captainjamster

[captainjamster]

fanfiction writers when they say "this is just a little oneshot" and then drop a 96k word emotional obliteration device

[captainjamster]

Kate Laswell with wife!reader who likes gardening for... reasons.

one of the things Kate never thought she would ever partake in is gardening. and no, not growing flowers for the sake of having an aesthetically pleasing backyard. well, not really a reason that is at the top of her priority list. she thought it would be for growing a little vegetable patch. which isn't the case either. no. her wife's type of gardening was something far more... interesting.

Kate studies the book with a raised eye brow and wonders how this fixation even came to be. somehow, you've learned to make cyanide from scratch. you know the exact amount of petals it takes for a certain plant to kill a man if ingested raw. you can brew any sort of poison that tickles your fancy just for the fun of it.

"so you made lipstick." she deadpans when you hold the item in front of her.

"poisonous lipstick." you're so proud of yourself too. you're even wearing it. "consider it a safeguard. you know, in case someone tries to kiss you without permission."

"and what if they do?"

you make a sound and shrug, grinning. "they start coughing up blood."

it's on par for what you normally create with your strangely endearing fascination for death by poison. cough up blood, heavy nose bleeding, bleeding out of your ears, internal bleeding. skin melting off. nails falling off. eyes falling off. multiple organ failure.

Kate stares at your lips for a moment. the shade looks lovely on you. it nurses an itch at the back of her head. an itch she wants to scratch. "and what if i accidentally kiss someone who isn't meant to cough up blood?"

"there's an antidote for that." you ruffle through your case of vials and pick up a blue one. "uh, this is the one."

"good."

you squeal when she pulls you in by the waist and kisses you, smiling when you giggle into her mouth. she might have taken the chance to kiss you either way.

[captainjamster]

please oh my god Soap/Nik is one of my favorite things. Nik seeing something in those blue eyes that he wants to own and Soap being only too happy to let Nik have him. he loves a partner who knows what they are doing and he loves being a bottom for the right man is Nik is the Right Man.

--injestedsoap

"So, ye remember the Berlin wall fallin' then?"

Johnny leaned over the sticky table to get a little closer to Nik. Shit, he'd been trying to shimmy his way into the big guy's lap since their first brew, but Nik was seemingly immune to all his usual charm. Not even a wee flutter of the baby blues had swayed him.

Garrick had disappeared for a tactical chunder about half hour ago and LT had gone looking for him. A text on Johnny's phone informed him that they were staggering back to the barracks hosting them. Johnny would check it at some point.

"Da," Nik replied simply, head cocked to the side as he watched Johnny with that odd look he had sometimes. Like he wasn't sure whether Johnny was being serious or pulling his leg. Johnny'd rather pull on something else, to be frank. And he had been trying to since seeing it in Libya. Fuck, since he'd first watched it bulge out of Nik's jeans. His entire Maslow triangle thing was a giant picture of Nik's cock. It kept him awake at night, hand pumping furiously down his own at the thought of what it might taste like.

"Wow. Tha's... fuck. Huh. Did mah Highers on tha'. A'righ', how aboot... uh, Chernobyl? Ye see tha' go up?"

Nik sighed. "When you were in your mother's womb, I was test flying the Su-37..."

"Naw way, they called that bird the Terminator, righ'? How old were ye?"

"Twenty-one." Nik looked impressed as he replied. Johnny felt his stomach do a little flip. All that googling he'd been doing during down time was paying dividends. He didn't know much and, if he was honest, that one had been a lucky fuckin' guess. But it had made Nik pay attention, see him less like an annoying Scottish gnat and more like an equal.

"Holy shite, I bet ye were dead fit in ye wee blue cap, aye?"

"Sergeant," Nik murmured, that low rumble intended to be a warning but only serving to make Johnny's jeans tighten. "I am old enough to be your father."

"Oh aye, ah ken. Isnae a problem... bu' I c'n call ye daddy while ah bounce on it if tha' does it fer ye." Johnny chanced a little brush of the hand, forefinger bumping against the side of Nik's palm, which immediately left the table as Nik huffed an incredulous little laugh. Well, it wasn't no, was it? That was a maybe. A definite consideration. Highly likely thing. Johnny was basically in his knickers.

Johnny watched Nik rifle through his jacket and pull a fag out from a crumpled packet. The moment he stuck it between his lips the barman gave a pointed cough and jutted his chin at one of the nearby no smoking signs when Nik glanced up. "U tebya yest' glupoye pravilo na kazhdyy sluchay zhizni," he grumbled as he rolled to his feet. Nik had been working in parts of the world where smoking was still socially acceptable, even encouraged, and he was still acclimatising back to not just doing whatever the fuck he wanted. Hell, Johnny half expected him to light up anyway.

Nik continued to pat down his jacket as he stepped into the street, and Johnny followed him out. "Here go," he flicked his lighter open and bit gently on his own tongue as Nik considered the flame, and then leaned towards it. His damn handsome jaw brushed Johnny's knuckles, dark eyes alive with flickering blue fire. Christ, Nik was fuckin' stunnin'. Damn Slavic Hercules.

"Hercules is Roman myth, not Russian," Nik said around the filter of his fag. Johnny's eyes blew wide. Oh shit, he'd said that out loud.

"Ah though' he was Greek."

"Heracles is the Greek version. The Romans... borrowed the story."

"Shite, yer so smart," Johnny said dreamily. "Surprised ye have enough blood fer yer brain what with... ye know..." Johnny dropped his arm between his legs and swung it to and fro like an elephant's trunk.

Nik smirked with his eyes as he blew smoke to the side. "If I was ten years younger, you would have been just my type."

Get in. Almost there. Johnny leaned his forearm against the wall, trying to look as sultry as possible. "Oh aye? What's yer type? Handsome, smooth talkin' and witty?"

Nik took another drag, tongue wetting his lips. He was studying Johnny closely. Not his physique though, despite Johnny's very best efforts to flex and posture right in front of him. It was his eyes. Nik's dark ones turned back and forth, like he was studying the depths of them for something. Johnny felt a little breathless, pinned to the fuckin' wall; he'd never had such intense eye contact from anyone. The alcohol had lowered Nik's inhibitions to the point he was showing his hand despite his protest. Well, for a moment.

Nik looked away, covering his falter by exhaling the smoke, before he cut Johnny down to size. "Loud, funny and liable to make poor choices."

Johnny puffed his cheeks out. "Ach, ye cannae be serious... ye wan' me, I c'n see it. C'mon, ah'd show ye such a good time."

"I am certain."

Johnny sidled closer, playing with the edge of Nik's jacket. He could see that amazing physique beneath the baggy fit of Nik's t-shirt. It was tight around his chest and shoulders and Johnny wanted to bury his face in those damn tits. His hand ventured to the hem, his fingertips dipping just beneath to find the first soft patch of skin...

Nik tapped his hand away, and Johnny growled. "Fer fuck sake... What'll it take, eh? Wan' me to drop and present? What's holdin' ye back?" He paused and then a new idea slowly uncurled in his mind. Time to change tac. He hummed, smirking. "Ah get it. Ye worried ye won't be able tae keep up. Feelin' it in ye back eh, old man? Well, ye could always lay on it and think of mother Russia, and ah'll promise not tae compare you tae my ex, ah--"

And then suddenly, Nik was in his space. Johnny's back pressed against the wall, his mouth clamping shut as a big hand squeezed his jaw. His heels scrambled against the wet cobblestones as Nik lifted him just a little above his comfortable height, and Johnny had to slap his hands against the brick behind him for purchase. A knee pressed up between his legs and he was forced to rely on it for stability. His hips rocked a little, mouth dropping open, the firm ledge of Nik's thigh offering the tiniest relief to Johnny's aching arousal.

Nik's dark eyes bore into his, dangerous and untamed, his lips a mere inch from Johnny's as he spoke in a low, husky growl that might as well have been a hand stroking Johnny's fuckin' shaft for the physical reaction it caused. "I am not concerned by your ex, sergeant. I would shake his hand with the one I made you tremble with." Johnny tasted those words; bourbon, rich cigarette smoke and sultry promise that made him gasp softly.

Before his thoughts could unscramble, Nik had pulled away and was walking down the street, one hand in his pocket while the other held his cigarette to his mouth. Johnny was rock hard in his jeans, his chest tight where his heart was trying to beat out of his chest.

With trying to tease Nik, he'd damn well forgot about the wild animal underneath all that affable bravado, those goofy smiles. Nik was a commander of mercenaries, an arms dealer who dealt with the most dangerous people in the world, a natural killer and born hunter. And for a beautiful, breathless moment, Johnny had been his prey.

[captainjamster]

It's a night when neither of them can sleep, both tossing and turning, occasionally snorting in amusement at the other's lack of progress in trying to sleep.

Unsurprisingly, John gives up on the endeavour, instead prioritising his needs. That's why he grabs his pack of cigarettes and plants it between Nikolai's tits as he tries to find the lighter he sat on the nightstand hours ago.

The noise of Russian confusion does not stop him in his searches, frantically smacking at everything on the nightstand until he grabs onto the familiar shape of the stupid purple lighter that he stole from Simon months ago.

Only then does he turn his attention back to his partner and find a bewildered pilot glancing between the cigarretes parked firmly between his tits and John's face.

John shrugs, grabbing the pack of smokes and offering Nikolai's chest a soft pat. "What? You use my arse to keep your cock warm and I can't borrow your tits to rest my fags on?"

[captainjamster]

my style of soap (+ghost)

[captainjamster]

Retirement. prevoiulsy a patreon exclusive

[captainjamster]

menacing 🥰

[captainjamster]

I'm pretty sure I've done something like this before but it doesn't matter bc I need it 💝

cw: reader works a front desk job, crying, kidnapping, drugging/anesthesia with a needle, dubcon, fingering, manipulation kinda (price isnt lying, he genuinely believes every word he says), immediate stockholm syndrome, gn!reader, dead dove do not eat

Work sucks. you know that, it's not news. there's better days, there's worse days, some people are nice, some people are rude. that's just how it is. but today? today is fucking taking the crown. apparently, for some reason, you're at fault for everything. it doesn't matter if you even know about what happened, you just are at fault. and it gets really old, really fast. but you keep your professionalism, you save some face, you stay friendly and calm.

until that one guy. that big asshole, that decided to make you regret your entire existence today. to be rude and unkind when you try to keep smiling, apologising for the inconvenience. who starts yelling at you until his face is red, harsh accusations and degrading words flying through the small foyer, leaving the people around you stunned in silence and leaving you teary eyes with a lump in your throat. your voice trembling as you call for the next person to step forward and ask for their name.

"Price, John."

His voice is soft, quiet on purpose. he always tries not to speak as loud as he has to at work, but especially now. he doesn't wanna make it worse, he feels horrible for you. hates the way you have to bite your lip to keep in fron trembling, the way you keep trying to swallow the lump in your throat, the tears threatening to spill all over your hot cheeks, the slight shake of your fingers. a pretty bird like you shouldn't be yelled at like that, shouldn't have to deal with scum like him, shouldn't be crying from anything but pleasure happiness.

"Are you alright?" He asks gently, leaning in a bit to make himself seem less big and imposing - and to read your name tag. you nod, sniffling. his heart aches. it makes him frown, it makes him angry on your behalf. you should be treated like royalty, you should never ever have to lift a finger, you should only be spoken to gently and lovingly, like one would speak to a skittish little animal to not scare it away. "I'm sorry, love. you didn't deserve that." he murmurs softly, you wave it off.

"it's fine." your tone is quiet and cut off, like you know you'll cry if you speak too much. he frowns again.

"does this happen a lot?"

you stay quiet. it tells him all he needs to know. all he wants to know. he finishes up with you quickly, telling you what he wants and thanking you, keeping his voice ever so soft before he leaves to his car. he sits in the pickup truck for a few minutes, staring at the building he just came out of, the building you're about to sit in and take your break, spending it crying instead of eating. it breaks his fucking heart.

so he does what any sane man would do. he starts looking for info on you - it's easier than he thought it would be. you're not that careful about posting it seems. your Facebook tells him you're single, the lack of friends and pictures tell that you don't have many friends either. no one to look out for you. no one to look for you.

he's a good man, he knows it deep in his heart. he's doing this for you, doing this to give you what you deserve, to give you a safety net, a shoulder you can lean on to cry, strong arms to cradle you against his chest. he's doing this out of the goodness of his heart. its what he keeps telling himself, even when he looms in the darkness while you're on your way home.

even when he grabs you from behind and clamps a strong hand over your mouth to muffle your screams, even when he pulls you towards the car that he parked in an alleyway, even when he carefully jabs the needle into your arm and injects you with the anaesthetic that knocks you straight out. he's gotta be quick now, it's only gonna last a few minutes. hauls you into the cab of the truck, the bags he packed in your apartment (you really shoulve invested in better locks) on the floor. he throws a blanket over you before climbing into the drivers seat, driving calmly to his home - a nice little cottage in the outskirts of the city, a few miles away from everyone and everything, but close enough to do what he has to do.

it's not long before you wake up. your eyes flutter open, the lights are warm and dimmed. whatever you're lying on is soft, comfy even, the pillow your head is resting on nice and cool. it would almost be nice, if it wasn't for your wrists being tied to the headboard and for your ankles being tied together. almost. the drugs effect is wearing off but you feel sleepy, a little dizzy, making it hard to move around. the room is silent save for your shuffling around on the sheets. it's clean and well kept, a few pictures and what looks like army memorabilia is on the walls.

then there's steps. they're heavy and slow, almost as if trying to be quiet but not quite being able to. they get closer until a big, broad frame appears in the dark hallway, making a sense of panic rise inside you - even more so when the figure steps into the room, revealing himself as the man from your work earlier. a weird mix of horror and calm washes over you, he's smiling at you like you're close, familiar, it puts something in your brain at ease, despite the fear the situation brings out.

he slowly walks closer, now dressed in sweatpants and a wife beater, his strong arms on display, shoved into his pockets. he takes slow steps, watching your reaction, not wanting to startle you - as if you could bolt if he got too close. sits down on the edge of the bed, mattress dipping under his weight, shifting your body closer to his. "how you feelin'?" he asks, casual, as if he didn't do something horribly wrong.

you don't answer him, just staring at him quietly, frozen in shock; it somehow makes him chuckle. "scared?" he asks softly, speaking again before you can react. "that's alright. but you don't need to be, darlin." he smiles more. "I won't hurt you. I'm not gonna do anything I think you won't like." he scoots even closer, putting one hand on your thigh, calloused fingers gently rubbing the fabric of your pants - of course he left you dressed. he's a gentleman after all.

"I had to do it, love." he says gently, slowly lying down on his side next to you, keeping himself propped up on one elbow. "I saw how miserable you were... and what kind of man would I be if I just.. let that happen?" he says quietly, almost ashamed at the mere thought of not doing anything. "couldn't stand to see such a gorgeous little thing in distress.. that asshole yelling at you.." his gaze darkens, the grip on your leg tightening. "how was I supposed to just stand by? go home with the knowledge that you'd be crying your pretty eyes out with no one to hold you? no one to make it all better?" John's voice is a bit shaky. he pauses, taking a deep breath to calm himself down before looking back up at you with something like adoration. utter adoration. "i couldn't have done that, could i?"

you pause. could he?

you hesitantly shake your head, his eyes light up. "exactly.. you get it.. you get me.." he mutters, leaning in closer, close enough for you to smell his cologne. "I'm sorry about grabbing you and putting you to sleep like that.. I didn't have a choice.." he murmurs and somehow you belive him, despite your heart racing. "didn't mean to scare you like that.." He leans in even closer, nuzzling your hair for a moment.

"let me make up for it, okay?"

your stomach drops but you nod again. youre not sure what 'making up for it' means - but you get a pretty good idea when he undoes your pants. your eyes widen, a distressed noise leaving your mouth as you squirm; he pins your hips down gently. "shh! shh.. I won't fuck you, I promise.." he hums into your ear, placing a kisd right underneath it. "I'll just make it up to you, i promise.." his hand slides to the waistband of your pants, pulling it down until its pooled around your knees - then he gets up. you watch him switch positions, one hand gripping the rope around your ankles and pulling them back towards you, pushing your knees to your chest. a loud gasp leaves your lips, but he soothes you again.

"nono, its okay.. just be good and trust me.. Promise you'll like it.." he scoots one meaty thigh under your hips, angling them up so the position is easier to keep, one arm draping over the inside of your knees to keep them pinned, the other hand gripping your ass. for a moment his fingers tighten, digging into the fat as he groans, before letting go. "pardon.." is all he has to say for himself. quickly gives his hand another purpose to stop himself from groping you some more, instead pushing your underwear towards your bunched up pants, fully exposing you. again you gasp, trying to wiggle free, but the disappointed huff from John's lips, for some reason, stops you.

"please, lovie.. just let me make up for it.. won't do anything you don't like.." he says and it's so convincing, so weirdly heartfelt, it makes you freeze again. he slips his hand into his pocket, retrieving a small packet of lube that he brought from downstairs, opening it with his teeth. "gonna feel so much better, I swear.." he hums while dribbling the lube onto your clenched hole, the gel warm due to being in his pocket. fully empties it on you, wants to make sure you don't feel any pain at all, he wants to take care of you after all; not punish you. big fingers start rubbing the lube into your skin, making you twitch and pant with the soft massage he's giving to relax you.

"gonna make you feel so much better.." he assures again - then slips the first finger in. you tense up again, wincing softly, but the kisses hes pressing to your leg calm you down a bit. he lets you adjust for a moment before slowly moving it in and out a few times, shuddering from the feeling of your tight heat around his fingers. "jesus.." he whispers through gritted teeth, it takes his whole strength to not just break his promise and pull his cock out - instead he settles on another finger. "Takin' it so good.. do you already feel better?" he asks softly, eyes glued to your sex, watching it quiver around his fingers. the movements are slow and gentle, making use of your sensitive spots - it's almost like he knows just where to touch you, somehow.

"feels good, doesn't it?" he grins up at you, his fingers speeding up, thrusting into you in a fluid motion that knocks the breath out of your lungs for some reason. you pull on the restraints on your wrists, trying to somehow stay grounded, stuck somewhere between the urge to fight him off, to scream at him to stop and the overwhelming pleasure that his fingers give you - it only gets worse when the other hand reaches down too, starting to rub your clit/stroke your cock to match the pace of his fingers. the moans you're desperately trying to muffle slip out as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, hips starting to twitch while you contract around his fingers.

"please-" you gasp, but get cut off by him.

"nonono.. you do have to beg, love. 'm here to take care of you.." a third finger slips inside. "never gonna have to beg for anything.. gonna take such good care of you.." his movements get more frantic, as if he's about to cum himself. "never need to worry about anything again lovie.. promise.. gonna take care of you, just have to be good for me.." John leans closer to your sex, licking his lips as he pants. "you gonna be good for me, darlin'?"

you feel your muscles tense, the knot in your stomach getting almost painfully tight - before you give in, against all instincts, you nod. his eyes roll back with pleasure, movements more frantic again. "fuck.." he hisses through gritted teeth. "you're so good f'me.. 'm so proud of you.." he thrusts his fingers deeper, palm hitting your ass every time. "gonna take care of you baby.. no one will ever be mean to my sweet thing again.. never gonna have to lift a finger.. you're mine to care for, mine to-"

he stops when you cry out, cumming around his fingers hard. he watches with fascination, almost as if he had never seen anything this magical, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. he only stops after a few moments more, pulling out his fingers before spreading you open to look at the slight gape his fingers left; a chuckle escapes him. finally puts your legs down but leaves your clothes bunched up around your knees, lying back down beside you. the had that was just inside you is now caressing your head gently. "there you go.. feels all better now, doesn't it?"

you nod. your face is hot, legs trembling, but you nod. his eyes light up.

"so youre gonna stay, aren't you?" He asks softly, your eyes widen. "gonna let someone else take care of you for once.. gonna let someone else think and make your decisions.. it's gonna be good, i promise." he kisses your temple, uttering the next words softly, almost sounding vulnerable.

"you trust me, dont you?'

you nod again.

[captainjamster]

TW: ED behavior

You’re driving Ghost crazy, and not in a good way.

He thought you were close, he thought he could trust you. Yet ever since you moved in with him, you’ve been keeping secrets.

He knows body language, and he definitely knows yours. It shocked him the first time he walked in on you cooking in the kitchen, only to be met with fidgety fingers and inconsistent eye contact. Odd. Nothing seemed out of place, so he just chalked it up to you being jumpy from suddenly sharing living spaces with someone.

But then it kept happening, and there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Wednesday night at 9:06. Sunday morning, 11:13. Sometimes it would happen several times in an hour, whenever he’d walk into the room. Over and over, something was giving you shifty eyes and a racing pulse, and it was driving him up the wall.

The common denominator is the kitchen, he knows that much. A cursory sweep comes up with nothing every time, so one day when you’re gone at work and he’s home, he goes all out. Bug detecting equipment, pulling everything out of the cabinets, scouring through cookbooks and the trash and every crevice he can find.

Nothing.

He’s able to put everything back in time, but he remains empty handed, and that makes him suspect that you’re far smarter than he realized.

And then he finally gets a break in the case. One day he’s walking around in socks, and it’s not until he’s nearly to the kitchen that the floor creaks under his foot, causing a flurry of movement in the kitchen. He crosses the space in just a few quick strides, as smooth as if he were making entry on a building, focus narrowed with freakish precision on catching you in the act.

His hand materializes on your wrist before you can let go of the thing you’re frantically burying in the trash. You’ve never seen him like this before, looming over you with his fingers clamped tight around your arm and his eyes crackling with energy.

Dammit. And you’ve always been so careful.

Ghost drags your hand out of the trash, and his eyes drop to the chocolate wrapper you have clutched in your fingers. He blinks at it a few times, just to convince himself he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

“What are you doing?” He asks slowly, his gaze coming back up to your hot face.

“I was… um… eating some candy.”

“Why were you hiding it?”

“Uh…” your mind races to find an acceptable answer, something that won’t make you a target.

“Wait.” Ghost scowls, releasing your hand and taking the wrapper from your fingers. “This is about your knobhead ex, isn’t it?”

“I-I guess.”

Ghost lets out the largest, most relieved exhale you’ve ever heard from him, closing the trash and slamming you into his chest so suddenly that it makes your lungs automatically release some air.

“I thought you were trying to kill me, love.” His arm tightens around your shoulders. “All this time, you didn’t want me to know you were eating sweeties?”

Your, “Yeah,” comes out muffled with your face still smashed against his chest.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hide things from me. You’re allowed to eat whatever you fucking well want.”

Oh, okay.

He fucks you good that night, no longer withdrawn into his own head. He sleeps like a baby, too, and kisses you sweetly off to work the next morning. For several days you catch him smiling and shaking his head a little every time he looks at you, like he just can’t believe you made him suffer like that over something so ridiculous.

And it seems like every time you sit down for dinner now, you’ll find a little package of your favorite chocolate sitting next to your fork. How he gets it there every time without you seeing, you have no idea. To be honest, you’re getting kind of tired of the taste, but you still smile at him and grab his hand from his thigh, leaning in for a little kiss before you take a bite.

Drabble masterlist

[captainjamster]

Simon helps you with your frustration

cw: fluff fluff and more fluff

wc: 587

As soon as your bag gets slammed against the ground Simon knows there’s an issue.

The plane had landed earlier than expected, which meant Simon got to come home to you earlier than expected. But when he checked his phone he immediately saw the text.

‘Hey baby I don’t know if/when you’ll see this, but I'm working late tonight. I’ll see you when I get home. I love you so much!’

So Simon waited. He waited and waited for you to arrive home. He missed his love. He missed everything about you. He didn’t expect you to walk through the door with steam coming out of your ears, and a flushed face.

“Why does no one listen!” A shoe goes flying. “I swear I’m the only person who does any work at that damn place!” The other shoe goes flying.

Simon stands up from where he’s at on the couch to face you. Usually when you get upset you don’t get this mad. He takes a few tentative towards you, right as you start releasing your pent up anger on a couch pillow.

Simon grips your wrist immediately with his hands.

“Oy, love none o’ that. The poor pillow didn’t do anything to you now, did it?” His grip tightens. “I’m showing you how to take your anger out in a way that’ll be useful to you.”

Simon starts leading your huffy, puffy self to the bedroom. He gently sets you on the bed with a small, “Stay there this is to help you.” Muttered under his breath.

You sit there all crossed armed, huffed, and annoyed. You wanted to be fucked silly, so why is Simon leaving you alone in the bedroom. Why isn’t he throwing you onto your stomach and—

He comes back with wrapped hands. Wrapped hands like he’s going to fight. Hands wrapped with boxing gauze you’d see in the ring.

“Simon what on earth are you doing! Why are your hands wrapped?”

He comes closer to you and starts gently wrapping up your hands. His touch light and feathery as he makes sure nothing is wrapped too tight.

“Gonna teach you to fight lovie. Take your anger out on me and teach you a life skill.”

He stands you up on your feet while adjusting your stance. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about this. He’s been trying to teach you how to fight for a while, but he didn’t want to hurt you. But this way he’s not hurting you, but you’ll get experience.

You almost immediately just start going at it against his hands. He can take it, you know he can. He watches before stopping.

“I know that helped, but I’m teaching you a real punch c’mon doll.” He extends your arms.

“This will help you fully reach your target whether that’s me or an unwanted target.” His hands find your hips as he rotates them next. He rotates them till he finds the perfect position.

“Now breathe in and out,” He inhales then exhales, “you’re doing so well baby.”

“If you breathe with each punch it will help guide you.” He gives you a soft smile. A smile you’ve gotten to see more and more. This is the Simon you know, the one you missed.

“Now hit me and after you do, bring your hands back to your face.” He stands there and waits. As soon as your hands hit him he smiles.

“Atta girl,” He fixes his posture, “give me a few more.”

Thank you to ms. theo (@theorist-fox )for helping me come up with this idea ily 🥹

[captainjamster]

A knight's helmet is a kind of muzzle.

[captainjamster]

Johnathan Price fucking you while he makes you recite your wedding vows all over again because you were being a brat and telling him how you hate him.

[captainjamster]

[captainjamster]

stalker!kyle going through reader's things and finding her sketchbook, only to realize they are full of drawings of him.

-🛸

Oh em gee.... <333

He didn’t mean to find them.

Well—he didn’t mean to find them tonight. He’s been through your apartment before, always careful, always surgical. He’d comb through your drawers, your laundry, your laptop, your books—devouring every thread of your life like it was scripture. But the sketchbooks? They were stacked in a milk crate, barely hidden under your bed. Not exactly locked away.

He opens the first one with idle curiosity and stills.

The first few pages are abstract—warm-ups, maybe. But then there’s a profile sketch. Sharp brow. Cropped hair. A beard he doesn’t have anymore but used to.

His breath catches.

Another page: him, again. Closer this time. The ink captures a furrow in his brow he’s only ever seen in his reflection. The precision—the obsession—is uncanny.

He flips faster now, frantic, as more of him fills the pages. Some drawings are from behind. From across the street. From places you shouldn’t have had unless you were watching him before you even knew his name.

Some are dated—months before he ever spoke to you. Before he accidentally bumped into you at the café. Before he saved you from that creep in the alley. Before you ever let him into your life.

Kyle sits back on his heels, the sketchbook trembling in his grip.

You’ve been watching him.

You saw him first.

And fuck—it does something to him. Makes his pulse spike. Makes his stomach flip in this sick, intimate way.

All this time, he thought he was the predator.

But now? Now he’s not so sure.

[captainjamster]

[captainjamster]

coffee orders get mixed up and Price is handed someone’s super sweet latte… pretty little thing he’s never spoken to comes to his office sets down his black coffee with a nice imprint of their lipgloss on the rim and bashfully offers to swap the lids when they trade…. price who has no qualms getting a little artificial vanilla with every sip of the dark abomination that pretty little thing sipped from first……

Good thing you didn’t have this mix up with soap bc 1) he also orders heretically sweet drinks so he might not have even noticed 2)he would’ve tongued the hole of that coffee lid right in front of you

Price is a clever, resourceful man. You don’t introduce yourself during your brief stop in his office, but you don’t have to. He read it on the little order ticket stuck on the cup. And now if he just so happens to need an excuse to visit you… he knows your coffee order.

And he might just be able to pull some strings, depending on your position on base… maybe push a few deadlines up. Make it so you just don’t have the time to get a little treat for yourself… how grateful would you be then if he stopped in with your favorite coffee, some pastries, and the ability to pull rank so someone else needs to take the brunt of your workload for a little while.

He fancies himself a knight in shining armor type. He’s more of like the evil scheming advisor type at times to be quite honest.

[captainjamster]

It's not loaded, just polished enough.