i-am-hungry-24-7 - Tumblr blog

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[HelloHalloSpeaks]

I started this account by accident, just want to give myself some things to achieve, and I never thought of able to reach to what I have now

(Sorry for pinning some people below, hope u guys don’t feel pressured!)

BIG THANK to all of u who join my journey, like @abcdbleh, 🦈 anon, evil 🐼 anon (I know her so I can call her evil😈), @a66-1, @yyiikes @strawberrystargal @poohkie90

and some cod enjoyers I followed like @ghostslittlegf @cod-z @thetravelingtyper (It sucks that this is a side blog so u guys don’t know I’m fan of u)

of course every reader who just stay by maybe one fic, or leave likes, even reblog, BIG THANKS TO every single of u!!

(I’m not leaving I’m just hit a milestone today and feeling sentimental)

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

dear sharkie anon 🦈:

if u see this I would love to know ur thoughts about this drabble 💖 is this sweet enough for u sharkie? (no pressure to respond of course!)

Wait until i got you in my hands (or in this case under my jaw 🦈)

Anyway since you're asking fluff for Simon (and i hope you don't twist it in the end because I'll trust you for this once and you're not Chucky), what about Simon having cuteness aggression, everybody? Mmhm you have chubby face and it's undeniable fact that they sometimes look like dumpling or steamed buns. Just Simon can't keep his hands from touching or pinching your cheeks, and even better if he also bit them.

mercy plss sharkieeee 🦈 as always ty for the ideas tho 💖 happy to see u again!!!

Simon loves your chubby and adorable face

1.

“What Simon? Why you keep staring at me?”

“dumplings”

“what dumplings?”

“your cheeks.”

“huh?...SIMON STOP CHEWING MY CHEEK—$;@/!@;&”

2.

You two are lying on your shared bed. You’re facing him and scrolling your phone, too concentrated on the fanfic you’re reading that you haven’t notice Simon’s gaze on your face.

“...” you expression’s same as straight face emoji when your lover abruptly pinches your cheeks.

“sorry.” he says without any apology in his tone while kneading your cheeks.

“My face isn’t mochi, Simon.”

“I know.”

“Then can you stop rubbing them like they are?”

“No.”

3.

A nice Sunday morning, peaceful, and you leisurely walk to the living room, expecting seeing Simon there as usual.

“Good morning, baby.” You greet him immediately when you see his figure, his back’s facing you, seeming busy doing something.

“Hey, love.” He gives you a kiss on your cheek like he always do, but he sounds a bit of excited today.

“What do we have for breakfast?”

“I make a you.”

“What does that mean?”

You lean closer to him when he hands you the plate.

“This is you.”

“...”

You don’t even want to argue when you see two little buns are placing at each side of a smiling face egg that’s grinning at you.

4.

Simon gets kicked out to buy the groceries after the breakfast.

“He better remember to buy some ice cream for me” You mumble.

Well, he does keep that in mind when he comes back an hour later.

“Got you some ice creams.” Simon tells you while fishing them out under your expecting eyes.

“New brand?” You pick up the carton when you can’t recognize the brand of it.

“...Simon.”

“It looks like you, it’s cute.” He doesn’t forget to give your cheeks a few pokes whilst you staring at the rabbit mascot on the box with two obviously chubby cheeks.

5.

(later, Simon texting)

Ghost: Soap, how to apologize to your partner

Soap: what did you do to them LT.?

Ghost: I just showed my love to their cheeks

Soap: Not you anger them with same reason again

Soap: Send some cute pictures to them and buy them some snacks?

Ghost: Can I send this?

Soap: I guess you just want to die, LT.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Strangers

john price x fem!reader | masterlist | ao3

John Price remembers every life he's ever lived. When death takes him in one universe, he's born into the next with all his memories and past experiences still intact. Throughout the lives he's lived, you're the only thing that ever seems to quell the ache in his chest, and he spends every life searching for your comfort. Except, in this life, he's too late

cw: soulmate!au, murder, suicide, feticide, kidnapping, drugging, possessive john price, non-con elements, one shot, dead dove: do not eat!!!

In every life you’ve ever lived, John Price finds you. 

He’s drawn to you like an animal is drawn to its cage. The glint of the metal bars look like stars if he squints hard enough, and the smell of blood and iron is the fairest perfume in the world. There is no life that he wishes to live without you in it. Tucked close to his chest in bed at night. Curled up underneath his thumb. Where you go, he follows you, hidden in the shadows until he’s ready to reveal himself as the soulmate who’s been tracking you across eons worth of lives. 

It’s a simple curse. One that’s haunted him since he first poofed into existence so long ago he can’t recall how much time has passed. Forever bound to remember every life he’s ever lived while everyone else debates the possibility of a god or heaven, forgetting their reincarnated selves in other universes. It’s a particularly lonely ailment. He had been locked in chains in one life for attempting to convince the world that there was life after death, not through a god, but through sheer human will. Had to sever the artery in his tongue with his teeth and drink down his blood to escape a life of imprisonment, and just like he knew he would, he woke up in his next life a free man. 

These days, he spends his lives on something more worthwhile: you. Just as he does, you look the same in every universe with a smile he knows by touch alone and a laugh that is the only melody that can soothe the immortal ache in his chest. He’s fried his brain with drugs and killed his liver with drink, forever carrying the burden of memory, and yet throughout his travels, you remain the only thing capable of soothing that terrible ache that haunts him. If death has already taken you in one life, he kills himself and moves onto the next, a wild man forever on the hunt for you. 

The only other thing that stays consistent throughout his many lives besides the desire to be yours, is the taste of fresh tea. He prefers Yorkshire tea, but the Earl Grey they substitute at the shop is fine enough. Quiet muttering fills the air around him as he sits in the corner of the shop, alone with his thoughts. He takes a sip of the tea, allowing the hint of lavender to wash over his tongue as if cleansing him. It’s the only thing that tastes and smells like home. Besides you, of course; but he hasn’t found you yet, and it’s getting late. 

Usually, he’s lucky enough to find you by the time both of you are in your twenties. It’s easy to win you over at that age. He holds a maturity well beyond his years, and you hold a wide-eyed innocence that has you in his grasp before you even realize it. But he’s in his thirties, and that has him anxious. Too much time has passed — a decade more than usual — which leaves him with a variety of possibilities. Ones he doesn’t like entertaining. 

No matter. He’s learned to be somewhat patient over the countless lifetimes spent searching for you, because it always pays off in the end. All the marriages, the children you have, the love you make. John Price is the luckiest man in the world, being able to replay his favorite memories with you for all eternity. He could never tire of you, would never dream of such a terror. 

So when the bell attached to the shop door rings with the entrance of another customer, it quickly turns to music to his ears when he sees you. Afternoon sunlight illuminates the world behind you, blinding him with the beauty you carry across universes and worlds. Your familiar eyes scan the area briefly, hardly paying him any mind before you approach the counter with a grace and poise that has his heart thudding in his throat. He can never get used to the first time. The first time his eyes land on you, he hears your voice, or skin touches yours; it’s the only thing that can tear him apart as well as you do. 

He tries not to stare at your ass when you order your drink. It’s always been his favorite physical feature of yours. There’s something different about this version of you, yet still familiar. Nothing is ever entirely unknown to him, not when it concerns you, but you’re glowing more than usual. It’s captivating in a way that makes him feel like a dog, looking at a woman in such a perverse way, but he knows you like it when he stares. You always have in every other life.

When the barista hands you a to-go cup, John knows he doesn’t have long before you slip away. Such a sharp girl, quick on her feet. Always buzzing around, never staying in one place for too long, as if the imprint of your soul enjoyed the chase of him following after you. It’s a game he enjoys very much; one he doesn’t mind entertaining at all. 

John rises from his seat, cup still half full, where he slips to the door just as you turn around to leave. His pace is leisurely, certainly in no rush as his hands reach out for the exit, only for him to pause. How silly of him to have left his drink behind, the only reason he even came to that shop in the first place. When he turns around, it’s quick and violent, and catches you so off guard you run right into him. 

Piping hot tea splashes around in your to-go cup, and if it wasn’t for John’s quick reflexes and a firm grip on your wrist, you would’ve gotten yourself hurt. Your gasp is sweet and melodic on his ears, and he nearly melts under your gaze as your wide eyes stare at him. Your surprise is cute. As if you couldn’t remember meeting him in countless different universes like this. 

“Terribly sorry, darling,” he says as if surprised. His grip loosens on your wrist just as his other hand comes up to rest on your waist. It’s quick, he knows; but in some way, you’re already used to it. “You alright?” 

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, and once you do, John feels you slip out of his grasp as you take a step back. Both of your hands come up to hold the cup, afraid of dropping it, and you give him a polite smile and nod. 

“Yes, thank you, I… good save,” is all you can manage as you chuckle and gesture to your drink. 

John’s hands mourn the absence of your warmth, yet he allows them to politely fall back against his side. His lips yearn to be on yours. For him, this isn’t a first time greeting, but a long awaited reunion. Still, he calms his nerves and hardens them to steel as he chuckles with you. 

“Would’ve hated for you to have gotten hurt,” he comments as his eyes glance down at your legs. The brief thought of that searing hot liquid broiling the supple skin of your thighs invades his mind before he can push it away. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

Whatever your response is, he can’t hear it. The dazzling bling of your betrayal drowns out the sound of your voice and everything around him. It’s beautiful; your ring. Its gemstone glints in the sunlight streaming through the windows as if attempting to blind him. No, not blind him. Something worse. It screams at him the very thing he had feared for the last few years; he was too late. Bound to another man in matrimony, a silly mistake you had made before ever seeing the light. 

The aftertaste of tea suddenly tastes putrid on his tongue. His sweet mate, too impatient to wait for him in that lifetime. You’d fucked other men in other lives, and though it had always made his stomach turn, John could understand. But marriage? 

His teeth threaten to shatter under the pressure of his clenching jaw. 

When the sound comes back to him, his eyes comprehend the expression on your face. Discomfort — near disdain. In this universe, John Price is not your lover. He is a man, and only that. One who just so happens to be barring you from the exit. 

He remembers himself, and smiles at you kindly as he quickly steps to the side, muttering an apology with a jaw that’s much too stiff. And still, he reaches behind him to hold the door open for you, and despite your apprehension you thank him quietly and say goodbye before you vanish into the streets. Your smell lingers in the air next to him for only a moment before it dissipates and drowns in the aroma of herbs and teas. His face goes cold as he glares at the corner where his now cold tea sits. 

This was the first life he ever lived where you married a man that wasn’t him. Something broke. Shattered in his chest where the shards cut him apart from the inside out. When he breathes in, he can smell the blood pooling inside of him and it wakes him up to the terrible realization that — for once in his many, many lifetimes — he’s late. He’s late, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

As the sweet smell of tea fades and is replaced by the putrid aroma of London, John tells himself to let it go. So what he wasted thirty plus years just for your heart to already be stolen away from him? There’s a millennia behind him, and a millennia ahead of him. When one life doesn’t go right for him, there’s always the next. Yet as pavement turns to brick and The Thames sprawls out in front of him beyond metal bars, he finds himself hesitating. The idea of letting go can’t quite sink its tendrils into his mind, and his knuckles grow white as he grips the barrier in front of him. 

Bitter wind bites at his face as he looks at the water below him. Hesitation. He doesn’t know why it paralyzes him. There’s never been any need or use for second guesses, because he’s always known what’s waiting for him on the other side. All he needs to do is lift his leg, hoist himself up, and then let gravity do the rest. He’s done it before, in some other life. He’s felt his body hit the frigid water with needle-like pain blossoming across his skin just before it swallows him whole. It’s not an easy way to die, but it’s the only thing violent enough that has the capability of smothering the bitterness growing in his heart. 

The answer to his confusion comes as a whisper on the back of his neck, where it tingles until it reaches the base of his spine and flutters throughout every cell of his body. Principle. It’s the principle of it all. In every single life, you’ve been his lover, his wife, the mother of his children, and if you are not, then you are dead. Rotten. Decaying in some grave by the time he finally finds you. You’re not just his desire, the love of his life, his reason for being; you are his right. 

How long can someone love a soul before it becomes theirs? Before it’s ripped out of their lover and tucked safely away into a cage? 

John chuckles as his hand slips from the railing, and he slides them into his pockets as if he had been enjoying the view of grey water and even more grey skies this entire time. Kill himself? No; you’ve been his this entire time. You just don’t know it yet. 

He’s only ever done this a few times before; kidnap someone. In a few of his past lives, he’s been a soldier. A stone-hardened man who’s stolen families as bartering tools to make terrorists talk when their mouths were otherwise sealed shut. Killing is a good way for him to let out the anger that builds in a man’s soul after so long, and though he prefers to keep it to people who deserve it, his fingers can’t help but twitch as he watches your husband drop you off at the yoga studio. 

Doesn’t he — your husband — deserve it? Death? Shouldn’t he pay the ultimate price for stealing you away from your true lover? The man who’s looked after you for eons? John wants to do it. Kill him. Smell the sanguine aroma that mixes with the harsh gunpowder that expels after a bullet is shot. He wants to, and he could do it, but murder muddles things up more than he would like, and though he’s good at covering his trail, he’d rather steal you away without incident. He’s been carefully plotting this ever since he saw you in that tea shop all those days ago; he can’t ruin it. 

A smile pulls at his lips as he thinks about the look on your husband's face, when his pretty little pretend wife doesn’t return home. When he realizes how he’s failed you.

John’s hands tap at the steering wheel as he waits, patient as ever, for your session to end. Silly of you to go to a night class, really. Even sillier of your husband to allow such a terrible thing. If anything, it's greater proof that this new man in this new life isn’t good for you. It could have been anyone sitting in that car park, waiting for you to leave. Waiting to take you home.

Good thing it’s only him. 

John exits the car just before eight. Cool air does its best to calm the electricity sizzling in his veins, but ultimately it’s his own mind that stills his nerves. Everything is planned out in his mind with moves expertly rehearsed in a past now forgotten, yet still ingrained in his memory; he knows he’ll get exactly what he wants. You. It’s all he craves. All he ever does. 

You exit the studio with a laugh and a wave goodbye to the other women in your yoga class. That pathetic husband of yours is late, which only proves to be good fortune for John as he slips by your side. His feet are dangerously silent on the pavement and his arm is just as warm as ever as he wraps it around your waist, blade in hand. Even through the fabric of your shirt its point is noticeably sharp, and your feet stumble as he presses it against you in warning. 

“Not a word, darling,” he whispers, too saccharine to be a stranger. 

You listen, just like he knew you would, and he steers you away from the pavement and into the car park. It’s difficult for him not to chuckle as he recalls you in another life. How you once batted your pretty lashes at him, all but begging him to use a knife in bed with you. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the cold sting of it against your skin. He wonders if some part of you feels that way in this life. 

Once you reach the car, he slips the zip ties over your wrists in a single fluid motion before opening the door for you. Any onlookers would just think he’s being a gentleman helping you into the car like that, but there’s a method to his madness. As soon as you’re seated into the passengers side, your eyes meet his and they widen with terrified recognition. Not quite the look he hoped for from you, but your expression quickly melts away the moment a needle pierces through your pants and into your thigh. All that’s left to do is buckle you in and drive off. 

He likes to pretend he’s carrying you to your honeymoon room as he curls you up into his arms. A sweet bride, passed out against his chest as he carries you to bed, safe in the confines of the cage he’s spent that entire lifetime preparing for you. You don’t stir when he places you in bed, but he lays down next to you as if both of you are resting. He lays in front of you so he can see your face while it’s peaceful; not while it’s twisted with confusion and disgust like it was in the tea shop a few days ago. No, he likes you much better like this. Quiet and pliant. 

The tips of his fingers trace the features of your face, and it’s a dance he’s grown to have well memorized. They brush your lips and the tip of your nose before dipping underneath your jaw where they continue to wander. It doesn’t feel wrong, even though he knows you’d beg to differ. He’s done this before, in a life you don’t remember. Touch you like this. Feeling the dip between your breasts and the skin of your stomach. He pats your hands, still bound together with a zip tie — he tells himself he’ll remove them once you start behaving — before caressing your thighs. He wants to slip upwards, to brush his thumb against your clit just like how he knows you like it, but he refrains. He’ll wait until you wake up to do that. Your gasps are always sweeter when you’re aware. 

The sweet bliss of numb eternity melts away as the drugs begin to wear off, and when your eyes flutter open you’re met with the face of a stranger. Truly, he’s not a stranger at all. Or, at least that’s what John would have you believe with the knowing smile he gives you. Your bound hands move up and press against his chest, desperately attempting to earn some space between the two of you. This only makes him laugh, and his hand rests on top of yours. 

“Easy, darling,” he soothes.

An incoherent response stumbles out from your lips just as fearful tears swell in your eyes. His hand pants yours against his chest before he frowns. The gemstone on your wedding ring stands out like a sore thumb against his palm, and it serves as a stark reminder as to why he had to do all this in the first place. You don’t — or can’t — fight against him as he slips the ring off your finger and places it on the nightstand next to him. He’ll dispose of it properly another time, but for now he just can’t stand to see that proof of ownership on you. 

“Please.” It’s the first word you’re able to slur out, and John hangs onto the syllable like it’s dessert. “W-Whatever you want… please… my husband, h-he’ll give it to you just… let me go, please.” 

Husband. He hates that word on your lips when it’s not in reference to him. 

“I’ve already gotten what I want, love,” he whispers. 

Your eyes wrench shut and tears fall free at the realization that there’s nothing you can do to get away from this crazed man. He shushes you as he holds your face in his hands and presses his lips against your forehead. It’s not enjoyable, the way you recoil from him, but giving you the same love he’s given you in every other life feels right. It feels more wrong to withhold it from you. 

Because this is his right, isn’t it? Of course it is, and in some sort of way, you seem to know this too. Your hands no longer press against his chest in disdain, and it’s all too easy to prop himself up on his elbow and press his lips against yours. The pressure is firm, as if he’s holding himself back from taking more from you. He groans at the taste of salt on your lips, and nearly chuckles at the way you tremble. It’s a one-sided embrace that you refuse to return, but he tells himself you’ll learn otherwise soon enough. 

When John pulls away, your eyes refuse to focus on him as the shame eats you from the inside out. Your entire body is limp, bound hands resting against your stomach as he sits up. Deciding you’ve been behaving well enough, he reaches for the knife on the nightstand and he turns back to you, ready to cut the ties from your wrists. 

The very moment the glint of the knife catches your eye is the moment you begin to squirm. Legs thrash and mess up the sheets as you scramble away from him until your head and back is pressed against the headboard. Your chest heaves violently as your terror overtakes you, and John pauses as you retreat. He’s never seen you look at him like that; not in any life he’s ever lived.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises. 

“Please don’t,” you beg, his assurance falling on deaf ears. Your pleas turn into mindless stuttering for a moment before something visibly breaks in you, forcing you to share a secret that feels like sealing your death: “Please, you can’t just- I- I’m pregnant! Please!” 

Everything stops. The world. His heart. It all falls quiet except for the sound of your hyperventilating which is almost as deafening as the ringing in his ears. Pregnant. Anything kind in John’s eyes dies quietly as he clenches the knife in his hand. 

Pregnant. Not with his child. It must be a lie — it has to be a lie. You don’t look pregnant. There is no swelling of your stomach. Yet your hands lie on your lower abdomen as if you’re cradling something. Cradling someone. You have never been good at lying in any of your lives, and the candor sheen in your eyes tells him you’re not good at lying in this one, either. 

John tells himself he only wants to embrace you. To mourn the life the two of you could have had if you only behaved. He doesn’t register why you’re screaming until the blood covers his hands, and then you fall quiet. His knife sinks into your stomach like it’s butter, and it pulls free from you even easier. You stare up at him, confused. As if you can’t comprehend why he would do this to you.

Ichor flows free from you like a river, and all you can do is gasp and paw at your wound. Your legs flail as John pulls you against his chest, chin resting on top of your head as if this is something he can soothe away with a hug. It’s not. He can’t soothe away your betrayal. Can’t come to terms with the fact you carry another man’s child when you should be carrying his. 

“I know,” he shushes with a strained voice. “I know. It’ll be over soon.” 

Your death is not kind, and he mourns every minute you bleed in his arms until you eventually still. It’s only when your blood goes cold that he allows himself to cry. Angry, hot tears that sear his skin as they soak into your hair. Damn this ruined life. Damn the years he wasted trying to find you only for you to be soiled by the time you were in his grasp. He hates the gore that stains your being, but he assures himself it was necessary. 

In every life, you belong to him. In the lives that you don’t, you’re already dead. 

John carefully places your body back on the mattress where he takes in the sight of you. There’s no more glow to your skin, not like there was while you were alive. But you’re dead, and he knows the life inside of you is dead, too. He tries to take comfort in that fact before angling the knife towards himself. 

Killing himself is easier than killing you, as driving the knife into his throat is a well practiced motion. It’s something he’s done before, and he’s so used to it he doesn’t even groan at the sting as the blade slices his artery. Darkness is quick to cloud his vision as the blood loss overwhelms him, and he sputters and stares down at your cold body below. There is little comfort he feels when his blood meets yours on the stained sheets of the bed he wished to love you on. The mixing of blood is the only bond the two of you will ever have in that life. 

He coughs as he falls forward. Soon, he has no use for any sort of comfort at all. 

There is no blood in your next life. No iron taste in your mouth, or rotten flesh haunting your nose. No, there is only ink, paper, and well loved books. 

You love your job. Books are your livelihood; the tool you use to escape reality on rainy days, so it only makes sense that in this life you work as a librarian. The building is dated with poorly insulated windows, and a bell that chimes as another patron enters, but that’s what makes it charming. Millions of words have been consumed in that library, and they linger in a way that never leaves you feeling alone. 

Several books sit tucked safely in your arms as you wander aisles, on the hunt to return them home. Every shelf is well memorized. You could find any book in that building blind folded, and you hum to yourself as you go to return Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself to its rightful home on the top shelf of the WXYZ aisle. 

Your feet are nimble as you climb the step stool to reach the shelf. It nearly reaches the ceiling, which is no small feat for a building of that size. Your arm stretches over your head and you breathe in the scent of stale paper and well loved books. Just as your fingers slide the item into place, the stool below you jerks, and your stomach drops as you fall to the side. 

The books in your arms tumble onto the ground, but you’re saved from that same fate as a pair of arms swoop around you. You squeak as your hands grip the shirt of your savior, and you look up with wild eyes at the man. John Price is younger in this life when he finds you. In his twenties this go around. His face is clean shaven, but his eyes still hold the wisdom of forgotten ages and dead worlds. 

“Terribly sorry, darling,” he apologizes. His grip on you loosens, but he doesn’t quite cut you free just yet. “You alright?” 

“Yes, thank you, I… good save,” is all you can manage through a breathless chuckle. 

There’s an innocence in your eyes that has John smiling at you. His hands are kinder in this life. The angry claws that ended your previous life don’t exist anymore. They do not wield a knife in anger; they only hold you with unbridled adoration. It’s the way things are supposed to be, with you in his arms and looking up at him with that innocent gaze, just the way he likes you. For a moment, John worries that you somehow recognize him when you tilt your head, yet as you bashfully return his smile, he takes comfort in knowing that you don’t remember anything. 

You don’t remember anything at all. 

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

some announcement!

I will close commission after May 5th 2024 :D so get em while you still can

my kofi link

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

The Usual Please - Gaz x Reader Bakery AU

Kyle is a loyal customer to the bakery down the road from his flat. Everyday after working out at the gym he stops by to order the same thing. Two muffins, a cinnamon roll and a coffee with lots of sugar and creamer. He sits down at his usual spot, his routine perfectly set. Only its not the sweet older lady who takes his order but you. By the lilt of your voice and the way you bat your eye lashes, he wants to find out if you're just as sweet as he believes you are.

A New Face

Night Time Activities

Buttercream Frosting

Sugar Sweet

Bittersweet Goodbye

Cookies and Brownies

10 weeks

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Wait until i got you in my hands (or in this case under my jaw 🦈)

Anyway since you're asking fluff for Simon (and i hope you don't twist it in the end because I'll trust you for this once and you're not Chucky), what about Simon having cuteness aggression, everybody? Mmhm you have chubby face and it's undeniable fact that they sometimes look like dumpling or steamed buns. Just Simon can't keep his hands from touching or pinching your cheeks, and even better if he also bit them.

mercy plss sharkieeee 🦈 as always ty for the ideas tho 💖 happy to see u again!!!

Simon loves your chubby and adorable face

1.

“What Simon? Why you keep staring at me?”

“dumplings”

“what dumplings?”

“your cheeks.”

“huh?...SIMON STOP CHEWING MY CHEEK—$;@/!@;&”

2.

You two are lying on your shared bed. You’re facing him and scrolling your phone, too concentrated on the fanfic you’re reading that you haven’t notice Simon’s gaze on your face.

“...” you expression’s same as straight face emoji when your lover abruptly pinches your cheeks.

“sorry.” he says without any apology in his tone while kneading your cheeks.

“My face isn’t mochi, Simon.”

“I know.”

“Then can you stop rubbing them like they are?”

“No.”

3.

A nice Sunday morning, peaceful, and you leisurely walk to the living room, expecting seeing Simon there as usual.

“Good morning, baby.” You greet him immediately when you see his figure, his back’s facing you, seeming busy doing something.

“Hey, love.” He gives you a kiss on your cheek like he always do, but he sounds a bit of excited today.

“What do we have for breakfast?”

“I make a you.”

“What does that mean?”

You lean closer to him when he hands you the plate.

“This is you.”

“...”

You don’t even want to argue when you see two little buns are placing at each side of a smiling face egg that’s grinning at you.

4.

Simon gets kicked out to buy the groceries after the breakfast.

“He better remember to buy some ice cream for me” You mumble.

Well, he does keep that in mind when he comes back an hour later.

“Got you some ice creams.” Simon tells you while fishing them out under your expecting eyes.

“New brand?” You pick up the carton when you can’t recognize the brand of it.

“...Simon.”

“It looks like you, it’s cute.” He doesn’t forget to give your cheeks a few pokes whilst you staring at the rabbit mascot on the box with two obviously chubby cheeks.

5.

(later, Simon texting)

Ghost: Soap, how to apologize to your partner

Soap: what did you do to them LT.?

Ghost: I just showed my love to their cheeks

Soap: Not you anger them with same reason again

Soap: Send some cute pictures to them and buy them some snacks?

Ghost: Can I send this?

Soap: I guess you just want to die, LT.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Captain

Younger!Captain John Price x Reader

Summary:  Price just got promoted to captain, and then inadvertently discovers he really likes it when you call him by his new title. Like, he really likes it. How do we celebrate this new promotion and self discovery?? By fucking in an elevator of course! Warnings: SMUT!! So much fucking smut. Established relationship. P in V. Oral (male receiving). Fingering (female receiving). Fucking in an elevator ?? Listen this is just so fucking filthy. Porn with some plot. But also of course I had to end it with fluff because I don’t know when to stop.  I don’t fucking know how elevators work. We go with it. 

Also, check out this beautiful piece of art by @ wombywoo for the most beautiful Captain Price photo inspiration

“I knew you’d look good in these new dress blues,” you smirked, brushing off invisible lint from John’s jacket with your spare hand as you admired the glint of the many medals and honorifics that decorated your husband’s chest—including the three shiny gold stars that represented his new rank. Your other hand held a pair of high heels as uncomfortable as they were stunning and you had rid your aching feet of the offending items as soon as you and John were in the relative privacy of the elevator, heading up to your hotel suite. The swanky hotel was a little surprise of yours to John, knowing he wouldn’t want to travel all the way back home after a long day of ceremony and celebration.

You and John had just left the ceremony honoring his latest promotion to Captain. It was a night full of pride, honor, and maybe just a few too many glasses of wine post-ceremony, if you were being honest. 

“I was under the impression you thought I look good in everything,” John drawled, his lips twitching upwards, a hint of a smile gracing his face. 

“Oh is that so…Captain Price,” you playfully quipped and watched as John’s lips curved upwards even more, a slight flush creeping up his neck. 

You opened your mouth to comment again on his new rank, enjoying the momentary power trip–it wasn’t often you could incite this kind of reaction from your lover, when a soft ding  warned you that the elevator had reached your floor. You smothered your frown, taking a step off the elevator before stumbling over the silken hem of your gown. A strong hand gripped your elbow to steady you, another reaching around to rest firmly on your waist. Before you could attempt another step, a force abruptly pulled you backwards, your back pressing against John’s muscled torso. His warm breath caressed your neck as he dipped his head low. “Say it again,” he all but growled, his lips ghosting your neck in a way that sent heat straight to your core. You couldn’t help the slight arch of your back in response, noting with pure satisfaction the reaction you were garnering from John. You could feel his hardened arousal through the pristine dress slacks, and your cunt clenched in response. 

“Well now, love, here’s the thing,” you tease, pressing your backside against his hardened member and relishing John’s sharp intake of breath in response. “I don’t take orders from you.” You felt the rumble deep in his chest as he took the bait, his fingers all but slamming the keypad to shut the doors to the elevator. Confusion flitted across your face, but John didn’t even hesitate as he forcefully pressed the bright red stop button to halt the elevator completely.

A brief alarm sounded, followed by a robotic voice that was no doubt meant to sound soothing as it reassured passengers that the elevator had been stopped and help would be arriving soon. Understanding began to dawn as John released his hold on you, and you turned to see his familiar blue eyes peering down at you, ravenous. 

“If you don’t take orders from me,” John’s voice was low and steady, a hint of that tameless lust just under the surface. “Then please, do tell me, who do you take orders from?” He took a step closer, towering above you with a piercing glare. Reflexively, you took a step back. Well, tried to–the elevator door pressed up against you, and you weren’t  sure if it was the sudden coolness of the metal or the heat of your husband's gaze that caused the shiver that shot up your spine. 

“Well, that would be…” you  swallowed hard, wracking your brain for a name, any name. “Umm,”  you attempted to buy yourself time, but you felt as though every coherent thought you’d ever had eddied out of your mind, a ravenous need overtaking your entire body. All you could think about is John and how damned good he looked in that fucking uniform. As if reminding yourself, your eyes trailed downward, soaking in every last detail of his new dress uniform. Your gaze stopped short upon seeing the evident outline of his arousal and you instinctively bit down on your bottom lip to conceal your moan. 

John took another step to you, quickly closing the small distance between you two. You felt his firm grip on your chin, forcing your head to tilt up and meet his gaze. Passion burned in his eyes and you felt the last of your resolve melting away. Fuck being witty right now, you thought to yourself, I need this. As if he read your mind, John’s lips crashed against yours and your entire body ignited with need. Your fingers tangled in his hair and every inch of your body pressed up against him. John’s hands gracefully slid down your hips, cupping the upper back of your thighs. You took the sign for what it was, giving a little jump as he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He didn’t even break the kiss, just pressed your back against the doors of the  elevator, grinding his erection into your core. The friction was practically electric and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips as you break the kiss. You leaned your head against the steel frame and John’s lips moved to your newly exposed neck, sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh. He took the thin strap of your gown between his teeth and  before you could so much as utter a warning, he ripped it straight from the gown. Without its integral support, the delicate satin of the bust fell down, exposing one of your breasts. 

“God damn it, John, that was expensive,” you chastised halfheartedly, your chest rapidly rising and falling as he once again ground into you. As if in apology, John peppered kisses across your exposed breast before taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. Your complaints died in your throat as your body became alight with pleasure. As he continued his ministrations, he pinned you against the wall with his body, freeing one hand to gently slide your remaining strap down your arm, exposing the other breast in a manner completely opposite to its torn counterpart. John switched his attention to the other breast, gingerly taking your other nipple into his mouth. He took a moment to adjust your position against the elevator, one hand cupping your ass as the other hand slid between your bodies. For the second time that night you heard John’s sharp intake of breath as he brushed your bare self. 

“Are you really telling me you didn’t wear underwear to such a formal event?” he breathed out, barely concealing his moan at finding you bare and ready for him. “For fuck’s sake,” he breathed out, “you are so wet for me.”

You couldn’t help but let out a slight breathy laugh. “I told you I like the uniform,” you panted before your sassy remarks were replaced by cries of pleasure as two of John’s fingers plunged into your aching cunt. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer. 

John. John. John. 

Your body was lost in the passion, his lips on your breasts, his fingers curling towards himself, hitting that spot that makes you see fucking stars. He’s relentless, devouring you–mind, body, and soul.  Before you knew it, you were on the brink of pure bliss. “John,”  you gasped, “I’m going to come,” you warned, though you knew it wasn’t necessary. Knowing your husband and all your years together, he knows exactly when you’re on the edge just as well as he knows exactly how to pleasure you to get you there. He is as in tune with your moans and sighs of pleasure as he is with his own heartbeat. 

His fingers picked up the pace, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Come for me, my love,” John purred in your ear, and the low timbre of his voice combined with the heat of his words had you tumbling over the edge of pleasure, his name on your lips as stars crossed your vision. 

You slowly drifted back to reality as John pressed soft kisses across your chest, trailing up your neck and back to your lips. He set you down on shaky legs, supporting you with his strong grip. 

Having finally caught your breath, you took a second to take stock of the sight before you: John’s dark hair, once perfectly styled, now a mess, the ironed jacket now crumpled and partially undone, and worse of all, those brand new dress pants now clearly soaked through with a mix of  his precum and your juices. The sight had your mouth watering. You fell to your knees before the captain, hands reaching up to unfasten his belt. It fell to the floor with a satisfying clank, but you didn’t even flinch.Your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip as you oh-so-slowly began to free John's cock. 

A low hiss escaped John’s lips as you took his bulging member into your hand. Your hand glided across the surface, eyes drinking in the veritable feast before you. No matter how many times you had been with John, his size always took you by surprise. The length, the girth, the thick vein that ran along the underside. Sliding back the uncut skin, your attention shifted to the deep red head, your thumb swiping a bead of precum from the tip. John’s gasp only encouraged you to lean forward and take the tip into your mouth, his fingers instantly tangling in your hair. Your mouth slid down his length, struggling to take as much of him in as you could. You used your hand to take whatever couldn’t fit in your mouth, and your mouth and hand worked in tandem to pleasure him. John’s quiet moans and growls of pleasure only spurred you on, and you worked to take more of him in your mouth. Only once the head of his cock hit the back of your throat did you stop, looking up at him with tears in your eyes, mascara trailing down your cheek. His loving gaze peered down at you, his lips ajar as he panted with need. 

The sight of you, on your knees before him, looking up at him from under your dark lashes, his cock resting in your mouth–it almost sent him over the edge. It took everything he had to pull himself out of your mouth. You sat on your knees, looking up at him as he closed his  eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. A brief moment of uncertainty flashed across your face,  “Was it…not good for…” you trailed off, slightly confused why he stopped you. You weren’t one to brag, but you certainly hadn’t had any complaints before. Before you could even finish the sentence, John pressed a finger to your lips. “You’re perfect,” he breathed out. “I wasn’t going to last like that,” he finished, a small smile at the edge of his lips as he helped lift you to your feet. “And I’m not done with you,” he growled as his lips crashed against yours once more, but this time there was even more urgency in his kiss. He pressed your back against the elevator wall, sliding the skirt of your dress up your hips so he could lift you up again. Your legs wrapped around his waist, causing his throbbing member to brush up against your soaking wet cunt. Biting back a groan, John repositioned his hips to line up with your entrance.  With a growl, he slid home, your earlier orgasm helping his cock slide in with ease. You can feel and hear the groan deep in John’s throat as he bottoms out, the head of his cock brushing against your cervix. 

John’s forehead dipped to touch yours, his unsteady breathing matching yours. His hips froze as he waited for you to adjust. You waited a few beats, relishing the delicious stretch, before you gave a nod of approval. Supporting you with his hands, he pulled out, all the way to the tip, before slamming home. Your head fell back to the cool metal wall as you gasped in pleasure. John continued the action, hips colliding with yours, every thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you. Your moans got louder, joining in the symphony of your bodies slapping against one another, the soft beat of your body against the wall of the elevator as John railed into you. 

It was too much. Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, and you didn’t think  you could take much  more. “Yes,” you cred out,  “Yes, Fuck me, Captain,” you pant out, extra emphasis placed on his title. John’s hips stuttered at hearing  that word on  your  lips  once more . With a growl he slammed into you even harder. “Again,” his voice so low it sent a shiver straight to your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged, as his hips piston in and out of you with abandon, veritably nailing you to the wall with his cock. He hit that delicious spot deep within you and every thrust pulled  you closer and closer to  bliss.  “Captain,” you cried out before biting John’s shoulder as your orgasm crests, washing over you in endless waves of pleasure. You bit down harder than intended, but you don’t have time to regret it, not as John loses all semblance of control, thrusting into you with abandon. He thrust into you once, twice, and a final time as he came with a grunt of pleasure and his hips stuttered as he flooded you with his come. 

Your breaths were ragged, foreheads pressed against each other, feeling every twitch of his cock deep inside you. After a few beats, John withdrew, gently lowering you to the ground on legs that felt less than stable. He made sure to tuck himself back into his uniform and  adjust the remaining strap on your dress. You kept your grip on him, balancing yourself, as you felt his hot seed start to drip down your leg. An attempted step forward proved to be too much in your addled state, your leg threatening collapse as soon as you tried to step away from John. Without a word, John scooped you up into his arms, just like on your wedding night, before pressing a series of buttons on the elevator keypad. The elevator gave a small jolt back to life, and you found yourself thankful that John was holding onto you so tightly. Like nothing happened, John stepped off the lift and crossed you over to your suite.

You dozed in and out of consciousness in your blissed-out, post-orgasmic state, but came to as John gingerly laid you on the bed. He  helped slide you out of your dress, and you made a mental note to berate him in the morning for ruining your dress, already mapping out when he would take you shopping for its replacement. You watched in silence as John disassembled his uniform and set it out almost reverently before crawling into bed next to you. Rolling onto your side, you laid your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I am so  proud of you, Captain Price,” you murmured. His hand trailed slow,  lazy circles over  your arm and down your back, pulling you closer into him. “Everything I do is for you,” John replied, his voice barely  above a whisper. He pressed his lips to the top of  your head, “I love you.” 

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

💥slams into your room like a ragoll

Some fluff idea for you, with Simon

Simon, who loved discovering new things about you, whether it was the way your eyes crinkled more than other smiles when you were super excited to share something, something you'd hyperfixate on for the next four months or so, or the way your giggles gave you away before you could even tell him the story.

So how about writing this, he leans about the lil nose scrunches you do when he kisses the tip of your nose today…and he starts kissing more all over your face just to find out what else you do at certain places he kiss, sending you into a giggling blushing mess :3

- ya not so suspicious panda 🐼

you better repair my door u evil panda

A whole bag of sugar’s been added into this drabble

Simon Exploring Your Cute Reactions

Simon’s in love with your little reactions, hence discovering new things from you is his daily mission.

Like how you accidentally added salt instead of sugar into your tea yesterday, and stuck your tongue out when the unexpected saltiness hit you.

or how you yelled out his name in a hurried tone, and as he rushed to check if you were alright, it was just you showing him the flower you tried to grow finally had a little bud after countless times of failure.

He sometimes wonders why you have so many different expressions, but he sees this part of you as a treasure chest, providing sparkles of anticipation to his life.

Now Simon sits on the couch, with you sitting on his lap, reading the ‘For Plant Killers: how to keep a plant without needing a brain’ book. He looks at you burying your face in the pages with a serious frown, the urge to kiss you is too difficult for him to resist.

“Oh!” You let out a little squeak as you raise your head from the book, eyes wide with curiosity, like a surprised bunny, his mind notes it as he plants another kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Hey, what you doing?” Your little nose scrunches at the touch, triggering his enjoyment with how cute you’re doing it.

Simon just shakes his head, and continues exploring.

Another kiss lands on your eyelid this time, your feather-like eyelashes flutter as you giggle at the itchy feeling.

“Stop you silly man, what are you doing?” You catch his cheeks between your palms after he gives your temple a kiss that lasts longer.

You’re a blushing mess right now, face inches from his, so he’s able to take a good look at the pink smears across your face, making you more vivid and splendid.

“Researching.” He shrugs.

“Well, now’s my time to do some research.”

The chuckles are unstoppable as you start your revenge, from the brushing of your lips at his jawline, a open mouth kiss on his face, to the light pecks at his freckles.

“Not so composed now, huh?” A devious grin plays on your glossy lips when you take a rest from your attacks, looking at him with joy-glinting eyes.

He knows his face is red like an apple now, he can sense the heat gathering at his cheeks, but in front of you, there’s no need to hide his true emotions. Not to mention, he’s on the cusp of victory, since the ace card for this cheeky game of you two is between his fingers.

“Do you remember to water your plant today?”

“oh shit!” Realization strikes you like lightning. You jump off his lap, leaving Simon a glimpse of your hasty figure as you disappear behind the corner.

Tons of discoveries today, he licks his chops while taking a sip from the lukewarm tea.

What will he find tomorrow? He leans back and taps unconsciously at your book. You’re like a mystery bag, he doesn’t think he’s able to guess what’s inside, but hey, your priceless demeanors are worth spending time exploring, and he’s already looking forward to tomorrow’s investigation.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

~The Rally Driver~

Warnings: A bit of swearing. Death. Guns.

Synopsis: You and the 141 get in a car chase. You're the driver.

Perfect song to listen to while reading.

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You rarely had a mission in the heart of a city. But there you were, in the heart of London hauling ass down a street, the boys hot on your heels. You all tuckered yourself around an alleyway hiding from the array of bullets. 

“This is a shit show,” Price grunted as he checked the nick on his arm. 

“Yeah no shit,” you chuckled nervously, going to reload only to find you were out of ammo. 

“I'm out,” As you chucked the empty magazine to the side, your head snapped up at the sound it made. Your eyes took in what you assumed was a car under a fancy-looking tarp. 

“Hold on, I've got an idea,” you announced. The boys barely spared you a glance as you walked up to the car, yanking the cover off. A low, impressed whistle left your lips as you took it in. A 1969 Dodge Charger painted in a sexy navy black sat in front of you. You almost cried as you slammed your elbow into the window, smashing it. Slipping in, you worked a little magic. (Stabbing a small knife into the ignition and turning it). The engin roared to life, gathering the boy's attention.

“Get in bitches!” You called excitedly. Quickly, they piled into the car. Simon in the passenger seat, Price, Gaz and Jonny in the back, left to right in the respective order.

"Seatbelts on," you called.

"Nows not really the time to be worrin about taht love," Jonny chuckled.

"Seat belts save lives. Put them on or I'm turning this car around," you threatened.

"Were not even moving," Jonny grumbled but they all obeyed. As soon as you heard all four clicks you took off. You slammed the gear stick forward and put the pedal to the metal. You gave all the boys whiplash as you tore out of the alleyway. 

“She's got a bit more of kick then I though,” you chuckled excitedly, ignoring the boy's desperate need to get there seat belts on. Guessing your position in the car the enemies got off a few shots, the glass from the rear window shattering and running down upon you all. You shoot through the gears, zooming down the street. Gaz let out a strangled scream as his body was pushed into the back of the seat. Now the streets of London weren't necessarily long, they were a maze of old and new architecture. Which meant there were a lot of sharp turns. With expertise you skidded, turned and slipped around every corner with ease, rarely losing the speed you were building up. 

“You're crazy!” Jonny yelled.

“Don't worry, crazy people can still drive,” you shoot back. As the group held on for their life, you couldn't help but smile at the thrill driving gave you. 

“PEOPLE! PEOPLE! PEOPLE!” Price yelled, pointing to the group of drunken club goers crossing the street.

“Dont fucken back seat drive. I can see them” you yelled, swinging the car to the side, missing the group, and using the sidewalk as your new road. You took a sharp intake of breath when you saw the restaurant that had seating set up on said sidewalk. The road next to you was filled with cars so you couldn't move. You slammed your hand down on the horn, the few occupants quick to scramble out of the way as they saw the car barreling maliciously towards them. The car plowed through the seat tables and food. Simon stared at you as you casually flicked the wipers on, cleaning the window from the wine and food.

“Oh that smells lovely. We should get dinner there next time,” you suggested casually as you returned the car to the actual road. 

“TRUCK!” Simon yelled as he spotted a truck pulling out of an alleyway. Jerking your hand break up, you turned quickly, slowing just enough for the corner of the truck to scrape along the driver's side of the car. The screeching sound of metal on metal filled your ears as the side mirror disappeared in the near miss. 

“That didn't sound good,” you  mumbled, hanging half out of the window to look at the damage.

“GET INSIDE THE FUCKEN CAR!” Gaz yelled.

“Alright, I think everyone just needs to calm down,” you said gently, turning around to face the panicked passengers. As you did so she caught the look of a certain pissed of enemies pursuing you in another car. 

“KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!” Simon yelled. He looked hilarious, propping his large body the best he could in the corner of the seat. “Hey don't tell me how to drive. Why don't you be useful and use your little toy on our little friends” you asked slowly turning back to the front to return to driving. The boys turned round, spotting your pursuers. Simon threw half his body out the window as he started to fire, and they fired right back. The rest of the boys quickly joined Simon's efforts. 

“Does anyone have a map?” you asked casually through the gun fire. Simon cursed as his gun ran out of bullets. 

“No, we don't have a fucken map,” Ghost growled as he slipped back into his seat, throwing the gun down. Coming to a roundabout you smoothly drifted the car round Gaz struggling to understand the physics of a car driving sideways.

“Should you even be driving?” Gaz yelled. He had given up returning fire and handed his gun to Jonny. He was much more focused on the danger in the car. 

“I don't think so. You know I think there should be a law that if you fail your driving test ten times, then you shouldn't ever get one,” you chuckled, half jokingly.

“YOU FAILED YOUR DRIVING TEST TEN TIMES!?” Gaz screamed just about to pass out from the fear. “Of course not,” you reached back, patting his knee comfortingly.

“It was more like eighteen,” you stated. 

“Oh lord help me,” he whispered. The boys grinned at the interaction.

“I'm out,” Price announced. Jonny got off a few more shots before repeating his words. The poor night  inhabitants of the town were plunged into confusion at the cars that drove through there streets like rally drivers. A rally driver would be the only way the boys could describe your driving. It scared them shitless. But they had to admit, you were good, really good. You were quickly forming distance with the other car. Ghost reached across you where you usually held your gun.

“Lieutenant, so forward?” you chuckled. 

“Gun,” the simple word was meant to explain what he was doing. 

“Safe word?” you asked teasingly, making him look up at you with a small glare. A glare that momentarily faltered due to your close proximity. He hated to admit it, but his body flushed in attraction. You pose having one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick and the annoying smirk sent his heart racing. You chuckled at what you assumed was an are you serious look. You grabbed his hand and moved it to your lower back, sliding it down to meet the gun you had tucked into the back of your pants. Clearing his throat, he pulled the gun free, returning to the window, firing another shoot. 

“Drive straight!” he yelled struggling to keep his balance.

“You shoot straight,” you shoot back but tried your best to steady the car. Steady enough for him to land a hit dead center in the driver's head. To your shock, the passenger kicked the man's body out the door and continued driving.

“Shit,” he hissed, firing off more shots failing to see the fast approaching wall. You did, however. Reaching out, you grabbed onto the first thing your hand landed on. Which just so happened to be his belt buckle. Yanking him back into the car, he narrowly missed decapitation. His eyes snapped down to the grip you had on his belt, your hand pulling the material taunt.

“Close one, lieutenant,” you spared a grin at him, releasing his belt buckle. Simon was surprised, yet not entirely against it. Dare he say, even slightly aroused? 

“This place is like a maze,” you mentioned, taking her time to look at the signs.

“You are way too calm for this,” Simon huffed, going to fire again only to find that he was out of bullets. “Shit,” he whispered. Luckily, after another quick turn it seemed like you had lost them.

“Well, there's no point in panicking. Sure he's firing at us but there a terrible shot. Ain't that right boss?’ you asked, glancing back at Price that for a man with great composure looked like he was about to lose his shit. 

“Please focus on the road!” Price begged.

“Alright well.I feel like I'm taking a tour through this town. Where am i doing?” you asked.

“Head west,” he ordered. “Alright cool,” you nodded, pausing for a few moments. “Which way is west?” you asked.

“Left!” he snapped. Jokingly, you held up your hands. Holding your thumb and index finger into L shapes.

“SARGENT!” Price snapped.

“Ok ok, sorry!” you whispered back, making a quick left turn, a quick left turn that had them headed in the west direction, a direction that put them directly in line with an all too familiar car. The enemy. They had cut you off.

“Shit,” you whispered. Slamming into the break. The car came to a screeching stop. Almost sent Ghost through the windscreen. The driver in the opposite car gave you a shit-eating grin as his allies poked themselves out of the windows.

“Get down!” You yelled. Everyone did so, including you as you slammed the car into reverse, taking off just as fast as you had before. Gritting your teeth, you prayed for luck as they opened fire. Snapping up, you placed your hand on the back of Simon's head rest and not to toot your own horn, but drove like a boss ass bitch. Backwards. At full speed, weaving and jerking side to side doing your best to dodge the bullets. The chase was back on, with you doing your best to drive backwards. Waving and dodging cars as perfectly as you had done before. There just wasn't any room to turn the car around. And your near miss count was going up with every passing second. 

“Oh my god we're gonna die,” Gaz stated simply as he watched you. 

“Not today, bud,” you stated. You saw it, you slammed the hand brake up, throwing the car around barely losing any speed as you returned to forward face driving. Your eyes searched for your exit, anything. Then you saw it, A Little bridge in the distance.

“How long can you guys hold your breath?” you asked.

“What?” Jonny asked.

“Answer the fucking question!” You snapped.

“A long fucking time!” Ghost yelled.

“Alright, everyone, windows down seat belts off,” you ordered.

“Um fuck no,” Gaz stated, simply holding tighter onto his life line.

“Do it now!” You snapped. 

“Wanna fill us in on your plan?” Price asked.

“We're going for a swim. Everyone brace yourself,” you ordered, cutting the lights off. You took a sharp turn at the building, cutting off the view of the car behind. And in one quick jerk, you threw the car off the side of the walkway. You cut the engine just as the car hit the water under the bridge. The car was quickly submerged as you all clambered out. Well, almost all. You grunted as something caught on your ankle. You assumed it was the seat belt. Your hand reached for your knife as it pulled you deeper and deeper into the depths. Only your knife wasn't there. It was in the car's ignition. You reached for it, trying desperately to rip it out to no avail. Shit. You were running out of air as you struggled to untangle your foot. Only you had no light, and you couldn't figure out how it had snagged itself on you. You felt your body getting tired, panic started to set in. Your limited vision started to fade and your lungs burnt for air. Shit, you thought. As you started to acknowledge your possible death, your body went limp as you fought for the last remained of your consciousness. You didn't want to die. There was still so much you wanted to do. God and the boys would never let you down if this was how you would die. They would tease you shitless in the afterlife. You were about to let it go when a set of hands grabbed your shoulders. They gave you a yank, quickly discovering you were caught on something. Their hands patted you down till they found the culprit slicing the seat belt. They swam you back to the surface, you gasping like a fish out of water at the much needed oxygen. Sighs of relief sounded as you briefly caught a glimpse of the skull mask on the face eof the man who kept you afloat resting your upper back on his shoulder.

Ghost had saved you.

“Fucken hell,” Ghost whispered. You couldn't really tell due to the lack of oxygen but you could have sworn you felt him pull you closer to him, his chin pressing against your head in an awkward hug. Price swam over to you, taking your face into his hand.

“You alright, Sargent?” he asked. After a few more gasps of air, you nodded, pulling a thumbs up. 

With deep breaths you all waded in the water waiting as you heard the other car approach. As it drove over the bridge and off into the distance. You had lost them.

“Well, personally, I think that went well,” you said with a cheerful grin. The boys all chuckled as they somewhat relaxed. 

“Do you even have a license?” Gaz asked.

“An Australian one, yes,” you nodded.

“But then again, the police officer doing my test was drunk when I drove him home,” You shrugged casually, earning another set of chuckles. Reaching up you hugged Simon arm tightly. “Thank for saving my ass big guy,” you whispered.

“Don't scare me like that again, you hear me?" he grumbled holding you impossibly closer.

"No promises," you stated.

"Hey what was that bout seat belts saving lives again?" he asked as he sawm you to shore. You simply chuckled shaking your head.

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--COD Master List here--

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[i-am-hungry-24-7]

100 Followers Special: Fic Marathon

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Paper Rings ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

more info on the fic marathon check out this post :) Day 1: Kyle Gaz Garrick

Tags: fluff, reader is insecure about themselves, xgn!reader Notes: ・❥・reader's texts are in purple ・❥・dividers drawn by @gomzdraws ・❥・ this fic was heavily inspired by this twitter post

a/n: starting off nice and sweet with Gaz our bb <;3

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Man, this burger really slaps

Damn right

You were both hanging out at a burger joint during the weekend after finally getting a break from Price. Gaz often invites you out to hang out outside missions, and since then, both of you have been close. Sometimes you were the one that called him up for outings, just casual lunch sessions or visiting each other’s flat. You clicked well with him, and conversation flows easily between you two since you’re both the youngest in 141.

Somewhere along the line, you realised you might have been harbouring feelings for him, but knowing in this field of job being operators and such, relationships are not something that can come easily, and really, with how long you guys have known each other, you’re too afraid to ruin the friendship between you and him. You’d think he thought of you as nothing more than a close friend, a working partner, or just buddies despite already knowing each other for two years or so. 

If anything, you already deemed yourself unfit for him and out of his league. You’re not dumb; you have seen the people he has hooked up with, and their attributes were, if not the complete opposite of what you have, but there is one thing that stayed consistent with his partners.

They all have dark hair like yours.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t move on; because that one detail is enough to fuel your hopes and dreams, that perhaps one day you’ll have a chance.

But today is not that day, or is it?

I really shouldn't have ordered that many fries

Gaz held his stomach as you laughed and shoved his shoulder.

Yeah, but are you still up for desserts? I think the central park had some food trucks around; one of them sells croffles, and I want to try it.

Hm, I think by the time we walk there, I’ll probably have space for it then.

You grin as he gives his tummy a rub. Both of you decided to walk down the street until you reached the town square, which branches off into gardens and other market stores with a fountain in the middle. You looked around with him until you spotted the truck.

Hey, how bout you find a seat, and I’ll get us two croffles, any flavours you want?

Erm, I don’t know. What kinds do they have?

Blueberry cheese, peanut butter almond, strawberry yoghurt, and banana nutella I think there’s one with chocolate as well.

Gaz pondered for a moment before finally deciding on the strawberry yoghurt croffle as he found a spot to sit on the concrete benches near the fountain.

You quickly went ahead and ordered it and returned with both croffles. You ordered the blueberry cheese since it was their top-selling product. 

Oh! These look good; how much was it? 

Gaz lightens up as he takes the croffle from you and reads the receipt. He nods at the appropriate prices before finally taking a bite, humming and enjoying the dessert as you giggle and take yours as well. You do take a bite from his, and he’ll do the same with yours, until a loud scream catches both of your attentions. You instinctively rise from the seat as you follow the source of the voice.

"Yes!! I do!!"

It was a public proposal done by a couple. You give a sigh as you grumble slightly, relieved but also annoyed. Gaz gives you a nudge as he, too, relaxes his shoulder and watches the scene unfold before you two.

It was quite a grand gesture; one of the partners was kneeling on the ground with a big bouquet of roses, and speaking of roses, there were rose petals surrounding the fountain, the other person was happily crying as they wore a ring and hugged their partners.

How nice.

You scoff at the thought and sit back on the benches as Gaz asks you a question that caught you off guard.

Have you ever thought about marriage?

You stopped biting into your croffle as you stared back at him with a bewildered expression.

Marriage? When was the last time you ever thought about things like that? But it is a nice thought—too nice of a thought because you know your days are numbered ever since you stepped into the military. It also doesn’t help when your past relationships ended terribly. But you won’t lie; it is an idea you’ve imagined before.

Retired and with the one you love, spend the rest of your life somewhere quiet, where nothing can harm you or disturb your peace. To enjoy and share those moments with someone you can trust and rely on. 

I have… But I can’t say I’ll do it; I wouldn't even marry myself.

You answer vaguely as he gives a "hmmm" as a response as he leans in close and asks another question with curiosity.

Why not?

You laughed at the question as you sighed and munched on the dessert. You looked at him from the corner of your eye as you rubbed your neck awkwardly.

Too much to handle, to say the least.

You answered back honestly as he blinks and just nods quietly after a while. You noticed he was doing something with his hands, though, and sure enough, he gives you a bright smile as he bumps your shoulder.

Give me your hand.

Why?

Just trust me.

Are you going to dip my hands into something weird again?

Not this time.

….

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously as he gave you a puppy eye and a tilt of his head. You gave in as you raised your left arm for him as he took your palm and slid something into your hand. You held it up as you looked at what on earth he just did-

I’d marry you with paper rings.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches at your throat as you look at the receipt paper from before it was rolled and folded into a ring-like shape, sitting snugly on your fourth finger. You slowly turn your head as you try to remain calm, but you can feel your neck burning up slowly.

You’re an idiot.

He laughed, laughed hard as he shook his head and flashed you a wink as he stood up.

Already heard that one before; maybe try something else, yeah?

There it is, that charming smile of his whenever he is happy, the one that always makes you fall for him harder, a wide grin that flashes his canine and crinkles up the corner of his eyes, this time you can almost spot just a shade of color blooming in his cheeks. You were about to give back another comment before a ringtone stopped you.

Gaz picks up the call as he frowns.

This is Gaz speaking....okay, yes sir, yes... Alright, on our way, sir. Ah y/n, Price just called us in; we needed to be back at base in 10 for a briefing session, then we needed to be sent to another mission again.

You give a nod as both of you promptly leave and walk back to his car.

You’re thankful Price interjected, because if that hadn’t happened, he could probably see how red your ears had become.

He doesn’t know, but you wore the paper ring to the mission too, just covered by your gloves. 

Maybe it was great that you didn’t give up on the hope of being something more than just friends with him. You plan to ask him out after the mission :)

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next fic: Captain John Price :]

taglist: @cathnoneofyourbusiness | @land-lord-lol like and reblog if you enjoyed this fic :D have a good day/night!

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Two-way Trap] Simon “Ghost” Riley*F!Reader

Simon helps you when you tell him your boyfriend cheats on you, or that’s what you both thought.

cw: Simon and Reader aren’t too sane I guess

Simon hugs you tightly when you appear at his door, sobbing as you tell him someone sent you a video anonymously, of your boyfriend tangled with another woman, kissing each other so passionately that you feel nauseous.

He invites you to come in, brews a hot tea for you, lets you have a nice shower since you don’t want to go back to your shared flat with your boyfriend, makes you covered in his scent, drapes on a big hoodie that marks you as his secretly.

He coos softly as you, telling you that shitty man doesn’t deserve such a perfect girl like you, putting on comforting music so you can relax more against his body.

He leads you to the guest room, puts on a night lamp for you, and after you tuck yourself in the blanket, he promises he will always be by your side before he waves you goodnight. He wishes he could just put you on his bed and treat you like a princess, but take everything slow, he reminds himself when you look up at him with those innocent eyes.

He opens his phone when he’s back to his room, sending a message to your boyfriend — or his friend — thanking him for his cooperation, so that he can finally have his angel all to himself.

- - - - - -

You fake the tears when Simon opens his door, words about how your boyfriend who only got together 2 months cheats on you, and you receive a video from an unknown person proving his unholiness.

You manage not to respond too fast when Simon asks you to get in his house, and smears your body with his shower gel. You have the same brand at home because of your boyfriend, but it just feels different when you’re using Simon’s. Burying your face and sniffing at his hoodie when Simon turns around to bring you some tea.

You record the words he says with the phone in your pocket when you cling to him on the sofa, when he reassures you everything will be alright, that you have him and he will help you move out. Melting into arms, hoping he presumes you’re just too relaxed under the music, not that you try to cross the line between you and him.

You let Simon walk you to the guest room when it’s time to sleep. You lie on the bed, a bit unsatisfied that you aren’t sleeping on his bed, the guest room lacks his smell, which you already start missing as he stands at the door and wishes you sweet dreams, but take things slow, you remind yourself when he looks at you with such tender eyes.

You text the woman you hired to seduce your boyfriend after Simon shuts the door, thanking her for doing her job so well, send her the money with an extra tip and close the screen, smiling at the fact that you can finally have the man that should only be yours.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[The Last Dance] Simon “Ghost” Riley*Reader

Hurt and a bit of comfort? maybe?

poor Simon, someone please send me some fluff ideas for him or I’m unable to stop writing angst about him. (cuz that’s the only thing in my note for him)

word count: 744

You never visit his dreams.

Every day he’s a walking corpse, mindlessly doing what he should done, saying goodnight to his teammates, and coming back to his quarter, hoping he can see you one more time.

but he never dreams of you these days, despite how desperate he is.

“You need some rest, I can give you a few weeks of leave, Simon.” He simply shakes his head at Price’s suggestion.

There’s no home waiting for him anymore, a haven for him to sleep soundly.

Until the night Simon deems he hit his limits, you finally appear in his dream.

There stood you, at the quiet bay you two always date, your usual smile lingering on the face imprinted in his heart.

He runs, stumbles a few times maybe, but he never stops his feet until he’s in front of you.

“Simon.”

“I fucking miss you... god...” He pulls you into his arms immediately, squeezing hard so you won’t flee from him by any chance.

He just buries his face to hide his sobs as you rub his back comfortingly.

“You should move on, honey.” You break the silence first.

“How am I supposed to?” He can feel his face stained with tears, but he pays no mind to it, eyes never leave yours, letting them stream his sorrow down.

“Remember the dance we always do?” As he leans into your fingers that are wiping his tears, he hears you ask softly.

“I never forget.”

“Hey, let’s do it again, yeah?”

Your soft hands — cold, he notices — guide him to the proper posture, and leads the dance start.

He remembers the first day you tried to teach him the dance, and he reluctantly agreed.

He remembers the first time he didn’t step on your toes, and you praised him cheerfully.

He remembers those days he held you close and giggled with you during the dance, at here.

Swaying slowly along you, waltzing in a graceful circle, you sing the music just like you always did when dancing with him.

As you breeze to the last tone, both of you stop at the same place, nothing moves except the waves hitting the cliff beneath.

“Better now?”

“No.” He admits through a hiccup.

“Still so honest huh” you laugh “but listen to me, Simon.”

He lets you cradle his face in your palms, he hates that your hands are so cold, unlike the warmth he stole from you in winter.

“You can find a way to remember me, but don’t let me leash you in the past.”

“Keep going, my love, protect those people that you love when they’re still aside.”

The seriousness on your face is what he never gets from you before, he just stares at you, and eventually, nods his head.

“That’s my man.”

You let go of him, satisfied.

“Time to go now” you take a look at the sky and face him again. “before that, can you smile for me one last time? You know I love it.”

“I’m bloody ugly right now.” He sighs, but he still manages to pull his lips into a contorted grin.

“Well, true”

“but still the most handsome man for me.”

- - - - - -

Simon opens his eyes.

4 am, the clock indicates, earlier than the alarm he set, but he has a plan today.

“Only one day off?” Price crooks his eyebrows when he signs the paper for Simon to have permission to leave.

“Yeah, one day’s enough.”

Walking to the parking lot, he jumps into his car and starts driving to his destination.

The tranquil feelings he hasn’t experienced for months accompany him on his journey to the bay.

Everything’s the same as he visited here last time. Still a silent bay without people, the sea spuming over the cliff, filling the air with soothing crashes of the surf.

He’s afraid of visiting here after you leave, the emptiness is deafening without your singing.

Unsurprisingly, the hollow in his heart becomes more painful as he steps to the same spot in his dream last night.

Yet still, he gazes at the ocean for a good while, and chants out the song lowly.

The cavity in his bleeding heart starts healing.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[The True Me] John Price*Reader

Be selfish when you’re with me.

short fluff :) sleepy and tired Price

“You’re a human too, John.”

“At the base, you’re a captain, but to me, you are John Price.”

“be yourself, be more selfish, when you’re with me.”

“tell me what’s wrong, or what you want, show me your vulnerabilities. You’re safe here, in my arms.”

“you got anything you want now?”

“hold me tighter, love.”

“anything else?”

“can you tell me why you chose to stay with me?”

“of course, but I’m afraid you might need to hear a damn long speech, darling.”

“That’s the best bedtime story.”

“Okay, you remember the day we first met…”

Price lies on your lap, your soft voice recalling those memories you two shared, while your fingers stroke his hair tenderly.

Drowsiness starts consuming him, if it’s the days he’s still alone, he will try to fight the sleepiness, or sleep with one eye open.

but in this house, drowning in your presence, he knows he can let his guard down.

Maybe he will still be haunted by blood and darkness in his nightmares after falling asleep, yet with you, he knows he can show you the true him when he startles awake with fear.

No rest for the wicked, they said, but at least he has you granting him respite.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Warning: Death.

You and Simon had become friends in the first year you started school. 

You both sat next to one another in the classroom and you had spoken to him about your favourite stuffed animal.

When you had grown into your teen years, you both were inseparable. 

He was always at your house, chilling in your room just enjoying your presence.

When you had wanted to try out makeup for the first time, he was there. Watching you huff about how it doesn't look right.

He laid on your bed for hours, just watching you through the mirror - often laughing when you’d smudge something. 

Simon had always thought you were pretty and when you’d gotten better at doing your makeup he thought you were beautiful. 

As your best friend he had of course been there for you through the good and bad. 

The black smudges of mascara running down your face when someone had broken your heart or if you had laughed a little too hard at something he said. 

He still had a piece of tissue on his desk where you had gotten rid of the excess lipstick off - a perfect print of your lips.

When you found out he was leaving, he was there to wipe the black smudges away and onto the material of his pants. 

That was the last image he had inside of his head of you, a sad mess crying over his departure. 

A few years later when he returned, your face was still the same. 

Soft lips painted to perfection in the same shade of lipstick on the tissue in one of his notebooks. 

When he walked up to you his lip quivered, tears threatening to fall any second.  

You looked so peaceful resting there in the coffin with the lid open, displaying your deathly facade.

Placing a rose onto your body a tear fell with it and a mumble left his lips. 

“You’ll always be beautiful to me”

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

In work got me feral thinking about delivery driver Gaz.

💛 Rings the shop phone to let you know he's out back with massive palettes to unload. You realise it's Kyle today and he's very patient when you tell him to wait because you're on your own.

💛 You answer the door and there's the sweetest smile and biggest brown calf eyes staring at you like he has all the time in the world -he doesnt, but Kyle is a good sport.

💛 You go to lift the massive metal ramp for him and he pushes you aside and hoists it up like it weighs nothing. You take notice he's got massive arms that could lift you up-

💛 Takes the palettes in for you and helps you to unwrap them before asking if he can use your bathroom to wash his hands of the factory dirt.

💛 Lead him to the employee bathroom to also wash your hands anyway.

💛 You were right about his arms being strong enough to hold you up as they're wrapped around you as he kisses you senseless against the wall.

💛 "been meaning to do this for weeks, fuck, been taking every delivery to yours for ages just to see your pretty little face again"

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

MDNI 18+ smutty drabble

Imagine accepting an invitation to go with friends to a sunny resort holiday, lounging by the pool and relaxing, but catching the eye of two handsome lifeguards while you do. They take every excuse to chat to you, watching you every moment they can without abandoning their job.

At the bar they find you and introduce themselves, Johnny and Kyle, spending all their downtime tracking you down.

On your last evening at the resort, they convince you to come back to their shared room. The combination of the heat and the cocktails they’ve been giving you all evening melt your self control. You find yourself out on their balcony while the rest of your friends party down below by the pool.

“No one’s gonna hear you, bonnie,” Johnny mutters reassuringly as you swallow down his cock greedily, your moans muffled by the thick, veiny length.

“He’s right,” Kyle grunts, sweat beading his brow as he feels your muscles tightening around his cock, your second orgasm fast approaching. “Let us hear this one, it’s all we’ve wanted since we saw you.”

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

What do you think it would be like for a reader x tf141 if the reader has really shit ass self esteem? Sense of humour is self depreciating and etc etc. Since i think some of us do struggle with the "i cant believe they like me" and the "I don't deserve this kind of affection" mindset alot 🥺

Oh this is me too, can’t accept a compliment, very quick to talk down on myself, just always doubting the words my loved ones tell me. so thank you for sending this, it was lovely to write 💛

I feel like they’d each have very different ways to handle it

Soap is always touching you in some way, letting you know he isn’t going anywhere, for as long as he can avoid it, letting you know that he wants to be in your presence and that he enjoys just being with you. People assume choosing physical affection means he’s the least eloquent of the bunch, but he really just prefers touch, letting you feel his love for you. He’s wonderfully smooth worth his words too, whispering sweet-everythings to you daily, telling you in detail every part of your body that he cherishes, praising you for how smart you are, how he loves your personality and your little quirks. He absolutely adores how flustered you get, but he’ll tut and pout at you when you try to deflect the compliments, “just listen to me, will ye? I’d never tell a lie, not to ye.”

Ghost, he’s got the same kind of self-deprecating tendencies and dark humor, so he understands why you say it… but it’s just different when it’s coming from you. That being said, he’s very quick to try to nip that kind of talk in the bud. The two of you were making dinner together when you misread the recipe, adding twice the amount of tomato paste. You immediately started bashing yourself for the mistake, trying to hide it behind a laugh, but he refused to laugh with you, a sharp “Cut it off,” or “that’s enough,” is all you get in response. He realized maybe he said it too harshly when you dip your head down, staying too quiet for too long. That’s when he pulled you in, kissing your forehead, muttering apologies for being too gruff, telling you that you deserve to be nicer to yourself. “You put up with a tapped bloke like me, so that alone means you’re an alright person.” (As he says those words he realizes he really is a huge hypocrite, but thankfully you don’t point it out.)

Gaz is also very physically affectionate, always hugging you from behind, trailing kisses along your shoulders and neck. But he’s very much a man of actions, words and touch can only go so far in his mind, what you do is really how you show someone you love them. And so, he’s constantly plucking and adjusting your clothes like a doting bird. Always making sure he’s there to help clasp your necklaces for you, or tying your ties and flattening the collar of your shirt. Telling you in a hushed tone how lovely you look, as he kneels to help you step into your shoes. He’s always packing you lunches with little hand written jokes and song lyrics tucked inside. On a particularly bad day, you asked him why he cares, why he dotes on you so much, and he just smiled, “Because you’re worth the effort, lovey. More than. Always will be.”

The one who goes the heaviest on the compliments and verbal reassurances is definitely Price. He, like Johnny, loves when you get flustered from his words, loves when you hide your face behind your hands or in his chest. What he will not tolerate, though, is you arguing with him over what he knows is true; that you’re beautiful, and sexy, and intelligent, and kind. He won’t stand for you talking badly about someone he loves and that, especially, includes you. If he catches you mumbling some kind of dig at yourself after he just poured his heart out to tell you how much you mean to him, he’ll sweetly, but firmly, grab your jaw and force you to look at him. “Some thin ice, that is, love. Wanna try again?” he’ll prompt, looking at you, waiting… until you finally whisper a soft thank you, John. Eventually he stops having to correct you, you learn to stop deflecting immediately, though he can still see the disbelief in your eyes. That’s okay, he has plenty of time, he’ll make you believe how wonderful you are. Even if it’s the last thing he does.