjoying it more than you were because the way he ate you out was akin to a starving man desperate for water. Johnny moaned into you as he sucked and licked at you, hands holding your hips, keeping you in place.

You panted, absolutely lost for words as he delved into you. You'd never had any man desperate to taste you, so this took the cake. And the way his stubble scratched into your skin made you dizzy. This man had ruined you for anybody else in a few short minutes with his tongue alone.

“Jeez, Johnny- you're gonna make me cum if you keep going like that.” You panted out through your moans.

He detached for a second, looking at you. His cheeks flushed red, his eyes glazed over, and his mouth slick with your juices. “Good,” He panted. “Means I'm doing my job right.”

Before you could say any more he went right back at it, flicking his tongue over your clit. Your hands squeezed his hair tighter, pushing him further. Johnny moaned, letting you guide his face for your pleasure. One of his hands slid away from your thigh to your pussy, pressing a finger into your hole.

You let another moan slip, not being able to hide it as his thick digit pushed into your walls. It was too much, the pressure of his finger curling inside you as his tongue worked against your clit.

“Holy shit- m’gonna cum. M’gonna cum.” You panted, voice going up an octave as your body tightened. A burning heat sending shocks through your spine.

Johnny groaned in response, working his finger faster inside you. You threw your head back with a silent cry, legs shaking as you came. Heat burning down your body and lighting fireworks inside your stomach.

After a few more seconds, he slid his finger out of you, leaning back on his knees. His breath was almost as heavy as yours. Your mind was still hazy but somehow you found it in you to look down at him, gently carding a hand through his hair. “Fuck, McTavish, you surprised me.”

He grinned back at you, practically pussy drunk. “Yeah? Does that mean I get another free drink?” He asked, amused.

You smiled, helping him to his feet. “I’ll do you one better.” You murmured, feeling the fog of your orgasm slowly fade a little.

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening in question as you switched your position. Now in front of him and sliding down to your knees, eye to eye with his bulge. Your hands palmed over him, making his head tilt back with a soft groan. “Fuck- [Name], eating you out like that already did a number on me.” He panted, “M’not gonna last long if you do anything to me.”

You smiled, gently unzipping his pants and pulling apart the fabric. Jeez, he was practically tearing a hole straight through his boxers. “I can live with that.” You said teasingly, sliding down his briefs to let his dick spring free.

Your eyes drank him in, pleasantly surprised to find out, yes, he was big. You gently took hold of him, his cock sticky and beading with milky precum. His head fell back against the wall. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?” He half laughed, half moaned.

You hummed in acknowledgment, licking a stripe up his cock. Then swirl your tongue over the reddish tip, lapping up the fluid like syrup. His dick twitched, making you smile. Slowly, you took the head of him into your mouth, inching your way down.

Johnny cursed, his hand reaching down to grab your hair. Holding you as you slid down his dick, your throat wrapped around him. “Bonnie, I told you I wasn't gonna last long.” He moaned, his breath heavy and hard.

You moaned in response, bobbing your head up and down his cock. Letting the tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes locked on his face scrunched up in pleasure as you sucked him off.

Soon, he was practically whimpering at nothing. His hands held your hair with a vice grip as you bobbed up and down on his dick. “Fuckfuckfuck- that's it, keep going. You're so gorgeous, just taking my cock like that.”

You moaned, feeling his cock twitch again in your mouth. With another curse, he came down your throat, painting your mouth a milky white.

Slowly, you detached from his softening dick. Swallowing the fluid, it was salty, kind of earthy too. Not bad though, thank goodness. Johnny stared at you, looking wrecked. You probably didn't fair that much better.

“Was that better than a free drink?” You chuckled, wobbly standing up.

Johnny laughed, nodding. “Way better than a free drink.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.

“…so, you free after your shift?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Merry Christmas or Happy holidays!

Or if it is the day after Christmas then happy late Christmas. Anyway, just a collection of a few one-shots for the festive season :)

This isn't my usual content, it’s normally more long-form stories but I hope it was okay!

Not too much to say other than thank you for reading and all your support, I love each and every one of you.

And don't forget to like or repost, maybe even leave a comment if you so choose. Toodles!

( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

[dragonsoulage]

His brain goes shortcut when you are around…

feat. Neji Hyuga

pt.2

Oh Neji is always stoic and composed but his brain suddenly stops thinking when you wanted to talk with him. All he notices, is the way how adorable you look and when you being such a lovely girl, it’s even harder to really listen to you.

Hello world, this time I wrote a short, little fluff for my boy Neji. He is cute and has long hair I am sorry how could I not fall for him 👁️👄👁️ and I really wanted to write something where this stoic shinobi is blushing because of us 😫😫🤌🏻✨ I hope you have fun with this little story.

Warnings: none it’s pure fluff

Wordcount: 756 as I said just a short little thing

The situation was critical, at least for him. You stood just some inches away, talking and yapping happily around. Sometimes flashing a cute, smile on your lips to him. Neji always the stoic one, still trying to hold his composure. But it was hard, damn hard now. He had a crush on you, not that the serious shinobi would ever admit that. Having a crush? He usually never had time for that. Not that he would be really interested in any romantic relationships at the moment. He needed to train, and he took his missions always so serious.

Although for some reason he couldn't bring himself to tell you that he wouldn't have any time for your talk.

Instead, he stood there nodding along and sometimes letting out a „hm". Neji didn't have any clue what you were talking about currently. He was so focused to not just stop breathing.

You were a pretty little thing. And he always thought you were pretty, no beautiful, not quiet you were gorgeous to him. The way you looked at first so shyly over to him as if you never saw a more handsome guy. And then flashing him a lovely smile. Someday you then simply started talking and he wasn't a fan at first. But he couldn't deny you anything at all. He simply looked at you and even when he was the genius of the Hyuga clan his brain stopped working when you suddenly stood so close to him so he could smell your perfume. You smelled good, something sweet and fruity, it was fogging his thoughts to be honest.

He should be training together with Lee and Tenten. The two waited some meters away at the staircase for him.

Clearly they had fun watching how Neji was for once helpless. None of them thought a girl like you could get him to drop everything what he is doing.

„You know when I told my mom about..." you said, and he just nodded again. Gods, he wanted to say something, but he was too mesmerized when his eyes landed on you. Drinking in ever detail of your adorable face, your lips. He wanted to kiss those lips. And you had taken a strand of Nejis long hair between your fingers, twirling and curling it around your digit.

These cute little gestures. And then it happened, he blushed. He really tried not to. That was the reason why this situation took everything from him.

His cheeks blushing in a cool pink shade, and he just heard how you seemed to melt when you got s reaction of him. You chuckled sweetly before you leaned in. Your eyes right in front of his.

„So what do you say, Hyuga?" you asked, and you looked excited. Neji had no idea what you wanted, but he tried to gain back composure and gently removing your fingers from his hair. Although, he secretly liked when you played with his hair.

„Yeah, of course." he replied, not aware on what he agreed, or what the topic even was.  

Then Lee and Tenten walked over. „You ready to get beaten by me?" Lee teased with a pulled up eyebrow.

You then smiled at them too before you waved a goodbye to them.

Finally, he could have air to breath.

„You wish." Neji replied his stoic self back, although there still was the faint hue of blush on his cheeks.

„Well at least I would know when I would agree on a date with someone so cute like her." Lee meant and he just like Tenten laughed heartily. His eyes then went to his teammates, a little in shock.

„I never agreed on a date. We were just talking." he defended himself, not sure if they just tried to tease him with you like they always did. When Tenten caught her breath after she laughed, she laid a hand on his shoulder.

„Your big brain really is going shortcut when she is around, hm? She asked you if you want to meet with her tomorrow, alone. And you said yes." the brunette girl told him then. Neji turned around like as if he would still see you. He would go on a date with you? Tomorrow? Would his schedule even allow that? Would he even be able to breath? To think? Fuck. He was fucked and he knew it. But all you could think about was when he would be blushing again, simply when you lean in and giving him a peck on his cheek.

[madschiavelique]

Restraint - Miguel O'Hara x fem!Reader

summary : you convinced Miguel to wear a muzzle to fuck you, and let's just say it drives him insane.

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, unprotected safe (be safe kids), miguel becoming a tiny bit angry because he can't kiss you nor bite you, possessive miguel, no use of Y/N word count : 1,1k

note : needed to get this out of my brain, enjoy (english is not my first language and i tried to proofread it properly fdbfdgf)

Miguel grunted, his teeth clenching over the empty air. He snarled, thrusting further into you, trying to press his face into your neck to squeeze the metal and get closer to your skin.

You had managed, in a way that still impressed you right then, to convince Miguel to wear a muzzle during sex. You had smiled, telling him that "you won't be able to resist, it's impossible for you," because the words 'bite' and 'Miguel' were simply inseparable, whether in everyday life or just in bed. With an air of pride and restraint, he had replied, "I'll resist, and you'll be biting your fingers off."

And now, he was pounding into you, body all sweaty with the muzzle on. The restraint had enough space between the bars and his mouth that he only managed to partially graze the sides if he tried to spread his lips or his tongue.

At first, he had put it on almost like a medal, because he was convinced that he would overcome his cravings and control himself perfectly well. How wrong he was.

As soon as he realised that he wouldn't be able to kiss your lips again, that had been a problem. But to admit at that moment that he didn't like it would be to admit defeat a little too soon. However when he realised he couldn’t bite you ? Now that was a problem.

His hands came to grasp your body more tightly than ever. The lack of grip he had with his teeth resulted in his fingers digging into your skin, which turned red under the pressure.

His fingers were pinching, his hands grabbing everything they could get their hold of that he couldn't bite. He took one of your breasts in his hand, his thumb starting to play with it, but when he lowered himself to lick it, he was instantly stopped by the distance between his tongue and the metal. He frowned, but eventually resisted using just his fingers.

Then he realised he couldn't trace your belly with kisses and light nibbles. But the real weight of his little wager began to sink in when, on reaching your legs, he realised what a mistake he'd made. The soft skin of your inner thighs, where the traces he had left the previous time he had fucked you were beginning to fade, was beyond his reach. The very idea that he couldn't make sure it was newly marked, right here, right now, was driving him crazy.

And then, when he got to your pussy, disaster. It was already so wet, glistening with your own desire for him. He was already salivating at the thought of tasting it, of getting drunk on it until he fell off, of hearing you moaning as he made you go from orgasm to orgasm.

But he couldn't, the cool metal dampened by Miguel's breath on the muzzle sending a delicious shiver down your spine when he tried to kiss you there.

He grunted quietly, frustration really beginning to set in, and started to work his fingers instead of his tongue. You breathed a sigh of relief as he came back to you, wanting to nestle into the back of your neck, wanting to kiss it, to feel your cheek pressed against his. But once again, he was stopped by the meagre metal frame. This was where deprivation became sincerely complicated. He hadn't noticed until now how much power his mouth had over your pleasure. He still had control over his words and his voice, but everything else was forbidden to him.

He bit his own cheek as he thrust in you, the first thing he wanted to do with the moan you let out was to swallow it, to relieve himself from the taste of your voice, your whimper and all the others that were to come.

The idea occurred to him to suggest removing the muzzle, thinking that the argument of "but it ruins our common pleasures" would do the trick. But he stopped himself, setting off at a frantic pace, his frustration reflected in the depth and power of his thrusts. All those delicious noises you were making, he wanted them for himself, in his own body, he had caused them and they were rightfully his.

So he tried to press the muzzle aside, hoping that by contorting his lips he would be able to kiss your shoulder, but he couldn't.

"Cariño," he breathed at last, slowing slightly, "What do you say I remove this stupid thing, hm?"

The little flash of satisfaction lit up your eyes like lighters.

"What is it ?" you whimpered, looking up at him through your lashes. "Can't handle yourself ?"

His nose wrinkled under his frown, his lips forming an angry pout. But he had to retain some pride, so, reluctantly, he replied:

"I can handle this perfectly."

He turned you over, your head on the cushion, ass up for him, resuming its previous rhythm as your cries were muffled into the pillow. He'd thought maybe if he heard them less he'd be half as tempted to want them for himself, but the urge weighed.

And the noise that his pelvis made against your ass was pushing all the right buttons.

His fingers dug into your skin again, the desire to bite and kiss you becoming more and more unbearable. Perhaps in another position he would be less tempted?

So you moved into cowgirl, your pelvis undulating against his as his hands gripped your ass and your thighs. But seeing you like this, your teeth biting into your lips from time to time, prevented him from thinking straight. It was his own teeth that should have done that.

"You look frustrated," you noted as you leaned over him.

You had taken care not to kiss or bite him either, but you allowed yourself the small temptation to kiss his neck, and Miguel's desire was growing by the second. Then, with a mischievous smile, you came back to face him.

"I wonder why," you smiled, licking from bottom to top the surface of the muzzle in a slow, almost lazy gesture.

It was too much, he couldn't take it any more. So with a sharp jerk, he grabbed the strap of the object of all his torment and pulled on it, the strap ripping immediately.

He pounced on you, hungry, his lips attacking yours, swallowing your every moan with monstrous satisfaction. Inevitably, he lunged at the crook of your neck, biting down harder than he was used to into your flesh. He consumed everything in his path, insatiable.

"I'll burn that thing," he said between a kiss and a bite, thinking of the pleasure he would take in destroying the muzzle.

One thing was certain, he would never tire of devouring you whole.

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

♡ Release ♡

Simon Riley x Female Reader [Requested prompt!]

The team finally has time to rest after months of hard work. Pent up, you and Ghost find a good outlet for release— each other.

Heed the warning below! There isn't much kink to this one tbh, just a mild hint of public play. If you want a spicier fic, check out the last one I wrote in this mini series. Ao3 and everything is in the notes at the end.

Enjoy! ;)

Word count: 3,479 | Chapters: 1 | Tags: Fempov, missionary, slow build, risky

Long, sleepless nights weren't an uncommon occurrence for you. It wasn't often you got respite during times of high tensions and potential war. Echoes of gunfire tarnished your dreams; stains of blood penetrating your body bone-deep, even when it's scrubbed clean of any signs; a reminder that you were forever marked by death.

As for Simon, he knew the experience all too well.

Words were hardly exchanged, just knowing looks and observations. You tightly wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the edge of a couch in the common room, the digital clock mocking you with the ungodly hour. Simon, his tired eyes and partially masked face, standing by the counter waiting for the coffee pot to start bubbling.

It started a few months after you got assigned to taskforce 141. You piece together from Ghost's slow acceptance of your presence that he's done this a while now— snuck out of the barracks in the middle of the night to make coffee or simply sit in the silent, empty room. But it wasn't empty for long. You'd make it to the room after him, often times. At first, you wouldn't acknowledge him, assuming Simon wanted it that way. But then that turned into small nods of greeting, then to sharing a pot of coffee while you two leaned with your backs to the counter, and then, somewhere in the mix, a bond grew.

It wasn't an every night occurrence. While deployed, your relationship with him was business as usual, and when you weren't shipped off to God knows where— well, it took days to recover. Days spent alone and half-asleep in a dark room with stashed weapons for all of the ‘what ifs’ your mind could conjure.

Dark circles sag under your eyes, matching Simon's. The team had been stationed here for a week now, and it was only just tonight that you decided it wasn't worth tossing and turning until daybreak.

A steaming mug of weak coffee sits on the counter. You greet Simon with a barely-there smile of appreciation and wrap your hand around the ceramic curve, your fingers curling over the handle. It has a marines logo on the front, faded and stained from time. Amusing, to say the least.

Simon is sitting down at the small fold-up table with his own mug, the liquid half gone. Something about him seems… off. He's more jittery than usual, and that's not the caffeine speaking. His eyes bore into the tabletop, his eyebrows pulling together; tense. The lower half of his face is covered by a black mask, missing its iconic skull design. It makes it hard to tell what he's thinking or feeling. You suppose that's the point.

“Price mentioned an intel mission earlier. Looks pretty secure, if we can get it in time.” You murmur quietly, breaking the tense silence.

Ghost nods his head, but doesn't look up from the table. He makes a small “mmn” noise in agreement and you figure he's not talkative tonight. No big deal. He usually isn't one for talking during these late nights anyway. You usually aren't either, but you're worried. You can't help it.

Sipping from your mug, you approach the small couch facing away from the table. There's a small, old tv in front of it, balanced on top of four crates with a board laid across them. There isn't enough funding distribution for a tv stand or good mattresses, but there's an endless shipment of coffee to keep your team functioning. Go figures. You're not one to complain though; You're lucky you even get entertainment in this place.

The tv is set to low, playing a random movie from the 80’s. You spot a VHS tape in one of the crates and wonder who the hell brought that along for a set up like this. While the intro to a murder mystery plays, you hear footsteps behind you, and Simon appears in the corner of your eye.

His gaze is on the tv, reading the title screen that flashes in bright colors and a font that’s distinctly from that era. You shuffle over to provide more room, and he hesitates before taking a seat, one arm staying propped on a small couch cushion wedged into the corner. He's man-spreading, but you don't mention it. The way your knees just barely brush against each other— it's the closest you've gotten to him outside of the occasional encouraging pat on the shoulder before a mission.

It's been ages since you've last felt someone's touch.

You curl your legs in so that they're tucked underneath you, your cold hands keeping the mug steady. Simon’s watching you from the corner of his eyes. It makes your heartbeat quicken.

Fifteen minutes go by. When you next bring the mug to your lips, you realize it's empty, having disappeared while you idly drank and stared in the general direction of the tv. You couldn't bother paying attention right now.

"Do you need help?" You ask quietly.

Ghost looks at you. He blinks.

“You look jittery.”

“I’m not jittery.” Ghost grumbles.

You raise a brow and he lets out a defeated sigh and looks up at the ceiling. After a few moments of silence, he puffs out a soft breath, calm and controlled, and shakes his head like he’s shaking himself free of the endless turmoil bubbling inside his head.

“Whaddya have in mind?”

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆✩

It starts out with cards.

Poker; Cribbage; Go Fish. Ghost has an unfair advantage with poker because of the mask, but he refuses to take it off when you point it out to him, so he ends up switching the game before you two even start.

Holding your set of cards like a fan, you peer over them as Ghost stares at the tabletop with an intense look of concentration.

Slowly, he reaches for a card in his own little pile (you expected him to be neat with his own cards, but he’s not. It’s chaotic. Nevertheless, it suits him)— and he glances up at you, his voice gruff when he asks, “Any queens?”

You pretend to study your deck. You know you have none, but you still take your time. Something in you doesn’t want this to end; To go back to your bunks, exhausted and alone, and wait until the next time the universe grants you both a respite.

Sighing, you can’t help but smile as you finally answer, “Go fish.”

Ghost draws from the deck, but you reach your hand out before it’s fully across the table. The touch is electric, and it causes Ghost’s eyes to flick up to meet yours. You realize just how brown they are. A deep brown, with hints of hazel. They stand out amongst the black of his mask— even more so when he’s got black paint smudged around his sockets out on the battlefield. You never really noticed it until now. Goosebumps rise on your arms, hidden beneath the sleeves of your sweater.

You were meant to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words.

Ghost finds them for you.

“You’re bored.” He says it like a statement, not a question.

You nod, slowly.

Ghost makes a humming noise of agreement and nods too. Then he brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, his gaze idly watching your fingers slightly twitch. The air feels charged and heavy and tinged with uncertainty. You find it difficult to properly breathe, your chest tight and body tense; your mind a race of he’s touching me, he’s touching me and I can’t handle it, he’s touching me and I can’t remember the last time I felt this— have I ever felt this?— would it even matter?—

You haven’t a clue what’s going through Ghost’s head, but you can see that something is affecting him. His chest rises and falls faster, those broad shoulders taught with a newfound tension you hardly recognize. Preparing himself. Ghost isn’t like this unless he’s looking down the sights of his rifle. All poise and concentration, he tightens his grasp like he’s pulling a trigger and he’s dragging you out of nowhere, guiding your upper half across the short table under you’re leaned over and inches away from his face.

You say nothing. Hell, what could you say? Stop? Don’t?

You want this.

Fuck, you need this.

You use your free hand to tug his mask under his chin and you kiss him.

It’s firm yet hesitant, and your mind races with all the ways this could backfire. But Ghost is warm and his stubble is rough, scratching against your chin and lips as he leans into it, pressing into you as though he’s giving himself permission to allow this.

The kiss breaks when you run out of breath. You pant as you try to catch up, your eyes blinking open to find Ghost’s half-lidded gaze searching your face with a sense of desperation. Realization has set in: the floodgates have opened, and there’s no going back now.

You lead this time around, scooting yourself out of the shitty metal chair and rounding the table to him. Ghost stands, his eyes never leaving you once, and he’s tall and broad, towering over you, even as he bends his head down to meet your lips with a feverish kiss. You taste the coffee on his breath and the warmth from his tongue as it glides against yours clumsily. His hands grip your hips and suddenly you’re pulled upward like you weigh nothing and set down onto the tabletop with your legs spread. Ghost fits himself between your knees, his hands trailing down to grip your thighs, squeezing the flesh.

A rush of heat fills your body. You can feel a blush on your cheeks, heat prickling the back of your neck. The space between you and his chest is hot as well, practically radiating off of his body— the body that keeps you trapped against it with your legs locked and hands scrabbling at its shoulders; the body that’s firm and muscular and alive under your touch, reacting to each grind of your hips as you desperately rock against him.

“Fuck.” Ghost murmurs against your lips, low and breathy.

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes. You’re giddy with the feelings knotted inside your chest. This is happening. Holy shit. And you can’t come to terms with this, that’s it’s taken so long to happen. The tension wasn’t not there. Subtle glances and lingering looks were just the start, not to mention the jokes Soap, Gaz, and even Price made about you two— about how similar you were; quiet and brutal and deadly, two lone wolves watching their pack’s back.

Even so, Ghost has more resilience than this. You thought you had more— hell, if your self control was hanging by a thread during the last mission, then it’s practically been snapped now, and by your own two hands.

You’re tired of feeling tired. And Ghost is more than eager to quell the chaotic energy inside of you both.

His teeth catch your bottom lip as you tilt your head and grasp for the back of his neck. You flinch, the pain incredibly brief, and he makes a low groaning noise that sends a bolt of heat straight between your legs. Your thighs clench around him, and he soothes the nip with his tongue as an apology, but all it does is make you whine with need.

Lips tingling, you break the kiss to the sound of a zipper. Ghost bites his bottom lip and follows your eyes down to where your hips lay flush together. His boxers are exposed, belt flayed open, and he’s hard and he’s big too. Bigger than you anticipated— and you haven’t even properly seen it yet.

You slide a hand down his chest and palm the bulge with deft fingers. Ghost groans again, and it’s right then that you decide you want to hear more of that noise.

It takes some maneuvering, but your cargos find the floor in no time. The tabletop is cold against the backs of your thighs, but Ghost's hands are burning hot against your skin. His eyes remain between you, looking down at the (frankly embarrassing) pink panties you're wearing. There's a hint of amusement in Ghost's gaze, like he's tempted to make a comment on it, but instead he just presses his thumb to the front of the fabric and rubs, slow and precise.

For all of the training you've had— the long night's waiting hours in the cold for the perfect moment to strike; the torture that you stayed resilient through; the second-hand nature of your brain thinking logically over what you actually wanted— seemed to be all in vain in this one moment.

Whether it was a long time coming or not, you struggle to even stay still as Ghost’s thumb presses harder, seeking out the shaky breaths leaving your parted lips. It sinks even lower, to a forming wet patch on the thin fabric, and Ghost practically rumbles when he sees the evidence of your desperation.

He wastes no time in pulling the fabric to the side and adjusting your position, pulling your thighs up until you're resting on your lower back with your legs bent and bowed out. Ghost murmurs something that sounds like praise, but you're too caught up in the sound of your heartbeat thumping away in your ears.

First, it's just a finger that enters you. Ghost’s hand trembles so slightly you almost miss it, and he pumps the digit in and out a few times before eagerly adding another. You aren't quite prepared for it. The burn of a stretch would otherwise deter you, but now— now, all it does is drive you up the fucking wall.

“Ghost.” You whine, voice warbly.

Ghost curls his fingers and your head tips back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Simon—”

Now that causes Ghost to falter.

You open your eyes and glance down your body to see his reaction, afraid you might've crossed a line. If his eyes were any indicator, you have a feeling you just skirted the line. You also realize he shed his own cargos at some point and pulled down the hem of his briefs to his mid-thigh, exposing the long, hard curve of his cock. It reaches his navel, the tip wet and catching the dim sterile light of the room.

“Simon.” You repeat carefully.

Ghost pulls his fingers out, grabs under your hips, and drags you even closer to the edge of the table. You yelp, but it's no deterrent. He's feral in a way you've never seen— desperation and nerves and frustration all coiled into his determined expression, truly like a wild animal. It isn't often you get to see under the mask. What doesn't make sense is why he's letting you while he's vulnerable like this.

Your eyes meet as he lines up and rubs the tip against you, hot and slick.

And then he pushes in, and your eyes close once more as every feeling in your body narrows down to just this. This stretch, this heat— everything. The way Ghost’s chest vibrates as he groans, how he feels inside, thick and real; it's so much to handle, all you can do is lay back and try to catch your breath until he reaches the hilt.

Buried deep inside, Ghost grinds his hips and grunts when you whimper in response. His hands are gripping under your thighs, right below the bend of your knees, and he's using the contact as an anchor to drive himself in and out like he has no time to waste. And with how you've been treated lately, there really is no time to waste. God knows how late into the night it's gotten, but the thrill of what if—

And oh god. What if.

*What if someone comes in?*

The windows are foggy with condensation, the frames coated with dust and grime and who knows what; But you can see the beginnings of a washed yellow peeking through the thick trees outside, right past Ghost's shoulder. You catch a subtle reflection from the overhead light bouncing off the glass pane, transfixed by his rippling muscles as they bunch and strain while he practically pounds into you with all his might.

Arching your back, you dig your heels into his lower back and shudder when the angle changes, his cock brushing past the sensitive bundle of nerves buried inside of you. Ghost notices that you're distracted, but it's clear he doesn't know why. You can't tell if he's irritated by it or curious, but the worry doesn't stick around very long— he presses his thumb to your clit before you have the chance to regroup yourself, and that's all the stimulation it takes to stoke the fire burning in your gut. It's all you need to stop caring about the risk of you two getting caught. You both deserve this— surely, the team would understand.

You feel yourself pulse around Ghost's cock, an orgasm so treacherously close you can feel your thighs shaking with the force of its foundation.

They'd better understand.

You might die from this feeling. Forget the trenches, there's nothing that makes you shake, cry, and beg so easily.

“That's it,” Ghost grunts. The words, among the first he's spoken almost all night, prod at a part of your brain you thought was long shut down by now. And he keeps doing it, encouraging you with low, growly breaths and strained words; a mixture that makes your head spin— beyond the fact that you're nearly upside down with how high your back is arched, your temple nearly pressed to the tabletop.

Ghost bends over you to get a better hold, and then he's rapidly thrusting like a fucking rabbit, and oh God, you can feel it— it's too much, too quick and too overstimulating, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't slow down, and suddenly Ghost's hand is covering your mouth as you practically wail your release. It crashes over you like a tidal wave, all-encompassing and fueled by years of restraint.

Your pussy spasms around him, walls uncontrollably rippling, even fighting to push him back out. But Ghost only drives in deeper, and in one, two, three thrusts, he seats himself fully to the hilt and groans against the sweat-slick skin of your neck as a warm, dirty feeling floods your insides.

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆✩

It takes you a while to catch your breath. Ghost is right with you, propping himself up on his palms, hands on either side of your trembling body, as his cock pulses the last ropes of cum inside. He slowly pulls his hips back until there's a rush of hot liquid gushing out onto the tabletop.

Your thighs are a mess— hell, your whole body looks more run through than some of the exercise regimes you and the team are forced to do every couple of weeks. You definitely feel a lot sweatier, though the lack of mud, blood, and grime in general is a plus.

Your face burns with a sense of embarrassment as you look between your legs and notice the mess he left behind. Ghost's cock is still half-hard, but he carefully smears the tip along your inner thigh (and holy shit that imagery will never leave your mind from now on) and stuffs it back into his briefs, then zips up his jeans before adjusting the belt, each movement precise.

You half expect him to just leave you there, but Ghost's hands are gentle when they grab ahold of your arms and pull you up into a seated position. Knees bent, your legs hang off the table, feet a foot or so from the cold floor. Ghost says nothing as he quickly snags the blanket you dragged in from off the back of the couch and wraps it around your shoulders. He helps you shuffle side to side so you can adjust your panties until they're properly on again, and he even goes the full mile to help guide your feet into the pant legs of your cargos until they're on as well. Not like you can wear these again, considering how stained they'll be in the next few minutes.

“Feel better?”

It's the only thing you manage to come up with to break this weird, tense silence. Your voice is hoarse, but with a little more coffee, it'll repair itself in no time.

Ghost's eyes crinkle slightly, and something tells you that he's far more amused than the faux annoyed huff he gives to your little question. It eases the knot in your chest, and you can't help but smile as you help him adjust his face mask.

“Yes,” Ghost admits anyway, his fingers brushing yours gently, “Feelin’ better. Now come on, up you get. We've got some work to do.”

I'm so down bad chat. As soon as I finished writing this, I thought of a follow-up shower scene I might write next if y'all want it 🫣 Ao3 link is here! (I crosspost over there) Requests/prompts are currently: open! Thanks for reading :] And thank you Jax for the prompt!! ♡♡♡

[456x001]

okay huge essay incoming:

and this is based off a post i saw earlier by my awesome mutual @midnight--sadness (her blog is awesome btw) where she talked about gi hun’s ability to forgive in ho. so i’ll start off by prefacing some of the great points she made about gi hun’s trusting nature and his selfless ability to forgive others:

we’ve seen time and time again how trusting gi hun is even if it’s to a fault. it’s simply in his nature to trust and love and to care about other people in the selfless way he does. given that, i think he could forgive in ho. if he sees in ho actually working to make a change and make things right for the betterment of others that have been wronged by the games (and whether or not in ho will or actually even wants to is what we’ll be getting into later), i believe he can forgive him. despite all the horrible things he’s done, despite the unforgivable, irredeemable mistakes he’s made. he’s more than justified in not forgiving him but i’m just saying he might because if anyone could it’s gi hun. he’s made the point time and time again that he isn’t like the masked men and would never become hateful in the ways they are.

now let’s talk a bit about gi hun’s relationship with young-il. gi hun's worry for young-il during the games is so raw and heartfelt. he’s not just strategizing or playing to survive-he genuinely cares about young-il's well-being, even in a scenario where survival often demands selfishness. his willingness to risk everything to make sure young-il was okay shows how deeply gi hun values connection and loyalty. in ho, as the frontman, watches all of this unfold. seeing how much gi-hun cared for his alter ego “young-il" must have left a mark, even if in ho wouldn't openly admit it.

when the truth comes out that young-il and the frontman are the same person it's going to hit gi hun like a ton of bricks. gi hun will have to reconcile the caring, vulnerable young-il with the cold, calculating frontman. it will once again challenge everything he believes about people and their capacity for change. in ho, for all his control and detachment, won't be immune to this confrontation either. gi hun's unwavering belief in him as young-il could be the thing that cracks his carefully built armor.

this dynamic is so layered with unspoken emotions, unacknowledged bonds, and so much potential for heartbreak and redemption. it’s no wonder they gave us at the edge of our seats. now here’s the crux of the discussion. do we think gi hun’s belief in young-il's goodness, his inherent belief in the goodness of people could be enough to pull in ho back toward redemption?

we don’t know the answer to that yet, but i will say this. we’ve seen the final defying act of the villain sacrificing his life at the end for the greater good many times before. however, redemption doesn't always have to end in self-sacrifice. it could mean in ho finding a way to dismantle the system from the inside or choosing to protect gi hun and others while carving out a new path for himself. gi hun's belief in young-il could serve as a bridge for in ho to reconnect with the part of himself that still values humanity, without needing to face total destruction.

in a show like squid game tragedy feels inevitable but in ho's complexity gives him the potential to break free from that cycle of the self-sacrificial villain. if the writers explore his humanity further, there's room for a story where redemption and survival coexist— where he doesn't have to lose his life to find the good within himself.

it’s okay to hope. even in a world as bleak as squid game. personally, to me that feels a lot more compelling than the trope of self sacrifice that we’ve seen in the past. it gives in ho a chance to truly live with his choices, grow from them, and navigate the complexities of redemption, rather than taking the "easy" way out of a grand gesture. it’s a more challenging story to tell for sure but it would also feel satisfying.

i know it may seem like i’m trying to paint a fairy tale but here’s why i think it could work.

squid game thrives on subverting expectations. taking in ho down a path where he survives, changes, and potentially becomes an ally or disruptor within the system could be far more groundbreaking than another shock-value death. it could challenge the audience to grapple with forgiveness and morality in ways that are more impactful than a tragic ending. gi hun's unwavering hope in humanity could become the key to helping in ho see his own worth and capacity for change. in ho is such a layered character, and his survival would be more shocking in a show as grim as squid game. it would challenge the bleakness and give the story a deep emotional payoff. the shock value of how he survives and redeems himself could carry as much weight as a tragic death.

i really value the complexity and emotional depth in this show gives us in within the narrative and i can’t wait to see how hwang dong-hyuk continues to challenge the bounds of storytelling and reach beyond the obvious in season 3 as he’s done with these past two seasons.

[shinedoitsulikeabright]

So, about God Games...

I know I recently made a similar post in regards to 600 strike, but I can't stop thinking about what this song could've looked like if we had all 12 Olympians taking part.

So, this is what I've managed to come up with thus far. It ain't much, but it's honest work.

(I won't be going in any particular order. This is going to be a long post so brace yourselves.)

Dionysus: His whole argument is that Odysseus never lets loose and parties. Instead, he's spent these 20 years being all miserable and serious.

Athena's rebuttal: Sure, he never lets loose, but how could he? He's been continuously going through nightmare after nightmare. If Dionysus agrees to let him go, he'd return to his usual whimsical, silly guy self and party for days to come, celebrating the reunion with his family.

Hermes: Although Hermes wants to let Ody go, he still chooses to tease Athena because he's a troublemaker like that. He would say something obviously wrong, just so Zeus can't say that he didn't participate. He'd probably say something dumb like "had Ody been smart, he would've entered Circe's palace and simply stolen the piggies when she wasn't looking".

Athena's rebuttal: She'd roll her eyes but play along. Her response would basically be no, he couldn't have done that because Circe would've known. And even if he succeeded what would he do with a dozen pigs on board? She'd then point out how similar the two are: both very cunning, manipulative and skilled with words.

Demeter: Her argument could be that while Odysseus was away, he failed to take care of his land and people, leading to the agriculture suffering (because I honestly doubt that Penelope had the mental capacity to attend to all that the way she normally would with everything on her plate).

Athena's rebuttal: She'd try to draw the parallel between the relationship between Demeter and Persephone and Odysseus and Telemachus. She could point out how heartbroken Demeter felt when she couldn't see her beloved daughter, tugging on her heartstrings and convincing her that Odysseus was going through the exact same agony.

Artemis: I honestly think she wouldn't care about Ody. The only reason why she'd participate is to appease Zeus. Anyway, I think she could do the Hera bit where she's like "gimme one good reason why I should help".

Athena's rebuttal: Athena could try to recount the boar encounter to show how great of a hunter Odysseus is. Plus, she could add that Ody's weapon of choice is the bow aka something that Artemis also uses.

Apollo: Since we're doing Artemis, might as well do her twin next. Apollo, as the patron god of Troy, could point out that Odysseus destroyed the walls he helped build. Then, he could also add that argument about the sirens.

Athena's rebuttal: Here, Athena could say that it wasn't Ody who destroyed the walls, but the Trojans who demolished them in order to let the wooden horse in. As for the sirens, she can repeat that argument she used in the official song. Or, better yet, say that if Odysseus returned home, his journey would inspire countless songs and works of art.

Hephaestus: I think his entire bit is perfectly fine (both in terms of the argument, as well as the rebuttal). Either way, I doubt Hephaestus really cares and it shows. He just wants to get back to work... And Athena wants to be out of there asap considering their history.

Aphrodite: I think her argument is good, although I do find it a bit strange since she is most typically associated with romantic/sexual love. Hera or Hestia would've been better picks for familial love imo. Anyway, if I were to rewrite her argument, I'd make her be petty and say something like "he hasn't bed his wife in 2 decades!". Overall, she really couldn't care less, she just wants to mess with Athena.

Athena's rebuttal: I think she'd snap and be petty back, saying something like "well, who's fault is that?" (considering it was Aphrodite who basically started the Trojan War). Then, she'd recompose herself and say that if Aphrodite agreed to free Odysseus, he'd return to his wife and make up for all the lost passion.

Ares: Great argument imo, no notes. Sidenote, but I love Ares so much. In fact, I named my first dog after him.

Athena's rebuttal: Her canon rebuttal needs work, I think. After all, it wasn't the lack of bloodshed Ares had a problem with, but cowardice. If I were to rewrite it, I'd make Athena defend Ody's actions by pointing out that what Ares sees as "cowardice" was simply strategy. As for the Telemachus call-out, she could point out Ares' hypocrisy. On one hand, he insults the kid for being pathetic and on the other, he prevents his father from returning home, thus not allowing him to teach the necessary skills he needs in order to be a warrior. Additionally, she could appeal to Ares' softer side. He's one of the few gods who actually loves and cares about his kids, so she could appeal to that.

Poseidon: Yes, the big, bad man himself. At first, Athena is a bit worried about her ability to convince him (I mean, in the original Odyssey it says that he was one of the few gods she feared opposing directly + they already have a strained relationship due to the Athens rivalry). However, Poseidon is so done with this mortal that he just lets him go before his niece even gets the chance to open her mouth. In reality, he wants Ody to be set free just so he could kill him with his own hands. He's way too invested in this, dammit.

Hera: As the goddess of marriage and family, Hera could argue that Odysseus had been a bad husband and father. I mean, he spent 20 years pissing off gods and monsters instead of focusing on returning to his wife and child.

Athena's rebuttal: Athena could argue that he's actually been an exceptional family man considering how much he was willing to sacrifice just to return to those he loved. Then, just to put the nail in the coffin, she'd repeat the whole "never once has he cheated on his wife" slam dunk.

Zeus: Our thunder bringer isn't exactly pleased that his daughter beat the game. In fact, he's pissed because she not only humiliated him by winning, but she also won by humiliating him (with the whole not cheating argument). Anyway, the canon event happens where he strikes her with lightning and she begs for Ody to be set free.

[zeropro]

What are your thoughts on transformers prime and transformers one?

TL:DR I liked both! TFP was my first Transformers show that I watched all the way through and TF1 was a lot of fun! Opinions on Starscream under the break pfpfpfpfpfpf

Prime was literally my first Transformers experience (Okay that's not true, I did see the first Bay movie when it came out but lets not talk about that). It's really good! My favorite character was Ratchet, I loved that he's just a tired, grumpy, racist old man and he's a doctor. Knock Out was the best thing to come out of TFP and he really should be in more stuff. Really would have loved a fourth season but it wouldn't have been the same without the children around. I liked what we got!

Prime has an excellent Starscream, Steve Blume does an amazing performance with both his deep conniving gravel and his high pitched terrified sputtering. So much character in his animation too, especially in later seasons, and an incredibly compelling character arc. Prime Starscream is not a good person, but I would burn the world for him, and I like the small moments in the show that hint at something in his character that could be turned to good, but circumstance always works against him in that regard. He's just so pathetic, but also competent and dangerous, all the best qualities of a Starscream and a very unique design!

Transformers One was quite good, I was worried because of the trailers but I was surprised by how well executed it all was. None of the characters were annoying, and making Optimus Prime originally one of the oppressed class alongside Megatron was a good move. The scene where Orion gives Dee the sticker is so cute, I simply cannot. The ending felt a bit rushed but what can you do, it wasnt so bad that it's a problem for me.

I would have loved just a little more Starscream in the movie! Like, I knew he wasn't really gonna be in the movie much so i was prepared for it to be little more than a glorified cameo, but I loved a lot of what we did get and I feel like it was missing just a little bit more! Like, the whole High Guard turned rogue backstory he has is great, implies some honor to his character since he didnt keep serving Sentinal when the guy turned Cybertron over to the Quintissance. I think it's hilarious that Starscream is so much older than Megatron. Like, they gave us a lot of food to make headcanons out of, but then the rushed ending kind of left me with no real reason given for him and the rest of the High Guard to go with Megatron without a fight. Like, I think the reason given was that, because Megatron beat him up that one time, and then killed Sentinal, and since the High Guard became a might makes right society and hates Sentinal, I guess thats why they are loyal to him now. And I guess the one line where Starscream is like "all hail megatron" is supposed to indicate he's 100% behind Megatron now and not just a spur of the moment thing. And I guess them following his command to destroy the city is why theyre being banished. But like...idk, every other plot point was well established and properly played out, and the whole decepticons thing just didnt really feel like enough, and i kind of feel like it should have been more clearly communicated considering its an entire one side of a two sided war? I feel like we werent shown the high guard doing anything egregiously bad besides attacking people because megatron told them to.

Like, there's nothing in the movie to suggest that Starscream and the High Guard arent still loyal to the Primes. So when Orion comes back as a prime, like a proper prime, with the matrix and everything, which everyone knows will make the energon flow again, I'm surprised Starscream didnt at least try to make excuses or worm his way into avoiding banishment? My headcanon is he wanted to kill Sentinal as bad as Megatron and so when Megatron finally does what he failed to do for 50 cycles, he's like aite im ride or die for this guy. Maybe 50 cycles of living in the wilderness doing nothing but scout and pit fight all day changes a guy and they dont wanna live in a society anymore. Why dont they accept Optimus as the new prime? They helped him and Elita save their friends, and unlike Sentinal Optimus has the actual Matrix this time. Idk mang. Woulda liked a bit more.

Transformers One, not my favorite design for Starscream. The head vents going wide at the bottom look weird to me, and his legs are so long and flat.

Thems my opinions!

[thequietkid-moonie]

Childhood friends w/ a cheerful and exageratted reader

[ PLATONIC HEADCANONS ] [ Kalim & Jamil ]

[ Twisted Wonderland ]

× This is inspired in the Genie of the Lamp (from Aladdin)

I have already expressed once how much i FUCKING LOVE THE GENIE OF THE LAMP FROM THE ANIMATED MOVIE!!! AND HAVING THIS TWO BICHES IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A SIN NOT WRITING THIS

Aladdin live-action? Haha no bro! Whats that? That must have been a fever dream, wanna heard the songs with me for the nth time? ~w~

Technically speaking when you were kids and you met them it was expected that you would become friends with Kalim, but because of his cheerful personality and your own you two ended up dragging Jamil into your friendship too, and as much as he would complain it was actually something that brighten up his life (at least a bit)

Kalim always tried to befriend Jamil and talked to him like a friend so when you came along you simply treated him like a friend too, however you were a bit more aware of his situation than Kalim seemed to be, but, of course, he was already your friend and you wouldn't leave all alone a friend so not only you started to come up with the most exaggerated (and sometimes confusing) excuses of why Jamil was hanging out with you two as a friend instead of just the servant, most of the time the excuses were so irrational that it was hard to refute it so, as silly it was it saved Jamil of being scolded a few times

As well, Jamil was unable to be in the spotlight nor even dream of surpassing Kalim on anything, but he was not your servant and you made sure to remind him that since you two were only friends he can not hold back when playing together or in your friendly rivality, and the moment Jamil managed to over come the hesitation he took it to heart and ended up winning too many matches, being completely merciless and even a bit mocking when telling you that you insisted, wich leaded to Kalim to wanting to "take revenge in your name" and since Jamil couldn't do the same against him Kalim ended up winning most of the time (and having a boost in his confidence)

Kalim and you grow inseparable, after all you two understood each other really well and were always playing, throwing parties and everything that could lead to both matching your unstopable energy, and with how exaggerated you tend to be you leaded Kalim to think greater, wich most of the time only meant more work for Jamil, wich he of course hated but he wouldn't just hate you because it was all compensated by the fact that at least you were of great help while taking care of Kalim, again, you can be more aware than Kalim and since you can easily match his energy its easier with you around to convince him to do things that will not put Jamil in so much stress or even you are able to watch over him and distract him enough to let Jamil have a break

There were time where you also helped Jamil with his own work, even if he insisted that it wasn't necesary, that he doesn't needed the help, you always brushed him by saying that he is your friend, of course you would want to help him, still you always tried to be sneaky by it to don't get him in troubles or get Kalim involved (he would want to help too and that would just bring more troubles, one way or another), and most of the time when you helped him you ended up using your magic and, like you always did, using a bit too exaggerated methods but at least the work was done

As you grow up the three of you ended up learning a lot together, you used your magic to learn how to do visualy amazing and really cool tricks (sometimes even a bit too exaggerated and colorful) what was of use to distract Kalim and keep it in one place and even motivate him to want to learn you control his magic more, ultimately leading both to practice and learn more and more together

You are someone who is really supportive over your friends, and even protective if needed, and that was totally expressed towards Kalim and Jamil, you grew up with them and saw them grow to be the people they are today, yes maybe Kalim has problems with the academics and his responsibilities but that didn't stopped you from being proud of who he is, always loudly and cheerfuly being happy for him and any kind of improvements he had

And even when Jamil was always presenting results under Kalim's you knew him too well to know that he had a great potential and intelligence, you knew too well his situation and, again, nothing of that would ever stop you from recognizing your friend, so you were always recognizing everything about him, always congratulating him for his score even when he never get high scores because you actually know how smart he is, or recognizing and thanking him for his hard work (wich leaded Kalim to do the same, ironically that made Jamil more hesitant on accepting the compliments), talking about him and how great he is with exaggerated geatures and expressions but only to him because you know how much he actually prefers to don't be in the spotlight, and thats is something that makes him inmensily happy and appreciated (not that he would admit it out loud)

And since both have grow up with you it becomes so normal to have you in their lives and the friendship is incredibly appreciated for both, Kalim is always talking about you whenever something reminds him of you, and while Jamil normally doesn't mention you he sometimes finds himself thinking about you, specially when Kalim is being extra energetic and your presence could have been of great help (specially if you two don't at the same school, since is more likely that you end up going to RSA giving Jamil another oportunity to fight against you freely)

[miyukisu]

SFW Alphabet | Miyuki Kazuya .ᐟ

❤︎ | Get to know Miyuki Kazuya from A to Z~ (3.8k wc)

a/n - it's kazuya day! of course, i had to do something for the bestest best boi of all. this is super self-indulgent btw and not proofread lol.

[A] Affection He's not sure how to show it or how to handle it. The idea seems foreign to him, so it definitely takes some time for him to warm up to it. Kazuya won't mind little displays of affection, especially at the beginning of the relationship. In fact, he would appreciate taking a slow pace. It's basically like a whole new world opening up to him; he's both hesitant and willing to feel more of it. While he does accept affection slowly, it takes longer for him to show his. In many ways, his kind of affection comes in the form of cooking you food, making plenty of inside jokes with you, and spending his free time around your presence.

However, he realizes how liberating it is after initiating the hug or the kiss himself. He discovers how good it feels to express his admiration through words. By no means was it immediate, but he definitely gets to point that he can be conventionally affectionate when the moment is intimate.

[B] Bonding Kazuya enjoys doing anything as long as it involves you. He wouldn't really be with someone he wouldn't have fun with doing anything and everything in the first place. But he does have favorite activities, of course. When he's with you, he would prefer something more laidback like chatting over some food or even cooking together. But he's also fine with something more high energy like working out together or playing catch. Though you do often find yourselves silently hanging out like reading your own stuff beside each other or sleeping together.

Due to his independent nature, he needs some time by himself too. There's a good balance between bonding and me time.

[C] Comfort Honestly, he might not be the best at this as well—unless we're talking about seeking comfort in asking for practical advice. Kazuya grew up to be self-sufficient. If he was going through things, he most likely handled it on his own—probably ignoring his feelings by busying himself. So when it came to comforting another person, he was at a loss. On the bright side, he's insanely good at reading people, especially you. He reads you like an open book and can tell when there's a shift in your mood.

He might not know exactly what to do, but he knows when it's time to take things seriously. At least, he'd ask what's wrong and offer to listen. He does feel bad that listening is all he can do. But no words come out of his mouth. Although, further into the relationship, he'll be confident enough to finally give comforting words that he knows would help you.

[D] Domestic He's the definition of domestic bliss—malewife even. He knows how to cook, do household chores, and basic repairs. Kazuya isn't a clean freak, but he keeps his space neat and clean at all times. After all, he can only relax in a place where dust isn't building up constantly. He's the type to fix his bed first thing in the morning, to cook meals for you, have general cleaning sessions every Sunday, and so on. Sometimes this side of him surprises people because he doesn't really look the part. Though you quickly grow accustomed to it because this is essentially his love language—acts of service.

Speaking of acts of service, it's something he'd like to receive back. You have his years of independence to thank for that. Kazuya simply finds that this is the highest form of love—doing things for the other person purely because you want to do it for their wellbeing.

[E] Endearment Kazuya cringes at the thought of it, especially before getting into a relationship. He's definitely the type to hear other couples do it and silently judge them for it. But his perspective changes when he does get into a relationship himself. It takes a while to grow on him, but he doesn't mind being called "baby", "babe", or "love" every once in a while. But he's adamant to call you by your name. Maybe, he'll start calling you a shortened version of your name or some sort of word play on it. Then, that pretty much becomes your term of endearment.

That is... unless he finds something annoying like calling you "pouty" because you pout a lot when he teases you.

[F] Friendship Most likely it wasn't an instant friendship. It was more of an enemies-turned-best friends kind of thing because Kazuya is easy to be frenemies with. He can be so annoying with his teasing sometimes because he knows where to take a jab at you. There were definitely moments when he went overboard without knowing. Although, he was mature enough to hear you out and... half-heartedly apologize. But that is where the friendship sprung. It was a lot of banter and barely any moments of seriousness. But oddly enough, he became close to you regardless which is no easy feat.

Kazuya is the kind of best friend to laugh at you first if you trip before helping you up. He's the kind of friend that might judge you a bit when you tell him your problems, but he'll try to understand you and offer practical advice.

[G] Gifts Kazuya isn't big on gifts. He doesn't seek to receive any nor does he get the need to give them out unless there is a special occasion. However, if you do surprise him with one or get him a certain item he has been eyeing for some time, he'll be so happy. Kazuya's a pretty grateful person in general. Even if he's indifferent to gift-giving, he does come across things that remind him of you. He gets the urge to buy it for you or make it for you. Sometimes he pushes through with it, but sometimes he shrugs it off. No particular reason; he just thinks there are plenty more ways to show you that he values you.

As a practical person, he hardly considers getting something expensive too. He'd rather put thought and effort into the gift instead of money. Kazuya definitely likes getting you useful things or food. He doesn't say it, but his favorite gift that he got from you is a box full of love letters.

[H] Hugs You know he likes hugging, but of course, he won't say it outright. Early in the relationship, he draped his arm across your shoulders often. It eventually progressed into full on bear hugs (he hugs tightly to make sure he annoys you). He likes to creep up from behind, enveloping you with his larger frame and lifting you up sometimes. Kazuya particularly likes how he towers over you and how your smaller arms try to reciprocate his tenderness.

KAZUYA IS A CUDDLEBUG. But never point that out because he'll explode. As you might've guessed though, he's a fan of spooning with him as the big spoon. He unconsciously nuzzles his chin into the top of your head which you always call him out for. Although, he isn't opposed to resting his head on top of your chest every once in a while. He falls asleep in under a minute hearing the steady lull of your heart and feeling your fingers massaging his scalp.

[I] I Love You A lot of importance is put into this simple sentence. He doesn't just throw it around for anyone. Besides, for the longest time, he hadn't even thought about it because he believes that his actions speak for itself. Most likely you'd be the one to say those three words first. And it gives him courage to say it (though he would appear flustered). Perhaps the first time he actually says it solemnly and with his whole heart in it was in the middle of such a mundane activity with each other. He was lying in bed, beside you and staring at your face. All at once, several realizations hit him: how you've been with him through thick and thin, how you handle a pain in the ass like him, and how you were the first to say "I love you."

He'd be staring and all of a sudden he mutters those words with a small smile. It takes you by surprise and you ask him to repeat it. He does, but he'll somehow tease you about your reaction, turning the tables on you again. (He says it in very intimate moments and you swear it feels like the first time each time.)

[J] Jealousy He trusts you, but he doesn’t trust other people. Nevertheless, he isn’t one to jump to conclusions. He’ll try to rationalize his feelings first before letting it become jealousy. Besides, he doesn’t want to appear like a controlling type. But if a time comes when another person crosses a boundary of his—or God forbid, your boundaries—a switch flips in him. He is not afraid to speak up and be blunt. Oh the other person got hurt or offended? Good. He meant that. Rarely does he ever show off, but if some side character decides that they have a chance—Kazuya has to put them in their place.

When it comes to him though… it’s expected that people stare at Kazuya for too long or make advances on him. Everyone knows he’s attractive and now you have to deal with it. The only caveat to it is that he doesn’t give a shit. They can stare all they want, but he never gives them the time of day.

[K] Kisses Surprise, but he probably initiated the first kiss. It was awkward, but memorable for the both of you. Ever since then, he mostly gave you quick pecks or kisses that littered your face. Making out usually leads to something else, so that’s reserved for a specific time. Anyway, he loves giving forehead kisses (it’s the easiest given the difference in height). He’d swiftly lean down and plant a kiss before smiling at you. He also does this thing where he grabs your jaw—squishing your cheeks and forcing you into a pout—then kisses you on the lips or cheek. The squishing part is essential apparently.

He likes to ask for kisses in cheeky ways, often mixing it with his usual teasing. “I’m leaving. Don’t I get a farewell kiss?” Or, “I’ll do it if you give me 5 kisses~”

[L] Little Ones He’s okay with kids… kind of. Kazuya is definitely the kind of guy who’d smile and wave at a child staring at him on the train. But as soon as the child starts laughing—he’ll make a weird face, almost taunting the kid. The fella’s smile drops and starts crying. He’ll poke fun at children—he doesn’t discriminate when it comes to (friendly?) jokes. But that’s the extent that he’s willing to go when it involves children. If someone asks him to babysit—he’s outta there. At best, they’ll play catch, but that’s it. He’s not gonna hang out with little runts for more than 5 minutes (his words).

Would he want children? Maybe. He thinks it would depend on his situation at the time and who he’s with. He’s fine with having some or none at all. Though he would prefer having just 2.

[M] Mornings Kazuya wakes up early in the morning—earlier than you, for sure. But even then, he’ll make sure to cuddle you first before getting up. In fact, it’s the only time he chooses to be gentle when caging you in his arms as he doesn’t want to wake you up. Carefully, he’ll try to pepper your face with kisses—snapping a photo in between to show you once you wake up. After that, he’s off; he likes to take his quiet time in the morning to go out for a run or exercise. If by any chance you’re still asleep, he’ll quickly whip up some breakfast and make you coffee just the way you like it. He gets lonely after that so he practically pounces on you in bed (after showering, of course) to wake you up.

On most days, his schedule is quite hectic, leaving him with little time to be with you. So on the days when he gets to be around your presence, he’d like to slow the pace—savor the moment, so to speak. Maybe after breakfast you two would just lounge around on the couch and talk about random things until responsibilities start calling (or if you’re lucky, perhaps lunch).

[N] Nights His night routine is probably more fixed compared to his morning and it typically begins after his evening training. He likes to start with food before anything and he eats the MOST at this time of day. He will scarf down everything—even the leftovers on your plate. After that is just standard stuff—showering, skincare, prepping for bed. Though breezes through all of them, so he’s left with an hour or two before his designated bed time (11 PM). You’d have to ask him to relax with you or else that man will still do something productive like observing match results or something.

Kazuya also forces you to sleep early. Sometimes he starts sounding like a fussy parent when he begins to list the reasons why a fucked up sleep schedule will bite you in the ass. If you don’t listen—he’ll just have to tackle you in bed and keep you in his arms so you have no other choice but to sleep.

[O] Open This is a tough one… But as you might have guessed, Kazuya isn’t the type to open up at all. Although, you can’t really blame him for being more comfortable in relying on himself. Even as you’d offer to listen, he’s more inclined to stick with what he’s used to. It was especially difficult in the first year or so of your relationship. You started to understand him a bit more after learning about his past (like how he was bullied as a kid or how he didn’t grow up in the best household). But still—there were times when it felt like he was pushing you out, treating you like an enemy of sorts.

There was definitely a falling out at some point. But his view changes drastically after you still come through for him. If he’s at his lowest—then this was precisely the time you should be there for him. It takes a while for him to build the kind of trust where he can tell you what’s weighing on his heart. He’ll try to push away his inhibitions little by little. But communication is something you constantly work on throughout the years.

[P] Patience He’s such a patient person. That is, when it comes to anger. If something or someone is being unreasonable or stupid—best believe he’s going to make another passive aggressive remark to let people know that this shit ain’t it. But his irritation is not to be confused with anger. After all, Kazuya rarely feels intense emotions, let alone, anger. He’s fine if someone tries to offend him; he’ll just laugh it off and say something worse. But if someone purposefully hurts something or someone near and dear to him—he won’t be afraid to get physical. He’s not proud of it though, but it happens. He’s incredibly protective of you as well, so he’s not above anything when it comes to defending you.

Interestingly, one of the first signs people noticed that he likes you was his endless patience for you. Sure, he still made wisecracks at you, but he was truly patient in serious times with you. He could never ever be pissed off at you at all.

[Q] Quizzes If there was a game show about you, he’d be the grand winner without a sweat. He knows you like the back of his hand; Kazuya probably knows you better than you do. It’s no surprise really. If he can remember every little quirk and mannerism of his teammates and opponents—he sure as hell can remember everything and anything about you. It’s even more impressive how he has no need for calendars or reminders—he just knows by heart. His excellent memory is to be blamed whenever he brings you up with his friends. Can you blame him for thinking about you all the time?

He simply feels that being remembered like this is another great display of love. He’d be grateful if you remembered things about him just as well.

[R] Remember Is he only supposed to choose one? He can’t though. For him, all of your firsts together were the most memorable moments for him—kind of like milestones that he mentally takes note of. When he’s bored, he replays those scenes in his head (in full detail and perfect dialogue too) and it makes him smile inwardly.

But if he reaaally had to choose just one—maybe when you surprised him with a little party with just the two of you to celebrate a major win of his. It was totally unexpected for him and the lengths you went to make sure it was perfect made him want to tear up. He probably won’t cry, but it’s the thought that counts, you know?

[S] Security VERY PROTECTIVE OF YOU—but is very subtle about it too. Normally he’s chill and laidback. He really is! But there are times when his protective switch turns on and he becomes more snappy. Even you’re not safe from the attitude of this man sometimes. He’s not a fan of PDA, but if he feels that someone is trying something funny—he’s suddenly draping his arm over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You ask him what’s wrong but he merely shrugs. (Not above shooting the other person a dirty glare). He’ll also be in a bad mood because of it.

Funny thing is—there are moments where he acts like an overbearing parent. He’ll remind you to do this, to avoid that, to be careful, and so on. If you do something irresponsible, it stresses him out and he’ll fly into a rant about how careless you can be (he’s not mad, but he just hasn’t felt worry like that in a loooong time.)

[T] Try Everything he does for you is done with effort. But, in true Miyuki fashion, he plays it cool—you don’t have to know how he scrambled to get this perfect date sorted. He might look suave and effortless with his actions, but he’s secretly an overthinker when it comes to these kinds of things. He’s sure he would know what kind of dates you like or what types of gifts you want to receive, but he still doubts himself when the time actually comes. After all, his happiness is your happiness as well.

Besides, he’s not the type to half-ass things. He’s aware that he’s not exactly the best at romance, so certain efforts need to be made if it’s for the right person.

[U] Ugly His bluntness and arrogance can be something you can overlook through time, especially since he’s more mellow with you. But perhaps the one thing you can’t get over is how he pushes people away even if you both know he needs the help. He already has a tough time divulging his feelings and talking about problems. But then he also distances himself when things go south. Maybe it’s because he knows his mouth goes off at times or maybe it’s because he knows he should be handling these things alone. It takes a lot of time to get through to him.

However, his words do become a point of contention too at times. He speaks his mind when be feels like it and it hits a chord sometimes. Sure, with friends or teammates, he can be loose with his tongue. But it takes a while for him to realize that he has to be more careful with potentially offensive remarks to his significant other.

[V] Vanity Well… he’s not vain at all. Have you seen how he dresses up? But in all seriousness—he couldn’t care less about his clothes. Clothes are just clothes—they serve to cover you up and that’s it. He might as well be comfortable while he’s at it. Kazuya’s probably not even aware of how attractive he is that he can get away with it. Surely he has heard people call him so, but he shrugs it off as a fluke because people are disillusioned that he’s some hotshot baseball player.

But maybe he’ll start trying out specific styles or think about his wardrobe once he gets into a relationship. But he will always return to his roots (because dressing up too well is a hassle).

[W] Whole He used to think that people should feel “whole” with themselves before getting into any serious relationship. But that entire perspective gets flipped on itself because why is he always missing you badly when you’re apart? Even though he’s highly independent, he can’t deny in himself that he would still think about you frequently. You’d probably still be the first to cave. But Kazuya still thinks you’re his other half. When it comes to baseball, he can lead others just fine. But outside of it, he feels like you open up more of the world to him.

A friend of his told him once how you complemented him (the friend actually meant it in a way that it’s because he’s mean and you’re nice, kinda). But he interprets it differently and it bolsters his love for you basically.

[X] Xtra (I have too many extra headcanons, so… this post)

[Y] Yucks He hates people who are all bark and no bite. If you’re gonna talk big, then you have to have something to show for it. In the same vein, he dislikes people who jump to conclusions and flap their lips like they know everything. Those kinds of people piss him off beyond belief. And while it is difficult to make him angry at someone, it’s fairly easy for him to be annoyed.

He also hates people who are disorganized, especially if their irresponsibility affects others. In relation to that—people who can’t commit to promises immediately get a bad rep in his book. Even worse if it’s something simple like arriving on time at a certain meeting.

[Z] Zzz Kazuya gets sleepy easily because he has a fixed bedtime that he follows religiously. Of course, the eye mask is non-negotiable. The room has to be pitch black and absolutely silent for him to get a good night’s rest. He’s a light sleeper, so he’d appreciate some peace and quiet if he were to sleep in the same room (or bed) with someone else. He barely moves in his sleep and he sleeps on his back. You don’t have to worry about him being a blanket hog.

However, he’s particular about cuddling while sleeping—in that he would hate to cuddle while sleeping. Not because he doesn’t want to hold you, but it’s tough. You move a bit in his arms—he wakes up. That restricts you too. It’s just a hassle. He feels that sleeping beside each other is enough

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note GIRL YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE SAYING ALL THAT OML

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Curtis Everett

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend is a patient in the ICU where you work and he plays at your heartstrings.

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Abusive ex, Hospital setting. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous

Tech Tuesday Masterlist

Chase had woken up and seen you. Whether he remembers you or not is another story. Right now he's still too weak to do much but lay there and go in and out of sleep with the all the machinery he's hooked up to. But he knows you're there, and that scares you.

Part of you knows you'll be okay. He doesn't hold sway over you anymore. You're not the naive girl you were when you first got together, thinking he was the bad boy with a good heart. That he only treated you badly in public to keep his reputation. That the sweetness he treated you with in private was proof he really cared about you.

You know better now.

You also know that men can be better than Chase. Well, you think they can. You know Curtis is, right? Or are you still just hoping he is?

You message Curtis saying you're not up for gaming tonight. He's quick to tell you that's okay and doesn't question why. Yet more evidence that Curtis is better than Chase. Chase questioned everything you did and made you feel like what you wanted was always less important than what he wanted. Curtis trusts you. More importantly, he respects you. He knows if you wanted to talk about it you would. It's not indifference, it's trust and respect. Right?

Okay, maybe Chase does still have some sway over you.

Curtis isn't gaming tonight. He's got too much nervous energy to sit still. Instead he ends up cleaning his entire apartment. He wants to be near his computer in case you need to talk. The frustration at not being able to just step in, and not being able to pull the plug on the machinery keeping Chase alive, is let out, bit by bit as he scrubs every inch of his place.

He has to hold back. He needs to prove to you that he can be trusted to simply have your back. He wants to protect you, but he must acknowledge and respect that you are strong in your own right. That you can fight your own battles. More importantly, that your boundaries are not stomped on.

Then he thinks of something. It's not much, but hopefully it'll help. Especially if he asks permission first.

That's odd, you think as you see the notification from Curtis. Usually he waits for me to say something.

Snowpiercer85: Can't sleep. Gonna go for a drive. Want me to bring you anything?

You feel yourself wanting to cry. He's offering help without forcing you to accept. And you know if you turned down the offer, he wouldn't make you feel guilty about it. He's not the type to hold that against you.

HeartMonitor3000: Will you let me pay you back? Snow: Sure.

Heart: You know that cafe, Mad Hatter's Tea? They have the most delectable red velvet macarons. Snow: How many do you want? Heart: I'll take what you can get me. They're open late for the college kids but they might be low on stock. Snow: I'll let you know when I've got the macarons. Heart: Thank you, Curtis. I really needed this.

You really could use the comfort food. The cafe is nowhere near your apartment and, even on your days off, you're either too tired or too busy to go there. You probably could've chosen something closer to the hospital for him to drive but, looking over at Chase's bed, you know you can use all the help you can get. And maybe, just maybe, letting Curtis help wasn't such a bad idea.

Curtis tells you he's arrived and you tell your boss you're taking your break. Curtis might be expecting just to drop off the cookies, but, hopefully, he won't mind talking with you for a bit.

He's out of his car by the time you get to the parking lot. He greets you with a smile, holding out a box with the Mad Hatter's Tea logo on it.

"Got their last batch," he informs you. He's not going to mention that he got a deal on them because he doesn't want you thinking about the price, about paying him back. His heart wrenches when he sees you. You look so tired, especially when you got close and finally let your shoulders relax.

You open the box and let out a little squeal at how many there are. "Did you try any?" you ask him. He shakes his head and you give a playful pout. "That's no good! You gotta try one, they're delicious!"

Curtis smiles and takes the one you offer him. His eyes widen as he eats it.

"I told you! Delicious!"

The rest of your break was spent talking and laughing with Curtis as you share stories and cookies. By the time you have to go back to work, you're feeling so much better that you give Curtis a big hug as thanks. You don't feel how his heart races at having you so close, but you do feel how firmly he holds you.

Back at the nurses' station, Vanessa tells you Chase woke up enough to write to her about if he wants or needs anything. He wrote your name.

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @peyton-warren @ronearoundblindly; @stellar-solar-flare; @thiquefunlover63

[lovelesscherub]

come find heaven with me

2k of nsfw & fluffy harringrove for valentine's day ♡

It was a very typical Friday night in their apartment. Billy was sitting up with his back against the headboard of their bed, a book propped in his hand, while Steve slept soundly next to him. The dim light coming from the bedside lamp on Billy's side was bright enough to let Billy read without straining his eyes, but not too bright to disturb Steve's peaceful dreams.

Billy liked to keep the bedroom window cracked open at night, letting the slight breeze in to cool down the stuffy air that built up in the apartment during the day when it was too hot to open any windows, suffocating them because the rickety old fan in the corner of the room that the previous tenants had left behind didn't really do much to help.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as the breeze played with the pages of his book. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when he realized how calm he felt, how content.

It hadn't always been like this, even though Billy had thought that moving back to California would simply be enough to wipe his life clean of any problems, would be the answer to everything. He was back home and he had a boyfriend. He was free, and spoiled by sunshine and the ocean every single day. What else could he possibly have wanted?

But the first few months back in California had been hard. Really, really hard. Home had changed. Billy's old friends had moved away or moved on, and Billy couldn't navigate around with the same ease as he had once used to. He had known this place like the back of his hand, had known exactly which spots to recommend when tourists stopped him for advice at the beach because they knew just by looking at him that he was a local. A golden surfer boy. But Billy felt just as out of place, those first few months. And there were the nightmares and the trauma, too, of course.

It had been hard for Steve to adjust as well, and they had fought a lot. They argued over money, mostly, when they started running out of their savings, and hadn't found jobs yet, and rent and bills were already overdue. Steve got especially cranky when he was overheated, and he had told Billy many times that he was never going to get used to the weather, or the people, and that they were going to run out of money, and it would be best for Steve to just move back.

And Billy had almost given up and let him go.

Almost.

But as he glanced at the naked form of his sleeping boyfriend, Billy realized that giving up and letting Steve go had never been a real option, and he knew that Steve wouldn't really have left him, wouldn't have given up on him, either. Billy had a person like that in his life now, his rock, who he trusted with his whole life and soul. He wouldn't have been here without Steve, his beautiful brave boy.

The faded light blue sheet Steve held against his chest in his sleep didn't cover the rest of his body, so Billy got to admire him in the dim light. All the moles dotted across his skin were like markings on a map of where Billy's lips belonged. His long, long legs, his plush ass, and the arch of his ribs, until his gaze traveled up to Steve's sunburned shoulders.

They had spent the day at the beach, but no amount of sun cream had been enough to save Steve's pale skin from the sun. But Steve wasn't cranky about it anymore, even though Billy knew how painful sunburns were, and Steve's shoulders and the back of his neck had been glowing red when they had finally headed home for dinner. Steve loved the beach just as much as Billy did. Adjusting, see?

Billy had applied a calming lotion onto Steve's skin before bed, hands working ever so gently over his neck and shoulders, and the relieved little hums and moans spilling from his boyfriends lips still echoed in Billy's ears as Steve had enjoyed the cooling effect of the lotion on his poor skin.

Sleeping naked didn't come naturally to Steve, meanwhile Billy had gotten used to it since the first sticky-sweaty summers of his childhood. Now they both slept naked, and Billy could tell that Steve appreciated the gentle breeze coming in through the window just as much as he did.

Things were good now. They were very good.

Billy rubbed a hand over his face and then shut his book with a dull thud that made Steve stir slightly next to him. He slid the book onto the bedside table and then clicked the lamp shut as he settled down.

Moonlight painted their bedroom in silver streaks and made Steve look ethereal. Billy was itching to touch him, and he couldn't help but press himself flush against Steve's back. 

He pressed his lips to Steve's shoulder, kissing his tender skin gently. He could taste the remnants of the lotion, could smell the sea-salt on Steve's skin, could smell the familiar scent of his coconut body wash. Billy wrapped an arm around Steve's middle to bring him that much closer, palm splayed across Steve's stomach, sliding up and down slowly.

"You're still up", Steve's voice was a groggy whisper as he stirred awake.

"Mhm", Billy answered against the curve of Steve's neck, and he felt Steve's hand come to a rest on top of his own on Steve's stomach, slotting his fingers between Billy's own.

Billy brought their hands up to Steve's chest, could feel Steve's steady heartbeat against the palm of his hand. He liked that feeling. It was nice and grounding.

"You're beautiful", Billy whispered, nudging his nose behind the shell of Steve's ear which made Steve let out a breathy laugh. Billy could feel the tiny shiver running down Steve's spine, and because he knew it was a sensitive spot for Steve, he pressed a kiss behind his ear for good measure.

"Billy..." his name fell like an ode from Steve's lips.

"Yeah?"

Steve moved Billy's hand down along his body, the sheet sliding out of the way completely as Steve placed Billy's hand between his legs where Billy could feel Steve chubbing up already.

Billy responded by shifting his hips and slotting his own hard-on against Steve's ass, right between his cheeks, and grinding against him. It made Steve let out a little gasp.

Billy had learned to take things a little slower and enjoy it. Oh, he still very much enjoyed it when they fucked quick and rough because they didn't have too much time, when they were still mostly clothed and desperate to get each other off. But when they had the time, Billy wanted to cherish every movement, every sound and feeling.

Steve could get impatient, though. Sometimes Billy enjoyed teasing him, testing his patience, but most of the time he gave his pretty boy everything he wanted.

"Lube?" Steve's voice came breathy and needy.

Billy peeled himself off of Steve enough to reach back over his side of the bed towards the bedside table, and as he tugged the drawer open, the bottle of lube rattled in its usual place.

A little box slid next to it. A little black velvet ring box, with a gold band inside that Billy had picked out for Steve a few weeks ago. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. It's not like he had forgotten about it. He had spent the first week after buying it turning the ring over between his fingers at night when Steve slept, but the past few days had been busy and he hadn't had time to think about it too much. No cold feet, no second thoughts. Tomorrow was the day. He was going to propose to Steve tomorrow, and he had never been more sure about anything in his life.

He grabbed the lube and pressed the drawer shut, returning to Steve.

He squirted a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, slid them between Steve's cheeks and petted against Steve's hole which made Steve's body jolt lightly. He relaxed into it immediately, though.

"The cold feels nice", Steve sighed and Billy grinned.

He hooked his other arm under the back of Steve's knee and brought his leg up to have some more room, sliding one lube-slick finger inside Steve.

"How's the sunburn?" Billy asked to distract him, to help him relax. 

"Better", Steve murmured, and Billy peppered soft kisses across Steve's shoulder and upper back, the back of his neck as another finger slid inside with ease. Steve felt relaxed against him, relaxed into the stretch and the kisses.

Three fingers deep, it was easy to get Steve worked up. Billy enjoyed teasing against that sweet spot inside him, enjoyed feeling the way Steve's body got a little tense in anticipation when Billy's fingers pressed closer to where Steve really wanted them, but Billy never gave in enough.

"Need you inside, Billy, please", Steve whined, so syrupy-sweet and needy, that Billy couldn't say no.

He withdrew his fingers and smeared the remaining lube onto his achingly hard cock, gave it a few firm strokes before lining himself up against Steve's entrance and sliding home.

"Fuck", Steve moaned, breathy and drawn out.

"God, you're so fucking warm, baby", Billy murmured, nipping at the shell of Steve's ear as he gave himself a moment to adjust to the velvety heat of Steve's insides.

He picked up a steady rhythm to move inside Steve and listened to the sounds of pleasure spilling from Steve's lips, and he was aching to taste them. He nudged his nose against Steve's jaw and Steve immediately knew to tilt his head back so that Billy could capture his mouth in a kiss.

He drank in all of Steve's whimpers and moans as they got louder with each deep thrust, and sucked on Steve's tongue in that filthy way that made Steve's dick twitch.

"Oh, f-fuck, right there, baby, please", Steve's pleas were like music to Billy's ears, and he kept grinding in slow and deep movements to give Steve exactly what he needed.

"Fuck, princess", Billy gasped when Steve clenched around him, so tight and warm it made Billy's hips stutter.

Steve's hand was on his dick, the pretty pink tip leaking precum over his fingers, and Billy decided to pick up the pace just a little bit.

Steve brought his free arm up and reached back to bring his hand around to Billy's hair, sliding his fingers into Billy's curls and holding on.

Billy could feel droplets of sweat sliding down along his back, and he could taste the droplets of sweat on Steve's skin as he latched his mouth onto the side of Steve's neck and bit down, sucked just hard enough to leave a little mark for later. He was a possessive little shit and Steve loved it.

"That's it, baby. Feel good, hm?" Billy cooed, kissing up along the side of Steve's neck as he felt Steve getting close.

That was enough to send Steve over the edge, making a mess over his own fist as his orgasm made him shiver so deliciously against Billy, and the only words falling from his lips were Billy Billy Billy and fuck fuck fuck.

"There you go, my pretty boy. So good for me", Billy grunted.

Steve tilted his head back to lock eyes with Billy, and with the sweetest little whine he pleaded: "Come inside me, I wanna feel you."

"God, fuck", Billy moaned, tightening his hold on Steve's leg, spreading it as wide as he could as he thrust sharp and deep, chasing his own orgasm. "Gonna fill you up so good."

He muffled his moans into Steve's mouth in a kiss as he came, and a pleased little sound came from Steve as a response to being filled up and satiated.

Billy let go of Steve's leg and watched it tremble slightly as Steve stretched it out before placing it down to rest. His hand found its way back to Steve's stomach to keep him close, and Steve's own hand, as if pulled by a magnet, came to rest on top of it again. Billy wasn't planning on moving any time soon. This right here, he could stay like this forever. Even Steve wasn't complaining about the sticky mess, the sweat between their bodies and their come cooling down, so who was Billy to disturb the peace.

"I love you", Steve murmured, pleased and sleepy.

It tugged at Billy's heartstrings. He brought their intertwined fingers up to his lips and kissed along Steve's knuckles.

"I love you, too", he hummed.

He kept their hands there for a moment and smiled to himself at the fact that tomorrow Steve was going to have a gold ring on his finger.

Steve had to say yes, right? Billy really, really wanted Steve to say yes.

[rawmeknockout]

💋Yo! Earthspark is out and I NEED nsfw head cannons of megatron. Please tell me what he likes to do to his bot partner.

01 + He's only a few years out of his old tyrant ways, and it shows in the most intimate moments. He's rough and domineering, but no longer in the way he used to be. It doesn't change the fact that roughing you up or being roughed up gets his spike hard. Megatron is quick to grab your wrist joints to manhandle you when he wants something.

02 + Loves a good fuck after battle. He's older but that doesn't mean the thrill of victory doesn't still get him going. Especially now that he's actually winning battles. 😭 Of course, he can hold off until the paperwork is done, but don't think he'll forget. He's tapping that even if he has to go through five hours of bureaucracy first.

03 + Will slip back into 'Warlord' mode, as a treat, and dirty talk about sharing you among his troops. How he wants you to be tossed at them, used by them, until you're covered in their transfluid and completely unable to escape. Of course, this is only part of roleplay. Megatron is much too possessive, and much too happy with his domestic life, to share you.

04 + His favorite way to wake from recharge is to you riding him. It sends a wonderful thrill straight to his array for you to use his spike like a toy first thing in the morning. He's not going to lay passively, though, because as soon as he's awake he's using your valve like a spikesleeve, fucking up into you.

05 + Megatron wasn't really into quickies before, but he's gotten used to them. The two of you don't really get a whole lot of romantic time alone, so he's learned to take where he can get it. If he has to fuck you against a wall, only a few feet from your allies, then that's what he's going to do.

06 + He doesn't have as much stamina or sex drive as he used to, but at the best of times you two can still fuck everyday. That's not the norm for him, though. Usually he still has to get all up in your guts at least once a week. Megatron just accumulates too much stress and frustration when he can't use your valve to frag away all his concerns.

07 + On the topic of your array, Megatron probably loves some good chastity play. Especially in regards to putting your spike in a cage. A lasting remnant of his time as a warlord. He likes to treat you as a receptacle for his transfluid and stress, just as foreplay. Some habits are hard to break and he uses it as an outlet for his more violent/controlling urges and tendencies. He likes controlling when and how you get off, sometimes treating you as a concubine or prisoner of war. Don't worry, he always provides exceptional aftercare for his toys.

08 + However, there are times he loves to treat you. Okay, more like he actually has time to treat you. Megatron always wants to treat you well. He would spend much more time being gentle and romantic and actually showing you how deep interfacing can be if he wasn't so busy. When he gets the chance, he likes to spend your time together with his face buried in your array, alternating between sucking your spike and eating your valve. The ache in his jaw, although not great for talking the next day, is what he considers a fine reward.

09 + He's much too old for having sparklings now, but he's tossed around the idea of getting you sparked up. There's too many parts at play: he's too old, you're both working on Earth for the foreseeable future, there's too many mechs who want him dead, he simply wouldn't have time. But seeing the Terrans, how much hope there is for the future of Cybertron, it makes him want to contribute more to the revitalization of your planet. To do everything he can for a more peaceful, bright future. Definitely uses it for dirty talk. A little roleplaying that, during one of your quick frags, he's giving you a much needed load of transfluid.

10 + When he's upset with Optimus and/or G.H.O.S.T., he turns off his comms and pulls you into the woods for a quick fuck. Megatron knows he shouldn't, that many people he works with are still suspicious whether he's changed and watch him heavily, but it's his little way of rebelling within reason. If Optimus gets one or two pictures of you mid-frag, don't be mad at Megatron 🥺. It's his coping mechanism 🥺🥺🥺.

[spitdrunken]

THIS IS INCREDIBLY SELF-INDULGENT BUT. MY BLOG!

notes: power imbalance, sexual harrassment, murder mentions.

rotating a thought in my head where 'you' are an increasingly popular erotica writer from the pride ring. with writing, you've hit a bit of a niche, as a lot of the big porn producers (VoxTech's subsidiaries) are not exactly known for their riveting dialogue or personalities. no one's there for anything more than that, but there are demons who do want a bit more 'meat', so to say, with nowhere else turn. that is where you come in!

it's not enough to make a steady living off of, not even when you start taking incredibly specific commissions, but it's never been more of a hobby anyway. you are completely anonymous online, keeping care to use throwaway emails and accounts for everything. still, voxtech's products are utterly inescapable: it's either using them, or using nothing at all. (and those rumours about their boss vox having complete control over his technology, even after selling, has to be a rumour... you hope.)

meanwhile, as your penname continues to grow more and more recognizable, it falls in the vees' meeting room. valentino's immediate suggestion is just to kill you. people in the comments keep comparing his dialogue to yours. what the fuck is that about? who the hell watches porn for the DIALOGUE in the first place?

velvette, while shrugging her shoulders, only adds that their new releases tend to go trending, prior to release. fucking far from the top of that list, but still. trending is trending.

vox, sighing internally, plasters a smile on his face. there's really no need to kill new up and coming talent, val. we should suggest them to work for us instead. and if they don't... we can simply prevent them from working. they'll make up their mind, then.

you return to your laptop to an utterly inescapable pop-up describing the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to work at voxtech! it's a whole wall of text, describing your pay (higher than you would have expected), where you will be living (in one of the appartment buildings owned by voxtech), and when to head to their main office. there is no word on denying the contract, an utter impossibility, it seems. not that you'd dare. vox's and the radio demon's showdown was the talk of the ring for days, and apparantly, all that rancour was the source of alastor denying a contract of his own. that really is more shit than you can handle in your undead life now. so, you take the job.

as your stories are starting to get heavily promoted, velvette absolutely insists that you add in at least a couple of looong clothing descriptions, based on her tastes. she's such an overwhelming, pushy presence, that it's hard for you to say no. she goes on about how, if it gets popular enough, people might be interested in somewhat similar outfits. probably not, though, let's be honest with ourselves. she makes you model them, all the while telling you that you really wouldn't be allowed to breathe in the direction of her studio otherwise. when you ask her why you absolutely have the one modelling, she just rolls her eyes. you based large parts of their appearances after you, didn't you? might as well make you look the part.

valentino is one of the worst parts of the job. compared to everyone else, he hardly pesters you, but he's still a terrifying presence. he'll give you 'suggestions' and make you steer your work in certain directions, getting too close and blowing smoke into your face. he gives a graphic description of how he jacked off to one of your stories, just to see your response. (this is a lie: why would he jack off if he can just call some stupid whore over to do it for him? also, he doesn't read.)

if a part of one of your stories ever gets a 'porno adaptation', he's having you play the part of the director, and has you sit in during the entirety of the viewing. you can tell he takes great pleasure out of any of your discomfort, or any of your fumbling- until it's too sloppy, and then he gets mad, of course, and you end up leaving the room with shaky legs.

vox seems to be the nicest one out of the three of them. really, he's only ever been courteous to you. but you've seen him flip his lid during the aforementioned 'radio demon fiasco', which you have been wise enough to never mention, so you still walk on eggshells around him. he can also get pretty pushy about deadlines, so you're not taking any chances.

he insists on having semi-regular meetings with you about the sales figures of your most recent works, wherein you also have to describe your process on other projects and pitch new ideas. frankly, you wish these meetings could be an email! but even when you tried to broach the subject, telling him that, surely, the company leader's time is much more important than this?

he simply brushed you off, telling you that he can decide for himself who and what to spend his time on, thank you very much. now, please continue. he'll inform you of the latest kinks and dynamics that have been most popular, though with some peculiar additions as well. you swear that, sometimes, the main character really does seem to resemble yourself in those suggestions, and the love interest a member of the vees...? you're certain you're just imagining it.

[neousfics]

Dead Boy Detective Fic Recs (Hurt/Comfort Edition)

All of the following fics are completed :) The lamps are going out by MagicAio1 Words: 9,755 Rating: T Summary: Evil spirits, vengeful spirits. At the time, he didn't yet have the words to explain what had happened to him –even though, without a frame of reference, he could still tell something was wrong– They formed when a ghost felt an awful injustice had befallen them, and few ghosts could claim to have been as wronged by everything as Edwin Payne.

He just hoped the boy from the attic wouldn't put two and two together.

Review: Vengeful Spirit!Edwin is an incredible idea that is beautifully executed in this fic. Edwin being convinced he's evil or tainted in some way because of the way he has been wronged makes for some fantastic angst, and Charles and Crystal loving him anyway makes for some equally fantastic comfort.

Still a Better Love Story by Vamillepudding Words: 18,000 Rating: T Summary: “That about did it,” Edwin says, patting himself down and straightening his bowtie. “Now, if you’re ready, I suggest we find a mirror and-“

“Did you just cough up a flower?” Charles interrupts. Flower, perhaps, is a slight exaggeration. It’s more like a petal, red and incredibly out of place here on the shore.

Edwin clears his throat, but this time no petals follow. “Certainly it’s nothing to worry about.”

Or: Edwin is suffering from a weird curse, but for some reason, he's refusing Charles' help. Charles is trying his best to fix it anyway, but Edwin is being oddly secretive about the whole thing.

Review: I'm a sucker for a good hanahaki AU, and Payneland is made for them. This fic really leans into Edwin not wanting Charles to suffer or feel pressured as a form of angst which works very well.

for my soul he made an offer (and to dust again i fell) by aletterinthenameofsanity Words: 37,687 Rating: M (CW: rape, blackmail, violence) Summary: Monty gets up on the interview stage and it doesn’t matter what the other tributes have to say, because Monty tells Caesar Flickerman that the boy he fell in love with is the very Mentor trying to save him from the Arena.

It’s a dangerous move, but it just might save Monty’s life in the Arena and his body post-Arena. It might just keep him out of the same deal that Esther made for Edwin.

A familiar hand touches Edwin’s wrist backstage. Charles’ hands gently pry Edwin’s fingernails away from the bloody crescents they are carving into his palms.

“It was the only way I could protect him,” Edwin says, trying to plead with Charles to understand, because Edwin has to do anything he can to protect just one of his tributes.

Charles gives him a small, sympathetic smile. “You could’ve told me.”

But Edwin twists his wrist slightly so that Charles isn’t touching him, because he knows where this is going even if Charles does not. He knows whose life lays on the line if this plan fails, and it’s not just Monty’s.

(Years ago, the President made Edwin kneel and told him that Charles’ life was forfeit if Edwin ever disobeyed. And he won't risk that, even if it means breaking both of their hearts.)

Review: One of my absolute favorite DBD fics to date. Hunger Games AUs are notoriously difficult to pull off, but this one knocks the ball out of the park. It focuses on Edwin's experience as District 10 victor and all the brutality that comes with being in the Capitol. This fic had me actually gasping and jumping about.

By Lantern's Light by babyseraphim Words: 13,620 Rating: T Summary: Edwin is terrified. He feels as though he is a wounded deer caught in a bear trap, simply waiting for the hunter to discover his misfortune. The room is dark enough that he cannot make out a single landmark, the deprivation of all sounds playing tricks on his panicked mind. He swears that he hears distant giggles, the sound of grotesque dolls laughing at his renewed torment, but no creature ever makes an appearance. A hysterical laugh threatens to spill past his own lips, accompanied by a sudden rush of tears. He closes his eyes and wills them away, steeling himself for whatever is to come.

The question is not whether Charles will come; the question is when. Until that question is answered, all Edwin can do is endure. --- A heartbreaking story of love and near loss told from three separate perspectives.

Review: Explores Edwin experiencing the effects of trauma and PTSD from his time in hell as well as his unwavering faith in Charles which makes for a beautifully bittersweet experience. Babyseraphim does a great job exploring the hurt/comfort that occurs on all sides of this story.

the taste in your mouth by greenaerie Words: 14,004 Rating: M (CW: non/con elements) Summary: An unexpected attack from Esther shocks the Dead Boy Detective Agency, taking Charles out of commission.

Edwin solves this the only way he can. A good detective does what they must, after all.

Review: This is one of the only fics I've found that explores the idea of Edwin taking the Cat Kings initial offer from a place of risk-assessment/desperation to save his friends, and I love it! I do wish it had a bit more angst w/ Edwin's experience / Charles reaction to it. However, the author does a great job w/ Edwin's characterization.

dulcet tones of broken bones by gremlininthemachine Words: 20,173 Rating: M (CW: suicidal ideation, suicide attempt) Summary: Object: cardboard shoe box, pilfered from Crystal's overflowing wardrobe; location: the London office, on top of their desk; box contents: several labeled cassette tapes enclosed in plastic cases, along with a handwritten note in perfect script; note contents: "Dead Boy Detective Agency - Recorded explanation for my unannounced absence is enclosed. Sincerely yours, Edwin Payne" | Or, the fic where Edwin no longer wants to exist and seeks to make that reality. Inspired by Thirteen Reasons Why, knowledge of series canon not required.

Review: More hurt than comfort, but in the best way possible. This rips your heart out, but it still leaves with a distinctly hopeful note which I highly appreciate.

the phantoms here will never have their fill by ahyperactivehero Words: 45,874 Rating: T Summary: Poltergeists are created when a ghost experiences extreme emotional distress. Poltergeists are notoriously hard to reign in, and they almost never gently move on. Neither Edwin nor Charles ever imagined it would happen to them.

Basically, five times where the Dead Boy Detective Agency dealt with the threat of a poltergeist.

XXX “Once you choose to go down the poltergeist route there is no coming back,” Edwin said. “And I will have no choice but to follow you.”

“You can’t do that mate,” Charles said. His voice had cleared up some, his form less wavy.

“Then do not go where I cannot follow,” Edwin said.

Review: Obsessed with how the ghost lore works in this fic. The author plays into the idea of how a ghosts emotions can affect there form and tackles the question of "How far is too far?" brilliantly. Great characterization!

The Case of the Lovesick Student by amurusk Words: 5,151 Rating: Unrated (CW: child abuse, implied SA) Summary: It's not unusual for Charles to bear the brunt of an attack during cases. Charles is the brawn, after all, and he’s thrived in that role in life and death. He’s a soldier, taking a beating and giving one back. It just feels right, keeping his loved ones safe from harm and trusting them to fix whatever mess they’re in. Not that he faces danger alone, they just think of the big picture while Charles handles the immediate threat. Edwin, Crystal, and Niko have all saved him back multiple times over.

But no one has ever physically stepped between him and pain, taken a hit for him.

Review: Charles finally getting to be the one who's defended is a fic premise that we need more of. I love getting a glimpse into Charles experience of wanting to be protected/vulnerable.

it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then by ethan_elliott Words: 3,658 Rating: T Summary: Ghosts could not feel pain. Or much of anything, really. Except in Hell. A place designed to cause eternal agony, and so levelled the playing field by making humans and supernatural entities equal in their perception. Edwin had been corporeal there, subject to hurt and cold, the hammer of a heart in his chest and the struggle of lungs for breath. It was the one place he felt everything.

Charles had rescued him from Hell the second time. So then why, as Edwin lay in Esther’s torture device helplessly watching Niko disappear from sight, could he feel everything?

Charles had rescued him from Hell the second time. Right?

—

Or, after Niko’s death, Charles has to rescue Edwin from Hell once more, but this time it’s all in Edwin’s mind.

Review: A great one-shot exploring a world where Edwin isn't sure if he really made it out of hell. I honestly wish this was longer because it was excellently written and the premise is awful /pos.

a kingdom never bound by piilu Words: 1,974 Rating: G Summary: “Fuck, Edwin,” Charles breathes. “You could’ve come got me, you know?” Edwin doesn’t know what to say to that. He would be fine, soon. Not really worth bothering anybody. He just shakes his head and curls up tighter. “You’re alright,” Charles says. He wraps an arm around him. Then his face changes, into something like determination, and he pushes Edwin’s head onto his shoulder. “You’re alright, mate.”

Review: Short and sweet fic about Edwin havin' a bit of a panic attack/sensory overload moment.

Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love by coloursflyaway Words: 18,028 Rating: T Summary: “Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there are more important matters at hand. “Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…” He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head. “Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.”

____________

Edwin takes the Cat King up on his initial offer, so instead of a few hours, he is gone for six weeks. Charles isn't good at coping with it.

Review: Charles really goes through it in this one, so if that's what you're looking for than this will be quite fun. The author does a great job at infusing a sense of panic and despair into the story.

here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed by pinklemonades Words: 3,095 Rating: T Summary:

Edwin is in love with his best friend who doesn’t love him back, and the world has not ended. In some ways, he wishes it had.

Edwin deals with the pains of losing a friend while living through the consequences of falling in love with his best friend (aka a Hanahaki Disease post-canon fic).

Review: Very good, short hanahaki AU! Loved the characterization and angst w/ happy ending.