#soap is so special to me actually

[aceofroses-queenofstars]

Happy it's Spring. It's gonna hurt like hell but we're gonna be well. I'll give you my best shot <3

[renkyol]

This might have already been said but:

As much I'm loving all of The Pitt fanfiction, I've noticed a lot of people don't seem to understand how the med school and residency system works and it's annoying me. The basic order goes med student->resident->fellow->attending.

If you are a med student, you do not yet have your licence to practice medicine and have not matched to your specialty. If you are working, then you are completing a rotation, which is usually 4-12 weeks, depending on the specialty. Other healthcare disciplines (physiotherapy, occupational therapy, respiratory therapy, etc) refer to these as work placements. You do not get paid for these placements; actually, you pay to complete these placements. Whittaker and Javadi are med students.

At the end of your fourth year, in the States, you would write the United States Medical Licensing Examination(USMLE). In Canada, you write the Medical Council of Canada Qualifying Examination (MCCQE). The USMLE is completed in three steps. Steps one and two are typically written when you are a med student; step three is written at the end of your first year of residency. Provided you pass steps one and two, you are now a resident. Residents are doctors. Residency is a three to seven year training period in a specialty, e.g., emergency medicine, psychiatry, pediatrics, etc. You are matched into your specialty. Matching is, to my understanding, just the most complicated job hiring system in the world. The most important bit to know from a writers perspective is that there is a really good chance that a resident does not have a say in their specialty. A person preparing for residency will go on interviews and rank their preferred specialties and workplaces (meaning the hospital they complete their residency at), and then the hospitals and the departments decide to accept them or not. If you do not get matched, you can go through a process called SOAP, which places you with positions that did not get filled. The only way to change your specialty is to re-start the residency process from scratch. Santos is a first year resident, meaning she would have only passed the steps one and two of the USMLE that spring. This means she is most likely matched into emergency medicine. Although I learned recently that some surgery residencies have their residents complete a year of emergency medicine before starting in the OR. My personal headcanon is that Santos was soaped into emergency medicine, and that is why she was like that in the beginning. Mel and McKay are second year residents, which means they have been working as doctors for at least a year and already have emergency medicine as their specialty. They most likely would have completed all three steps to the USMLE It is mentioned in the first episode that Mel did her first year at a VA hospital which is apparently a common thing to do in the states. Mohan is a third year resident. I think this makes Robbie's comments to Mohan about switching to psychiatry really mean cause he's basically telling her to consider re-starting her residency when she's more than halfway finished. Collins, Langdon, and Garcia are fourth year or senior residents. Emergency medicine has a four year residency, so this means that they are almost done with their residencies. Surgery can have a five year or longer residency, so Garcia might still be a resident in the next season. Due to Langdon having to take most of the year away from work, he will have to re-start his fourth year.

After your residency is completed, you have the option to complete a fellowship. Not all specialties require a fellowship. These are take anywhere from 1 to 3 years. Emergency medicine does not require the completion of a fellowship, although there are a lot of options available. These are basically highly specialized training on topics in your specialty. For example, John Hopkins offers a fellowship in combat medicine for those specializing in emergency medicine.

After all of that: congratulations, you are now a doctor in attending aka an attending doctor. This means no more exams, just a re-licencing test every 5 years. You can take on residents and med students of your own to supervise, or not. No one is going to make you. You can also easily move now as you do not have to stay with the hospital you matched to for your residency. Getting a job goes back to the much more normal and not as stressful process of a job instead of the hellscape that is the residency matching program. Robbie, Abbot, Shen, Parker, and Walsh are attendings.

(Edit: Parker is a senior resident. I think I saw Parker's energy and assumed she was already an attending)

[yoohyeon]

I got one of my birthday gift spoiled 😭

[rawme-price]

Price who is constantly talking abt his beloved "wifey" and "the missus" but never actually let's anyone meet the special gal, right?

Like, he appears totally lovestruck to the normal observer, constantly bringing up his wife in conversation with a dopey grin. He wears his wedding band obsessively when not on ops, fiddles with it while he smokes. The guys are desperate to meet her, but know better than to push the subject.

This does not, however, stop them from snooping. Gaz hears muffled voices from prices office and a very distinct groan that has his cheeks heating for a moment. Still, if theres a chance to meet this wife he *will* linger even if he has to hear what price sounds like when making out (hot). But, the more gaz listens, the more concerned he becomes. He swears he can hear price and another masculine voice, one that actually sounds alot like you.

You, as in the very much married civilian contractor that works alongside with 141. Suddenly gazs little stakeout becomes serious. Its bad enough price is cheating on his wife, but with someone he has authority over? Its enough for gaz to lose respect for the man.

Gaz sees u walk out of prices room, casually adjusting the sleeves of ur button up. He doesnt confront you, but he does confide in soap abt it. And if soap knows then ghost knows, and suddenly ur favourite soldiers are being assholes to you? They only talk to you when completely necessary, and only the bare minimum. Never smiling or joking like before.

Price gets a similar treatment, though the thin veil of respect stays up. It gets to a point where u ask the captain wtf is wrong with them that he decides this needs to be a meeting. So he calls them all together, expects to chew them out a bit, and is completely baffled when they call scold him instead.

They go on and on abt how disrespectful and manipulative it is to be fucking the secretary when hes got a wife at home, and suddenly its *you* bursting out laughing. "Oh my god! That's what all this is about?" Ghost seems about ready to fight you, so you explain. "I am his wife! Well, Husband. But John calls me wifey as a little inside joke."

Suddenly the guys cant meet ur eyes, mumbling embarrassed apologies under prices glare while u just smile, happy they stood up for u even if they were thinking of prices wife lol.

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

I HAD THIS IDEA!!!! Bob being sassy to the whole team and they realize its because he hasn't seen you in a few days and misses you

Summary: Bob’s been moodier than a cat in the rain lately, and the team’s patience is wearing thin. It takes Yelena’s sharp eyes to notice the cause: you’ve been gone for a few days, and Bob’s acting out like a lovesick drama queen

Bob was on a rampage.

Not a dangerous rampage, not physically at least. The tension rolling off of Bob made the type of mood where everyone on the team collectively started to avoid eye contact and speak in whispers. His sarcasm was nuclear, his expressions so exaggerated he looked like a soap opera star, and his mood swings were faster than Ava's phasing.

“Do we have to breathe this loud?” he muttered, stirring his coffee with the kind of fury that made Yelena believe he was going to break the mug. Across the table, Bucky blinked at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“Well, maybe sit quieter, James,” Bob snapped, setting his mug down with an aggressive clink. “I can hear your existential dread from here, and frankly, it’s exhausting I have my own dread thanks for wanting to share yours though.”

John just grunted, scrolling through his phone. “What's crawled up your cape today?”

“My cape is in the laundry, didn't know you'd be so concern,” Bob fired back. “But sure, let’s deflect from the fact that our briefing room smells like expired protein powder and ego.”

John raised a brow. “That one aimed at me or Bucky?”

“Why not both?” Bob smirked. “Two-for-one special. See how efficient I can be."

Yelena leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with the precision of someone who grew up knowing how to spot a lie three days before it happened. “Okay. Enough,” she said plainly. “What is actually going on with you?” “I’m fine,” Bob replied too quickly. “Maybe I just woke up and realized I’m the only one on this team with a functioning personality.”

“That’s definitely news,” John muttered under his breath. Yelena ignored him. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

Bob froze.

The mug hit the table again, this time slower. He didn’t look at her just stared into the last bit of coffee like it had the answers.

“Three days,” he said finally, voice much smaller than before. “Not that I’m counting. Or brooding. Or making dramatic exits from rooms like I’m in a shitty 90s romcom film. Except I am. And I hate it. I hate that she can make me feel like this, that she has this power over me." The room went quiet. Bucky ran a hand down his face. “You’re telling me I've been putting up with you turning your heartbreak into a Broadway audition over three days?”

Bob waved a hand. “It’s not heartbreak. It’s just... I’m used to seeing her. Talking to her. Being near her. I miss that little snort-laugh she does when I say something stupid or how she always gives me the middle of the cinnamon roll or when she texts me dumb memes during boring meetings. And now she’s just—poof. Gone. No cinnamon. No memes. Just... silence.”

“She’s just at her friend's wedding,” Yelena reminded gently. Bob slumped back in his chair. “Her friend lives in Idaho. That’s practically the moon.” Yelena’s expression softened slightly. “You could’ve just said you missed her.”

“Where’s the drama in that?” Bob replied, deadpan. “No one makes me tea or gives me extra hugs just because I say I’m sad. But make when it's everyone’s problem? Instant attention.”

Ava muttered, “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

Bob opened his mouth to argue—when his phone buzzed. His expression instantly shifted, eyes lighting up as he read the name on the screen. You. He quickly opened the message and smiled.

[Miss you too. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Don’t sass the team too hard without me.] Bob’s fingers flew across the screen in reply before he stood up, clearing his throat with the air of someone delivering a monologue. “Okay. I’m better now.” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”

“What can I say?” Bob grinned. “Love is a powerful mood stabilizer.”

Yelena leaned over to John. “We should get them married. For national security reasons.” John just shook his head. “We need a support group. For us."

<><><><><><><><><><>

That night, Bob camped out on the couch with your favorite blanket, a mug of tea you always somehow made better than he could, and the goofiest smile on his face as he watched old sitcom episodes, he used to make fun of—just because they reminded him of you.

And when you walked through the door the next night? He didn’t say anything at first—just tackled you in a hug, buried his face in your shoulder, and whispered, “You're not allowed to leave me for that long ever again, at least not without a two-week emotional prep notice and a signed cuddle contract.” You grinned against his cheek. “It was just three days.” You muttered against him, smile growing even bigger as you feel him shake his head, tickling you with his hair. "That's a lifetime."

As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

Tagging:

@msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

[ccazimi]

cw: crack, fluff, smut, dubcon, panty sniffing/stealing, scent kink, etc. (he's literally part animal what do you expect)

tiger hybrid!sukuna who's prissy and sassy, much like an actual housecat. picky about everything, from the temperature and consistency of his food to the way his water tastes to what a light sleeper he is. sometimes you talk to him, and if he doesn't feel like responding, he literally won't even turn his head to you - all you'll get is an annoyed flick of his ear to tell you that he does hear you, he's just actively choosing to ignore you.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a serious issue with boundaries. he's allowed to ignore you if he feels like it, but you dare try and do the same thing back? unacceptable. will be extremely miffed if your attention isn't on him at all times. yes, even when he actively acts like he doesn't want it.

not to mention you need to deal with him literally getting offended at the fact that you wear clothes around him even though "it's just you two in the house" and on more than one occasion will you be absolutely mortified when you find he’s been stealing your dirty panties- he, of course, doesn’t get the big deal.

oh, you thought that was bad? wait till you find that he insists that you sleep naked with him, and your nightly ritual includes him not only licking you clean (at least your face and neck) but sniffing down your entire body. yes, the entire thing. the part where he gets to your pussy is the worst for you, and the best for him. and whenever he gets down between your thighs to smell you, he makes this weird face almost automatically, with his lips pulled back to show off those fangs and mouth a bit open somewhere between a snarl and a smirk, like he’s trying to taste the scent

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a special vomeronasal organ at the roof of his mouth that can pick up pheromones—and that weird thing he does, when he opens his mouth while sniffing your pussy? yeah, that’s him drawing the scent in deeper, some focused, instinctual decoding process of your sexual health

"you're ovulating, probably peaked this morning. also you're kinda stressed...maybe you need to sleep more," he graciously informs you of his findings between your spread thighs. "oh and your pH is a little off. maybe skip that stupid new soap you got next time."

he looks up at you expectantly—clearly waiting for your gratitude. and you know he won’t finish this whole ridiculous routine until you sigh and say, flat as ever, "thanks for that. can we sleep now?"

"you've got two days left if you're trying to get pregnant, by the way."

you shoot him something between a glare and a grimace.

tiger hybrid!sukuna can pick up everything, but there are two times of the month when he can pick up those smells even with just his normal nostrils. the first one -obviously- is when you’re ovulating. but the only thing worse than the scent of you ovulating, is the smell that envelops you right before you get your period. “worse” in the sense that it drives him completely insane. sweet, cloyingly thick, warm. in fact he blames you for tempting him. you'll be innocently doing the dishes or something when suddenly it's too much for him and he pounces on you from behind, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, claws instinctively pushing out to dig into your skin so tight it hurts.

of course you panic, squirming as he begins rutting into the curve of your ass, his cock quickly swelling up till it's very noticeable. and the scent of him that becomes so much stronger when he's...excited like this - warm, musky, all iron and spice, wrapping around you.

"sukuna- let me- go!" you try as you struggle in his grasp, but it's too late he's too far gone, just mindlessly grunting and growling as he chases his release, too desperate to even fuck you properly. "almost there, just a bit more," he pants, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "it's your fault anyway, walking around like -hah- i can't smell your pussy fucking begging for me." and right as you're about to splash some cold water on him, you hear him groan filthy, and guttural, as he finishes in his pants just from grinding against you.

and that's when he finally comes to his senses, trying to retract his claws to let go of you. unfortunately they get stuck in the fabric of your clothing, and he just panics making them get even more tangled while you yell at him to stop moving so that you can unhook his claws. finally you turn with your arms crossed, giving him the coldest, and most stern look of all time. he stares at you guiltily, a large wet patch forming on the crotch of his pants where his cum seeps through.

it's not his fault -not exactly- like any good hybrid he needs to be trained, and soon enough you've corrected that little problem of his (mostly)

tiger hybrid!sukuna is intensely territorial, especially when it comes to you. so when you come home smelling even faintly like another man? he’s agitated to no end — not even jealous, exactly, he just feels like it’s wrong. soon after come several arguments his way about “how he can’t piss around your house to mark his territory” or about how “it’s completely unacceptable to leave long clawed scratch marks on the walls or furniture”

tiger hybrid!sukuna who simply cannot keep his hands off you when you're on your period. this time he doesn't touch you (too much) without your permission, but he will beg you incessantly till you finally give in. and that's how you end up with your clothes shredded, and him biting and sucking every inch of your body hungrily as he makes his way down, tail wrapping possessively around you to keep you in place

tiger hybrid!sukuna with long sharp fangs that make his kisses hurt just a little, especially when gets too excited and nips your skin, drawing just a bit of blood that he happily licks up. he loves when they scar a bit too, just so that you’re marked as his.

tiger hybrid!sukuna with rough, spiked papillae on his tongue meant for cleaning raw flesh off bone that are now scraping against the bud of your stiff nipple. you gasp and writhe, and he knows he can't lick you nipples too much (as much he wants to) or it'll really start to hurt.

tiger hybrid!sukuna eats you out like he eats wild prey, teeth just shy of nipping your clit as he laps at your cunt. and of course the rough sandpaper texture of his tongue against your swollen nub feels like nothing else - a bit painful, borderline overstimulating, but so good at the same time. but just like with your nipples he has to be carefully so he doesn't seriously hurt you down there.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who just can't help himself from pinning your thighs open almost painfully as you cum, just to stick his tongue inside your hole and finally taste the leaking sweetness that's been teasing him for days. even when you're done, he continues to lick your pussy gently, almost affectionately. you squirm a little from the slight overstimulation but just let him do his thing as he laps your folds clean, deep purrs rumbling from inside his chest as he does so

more tiger hybrid!sukuna here

[ploverbear]

FINALLY got groceries for the first time in awhile today and like half the stuff i got was cleaning supplies. thank god. ive been using hand sanitizer from the food bank to clean its been awful. i just wiped my kitchen counters down big time and i plan on spending tomorrow tiding up and doing some deep cleaning. ive been needing it

also i got stuff to make chocolate chip cookies (my favorite)(simple but loving) and i got some nice ramen i've been wanting to try (premium shin gold with chicken broth) .. im excited

[digitialwonderland]

Part 2 of Secretary!Reader x TF 141

Previous

After the little pool incident, the tension between you and the task force was undeniable. All of a sudden, Soap had special interest in popping by your desk whenever he could. Gaz seemed to suddenly want to get to know you more. And Ghost’s eyes seemed to linger longer than they used to.

You walked into Price’s office, a stack of files in one arm and a stack of papers in the other. John was at his desk, his glasses hanging low on his nose as he stared down at some reports. Ice clinked against glass as he swirled a whiskey in his hand. He was frustrated, you could tell because he only nurses a whiskey at work if he really needs it.

“Sir, I have the files you requested, as well as the papers that need your signature.” You prompted gently, stepping up to the front of his desk.

His eyes drifted up to you slowly, as if weighed down by whatever was going on in his mind. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He offered a soft smile, one that seemed even softer than any before.

You nodded and turned to walk back out of the office. But something in you tugged you to a stop. Normally, you would have just set the things down and walked away. Normally, you would have just returned to your desk. But not today. Maybe it was all that had happened the few days before. Maybe seeing him and the TF in such a casual setting threw off your professionalism. Now, you found it difficult just to leave his troubles be. “Sir, is everything alright?”

His eyes widened, gaining a more awake look as he took you in. He remained quiet for a second, as if he was running the question over and over in his mind. “Y-yeah, darlin, I’m okay.” He muttered at last, but when you nodded and turned once more he quickly spoke out again. “You know, you don’t have to call me Sir, right?”

Now, it was you who paused in surprise. Immediately your mind was rushing over all you had seen the other day. And soon, the olive branch you had just given him started to feel like a bloom of potential. No. You shoved those thoughts aside. He was just being polite, right?

“Okay…John.” You said softly, as if simply calling him by his first name would break the moment.

His lips parted and his eyes searched yours for a moment. Then, a small, mischievous smile curled over his lips. “The guys and I are planning on spending the afternoon in the pool. If you want to join us, and don’t mind a little pestering, you are welcome to join.”

For a second, you half expect to have misheard him. There was simply no way he would actually….

Yet, the small, shy smile that crawled over your face said otherwise. After a few moments of warring with yourself over it, you finally spoke. “That would be nice.”

You didn’t expect for this to be so nerve racking. Picking the right bathing suit, showing up in the TF’s doorstep in flip flops and a cover. Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. But, just like last time, the house keeper answered the door. “Welcome back, dear. They’re in the pool.”

You felt like a child again, like you were going to your first dance. “Thank you, ma’am.” You walked the same path through the house that you had not a few days ago. And passed through the same back door. Lo and behold, there they were.

Price was lounged back in one of the chairs, his hat resting over his eyes. His lips seemed permanently curved into a smirk, and one of his hands rested on the softer curve of his muscular stomach, drawing attention to how the fat loosely revealed the abs underneath.

Soap and Gaz were in the main area of the pool, bathed in the blue glow as they tossed a football back and forth. Even from where you stood, you could see every muscle flex and stretch with the throws. It was their smiles that made it a perfect image. Each one bore a boyish grin that stretched from ear to ear and brought out all the charm in their handsome faces.

Ghost, always one for solitude, was in the hot tub, off to the side. He too was bathed in that electric blue color. His tatted arms were stretched out along the edge on the pool, almost giving him the look of a subject in a painting. With his head lulled back just right and his chest flexing against the stretch, it was damn near romantic.

“Hey there, lass!”

Soaps cheerful voice drew your attention back down to the main pool. The weight of all four gazes settled on your shoulders, making you squirm where you stood. “Hi, I hope you all don’t mind if I join…”

“Nae! Not at all lassie! Please, join us!”

The quick response earned a chuckle from Price, who had stood and was now making his way over to you. “Try to not be over eager, Johnny.”

Price, ever the man of sense and calm, sauntered over as if all from earlier in the day had been forgotten. “Glad you could join us.” He said, politely taking your bag and guiding you to a spot next to where he had been sitting. “Seems like the perfect day for it,” you smiled, padding after him and trying to ignore how Gaz and Soaps heads seemed to swivel to follow you.

Price looked back at you as you kicked off your flip flops, the way eyes lingered certainly didn’t fly under his radar. “Again, I hope you don’t mind a little pestering.”

“I don’t pester!” Soap shot back, not even giving you a chance to guess who Price meant. Gaz burst into laughter, letting the melodic sound fill the space, “have you even met yourself?”

A bashful smile carved itself over your lips as you looked up at Price, “I hope that I won’t become a disturbance.” You muttered, feeling slightly guilty for drawing so much attention.

An amused yet tender smile pulled over his lips until his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s physically possible for you to disturb us”.

Instead of being in the crossfire of the game of catch that was happening in the main pool. You opted for the hot tub. Which seemed a healthy distance from the chaos.

As you walked over, you noticed something that had briefly caught your eye the last time you were at the TF’s house. Ghost was still wearing his balaclava. Certainly that was uncomfortable, what happens if the fabric gets wet? You padded over to the hot tub, carefully picking a spot across from Ghost. “Mind if I join?”

His head, which had still been lulled back, slowly lifted, and his sharp, dark gaze settled on you with what felt like a kilo of weight. Simon Riley had a way of doing that, bringing the weight of his observance down on people. He scanned you, eying the thin straps of your bathing suit and the the long expanse of your legs. This continued on just long enough to make you squirm before he nodded and gestured to the spot across from him.

Well, that was scary.

With a mind to simply not speak to him again, you settled in the shelf of the hot tub. But it wasn’t two seconds before Soap was swimming up to the small ledge that separated the main pool from the hot tub. “So, lassie, I hope ol’ Price doesn’t work ya to hard en tha office of yers.”

He leaned over the ledge, flashing you that charming smile that made your stomach dip. “No, John is a very good boss. I’m happy to help him.”

He nodded, watching your features as you spoke. “We barely see ya outta tha office. ‘D be nice to see ya round base every now ‘n then.”

“Stop laying it on so thick, Johnny.” Ghost voice nearly made you jump as it rumbled at the other end of the pool. “You’re gonna frighten her.” He grumbled, looking over at the Scotsman with a dark glare.

“Scare ‘er?!” Soap nearly yelped. “You scare ‘er ya bloody grim reaper.”

“How about, you are both scaring her.” Gaz said as he approached the ledge. He gave you a smile, tilting his head at you when he spoke. “It is nice of you to join us though. We’ve been meaning to see more of you, since you help the Captain out so much. You know, to show gratitude and all.”

You could feel your heart actively melting at his words. You were almost getting cuteness aggression over that adorable smile of his. “Aww, thanks Gaz, that’s actually really sweet.”

Soap immediately had protest. “Aww?! Ya get an aww from ‘er?!” He turned to Gaz, his accent thickening. “Step off ya show pony, yer takin me spot light!”

The water rippled beside you as Price slipped into the hot tub. “Johnny,” he said, his voice low in a warning. He sat down beside you on the shelf, draping his arm along the edge of the pool and behind you. Like a claim. Your stomach dipped, you had to fight to keep your head on your shoulders and your heart in your ribs.

Soap looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he watched the captain. But then, a slow, mischievous grin formed in his face. “Lassie,” he smirked, flicking his finger between Price and Ghost. “Ya ever get bored of this, let me know.” Then, he pushed off and swam back into the main pool. Gaz remained, his big brown eyes slightly widening for a moment before he gave you one last quick smile and pushed off to join Soap.

“Like a bunch of pups, they are.” Price grumbled beside you. He was close, so close that if you were to lean your arm might brush his side. “Sorry about them, love.” Your eyes snapped up to his, only to find that he had most likely watched you eye the lack of distance.

“It’s okay, John. I find it endearing really.” He smiled approvingly, but Ghost spoke before he had a chance to reply.

“Since when are you on a first name basis?”

Both you and Price looked over at the lieutenant. Price with a slight scowl, and you with a look of absolute horror. “Oh my God, am I not supposed…”

“You are just fine, love.” Price grumbled beside you, “Simon just likes to be sour with new people.” That earned a hardy glare from Simon, but there was something beneath it. Not a distrust of you, but something else.

Well…this was going to be a long night.

Hope you like it, lovelies!

Next

[thee-horny-thicky]

Okay hear me out. Gaz is a sucker for MILFs, Ghost likes his ladies sweet and thick, and Soap melts at the sight of a pretty smile. And Price, the lucky bastard, bagged a wife that had all their dream qualities.

You.

Ghost fell first. He'd known about you longer than anyone. When the Captain took him under his wing, you were by his side, feeding him without complaint, offering up the guest bedroom whenever he needed it, and applying a special balm to his scars whenever they bothered him. You made him feel cared for, sneaking your way into his traumatized heart.

However, if the ring on your finger wasn't enough to stop him, his loyalty to Price and his deep trauma did. And when you announced your first pregnancy, he knew his crush could never be actualized.

But damn if he didn't dream about it.

Soap and Gas found out about you by accident, years later when you needed an emergency C-section for your second child. Price dropped everything to be by your side, which obviously raised questions among his men. To say they were shocked when they found out was an understatement. As far as they knew, their Captain was single. Sure, he turned down anyone who hit on him whenever they went out to a pub, but they thought nothing of it.

Turns out, he was hiding a whole wife.

It was nothing against them. Long ago, Price flaunted you. Then, an enemy name dropped you, and he realized what a mistake that was. Thankfully, nothing came of it, but he knew luck only lasted so long. So, once he extinguished the bastard and his friends, he made sure to never speak of you at work or to his colleagues.

Soap and Gaz were a little peeved at first, yes, but their hurt feelings disappeared when they laid eyes on you. When they finally got to you, you'd awakened, and were holding your baby girl. You looked radiant, and when you aimed a gentle smile their way, they were goners.

Despite their attempts to hide their crushes, Price was an astute man. He was aware that his team was attracted to you, and didn't mind one bit. In his eyes, you were perfection, so it made sense why the lads would pine after you.

And maybe, just maybe, he got off on having a woman they fancied, of flaunting you as subtly as possible. And perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't against the idea of his boys sampling you, under his supervision, of course.

Now, the only challenge was to convince you to get on board.

[gloomwitchwrites]

How they would propose to us and the aftermath?

Gaz is the romantic of the group. He’s the kind of guy who takes his time planning a proposal. He will pull out all the stops, making sure it’s not only a romantic occasion but a special one. The ring will be just what you want, and he’ll even have a photographer hiding somewhere to capture the special moment. And yes, Gaz will get your friends and/or family involved if he needs help planning it. The goal for him is to make you feel loved and to say “yes.” And the aftermath? You’re not turning this man down. Nothing but tears and an enthusiastic “yes.”

Soap is either going to give you the perfect proposal or do it spontaneously and in the worst way possible. There is no middle ground here. He is either so in love that he puts in effort to make it special, or he asks you to marry him at the most awkward and inappropriate time. If Soap is going all out, he’s taking you to the Scottish Highlands and proposing while the mist hangs low across the loch. Or, Soap is going to pop the question while you’re too drunk to talk and bent over the toilet trying to keep yourself together. In Scotland, it’ll certainly be a “yes,” but it’ll likely not go his way otherwise.

Price is a traditionalist. He’s asking a friend or family member for permission. He’s booking the fancy restaurant or taking you on vacation to a remote cabin somewhere to propose. This man is getting down on one knee, but don’t expect some longwinded or sentimental speech. Price is to the point, clear, and simply put in how he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. It’s beautiful, something you aren’t saying no to. And after, when he’s done showing you with his words, he’s going to show you with his body.

Ghost is the wildcard. His proposal is so out-of-pocket, it’s like a slap across the face. This man is so direct that it’s either going to feel like intimidation or cohesion, or—and hear me out—he’s going to ask in such a way that it completely baffles you and you’re unsure if he’s actually proposing. This man is going to loom over you, stare at you for a few solid seconds that is far too uncomfortable before asking “marry me?” like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And if he doesn’t go that route, he’s going to ask indirectly like asking if you want to consider citizenship or see yourself “living in England.” Honestly, it’s strange enough that you might say yes.

CoD Headcanons / AUs / Quick Writes Masterlist

[cod-dump]

Gaz: Alright- So for some damn reason, Ghost is Graves' favorite. My question is- Who is YOUR favorite?

Nik: You know

Gaz: No, you can't say Price or Laswell or fucking Graves. Out of the three of us who is your favorite?

Nik:

Ghost: ... is it me? Am I the special one?

Soap: ... I don't think I want to know

Nik: Soap

Ghost: Well fuck

Soap: ... apparently I did want to know- I'M THE FAVORITE

Gaz: I should've known

Nik: don't feel bad, Kyle, you are Laswell's favorite

Gaz: ... that makes me feel amazing actually

Soap: ... who's Price's favorite?

Nik: A nap

Ghost: *wheezes*

[luvlystarr]

·········♡········· Prompt: The moment the 141 guys realized they're in love with you. Content: Fluff! (This was all rushed so don't expect it to be the best lol) ························

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick - In all honesty, Kyle has probably been interested since the day you two met. But when he decided to bring you along to his cousin’s birthday party, that's when it fully clicked in his mind. At first he just thought it would be a good idea to get you introduced to his family, you were his close friend after all. It just so happened that his nieces and nephews were there and as soon as they met you they were instantly hooked. Kyle never knew you were so good with kids and just people in general. His nieces and nephews kept playing with you, while his other relatives genuinely enjoyed chatting with you. The exact moment he realized he loves you was when one of his nieces asked you, “Do you like Uncle Kyle?” To which you responded, “Yeah, he’s a very special person to me. I like him a lot.” Of course you had to say those words with that warm, kind smile of yours, it got Kyle melting on the spot. Unbeknownst to you, he heard every single word and has been absolutely lovestruck since then.

John 'Soap' MacTavish - It was quite an odd moment. The moment he knew was when you two were up late at night watching every single Harry Potter movie out there. At some point, about halfway through the third movie, you just started rambling about the characters and story of the whole franchise, even covering little details about the books. Johnny didn’t even know why or how his mind began to think that way, but he just found it so attractive. Even to this day he doesn’t understand why you geeking out about the Harry Potter franchise was so captivating. Maybe it was the way you looked so focused, or how the tv was illuminating your features perfectly, probably your angelic voice too. Either way, he can’t stop thinking about you and he uses every chance he gets to get you talking about any of your interests.   

John Price - He would probably never admit this but the moment he knew he’s in love was when the two of you were fighting. Both of you had a tiny disagreement on something but it ended up growing into a heated argument. For almost half an hour straight, you two just kept going back and forth, gradually raising each other’s voice and becoming more irritated. By the end it got so bad that you slammed your hands on the table and got snappy at John, yelling strings of insults at him. He should be just as angry, but no. In that moment he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat. How could he get mad if you looked so cute with your pouty lips, furrowed eyebrows and crossed arms? He mistakenly let out a small chuckle at your attempt to be intimidating but he was met with a slap on his face. At that moment he knew that the only reasonable explanation why he felt that way was because he was head over heels.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley - You were the first person he actually got close with. Sure, he has Johnny and he's an amazing friend, but the bond he had with you was unlike any other. The two of you found solace in one another and always had each other's back. The night he knew it was true love was when you drove all the way to his house after a terrible day. You were sobbing endlessly as you rambled on and on about how crappy your boss is as he intently listened, even rubbing your back while handing you a cup of tea. After comforting you, he insisted that you stay for the night. He let you wear one of his hoodies and even let you sleep in his bed. You were hesitant at first but quickly gave in with how insisting he is. He remembered watching you sleep peacefully, all huddled up beneath the blanket. He had to admit, you looked adorable wearing his hoodie with that calm look on your face. That's when it dawned on him just how much he loves you. ········································································

[gr4cier4cie]

♡ i'm a shameless caller (she's a full machine) ♡

or: a collection of lando's post-breakup voicemails (ones he knows he shouldn't be sending). he wonders if you listen to them. he wonders if you know how much he still loves you. fem!ex!reader x lando norris pt 2

warnings: someone tell the monster in my bed to stop making me write angst. the people deserve LOVE they deserve HAPPINESS they do not deserve this batshit crazy stuff i keep pulling out of my ass. somehow i feel like im always hormonal i don't know what it is ANYWAY XOXO

♡

voicemail 1: — [00:44]

"hey, baby. i know it's been a while. just—just wanted to tell you we were in japan today. suzuka. i remembered you said the fans there had the best signs. this kid had one with my face on a cartoon frog. [laughs] felt like something you would've sent me. i... hope you're okay. i hope you're happy. anyways. see you when i see you."

voicemail 2: — [00:22]

"did you see the race in bahrain today? i waved at the camera on lap 23. don't know why i did it. just kinda felt like maybe you were watching. i dunno if you were. you probably weren't. anyway. that one was for you."

voicemail 3: — [00:42]

"hi, love. i, uh, saw the picture of you. with him at that cafe near your flat. you were wearing that blue scarf, the one my mum likes on you. you look happy. you should be. that's all i ever wanted for you. [pause] anyway. the hotel in jeddah had those tiny soap bars you used to steal. i took three out of habit. let me know if you want them."

voicemail 4: — [00.21]

"i keep telling myself i should stop calling. it's not fair to you. you don't listen to these, i know you don't. but he doesn't know you like i do. that's not jealousy, i swear. no one knows you like i do. no one can."

voicemail 5: — [00.11]

"okay, i know i said i would stop, but the guys asked if i still talk to you. i said no. lied through my teeth. guess that's just what i do, now."

voicemail 6: — [00.46]

"maybe he does listen to these. if he does, i hope he knows you sleep with socks on and hate being kissed before you brush your teeth. i hope he knows you hate sparkling water. been drinking a lot of that, actually. it sucks. [pause] i hope he's good to you. i hope he deserves you."

voicemail 7: — [00.30]

"i, uh, found this dinner place in the city. you'd love it. there's a whole wall of plants on one side. it's like a jungle in there. [laughs] miss going to dinner with you, baby. miss hearing your voice. please call me. please.

voicemail 8: — [00.33]

"i'm about to head into another press thing, but i just wanted to tell you you were on my mind today. yeah. just... hope you're doing okay. i saw your post on instagram this morning, and... and yeah. you look happy. i hope you are.

voicemail 9: — [00.34]

"hi, baby. i thought of you at the race last weekend. thought about how much i miss sharing that with you. it's lonely. really lonely. [pause] i'm, uh, still wearing that bracelet you made me. probably gonna be buried with it, at this point. anyway. miss you, baby."

voicemail 10: — [1.27]

"mum told me she saw you today. said she ran into you. apparently you're... engaged. that's... that's good. that's really good. [pause] i always thought... god, i had the ring for months, you know? kept it in my race suit pocket. was gonna ask after melbourne last year, make it special. [pause] i still have it. can't seem to leave it at home. like maybe if i... [pause] like maybe if i have it with me, i'll turn a corner and you'll be there, and everything will make sense again. fuck. i love you. i love you. i love you. please pick up. for me, baby."

♡

note: OMG GOT MYSELF IN THE FEELS WRITING THIS!! thank you so so so much for all the support and love on my works you guys it means SO MUCH to me!! hope this can fill the hole that 'when it happened to me' left behind MWAH from gracie!!

[yeyinde]

(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby. 

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first. 

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline. 

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you. 

Always. 

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty. 

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear. 

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee. 

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast. 

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice. 

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

The man has been watching from the beginning. 

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you. 

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along. 

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—" 

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down. 

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers. 

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs. 

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks. 

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle. 

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—” 

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately. 

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"

[cod-indulgences]

may i suggest 141 going out to and meet stripper!reader

Poly!141 x female!reader, stripping, gangbang, dubcon, fingering, oral, spit roasting, deep throating, breathplay, anal, comeplay, noncon drugging, kidnapping yes these got darker out of nowhere

Anon I hope you like this because something in it ate me alive and I blacked out into 4.5k of smut and a hard left into fucked up land

now posted on AO3!

Now this was a good night to be working.

Everyone had picked good music, the drinks and cash were flowing, and you had managed to land four of the biggest guys in the place all to yourself.

Normally you didn't like the military types- they spent a lot but also expected extra just for their "service", as if sitting around a base and driving jeeps made them special. These guys, though, were something else- scarred, bulging muscles that looked like they came from work, not the gym. They introduced themselves with what sounded like code names, and you knew those were legit because the only one that was sort of impressive was Ghost, and he was the quietest of the bunch, sitting in the corner of the booth. Their captain, Price, had an air of authority that made you purr daddy at him while thanking him for a tip, he blushed, fucking cute, which got a laugh from Ghost, also fucking cute.

And they definitely knew how to make a girl feel appreciated.

Money slid down the strap of your shoes and tucked into your bra, Soap and Gaz grinning and bringing bringing folded bills up to you in their teeth, so you can tug it free with your tits or curl your tongue around it like a kiss. When you sat on Price's lap and stole his hat for yourself, offering to return it if he bought you a drink, the man's hand had come up like he was about to grip your thigh and then deliberately pulled away, which holy fuck, was he actually obeying the no touching rule?? He didn't even try for a pinch or pretend he didn't notice??

You signaled the bouncer a peace sign, and held Price's gaze as you slowly dragged his fingers up the outside of your thigh, letting him feel your skin all the way to the narrow strap of your thong panties, before letting him go. The other three all oohed at him, teasing him for being the first one to get a hand on you, while he blushed again under his mustache.

This was dangerous, because now you were starting to like them.

The men kept you busy, anytime you weren't on stage being beckoned back to them, money flowing from their hands to yours, drinks bought, your fingers tugging belt loops, plucking their shirt sleeves, climbing into their laps and teasing your weight along their cocks. You could touch them, and kept the bouncer in eyesight, but they all kept their hands to themselves unless you gave permission.

Gaz took a shot out of your cleavage with Soap holding your bare tits from behind, his hands big and warm, and you laughed as Gaz turned bright red when he choked on the drink.

Soaps thumbs slid over your nipples as he let you go, and oh fuck, there's that little clench that means you need a break. Because you like stripping, you like the fast cash and attention, but the dark dirty secret was, it turned you fucking on.

Bouncing your ass on stage, spinning on the pole with your thighs open and only a tiny little thong to cover your pussy. Tits squeezed and groped under your own hands just for men to line up for a taste, a little touch, before you're away and leaving them wanting. All the validation you could need combined with the sheer physical pleasure of dancing, enjoying your body, feeling your muscles warm and your skin flush under the strobe lights.

Except you don't get a break, because Gaz is coming back with two shots and hopeful eyes, wanting a second chance, and Soap already has your tits squeezed up against the cold glass, and Gaz is licking into your cleavage and dipping his tongue to curl into the glass, oh shit.

You whimper as Soap's hands tighten, and he grinds against your ass. You flash another peace sign, and behind Gaz, Price smirks, Ghost leaning in to say something in his ear.

Gaz holds the second shot to your lips and you open obediently, swallowing the liquor as Soap wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck.

"Give 'em that sign, love, you know you're fine," Soap says, and you flash another peace sign at the bouncer, watching him nod and turn to check the other dancers. Gaz tugs you out of his arms and over to their table, and you slide in and climb into Ghost's lap, feeling a little lightheaded. The big man pulls you to sit properly against him, back to chest, and spreads his knees so that your legs part around him. Price stares at the little scrap of fabric over your pussy, and you actually feel a little gush of slick when he licks his lips.

"Give us a dance, love?" Ghost says into your ear, and when you've barely squeaked out a yes before he's fucking lifting you up, carrying you back toward the sectioned off booths for private shows. You gape when Price puts a thick wad of cash into your hand- fucking hell- and you realize that all four men are following Ghost back to the booths. Together.

You clamp your thighs together and peel off a few of the bills to pass to the bouncer on booth duty. He raises his eyebrows and whistles at you, then pockets the cash and waves you in.

The booths aren't monitored, is the thing, which is why someone is always outside. They're supposed to track how long a girl is in a booth, if she's dancing or maybe doing something else- but even the good guys who check in and walk dancers to their cars after a shift can be bought off to look the other way for a bit.

You've never had to buy them off. You've always danced, maybe teased a little more than you would on stage, and then gotten paid your due. You'd been too nervous, maybe somehow shy, about crossing the final line, no matter how much money was flashed your way.

Now though- four big men crammed into the little booth, music pounding in your head- now all you want is to let loose. When Ghost sets you on your feet and rubs his thumb over your lips, you realize you'd be doing this for fucking free. You let his thumb pop in and suck on it, flicking your tongue around the base, and he grins, scars creasing his cheeks. He lets you go, and you spin in place, Ghost sitting down next to Price on the cushioned bench seat, Gaz and Soap leaning on the walls.

The song changes and you dance, more sensual than you would on a stage- this isn't a performance, this is for them, and you feel the weight of their eyes as you play with your breasts, swing your hips and ass, touching yourself and driving your own pleasure up and up.

You brace a hand on the wall of the booth, bent at the waist with your ass facing them, and- Jesus fuck, you really are doing this- you drag your free hand down your stomach, slipping into your panties, and make sure they all can see how you slide a finger into your pussy, smooth and slick, a little moan muffled under the bass beat.

There's a deep groan of want from behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see all four of them locked on, watching you, and it goes right to your core. There's not much room- the booths are meant for a single dancer and customer, not one regular person and four giants, and you can practically feel it get hotter. Gaz brings a hand up, hovering over your ass, and when you nod at him he slides his fingers under the strap of the little (soaked) panties and-

Oh fuck, he just ripped it off, snapped elastic dangling, and the little scrap over your cunt stays put only by how wet you are-

Gaz peels it away, dropping your panties to the floor, and you slide a second finger inside and moan louder. Fuck, that was the hottest thing that's ever happened to you, and now you have your bare cunt spread out in front of them, too wet to be professional, just a girl who wants to get fucked.

Someone moves your hand away, and you only know it's Price by the scrape of his mustache on your ass as he kneels down and shoves his face into your pussy, licking from clit to hole in one swipe, and you nearly crash to the floor in surprise. Soap gets up at your face and you brace against him, instead of the wall, gripping the side of your throat with one hand as he angles your face for a kiss, sucking on your tongue, devouring you. Price's tongue is hot and wet, teasing your clit and hole both- oh fuck, licking your asshole, little soft flicks of his tongue that make you whine into Soap's mouth when he goes back to your clit again. Someone else lifts your leg up, opening your thighs more for Price. You're balanced on one mile-high heel, and when two different hands start groping your breasts you wobble dangerously.

"Here, love, let's get you settled-" that's Ghost in your ear, his lips tracing the shell, and Price pops off your clit as you're lifted and shuffled around to sit like you had at the table- Ghost behind you, back to his chest, his thighs opened up to spread yours. This time though, he gets his hands under your knees, lifting up as well as out- both your holes are presented this way, the soft pink flesh of your pussy gleaming wet under the strobes, and Price gets back to eating you out even harder, sucking deeper, curling his whole tongue inside you to stroke your g-spot, god, you'd never been eaten out this well. The only fingers that have touched your pussy are your own, all the men still have their pants buttoned, cocks big straining bulges. Ghost grinds up against your ass, and when Price finally slips a finger inside, you think of being split open on Ghost's cock while Price sucks your clit, and come right there, thighs shaking and lips parted in a moan.

Price sits back, fingering you gently through the aftershocks, his mustache wet. "Good girl, love, that's gorgeous," he says, and pats your pussy, a little wet slap. "Nice and relaxed now. Simon, you want her first?"

Simon- Ghost, you realize- huffs into your ear and lifts you up. He's fucking holding you in midair, Jesus christ, the muscle control alone- and Price pops his jeans open and holds the man's cock at your hole before you can even blink. It hits you that he's about to do just what you had imagined, and your pussy winks where a little creamy slick is leaking out.

Soap swears, "Fuck LT, either stick it in her or hand her over," and you hear Gaz laugh at him as Ghost lowers you so slowly down, his arms steady under your knees, your pathetic whimpers as he splits you open coming almost on beat. He seats you on his lap, your pussy stretched, and even before you can catch your breath from the cock shoved up to your lungs he's moving, thrusting up and pulling down, your whole body held in place to be used.

You're moaning nonstop, each thrust in shoving a little squeaky sound out, each long pull back a desperate needy noise. Your eyes slide closed, and someone tuts, pinching your nipple until they open again, whining.

Price is still kneeling in front of you, but he's got his cock out, jacking the rigid flesh to the rhythm Ghost is fucking you. He's huge too, big and thick, and you think about him shoving inside while you're still sloppy and open from Ghost.

The man groans behind you, "fuck birdie, I felt that. Got so fucking tight. You like watching him huh?" You moan a weak yes, and shake as Soap's hand comes to your clit, teasing it with just his fingertips. "Going to come for daddy to see?" You should never have made that dumb joke, but its too late now, because daddy is ringing in your ears like a bell, and Ghost is slamming his cock into you so hard it hurts, and Soap has his fingers rolling over your clit, Gaz sucking on his neck with both hands pulling out their cocks together, big and heavy, stroking them off.

You come again with white sparkles behind your eyes, and Ghost drops your legs to get his hands on your tits, squeezing each so hard you shout. It hurts, it's too much, but his grip is rock solid. He's fucking using your tits like handles to fuck you up and down the last little bit, milking his cock, and you feel another orgasm creep up on the heels of the last, pussy clenching and clit throbbing, the mess of your combined come leaking out around Ghost's cock.

You don't bother trying to stand up, you can't, feeling so fucked out and you've only had one of them, fuck. Soap helps you sit forward, and you whine as your thighs twitch.

He tuts and pushes your hair back from your face, damp with sweat. "Poor lass, gone all come drunk already. Want to take her with me Kyle?"

Gaz grins and pulls your hips up, off Ghost, and you're turned sideways. The man is sitting on the bench looking rather come-drunk himself, eyes dark and sweet, his cock still sticky as it softens against his belly. You did that, you put that look on his face and that streak of slick down his balls, and you shiver and moan as the other two arrange you between them, kneeling down, Gaz behind you and Soap in front. You realize what they're after as Gaz pulls your ass cheeks apart, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, spreading the slick around further, and Soap cradles your head and helps you brace against his thighs. "Nice and easy, lovie," he says, and you open your mouth and slide down onto his cock as Gaz slides his into you.

Full at both ends, the heavy hot taste of cock in your mouth, another smoothly thrusting in and out of you, and you lean into the easy rhythm and let go. The two men are big and strong, they can move and hold you where they want, all you have to do is keep sucking and not choke. It's good, comforting even, feeling a slower syrupy arousal building up in you. Your breasts hang and bounce, and you're hyper-aware of them, of your nipples and how you want them to be pinched again, groped by Ghost's huge hands.

Then Gaz shoves in deep and holds himself still, both hands gripping your waist, and you have a moment of confusion before Soap pulls your bracing hand away and pushes, cock going all the way back, bumping your throat. You try to cough around him and you can't, and can't pull away or get leverage- a little curl of fear grows in your belly. You whine and plead up at him with wet eyes, and Soap grins at you like a jackal.

Gaz pulls back a little and slams home, and your body pushes forward, and Soap pops into your throat for an eternal second, and you have a sudden realization that he's fucking your throat the same way Gaz is fucking your cunt, making a space for himself. Both men pull back out, not all the way- you cough and gasp and feel your pussy drooling- and then thrust in again. You hear the wet garbled sounds you're making- you can't moan or breathe around the cock stuffing your face- feel a string of slick snake down your thigh where your pussy is already overfull of come and cock- and fuck it. Who cares if you make it out of this. You've never felt hotter, more wanted, your clit throbbing, and that syrupy arousal climbs through your limbs again. You feel suffused with it, a warm glow, and Gaz groans as your pussy begins to bounce.

"fuckin- she's fucking half gone and still working her pussy on me. Soap, hold up a sec," and when the man slows and holds his cock half in your mouth, you whine and lick sloppily at it, your hips grinding back, wanting more of what they're giving you. Soaps gets a hand down to pinch your nipple, and tugs, pulling the little nub until your whole breast is peaked, you're whimpering and trying to smack your clit back on Gaz's balls, and he lets you go to grip your head in both hands and fuck your face, too fast to breathe around, drooling a frothy mix of spit and precome as your eyelids flutter.

"imagine what she'd look like in ropes, tied up all proper," he grunts, and Gaz's hips stutter, fucking you out of rhythm with Soap, your body jostled and bouncing, groaning and quivering and coming between them. Your pussy aches and your throat spasms around Soap, one hand weakly coming up to clutch at his wrist, as he holds you down against his balls. Your belly heaves as you instinctively fight for air, and the lights around Soap's head flash a halo of pink and blue prisms as he comes down your throat, pulling out to jerk his cock over your face, sloppy, your makeup streaking and ruined. You collapse onto the floor, your hips held up as Gaz keeps fucking your pussy. The mess drooling out of your mouth smears on your cheeks, bubbling as you whimper, your overstimulated body feeling the aches and aftershocks of multiple orgasms, dancing, being stretched and fucked.

There's so much come and slick spread around your pussy, it's wet up your ass, and you feel at a remove how Gaz is swiping his fingers through the mess, scooping up a palmful, but it doesn't register really.

Until he pauses his hips and you feel two fingers slide into your ass.

You keen into the sticky floor as his fingers probe deep. "Opened right up," he comments, and fucking hooks his fingers, using your asshole like a grip to fuck into you again. It hurts, and your pussy clamps down tight, struggling under a new pressure from the inside. Your moaning goes unheeded, and Gaz shushes you with a little pat to your ass. "Settle down, you're fine," he soothes, and rubs your clit. It's still swelled up and sensitive, and your moaning hits a new pitch, muscles tensing in anticipation of another orgasm as he plays you with both hands, fingers stroking and pulling in your ass, thumb flicking over your clit like he's lighting a match, and you sob into the puddle of spit and come under you as your body betrays you, coming in a wave down to your cramping feet. Gaz holds his cock deep inside, grinding, and you feel his come spilling out: hot drippy mess that oozes onto the floor when he lets go and you collapse, splayed out, both holes winking at the men gathered around.

How long had you even been back here? How long had they been driving you insane with pleasure?

Price's boots are in front of your face, and some buried desire pushes you up, brings your tongue out to lap at the leather, over the tight laces. Ghost moans above you, and you hear the other voices swearing.

You scrape yourself to your knees, blinking up at Price with eyes full of tears. You're still in your heels, but it's the only clothing left, your makeup smeared away and hair in a wild tangle. There's come over your face, drips down your chest and tits, smeared all over your pussy, ass, and thighs.

Price is hard, the foreskin pulled back and tip wet, still so heavy he hangs down over his balls. You open your mouth and kiss it, licking clumsily along the shaft, little whimpering moans trickling out of you. Price cups your cheek gently, and fresh tears trickle out of your eyes. You'd give him anything right now.

"Sweet thing, any other day I'd be fucking your throat even harder than Johnny did, but tonight I've got other plans for you," he says, and the bench seat scrapes the floor as Soap hauls it over, turning it cross-wise, and Price helps you stagger upright just enough to lay down on your back. You sigh in relief at the relative comfort of the padded cushion, and Ghost sits on the end just behind your head, straddling it. His cock is back in his boxers, pants still open, the half-hard shape of him bumping the top of your head.

Ghost lifts your hands and presses them to his belly, twining your fingers together. You wonder muzzily what he's doing, and then a slow awareness grips your addled brain. Price is between your legs, pants down and open, cock fully out, and you look down to see him pressing in.

Why does it feel so strange?

It's another moment before your brain turns over and your mouth opens on a moan, a sob, a plea- the heavy hot cock isn't going into your pussy, but your ass.

Tiny little hole barely opened up with two fingers, smeared inside and out with come and slick, stretching out over Price's fucking hammer, and your thighs start to spasm as an ache grows in your lower back. He's splitting you in two, your hole squeezing tight to try and keep him out, but you can't- you're too exhausted, muscles weak with orgasms, heart hammering in your chest as you realize he's going to fuck you nearly dry, and you're going to come while he does it.

Your pussy throbs from abuse, swollen and sensitive, your clit erect and aching, straining up like it's own little prick, ready to be stroked. Your nipples are so hard they hurt, breasts sore from groping and the rough floor, and when Price works the last final inch inside you cling to Ghost's hands and take it, the burning in your ass and the empty clenching of your pussy, pouring slick down onto your asshole and making each thrust a little smoother, wetter. Ghost gets one hand free and pinches your nipples as you cry, smacks your breasts, grips one in his fist and squeezes like he's going to crush it. It hurts so much it goes around to good again.

If you have any words they're nonsense, if you have any sounds other than a cry or moan they're lost to you. Price's cock slams in and out of your asshole and your body sings with it. The music still plays, a thumping beat that you feel in your chest.

Ghost's cock appears by your cheek, the wrong angle to suck it, but you can watch his fingers stroke over the skin, the precome dripping out of his hole, the shiny thin skin of the head flushed red. He comes with a grunt, and the warm wet streaks splash over your breasts, puddling in your cleavage and down your neck. Price swipes a hand through the mess and puts his fingers to your mouth- you open and let him stroke your tongue, too blissed out to suck but eager for the weight in your mouth.

Low cursing, and Price puts his hand down on your throat instead. You lay your head back, giving him more room, and feel his hips slam in, fucking into an orgasm, your clit smacking at his groin when he bottoms out. It's nearly enough, just a little more to drag you over the edge one last time, please let this be the last time, and you get it when he looks down into your eyes and says, "Come now, pet, come for me."

You black out.

You wake up- or blink- or something. Your body aches and burns, and someone is gently wiping down between your legs with a soft cloth. Someone else is kissing your throat, licking away the come and sweat, and another does the same to your breasts. The lights are flashing too brightly, the music too big and loud. Someone shushes you and cleans your face, this time with a damp wipe, and you gasp for water that comes to your lips in a plastic bottle. Its cool and sweet and you blink up at Soap, holding it to your lips, feeling shivery and precious.

Price finishes cleaning you up with a little, careful touch around your clit, and pats your thigh when you flinch. Your shoes are missing. "There, love, take it slow," he says, "don't stand up yet. You're alright."

Gaz takes one last lick of your tits, suckling on your nipple to get the drop of come that was stuck. Soap does the same behind your ear. Ghost- oh, he's holding you, cradled in his arms like a comfort toy.

There's no way you can go back out to the floor, talk to girls and guys and act like you didn't just have a religious experience in this booth. How long have you been there? How many song changes? Was anyone looking for you?

As Price stands with a groan, hands on his knees, you reach out and catch his wrist. You swallow around the lump in your throat. "Don't leave," you beg, and he blinks at you before smiling so kindly you tear up.

Ghost squeezes you up, big arms strong and safe, Gaz and Soap so warm right next to you. The lights are still too bright, a halo around their heads, Price outlined in sparkles.

"Oh, dove, we won't leave you, not ever. And you won't leave us. Been keeping an eye on you for a while, finally took our chance when we could, we aren't giving you up now."

You nod along, happy down to your bones. You didn't know you missed them until you had them. Your men, your boys, they'll take you home? Keep you forever?

Wait- which home? Your home?

Soap brings the water back to you and you swallow gratefully, parched. Your throat aches, but it's a good ache.

Ghost lifts you up like he did the first time, and you snuggle down into his shoulder, closing your eyes. You're so fucking tired.

There's a shuffling, low voices you can't make out over the music. Gaz has your bag from the dressing room, that's sweet. You'll need your normal clothes. They help lift your sweatpants up your legs, work your rubbery arms through the T-shirt. No shoes, Ghost picks you up again. Out of the booth, down the hall- the sudden chill of open air and a door that takes you into a calm, quiet night. A big van with blacked out windows, soft leather seats you lay across with a sigh. A heavy coat over your shoulders, more murmuring that's not important. More sweet water down your throat, more soothing touches and kisses.

The van's engine turns over, and drives off, your dancing heels left in the corner of the booth and your phone sitting in the locker where Gaz had stolen your bag. The bouncers who looked the other way pocketed thick stacks of cash and shrugged when asked if they saw you leave. The only things left from the night were a couple of dirty shot glasses, one with a little filmy layer stuck to the bottom, and your shoes and the snapped elastic of your panties shoved into a corner.