#Covering ALL my bases with these fuckin tags

[cerospace]

I don't give a fuck if Spider-Man: Freshman Year is MCU or not. I'm just happy to be excited about a Spider-Man cartoon again!

Plus, it's nice to have some Marvel media not tied to the MCU! I love that universe, but not everything needs to be MCU!

[dragonballevolution]

doodle, trying something different with my art and still very much figuring it out........ will need more practice n experimentation

“despite being 75 million years old, chronoa looks very youthful” haha! common misconception. chronoa is actually a weird little old lady and i will NOT hear otherwise

also have a bonus trunks that was gonna be more complex than this but i ran out of energy

[plztumb1rhelpmegetoveranxiety]

I was having a bit of a time and you popped into my notes and it made me feel better :)

Idk, I just wanted to spread a bit of positively, everything sucks rn :(

ANON I AM THROWING SO MUCH (/P) LOVE AT YOU RIGHT NOW!!!!! EVERYTHING FUCKING SUCKS THAT'S TRUE, AND I COME HERE TO CHEER UP TOO, SO PLEASE KNOW THIS POSITIVITY WORKED AND MADE ME FEEL BETTER 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

[djarincore]

i want to taste you better

TAGS: MDNI 18+, overstimulation, cunnilingus, dirty talk, DADDY'S HOME (no daddy kink, sorry) WC: 1k

A/N: the sequel to this drabble. ONCE AGAIN thank you to sleep token for writing sexy ass lyrics and giving me the best titles. I'm gonna make a whole series of smut drabbles based off sleep token lyrics fr

Your car was in the driveway, but the house was unusually dark when Simon opened the front door. You always preferred to keep the lights on whenever he was away—said it felt ‘less lonely’ when the house was lit up. He didn't mind paying a bit more when the electricity bill came in if it meant you could find some comfort while he was away.

He dropped his bags at the door, deciding to deal with them later. He had more important things to do like finally holding you in his arms after being gone for two months. It certainly wasn't the longest he had been away, but it didn't mean he was any less eager to come back to you.

Simon crept up the dark stairs, avoiding spots he knew would creak beneath his weight. At the end of the hall, there was light framing a closed bedroom door.

He briefly thought about what you could be doing in there. Innocent thoughts at first—it was late, you had work in the morning, so you'd be in bed and winding down. But, the low drawn out moan that slipped from the door told him otherwise.

Fuck, he missed that voice. It wasn't the same hearing you whimper and moan from some shitty, little burner phone.

Your heavy breaths could be heard just outside the door. He lingered for a moment, pressing his shoulder to the wall. Your cries were beginning to crescendo, the tell tale sign of your orgasm.

Who was he to deprive you of that? It would just make your pretty noises all the more sweeter when he fucks another orgasm out of you.

When you met your peak with a choked gasp, Simon turned the door and stepped in. The air was thick with your scent.

You yelped at the sudden intrusion, sitting up and grabbing the blanket to cover your naked body. When the shock cleared, you were able to get a better look at the man who entered your bedroom. “Si?”

He clicked his tongue and cocked his head. “Thinkin’ of me, love?”

You cast the blanket aside and moved to slip off the bed, no doubt to run and hug him, but he stepped forward. “Don't move,” he commanded. “Lay down on the bed.”

You did as he said, laying back on the bed as he approached, anticipation holding your breath. You stared up at him looming over you. His black face mask was still on, obscuring mouth. You could see the faint black smudges still around his eyes.

Simon wasted no time slipping between your legs. He laid his palms on your inner thighs and spread them open to fit himself.

“Couldn't wait ‘til I got home. Were you really that fuckin’ desperate?”

You tried opening your mouth to defend yourself, but one of his hands, warm and calloused, slid between your legs. His thumb parted your folds to get a proper view of your glistening cunt, arousal leaking out and soiling the sheets below.

“My dirty girl,” he sighed, rubbing his thumb over your dripping hole. You squirmed, and he held you down by the hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh. “Gotta clean you up now.”

Both of his hands slid up the curves of your body, making sure to caress the mounds of your breasts before one settled on your jaw. He leaned over, stabilizing himself with one arm, and paused just before your lips.

You brought a finger up to tease the edge of the fabric over his nose before trailing to the string looped around one end of his mask. You pulled it off to reveal your lover's face and his smirking lips.

“Missed you,” you mumbled, leaning up for a kiss.

Simon met it hungrily, sweeping his tongue along your lower lip to prod into your mouth. His kisses devoured you. He pulled away to trail his lips down your neck, sucking marks along the column of your throat, laying his claim to you once again.

He wanted you to remember this in the morning—the marks on your skin, the ache between your legs—and remember it was him that made you feel that way. It would only ever be him.

He moved down your chest, paying attention to the hardened tips of your breasts. He latched his mouth around one nipple while his hand kneaded the other breast.

You arched into his touch and gasped when his teeth grazed over your nipple. Your fingers ran through his hair, urging him lower, just where you really needed him.

“More,” you whined, rutting yourself against the leg wedged between your thighs. “Please, Si.”

His hands smoothed over the curve of your waist as he slipped down to meet your cunt. He pulled your legs wide and hooked them over his broad shoulders.

Simon didn't waste time delving into your dripping cunt. His fingers formed a ‘v’ around your opening and he slotted his lips between them, lapping up the arousal from your orgasm. He was starved, almost desperate to taste you again. He shut his eyes and lost himself in you.

Your cries and moans fell on deaf ears as he dragged his tongue through your folds and toyed with your clit. The orgasm you gave yourself left you sensitive to his eager ministrations. Each flick of his tongue over your clit had your legs locking around his head, tense but thruming with pleasure.

He pulled your legs back open when you squeezed too hard, gripping your soft flesh and continuing to devour you. When he pushed two fingers deep into your cunt, feeling the way your wet heat pulsated around his fingers, he groaned.

“Fuck, you're tight. Want you to come on my mouth, love. Come on—ride my face.”

With his fingers buried in you and his lips on your clit, Simon worked another orgasm out of you. Your back arched and you finished with his name on your lips. He removed his fingers and replaced them with his mouth, letting your ride out your orgasm on his tongue.

“Ngh, fuck,” you cried, when he refused to pull away. You looked down at him as your chest heaved. “I can't.”

You tried shifting yourself away, but his grip on your thighs was relentless. His tongue ran over your clit again and your body twitched.

“You can. One more, just one more for me.”

[sadesluvr]

Freak - Mike Schmidt x Reader (Songfic)

Mike dials a 1-800 number and gets more than what he asked for.

A/N: Reader is a secret sex guru, and an unlicensed therapist, 18+ only. I'm going to abuse the FUCK out of this GIF. Based on the song 'Freak' by Doja Cat!

Word count: 2.2K

Tags: SMUT / Sub! Mike, Dom! Reader / Fem!Reader / Handjobs / Edging / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Marijuana usage / Brief mention of contraceptives (the pill)

‘Call 1-800-2323 for the answer to your troubles. Enlightenment is just a phone call away!’

Mike looked down at the card in his hands, given to him by Abby’s wellbeing officer out of concern for his personal troubles. He’d never read too much into spirituality, but considering psychoanalysis hadn’t gotten him much further than his usual dream it couldn’t hurt to try, right?

The dial rang, and he expected to hear a raspy elderly woman with a smoker's cough. What he didn’t expect was a lively, young voice at the other end of the line.

“…How may I be of assistance?”

“Uh — There’s something in my past — It’s been bothering me for practically my whole life…I need help finding the answers…”

“Hm,” the voice hummed. “Vague, but I sense you’re holding back…I like ‘em that way…Name?”

Freak like me You want a good girl that does bad things to you You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak Freak like me

“Mike Schmidt,”

You'd heard of him from your mom’s friend.

“I’ll book you in for Friday at 8PM,”

“Okay…How much will I owe you? Money’s a little tight right now…”

“Don’t worry. It’s all free of charge,”

Tied him down to my queen bed Tease him just enough to hate me  Tied it tight enough, he can't break free  Keep him waiting 'til he try This can go one of two ways We could flip the coin, I'll be your slave  Call you daddy, give me a nickname I ain't afraid of a little pain (No, I ain't 'fraid of a little pain)

He showed up at the address listed on the card a little after 8PM and rang the doorbell, his hands in his pockets as he scanned his surroundings. You, the mysterious voice, answered the door, and you briefly took his breath away, dressed in a nude, flesh coloured spaghetti strap dress that stopped halfway on your thighs, paired with a sultry smile.

“You must be Mike,” you grin. “Come in,”

The interaction is brief, and he follows you to the couch, an armchair sat traditionally opposite like it would in a therapist office. You gesture for him to take a seat and he does, already feeling like he was under a spell. His eyes glance down briefly at your bare legs as you cross one over the other, letting out a soft moan as you got comfortable. Blood was slowly and suddenly draining from his face to his cock, and he moved his hands to cover the issue, which didn’t go unnoticed to you.

“So, Mike…What is it that’s haunting you?”

He wanted some'n else and he wanna be selfish He wanted them three rounds, DC had to come help him Look, I know your position Try to squeeze in the full nelson though Beat on it, beat, beat on it, mercy like a black belt give Daddy the grand master, daddy, I want it faster Them bitches you fuckin' with, I know they gon' need some practice So bring 'em along wit' ya, I'll teach 'em how to smash ya When I made a little mess on it, he told me to clean my act up

He told you everything; from his brother’s abduction to the breakdown of his family and his living situation with his sister. He was a tortured soul, and he just needed a bit of release. You were so, so glad he’d been referred to you.

“I empathise with you, Mike,” you sigh, leaning in. “It must be hard,”

Hard. Painfully hard.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” you say coyly, and he shakes his head. You notice he licks his lips as you get up, recognising how the dress is clinging to your body and beginning to bunch up your thighs. For a split second he gets a glimpse of your black lace panties, and his now fully hard cock twitches in his jeans. 

He wants you, and he’s almost certain you want him too, but a deeper part of him wants to let it play out. For once, he’s not in control of all of the decisions and he wants to keep it that way.

“What I’m hearing is that the route of your issue is frustration,” you say, eyes locked on his as you reach out to run your fingers through his messy locks. “When was the last time you ever thought about yourself?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t - I can’t — How is this going to help me find who took Garrett?”

“Because you’re thinking too hard, and it complicates things. It’s time to redirect your attention,” you purr, dragging your vowels so that it produces a tone that sends shivers down his spine. 

“…How?” he chokes, eyes wide and pupils dilated. You’re so fucking close to him now, and he thinks he might burst. You smell like weed and sex, and he can’t stop staring at the way your strap is sliding down your arms.

You slide off your dress in a quick motion, revealing your bare body. Mike is rabid now, unable to stop staring at your hardened nipples and the barely there material of your panties.

Freak like me (Tryna freak you down) You want a good girl that does bad things to you You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak

“I’m gonna touch you, Mike,” you say simply, and it holds a thousand words. “And then you’re gonna fuck me,”

Hey, I could take a big bat, bet that he thinkin' this a game Hey, batter, batter swing, you could put it on a swing Freak like a triple XXX flick, put her on a chain This pussy off the chain, this kitty insane I could fuck him in the rain, I could fuck him in the Range (Uh) I could fuck him every day (Uh), I'ma fuck him 'til he sang (Uh) Milkshake bring the boys to the yard, I'ma need the whipped cream Ain't ever been vanilla, honey, just wait until you get a taste

He knows he can say no, but relaxes into your touch. One hand rubs his upper torso, massaging his tight muscles as the other is wrapped around his neck as you plant gentle kisses along his cheek and neck before you move to his lips. His kiss is eager, and he wastes no time in finding your tongue with his own. 

He needs this so fucking badly, and he doesn’t want to let go.

The kiss continues as you begin to claw at his body, and he briefly pulls away to tug off his jacket and shirt before resuming the make out session. His body tenses as your hands make their way down his chest, down towards the beginning of his happy trail. He desperately wants you to continue the skin-to-skin contact, but you slide your hands over his jeans instead, squeezing him through the material. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and let out a small whimper, earning a gasp from you. He was so pretty.

“That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back…”

Skirt off, fuck in the backseat Take that shirt off, baby, put it on me Got me like, "Yeehaw," ride it like a horsey Kinda like see-saw, up and down on the D, give it to him

You relieve his frustration by hastily pulling at his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, leaving him in his briefs. They were black and you could see a clear wad of precum that had been built up over the past hour. Wasting no time, Mike lets out a louder moan as you slide the material down, his cock springing up onto his pelvis. It’s average sized, but with a slightly thicker girth, and is bright pink with want.

“Kiss me,” you instruct, and he nods. His lips find the crevice of your neck and collarbone as you begin to grip his shaft, his tip between your thumb and index finger as you squeeze out some remaining precum, the liquid pooling around your fingers.

It’s pure pleasure for him as you take the entirety of his cock in your hands, slowly beginning to jerk him off, not forgetting to cup his balls as you do. He throws his head back as his hands clench, physical pressure dissipating as you take his hands in your own, guiding it to your breast.

“Fuck…” Mike groans, beginning to massage the skin as you coo in his ear, your grip tightening and fastening on his cock. Four of his senses are overstimulated, and the icing on the cake is your unrelenting sultry stare, making sure you were attending to his every need.

You were the goddess he never knew he could have.

Freak like me (Need a freak like me) You want a good girl that does bad things to you (You want a good girl) You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak Do, do-do, do-do, do-do (Now you need a freak)

You could feel him shudder underneath you and knew he was loosening up, edging closer to orgasm. His whimpers and groans were now louder, and he’d found the confidence to latch onto your nipples, pawing at the skin with his hand whilst his tongue swirled along the hardened bud.

Spreading your legs over his, you angled his face towards you as, taking in his hazel eyes. 

“Touch me, Mike,” you said, gaze flickering down to your pussy. “Touch me like I’m touching you…”

He moves away from your breasts to make his way between your legs, his fingers sliding into your wet cunt. He lets out a deep sigh at the sensation, feeling rather proud of himself as you begin to writhe against him.

“Is this good?” he asks, sliding a second finger into you. 

“So good,” you moan. “You’re so good for me, Mike,”

His heart and his cock swells, and your bodies begin to move in sync. He quickly finds your clit as your pace quickens on his cock, and you both begin to reach a point of ecstasy.

“Y/N…” he whimpers, lips wet and eyes glassy. “I’m gonna—“

“I know, baby,” you whisper on his lips. “But not yet,” you say abruptly, and draw away. He’s shocked, and stares at you open mouthed.

You respond with nothing but a smile.

“I’m only here to guide you to enlightenment, not give. You have to do the rest,”

He’s totally blank.

“Let go, Mike. I’m here,” you say sweetly, and it feels strangely romantic. “Take me…Do you want me on top, or bottom?”

“Top,” he responds without hesitation. “You’re beautiful,”

Mike can barely contain his euphoria. You, a literal sex goddess, are sat on his lap, body on full display as he fucks up into your tight, wet pussy. The pleasure is almost painful, and he’s almost worried that he’s hurting you by the way his hands are gripped on your hips and his thrusts are desperate and sloppy. All the anger and frustration from his past was slowly unravelling, and judging by the knot in his stomach, so was he.

Freak like me Freak like me (You never, you never, you never been) You want a good girl that does bad things to you You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak (You need a freak) Do, do-do, do-do, do-do (You need a freak) Freak like me (Like me, papa)

“Oh fuck,” you whine. “You’re perfect, Mike. So perfect,”

You weren’t lying, he looked gorgeous; pussy drunk and sweating, his frayed bangs clinging to his forehead in an odd pattern. Your lips met once again as he pulled you into him by your waist, the kiss sloppy as he drew his cock deeper into your cunt, hitting all of the right areas. 

“I’m so close Mike,” you whined. “Cum for me…”

“Where…?” he whispered. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to see you covered in his cum, or see it seep out of you and down your thighs. 

“Wherever you feel best,” you said devilishly, before placing your lips to his ear. “I’m on the pill,”

The words sent him over the edge as he came, hot and heavy spurts of cum filling into your warmth as you finished along with him. Mike bit his lip as he held you close, almost on the verge of tears as you soothed him through the last of his orgasm. A weight had suddenly been lifted away, and he could feel his eyes grow heavy with tiredness.

After a few moments you pulled away from each other, your nude bodies dropping to either side of the couch. Still high from orgasm, you pulled your dress back on and leant over the armrest to open a drawer, not oblivious to the way Mike was staring at you fondly.

Babe, you never been with no one nastier than me Oh, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby Put your head on my shoulder Hold me in your arms, baby Squeeze me oh so tight Show me that you love me too

“Wanna blaze?” You asked, holding a joint to your lips. He paused in thought, not wanting to let go of the moment before answering.

“Can I use your phone?”

You nodded and gestured to the phone, watching as Mike dialled a number. 

“Hey, Max - Can you put Abby on the phone? Something’s come up and I can’t make it home tonight…”

[haunted-headset]

💜 Oh, Distant You. 💜

Summary: Tommy asked what happened between you two.

a/n: hello! i was in the mood to make a short angsty fic, so i present this to all of you! this was (obviously) based on "Oh Distant You"

contains: angst, a break-up with you & Wilbur, crying, flashbacks, cursing, a cliffhanger ending, mentions of presumed death, the reader is said to have had mental health issues in the past, & mentions of suicide.

words: 651

tags:@zuuriell @somebody-v @vibestillaxxx @ax-y10 @joviepog@themonsterunderurmom @ogelizasoot @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza@artistphantom @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @finleyforevermore @poraphia @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @mysticalsoot @21-cats-in-a-trenchcoat @strangleetomz (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged)

[Wilbur's {3rd person} POV]

Tommy had invited Wilbur to his house for an "intervention". He'd been locking himself in his apartment for days without messaging or calling anybody, streaming, or going to the studio. The Lovejoy members called him & messaged him uncountable times, but he never responded. Some of his friends thought he had killed himself. Nobody had heard from Y/N, either; they were an active streamer, usually streaming twice or thrice a week, but they hadn't streamed for two weeks. Y/N wasn't on tour with their band, either, & hadn't announced a break, so it worried Y/N's followers & fans.

"What's going on with you?" Tommy asked him. "Nobody's heard from you or Y/N in a few weeks. Did you two have a secret wedding & a honeymoon without telling anybody?" While the light-hearted joke was obviously intended to make Wilbur feel better, it just made him feel worse.

"We broke up, Tommy," he murmured, covering his eyes with his hand.

"You what?" Tommy raised his brow, not hearing Wilbur correctly.

"We broke up, Tommy," Wilbur repeated, louder this time.

Tommy was shocked. "I thought everything was good between you two! Why did they dump you?"

"I dumped them, Tommy," Wilbur said shakily, holding back tears.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Tommy asked.

"Because I'm an idiot, Tommy, that's why!" Wilbur shouted, removing his hand away from his now red & glossy eyes. "Because I'm an idiot who thought prioritizing my music & my career over them was the better option! & they could be dead right now, for all I know! Their mental state was terrible when I broke up with them, so for all I know, they could be hanging from a noose right now, dead as a motherfucking doorknob."

"Woah, woah, woah, Wil, take a breath," Tommy said, his eyes wide from how Wilbur reacted. "Tell me what happened."

"I just--I got in over my head & started panicking & being an anxious idiot like how I was when I was a kid & I thought that my career & my band needed to be prioritized over them," Wilbur explained shakily.

"Why did you think that?" Tommy asked.

"Because I thought my career was better than them," he said softly.

"Is your career better than being with them?" Tommy asked, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"God, no, Tommy," Wilbur said with a catch in his throat. "I hate the way I talk when I'm trying to compliment or praise them because it'll never give off the praised esteem they have. They're two stars from grace & I'm convinced that this world turns for them & nobody else." He paused. "No offense, Tommy."

"Were you looking for somebody better or--" Tommy started.

"If the Lord or the universe or whoever fucking controls everything were to whip up a clone of them," said Wilbur, "I wouldn't even glance at it, so, no, Tommy. & if I did date that clone, I'd have to take a month off work & everything to sit down in the kitchen, & explain all our in-jokes, & cry with them to Wall-E, & still, I'd fuckin' miss Y/N."

"So you regret it all?" Tommy asked.

"Of course I do!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was creating the solution to their problems, that I was being the fix-all, but I was just the villain. & every single modicum of energy that I gave to all the little things compounded all my placidity, & I drove out all the good things & made life so fuckin' heavy, & now I can't wake up & talk to them." He was crying at this point, having to pause a few times to calm himself down.

Tommy held his phone up & pointed at the screen. He was on a call. He was on call with Y/N. He had been this whole time.

"Hi, Wilbur."

reblogs > likes

[ianthine-ichor]

Ghost x Reader ~ I Fuckin' Love You

Summary - Ghost can't get that night out of his head. The night he lost you.

Word count - 2k

Codename for reader - Daze

Tw in the tags

-

One moment was all it took. One damn sentence, one stupid suggestion.

"Well if all you guys are heading off I might as well tag along with the ones going south then, yeah?"

He should have said no. You had plenty of work to do back on base, an egregious amount really. But it was an easy enough mission anyway, nothing that he thought would have put you in harms way. A quick in and out, near to no hostiles. And he knew well how much you hated being couped up at the base.

Sometimes he wish he could just go back and cut out his own tongue before he answered.

"More the merrier"

It was supposed to have been simple, hardly even dangerous. Hell, Price had planned the missions for the same day as his! There wasn't supposed to be anyone there. There wasn't supposed to be anyone.

Even now that night runs through his head. Over and over and over. He could have done so many things differently. If only he'd been just a little more worried, just a little more cautious. If only he'd sent someone else out, if only he'd gotten on your as about your paperwork, if only he'd have been there.

He'd been with the Soap and Gaz on their mission. The plan was that he'd find a good lookout on his own and provide details on movements and offer cover if anything went sideways, but the whole ride there he had this awful feeling that crept up his skin and sunk in his stomache. And so he had decided to stick near the truck and provide cover from there.

He should have known it then, he should have known.

He was thankful, as little as that mattered now, that he was a man who followed his gut. The only thought that comforted him now and days was that at least you weren't alone when...when...

He had been so sure of your success he hadn't even given you a way to reach him. So when the radio clicked on a voice scared him out of his focus through his scope. Even more when he'd recognized it.

"Price! Ghost! Is anyone there!?"

It was fuzzy as it picked up the signal, likely because whatever you were using to contact him wasn't as finely tuned as the radios you'd normally use for missions. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if you had been flicking through your own walkie just to contact someone. He practically threw his rifle to the ground, grabbing the radio from the car the moment he was close enough.

"I read you. What's going on?" He calls and tries to subdue the panic that dares to bite at him. There were a hundred reasons you might be worried, at least half a which weren't such a big deal-

"Ambush! It's a-...damn ambush! I can't reach Price!"

Your words turn his blood cold.

It was supposed to be simple.

"What's your status!" He yells, finding that his heart rate skyrockets as it tries to pump his frozen blood. He hardly notices his volume, every ounce of his being fighting the urge to race to you right now. He's met with silence for longer than he cared to wait. He practically throws himself into the driver's side seat, holding the radio closer.

Maybe he hadn't used it right. Maybe you just hadn't heard him.

"What is your status Daze!" He near screams and once more there is silence and silence and horrible silence. He had to fill it, had to think of anything other than all of the horrible images that flooded his mind. He turned to coms with Soap and Gaz.

"Abort! Get the fuck out of there right now we have to move!" He ordered into their earpieces, making sure they heard him loud and clear.

"What's happening? Are we compromised?"

Gaz asked, his voice quiet, almost whispered.

"The other crew got ambushed. Daze just called in before going silent. We gotta get there, now!" He commanded, hoping that they'd pick up their asses and move.

"On my way!"

"Bloody hell"

They answered, though Ghost felt anything but relief at their words.

It was supposed to be a harmless mission.

Even as the memory plagues him now he can still feel the constructing of his chest, the burning in his lungs going almost unrecognized as he sat waiting and waiting and waiting for any sign that you might still be there. A yell, a scream. He wouldn't have even cared if the words he heard were hate filled and furious with him! He would have just been happy to hear you. To know you were even still there. He had silently begged then, for any sign of life. Any.

Yet now, plagued by the horror of that night, he can't help but wish that it would had just stayed silent.

"Everyone's...Everyone's...fuck"

Your voice cuts through again and he knows just by the heavy way your words fell that something was incredibly wrong. Every inch of his body nearly repelled the sound.

"We're on our way. Just hold until we-"

"There is no holding! They're dead! Everyone's fucking dead!"

You were panicked, an emotion all but common on you. His knuckles turned white as he held the intercom.

"Well figure it the fuck out then lieutenant! If you die in there-" before he could finish the sentence the two he was waiting for jumped right into the car. Without a second thought he handed the radio to Soap and slammed on the gas. There would be no stopping him and he sure as hell would love to see anyone try.

"Daze, you alright there?" Soap asked, the concern on his face evident as always.

"No! No I'm not fucking al- SHIT!"

Your voice cut again.

"Daze! Daze do you copy!?" Soap yells into the radio but is only met with another bout of unbearable, painful silence. A silence Ghost filled quickly. Anything but silence.

"Call Price! Tell 'em to bring whatever they got!" Ghost ordered, chain of command be damned. Soap would rather not be the bearer of bad news, and so he gave a nod to Gaz who took the burden of informing Price.

And Price would listen, if he knew what was good for him.

"Captain Price, do you read?" He spoke, the click of an answer heard before the familiar voice.

"Affirmative. Do you have eyes on the target?"

He questioned, Soap wincing a little at the comment.

"Negative, we aborted the mission. Daze team is under attack at the south-west wearhouse. They need reinforcements" he answered, making sure to get right to the point. They didn't have time to waste.

"...Who gave you those orders?"

Price asked oh so slowly. The image of an immediately pissed off Price made him give Soap an uneasy look as he struggled for words. Thankfully he seemed to get the hint, clicking his coms on as well, as much as he would rather have just stayed silent.

"There was an ambush. Daze was in distress when we last heard 'em, shit's hittin' the fan over there. Have a feeling s'gonnae be a bloody scene" Soap answered for him, hoping that might just be enough to wave whatever anger Price might have had about their failed mission. There's a pause, one that makes them all sick to the stomach.

"Alright, we're sending some help that way. But we're talkin' when this is over"

With that Price clicked off coms. Despite the relief of reinforcements, it left a bitter taste in their mouths.

Fifteen minutes; that's how far the three were now. And they knew damn well that any sort of reinforcements would take far longer than that. Too long. Too late.

Eight minutes out the radio clicks again, fuzzy sounds of general chaos making Ghost wish this truck weren't as heavily armored as it was. Too slow.

Ghost couldn't remember how he managed to get the radio back in his hands again. Soap told him later on that he near broke his wrist snatching it from him, but it was all a blur now. Those minutes had been the longest of his career.

"Daze! Daze what is goin' on there!" He yells, his grip tight enough to break a man in half. Still there is no response.

"Y/N! FUCKIN' ANSWER ME!" He was surprised he didn't break the radio in his hands with the death grip he had on the thing. Still there was silence, silence, silence, silence, silence. A pause, a moment that felt years longer than it was.

When the radio clicked on again it was quiet. Too damn quiet. The only sounds being a dry weeze and a horrible cough.

"I'm here"

You finally answered. Your voice was mumbled and strained, pain ridden. Not a breath held in the car was voluntary at that point.

"...What's your status?" Ghost asks a third time, his voice far quieter, far more solem. He's met with a series of coughs and sniffles.

You didn't have to answer him. He damn well knew. He knew the moment that sinking feeling wrapped him in barb wire. He knew when he'd heard you call over radio the first time. He knew when you had taken so long just to respond. He knew. Yet every inch of his skin repelled the very idea of you being anything other than okay.

"I'm...I don't know I- I fell somewhere. It's dark. I can't reach anything, I can't...I can't move"

Despite your words your voice is quiet and calm. Too calm. He almost preferred when you were panicked.

"Find your bearings and get the fuck out of there!" The commanding in his voice doesn't stick as well this time. Gaz would later described it as desperate.

"I can't move L.t. I can't see-"

Another round of coughs had an open grimace take his face. But it would be nothing compared to your next bone-chilling words.

"It's so cold"

The sentence seared on his brain; the words scarring itself into an unhealthy part of his soul the moment they left you. Neither Soap nor Gaz could describe the look in his eyes at that moment. He doesn't think he ever wants to know.

"Simon..."

Your voice called out to him, weaker than he's ever heard you speak. For a moment he can't bring himself to respond, for a moment it's all too much.

"I don't have much time...do I?"

You ask and again you're met with silence. The sniffling increases ten-fold, this time followed by hiccups.

"I'm going to die here-"

"No!" Ghost finally speaks. He was so repelled by your words that they made him near nauseous.

"No. No you aren't. We're almost there, just...just hold on. I'm almost there" his eyes focus on the road, the car is going far over a hundred at this point.

"...okay"

Your voice is shaky as you try to hold yourself together. There's a silence again, though this time panic is replaced by dread. Gaz and Soap share a look but continue to say nothing. What could they have said that would make any of this better?

"Hey Si?"

Your voice finally crackles again and this time, despite how little he wanted to, he answers. He had hoped it wouldn't be the last words you'd ever hear.

"Yeah love?" He asks, his own breath shaky as he tried to hold himself together.

"What...what would you name her?"

The question blindsided him. He couldn't figure out what you were talking about.

"Who?" He asked, your answer delayed by another coughing fit.

"The puppy"

He felt what was left of his heart sink further

He remembered having that conversation with you before. How you two had fought over the breed and the amount of training they'd go through and whether or not it should be a boy or a girl. It had seemed so trite now, such a meaningless thing to fight over. Yet in that moment it had made his eyes sting with tears as he bit back the cry that threatened to leave him at any given moment.

"I'd name 'em honey" he answered. He wondered if you could hear the pain in his voice. He hoped not

"Really? Why honey?"

He could hear the confused smile on your lips. He'd wondered if he'd ever be allowed to see your smile again.

He wondered if he'd ever even get to see you again.

"'cause then when I call their name, you'd both come running" he answered, his voice finally breaking. But he heard you laugh, and even as he fought against the tears that now threatened to roll down his face he couldn't help but think how perfect your laugh was.

He wondered if he'd ever hear it again.

"Always the charmer, huh?"

You answered, fighting away the coughs that threatened to end your sentence for you.

"Yeah well you're into that" he answered back, your snicker drawing a hidden smile to his lips. There was a pause, one that made every bit of dread squeeze so hard onto him the he was sure it would cut him like string through clay. So much so that he went to speak to you again when-

"I love you"

The words rang like a horrible harmony in his ears that had him fully denying the reality he was in. Denying this was real, denying that he could have ever let you get hurt, denying that it might be the last time he ever hears you speak that melody to him. Yet despite it all, he found himself responding before he even thought about it.

"I fuckin' love you"

The last words he had ever spoken to you.

-

Might make a part two to this, I don't know yet. But for now this is a good start to my first fic here!

[skyewritesstuff]

paper rings (mike's version)

my masterlist.

entry 2 in my (taylor’s version) songfic series.

summary: despite the recurring hardships, you and mike make a vow to stay together through it all.

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

fandom: five nights at freddy's

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, yall. :')

notes: based on "paper rings" by taylor swift. has been beta read. yall, i swear i'm going to leave the josh hutcherson tag alone for a bit after this, i promise lmao. i also know i need to update my masterlist. i'm going to do this soon!

word count: 3k

At this point in your life, you did not need an alarm clock. 6:30 in the morning started at 6:20 when you’d hear the tell-tale honk of your boyfriend Mike’s car being locked. You technically didn’t have to be up until 7:00 to get Abby up and ready so that she’d be on the bus right at 7:45, but you always liked to greet him when he walked in since work had never been something he’d regard as an easy part of his life.

You’d known Mike since high school. You’d been chemistry lab partners, occasional study partners, and then prom dates. It was as cliche as a “will they/won’t they” situation could be until you two separated after graduation. You’d gone off to college and Mike had stayed local. You didn’t reconnect until you ended up back home working as a nurse in the local hospital and one of Mike’s various work (fight) related injuries landed him in the ER. After reconnecting there and exchanging numbers, you began casually seeing Mike whenever you could. Sometimes he’d flake due to job and schedule changes, not feeling up to it, or needing to meet Abby's needs. That was until the dates became more frequent and it wasn’t so casual anymore. You then moved into his small home with him and Abby, sticking by him despite his numerous job changes.

You got up, putting your discarded pair of Hello Kitty pajama shorts back on despite the black t-shirt of Mike’s falling to a point where they were almost covered. You then wandered into the living room, still a little sleepy, but glad to see Mike after spending all night sleeping on your own.

“Hey, you…” You said with a yawn, reaching to take his vest and keys from him to hang them up.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, sounding rather groggy himself.

“You ask me that every single day…” You laugh, leaning in to gently kiss his lips, “I just want to be there for you as soon as you get home, because I’ve been on graveyard before and it’s the longest, shittiest night you can have.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, his lips curving up into a slight smile, “Thanks, baby…as always.”

You take his hand and begin to walk with him back towards your shared bedroom, knowing you only have about twenty minutes or so to lay with him before you have to get back up for Abby. Mike strips down to his boxers and then crawls into bed with a heavy sigh and you follow suit, not even bothering to take off your pajama pants knowing what little time you had was going to pass by in what felt like an instant.

“Things still super weird down there?” You ask, referencing the pizzeria where Mike had taken his security position.

“As fuckin’ always…” He mumbled as he scooted into your side, hiding his face in the side of your neck.

“I wouldn’t get too comfy, babe…I’ve gotta get Abby up and situated in like ten minutes.” You warned, only to get a passive ‘Mhm’ in response. “I’m just warning you.” You rolled your eyes affectionately, wrapping one arm around him, lacing it into his hair, and running your fingers through his hair as you picked up one of the random books he had on the bedside table. This was a book with photos of nature and wildlife in the mountains of Wisconsin. As you flipped through the pages, you were trying your best to avoid falling back to sleep. As much as you wanted to lay there with Mike, you knew that if you fell back to sleep it’d mean that Abby would miss the bus. You’d either have to take her to school yourself, causing your morning to be shot or she’d miss school altogether, ruining any chance at having a day at home with just you and Mike on your day off.

Right at 7:00, you carefully slid out of bed, putting a pillow in your place. This didn’t seem to phase Mike, who was sound asleep when you walked out of the bedroom to head across the hall to wake up Abby.

Abby was already awake, sitting up in her bed. She was still in her pajamas with a sketchbook in her lap and a crayon in her hand. She was drawing a very abstract-looking yellow rabbit when she looked up at you.

“Do I have to go?”

“Yes…Please get up and get the outfit we picked out last night, okay?”

“Is that Mike’s shirt?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Gross”

With only short instances of protest over what shoes to wear, brushing her hair, and the lack of orange juice in the house, Abby was ready for school. She collected her backpack and gave you a tight hug before running out the door towards the yellow vehicle. Once you were certain she got on safely, you headed back to the bedroom, yawning as you crawled back into the warm bed. You settled under the covers and then moved over next to Mike, who was now turned with his back towards your side of the bed. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to the back of his neck gently.

He stirred slightly, moving to rest his hands against yours before lacing them together. “Welcome back…” he murmured, “Abby on the bus?”

You nodded, “Mhm…even ate two bowls of cereal this morning.”

“Good work, baby.” he chuckled before turning towards you, wrapping both arms around your waist to snuggle into you. “I try.” You replied with a soft laugh, kissing his forehead. It wasn’t much longer before Mike was sound asleep again and you were starting to drift yourself. The blankets were just too soft and warm. Factor in Mike’s body heat and you were a goner from the start. Sleep took you over sooner rather than later and you found yourself snuggled up into Mike as you finally got to go back to sleep.

Roughly three hours later, you were woken back up by the sound of the trash truck coming to collect the garbage from the cans placed by the curb. You groaned, wanting nothing more than your peace back as you slept next to your boyfriend, but instead, your eyes didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

You turned to Mike, letting out a sigh of relief when you noticed how soundly he was sleeping. It wasn’t a normal occurrence by any means. Normally, he’d sleep for an hour or two before being jolted awake by nightmares from his past and whenever you could be there, you’d try to hold him and coax him back into what you hoped would be a more relaxing sleep.

Today, he was lying in your arms with his head on your chest, breathing slow and steady and his expression was peaceful. You stayed next to him, attempting to fall back to sleep to no avail for around an hour before deciding to slip out of bed and head to the kitchen. You began to prepare breakfast, despite it being almost noon, turning on the small radio in the kitchen so that music would softly begin to pour out of the speaker without being loud enough to wake Mike.

You were focused on the food, trying to make sure nothing burnt, blissfully unaware of Mike leaning against the wall in the entrance to the kitchen. “You know, I’ve told you before you don’t have to do all of this for me.” He sounded both sleepy and amused, but his sudden presence still caused you to jump, emitting a small gasp as your hand came to rest on his chest.

“Michael, I swear to God…”

He fully laughed this time as he watched your reaction with a smirk, “Cute”

“Not cute, you scared the shit out of me. How many times do I have to tell you to stop sneaking up on me?”

“What can I say? Maybe those creepy ass animatronics at work are rubbing off on me because I swear I’ve seen them move without anyone pushing the button…” He spoke, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning into you. He knew you were a bit of a scaredy cat. You’d made it known several times how you could handle all the real-life gore of a lifetime at work, but horror movies…let alone being in an abandoned building for five nights a week…were an absolute no-go for you.

A chill ran through you, partially due to what Mike said and partially due to the kisses he kept casually pressing against your neck, “That’s so weird. I hate that. I hate that. Maybe they just kind of settle…like how the house settles and makes weird noises.”

“Or they’re possessed..” You could feel him shrug from behind you and you rolled your eyes.

“Like that happens…who’s going to pull a Chucky and voodoo their souls into a giant animatronic bear?”

“The world’s full of freaky people.” he said, letting go of you to go sit down at the table. You promptly turned on your heel and leaned back against the counter, prepared to drop the sarcastic comeback that immediately popped into the forefront of your brain.

“Oh, I know that for sure. You should meet my boyfriend.”

“I’d love to. He sounds like a winner. He’s probably pretty hot too.”

“You’re a loser.” You laughed.

“Please, at least your first jab was original. Your mother calls me a loser like that’s my actual job title.” He was also laughing despite the awful reality of his statement.

You sighed, “And that’s not true and you know that. She and your aunt are just shitty people and when we get our shit situated to the point that we do not need them…then, no contact and we live stress-free.”

You turned back to the stove and started plating the food as Mike replied, “I genuinely don’t think stress-free is ever something in my future.” Your heart sank as it always did whenever Mike would make a statement like this. He’d made one mistake, as a child nonetheless, and it’d started a chain of events that consumed his entire life. He deserved better and a much brighter future than the present you two were currently situated in.

“You know I love you, right?” you said, turning, and putting some of the plates on the table.

He nodded, looking a bit confused by your question, “Yeah…”

“So, let it be known, that if it’s the last thing I do…We’re going to have the best life. You, me, and Abs and we’re going to be fine..” You sat the rest of the food out and then walked over to his chair, nudging it with your foot so he’d scoot back from the table, allowing room for you to sit on his lap.

“I mean…If this is where I think it’s going, I’ll be more than fine.”

You pursed your lips, taking a deep breath before putting both hands on each side of his face. His hands were on your thighs, trailing upwards very slowly as if you wouldn’t notice. “Mike…focus…what I’m saying is…I’m with you. I’m with you no matter what and even if things are shitty and could be better, you’ve still got me and you’ve still got Abby at the end of the day. I know you’re going to tell me no…but again, if we got married the benefits would be there for you and possibly Abby and…”

He shook his head, “I’m not marrying you for benefits. That’s just…shitty. That's beyond my levels of shitty. I want to marry you, but not like that. You talk about me deserving better all the time, but you deserve better than that. You take care of all of us and haven’t ditched me even after I beat the ever-loving shit out of some guy at the mall. You’re a saint. If I can’t properly propose with like..a ring, candles, Abby not harassing me about when I’m going to do it like she’s been doing for the past…I don’t know…six months…then, I’m going to put it on hold.”

You chuckled at his comment, “You think too highly of me, baby boy.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and raised an eyebrow, “Do I, though? You do all of this on the regular and I don’t even ask you, and in fact, I’ve told you to stop.”

You shrugged, still laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “Just accept the love, Mike.”

You leaned in and kissed him gently. “You could do so much better, you know?” he stated. You kissed him again.

“How can I do that when I’ve already got the best?”

You spent the rest of the day with Mike, relaxing at home, watching TV, and napping off and on until Abby got home from school. Once her homework was done and everyone had dinner, Mike had gone to lay down for a bit to prepare for his nightly shift at Freddy’s and you were sitting at the table with Abby. Abby was drawing, per usual, and you were trying to finally put some of the pictures of Abby, you, Mike, and all three of you that you’d gotten developed placed into the frames you’d thrifted a few days prior.

“Why do we have to look at Mike any more than we have to?” she stated, eyeing a frame you’d just shut and were putting to the side containing a picture of the three of you on Abby’s last birthday.

You looked at her and then eyed the picture that she’d been drawing for the past hour. “That’s pretty bold coming from someone who puts him at the center of all of their artwork.” You laughed, causing her to immediately flip the paper over and act like nothing was there to begin with.

“You say that like you don’t pick on Mike too!” The younger girl rebutted. You shrugged in response. She had you there.

“You both just gang up on me. I’m outnumbered here. Two girls against me.”

You looked up and smiled, seeing Mike standing against the wall in a very similar stance as he’d appeared in the kitchen that morning.

“If you two have a baby and it’s a boy, we’ll all be even.”

“Abby!” You and Mike called her name in unison causing her to look up at the both of you as she flipped her drawing back around and grabbed a black crayon. No matter how long you and Mike spend informing Abby that she can’t just share whatever thought crosses her mind, all efforts seem to be futile. The comments should be expected at this point, but they still never ceased to shock not only you and Mike but her teachers and peers as well.

“What? I’m right.” she said, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the picture.

You let out a long sigh, sinking into your chair a little more as you went back to finishing the frames and Mike made coffee as part of his routine before work. He sat back at the table and took a sip, looking at what you were doing before looking at what Abby was doing. He sat his coffee mug on the table and took a piece of paper from Abby.

“Hey!”

“You’ve got like…twenty more pieces. You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve had twenty-one!”

You rolled your eyes at the banter between the two siblings before putting the photo frames into a box so that you could start putting them out after Abby went to bed. You set the box aside and then turned your attention back to Abby and Mike. Abby was delicately coloring in the sky in her picture and Mike was ripping a small square out of the paper. You watched him carefully as he started folding the small square in a few different directions, his brows knit together in concentration.

You let your head come to rest on your hand as you watched Mike. He remained completely oblivious to your observations of him and kept working until the square of paper had been transformed into a small circular shape. He reached over and grabbed Abby’s red crayon, drawing something on top of it, and then put the crayon back before the girl even noticed its absence.

“What are you…”

Before you could finish your sentence, Mike had gotten out of his chair and dropped to one knee right in front of you, holding up a paper ring with a small misshapen heart drawn on top. Abby abruptly turned her attention to her brother’s action, the dark blue crayon in her hand falling to the floor as her jaw dropped slightly.

“Y/N L/N, I love you more than life itself…which doesn’t sound like it’s saying a lot coming from me, but I promise it is. You talk about giving me a good future, but I just want to do the same for you. You deserve so much more than I’ll ever be able to give you, but I promise I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Will you…one day…let me replace this with an actual engagement ring…and marry me?”

You couldn’t help the way your face heated up at his words, your hands coming to cover your face to try to hide your reaction.

“Are you serious? Is this real? Do you really want to marry her? Is this finally happening?” It all left Abby’s mouth in a string of what felt like run-on sentences.

“It’s not up to me anymore, Abs.” Mike said, nudging your leg with his free hand that wasn’t holding the ring.

You laughed, shaking your head as you removed both hands from your face and held your left hand out, earning a gasp out of Abby. “I’d marry you whether you replaced the ring or not. I just want you.”

Mike grinned and then slid the paper ring onto your finger, “Then, I’m yours.”

You grinned back before leaning in to kiss him, your left hand coming to rest on his cheek as he smiled into the kiss.

“Oh gross…no…let’s skip to the part where I get to pick out a pretty dress.”

“Abby!”

In paper rings, in picture frames, and all my dreams

Oh, you're the one I want

[kentocidal]

leather

users: trans!ftm!chuuya nakahara x trans!ftm!reader

internal warnings: gloves, improper use of gloves, t4t established relationship, fingering (reader receiving), cum eating, light degradation (reader receiving), finger sucking, stuff done in front of a mirror, ask to tag

internal notes: haha uhhhh brainrot. anyway reader uses he/him pronouns, this is to be read as a t4t fic, do Not interact if you’re cis or if you’re gonna be fucking weird.

“you want me to what?!”

chuuya stared at you incredulously, brows furrowed, mouth twisted in confusion and surprise.

you sat back and covered your face with your hands, whining softly in embarrassment. “forget i said anything!”

“no, no, don’t you dare back down now! i just wanna make sure i heard you correctly.” chuuya grumbled loudly and grabbed one of your wrists to pull a hand away from your face, making you look at him. “repeat yourself.”

“i… want you to… keep the gloves on. just once. during… you know.”

“you want me to keep my gloves on during sex,” he said, almost blandly, as if you weren’t sitting at a quiet bar, “after you begged me to stop wearing my gloves around you.”

“yes! that’s what i said, you don’t need to say it so everyone here can hear you.” you smacked around at his hand and looked around the bar to make sure no one was looking towards you both. “i just think- i thought- maybe it would be nice to try. i don’t know.”

your gaze turned back to chuuya’s, and he had the gall to be snickering at you. you whines again, pushing his chest. “stop it! don’t kinkshame me!”

“i’m not, you brat! it’s just funny!” chuuya grasped your wrist again, his bare hand warm against your skin, his fingers grazing along the soft inside of your wrist. “and a little gross. i kill people with those things on.”

you felt heat crawl up your neck towards the tips of your ears, your eyes glancing away from his, and you heard him let out a breath. “ah. i get it now. jeez, you’re a freak.”

“don’t remind me. i thought you loved me.” you pouted and pulled your hand away from his for a second time. “forget i said anything.”

“but we can do it, i guess. you sure you want me to forget?”

“… no.”

“thought so.”

a few days after that short conversation, you found yourself on your bedroom floor, panting softly and keeping your head turned to the right with your eyes screwed shut. chuuya was sat behind you, fully clothed, the sleeves of his button up rolled up to his elbows, gloves on. you, however, were completely nude, your back to his chest, legs spread over chuuya’s to hold you apart.

“you’re not looking.” he huffed softly against your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin at the base of your jaw. you whimpered and let your eyes slip open just a crack, staring at yourself in the low light of your bedroom. you were spread open for viewing in the mirror, chuuya’s gloved hands roaming up and down your inner thighs.

you caught his gaze in the mirror and he shot you a feral grin, watching you squirm when his fingers curled slightly into the meat on your thighs. his gloves, warm and soft and slick already, were a foreign feeling that left your head spinning.

“look at how fuckin’ handsome you are,” he sighed and pulled you back a little harder against him, almost making you rest your full weight back against him.

“please, touch- please-“ you breathed out and chewed on your lip, watching the way chuuya’s one hand finally started to slip down towards your hard, neglected, twitching cock. you were leaking, drips of your slick drooling down towards the floor.

chuuya chuckled as the ghost of his middle finger traced over your wet cock. “here? you want it here? gotta tell me.”

“yes, please, there…” you whimpered loudly and nodded, and chuuya finally relented, pressing his gloved fingers to your cock and watching your hips jerk up towards the pressure.

“sensitive, huh? how fucking cute are you. you’re makin’ me wanna skip all this and just fuck you.”

you moaned when you felt his fingers slip down towards your hole to collect some of your slick, and then his fingers moved to start jerking your cock quickly. you gasped and cried out, throwing your head back on his shoulder. the leather of the gloves and your slick made his fingers slide so perfectly against your cock, like there was no friction at all. you squirmed in his lap, chest heaving, feeling his other hand slide from your thigh to around your middle to press his hand flag and wide against you.

you felt trapped, held open with chuuya’s lithe, skilled fingers jerking you off. the slip was so perfect, just barely enough, and it made you dizzy. you had to be sweating.

“what a dirty boy you are, hah? beggin’ me to jerk you off with my gloves on. how’s it feel? say it. tell me how it feels.”

“good! feels s’good!” you felt like you were choking on air as his other hand moved from your abdomen to between your thighs, sliding against your hole before dipping two fingers inside.

you almost cried out, the roughness of the leather feeling like too much before you clamped down on him and gushed around his fingers, rolling your hips into his touch harder.

“you like when i fuck you like this? with my fuckin’ gloves on? does it feel good? i didn’t know you were such a freak.” chuuya laughed at the way your cock twitched between his middle and index fingers as he jerked you off, his opposite hand curling his fingers inside you to make your eyes roll back into your head.

“chuuya, chuuya, please, ‘m gonna cum-“

“gonna cum already? jesus, you really were desperate for this.” chuuya sucked a mark into your neck as he pumped his fingers faster, groaning as he watched a creamy ring form at the base of his fingers as he fucked you on them. “go ahead. you’re bein’ so good. such a good slut. show me how much you wanted this.”

you cried out loudly and bucked your hips almost wildly against his fingers as he continued to jerk you off, and you clamped down hard on his fingers as you gushed and your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave.

you squirmed and panted as he kept his fingers moving against your twitching, soaked cock, slowing down but not stopping. his other fingers helped you ride out your high, then pulled out of your hole. he brought his hand up to your face to make you look at the ring you left, at how soaked his glove was.

“must’ve felt good, hm?” his hand moved and his fingers pressed against your lips. you immediately let your jaw go slack, sucking your own cum off of the leather with a low moan.

chuuya grunted behind you, rocking his own hips — you could feel the wet patch in his own pants, feel the bulge in his slacks against your back. before you could say anything, his fingers pressed down on your tongue to make you keep your mouth open, and he stared at you with dark eyes through the mirror.

“sit up and get face down. it’s my turn to try something.”

[theloveoftoms]

one hell of a pilot - maverick x reader

summary: after a recent breakup, your long-time friend goose suggests you join him and the others at a bar off base. maverick and you forge a meaningful connection <3

a/n: hello babes, guess who's back from her far too long hiatus, this girl! I started writing this a few weeks ago, and I finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy, I know writing it was a blast! I have my poetry final today, so wish me luck lolz. have a great day :)) - xoxo mac

wordcount: 4.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, shitty ex-boyfriend, language ;0

Today had been a rough day. Training at Top Gun had increased to a new level of difficulty. With each new assignment and flight training demanding a new level of grit and determination to accomplish. And it certainly didn’t help that your heart was still in the process of mending from the pain caused by your most recent boyfriend, well, now I suppose, ex-boyfriend. 

The day at Top Gun was finally over, and the thought of coming home to your single-unit pleased you in the moment, but you knew damn well, that the second you got back to your apartment, the dread of it all would sink in. 

So, after a shower, and a luke-warm beer that you had forgotten to put in the refrigerator, you found yourself perched on the arm of your living room couch, fiddling with the remote that never seemed to work, but probably just needed batteries. You found some shitty action movie on tv and ate a plate of strawberries as the sound of fast cars and men with Floridan accents became a comforting lull in the background.

Your night, or at least how you had planned it, would consist of, 1) the second half of this shitty movie 2) the leftover chicken quesadilla you had waiting for you in the refrigerator and 3) the cheap thriller novel that you had found at the drugstore last week. What you didn’t anticipate happening, was the doorbell ringing promptly at nine, just after you had finished your dinner.

So, you pulled yourself up from the couch, and on the way to the door, when you passed a glimpse of your reflection in the hallway mirror, you debated grabbing a cardigan or a blanket or something to cover up your sloppy look. You were wearing a navy-branded t-shirt (courtesy of your days at the academy), and pair of biker shorts that appeared to be non-existent as they hid beneath the excess material of the mens tripple-XL shirt. But the closer you got to the door, the further that thought was in your mind, and you decided, that whoever was on the other side of the door would just have to deal with your post-work image.

“y/l/n,” Goose stated confidently, a hand resting on his hip, “you busy tonight?”

Your posture relaxed when you realized who it was; the man you practically grew up with. 

You deadpanned and gestured to yourself, “does it look like I’m busy Bradshaw?”

Goose shrugged, not entirely sure how to reply to that retort of yours.

“What do you need Goose?” You asked nonchalantly, both wanting and not-wanting to get back inside to the comforts of your sofa.

“A couple of the guys and I are going to grab drinks at the Duke and I was wondering if you wanted to tag along?”

You gestured to yourself again, “Does it look like I’m fit to go to a bar Nick?”

“It looks like you need a pair of fuckin pants,” he said jokingly, which earned a slap to his bicep.

“I know things haven’t been great for you lately y/n,” Goose said, “with Brett and all.” 

Brett. Just hearing his name brought an unwanted surge of pain through your chest. Specifically, the surge of pain that you had been trying to push away for the past couple of weeks. You didn’t cry about him anymore, in the daytime that is. But at night, when you would lie in bed beneath the darkness of the moon, missing the presence of having someone to curl into, the tears would come, and they would temporarily make an impression on your pillowcase. But as you slept it off, the tears would dry, and you would wake up the next morning feeling mostly okayish.

“And I think,” Goose said, bringing you back into reality from the facade of memories that you had been reminiscing upon within your mind just then, “if you came out with us tonight, you’d have more fun than you would here,” he said, gesturing to your townhome, “spilling a tub of ice cream all over yourself while you sit alone with the lights off.”

Way harsh Goose, you thought to yourself. But he did have a point. You hadn’t been out in forever. The last time you actually went and got drinks like a proper twenty-something-year-old was with your parents when you relocated to San Diego for your position in Top Gun. And that was just at some locally owned Mexican restaurant that happened to have a bar inside. Maybe it would be good to get back out there?

You rolled your eyes, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.”

So, as Goose, your childhood best friend stood in your kitchen, washing the plate you had used to eat your chicken quesadilla, you were busy in your room getting yourself ready for the evening. You dressed yourself in a lacey black tank top that looked only slightly like lingerie, but didn’t if you wore it tucked into a pair of straight-cut jeans and wore it alongside a pair of low beige heels. As you ran a comb through your wavy hair, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself in the mirror.

Sure, it was a pretty typical outfit that other young women of your age wore when they went out for drinks, but it was cute. And it did provide you with the security of looking  just like every other woman. Thats exactly what you wanted to appear to be; just like every other woman. Brett had dumped you because you weren’t ready to settle down with him. You weren’t ready to move in, you weren’t ready for marriage, and you sure as hell weren’t ready for children. Brett wanted you to finish up Top Gun and then lie low for a while, putting your career aside. “Be realistic,” Brett had said, “This pilot shit can’t last forever. Maybe look at getting a different job, one thats more feminine?” 

Your career was very important to you. You had worked so hard to climb the latter that that is the United States Navy. Your career was the highlight of your life. It was everything you had ever worked towards. And you weren’t going to give that up. And as much as you hated to admit, the reason of your recent break-up, had been affecting your ego ever so slightly.

So tonight, as you admired your curves in the mirror, and put on some mascara, you told yourself that you were just like every other woman.

…

“This better be worth it,” you grumbled, shutting the door to Goose’s Bronco, scanning the beach-side dive bar with your eyes.

Off in the distance, the evening tangerine hue was beginning to creep up and onto the horizon, putting the day to sleep in preparation for the night. And alongside the dimming of the evening, the neon lights of the dive bar became more welcoming.

The Duke, the off-base bar that Goose had insisted you join him and the others at, was the kind of place that had charm, but only if you knew where to look for it. It was the kind of place with neon lights and drinks that were both cheap and good. It was the kind of place that people came to forget about the day they had just had. Thats what you wanted. And the aura of the loud music coming from the bar would sure help with that. 

“Trust me, y/n,” Goose reassured you, responding to your question, “it will be.”

You wanted to believe Goose, you really did. And the moment you saw the table of guys that you’ve began to come to know as your group of friends, the night already seemed better. 

“Look who made it!” Iceman said as you approached the table, making you feel welcome, “Its good to see you Cobra,” he said, calling you by your call sign.

You smiled and as you took a seat at one of the empty chairs, saying your ‘hellos’ to the other classmates that were here. And at the end of the table was no other than Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell – perhaps, your greatest competitor – sitting laxly with a beer in his hands and his regular leather jacket draped around his chair.

Damn he had nice arms.

“Evening Cobra,” he said to you, leaning back ever so slightly in a way that seemed to be slightly too confident.

“Maverick,” you offered as a form of pleasantry.

Slider, who was busy looking at the drink menu slapped it down on the counter, pointing to one item in particular. “Now this,” he said, his finger drawn to a platter of five tequila shots, “this is what we need to get things going.”

So, as soon as a one of the circulating waitresses happened to be walking by your table, she wrote down, and then brought over the collective order of your table, the night certainly got a whole lot more exciting.

“Alright,” Goose said, handing you your stalky shot glass of 100% pure tequila, complete with a rim of salt and an accompanying lime, “To good times,” he said nodding.

“Good times,” you repeated along with the others, before drawing the glass to your mouth, tasting the dryness of the salt right before proceeding to take the shot.

The warmth of the alcohol tricked down your throat as you swallowed, and you forgot just how strong shots could be. You weren’t sure if swallowing it as quickly as possible made the uncomfortable sensation better or worse, but as soon as the clear liquid was all emptied from your glass, you jammed the lime into your mouth and squinted your eyes shut as a way to combat the sensation. You weren’t the only one. It seemed everyone at your table, was just to realizing how strong Slider’s chosen shots were.

“Shit,” Goose groaned, setting his glass down on the table, “And you enjoy these Slider?”

Slider shrugged, grinning, “Its awful right now, but hey, come ten minutes, you’ll feel real great.”

Opening one of the beers on the table, you rolled your eyes Sliders comment, “It’ll take more than that,” you sarcastically groaned to Goose who was seated beside you.

“What was that y/n?” Iceman asked.

You shook your head, “Ah, it was nothing.”

“Do I hear you wanting to go for a round two?”

Now, a sensible you would have said no. But since it was Friday night, you wouldn’t have to get up early tomorrow for class. And its not like you had any other plans for the day besides catching up on some paperwork and going on your usual walk. So for once in your life, you threw caution to the wind and agreed, “You got it Ice.”

So, naturally, when your platter of shots arrived, you passed them out, handing each one of the guys their respective glasses with a smirk.

“Maverick,” you said charmingly – gee, thanks alcohol – and you tried to avoid the warm feeling in your chest when your slender fingers skimmed against Maverick’s as you handed him the glass.

“Three, two, one,” you counted down, giving yourself, and possibly the rest of your group, the mental preparation prior to that same burning sensation that would wreak havoc in your mouth prior to swallowing and quickly placing the lime in your mouth.

There was a collective groan from your table as the five shot glasses returned to their small cedar serving plank. 

You laughed, washing down the remaining remnants of the uncomfortable taste with the beer you had ordered. “I am not doing that again.”

So, for the next while, as the effects of the alcohol began to make itself present in your body, you sat at the table, just chatting and hanging out with your classmates, sharing stories from your lives before the navy. And while the five of you talked, you couldn’t help but stare at the opposite end of the table where Maverick was seated.

Sure, naturally, prior to this evening, you had realized that Maverick was attractive, but being in a relationship with someone didn’t really allow you to fully appreciate his beauty. With his dark hair, carelessly brushed in an effortlessly windswept way atop of his head, and his oceanic eyes, that in some lights appeared green, and in others, appeared to be almost blue.

Physically, he was gorgeous, but your past interactions with him intrigued you to what it would be like to know him. He had an ego, one that was strong and unaffected, but there was something about his drive, about his reach, about the passion he put into everything he did. You couldn’t help but wonder if one knew him intimately, if he would pursue them with the same passion and drive.

The thought cleared from your mind when his eyes met yours, making you look away, and ultimately force yourself to think of something other than the man that is Maverick.

You hadn’t noticed, but with the loss of your collective sobriety that each one of you can your friends had came in with, the music in the dive bar began to form a sound for itself. The radio collection, of rock, and pop, and some hard core groovy songs had elevated in loudness, so much so, that in a section of the bar a cluster of people had begun to dance among the cleared spot in the building.

“Do you guys see that?” Slider asked, his face drawn in a grin. 

You turned in your chair, studying the dancers with your eyes, then turning back to face the table, “What?” You asked.

“That blonde over there,” Slider said, “She’s giving me some serious fuck me eyes.”

Hearing those words come out of your classmates mouth nearly made you choke on your beer, you weren’t expecting that.

“Wanna join me Ice?” Slider asked, “She’s got friends.”

You rolled your eyes as the two of them as they both threw themselves out of their seats and leisurely sauntered over to the dance floor. 

“Anything to get laid,” Goose muttered jokingly when the two men began to sway to the beat of the music not quite beside, but very much near the two women. 

“You could probably meet someone out there Cobra,” Goose said, more directly to you.

You scanned the crowd again, “I’m not too sure if I want to,” you gestured to the men, “they all look like their mothers still pick out their clothes for them.”

Maverick snorted from his spot over across the table, “She’s got a point Nick.”

You turned to face Maverick and flashed him a grin, “see, someone gets me!”

Goose shook his head, trying to hide his smile before saying, “I’m going to go give Carol a call, I promised I’d call her tonight. You two try and stay out of trouble,” he said, lecturing the two of you like children.

Seemingly the moment Goose left the table, Maverick’s gaze met yours. You were usually fine with eye connate, but there was something about the way that Maverick’s enchanting green eyes were staring into your own that made you feel both nervous and calm at the same time. You weren’t too sure what to say, or what the two of you could talk about, so as a way of diverting the imminence of your conversation, you took another drink of your beer, which only provided a moment relief where you weren’t required to think of what to say.

“You dance?” He asked you, the comment coming out of nowhere.

You shook your head, “I can sort-of dance, but I don’t that often,” you told him unsure of why you chose to tell him that. “And you?” You asked him back.

Maverick shook his head grinning, “not really my thing either.”

And then from across the room you heard a voice of familiarity, and right away you knew who it belonged to. Brett. Your ex-boyfriend Brett. The man who broke your heart Brett. 

As much as you didn’t want to turn around, and face the man who had told you to take a step down from your career, your suspicions got the best of you, and as much as you didn’t wish to see him, there was some sort of burning panic in your chest that wouldn’t be fulfilled if you didn’t turn in your seat. 

There he was. Standing tall, with his sandy hair, and well sculpted physique, whispering tiny inaudible thoughts into the ear of a woman with bleach blonde hair. Your eyes met his, and suddenly you wanted to leave. You wanted a sinkhole to come up into the bar and swallow you whole. And the moment Brett flashed you a grin, one that said, this is my new woman, you jealous? You felt the desire, no, the need to get out of the bar. You weren’t ready to face all of this just yet.

But time doesn’t always work in your favour. And so the moment Brett walked over to your table, his arm linked tightly around the slender waist of the bleach blonde woman, you weren’t too sure what to do. 

Brett smiled in the kind of way that reminded you of what it was like to know him, before spewing out pleasantries and introducing the woman known as Crystal who was joined at his hip. “Its good to see you out y/n,” he said coyly, and in that moment, a ping of hatred found its way through your heart, how had you ever been with this man.

But instead of telling him off, as much as you wanted to, you smiled bluntly, your eyes revealing your true nature, “And its good to see you indulging in pleasures other than morning runs and cheap beer from the gas station.”

As Crystal gave you a dirty look, Maverick snorted before walking over to your end of the table and putting an arm around your chair, “I think its time for you to be on your way man,” he said to Brett. 

Brett shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “I was just coming by to say hello,” before he walked away, his hand moving down from Crystals waist circulating above her ass. Good riddance Brett!

You turned to Maverick, flashing him a gentle smile, “thanks for that Mav,” before pausing and looking to the door, “if you don’t mind, I think I just need some air.”

And without protest, you pushed yourself up from your seat, and tried to compose yourself as the night time air hit your face. You felt warm – thanks to the alcohol – but the coldness felt lovely on your skin. You felt refreshed, cleansed almost.

On the opposite side of the Duke, was the sandy beach leading up to the ocean, which now, in the dark of night, was illumined by nearby houses and buildings, and the light of the moon reflected calmly on the waters. You decided to walk onto the sand, removing your heels from your feet and letting the now-cold sand wiggle around your toes as you walked, until you found a spot within the sand to take a seat.

Gosh, the one person you didn’t want to see tonight was Brett, and surely enough, he was there. You hated that you saw him, and you hated that you weren’t quite over him yet. Naturally, things would take time, you just wanted to get through that as quick as you could.

Behind you, you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, which made you turn, your awareness of your surroundings coming into a fuller passage.

It was Maverick, waking slowly towards you through the sand. “Mind if I sit?” He asked.

You gestured to the available ground beside yourself, “by all means, be my guest.”

You didn’t really feel like you wanted company, but then again, it was Maverick, only Maverick, and you didn’t want to turn him away after he had stood up for you back there.

And as soon as Maverick sat down beside you, the warmth and familiarity of his scent filed your way through the air, a blend of sandalwood and citrus, and cedar, and near-summer nights, you found yourself relax a bit in his presence.

For a while, the two of you just sat there beneath the moonlight in one another's company, just listening to the sound of the waves upon the shore. It was peaceful.

“So that was him?” He finally asked you. 

You nodded, turning your face ever so slightly to face him, “that was Brett, the Marine.”

Maverick nodded, “Goose told me about him,” he paused, “he seems like an ass.”

You chuckled, not too sure why, “you’re right about that.”

You weren't too sure how much of your failed relationship you wanted to share with your friend. You and Maverick weren't particularly close, but the two of you obviously cared about one another.

“I just hate,” you sighed, “I hate how when I was with him, I didn’t even realize how big of a dick he could be.”

Maverick looked over to you, as if he knew you were going to say more.

“He told me to give up my career after I’m done at Top Gun,” you said, feeling a sense of relief by telling someone else about the matter, “He wanted to get married, and have kids, and he wanted me to follow him wherever he went.”

Maverick scoffed.

“And its not that I even hate that that’s what he wanted, I hate that part of me, a very, very, small part of me, considered it. And sometimes, all I can do if worry about if I made the right decision, and walked away from him, from that life for the one Ive worked so hard for.”

Maverick shook his head, and in a more quiet tone, he turned to face you, “don't ever doubt yourself like that. Ever.”

You looked away from him, feeling some warm sensation in your chest, but when Maverick resumed to speak, you had no other choice but to turn back to face the brunette. 

“You’re a pilot,” he said, “Its in your blood, its in your veins, its who you are. And you’re damn good at it. Hell, somedays I wish I was nearly as good as you. You fly with so much precision and drive and when you're up there, I only wish I could have a fraction of whatever it is that you do, because you are just so so good at it.”

You looked back to Maverick, noticing the soften in his usual expression. His moonlight eyes were on you, and only you.

“And if you ever think you would be better off with some dick like Brett, you’re wrong, because someone who loves you, shouldn’t hold you back from your potential, they should push you, they should inspire you to do better, to be better, to become better.”

For a while, the two of you just sat in silence, absorbing the pure intimacy of one another's gaze. You hadn’t realized how cold it was beginning to get because you were too busy thinking about what Maverick had just said. You didn’t realize the trail of goosebumps that had found their way across both of your arms, the cool night time air that brushed against them. But Maverick did. 

Maverick slipped his arms out of his leather jacket, and draped it around your shoulders, a peaceful expression on his face. “Here,” he said, dawning the jacket, the very one that smelt so much like him it made you relax, “Its not super warm, but its better than nothing.”

When the warmth returned to your arms, almost the minute you gathered the material around yourself, your thoughts were finally gathered back into your head. You turned to Maverick, your knee brushing up against his faintly, but just enough that you were aware of its presence, and the way in which the faint warmth radiated through the fabric of both his jeans and yours, until you became hyperaware of its presence, and gave him a soft smile. “Thank you,” you told him.

“For the jacket,” you said, pulling the leather closer to your chest, “and for what you said. No one has ever told me that before.” You paused a moment, “it means a lot.”

Maverick’s expression softened and he looked at you contently, “its the truth,” he said softly.

You leaned into him, your head now resting on his shoulder, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of relief, you felt relaxed in Maverick’s presence. And when he leant his head, gently atop of yours, you knew that what Maverick had said was genuine.

And so, like you had initially thought, when Goose suggested the idea of going to a bar, you thought you would have maybe made one or two bad decisions, maybe choosing to kiss a man with far too much tongue, or follow him home. But what had ended up amounting from the evening was far better. You made a real connection, with someone who you would later find out, would become well worth you time. 

That was the night you had met Maverick for the second time. The night when the two of you forged a connection one that even time wouldn’t be able to take away. 

[the-bottom-of-the-abyss]

siren song - chapter 5

Masterlist

previous chapter: chapter 4

next chapter: chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys!! Likely it won't be that long in between updates in the future because I am also obssessed with this story. Also, you can't tag more than 100 people on a post so I'm doing the rest in the comments and I'm hoping it works!! Thank you for all the love on the story, it means the world to me ❤️ Also this is a tad bit shorter than usual but next chapter will probably be really long so it should even out!!

Siren

August 30 2022

2100, Classified location, Las Almas

The darkness of the night surrounded you, only broken up by headlights from the two cars you and the rest of your team exited from. The illumination allowed you to take in the desert around you, the dry sand and the occasional cacti. Nothing could be seen for miles and the only semblance of life seemed to be the call of nearby coyotes. It was such a deserted space, you almost expected a tumbleweed to roll by.

You leaned against the side of one of the cars and watched Ghost do the same at the other vehicle. 

Soap and Alejandro dragged a struggling Hassan from the car near you and into the middle while Graves set up a laptop on the ground.

“On your knees,” Soap ordered, pushing Hassan to the desert floor along with Alejandro’s help.

“Y’all got a clear picture?” Graves asked after setting up the video call with Shepherd and Laswell. Alejandro yanked off the black hood covering Hassan and stayed standing behind him, gun at the ready.

“Crystal,” Shepherd’s voice rang out from the laptop.

“All set,” Laswell confirmed.

“Alright, we are live, folks,” Graves said, walking over to join Soap in standing in front of Hassan. Graves hooked his thumbs into the front of his vest, giving off an air of ease.

Before Graves could utter a single word, Hassan spoke up first.

“Do you speak Arabic?”

“No,” Graves replied.

“Farsi?”

Graves looked up in annoyance before leveling a bored stare at Hassan. “No.”

“Course not. Then I’ll speak you bastardized medieval English,” Hassan gave a small smile, “because you are all uneducated street dogs.”

Graves looked down and shook his head in mock-disappointment.

“Ah, see… we’re getting off to a bad start here, Hassan.”

“You are talking to a Quds Force officer.”

“You’re the commander of a foreign terror organization,” Graves stated.

“I can say the same to you,” Hassan replied. His attempts at provocation failed, with none of you reacting to what was a very pathetic attempt at cleverness.

“What’s your target, ‘Major’?” Graves asked, tacking on the last bit with thinly veiled sarcasm.

“What was your target when they sent missiles to my land?”

Graves shrugged before looking back to Hassan. “Oh well, wild guess… To nail your ass.”

“So insolent and foul-mouthed,” Hassan said with distaste, “You will learn to respect me when your nation sees fire.”

Graves took a step forward, getting even closer. “You are in bed with the cartel, Hassan. If you disappeared, no one would know where to look for the fuckin’ stain.” The last bit was said through gritted teeth; personally, you wouldn’t have shown any sense of anger or frustration with a man like Hassan who clearly craved it. In your opinion, nonchalance and indifference would work best, but alas, it was not your interrogation.

Hassan laughed. “I have no doubt you’ll take pleasure in torturing me.”

Soap interrupted the back and forth between Graves and Hassan, asking, “Who’d you get American missiles from?”

Almost immediately, Shepherd cut in. “I don’t care who they’re from, I wanna know where they’re going.”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly; surely, he would want to know who the supplier was in order to prevent more from getting into the wrong hands. It struck you as odd, the hardness in his voice. Maybe you were reading into things too much, but based on the look on Soap’s face, you weren’t the only one.

Graves stepped away from Hassan and looked at the immediate, desolate surroundings. As if on cue, coyotes began howling.

“Take a look around, Hassan,” Graves said, now bending to be eye-level with Hassan. “Now, you can either become part of the food chain or you can start talking.”

“I’m a hostage here. This is illegal.”

Alejandro placed a firm hand on Hassan’s shoulder. “You’re a prisoner of war.”

Hassan attempted to rear back and look at Alejandro but was stopped by the hand on his shoulder. 

“Iran is not at war with Mexico. I’ve broken no laws. These men and their commanders are the law breakers,” Hassan declared, looking at every one of your team.

“You and your beloved General Ghorbani broke every—“ Soap was instantly cut off by an enraged Hassan.

“Do not speak his name!” he roared. “You executed him and you will pay for your crimes!”

This outburst brought a lazy smirk to your face. You simply could not stay back any longer, not when it was finally getting good.

You sauntered up next to Soap and Graves and joined them in towering over Hassan. 

“Men,” you said humorously, your smirk never faltering, “always so dramatic.”

Hassan lunged towards you, causing Alejandro to tighten his grip and Soap to aim his gun at Hassan but you didn’t move. You simply chuckled as he spit out something you assumed to be an insult. You were not afraid of this man. You were not afraid of many men, not anymore.

Before you could say anything else, Shepherd’s voice, full of frustration, came through the laptop.

“I want this bastard in permanent custody or looking up at the goddamn grass…”

“General,” Laswell cautioned, “killing Hassan is an act of war, keeping him is illegal. Right now, he is too hot to hold.”

“Tell me you’re getting something actionable, Laswell.”

“Working on it. Stand by.”

Graves walked to the laptop and placed it on the hood of the car that Ghost stood next to. 

“Actual, let me finish this,” Graves implored.

“There is nothing I would like more,” Shepherd admitted. “But Laswell’s right. Without proof we need to turn him loose. See where he leads us.”

“He’s right here. You can’t be serious,” Soap said incredulously.

“I’m afraid I am, son.”

At that, Hassan smirked.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Ghost looking down at Hassan’s phone. “Did we get anything from his phone?”

“Affirmative,” Laswell answered. “We got a hit.”

“Good,” Shepherd said. “Now take him back and let him go.”

Alejandro threw a hood back over Hassan’s head and dragged him up. On the way, Ghost slid the phone into Hassan’s jacket pocket while Soap shut the laptop, killing the connection to Washington.

 

——

 

Siren

31 August 2022

0800, Mexican Special Forces base, Las Almas

No orders had been given after letting Hassan go. You assumed others in the task force besides your fellow Sergeant and Lieutenant were on the lead from Hassan’s phone. You instead were to wait for further instructions and remain in the base along with the Mexican Special Forces and Shadow PMC boys. You seemed to be one of the only women around, and it seemed several pairs of eyes followed you wherever you went. 

Except when Ghost was around apparently. Only at breakfast when you sat in silence with your team did you see people look at you then quickly avert their gaze.

The joke was on them, though. They may stereotype based on Ghost’s menacing aura and mask, but the most dangerous kind of person is the one you’d never expect.

Feeling a little restless, you found yourself training. First, to warm up, you decided to practice throwing knives. You were pretty confident in your skills, but it never hurt to be repetitive.

You began with the closest dummy, aiming for every major artery you could hit while your target was stationary. However, you, as well as anybody knew, that rarely did a perfect shot line up. Most of the time, you dealt with people running towards or away from you, which is why the moving feature of the target dummies was so useful. As it moved back and forth, you carefully but swiftly took your aim and hit the mark, this time only trying for the heart or head; any fancy knifework was not worth the possibilty of missing your mark, something you knew from experience.

You smiled at your own skills. You weren’t always like that though; You became good out of necessity, not fascination with the craft. However, the necessity was the best kind of teacher, where one missed mark would lead to death and every hit was a step to freedom.

As you walked up to retrieve the knives, you felt the weight of someone’s gaze on your back. A few of Graves’ boys were standing around, looking at your handiwork. And in the way back, you saw a familiar, masked face watching you too.

—

After an hour or so of doing knife work, you left to explore the other training facilities. It was a large base, one that had extensive opportunities for skill improvement that you fully intended to take advantage of.

You found the hand-to-hand area fairly quickly, on account of Soap and Ghost trying to take each other out. They were covered in a layer of sweat, indicating they had been at it a while.

“C’mon Johnny,” Ghost drawled out, “you can do better.”

“Go fuck yourself, Lt.” Johnny replied, attempting to land a punch in Ghost’s side, only to be blocked with ease. 

You sat on the sideline and watched as they battled it out. In all honestly, both were very good, with only a handful of blows landing for each of them.

Eventually though, Ghost had Soap in headlock of sorts on the ground and Soap tapped out. 

“Damn, Lt.,” Soap said, catching his breath. “gonna put me out of commission.”

“Nah, I think you still got some fight in you,” Ghost told him.

“I think I’m done for today,” Soap said. “Maybe we can rematch another time.”

“Alright, mate.” 

As Soap walked off, Ghost grabbed his water and lifted the balaclava just enough for him to place the bottle to his lips. 

You unabashedly watched his Adam’s apple move with each drink and stared at his lips as they cradled the bottle rim. Never before had you been so fascinated by a pair of lips, especially ones not belonging to a target. And even then, you were more interested in getting their lips on you so you could distract them enough to get what you really needed.

This time though, there was no ulterior motive to watching your superior officer. Just pure intrigue, one that you weren’t sure whether you wanted to fuel or douse with water.

Ghost finished his drink, pulled his balaclava back down, and turned to you. You did not startle when he looked straight at you; you figured he knew you were there from the moment you entered. He seemed like someone who was always aware, always on guard, just like you. 

“Siren,” he greeted as you walked towards him.

“Need a sparring partner?” you asked, stopping to stand in front of him.

“You want to fight?” Ghost’s voice made the question seem more like a statement. 

“Think I can’t handle you?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can handle me just fine, Sergeant,” he said with a low timbre that made a pang of desire to go through your body. “Just making sure.”

In lieu of an answer, you backed up to stand across from him and stood at the ready. He nodded at you and and you returned the gesture, signaling that you were ready for whatever he had in store.

He was large, but you were fast and a quick thinker. There had been many times that called for hand-to-hand and almost always, your opponent was bigger than you; this was no different.

Like in all the movies, you began just circling each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“You’re holding out on me, Lieutenant,” you baited. 

“I could say the same,” he replied.

You circled each other on the mat a few more times before you finally decided to make the first move.

You approached quickly, acting as if you were going to punch him in the face but instead went for a gut shot with your other fist. Not your best move, but the fight was just getting started.

He grabbed your wrist before it made contact with his stomach, his grip bruising.

You easily broke out of his hold but not before he threw a swing your way. You leaned out of the way, barely, and instead kicked him in his side. His hand briefly encircled your ankle before you yanked it back, not allowing him to end the fight just yet.

Almost immediately he was on you again, this time actually landing a hit with a knee to your stomach. You briefly doubled over and he unsuccessfully attempted to follow up by grabbing you, only stopped by your quick recovery.

You traded blows back and forth, with each hit becoming more and more passion-fueled.

After a few minutes he finally got ahold of you fully by grabbing your ponytail and pulling you by it. In your attempt to free yourself he grabbed both wrists and held them in one hand.

Ghost held you against his body, with you facing away from him. One hand wrapped around your throat while the other was occupied keeping your wrists from breaking free.

“Mmm, kinky,” you purred, arching your back to press further into his hold. “But you’re going to have to try harder than that to impress me.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, tightening his grip around your neck.

“Yeah,” you answered, going limp in his arms. Caught off guard, his grip faultered, allowing you to break free from his grip and sweet his feet from under him. You wasted no time straddling him and pinning his wrists above his head.

You didn't get to celebrate the small victory, though, because within seconds he was flipping you over, putting you in the same position. You attempted to buck your hips up and free yourself but he didn’t budge.

You let yourself go limp once more, this time in mock-defeat.

“Give up?” Ghost teased, bringing his masked-face closer to you.

You knew you weren't the only one to feel the tension constantly tying the two of you together; he played dirty, as evidenced by yanking on your hair. You wouldn't show him any mercy just because the two of you shared moments

You widened your eyes in feigned surprise at the closeness. He stopped so close that you could feel his breath brush against your lips, and you could see individual fibers sticking out of the balaclava.

You made your breath hitch, causing him to glance down. You bit your lip and watched his gaze follow the action. You wanted him to feel like a predator, finally catching his prey; like he was in control.

He brought your wrists together so he could hold them together while his free hand found itself around your throat once again. You leaned into the touch, and he slid his hand upwards, thumb moving to touch your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly and he took it as an invitation to slip it in to rest on your tongue. Without pause, you hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked and caressed it with your tongue, eliciting a very quiet groan from the man above you. He took his thumb out from your mouth and dragged it down your chin and neck, stopping at the top of your tank top on your chest. Ghost’s eyes were a wildfire, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to be utterly and completely consumed by it.

However, you needed to prove to him that you could handle yourself just fine.

Right as he breathed in to say something, you quickly headbutted him as hard as you could and in the confusion, brought your legs to your chest and pushed him off completely.

You scrambled to jump on top of him and lock his head in between your legs. You tightened your hold as he tried to pry you off of him to no avail. 

“Give up?” you mocked with a smirk.

He patted the mat twice with a hand and you released him from your hold.

You both got to your feet, both breathing heavily, and you reached out a hand.

Ghost grabbed it and shook it firmly. Before letting go, he pulled you closer, bringing you within inches of his face.

“You play a dangerous game, Siren,” he warned quietly. 

“I invented the game, Ghost,” you told him with a coy smile.

For a moment, everything was still. It felt like that tension was finally going to snap, and maybe you could finally get him out of your system. His eyes dropped to your lips again and you took a small step closer. It felt like walking a tightrope, this back and forth with him.

But instead, he dropped your hand, eyes roaming beyond you and to the group of Shadows and Graves that just walked in.

Without another word, Ghost left, leaving you to relish in your victory and think about the taste of his skin.

—

Later, you finished off your training at the range once again, this time using an MCPR-300 sniper rifle for a change. You were doing fairly well, managing to hit the bullseye for a majority of the shots when you heard someone walk in behind you.

“It’s me.” Soap walked up, taking the window beside you and pulling out his own rifle. “Pretty sweet facility, eh?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “Haven’t practiced in something this nice in a while.”

“I thought the Americans were all about the military,” he commented, attaching his scope.

“Oh, they are,” you reassured. “I’m never in the same place for very long so I don’t get to experience it much anymore.”

Soap lined up his rifle for a shot. He took aim and fired, hitting the target in the head. You took a turn, running through the same ritual. Breathe, aim, fire.

“But not in the beginning?” he asked.

“No, I joined just like everyone else,” you told him.

Both of you traded shots back and forth for a bit. You let the silence sit, knowing that he likely would drop any questions if you stayed quiet. But a part of you geniuenly was curious about your teammates; the only time you ever got to know people was reading their file right before being tasked with killing them. It was a lonely life, not that you minded most of the time. You decided that you would let yourself be companionable, just for the time being, just until you were alone again.

“Why’d you join?” you asked him. 

“Cousin was in the British Army and I visited him a lot,” Soap told you. “I wanted to join too. I even lied about my age a few times, but I got caught every time.”

You chuckled at the thought. He laughed as well, but a blush spread up his neck in embarrasment at the tale.

“You?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Not much else to do. Didn’t know my parents, aged out of the system. It was something to do and something to keep food in my stomach.”

“Damn,” he said quietly. You figured it was out of pity and not only did you not want it, you didn’t want to bring down the entire conversation. It was a lonely upbringing, yes, and not the easiest either. But at the end of the day, you survived. Your time growing up didn't even make it in the top fifteen of the more less-than-ideal situations you had been in. It really was a matter of perspective. And to Soap, who has no clue about the rest of your life, you knew how it sounded and why he reacted in that way.

“Doesn’t really bother me,” you told him. “Maybe back then, but I’m glad I joined. I’m good at what I do and I’m not sure who I’d be without it.”

The last bit was a little more than you intended on admitting, but you trusted these men to watch your back, it wasn’t too much more to let them have a glimpse of your true self, whoever she was. Between the different masks and personas, you sometimes got a small taste of who you used to be, but for the most part, she was long gone, hidden away.

You stood in the silence together, both of you continuing to practice. It was nice, the feeling of camaraderie. It made you a little melancholy to think of going back to working alone. It was inevitable though; most jobs you did called for deep infilatration and just you. Recently, your assignments had been shorter, not requiring you to integrate yourself seemlessly in a targets life, but you have had your fair share of them over the years.

“Siren?”

Both you and Soap looked to the Shadow who walked into the range.

“Yes?” you answered.

“General Shepherd is asking for you.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll be right there.” you told him, beginning to disassemble your gun.

“Wonder why,” Soap muttered after the mercenary left.

“No idea,” you told him.

—

“General,” you greeted as his face popped up over the video call.

He sighed.

“Siren, I need a win right now,” he began. “There are some… unfortunate events that have occurred that are keeping Laswell away. It’s being taken care of, but we need more on these missiles.”

You wanted to ask about Laswell, but his tone was enough to deter you. Surely, you would hear about it soon anyways.

“Go out and be my eyes and ears,” he ordered. “No need to exterminate any of the locals, but wear a wire or something for Mexican Special Forces to listen in and translate. See if you can hear anything about the head of the cartel. I have a feeling that will be the next place we have to look.”

“Of course, sir,” you told him. “To clarify, you want only me to go?” 

“Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not. Just double checking.” You could just imagine how annoyed Ghost will be. He's already shown that he wants you to have backup, though if the roles were reversed, he would refuse it for himself. This time, though, your hands were tied, even if you did want someone watching your back.

He nodded and ran a hand down over his face. He looked about ten years older than usual and clearly has had some difficulty sleeping if his dark circles were anything to go by. “I need this done tonight. I want a debrief when the night is over.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Taglist:

@jinxed-yep@july4th1918-mycaptain@rickgrimes12643@sarcasticwalrus0@aykxz98@midaribaby@your-highnessmarvel@ssqra@voidinfernal@nobody-000@theyounglingslayer@memeorydotcom@kuutski@sodbos@lenasvoid@caleb-bailea@clayzayden@thelesbianwithissues@luxuricious@kwiltshire13@summerbbygirl@persephones-garden@andromacher@jaysealynn@eternallysarcastic@cryingdvst@mystic-of-fire@bakusatsuhoe@tranquiiit@multiple-boxes-of-earthworms-de@kc-957@scaredknight@mrsspector-grant@polar-pluto@orcishkitty@sodbos@iyaheartsabbyanderson@fluffyspaceprincess@itsagrimm@comedinewithmeyeh@muffinsz@bingblomp123@blazinghost@berrxessi @elentiyaiswriting@scaredknight@lovingly-kc@almostcrystalized101@spider-thot0115@starcoveredhoney@cvpitvno@harmssss@somnolentintrovert@callyum@rosegxoxo@thatawokenhunter@syd-vixious@orestukassss@ryunniez@kaitlynisinfinite@peachfridges@cocosie@plutogamer@way-of-love@anitdot@sleepynyx@swissy23@seasaltt99@isasinterlude@cynicalmnm@euovennia@ho3forghost@spoonz@teaties@stilestheabominablesnowman@embers-of-alluring@ohh-theaudacity@raswiet@freegardenstudenttree@angelsquid@workof-a-rr-t@le0thely0n@skulli33@lovely29701@fantasticcopeaglepasta@un1k0@stupidstupidstupids@tojisprincess@urfavgay67@doodle-cat16@ryzetop@experienixie@swissy23@untoldshortsofthefandoms@darlinginmydreams

[wraithsoutlaws]

[ SUBJECT INTERVIEW: ASHLEY "ZEPHYR" ZAIDE ]

NAME? This isn’t an interrogation, right? Y’know legally you have to tell me if you’re with the NCPD… NICKNAME? Well, Zephyr usually. I always liked it more. My aunt was the first one to call me that and it felt like sliding into a pair of old shoes that already fit real well and you don’t gotta break in again, you know what I mean?  GENDER? He/him baby. See this cool pin I got?  STAR SIGN? I guess I’m a cancer, but Misty knows more about that than I do. She knows everything about that stuff. She made a whole fucking chart about it once, tracked every second of my life based on stars alone. And it was fucking right, too. Spooky as hell if you ask me but I do like listening to her talk about it. She gets this crinkly little smile.  HEIGHT? I’m 5’7’’ which isn’t far off from the average height for men, by the way. If you care.  ORIENTATION? Truth be told, I’m not real picky.  FAVORITE FRUIT? I gotta go with cherry. I don’t really eat ‘em a lot, but fuck me, it’s one of the best flavors out there, isn’t it? I got this cherry flavored–you know what? Nevermind…hey, if you like fruit I know where to get the best ‘ganic plums you’ve ever tasted. All above board, of course. Legal like. Just let me know.  FAVORITE SEASON? I like the Summer…reminds me of being a kid. Before things went to shit… FAVORITE FLOWER? I dunno, I like those little weeds that come up through the cracks in the sidewalk. Little fucking guys. I try not to step on ‘em. FAVORITE SCENT? I got this incense from Misty’s Esoterica and I couldn’t tell you a single fucking thing about it, it’s not really my jam but…every time I light it it’s like she’s standing right next to me. Makes my place feel better. COFFEE OR TEA? Misty keeps pushing this special tea blend on me. Says its holy or, er…holistic. It tastes like fucking socks if you ask me, though I’m not really big on coffee either. Give me a few lines of synth-coke y’know, don’t be a pussy. I mean, not that I do that sort of thing. AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP? Kinda depends, I guess. Some nights I sleep like a baby. Others feel like they’ll never end…more of those than not these days, I guess. DOG OR CAT PERSON? I don’t really trust dogs. Been chased a couple times and bit in the ass more than I can count. Come to think of it, I don’t really trust cats either. They can see shit, you know. Right through you. I mean whatever happened to hamsters? But whatever man. If you’re in the market for some exotics, I got you covered. DREAM TRIP? Oh, I’m just counting the days and the eddies ‘til I can hightail it outta this city and settle down on a beach in Belize or the Bahamas away from all this shit. Sip a fuckin’ mai tai on a clean beach and watch the waves every morning.  FAVORITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER? Who’s that fucking dog…he does this little dance. I dunno, always makes me laugh though.  NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH? You’re assuming I make it to the bed…I mean, of course I do. Couple nights in the elevator don’t mean anything…just because I know the feeling of my bathroom floor better than my own mattress–hey, maybe I should leave the blankets in there? Shit. I’m kidding, obviously. I’m a normal guy. What–what was the question again? RANDOM FACT? I got a junk shop in Japantown, got anything you need or I can find it fast, and that’s a guarantee. Just don’t ask anymore questions, alright?

was tagged by @therealnightcity and wanted to complete the trifecta of my boys!! once again, won't be tagging anyone but as always feel free to tag me, i would love to read more!

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Interlude

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

Interlude | One-Shot: The Life of a Ghost

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

(Notes: This is a brain purge. It’s a one-shot scene with Ghost and Captain Price. I was working on chapter 6, but had to purge this before I could continue, so here it is lol. You don’t have to read it, but after rediscovering that quote, I knew I had to write something for Ghost/Simon, and this is the result. It gives a little more insight into his state of mind about Reader/’Doll’, and how he’s coming to terms with certain feelings he’s been ignoring. I didn’t bother with a taglist this time since this is more self-indulgent than anything else, but if you do read, I hope you enjoy!)

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of canon-typical violence, Profanity, Simon’s poor coping mechanisms and nihilistic attitude, Price is a good dad/bruv, no Y/N

Word Count: 1467

Interlude

-

“I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost."

— Jack Kerouac, On the Road Jack

-

Simon sat atop the roof of the admin building overlooking the base. Bright halogen security lights buzzed an incessant hum, soldiers on guard duty patrolling the fenced perimeter. It was late, after two in the morning, but he was too restless to sleep yet, the adrenaline of the last op leaving him tense and keyed up despite his fatigue.

It had been a close one today. He touched the bandage at his cheek and winced. Just a centimeter or two to the left, a mere fraction of a head turn, and his brains would have been splattered against the mudbrick wall he’d been using for cover. He could still recall the sound of his mask cracking as the bullet grazed his face, the stinging sear of pain across his cheek, his rifle coming up to take out the enemy on instinct because his brain was otherwise occupied.

Death had just caressed his cheek, and all he could think about in that moment was you. It was your face that had loomed up in his mind’s eye, so clear he’d breathed out the one word he associated most with you.

“Doll.”

Nothing like that had happened to him in a very long time, not since he’d lost his family. There were times that he had felt fear when facing death, but it was a base, primal kind of fear, like that of a wild animal ready to fight for its life. He had also felt genuine fear for his team before when their lives had been in danger. This kind of fear he was used to, could control, but what had happened to him today...

The fear he had experienced today had stripped him of all his pretenses and bullshit. It had forced him to acknowledge feelings he harbored but pretended didn’t exist. It forced him to accept something that he didn’t fucking want: the responsibility of living for someone else.

This is what you did to him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He was pissed at you for it, pissed at you for making him feel this way, pissed at you for this whole bloody mess...

And it still didn’t change the fact that you would be the first person he went looking for as soon as he got home, because he needed to see you. He didn’t want to need anyone. He didn’t want any of this, yet he couldn’t bloody stay away. He’d tried. Fuck him, he’d bloody tried, and he couldn’t fuckin’ do it.

He was right fucked, wasn’t he?

Simon huffed out a chagrined breath and thumped his head back on the metal housing of the heating unit behind him. Scrubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, he squeezed his eyes shut. His Ghost mask, in need of repair or replacement, was gone for now, traded in for a fresh balaclava, its stretchy material pulled up to the bridge of his nose. Slitting his eyes open, he squinted up at the cold stars above and inhaled another lungful of smoke. “I’m fucked,” he told them, as he parted his lips, letting the smoke curl out of his open mouth in lazy, white coils. He watched it drift up into the frigid night air to hang like a specter over his head before the wind banished it to the ether.

The squeak of hinges sounded off to his left as the access door to the roof was opened. He heard his captain approaching before he saw him, Price’s booted steps thumping along the roof in a steady cadence. He sat down with a grunt beside Simon and sighed, his breath fogging in front of his bearded face.

“Thought I’d join ya,” he said, pulling the stub of a cigar out of his shirt pocket. He patted over his body until he located his lighter, then blew on the end of the cigar and lit it. He puffed away until thick, sweet smoke curled up to join with Simon’s. “How’s the cheek?” he asked.

Simon shrugged. “’S alright, just a graze. Didn’t even need stitches. Bullet cauterized it.”

Price took in his words, their deadpan delivery. He nodded, though his mind had already drifted back to the mission, to their harried exfil, recalling the look he had seen in Ghost’s wide stare when he’d stumbled aboard the helo. The captain saw something in the other man’s eyes he had never seen during a mission before: fear.

He didn’t fault his lieutenant for it; he was honestly relieved to see it after such a close call. It was a normal reaction, under the circumstances. Still, it wasn’t Ghost’s normal reaction. How he was acting right now— cold, distant and mildly disdainful— that was his normal reaction. This time, however, it didn’t seem to ring as true as it did before.

Price had once asked Ghost how he could be so blasé about his own mortality. Ghost’s answer had chilled him to the bone and caused him no small amount of concern for his lieutenant.

“Yer only scared o’ death when ya got somethin’ to lose.” Simon had told him with cold, dead eyes. “Not an issue fer me. If I die, I die. Don’ really fuckin’ care.”

That look of fear Price had glimpsed in Ghost’s eyes had been telling. Something had changed, had been changing with his lieutenant over the course of several months. It had been subtle, gradual enough to escape immediate notice, but after this last mission, Price was now paying very close attention. Did Ghost now have something to lose?

Price left the cigar in his mouth as he pondered the question, letting his arm drop back to his side. His hand landed on something flat and rectangular— a book, he realized, glancing down. He picked it up and held it up to the light of the security lamps to read its cover. ‘On the Road’ by Jack Kerouac.

“Seems like I had to read this in secondary school,” he murmured, flipping the book open. It was a new copy but already bore numerous highlighted passages and scribbled notes in the margins.

Simon tensed beside him but said nothing as the captain’s blunt fingers skimmed over pages, eyes darting back and forth as he read a highlighted section.

“I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost."

Price felt his throat constrict. He knew how and why Ghost chose his callsign, but the passage could not have described his lieutenant’s situation any more succinctly. It was almost prescient in nature, reading it now. He cleared his throat and closed the book, placing it back where he found it.

“Favorite of yours?” he rasped out. “Didn’t know you read that sort of stuff. Usually see you readin’ those old pulp sci-fi books.”

Simon grunted out a short laugh. “I usually don’t, but Doll loan—” He caught himself, biting off the sentence. “A friend loaned it t’me once.” He gave a shrug. “Kinda grew on me. Bought my own copy.”

Price nodded, letting the smoke roll out of his mouth before speaking again. “Loanin’ ya books like that, she must be quite a smart lass,” he said without missing a beat.

Simon blinked. His shoulders lost some of their tension. “She is.” He huffed another laugh, this one softer, as he tilted his head down to look at his legs stretched out in front of him. “Too bloody smart fer me, tha’s fer sure.” He lifted his head and looked toward the direction of the gates. “When can we get out o’ here? Ready t’go home.”

Price tried to hide his surprise at the question by studying the end of his cigar. He usually had to coerce his lieutenant into taking his leave, but not of late, he now realized. He slanted a sly side-eye at him. “De-briefing’s at 0700, then you’ll be free to go. Unless you want to stay and volunteer to help train those new recruits comin’ in tomorrow? Advanced field tactics?”

Simon sniffed. “Fuck ‘em. ‘M goin’ home.”

A pleased little smile tilted up the captain’s mouth as he looked up at the stars. “That’s alright. I can assign it to one of the other lads.” He crossed his arms over his chest, smile widening. “If ya think of it, ask your doll if she has any Louis L’amour. Partial to the westerns, myself.”

Simon grunted, half-irritated, half-amused. “I’ll see what I can do, Cap.”

-

- Prev. >> Next

[prestonmonterey]

intro

!! plz dont send me chain asks !!

(pronouns page is linked on there but also here if you dont wanna look for it:)

ok so uhh basically the gist of it

hi

im preston

uhh for names call me preston or pres or squid or orion or jaxon or actually just whatever you want i dont mind (more on my prounouns page) (if we're friends/moots feel free to gimme a nickname if ya want)

pronouns are it/he/they (the order of preference changes from time to time also neos are alright just anything other than she/her)

fandoms im most active in: varian and the seven kingdoms/tangled the series, camp here and there (will wood too!!), adamandi, the art of pleasing princes, starkid, spies are forever and percy jackson (mostly the musical bc im in a production of it :)

you can always interact with me! apparently im intimidating but i swear im really nice (i think) and id be really happy if you sent an ask at any time :3 i promise i wont get annoyed even if you think youre being annoying i just really like interacting with cool people :3

you can tag me in anything and everything! i promise ill look at it :3 and i try my best to do tag games and stuff (lmk if you dont want me to tag ya) but if i dont uhh, just assume i was like, really tired that day, or ive been tagged by another moot in that game before and im too lazy to dig it up :P sry

uhh im a minor too so like nsfw/18+ blogs dni

i try my best to use tone tags but if i forget and you need them please let me know!! (i also find tone tags helpful for myself) :3

theres more info on my card about like other stuff too

tag key:

#marble musings = original posts

#marble monologues = long posts/reblogs usually about chnt or just like existentialism idk

#marble draws = art/fanart/crafts/cosplay type thing

#marble games = i make games on google forms! hoping to learn to code or get an actual game engine to make full games past like choose your own adventures

#marble music = song covers :3 (yes i have all the filtered instrumentals i used for adamandi, lmk if you want them i can send em over discord or something)

#marble asks = answering stuff in my ask box

i think thats all of them :3 might add more eventually, and sometimes i forget to tag properly so sorry about that :(

i have some sideblogs if you wanna check em out (not super active on them but ill still try to respond if you shoot me an ask)

vent/writing sideblog: @lonelyinkcap (you can interact with my vents i dont really care. i mean. if im talkin about someone please dont fucking go like "but have you considered that theyre going through something" because uhh yes i have and also fuck you stop making my panic attacks worse :P) (if you know me irl. um. you can do whatever ig. i mean i cant exactly stop you. but proceed with caution. some of them might be vagueposts about you. im not gonna fuckin tell ya tho. also if you see anything concerning there. um. no ya dont. and definitely dont bring any of it up in conversation irl.)

hatchetfield rp sideblogs: @thelilcloverpatch @fading-angelic-starlight @marble-man @honey-sparrow @ivy-wreathed-arches and @hatchetfield-bone-thief (not sure why that one isnt properly linking but i swear its there you can search if you want)

[catierambles]

They scattered for cover as soon as the Sergeant went down, a sniper somewhere on the rooftops. Syverson looked out from his position in a doorway at the soldier laying on the ground. She was still alive, he could tell by her labored breathing, but wouldn't be for long. Her breathing eventually stopped, her entire body going limp and he closed his eyes tight, albeit briefly. Losing those under his command was a harsh reality, but it didn't make it suck any less. He hated making that call, writing that letter, collecting the effects of the fallen to send home to their loved ones.

This one was new, had only been with him for a couple months. She always seemed to have a smile on her face, and the demo dogs loved her. She always had at least one sat at her feet, looking up at her with lovestruck eyes. Syverson was of the mind that if a dog didn't like someone, then there was something wrong with that person and more often than not, their canine instincts were spot on.

Their own spotter took care of the sniper and they came out from cover, Syverson going to her on the ground to collect her tags and patch. Her eyes were still open slightly, but her face was relaxed in death and he reached out to close them. She suddenly came to with a gasp, her eyes going wide and he damn near fell over.

"Sergeant!" He exclaimed and supported her as she sat up, hacking coughs racking her body. She coughed into her hand and turned the bullet over in her fingers.

"Souvenir." She said dimly and tucked the bullet away in a pocket. He knew he hadn't imagined it, hadn't hallucinated her going down, blood still stained the front of her vest, the hole clear as day in the fabric. "It's complicated." She said, looking up at him and seeing the question on his face.

He got her checked out by medical when they got back to the base, and aside from some soreness and one hell of a bruise on her chest, she was in perfect health.

"Sit." He said, pointing at the chair across from his desk and she sat down, not looking at him. "Explain and don't try to bullshit me. I know what I saw. The others passed it off as good luck, but I know what I saw. You were dead."

"I was, yes." She said, "But it never sticks."

"Start talkin'."

"I am a lot older than I look." She said with a short nod.

"How much older?"

"Give or take a century? Couple thousand?"

"Years?"

"Yeah." She said, "You stop keeping track after a while."

"Fuckin'...how?"

"I pissed someone off and got cursed for my troubles."

"Someone with the ability to make it so you never die."

"Well, I can die. It just, like I said, never sticks. Charon tells me nope and boots my ass back to the land of the living." She said, "We've had that conversation a lot. He doesn't even say anything to me anymore, just gestures for me to turn around and shoos me away."

"Charon?"

"The ferryman of the river Styx." She said, "I'm Greek. Well, I used to be, anyway."

"Is he who you pissed off?"

"Nope." She said, "But it was a god. I rejected his advances and he took exception. I'm on a "do not sail" list for all of eternity." She explained, "Bit of an overreaction, but gods are petty."

"How many times have you died?"

"Stopped keeping track."

"So you die, but just come back again."

"Basically." She said, "You okay? You look like your mind is breaking."

"It's a lot."

"Try living it."

[loungemermaid]

No.1 Everlark Shipper

for @jhsgf82, based off this post by @goldrushenthusiast and some of the tags/replies I left on there. crossposted to my ao3!!

We’re standing in the disgustingly hot July heat, the sun beating down on us, already burning the tops of our noses. Really, for the sake of all us Townies, the town square should be covered. I’m pale enough, but some of these kids, like little Lottie Sayers over there, are too white to be outside now. She looks like she’s going to burst into flames at any second. I look around at the sea of sweaty necks and brows, looking for a dark braid instead a blonde one. Not for me. For my idiot brother. Everdeen has her hair up in a crown of braids today, and she’s in a pretty little dress, shows off her little waist. The hair and dress make her look sweet, maybe flirty, but she’s (as always) scowling. Can’t imagine why Peeta likes her. She looks fuckin’ mean. Stuck up. Also, the fact she can kill things and drag ‘em through town? Something tells me you’d have to make sure you toed the line with her, or else. Kinda like how Mama is to him. Well maybe that’s it then.

I have heard about Everdeen for comin’ on Eleven Goddamn Years now. I know everything there is to know about this chick that can be known without actually saying a word to her, because he’s never said a word to her. I’ve seen the sketches, the letters, the truly awful attempts at poetry, the (admittedly, pretty good) pencil drawings that took weeks for him to finish scattered across our room for Eleven Years. I’ve heard the soliloquies(see, Mrs. Marks? I’m payin’ attention) practiced in the mirror, the grand planned gestures, the paper flowers and ribbons gathered and then abandoned after Sweetheart’s Day, every instance of young tender love and I could not be more sick of it. It ain’t-isn’t. Isn’t real. Not a lick of it. If it was, he’d talk to her. If she’s too scary, which again, she sure as shit looks that scary, maybe move on? Maybe pick someone different? Hell, it can even be another Seam girl, if that’s what he’s into. Leevy’s got that same little tits and long legs thing. And she actually smiles. But whatever. One day something will break it, and then I won’t have to fuckin’ hear it ever again. 

That weird Trinket woman is just about to pick the girl’s name, and I’m still wondering what it takes to get someone’s hair that big, that pink, that shiny when she reads out the slip. Primrose Everdeen. Well. Shit. I don’t know what this is gonna mean, when her little sister dies. When her dad died, Peeta talked for months about how we needed to help her. I kept telling him it wasn’t the time or place, that the last thing she needed was some over-enthusiastic Townie meddling in her shit. She already had it rough enough. We could tell she was taking care of everyone now. That her mama wasn’t doin shit, and she was the breadwinner now. I remember thinking it was weird, and how I couldn’t imagine it, then I thought about how that’s just what older siblings do. That that’s what Rye does for Peeta and me. A buffer for when Mama’s on the war path. Even when she ain’t-isn’t. Isn’t coming after me, he protects me all the same. She usually doesn’t come after me, and that somehow feels worse. I owe ‘em both a lot of beatings. Rye used to take the blame sometimes, but we all kinda quickly realized I could get away with significantly more than he could, and especially more than Peeta could, poor fucking kid. Never understood why she hates him so much.

There’s some screaming and shuffling, and I look over and there she is, her face showing real emotion for once, screaming that she’s volunteering. I can’t imagine that. How would you ever do that? And then it sinks in. Shit. Everdeen is gonna die. I look over at Peeta, who looks like he’s gonna spew. Shit. What am I even gonna say to him, when this is over? While we walk home?  Happy fucking birthday! That girl you’ve been obsessed with your whole life is gonna get gutted by some teen-freak Career. It’s too awful. I just sigh and brace for the boy’s name. Almost over. One more year of it for me, two for him. 

And then that pink and green bitch calls his name. I’m shocked. I can’t move, or see, or hear anything, and then it’s too late. He’s up on the stage and it’s too late. I can’t volunteer, can’t save him, can’t fix it. Once again he’s getting more punishment than his fair share. This kid that cries when he sees a hurt wild dog. That cried when he learned we ate our baby pigs. That’s been in love with the same girl for eleven years. The girl that’s going in with him. Shit!!! She’s going in with him!! They’re gonna die in there together. Well, I think darkly, they’re gonna have to talk now. 

I go and look for Rye, and we both just stare at each other. He’s not saying it, but he’s thinking it. “Yeah, I know. I should’ve. I… I couldn’t make the words come.” I hate myself.

I’m expecting him to scold me, to yell. Being the parent’s favorite makes me the least favorite brother. They neither one like me much. Well, that ain’t-isn’t true. They like me just fine. They’re just very jealous. I would be too, if I was-were gettin’ beat for minor shit that don’t even matter, and someone else wasn’t. I don’t expect him to hug me. He does, pulling me in close, even kissing my forehead like he did when I was little. I don’t even wipe it off this time.

“Hush. It isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t do anything right neither.”

He smiles a little. “Either, you mean. But it doesn’t matter. It’s going to be okay. Besides, I think she’d kill him, if you went in instead. It wouldn’t be a good sacrifice. She’d hate him even more, especially if you didn’t come back.” He shook his head. “God help me for what I’m gonna say, but it’s better this way. If he comes back, JoAnn won’t think he’s worthless anymore. If he doesn’t”, his breath shudders, “if he doesn’t, well. Then she never touches him again.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. The one thing she only did to him. Rye got beat, sure. But he didn’t get touched like she touches Peeta. It… it’s not that she straight up sleeps with him. But it’s…uncomfortable, to even watch. Humiliating. Can’t imagine what it feels like. “Right. Well, ready to say” Oh I can’t say goodbye. I blink some rogue tears. “To send him off?”

“Yeah.” He says gruffly. “Yeah.” I can tell he’s thinking what I am. This is gonna be a shitshow.

It’s worse than I thought it’d be. We’re all standing there and not saying anything. Rye at least held him while he cried. JoAnn is world class, says something truly evil. Says she’s rooting for Everdeen, and if there was any fondness I ever had for that woman, it’s done. She runs out, even though all the rest of us are begging her to not. I scoff, but Peeta is laughing, no, cackling. Like nothing has ever been so goddamn funny. 

“Love you too, Mama! Hope I get to see you again!” He yells out, voice hard and bitter. “God. What the fuck?” He scrubs at his face, leans back, screaming and laughing and sobbing into his hands. 

Rye runs after our useless fucking parents, trying to talk sense into them. It’s pointless. Anyway, we’re almost out of time. Almost out of time. I can’t fuck it up again. 

“I know it ain’t great timing to be asking you a favor, but do one for me anyway?”

“God, Soren. What?” He sighs, clearly not in the mood for whatever he thinks I might say. I sit down on the saggy sofa, clapping his shoulder.

“I need you to tell her. Please. She deserves to know.”

He huffs, rolls his eyes. “It’s all a bit pointless, ain’t it? Nothing either one of us could ever do now.”

“Yeah, but I know you. You’d never be able to live with yourself if you never told her. So you’ve gotta. Find some way. Do one of those grand gestures you’re always planning. Or, fuck, I dunno, do it private. Over coffee or whatever. But tell her, little bun.” I’ve never called him that. Not sincerely, anyway. That’s what Dad and Rye(mostly Rye these days) call him. But, it felt right. “I’m really sorry I didn’t”

“Don’t be.” He cuts me off. “I get it. Don’t be sorry. In fact, promise me. You don’t get to feel guilty about it.”

I swallow hard again. The Peacekeepers are coming to take me away. I clap him on the shoulder one more time. “Alright. I love you. Uh, good luck and all that. And happy birthday”

It gets him to laugh, even if it’s just a dark laugh. “Thanks. Uh…see…mm. See you later.”

“Yeah. See you later.” I don’t know if I believe he will, but I know he can win this. I hope he does.

I try to keep my promise, of not feeling guilty, for not stepping up and going in for him. It’s not easy. Suddenly our room feels too big, too empty.  Rye and I haven’t moved a damn thing. There’s still a half finished drawing on the desk, a pair of silver eyes. I wanna puke everytime I see them. I do my homework downstairs in the bakery now. 

We’re closed on the day of the interviews. We close a little more now, though not as much as I thought we would. Dad hides, crying in long showers or disappearing on errands, and JoAnn, Rye and I are stuck in the bakery together, avoiding curses and rolling pins being hurled at us. Now that Peeta isn’t here, I’m getting on her nerves more. I’m sporting black eyes now too, though I don’t let them show. I can’t cover them like Peeta does, and I’m a little paler than him anyway, but the little tube of concealer he left behind does fine enough. 

We all sit on the couch, pretend to be a family over some tea and cookies. We’re eating more fresh, a result of the sympathy money. People have been spending a lot on baked goods here lately. The mayer orders a cake a week. Madge must know we’re feeding Prim and Mrs. Everdeen(Mama does too, and she hates it. Dad catches an ashtray to the nose for it). She likes Katniss too. 

Anyway, my baby brother is talking to Ceasar Flickerman, and they’re playing off each other like they’ve been co-hosts for decades. He’s charming. Affable. He could make this a career if…when he wins. And then Ceaser asks about a girl, his whole body shifts. He gets a little nervous, a little small, tries to shift the conversation but Ceaser ain’t having it. He pushes Peeta again. Say it say it say it, you little dork, or I swear to god. I’m staring at his face in the tv. Maybe if I think it hard enough he can somehow get it. You promised.

He clears his throat. “Well, there is this one girl…”

I sink back into the couch with a sigh of relief. There you go, bro. Took you long enough.

She even goes for it. When they change the rules(which I still can’t get over, but maybe young love is more exciting than child murder for those people.((if that’s the case, can we make it a matchmaking game? I’ll volunteer. I’ll host.)) I just don’t know if I trust it) and she’s up in that tree, screaming his name, I know it’s over. She likes him too. She tears through the Arena just to find him, looking very camouflaged and very dead by the river. He flirts, and she giggles and blushes. What? Maybe she’s just soft for him. Good. It’s what he deserves. Hard for everyone else but soft for him.

For a few days I’m worried I’m gonna have to watch my baby brother lose his virginity on national television, but as cuddly and kissy as Katniss is, she’s clearly not very experienced. She won’t change around him, she blushes every time they kiss. She’s actually sweet. A giggly, nervous, even precious little thing. She looks even tinier next to Peeta, so short and thin and fine boned. They fit each other. They’re striking together.

It’s all anyone can talk about, but for the first time I don’t mind hearing about it all. I join in at school, spilling all the secrets I know. It’s a little shitty, but I can’t help it. It’s so…excuse the dopey ass phrasing, but as one teacher said, life affirming to see. My homelife is worse, but if they really can win and win together, it’ll be like a real life miracle. Hard proof that not everything always has to completely fucking suck, all the time. That sometimes, good things happen to people. Sometimes good things happen to the people who deserve it the most. 

The berries give me a heart attack. I’m on the edge of my seat and I don’t think I breathe the whole time. I don’t know what to expect. Are they gonna let them live? Are they gonna blow them up? Send in mutts again? Let them live and torture them on the air? I almost shut my eyes, bracing for the canons, but instead Templesmith is shouting, telling them to stop, that they both won, and he did it. He actually did it. I’m jumping and screaming and laughing and we’re all hugging even, because he fucking did it. He won, and he got the girl of his dreams. This one time, it actually works out for him. This time, Peeta gets what he wants.