#Long John Silver x Reader

[slashingdisneypasta]

Flirty!MultiVillains x Clueless!Reader || Excerpts / Reactions

Plot: The friendzone is a many splendored thing... not. (You friendzone them) Includes: Candy Pop, Dark Link, Inkubus, Long John Silver, and Oogie Boogie. Warnings: Sexual references!! Derogatory and degrading statements!! These are mostly from the villain’s point of view. Feminine pet names used (Especially in Silver's. He consistently uses 'lass'). Oh also Inkubus may have some sinister intentions... but they are not disclosed and honestly what do we expect. Unedited as of yet. Tagging: @asperol-with-izzy , @disney-android-foundation , @lady-love88 , @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball , @miss_understood , @moxiiscool , @ryantryan6969 , @spookiifi , @thecourtofgraywaves , @yesthetrashbin , and @your-mxnd-is-mxne . Hi all! ^^ Please head the warnings, its meant to be comedic, but Candy Pop and Dark both make some very gross comments 😅 Hope y'all enjoy and have a great day ^^

Candy Pop:

You walk away quickly after that, giving him that sweet kiss on the cheek and saying he’s such a lovely friend to you, and he wonders for a split second whether that was on purpose. “-Excuse me?!?” Surely you know that he wants his hand down your pants? “Hooooold on hold on hold on- “ You can’t be this dumb. Surely! Almost immediately Candy Pop whips around and follows you right down the hall- quickly catching up to you and skipping ahead, walking backwards in front of you, making you smile. “Love! Love, love- what was that last part??”

“I’m glad to have you, Pop.” You grin back, giggling at the befuddled look on his face. It does not clear up.

“Uhuh… as??... “He prompts you carefully, waiving his hand in a ‘go on’ sort of gesture.

“A friend! A wonderful friend.”  

“… hah, sorry, again? I just can’t wrap my head around those words. Must be our language barrier.”

Adorably confused, you tilt your little idiot head at him; Eyebrows knitted together. Oh god, he thinks. Are you not joking after all? “Candy Pop, you’re English.”

… Right… okay- “Yes, well, English used to be quite different in my time, right??” Yeah, that’ll do for an excuse. Sure. “Anyway- again?? You love me… as??”

Sighing, you stop walking and reach out to put a hand on his arm; Making him stop, too, and guiding him towards you. Theirs a gentle, concerned look on your face and your touch makes him feel weak, makes the skin under your fingers light on fire, and he just wants to shove you against the wall and taste you under his tongue. All over. But- “Candy Pop. Whatever you’re thinking… stop.” Holy shit you’re not joking!! You’re truly a dumbass!! What is he going to do!?? He wants to shove his tongue in your asshole, so this- he can’t- this won’t- this is just not going to work!?? “You are lovely- to me, at least.” You give a giggle, and its enchanting, you’re enchanting, but he has never wanted to squeeze you more then right now. Even with your pretty hand on his arm and your pretty eyes on him and your pretty voice in his ears. “and I do love you. Believe it, bud.”

Then you give him another soft, maddening kiss on his painted cheek, and leave again. This time he does not follow. This time he’s too gobsmacked.

Slowly he brings a hand up to his mouth, chewing on his nails and staring at the floor… oh my this is a disaster.

Dark Link:

“Mmm, y’know Y/N,” As the movie begins the play, after you’ve opened your jumbo bag of doritos and settled down beside Dark on his bed, he takes the opportunity to throw an arm over you. He’s close, now, just like he likes it, and he can see you stuff your face with artificial cheese in detail, sure, but eh- you’re a cute pig. You pull it off. Good on you. “This is a pretty freaky flick… if you get scared, be free to get cozy with me… BEN’s not gonna be here, tonight.”

At least he better not; Dark paid the little weasel handsomely in Hostess cakes and threatened his little man if he did show up. Tonight is the night Dark makes his damn move on you. A real move. One you won’t be able to write off a joke or just friendly. You’re obtuse, but you’ll get it this time. He’s sure.

… because honestly if you don’t, he’s going to lose what’s left of his ever-loving mind. He may have to fuck BEN, or Jeff, if you don’t get it this time. Any dank, warm hole will do but he hopes it’ll be yours. He’s going insane using his hand and wishing it was you. This trying to fuck you thing, has been an ordeal. He’s actually exhausted. You’re dumb as a box of rocks and he wants to feel you so bad. It’s killing him.

You’re killing him.

“Oh,” You pop a dorito in your mouth, looking at him with those pretty (clueless) eyes. “Where’s he gonna be?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Anyway- “

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah whatever. So like I was saying- “

“Are you sure he’s not coming around?? I’ll wait- “

“New conversation babe. Stay with me. I just want- “

“I have a bit of a crush on him… “You confess then, awkwardly, a nervous look on your face- but also relieved, like you’ve been wanting so badly to tell him this for a while.

… And Dark sputters, losing his entire train of thought entirely and just staring at you; Under his arm, looking adorable and shy, picking at one of the corners of your dorito bag and telling him… what!? The sound of blood curdling screams erupt from the horror movie then, which is fitting. “… C- Uh, c- come again please?”

You look bashful, before groaning and hiding your face in your hands. Dark follows your face with his eyes, not moving because he’s in shock. “You couldn’t tell?? Aghhh, I feel like I act like a total loony tune around him.”

“… Nope, baby, I couldn’t tell… “

“Oh you’re just saying that!”

“No, babydoll, I promise I am not.” … I guess I’m fucking Jeff tonight then. Goddamnit.

Inkubus:

… He feels like he’s being filmed. Leaning back suddenly, Inkubus brushes a few leaf’s from your annoying pot plant aside and glances behind it. Camera crew?? Secret hidden videographers?? Hello??

No?

He looks swiftly back to you, and you’re still gushing! And yes, you are gushing, right now. To him. That is how he would describe it because that is the correct word. You’re positively glowing, right now, and you certainly don’t notice how disorientated he has gotten- almost feeling dizzy, of all the pathetic human ailments, because this has never happened before, things have never gone this horribly wrong-  

“- oh sorry!! I’m talking too much, aren’t I??” Inkubus watches you tuck hair nervously behind your ear, as innocent as ever, and barely restrains the urge to roll his eyes- or snarl. You’re still completely what he wants, still clean and pure and perfect for his needs. Just your scent puts a sweet taste on his tongue. He can’t… he has to have you. “You don’t want to hear about this… hahah… “

He absolutely can’t believe it. … what are you? If you’re human, which he’s sure that you are, then you shouldn’t be immune to his charm’s. You should be physically compelled. And even if he wasn’t using his powers, you still shouldn’t be able to resist him. He has had a long time to perfect his act, and women - as well men, and everyone else, anyone he wants, - usually fall at his feet. It’s just… the way that it is! Si... What- What- What!?-

But you’re completely in love with someone else. That’s clear.

… But he wants you.

… Taking a deep breath in and rolling his shoulders gracefully, almost totally inconspicuously, forcing himself to calm down, Inkubus pastes a smile onto his face. “No,” He shrugs. “I don’t mind at all- tell me more.” Eugh. “Maybe we can come up with a solution together, hm? Be free to tell me everything… “

It’s been a few centuries since he has played the long game… but here we go~

Ugh… quaint. Truly.  

Long John Silver:

... Just shoot me. Put me out of my misery, please. Morphie, pal-

The little traitor just jiggles and bubbles in the air behind the lass's head, silently laughing his bleeding backside off after the mortifying kick in the pants that Silver just received from you. Silver glares at the creature, but quickly smoothens his face back out again when you look back at him.

Agh... just keep smilin'. Jussttt keep smilin'... dont be a sore git about this... it was worth a shot at least, it was.

"Y'know lass," Silver finally manages to speak, hating what he has to say. "I didn't know y'had a lad, back home... Y'never mentioned 'im, before now. Promse ya, I wouldnta asked-... well, I cant say that. Lets just say I wouldnt've come on quite so strong, eh? If I'd known." He gives a playful wink, brushing off the awkward moment for your sake. Its not yer fault you aint got room in your life for an old pirate like him!

"Oh, hah. Didnt I?"

No, ya sure didn't. He'd've remembered. "Nope, but that's okay lass... I'm just gonna be a splash heartbroke, now. Probably cry meself to sleep fer a couple nights..." He jokes, rubbing the skin over his heart and watching you cover your face, in sweet sheepishness. Oh, you're cute. Very cute. Whoever's got ya is one lucky bastard. "... But I'll get over it, promise ya."

"Ohhhh," Bashful and sweet as all hell, you peak out from your hand and look all-guilty up at him. Damn, you are a lovely thing you are. "I'm so sorry... "

"Don't even think on it, love. Now- "Clearing his throat, Silver picks up the huge, heavy stew pot in his two strong hands. "lets get the grub out there for those men, unless we want a mutiny on our hands."

Oogie Boogie:

"Wha- Friend!???" Oogie immediately throws his body dramatically backwards, hearing that; A hand to his chest. "You see me as a friend!???"

"Well... "Nodding your head, all-wholesome (Blegh), you confirm his suspicion, making the bugs in his stomach absolutely roll. "Yeah, Boogie!- "

"Friend!???" If he had a heart, he would seize it. My god, wasn't he clear?? What does a guy haveta do around here to get some pretty little tail??? The hell is this 'friend' crap!?

"Yes, Boogie!"

"How doya figure that!?"

"Well... " Now you're starting to look kind of hurt. You?? You hurt??? He's the one who's hurtin' now, doll!! What the heck is goin' on here??? "I- I- I mean, I thought so- "

"Pumpkin! I do like ya- but I don't think ya get what's happenin', here!" When you just tilt your head to the side, like a damn puppy dog (Disgustingly sweet), Oogie facepalms. Satan gimmie strength! "... do I have to be painfully clear with you, sweetbean??~~ "

"... Hm?"

"Oh- " Huff "fine." Suddenly Oogie slips in close to you again, curling an arm sneakily around your waist and yanking you against his front. A dirty old smirk tears across his face as he leans into yours. "... this'll be fun, anyway~ Hehehe... Hold on tight to me gorgeous, we're goin for a ride~ And its all or nothin', so keep ya wits aboutcha okay doll?"

[oneofthesillies]

I watched Treasure planet for the first time a couple days ago and he hasn’t left my mind since then I love him so much, I’ve found all the content I can find of him and im in dire need of more dude 💔

(Who made baby scared on the second pic😔)

[homosatan-016]

hii so I have this little roman empire thingy where I write a fanfiction about a traumatized lynx lady and her even more traumatized bear pirate husband.

I made them a playlist I think it's fun check it out.

[witchthewriter]

 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

🌿ENTP 🍁Slytherin 📜Chaotic Neutral 🔮Sagittarius Sun, Capricorn Moon, Aries Rising

SFW🌿

⭑ You weren’t a fan of port. It meant leaving the ship and interacting with other ... people. 

⭑ The noises, the smells, people not moving out of your way. It drove you crazy. 

⭑ But that was where you met John, on the island of Nassau. 

⭑ He had become well-known throughout the plundering community. He was respected amongst his crew and worked well with Captain Flint. Their relationship created an almost impregnable barrier against enemies.

⭑ You were fearsome in your own right. 

⭑ You were born on a pirate ship; your mother the Captain and your father the First Mate. 

⭑ You carried a legacy. One that had been started by your parents, and as they had no other children, you had the sole responsibility. 

⭑ Luckily enough, the pirate life was for you. 

⭑ Although it was a difficult life - having people rely on you, you had grown up with it. Gotten used to it. Your mother died 10 years ago, your father not long after that. They were in love. 

⭑ Love ... they were the only representatives of true love. 

⭑ You didn’t think much about that. Much about finding a partner. You just wanted a good crew. Men and women you could rely on. Loyal. But they had to be loyal to a fault. 

⭑ And they were - 

⭑ Anyone who double-crossed you, or sold you out... well... they lost their tongue, and fingers. 

⭑ You didn’t like it; the savagery of it all. 

⭑ But it was the life you knew. 

⭑ John was a surprise though

⭑ And surprises didn’t go well with your line of work

⭑ You didn’t like him at first. There was an air of arrogance when you first met. But you had mistaken what it actually was; a barrier. A wall against another potential enemy.

⭑ Now, after 3 years of marriage, John still has moments of arrogancy. 

⭑ You lived relatively rich lives. The gold and jewels you had found funded a comfortable life.

⭑ It was away from the prying eyes of pirates, but not too far from civilization

⭑ It was just you two. And it had taken John a bit of getting used to. Well, as did you.

⭑ You still wanted to live part of your life at sea. And John was completely okay with that

⭑ But you were never gone for long though 

⭑ Although he was an awful cook when he stumbled into Flint’s crew, he’s actually developed his culinary skills and is great at whipping up an easy meal

⭑ Probably have a pet of some kind

⭑ Although John said it was nothing but another mouth to feed. But you couldn’t resist 

⭑ Most days John feels cold, even in the heat, he’ll feel the slightest chill in the air and wrap up

⭑ You like to trace to the scars on his body, and he shivers 

⭑ He never forgets your birthday, even though he doesn’t know his. He picks a random day every year 

⭑ Likes to hear you breathing while sleeping next to him 

⭑ Hums a lot. While bathing, tidying up, while doing yard work. He likes to sing too

⭑ You have hidden weapons around the property

⭑ And you both always have a gun and a knife on your person

⭑ Likes it when you braid his hair

⭑ And you give him haircuts

⭑ You absolutely adore his curly hair

⭑ Some days his leg hurts so badly that he has to lay in bed. You bring him tinctures and teas to ease the pain 

⭑ He doesn’t know what he’d do without you 

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Wondrous Love by Bear McCreary

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

  ✧ Himbo Wife Energy 

  ✧ Bastard (John) x Likes The Bastard And Is Mad About It (You)

  ✧ Just A Hook Up > Crew Members > Friends > Lovers > Married

  NSFW🔞minors dni!

⭑ Oh he does love to be dominated. Without a doubt. 

⭑ He’d happily lay there as his wrists and legs are tied, completely at your mercy. 

⭑ Has both Mummy and Daddy issues... he likes to be coddled and told what to do

⭑ Likes to be pegged, but only if you call him a “good boy” 

⭑ When kinks/fetishes aren’t involved. Then the sex is very intimate and passionate. 

⭑ John won’t stop looking into your eyes, trying to capture some part of your soul and merge it with his. 

⭑ His movements are slow and deep, hitting parts of you that you thought you weren’t able to feel

⭑ John’s strong arms wrap around you, holding you tightly; all he wants is to show you how deeply he feels. These moments aren’t rare, but neither are they common

⭑ He’s very good at foreplay, and his seduction techniques are otherwordly

⭑ He can turn you into jelly by the way he kisses your neck

⭑ His hands are large, and when he fingers you,  you whimper shamelessly

⭑ Loves nibbling on your ear lobe 

⭑ Gets out of trouble by whispering sinful things in your ear

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 8 - Breeding

John Price x Reader - 1k (on ao3)

summary: You worry that your boss sees your relationship as more long-term than you do. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: implied stealthing, under negotiated breeding kink, one-sided daddy kink

You tell yourself it’s just a kink.

You’re not ready to become a mother - you’d like to be married for at least a year before even trying for a baby, and you’d like to have an established career before even getting married. For you, the idea of a bun in the oven is so far down the line it’s not even visible on the horizon yet.

But you know it’s not the same for Price. He’s older than you, has lived a far wilder life and lost it what must be nearly a dozen times over. He’s a weathered man, with deep lines on his forehead and wrinkles around his eyes, just the tiniest hint of silver creeping into his beard.

You know it’s not smart to have a fling with him. Not only is he your boss and a controversially older man, but he’s also the exact opposite of a commitment-phobe like you. He’s always looking for more commitment in fact, something you hadn’t expected considering the illicitness of your relationship with him.

You'd assumed an affair with your boss would involve mostly quickies in closets, a refusal to be in the same room as one another during the workday, maybe even pretending to dislike each other around other coworkers. Instead, he talks to you more once you start sleeping together than he had before - he parks himself on your desk at any time he pleases, invites you to have lunch in his office with him (alone), and laughs when your co-workers call him your work-husband.

So you know that he wants more, that he wants you to really be with him (he hints at far more than just that, but doesn’t dare say it aloud, which you’re glad for) past just being his secretary and his fuckbuddy. 

In fact, he’d nearly torn you into two when you’d giggled and called him a “bootycall” after he called you back into work hours after you’d gone home. His face had gone from eager and affectionate to what you can only call scolding, and he’d been rougher with you than normal. You enjoy a few smacks to your ass, but that night he’d spanked you hard enough to leave you squirming the next morning when you sat at your desk. You’d been pouty about it, had glared only half-playfully at him when he smirked, but the way he ate you out on his desk for lunch more than made up for the discomfort. 

And he makes these… comments sometimes, while he’s buried inside you. Things that allude to a future you’re not ready for.

Gotta come after me, sweetheart, it takes better like that.

Hips up, don’t let any of me drip out.

Gonna make me a daddy, pretty thing? Huh? Gonna take my cum and grow me a baby?

My good fuckin’ girl, lettin’ me breed her pretty cunt.

Gonna look so pretty, all round for me. Gonna take such good care of you.

C’mon, honey, wanna make sure it sticks this time.

You tell yourself it’s just a kink. He plugs you up with a couple fingers once he’s finished, says “Just to make sure you don’t lose any of my cum, can’t be wastin’ it right now,” and licks your clit until your legs shake. 

He hardly fucks you in any position that isn’t bent over his desk, no matter how much you whine and beg for me. He just smacks your ass, gives you an extra orgasm or two to keep you placated. More often than not he leaves you bent over the desk after he’s finished, tilts your hips up a little higher and gives you a kiss on the temple as he sits back in his seat to get back to work.

You’d told him to use a condom the first few times, even though you’ve been on birth control for years. You’ve always been responsible with flings, been more than willing to send a man packing at the first hint of whining if he didn’t want to wear protection. A baby has never once crossed your mind as an option, and it certainly doesn't now.

So it was instinct to tell Price to put on a condom before he fucked you the first time. And he had, without kicking up any fuss about it past a furrowed brow and a grumble or two.

But then the condom broke, and you were left with his cum dripping down your thighs. You’d had a moment of panic, but he’d given you money for Plan B, and you told yourself the odds of getting pregnant with Plan B and birth control were so low it wasn’t worth stressing out over.

The condom broke the second time. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. And every time after that you asked him to wear one.

At some point you stopped asking, and he never remembered himself. A few muttered questions about what brand he’d been using between fevered kisses, thick fingers at your cunt a distraction, and eventually you told yourself it wouldn’t matter as long as you kept taking the birth control pills.

It would be rude to demand Plan B after every round, right? Plus, asking for cash minutes after you'd both gotten off always made you feel a bit... dirty. When you feel him drip down your thighs, when you pull your panties up and feel the mixture of both of you gather there, you tell yourself that the birth control will surely do it's job, and you try not to worry.

Now, pulling open the drawer where you keep your pills, you wonder if maybe all his talk of babies and his cum taking is more than just heat-of-the-moment dirty talk.

You stare down at the empty drawer and every time he’s called himself Daddy echoes in your ear like a choir.

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part one

PART TWO • PART THREE • PART FOUR // REQUEST -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+  | ( 2.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T O N E 🎶 good girls ( john carpenter remix ), chvrches

“Why is she even here?”

“Steve!”

A loud smack cut the air in two as Robin slapped a hand against Steve’s shoulder, rendering the rest of group there in Max’s trailer silent.

Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, cheeks burning under his gaze, lips twisted into a scowl and trying hard to hold back the daggers you wanted so badly to throw at him.

“She doesn’t know what the hell we’re up against! How’s she supposed to–“

“Steve, none of us knew either, cut her a break.”

“Cut her a break and then what? We all get eaten by a fucking melted people monster?”

“That’s not fair–“

“It’s fine! It’s fine, Nancy,” you cut the girl off, standing quickly from your spot on the couch.

They’d been talking like this since you showed up. Like you weren’t right there in the room with them and honestly you kind of wished you weren’t anymore.

“I need some air,” you grumbled before giving Steve a pointed glare and shouldering open the front door.

The air outside was crisp as you sat down on the front stoop. Not a cloud in the sky and sunlight washing everything in soft golden light, but it all still felt so dark. Like it was harboring thick shadows. Long, spindly, and pitch black. Waiting to wrap their twisted fingers around you.

Waiting to dig into you and squeeze tight.

Waiting to lift you twenty feet into the air and snap your bones like twigs.

Waiting to leave you for dead.

And here was Steve fucking Harrington asking what right you had to be there. Asking what purpose were you gonna serve amongst this “holier than thou” joke of an army. Steve, Robin, Nancy and Eddie had already gotten their asses handed to them by what they’d called demobats, Steve arguably needing serious medical attention, and they wanted to go back? It took everything you had to not leave right there on the spot.

Hell, maybe you should, you thought for a minute. You didn’t owe them anything, especially Steve, but you did owe it to your best friend. The one who basically had a hit out on him. The one who wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly, but all of Hawkins had already decided he was guilty and you weren't about to leave him.

Eddie.

❝ SO SAVE YOUR BREATH, GIVE A LITTLE OF WHAT YOU HAVE LEFT – DO THEY KNOW SOMETHING I DON’T? ❞

You met him two years ago under the bleachers at the Homecoming football game. It seemed like the perfect place to smoke the joint you’d messily rolled in the car right before you’d come into the stadium and apparently you’d been right, but someone else had already laid claim to it...

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but this is kind of my spot.”

He’d been all black leather and denim. Dark curls and clove. Silver rings and chains and heavy boots and maybe you should’ve been more intimidated, but the smile lines at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

“Don’t see a sign anywhere,” you’d shot back, no hesitation. Looked over at him all skeptics and attitude and took a long drag from your joint. Blew the smoke off in his direction and it made him grin like an idiot.

“Been sellin’ weed down here for like…the last three years so–actually, yeah. What the fuck, man. Someone owes me a sign.”

...And that was it, you were a goner. Laughing mid-toke and coughing so hard you cried and it made him feel so bad he gave you a baggy for free. Eddie "the freak" Munson and you – best friends.

Skipped all the stupid dances and football games with you. Paraded around the lunch room like an idiot with you. Threw fries back at the jocks for you when they called you a loser and sat on the floor in the bathroom with you when you cried.

So fuck “King Steve” Harrington.

You had every right to be there, probably even more than he did and you were gonna tell him to his face, but—

“Can I sit?”

The sudden sound of someone else made you jump.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled and sat down next to you. Gave you a sidelong glance and a small lopsided smile. “He’s really not so bad–”

“You’re joking. Right? Tell me you’re joking.”

The boy hummed, dropped his gaze down to the rings wrapped around his fingers and twisted the one on his thumb.

“He doesn’t want me here. None of them do,” you grumbled, frustration fed further by his non-answer and it pulled his eyes back up to you.

“Hey now, that’s not true–”

“Yes it is! Even Nancy looks at me like a kicked puppy.”

That pulled a laugh from him. Made him scoot closer to you and bump his shoulder into yours. “Listen, sweetheart,” the nickname made you soften, but you tried to keep your scowl in place, “We’re all in over our fuckin’ heads, hm? And Stevie boy…he’s seen some shit. He’s just trying to–”

“Just trying to what? Be a complete dickhead about it? Mission accomplished.”

Eddie sighed and roughed a hand over his face. Rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. He knew what you felt because he’d felt it too. Knew what it was like to get laughed at and mocked in the lunch room. Knew how it was supposed to be between him and the other boy. Hell, he nearly cut Harrington’s face off with a broken bottle a few days ago, but one thing was clear.

Change was possible and Steve Harrington was proof, he just wasn’t great at showing it.

“Alright. He could be less of a dick,” he conceded, propping his chin in his hand and looking at you with his big brown eyes. How could you be mad at that?

You mumbled under your breath about that not being the only thing, but fine, okay, only for you, Eds.

Reaching over he flicked at your fingers and looked at you from under his curls with a stern pinch between his brows. “He’s helping me, sweetheart. They all are. Shit, without them I’d probably be in jail already. Or in Carver’s trunk,” he tried a laugh, but it fell short at the end with the weight of his words and it made you grab at his hand and squeeze it.

“Shut up,” you chided softly, no heat behind it. The anger that had been swelling in your chest all but extinguished.

Silence settled between the two of you then, heavy and tinged at the edges with worry. With everything that was at risk and it started to gnaw at the pit of your stomach. What if you couldn’t fix it? And even if you could, this Vecna asshole was about to end the world anyway so what the hell did it matter?

How were a bunch of kids going to do anything about it?

“Ahem,” the door knocked into your back and jolted you back to earth. Pulled a gasp from you and when you looked up over your shoulder you felt your anger return ten fold. “We’re leaving, geniuses,” Steve announced, pushing at you with the door.

“Least you know you’re an idiot,” you mumbled under your breath, standing up from your spot to glare at him at eye level.

“Real cute,” Steve shouldered past you on the stoop, took the last two steps in one go and turned to face you both as he landed on the grass. “For you, Munson,” he said, throwing a mask at Eddie, “Courtesy of Mayfield.”

“What’s that for?” you couldn’t help asking as Max appeared at your side and pointed so casually – too casually – at the mask.

“Gonna steal a Winnebago. Get that on, dingus. Let’s go.”

“Nice,” Eddie grinned up at the red-headed girl and yanked the mask on over his head, “Thanks, Red.”

“Let’s go,” Steve urged, waving his hands at everyone to get out of the house and you felt your heart racing.

“Steal a Winnebago? Eddie. Fuck that–”

“Honey, I’m already a wanted man–” Eddie cut you off and readjusted the ridiculous looking mask a bit. “–c’mon,” he said, tugging at your belt loop to get with it.

“I–that doesn’t mean you can just steal–”

“We’re way past that,” Dustin chimed in, shoving past you just like everyone else, “Besides, if the world’s gonna end anyway, what’s it matter?”

Shit. The kid had a point. It was probably fine. It was just a trailer. Maybe you could give it back afterward? You needed it more than they did. Right?

“Dammit,” you grumbled under your breath, now the only one still standing around. “Wait for me!”

❝ THEY TELL ME I’M HELL-BENT ON REVENGE, I CUT MY TEETH ON WEAKER MEN, I WON’T APOLOGIZE AGAIN ❞

The first time you ran into Steve Harrington was sophomore year. In the hallway before Click’s class. You were cramming everything into your bag, but struggling with your history book when you heard it coming.

Tommy Hagan’s stupid laugh.

Your stomach sank, eyes glued on your things and trying to ignore it. He was in your science class the year before along with his ditzy girlfriend Carol and they always made sure to get a spot in the back just to make out.

“Need some help?”

When you finally looked up at him he’d stopped right in front of you, the grin on his lips sharklike as Carol smirked out from under his arm. Another boy you didn’t know was standing just behind them wearing a stupid member’s only jacket, half unzipped, and had hair that sat perfectly in place. Too perfect.

“That looks heavy, hm?” Tommy said grabbing your book, voice all saccharine sweet and sharp around the edges. Flipping through the pages he pulled a face, clicked his tongue and weighed it in his hand, then made a show of dumping it on the floor. “Whoops. Sorry!” he half-laughed and your cheeks burned.

“Bite me, Hagan,” you snapped back, bending down to grab your book, and it only made his grin grow wider.

“Ooo. She’s fiesty today, Stevie. I like it.”

And then he chimed in. Stevie. The had-to-be-douchebag that everyone called 'King Steve.'

“Probably on her period,” he said scoffing a laugh, all confidence and bravado and the look on his face was so smug. Thought he was so clever and funny and when you finally turned around it was to take the two steps up to him in one.

“Really? My period? So original.”

It made him swallow hard. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he blinked back the flicker of surprise glinting in his eyes. He took a quick glance at Tommy like he didn’t want to disappoint him and then hardened his expression. Crowded down over you and nodded.

“Explains you being such a bitch.”

And it took the air from your lungs. Stuck in your sides sharp like a knife and you felt your throat tighten as Tommy and Carol snickered, but you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction. Not here.

“Yeah. Bet you wish you had an excuse for being such an asshole,” you cut at him and it pulled an Oh shit! out of Tommy as he doubled over laughing, Steve’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Your feet couldn’t carry you away fast enough as you shoved your book in your bag and turned to leave, but you refused to run. Refused to let them see weakness, and as Tommy yelled down the hallway after you about tampons you raised a middle finger high in the air to punctuate just how much you hated them all.

Eddie met you in the bathroom after that, the one nobody used on the other side of school, and you told him everything. He let you have the joint he had tucked behind his ear for emergencies, listened to you and told you they weren’t worth it. Especially not Steve. Because even though Tommy started it, Steve was the one who dug in. Could have left it alone but didn’t and that was what really got you.

How obvious it was he knew how shitty they were being, but went along with it anyway because he had to maintain his status. Had to uphold how ‘cool’ he was and keep the line in the sand drawn between him and ‘the freaks’ like you.

So he wouldn’t get a second chance.

And he wasn’t worth your time.

Not then and sure as hell not now.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART ONE OF A THREE PART SERIES, PART TWO AND THREE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[alastor-simp]

Hugging Them Out Of Nowhere - Hazbin Hotel Gang x Female Reader

Charlie🌈 -

🌈EEEE! HUGSSS! Charlie doesn’t even question why you are hugging her right now. She will instantly hug you back.

🌈She had just gotten back from a failed attempt at getting some patrons to come to the hotel. Feeling upset, she was sitting on the couch in the lobby by herself. The thundering of footsteps alerted her, and soon enough a pair of arms had wrapped around her body.

🌈She was expecting it to be Vaggie, but she noticed the lack of silver hair and bow. Realizing it was you, she questioned why the sudden hug before she shrugged her shoulders and squeezed back tightly, smile on her face.

🌈Letting go, you gazed straight into her eyes, shy expression on your face. “Sorry for the sudden hug. You seemed sad so I figured a hug would make you feel better. Did it?” Oh Charlie’s heart was squealing at the cuteness. She didn’t even answer your question, as she hugged you even tighter, yelling out so many thank you’s

Vaggie🎀-

🎀This one almost got you a spear in the gut. Vaggie wasn’t use to affection from anyone but Charlie, so don’t blame her for nearly killing you. She would calm down knowing it was you, but wouldn’t hug back until she knew the reason why.

🎀It wasn’t her day today. Alastor was bugging the hell out her with his numerous dad jokes. Niffty nearly speared her with the needle, chasing after a cockroach, and Husk had passed out drunk at the bar, leaving him not doing his duties as the hotel bartender.

🎀It left her fuming, but she didn’t want to instigate it more and end up using her spear, so she walked outside to the hotel rooftop to get some air. After a few minutes and taking some calming breaths, she heard the sound of the roof top door opening. She turned expecting Charlie, but she was then pulled into a hug.

🎀 “Que carajo!!” She was about the grab her spear, until she recognized it was. She stood confused as you were still hugging her. “Umm Y/N? Why are you hugging me?”

🎀Removing your arms from her, you stepped back and looked at her. Rubbing the back of your neck, you turned away shyly. “Sorry! You looked upset about something and hugs always make me feel better so I figured you needed one. Sorry if I overstepped, I know you don’t like being touched by anyone other than Charlie so….”

🎀Vaggie’s sharp gaze softened at your reasoning. She’s been in hell for a long time, and she has grown to distrust a lot of them, except Charlie and Angel Dust, a bit. She realized that you were much different. You cared about others and your friends, and you were kind and supportive.

🎀Looking back at Vaggie, you realized she was smiling at you softly, which is what you didn’t suspect. She got closer to you and gave you a slight shoulder hug. “Thanks Y/N. You’re a good amiga.”

Angel Dust🕷️-

🕷️ “Heh toots, if you wanted to jump me, all you had to do was ask~” His first reaction would be to flirt with you. Figures, but he was a porn star so he was used to stuff like this, yet more aggressively.

🕷️He entered through the hotel doors, muttering a groan. His body was aching from the amount of times he was doing it with some random john’s in Valentinos new porn video. Not only that, he had to suffer through the abuse that his boss gave him after he told him if he could stop since it was starting to hurt, but that earned him a slap on the face and cut lip.

🕷️Bypassing everyone in the lobby, he made his way upstairs and headed towards his room. Once he entered, he picked up Fat Nuggets from the floor and laid on the bed, with his pet pig lying in his chest fluff. He was given a bit of peace, until it was interrupted by a knock at the door.

🕷️ “Who is it?” Angel leaned his head up to stare at the door. He heard from the other side that it was you. Heaving a sigh, he placed Fat Nuggets on the bed, and made his way towards the door. Opening it, he saw you standing there. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door frame. “Whatcha want toots?”

🕷️Suddenly, he was pushed back inside of his room. You flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his back, face placed into his fluff. Dumbfounded, he stood frozen, wondering what the hell was happening. After a while, a smirk appeared on his face, and he wrapped two of his hands around you while using the other two to tilt your head up at him.

🕷️ “Well well, you wanted to cop a feel that badly~.” He pulled you further inside the room, using his long legs to close his door. Shaking your head, you told him that’s not what you were trying to do. Confused, he let you go, giving you time to step back and stand in front of him. Raising his eyebrow, he asked what you just jumped at him like that.

🕷️Blushing a bit, you looked away at the ground. “ I noticed that you looked very upset when you passed the lobby. I figured something must of happened at your job, given the slight cut on your lip. I wanted to cheer you up so I thought a hug might help.” His eyes widen at your reasoning. Mushy gooey stuff like this always annoyed him, he rather just get down to the business. But, you were changing how he felt about it.

🕷️Looking up at Angel, you gaped a bit. He was wearing a sad smile on his face, eyes a bit watery. “Angel are you ok-” Your words were cut off as Angel grabbed you again, hugging you tightly to himself. He motioned himself back to his bed and sat down, positioning you to sit on his lap. “Thanks toots” You hummed a response and hugged him back.

Niffty🪡

🪡Niffty would be ecstatic when you hugged her. Despite how scary she could be at times, she was an affectionate demon.

🪡She always was beaming with energy, smiling wildly with her large eye beaming. Today was an off day for her. She was in a cheery mood, but less than usual. The pesky cockroaches kept escaping her and not only that Husk accidentally vomited on her, ruining her favorite dress. She was lucky Husk was her friend or she would have mutilated with the kitchen knife.

🪡She was in the hotel laundry room, washing her dirty dress, and wearing a different one. She heard the sound of the door opening and saw you walking in. Excited she greeted you, “Hi Y/N!!” She waved her hand, and zipped up next to you. She saw you bend down to your knees, which confused her until she felt you lift her up and gave her a hug.

🪡Niffty was still for a second until she hugged back, giggling. The both of you stayed like that for a bit until you set her back down. “Sorry for hugging you out of nowhere Niffty. You liked slightly upset even though you are still beaming with excitement so I thought a hug would help.”

🪡The smile on Niffty face got almost as big as Al’s. She jumped up and hugged you again, repeating how cute you were.

Husk🍺-

🍺 "Hey kid, what the hell you doing?" Husk would react a bit rudely at first. Don't blame him, he lost his ability to love years ago, so stuff like that threw him off a bit.

🍺Grumbling to himself, Husk was wiping the bar stand aggressively. He had to deal with Al telling his annoying dad jokes for 3 hours, and not only that Angel had come after that and constantly flirted with him. He was able to tell Angel to f✪✪✪ off for the 40th time, to which Angel did leave. He was getting to old for this sh✪✪.

🍺Grabbing a bottle of cheap booze, he started to guzzle it down. His ears perked up at the sounds of feet tapping behind him. Turning around he saw you walking towards him. Confused he questioned you, before he was pushed back a bit by you hugging him

🍺The bottle he was holding nearly fell from his hand, but he was able to hold on to it. He was standing there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was happening. "Oy kid, the hell are you doing? Ya better not be two sheets to the wind." he heard you chuckled against him, before letting him go. "Sorry Husk, you looked a little more grumpy then usual so I figured a hug might help out a bit."

🍺Well that made his heart ache a bit. Stuff like affection he's pushed away for a long time and numbed it with alcohol, but the act that you did was making him feel those again. Feeling that you made him angry, you apologize and went to leave, before your were pulled back into another hug by him, wings wrapping around your back. "Heh thanks kid. You're a good one."

Alastor🦌

🦌Yeah this one was gonna be very difficult. Alastor detested being touch, and he rather prefer if he was the one initiating the contact. Anyone who would even think of touching him would be sucked up into his microphone, never to be seen again

🦌Alastor was pacing back and forth in his studio. His smile was still on his face, but it was more strained then usual. Some wayward soul had tried to rob rim, resulting in his favorite coat being ripped slightly. Well that sinner was taken care of, but he had ruined Al's good day. The icing on the cake was hearing the piece-of-sh✪✪ television, running his mouth and calling him a coward. Alastor knew better then to pick a fight with an egotistical overlord, that wasn't worth his time, but the insults only fueled his rage more.

🦌His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Ears perking at that, he walked over and opened the door, seeing you standing there with a smile. "Well hello my dear! Is there something you needed to discuss with me about?" His smile widen as his crimson eyes glowed down at you. Nodding, you asked if it was alright to come in. Alastor moved back, letting you walk inside his private studio. Having close the door, Alastor walked past you and sat on his chair, crossing his legs to gaze at you. "Now then! What would you like to chat about? Possibly a deal perhaps?" The air grew a bit tense at the mention of a deal, but you shook your head no. "No I'm not here for a deal. I'm just wondering if i could....um..." Trailing off, you looked to the side, feeling nervous.

🦌Tilting his head at you, he wonder what exactly you were here for. Looking back at him, you gave him a look of confidence. "May I have permission to do something to you for five seconds?" Arching his eyebrow at that, he wondered what you meant by that. Standing up from his chair, he walked closer to you, peering down at you. His smile looked fairly ominous, and some demonic symbols were appearing from behind him. "Do what exactly?" You felt that you overstepped and wanted to leave, but you stood your ground. "I-its nothing inappropriate I swear! If you don't like it, you can push me back." His eyes gazed down at you, searching for any signs of deceit. He found none, so he relaxed a bit and his powers toned down.

🦌"Alright my dear! You have permission for five seconds!" Alastor stood smiling, hands behind his back. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that Al allowed you to do something. "Ok...um." Moving slowly, you walked closer, wrapping you arms around him. Radio screech, Al was left befuddled by your actions, his arms raised up a bit. Quickly you pulled back. "Okay! All done!" Smiling up at him, you stood back and stared up at him. Alastor couldn't figure out what on earth just happened. You just wanted to hug him? "My dear. May I ask why the sudden act of affection?" His eyes were glazed with curiosity, better then them being glazed with fury.

🦌Flushing a bit, you started to twiddle your fingers. "I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Yes you are always smiling, but it seemed a bit strained. Something had to have bothered you or make you upset, so I thought maybe hugging you would cheer you up. I know you don't like others touching you, so I wasn't going to do it without your permission. Sorry if I had made you uncomfortable with my actions" Al heard you explain all of this to him, eyes gazing down at the floor.

🦌Oh what an adorable creature you were! Alastor found your actions to be quite sweet. He will admit that he was harden by being in hell for so long, and the only time he remembers any ounce of kindness and warmth being given to him was by his own mother. The annoying feelings of anger and fury had melted away instantly at your little action. The silence in the room was killing you. You were afraid to look at Al, expecting to see radio dials flashing on his face. Suddenly arms had wrapped around you back, lifting you up of the ground. "You are such a delight, darling!" He had spun you around, causing you to laugh. Finally he stopped and had set you down, gazing at you with soft eyes. "There were a few inconveniences today that left me in a foul mood. But! I'm feeling right as rain right now! Thank you, my dear!" He had placed a hand on your head, ruffling you hair a bit.

🦌Happy that he was feeling better you smiled at him. Alastor's ears perked at bit, having come up with an idea. "Since you went out of you way to appease my mood, I can offer you a simple wish. No deal attached!" He was leaning down, face moving closer to yours, waiting for your response. You didn't really want anything, as you only wanted to make Al feel better. After giving it some thought, you came up with your answer. "Could I stay and listen to your broadcast please?" Alastor nearly jumped with excitement at your answer. Snapping his fingers, another chair had appeared next to his desk, along with a cup of coffee and some of your favorite snacks. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you closer, "Come along my dear! Its showtime!"

Sir Pentious🐍

🐍"MADAM, WHAT ISSSSS THE MEANING OF THISSSSSS?!?!?!?" Pentious was not use to any actions that involved affection. Don't blame the guy, he lived during the era where actions like that were very sacred.

🐍He was inside his blimp that was attached to the hotel. He was sobbing due to his egg minions being taken away by Vaggie and given to Alastor. He loved his minions like they were his kids, and the thought of them being taken away made his heart break.

🐍He shot up in shock when he heard the sound of the door slide open. Turning around he saw you entering inside the room, walking closer to him. "Ahh misssssss Y/N, how may I assist you?" He tried to play it off that he was ok, wiping the tears that were on his face. He wondered why you gave no response back to him, and continued to walk closer to him. He jumped a shock and let out a girly shriek when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He and his hat looked at you in shock, bewildered by what you were doing.

🐍MISSSSSS Y/N????? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Pentious was literally shaking, emotions running high that you were hugging him. Pulling away, you stepped back, and watch Pentious place a hand on his chest, trying to calm down. "Sorry Pentious. I knew you were upset about losing your minions, so I wanted to cheer you up."

🐍His dark face began to become a pure red, and if he had ears they would be steaming. What a thoughtful person you were. Coming all the way here just to make him feel better? His heart was going a mile a minute. "Oh I see.....Thank you y/n." He smiled at you including his hat that appeared to have a heart symbol in its iris. "W-ould you care to have s-some tea with me?" his nerves were back again, as he was fumbling with words. You agreed and the both of you had tea together.

🐍Luckily for him, Vaggie allowed him to have his egg bois back, leading to him pulling them into a hug, including you, before he let you go quickly, letting out an embarrassed cough before slithering away to his room

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

[xyziiix]

𝘛𝘏𝘙𝘌𝘌 𝘐𝘚 𝘈 𝘊𝘙𝘖𝘞𝘋 ~ 𝘑.𝘗 & 𝘚.𝘙

PAIRINGS: Captain John Price X Female!Reader X Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

WARNINGS: SMUT - this is pure porn u guys - MMF threesome, unprotected P in V (wrap it please for the love of god) spanking, ROUGH GHOST, Price being an arsehole, being fucked over a desk, Eiffel Tower 😏, oral (m!receiving), creampie, kinda degrading.

A/N: I heard your pleas you little horndogs. You ask and you shall receive. (Sorry it’s a lil rushed and — surprise surprise, not proof read yet)

[could be read as a part 2 to ARDOUR, could also be read by itself)

It was Price that had noticed it first.

Of course he had. He was regardful. Observant.

He noticed it first a few days after you’d returned to base from Urizakstan. The way the Lieutenant’s eyes would linger on you when you were talking or just suddenly appeared — breathing life into the room, as you usually did. And it wasn’t just in a way one would be respectably paying attention to someone whilst they were speaking or doing something to gather their attention — No. it was the way his eyes — ones that always seemed devoid of emotion — would follow your body when you moved around, would watch you like a predator stalking it’s prey. Price recognised the look in his eyes.

Because that’s how he also looked at you.

While the situation you and Price were in was… delicate — and would definitely rouse misplaced reactions by the people in your place of work — he thought the idea of another man looking at you the way Ghost did would’ve angered him. Made him jealous. Irrational.

But for some reason it didn’t irk him as he thought it would.

And it wasn’t long after that he figured out Simon knew about you two. Perhaps the way Ghost seemed to be more observant and more silent than usual when the two of you were normally interacting with each other in front of the task force — keeping it strictly professional while you weren’t in the privacy with only each other. So that’s how Price figured he knew. Why would he be acting odd — even more than usual — about the two of you simply talking in the same room as everyone? It was like he knew a secret, a dirty secret.

Turns out he did.

In that battered down, sad excuse of a safe house in the Urzikstan dessert, it turns out not everyone was asleep that night while your Captain decided to fuck you.

You two had hidden it well — he’d give you both credit for that — so it was safe to say it had genuinely surprised him when he saw the sight in front of him that night. He was careful. Quiet. Like a ghost. Sticking to the shadows and moving silently — which was very surprising considering the Lieutenant’s looming height.

He had heard the noises — your noises — and it was obvious they were trying to be muffled. At first, he’d immediately thought of danger, that’s why he had been cautious to approach instead of just bursting into the room.

He remembers the feeling of his chest tightening in realisation when he saw what he saw. Price’s back was to Ghost — laying on his side on the ground. He couldn’t get a good look at your face, but he could see the glow of perspiration from the moonlight shining through the thin glass pane window and onto the dewy skin of your bare leg draped over Price’s thigh. Even just the silver of soft skin and the sound of your singing being trapped into the Captain’s palm had Simon hard, his pants tightening in his groin area — other than that he remained completely silent, even his breathing seemed nonexistent as he just watched the two of you. He didn’t even touch himself either, just watched. Like he thought if he looked away for a moment then the image of you like this would be gone.

But now it had been burned into his memory. The sounds you made. The soft and supple flesh of your thigh. And even the way your dainty hand had grabbed onto Price’s arm when he made you come. He wondered if you’d make those noises for him — except he wouldn’t muffle them with his palm. No. He’d want you to let everything out, every scream, every cry, every wanton moan while he fucked you dumb with his cock.

Price had brought up his observation of the Lieutenant one night a few weeks later. Both of you basking in the afterglow of sex in your rooms in the barracks.

“Simon.” He started simply, and you had turned to look at him quizzically.

“What about him?”

“Think he knows.”

Somewhere between then and now, you had discussed the possibility of this. To say you were very surprised when Price was the one that suggested Simon fucking you was an understatement. It wasn’t that Price wanted to be sexual with Ghost — as sexy as that would’ve been to see — he liked the idea of watching him fuck you. He couldn’t explain why, but just something that had been brewing in the back of his mind.

You had told Price that he wouldn’t have wanted that — that he was a closed off person who was hard to read, how could John have possibly conjured up that assumption that Simon was attracted to you?

Well, your captain always liked proving you wrong.

Because here you were, bent over the expanse of John’s desk — the desk you’d already had the pleasant experience of being bent over, laid atop of, and sat underneath while you sucked his cock as he sat in the desk chair — only this time it was infact, Lieutenant Simon Riley plowing into you with his intimidatingly large cock.

His grip on your hips was borderline painful — but it hurt so good. You worried he may make the desk topple over with how hard he was thrusting into you. You’d never been this stretched open before — feeling the too much, too full feeling of his dick inside of you, the blunt head of his length kissing the plug of your cervix with each steady but strong buck of his hips.

The masked man’s gaze was set of the globes of your arse, how the flesh rippled when his hips met yours, how every time it did so he got a glimpse of your little puckered hole — fuck, he wanted to fuck you there as well. But, he didn’t want to push his luck just yet. The only noises to be heard in Price’s office was skin meeting skin, the sound of your small cries and whimpers of ecstasy. You tried to stay quiet, you really did, but it was rather pathetic — your moans eventually interjecting through the room.

That’s when Price had changed his mind about just watching you. He had been painfully hard the last 15 minutes from having watched you already come on Ghost’s cock, your eyes glassy and lips red raw from biting them as you gripped onto the table for dear life. You didn’t even register him standing in front of you until you heard the sound of metal teeth being zipped open as well as the buckle of his belt.

“Gotta keep you quiet, love.” He excused with a chuckle while sliding his cock between your lips.

You really did have to keep quiet. And though the door was locked anyone walking by would’ve heard you — being fucked by your lieutenant while your captain watched.

You tried to focus on hollowing your cheeks around John’s cock. But you were utterly cock drunk, already feeling another powerful orgasm building in the pit of you abdomen while Simon continued to fuck you. Price had obviously noticed you struggling — as the bastard seemed to notice everything, he’d smugly remind you — so he had gathered your hair, using it to lift your head up as he started to fervently fuck your throat.

If you thought you felt impossibly full then you were beyond stuffed now, your jaw slack as John fucked your face and your pussy stretched almost painfully wide around Simon’s cock.

Ghost let out a prolonged, raspy breath when he felt you squeezing his dick in a vice. And in return, one of his hands left your hips in order to collect both your wrists with his single, calloused palm, pining them to your lower back as he fucked you impossibly harder, his pace quickening a little. His other palm landing a smack to your sore asscheeks — a crack of palm meeting flesh sounding in the office.

“Look at you, eh?” Price spoke, his tone annoyingly steady despite your mouth gliding up and down his cock. “Being fucked by your superiors. What would everyone make of you?” He asked with a gruff chuckle — and obviously you couldn’t answer.

About several moments later you felt yourself tumbling into another fierce climax, all but crying around John’s cock as your abused cunt squeezed Simon pitifully — which rewarded you with another slap to your rear, the skin red raw.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon grunted lowly — that adding to the short list of words he’d actually spoken this whole time.

Your arse hurt, your wrists hurt, your jaw hurt — your fucking pussy hurt — but you didn’t want it to stop, ever.

John pulled his cock out of your mouth, his dick coated in a mix of saliva and precum. His hand still buried in your hair — keeping your head up. Your neck hurt as well.

“Such a good girl.” Price praised as he bent his knees a little to see your face better, a smug smile curling his lips at the tears staining your flushed cheeks. “He makin’ you feel good?” He asks, there’s an edge to his voice.

The Lieutenant — being so full of surprises tonight — pushes his hand under you. The rough pad of his thumb cruelly flicking your clit. Your body seizing forward, a sharp cry escaping your lips while Simon still held your wrists pinned behind you.

When your eyes had widened at the overstimulating sensation, John had mirror your expression — but mockingly. “You like being used like this don’t you?”

You could only moan in response — unable to form a coherent thought let alone sentence.

Price tapped your cheek, your eyes focusing back on his smug face. “Asked you a question, love.” He reminded you. Arsehole.

“Yeah-“ you managed to babble out, your words shaking in tandem with your body, John’s smile curled into a Cheshire Cat grin — his goatee lifting.

“Yeah, you do.” He repeated.

Neither men had lasted much long after that. Price had gone back to fucking your face while Simon was relentlessly pounding into you. Your third orgasm was — quite literally — breath taking, it felt like your skin was on fire, yet numb at the same time. You definitely couldn’t feel your legs. Ghost came first, burying himself all the way to the hilt before spilling hot ropes of come inside of you with a groan — so much that it leaked out of you in a dribble of pearly white, you had let out a pathetic whine when he pulled out — the empty feeling had you quivering around nothing.

Price came a few moments later, filling your mouth with his salty spend before you swallowed it all. It tickled your raw throat.

Ghost had left soon after, not that he was ignorant in checking up on you, but because he knew that wasn’t his place to do so — not yet anyway. He had helped you up from the desk though, soothing his hands up and down your waist before Price took over. He had shared a look with you — his eyes saying everything his mouth wouldn’t.

@tapioca-marzipan @kanyewestburnbook @darksxder @louve-barnes @emodanoriddler @imonmykneessir @nightingal3-tales @ghost-2513 @fruitymoonbeams-blog

I tagged the ppl who commented on ARDOUR, if your name isn’t in grey then it wouldn’t let me tag you x

Call Of Duty MW2 Masterlist

[writeforfandoms]

Homeward Bound 1

Find the series masterlist

Welcome to my newest wip, because dragons are my absolute favorite fantasy creature. Also, please leave canon at the door, this is a full on fantasy AU we're now entering.

Seriously. I have so much world building already done for this. Come ask me questions.

We've got a bit of a slow burn, dragons, baby dragons, and drama. What more could you want?

Eventual Simon Riley x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, fantasy au rules, literal dragons.

Word count: 1k

You huffed as, yet again, Kyle and John invaded the nesting area. They had gotten more polite over the last weeks, but still. 

Truly, though, you couldn't entirely blame them. They were both in the group for this upcoming Hatching, and were very eager. John had been passed over last time, and Kyle was new this time. 

You would never tell them, but you had a good feeling for them, for this season. 

“Quiet down,” you told them, stern and no-nonsense, refusing to smile at their silliness. 

“Aw, we jus’ wanted te see,” John wheedled, his northern accent still strong despite his time in the capital. 

You rolled your eyes. “Quietly, then,” you stressed, taking a quick look round. Most of the dragons were still calm, only one or two first timers fidgety and anxious. Good enough. Nothing to fuss over. 

Kyle nodded eagerly, making a face at John. But the two were quick to look around the nests, whispering to each other. 

You just closed your eyes and leaned back in your seat. They'd be fine. And if they weren't, they'd get hissed at. 

Good enough. 

Yawning briefly, you blinked lazily up at the ceiling of the cave, which stretched far above your head. Strategic perches had been hewn into the rock over generations of dragons, giving plenty of spaces above the hatching grounds for the dragons to observe. The seating had been added for humans to observe, long before you. 

In a matter of weeks, the seats would be filled, and the cave would be the site of great joy once again. 

Kyle cleared his throat softly, prompting you to look at him instead of the ceiling. You raised one eyebrow in silent question. 

“You know best,” he murmured with a little smile. “How are they looking?”

“Healthy,” you murmured. “No issues that I can see. It's a good clutch this year.” 

“Good.” Kyle smiled, clearly pleased. “That's good to hear.” 

“You don't have long to wait now,” you encouraged gently, taking pity on the young man. 

He nodded, looking at the nests and the mothers with something akin to awe in his eyes. “Not long,” he agreed in a murmur. 

Your lips twitched in a smile, a little against your will. You had appearances to maintain, after all. “Go on,” you murmured. “Either go say hi to some of them, or go elsewhere.”

He shot you a look, a little startled and a little betrayed, but he nodded. He made the smart choice and went to the silver near you, greeting her. He'd be fine. 

You, instead, looked for John to make sure he wasn't getting into trouble. It took you a moment to spot him, way out by Ilsbet. Rather to your surprise, she had tucked him into her nest. 

Could be first-timer instincts, although most first-time mothers went the other way and drove everyone away from their nests… 

You meandered your way over there, smiling when Ilsbet chirruped at you in greeting, stretching her head out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart,” you murmured, scratching under her chin. “You seem to have a pest in your nest.” 

“Oi!” John's indignation was muffled somewhat. 

Ilsbet purred, trying to encourage you closer. Probably so she could tuck you into her nest along with John. 

“No, sweetheart.” You patted her nose. “I can't. We've talked about this, remember?” 

She drooped, massive green body only squishing John a little. He oofed. 

“Oh come now,” you scolded gently. “None of that, hm? Or your rider will insist I'm tormenting you.” 

“Are you not?” The dry question came from behind you. 

You didn't jump, but you did slowly turn to look. Ilsbet's rider was big and broad, blonde hair kept short, the usual fabric covering the lower half of his face. Brown eyes stared at you, impassive and unimpressed. 

“No, Simon. I am not tormenting your dragon.” You kept your tone flat as you spoke to him, none of the teasing warmth you had for Ilsbet coming through. 

Simon grunted once and stepped around you, staring down at John in his dragon's nest. “Out.” 

“But–” John started to protest. 

“Out,” Simon repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. 

John sighed but got out of the nest carefully. Ilsbet didn't even notice, busy purring and chirping at her rider. You did catch a glimpse of four eggs, shells still soft beige flecked with gold. Good. 

You were quick to back off and leave Simon alone. He was notorious for being difficult to get close to, even among the riders. And since this was Ilsbet's first time nesting… Well. You expected him to be extra grumpy. 

But the hatching wasn't that far away now, thankfully. 

You made your way back over to your seat, settling down again. In a little while, you'd check on the mothers, see if they needed anything. See if you could get another count on the eggs. 

But that would be in a little bit. For now, you found Kyle and John, watching them talk quietly. Your gaze wandered back to Simon, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the way his body language had softened as he spoke to his dragon. 

He did have a heart. You'd known that, of course. You'd been at the hatching when he'd been selected. Dragons didn't select people who were heartless. 

Although how such a sweet dragon had selected someone as reserved as Simon… You would never understand. 

John and Kyle left, and Simon left not long after them. Your domain returned to quiet, the sand warm even through your shoes. All was as it should be. 

You breathed out slowly, eyes drooping half-closed again. This was better. 

Not too much longer until the hatching. 

Not that you went a single day without seeing Simon, as he came in to check on Ilsbet often. It was almost like he didn't trust you. 

Honestly, you weren't sure if it was just you, or if he was just like that in general. After several days of dealing with him, you were inclined to think he was just like that. 

Well. The hatching would be over soon, and then it was unlikely you'd see much of him for three more years.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine you're info-dumping to him about something you love ❤️, or just reading a book 📖, or sipping a hot drink ☕ cuz its freezing out - and he's looking at you this way, cuz you are just too damn sweet.

[oneofthesillies]

The pictures say enough

[studioghibelli]

three’s a party- a joel x tess x reader story

summary: joel knows you, his pretty little girlfriend, has always harbored sexual feelings for tess. he can’t help but oblige you on your birthday.

warnings: joel watches you and tess fuck, he basically gets cucked by tess, porn with no plot, bisexual reader, smut (f on f action, f & m receiving oral, tribbing, unprotected sex, very brief sir kink, light mentions of choking, spiting, daddy kink, dirty talk, use of the word whore and slut, dom!tess, sub!reader, kind of sub!joel (?), threesome)

notes: this is pure filth. i love it. mdni, or else!!! (not spell checked or edited….. sorry besties)

The room was damp, and smelled mildly of mildew.

Outside, the rush of dusk had plastered the night sky in shades of navy and onyx, no light inside the little square room except the dangling bulb which swung from the ceiling, a flickering twinge of gold illuminating the four corners with every sway of the string.

The mattress was old and stale, the coils squeaking with every movement, and to the side, a tattered arm chair the color of the earth rested without movement. Sitting on the dirty cover was Joel Miller, the man who had been responsible for orchestrating this night. And now there he was, watching his girl moan and writhe with pleasure, her legs pushed back by the hands of his work partner, Tess.

You didn’t have to ask Joel or say anything outright for him to notice that desire which lingered in your eyes each time you saw Tess. The way you would suck your bottom lip between in your teeth when her chest brushed against yours, the way you would let out a quiet sigh every time her fingers pushed a strand of hair from your face.

Joel Miller wasn’t an idiot.

It was the end of the world, and he didn’t mind sharing you. Well, not with Tess, anyways. He trusted her and loved her like family, but if anyone else tried to get funny with you, he’d have their head served up on a silver platter just for you, à la John the Baptist style.

When your birthday rolled around the corner, he knew just what he had to do for his pretty babydoll: indulge you- In the one way he knew you’d like best.

It took some convincing with Tess.

“I don’t want you trying to kill me for touching your girl.” She had joked, arms crossed as she stared at him plainly. “Are you sure she wants this?”

“‘Course she does. You ain’t dumb. She ‘bout loses her mind every time you get close to her.” They shared a laugh, and Tess soon agreed.

But with you, well, it took no convincing at all. You about jumped out of your skin with excitement when he brought the idea up, happily complying to the plan he had in mind. You trusted him deeply, more than anyone else on the earth, and knew he would always take good care of you.

And now you were here, in this situation. On the two decades’ old mattress with Tess’ tongue swirling circles around your clit, lapping at your soaked cunt as though you were the last thing she would ever taste. From the corner of your eye you saw Joel, sitting and watching you with his lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed and face void of any emotion. If he didn’t have a massive boner tenting the fabric of his jeans, you would have wondered if he was growing angry.

No. No anger there. Not an ounce of it.

Your hands clenched the fabric of the cotton sheets tightly within your fists, nails tearing at the seams as the woman you had craved for so long lapped up every drop of your wetness. You were in Heaven, her skilled tongue exploring every inch of you that cried out. She hadn’t missed a spot on your clit, flicking it and slurping incessantly, until you were putty in her hands, for her to play with freely.

Tess pulled away, middle finger sinking deep into your tight hole. She looked up, an arrogant smirk crossing her lips, and relished in the quiet mewl you let out for her.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you pretty girl?”

You whimpered in response, hips bucking up as she flicked her finger just right, tapping up against your g-spot. Your thighs quivered.

“Tess!” You cried out. “Please.”

“No, no, no.” She climbed on top of you, naked cunt straddling your thigh, ring and middle finger now sunk deep into your entrance. Tess leaned forward, lips brushing against your ear, tongue licking a stripe against that sensitive patch of skin that always made you shiver. “You call me daddy.”

With wide eyes your neck snapped towards Joel, who was still watching you wordlessly, eyes dark, hands resting on the arms of the chair. He didn’t speak, didn’t flinch, didn’t make any sort of move. He only watched, like a statue stuck in place, eyes on you, and you only.

Tess began to grind herself against your thigh, a soft groan leaving her, before she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up. “Not him. Me. Eyes on me.” The blunt edge of her nails sunk into your skin, and you felt her knee gently brush against your clit.

“Need you.” You begged breathlessly. “Need you.”

“Need me how? Tell daddy. What do you need from me, baby?” She cooed softly to you, her words dripping with a faux sense of worry. Behind her closed lips, you heard a faint snicker. Tess was getting off on this. She was getting off on seeing you beg, on seeing you come- quite literally- undone.

“Rub your pussy on mine, please….” A few beats passed before you spoke again. “Daddy.”

Tess grinned down at you, pushing your legs back before lowering herself, her pretty pink cunt pressed flush against yours.

Joel grunted. It was the first time he had made any noise. You glanced over at him, gently extending your hand. “Joel?” You called out softly, beckoning him forward. He wasted no time making his way to you, crouching down by the bed as he grasped your hand, plush lips pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m here, darlin’. Right here.”

“Stay right here. Stay.” You whispered.

You looked down at Tess’ pussy on yours. She kept her pubic hair short, yet it was still there, and it looked damn good on her. Her clit was bigger than yours, sticking out from her folds in a way that made your mouth water. Pink and pretty, dripping just from pleasing you. Your hips bucked up at the feeling, completely involuntarily.

Tess looked down at your connected cunts, and slowly dragged her clit up and down between your folds, her hands pressed flat against your thighs as she watched, lip stuck between her teeth.

“God, you’re fucking soaked. She get this wet for you, Texas?” Arrogance dripped from her words.

“Wetter.” He grunted, arrogance matching hers, with his eyes burning right into your face. You turned your head to look at Joel, and he gently pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “How’s it feel, baby?”

“So good. So fucking good.” You whined. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, rough hand cupping your cheek.

“Such a good girl, you know that? Takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ. Yeah, that’s my good girl. Such a good slut for your daddies, ain’t ya?” His voice was low and deep in your ear, for you only.

You looked at Tess, feeling her own clit circling yours. You gasped out softly, her throbbing button slowly poking through your folds, barely penetrating you, but doing so just enough that you felt that familiar tingle of arousal shoot up your body. Tess lowered her hand, flicking your nipple, before her calloused fingers dragged down the softness of your belly, finding your clit and pinching it lightly.

“You really are a good girl, aren’t you?” She purred, thumb rolling circles into your bud. “You’re wet as a fucking waterfall. Such a cute pussy, too. You know that? So fucking tight and pink, I might just steal you from Joel, make you mine.”

A low growl of annoyance came from beside you. “Watch it Tess.” He warned.

She giggled a girlish giggle, her pussy dragging up and down against yours. “Just kidding. No need to get your cock in a knot, Miller.”

You whined as she grinded against you, her wetness seeping in to your own. “I think I’m gonna cum on this little pussy of yours.”

Joel tightened his grip on your hand, leaning forward and kissing your temple, right where your sweat was gathering. You were whining and squirming, your orgasm right there, yet still so far away. You looked at your boyfriend, and he kissed you deeply, hand slowly moving to your throat where he held you in place, his tongue slipping between your lips. You moaned at the taste of his spit, hips bucking in to Tess’, her throbbing clit pressing against your own.

“God fucking damn.” You heard her groan, feeling her arousal dripping down your own thighs. You reached towards her, free hand finding her chest, pinching and twisting her nipple. You guided her chest closer to yours, pulling away from Joel’s mouth to meet hers. Tess kissed you hungrily, with a passion you were sure only a woman could ever carry.

Her nipples pressed into yours, brushing against one another as she fucked you with her cunt, up and down, the wanton noises of your wet slick filling the air. Your pussy was desperate to clench around something, clit tingling at the feeling of her friction. She shoved her tongue down your throat, sweaty body melding to yours, as she grunted and groaned into your throat.

You felt Tess shake with her own orgasm, grunting out your name as she pulled away from your mouth and grabbed the headboard, slowly rolling her hips into your own, staring at your connected pussies, watching the strings of cum tie her folds to your own. Milly white and dripping, she watched her folds fall open as she dragged them down your throbbing clit, moaning out at the sight.

She looked at Joel. “You want to make her cum, or me?”

“Why not both?” The smirk was evident in his voice. You moaned out in annoyance when she got off of you, annoyed at the lack of contact on your clit.

“Don’t worry, angel.” Joel murmured, nibbling at your ear lobe. “She’s gonna make you cum real nice. Then your real daddy is gonna fuck you nice and dumb.”

“Oh.” You moaned out softly at his words, tangling your hand in his curls. “Yes sir.” You murmured softly, and Joel let out a throaty chuckle, his lips attaching to your neck.

As your eyes fluttered close at the feeling of Joel sucking on your skin, your felt your legs being pushed up, and you were soon met with the feeling of Tess’ lips wrapping around your sensitive bud. She dipped her fingers into your soaked pussy, tasting her own cum and your arousal heavy on her tongue.

“You’re a fucking bastard for keeping this pussy away from me for so long, Miller. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tried.” She continued licking at your clit, eyes slowly dragging to meet yours, now half open and heavy with arousal. “Ain’tcha, baby? So fucking sweet. Here, have a taste.” She dragged her fingers from your folds, reaching up towards your lips until you were sucking on them.

You moaned, her cum sweet and salty in your mouth. You continued sucking on them, slowly looking at Joel with a flicker of playfulness sparkling in your eyes. You treated her two digits like a cock, bobbing slowly, eyes never leaving your boyfriends. You finally pulled away with a pop, and Joel groaned out.

“Enough.” He growled, standing up and shoving his jeans down. His cock sprung out, and he pressed his tip against your lips. “Suck. Now.” He demanded.

You whined out as Tess removed her lips from your clit, instead opting to tease your folds, her tongue shoving deep inside of you. You leaned forward towards Joel’s dick, wrapping your lips around it as he grabbed your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. His free hand reached down, gently rubbing the side of your head.

“That’s it. Suck this cock off, babydoll. Such a good fuckin’ girl for me.” His hips stuttered against you as you took him inch by inch, his tip reaching the back of your throat. You gagged softly, pulling ever so softly away, before beginning to bob up and down, your tongue swirling against the veined underside of his length.

Between your legs, Tess was slurping up your wetness, and when her lips attached to your clit again, you knew your orgasm was soon approaching. How you had lasted for so long was beyond you, you had no clue. You shivered against her pretty face, hips bucking as she returned to fingering you. That, mixed with the feeling of her lips on your clit, did your head in.

You cried out against Joel’s cock, which twitched in your mouth at the sound of your pleasure, your climax hitting you like a double decker bus. It felt so good, in fact, tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes.

You tried to focus on his cock, but you only got sloppier, tongue wild against his dick as you bucked your hips and clenched around her fingers, panting like a bitch in heat at the feeling of your orgasm.

“Get away from her, Joel.”

He grunted in annoyance, nonetheless obeying. Tess laid down on the bed, wiping her shining mouth off with the back of her hand, and patted her lap. “Sit.” She ordered you. Crawling over, you sat on her lap, your back pressed against her chest. “Joel, fuck her.”

A smirk spread across his face, and he positioned himself between your legs, pushing into you in one swift motion, right to the hilt. You moaned out. Tess’ hand crept to your neck, and as she grabbed it, she tilted your head back.

“Open your mouth, baby. Want you to taste yourself.” You leaned your head back against her shoulder, opening your mouth. Tess spit on to your tongue, the taste of your mixed cum and her spit sliding down your throat. You moaned at the flavor.

Joel filled you and stretched you good. He always had. It was like his cock was built specifically for your pussy.

“So fuckin’ good, angel.” He mumbled, his hands dragging up and down your sides. Joel’s thrusts were sloppy, and you knew he wasn’t going to last very long.

“We promised her two orgasms, Texas.” Tess purred. “So you better not cum fast.”

He panted out in annoyance, cheeks reddening as his arousal climbed and clawed up his body, his throat growing raw with desire. Joel’s palms dug into your hips, where he held you down in place against the mattress.

You could feel Tess’ wet cunt against your ass, and slowly her hands began to massage into your skin, until she reached your pussy once more.

“That pretty little clit is just begging for attention, isn’t it?” She whispered in your ear, biting down on your skin. “Should I oblige her?”

“Yes.” You begged.

Her hand came smacking down against your pussy, the sudden feeling causing you to jolt. “Yes what?” She asked lowly.

“Yes daddy.”

Joel groaned at the sound, the tip of his cock pressing against that spot each time he thrust. You weren’t sure how long you would last if he continued his thrusts, especially with Tess’ fingers exploring your pussy.

“That’s a good, good girl.” She began rubbing slow, deep circles against your clit, her hand still tight around your throat. “You really are such a sweet thing.”

You breathed out a jumble of syllables in response, feeling Joel’s fingers gently work at your nipples.

“My sweet thing.” He whispered, and your eyes fluttered open to look at him. Your eyes met, and a shared smile spread across your faces. Joel reached down, gently pressing his palm to your cheek. A shared moment of intimacy in an otherwise heinous, ungodly, sexually depraved scene. Your hand gently wrapped itself around the back of his, pressing him closer to your skin.

“So sweet.” Tess mumbled dryly, sarcastically, and you felt her mouth connect against your neck. You moaned out, and she grinned. “Just a dumb little fuck toy at the end of the day, aren’t you?”

You nodded, legs parting even further as your second orgasm loomed. Joel’s cock twitched inside you, and he leaned forward until he was pressed against you, his face resting in the crook of your neck.

“I-I’m gonna cum again.” You whined, Tess’ skillful fingers still working your clit.

“What about you, Texas?” Tess asked, her lips still working the skin of your neck.

“Please.” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Fine.” She finally gave permission, albeit rather dismissively.

Joel buried himself as deep as he could inside of you, spilling his seed with a loud growl, teeth clenching down on to your shoulder as you shared your orgasm. Waves of pleasure rolled over you, and you wrapped your arms around Joel, holding on to him as tightly as you could. Your belly clenched, clit growing sensitive as Tess carried you through your high, her fingers still rubbing up and down your sensitive nub.

Joel slowly pulled away, but Tess kept rubbing.

“Please.” You whimpered, more tears pooling in your eyes. “Too sensitive.” You tried to push her hand away, but Joel grabbed ahold of your wrist, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“Let her, babydoll. Let her use that pussy.” He whispered. As your over-sensitive clit was toyed with, Joel leaned forward, forehead resting on yours.

You whined breathlessly at that raw, burning feeling which cascaded through you, mixed with the coveted feeling of pleasure as Tess rubbed. Joel’s nose brushed into yours, his eyes boring in to your own.

“That’s my babydoll. Taking it so good. You’re such a good girl for me.” He whispered, gently pressing a series of mini-kisses into your mouth. “For us.” He corrected himself, which Tess moaned in agreement too.

“Thank you.” You moaned out earnestly, kissing him once more. You felt your belly tightening once more.

“Third one’s always the easiest.” Tess snickered, rubbing your clit between her index and thumb. “‘Specially when you’re just a pretty little fuck thing.”

Joel stared into your eyes, a grin gleaming over his lips, as your third and final orgasm washed over you. As you came, his name chanted from your mouth, and you collapsed into Tess’ chest, bodies sweaty and hot.

Joel pulled you in to his arms, cradling you to his chest as Tess threw on her shirt. She grinned at the both of you.

“Pretty cute together, y’know.” She admitted, running a hand through her hair. “Was this a good birthday?”

You let out a soft laugh, slowly coming to your senses as you nodded. “The best one I’ve ever had.”

Tess mirrored your own laugh, and you watched her fingers as she buckled her belt. “Let’s do it again sometime?”

As Joel kissed your neck, you smiled at her. “We can pretend my birthday is next week?”

The three of you shared a knowing look, and each of you knew what you had gotten yourself in to for the coming days, weeks, months- however long you possibly could. A pit of sexual desire and craving that would probably never be satiated, but none of you really cared.

All you knew is that the three of you had always made a great team, and you know what they say- three’s a party.

“Deal.”

[kitkatscabinet]

All I want for Christmas

For my lovely wife @juvenillia as a part of the secret Santa exchange. I'm sorry it took so long love

Simon Riley x f! reader

Summary: Your holiday plans are thwarted when the task force is abruptly called away for a mission.

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: reader celebrates Christmas.

You’d always been ambivalent towards the holidays, especially the christmas season. The wonder that had illuminated your childhood at the lights, the decorated trees and the general spirit people exuded had long since faded. While you didn’t hate the holiday season, it was hard to muster up the same level of excitement and magic that children seemed to naturally conjure. 

When it came down to it, you supposed the issue in truth was your family, or rather the lack thereof, most of the remaining members of your jagged family being low, to no contact completely. Atleast, that was the case until your old lieutenant, John Price, had dragged you into his new off the books task force. Sergeants Kyle Garrick and John Mactavish were hard people to hate, not that you’d tried, and both had very quickly wormed their way into your heart through the high stress situations you’d endured together over the years. 

Though given the way Soap had seemingly latched on with both hands and refused to let you go, dragging you to his concernigly empty home in Scotland to spend the holidays together a few years back let you know that he was likely just as lonely. Kyle had hosted the next, Captain Price had been bullied into opening his apartment for the third, and then when it became apparent this would be a 141 tradition, surprisingly Laswell and her wife had welcomed you all with open arms into their home. 

It was through your team, your family, that you started to once again regain that childlike wonder for the holidays. Even Simon, grinch that he seemed to be was always present, glass of Eggnog in his hand as he watched his teammates engage in childlike behaviour from the corner. Soap had tried to pester the large man into wearing the matching pajamas that you, Kyle and him all now proudly wore but that was apparently a step too far. 

You weren’t fooled by his nonchalant persona though, not when you could still so clearly picture the shock and vulnerability that had settled over his pretty unmasked face the first time you’d handed him a full stocking decorated painstakingly with his name in silver thread. The stockings you’d made for your team were incredibly shoddy, a labour of love not skill. Yet even two years later, frayed and chunky, they were still in use. Johnny had been genuinely aghast when you’d tried to take them back, to buy them new, better quality ones. 

With the way your eyes seemed to naturally gravitate towards Simon it would have been impossible not to notice the way he had flinched slightly at your suggestion, hands protectively clutching his stocking. Nor could it escape your notice that every year as the stocking frayed more and more, Simon’s still seemed to be in immaculate shape. Somedays you could swear it seemed to be better off than when you’d first gifted it, though that was probably wishful thinking.  

Your fifth Christmas with the team was rapidly approaching, a fact Johnny wouldnt let you forget, practically vibrating out of his skin at the exciting prospect of celebrating Christmas at your place. As you and Simon were the only remaining members who hadn’t hosted the onus had fallen on you even if you hadn’t volunteered. It seemed the entire squad had silently assumed it would be you, not the paranoidly private Simon, yourself included. 

The apartment you lived in was small but comfortable, and with two weeks until Christmas it was already decked out with lights, tinsel and a small tree covered in garish ornaments. You’d received some odd looks from people in the shopping centre but you were too excited to care. Presents had been bought, multiple for each of your teammates in fact when you kept finding better gifts. Or rather, you’d gathered an assortment of gifts for everyone but Simon. Nothing seemed to quite fit. Sure, there had been a few bits and bobs that you could have settled for, but in your mind nothing had been good enough for him, his gift needed to be perfect. An announcement that the centre was closing ringing through the stores PA system had you dejectedly walking back to your car, the determined promise of tomorrow for sure ringing through your mind. 

Tomorrow is thwarted when the phone you keep in the bedside drawer rings urgently at 3am, rousing you from the light slumber that was characteristic of all your nights sleep. It only takes a few minutes for the gorgginess to exit your system as Price’s grim voice filters through the speaker as you roll out of bed with a less than professional whine. Couldn’t the terrorists or whoever have waited until after the holiday season? Until March even?

Johnny’s just as pouty as you and though the two of you form a coalition to turn your best puppy dog eyes on Price to try and convince him to pawn whatever bullshit mission you’ve been called on to another squad, the captain apparently doesn’t find the act cute enough. Simon jokes that Soap’s ugly mug probably hindered more than anything and thus you were stuck between the two as a sacrificial lamb before things escalated. 

Between the early wake up call and the prospect of being called out so close to Christmas tensions were running a little high. The lack of decent intel further fraying the nerves of everyone bar the ever unflappable Ghost who sat rigid and alert as ever even when you slumped down in the seat next to him on the helo. You’d barely been given a few hours to prep before you were already getting shipped off to Chechnya where the team was then tasked with entering the country very illegally and covertly. In otherwords the whole thing was a shit show and a half and it was felt through the silent tension that thrummed in the air. 

Simon’s large muscled frame pressed lightly against your side, something you were increasingly aware of as the flight droned on. Heat emanating from his body and sinking into your skin. Pressed so closely, you could smell him before he was marred by sweat, dirt and blood, a rarity. He didn’t wear a nice cologne, smelling like simple soap and washing detergent, but it was nice nonetheless. It was nice because it was just so Simon. 

Exhausted already both physically and mentally, you quickly fall asleep to the lull of the whirring blades and warm pillow of muscle sitting to your left, head lolling to slump against his arm. Lost in your slumber as you are, you completely miss the way he tenses minutely at the sensation before quickly relaxing, shuffling just a little to ensure your maximum comfort. He spends far too long staring at your sleeping face, warm eyes committing every little detail to memory. It’s not until he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your peaceful visage that he sees Captain Price’s amused look, brow raised pointedly as he stares at his two subordinates. Not for the first time in his life Simon is thankful for the mask, leaving none of the pink blush marring his skin visible. 

The mission goes totally fubar almost immediately, because of course it does, the whole thing was fucked from the start. Somewhere in the back of the alarms whirring in your mind as you ran through the dense woodlands you recognise that maybe Kyle’s theory of foul play wasn’t so farfetched. 

Price is barking something over the gunfire that you don’t hear over the chaos and deafening ringing  in your ears, Johnny’s swearing over the comms as he switches between sniping and hightailing it down from overwatch to the exfil location. You’re half dragging, half carrying Kyle along as he mumbles deliriously, head slumped into the crook of your neck and left leg hanging nearly limply as you both blindly stumble. 

You’re fucked. You and Kyle are so unbelievably fucked it’s a little funny, and if it weren’t for the fact your lungs were burning and working overtime to expand and provide you with desperately needed oxygen you’d probably be laughing. 

You’re fucked. You’re probably going to die. You and Kyle, who’s useless without you, who’s relying on you to get him to safety. That’s the part that stings the most, that causes your lower lip to wobble traitorously and tears of panic to build in your lashline. Not the fact that you’ll die, forgotten and buried in a cover up orchestrated by your government, but the fact that you’ll take Kyle with you. Sweet, loyal, driven Kyle who wormed his way into your life and into your damn heart. Your confidante. The only person who knew how you really felt about… Simon. 

Simon Riley. The goddamned smug, cocky, bastard that had taken it a step further than the rest of your teammates when he smashed his way into your life. The man you eventually came to realise was nothing like the fear tinged rumours. Sure, the Ghost was scary and more than a little rough around the edges but Simon was kind, generous, gentle, funny, and looking back on it you suppose you’d been doomed from the start. 

You were going to die and he was all you could think about. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he safe? What if he didn’t make it out? Would he die alone, bleeding out in the snow, not knowing that you loved him?

Moving on a cocktail of adrenaline, muscle memory and desperation you finally burst out of the treeline and towards the road where the exfil vehicles were already roaring to life. A quick head count has you sagging in relief despite the situation. Johnny. Price. Simon. They’re all waiting for you and Kyle, and though it’s impossible to gauge any injuries just yet, it seems that you and Kyle are the worst off by far. 

The relief abruptly leaves your body with a yelp as you take one step down the small hill towards the road only to immediately trip, legs giving way as you and subsequently Kyle fall forwards and tumble down through the slush. Between one blink and the next the shouting starts up again and you’re ceremoniously pulled up from the ground and tugged into a vehicle in a mess of confusion and limbs. 

When your vision finally focuses it’s to the sight of brown eyes crinkled with more concern than you’d ever seen surrounded by a signature skull mask. Trying to sit up, the world tilts precariously once more as a large hand pushes your sternum back down against the seats and a gravelly accent barks something at you. Any other time you’d be elated at the touch but right now you couldn’t even begin to think to appreciate it.

Simon’s yelling something that sounds vaguely like your name, as if trying to get your attention between whatever he’s screaming at who’s driving. Your head lolls to the side in an attempt to better gauge your surroundings but the movement does nothing but send your vision spinning, a sudden sharp burning pain radiating from near your collarbone. Clumsily one of your hands attempts to clutch the aching site, attempting to locate the problem. You end up missing in spectacular fashion, blinking in confusion at your sudden lack of motor skills until there’s a hand on your chin, tilting your face back up to look into uncharacteristically alarmed eyes. 

Simon’s other hand pushes down on your shoulder harshly and pain anew lights your nerves on fire as you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks as you thrash. All you achieve is further agitating your injuries and expending the very little adrenaline fuelled energy you still had. 

“-me. Look at me!” Your hearing suddenly kicks back just in time to hear the tinge of desperation in the Lieutenant’s voice, the black spots in your vision clearing just a little to allow you one last look into Simon’s eyes. Even when they’re wide with terror you can’t help but think how pretty his eyes are, the sentiment might even slip past your tingling lips though you can’t be sure as you abruptly lose the battle and your body shuts down into unconsciousness.  

It’s a steady, consistent beeping that your mind registers first, before your eyelids that feel like they’re weighed down with glue even open. Your lack of vision quickly becomes second on the list of priorities when you try to breathe, only to find yourself gagging and choking on an obtrusion in your throat. You struggle blindly for what feels like an eternity, panic mounting as you fight for oxygen and to get your leaden, useless limbs to cooperate. 

Suddenly hands are grabbing at you, firm voice speaking over the now rapid beeping of what’s probably the heart monitor. Your eyes burst open at the same instant the trachael tube is pulled out, leaving you to gasp and cough for air as a warm hand cups your cheek tenderly whilst helping you sit up. It takes a few more seconds for the blur in your vision to completely clear but when it does it’s to the visage of Simon’s soft brown eyes once again. 

He’s not wearing his mask, giving you the perfect view of his deep purple eye bags and greasy, dishevelled hair. “You look like shit,” your voice is a croaky rasp, throat like sandpaper and Simon’s handing you a styrofoam cup of water before you can even ask. You take small sips of the cool liquid, savouring the soothing nature. 

“Pot meet kettle” he grunted, slumping down into the far too small chair that had been pulled to your bedside. You watch in appreciate silence as he brings one arm up to rub the back of his neck, the muscles in his biceps flexing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Though after a few more seconds of observation the corners of your lips dip into a frown, he seemed far too used to the room, almost as if he was used to it. Had he been watching over you? Waiting for you to wake up?

You don’t comment on it though, a sudden panic smacking you square in the chest as you sit up instinctively once more, ignoring the pain that shoots up the left side of your body once more as you suddenly remember, “Oh god Kyle-” 

“Garrick’s fine, already discharged. We’ve just been waiting for you to get your lazy ass up sleeping beauty.” You hate the way your traitorous heart skips a beat at his words, the monitor betraying your emotions and given the way Simon smirks at you it’s clear he noticed. 

Though the embarrassment is quickly flushed away by a second round of panic, “wait, what’s the date today? What happened? How long have I been out?” the questions fly out rapid fire. He answers all your questions calmly and with patience, not at all angry. You’d been shot, which certainly explained the fierce ache in your chest and arm even through whatever drugs they’d doped you up on. That made sense you supposed, but it was hardly as alarming as when the date registered in your mind. 

“Wait it’s the 26th?” devastation coloured your tone, “I missed Christmas?” It was such a silly, trivial thing to get upset over. You’d almost died, but that was nothing in the face of missing getting to celebrate with your team. Your lower lip starts to wobble dangerously before you can stop it as Simon’s eyes widen in alarm, standing so quickly the chair falls over with a clang that gets ignored as he hovers anxiously, taking your clenched hands in his own and rubbing calming circles over your pulse point in your wrist. 

“It’s ok lass, nobody’s upest with you. We’ll celebrate when you get discharged yeah?” Looking back on the memory you’ll laugh, but right now you’re too emotional to react logically. 

“S’not just that, I didn’t have time to get you a present! Everything was s’posed to be perfect and now it’s all ruined” you exclaim. The two of you must make quite the sight from an outsiders perspective, a near hysterical woman more upset over the prospect of missing Christmas than the fact she’d been shot and a hulking man in black hovering somehwat frantically in an attempt to soothe. 

“You waking up is the best present I could’ve asked for darlin’” he finally murmurs, so quietly that you almost don’t hear. His long, calloused fingers entwined with yours as he sat on the edge of the mattress, having finally disengaged the finnicky railing. 

“That doesn’t count” you weakly protest, once again cursing the heart monitor for giving away your internal struggle, “‘sides, Johnny and Kyle got three things.” Some of the humour has returned to the situation for Simon, and your pout only deepens when he smirks at you. 

“Did they now? You playing favourites?” You know he’s teasing but you still can’t help but squawk of indignation. “You’ll have to make it up to me,” he continues on, completely unphased even as you smack him on the arm like a child throwing a temper tantrum, “How bout a kiss? That should be enough yeah?” The heart monitor blares like thunder in the background in a way you’ll know will probably alarm the nurses but you can’t think about that. Can’t think about anything other than Simon. The baritone lilt of his voice that had trailed off as he dipped his head towards you, leaving enough of a gap for you to pull away if you wanted though the warmth of his breath still fans across your face. 

His lips are rough, chapped and the scruff of his unshaven face is uncomfortable against your skin but the kiss is perfect nonetheless. Even with the blaring monitor and the burning fire that consumes the left side of your body in agitation from your sudden movement you don’t pull back just yet. Both hands cupping his cheeks reverently as you all but threw yourself at him. Despite the pain and slight embarrassment, it’s perfect. 

When your lips part neither of you pull away, and Simon rests his forehead against your own as you hum contentedly, the both of you leaning desperately into each other’s touch. It’s not until you hear a whooping holler and a series of whistles that you both startle and jerk away from each other in alarm. Kyle’s clapping and jeering alongside Soap whilst your captain simply sighs in exasperation at the scene, though there’s amusement detectable in his smile. 

“And here I was thinking ye’d need this” Johnny grinned mischievoulsy, waving around what you quickly realise is a bushel of mistletoe, causing you to roll your eyes at his theatrics as Simon huffed. 

“Just cause you need an excuse to get kisses doen’t mean I do Johnny” Simon quips and it’s your turn to laugh at the blatant offense that covers the Scotsmans face. The four of you are then promptly made subject to unintelligible Scottish blathering as Simon presumably gets cussed out. Your laughter is briefly interrupted when you feel fingers entwine with yours and you briefly shoot Simon a look from the corner of your eye before you squeeze his hand, face beaming as you turn back to look at Soap. 

It may have been a day late, but as you sat surrounded by your team, with Simon by your side, thumb stroking circles over your wrist you had to admit that it was the best Christmas to date. 

Taglist: @ghostslillady @bunnyreaper @tokusho@ohworm-writes @kmi-02 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jumpofmyclif @tiredmetalenthusiast @Chibijustuff @cooliofango @101crows

[silassinclair]

Introduction!! Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CONTENT WARNING: Guns, Violence, Fem Reader, For 16+ Readers Preferably (Ik i cant stop you younger little shits from being here)

Mayor John L/n should have known better than to attract the attention of Maddox Graves; the West's number one most wanted criminal and outlaw. But Y/n L/n's Father, John L/n, is a fool.

It all started when John L/n rode into town on his fine horse. Tonight he was going to drink at the bar and chat with the other townspeople about some small town drama. When John arrived outside the saloon however he noticed all of the posts had horses tied to them already. John looks around and sees a free spot! Just as John hopped off his horse to tie the rope around the wood post another man beat him too it.

The man shoulder checked John as he tied his black horse to the post.

“Hey I was about to tie my horse there you brute! And how dare you hit me!” John says angrily.

"I had my horse tied here first old man. Go find some place else to tie yours." The Mexican American man says; his accented voice rich and deep. The bottom half of his face is concealed by a dark red bandana. His cowboy hat is a dark brown color, a contrast to the black attire he adorns.

"Do you know who I am young man? I own this town! Now get your filthy horse out of my way before I teach you a lesson!" Mayor L/n shouts aggressively.

The outlaw frowns disapprovingly under the cloth of his bandana. This greedy old fart dare insult his stallion? And threaten him?

The outlaw brings his masked face close to the older man, making the older man back up nervously. Bringing his rugged hands to his hips the outlaw moves his long black leather jacket to the side, revealing one of his two revolvers. Each revolver being a stunning silver color with black metal engravings. No other gunman in the west had such weapons, no one other than Maddox Graves.

The mayor notices the shining gun and he gasps in fear for his life. "Those guns! Y-You’re M-Maddox Graves!" He shouts in newfound fright.

"That's right old man. You fucked with the wrong guy. Telling me to move my horse and insulting him in such a way? You're a real old fart I tell ya. Ya had some real balls o’ steel to threaten me too." The outlaw says as he pats the back of his midnight black stallion.

The mayor doesn’t waste a second as he goes to his horse as quick as possible. He gets on it's saddle to ride off. Luckily, he escapes the outlaw. However the outlaw already knows where the mayor lives.

And he will not let him get away with what he has done. No one disrespects Maddox Graves unless they want to end up in their own grave.

.

.

.

"Father? Are you alright?" A young woman says. The woman's name is Y/n L/n, and she's the one and only daughter of Mayor John L/n. In this shit stain of a small town that is on the bottom corner of maps, she brings light and joy. The townspeople adore her presence and work ethic. Though she is wealthy and the daughter of the mayor she does volunteer work in local farms and helps look after the town’s children.

Though Y/n L/n has no Mother, not anymore. So John L/n protects her with his life. She’s all he has left and he may have just lost her tonight for what he has done.

"How can I be so foolish?! Oh god what have I done!" The old man says in despair as he rushes over to his daughter. He embraces her in a desperate hug which she returns gently with a pat to his sweating back.

"Father whatever is the matter? What has you in such a stress?" She asks with genuine concern.

The old man holds her plush face gently in his wrinkled palms. He gazes into her eyes, for it may be the final time he get to do so.

"I have made a mistake Y/n... I insulted a dangerous outlaw and he may come here to our home. I need you to hide okay... Whatever you hear, do not leave your hiding spot."

Y/n feels her Father tremble. "Father I don't understand! Please whatever it is let me hel-"

"NO! I CAN HEAR HIS HORSE OUTSIDE! GO UPSTAIRS AND HIDE NOW!"

The poor young woman yelps as her Father pushes her away. She is about to argue but the desperation in his eyes makes her only nod and run up the stairs and do as she's told. Y/n goes to her bedroom and opens the door to her oak wardrobe. She hides behind a few gowns and shuts the door enough for there to be a crack.

There are sounds of talking downstairs. Y/n can hear the voice of her Father and another. The other voice is deeper and strikes fear into her core. She can hear how desperate her Father is as he pleads for his life.

“You got a little girl right? Would be a shame if she lost her Father.” The deep voice says.

“Yes! So please spare me Graves! I’ll give you money, anything you want! So please leave us in peace!” The old man begs on his knees.

“Hmmm.” The dark outlaw ponders.

BANG

Y/n covers her mouth as she yelps in horror at the sound of the gunshot. Her body trembled, the silence now was frightening. No longer did she hear the sound of her Father begging for his life. All that was left was a deadly silence.

Her Father was dead.

“Come out girl! Your Father isn’t dead~ He’s just sleeping.” Maddox taunts as he blows the smoke from the end of his gun before returning it to its holster.

Tears fell from Y/n’s eyes as she struggled to steady her breathing. She could hear his footsteps ascending the stairs. Slow, and taunting. He was taking his time.

“I don’t like playing games. Now come out before I kill you.”

The hiding woman refused to make a sound. Her survival instinct made her once trembling body as still as a statue when she heard his footsteps enter her room. She felt frozen as his steps stopped right outside the closet door.

“I know you’re in here little girl. Now come out.”

She didn’t.

“Okay, you asked me to do this.”

Light flooded into the wardrobe as Maddox nearly ripped the doors off the hinges from swinging it open so hard and fast. Inside he heard the scream of a woman and suddenly a boot clad foot coming out from behind gowns kicked him in the groin. Keeling over in pain he clutched his jewels and fell on his knees.

“OO- YOU BITCH!” He yells. His eyes widen when he sees her though. She peeks her head out from behind the dresses and gowns. Her face is soft and stained with dry tears. Rather than a young girl who he thought, it was a pretty woman who looked to be a few years younger than him.

“You’re a disgusting man!” She says angrily and runs out of the closet past the kneeling outlaw. Dashing down the stairs she sees her Father on the ground, bleeding from his side.

“Father!” She calls to him desperately as she kneels by his side and cradles his head. He’s still breathing, thank god. But he’s losing a lot of blood. So Y/n grabs the hem of her dress and tears off a strip of the fabric and ties it around his torso.

“I-I’ll run to town and call for a doctor Father.” She says with a weak smile. His eyes are closed, he seems to have passed out from shock.

Just as Y/n stood up to run out the door to get help a gunshot rings out and the bullet hits the doorknob she was just about the grab. Whipping her body back in shock she looks up and sees Maddox at the top of the staircase, his smoking gun aimed at her.

“You’re a wild one aren’t you missy?” He says with a smirk. A freshly lit cigar hangs from his mouth.

Y/n stands by the door as still as a statue as Maddox comes down the stairs. Now standing before her the height difference is very stark. Her head only reaches his shoulders.

“Let me leave… My Father is dying. I need to get to a doctor.” She says with a wavering voice.

Maddox blows smoke in her face and laughs.

“He may as well be already dead girly. He’s lost a lot of blood. And besides, even if you did make it to town you would come home to him dead. There ain’t enough time for dilly-dally.”

He was right, unfortunately. Y/n tried her best to hold back her tears. She had to stay strong, she couldn’t show weakness to this bloodthirsty killer. But she could only handle so much.

She looks behind the outlaw and sees her Father grow more pale as the seconds tick by. The moment she noticed her Father’s chest still… and a final breath escape his lips.. Y/n felt like her life was over. Her Father was dead. All hope is lost for her as she crumbles like an ancient statue.

“F-Father, my Father is dead! You killed him-!” She breaks down and grips her hair in her hands, sinking to the floor. Maddox only watches with a small grin as he tosses the cigar to the side.

“He was an old man who was gon’ kick the bucket soon anyway. I only sped up the process a lil’ princess.” Maddox says with a mocking coo. But Y/n looks up at him with a piercing glare. Her hands turn to fists and she strikes. Her fist collides with his face, causing him to whip his head to the side. Y/n stills as she awaits his reaction. He is eerily silent and his downcast gaze is dark.

But then she is suddenly met with a chuckle. His deep, rich laugh radiates throughout the home. Like an infection that invades the young woman’s eardrums. She can’t stand it.

“You hit hard little lady, I like that in a woman.” Maddox grips her chin, squeezing her face and puckering her lips.

“Such soft lips… Wonder how they’d feel against mine. Poor lil thang like you needs a strong man in her life.” His condescending tone sparks rage in Y/n. This man, no… this beast. This murderer. She needs to take revenge. To kill the man who killed her Father in cold blood. But not now. No, she would have to wait. She needs the right moment to strike.

And she doesn’t mind playing the long game. She’ll play along for now.

Hey yall, it’s me. I’m SLACKING so hard. School and work has been busting my balls and writers block is eating me alive. But this Oc got me out of the gutter. Hopefully yall like him! I plan to write for him more.

[moondirti]

charcoal

pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.6k summary: you and johnny draw portraits of one another warnings: cock warming, unprotected p-in-v, creampies, handjobs, tooth rotting fluff, nude drawings, light masochism, mentions of death notes: inspired by soap's journal in mw3. our sweet boy can draw :)

“Sit still.”

A whisper, spoken like a fervent kiss to the space between you. Humid air, smothered under his peppercorn cologne and the tangy warmth of lingering sex. Johnny’s pelvis remains glued to the back of your thighs, conjoined at that sweltering centre, gently swelling back to rock-hard shape. It works to plug you full of him, a barrier to the cum he’d spilt a mere thirty minutes prior.  

Mere. To you, long hours have gone by while stuck in this state, oscillating from painful overstimulation to an insatiable urge that only exists with him – more, more – and back again. But he exercises a surprising restraint. No. Unexpected. A fortitude obviously cultivated in the SAS, carbon under pressure, polished and primed. One that is diamond-sharp, deadly even, but usually crumbles to dust around you. 

He keeps your leg hooked over one broad shoulder. The other quivers, cushioned by the duvet, serving as a surface for the item he’d fetched in a rush. 

Fuck. Hold it righ’ there. Freshly spent, glowing with an endorphin-logged high.

Huh– W-What’re you doing? 

Y'look so bloody beautiful like this, hen. Have ta memorialise it. 

Ever the flatterer. You’ve no doubt you’re a mess – mussed hair, smudged mascara. The only thing he’d left in his stripping you was the necklace you’d worn for his welcome home; a golden chain, charmed with a replica of his dog tag and an antique locket you’d salvaged from your grandmother’s place.

You thought he’d been reaching for a polaroid; a quick snapshot of the moment, print to be stapled to the inside of his combat coat. But he’d ducked under your bed – not the nightstand where you kept the camera – and ruffled through dust bunnies and expired condoms for the stash of things he deems too important to take with him to the job. Material objects, little keepsakes, left to rot behind, with you. 

He’d come back up with a self-satisfied grin, a journal – moleskine bound and half-full of rough scribbles – clasped between waving fingers. 

It’s not the first time he draws you. Just the first time he does of such an intimate scene. 

Clenching involuntarily, you flush at the thought. Johnny’s free hand tenses from its place on your knee, soothing circles turned bruising touch. Giggling, you squeeze him again, only to be met with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips. 

“Nng-! Christ,” 

“What'd I tell ya?” 

“I had been.” The protest peaks at the back of your throat, forming something more akin to a whine. His chuckle is indicative of the fact; sunlit bough and soft moss gaze catching yours. His eyes pool like honey in the lowlight, gold drawn out by the haze of your surroundings. Warm. “You’re taking too long.” 

“Wad ye rather I get the shadin’ on yer tits wrong?” He teases, gaelic-curled accent accompanied by sharp scratches of charcoal on paper. The black dust coats calloused fingertips, concentrated on the middle, the one he uses for smudging. “Ye'll end up lookin like ma great aunt.” 

“That’s gross.” 

“Watch it. Rory was a great woman.” 

But his chest widens in that special way, skin rippling over thickset sinew, and you know his current contentment runs bone deep. He gloats it, wearing the radiance like he does the sweat; the tender marks along his neck, imprints of your teeth cut in blood. His battle scars pale in contrast, silver and thin and nothing when set beside the raised scratches, red, carved mid-fuck. 

You’ve tried to be gentle with him. Really, you have. 

You just found he doesn’t prefer it.

A Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, unending cataracts of water sluicing from the sky. They wash over the windshield, the windows – you can barely see beyond the hood of his car. 

It was your suggestion to wait the storm out. You’d gone on a picnic for your first date, perched up high on some mountain that now seems too formidable to scale down.

Spice with rosy overtones. His scent is intoxicating, distilled on that spot – the edge of a broad tendon that stretches up his neck. Johnny’s clad in a polo shirt, the collar slightly popped to cover the patch of skin, but you catch sight of it every once in a while. Enough to fuel your internal screams, urging you to act against what is proper. 

Hold out ‘till the next time you see him. Leave him wanting more.

He’s talking. Something about football and fake turf scrapes. 

God. That voice. Full-bodied, confident with all the charisma to match. You latch on to every syllable, basking in the way they furl from him – rolled r’s, two element vowels morphing to one. What’s the word for gorgeous in Scottish jargon? He’d taught you it over a bowl of strawberries. 

Broad. Brock. Brow. Br… something.

But his thumb had swiped out to the edge of your lip to catch a bead of stray juice, and you’d lost all wit. In one ear, out the other. Boiled down to a saccharine, lust-filled puree. 

You’d wanted to take the digit into your mouth. 

The high altitude ensures the car is frigid, windows chilled with a freezing pellet downpour. The skirt you wore does nothing to hide the goosebumps that prickle down your thighs. 

It’s not the weather, though. It’s him. He inspires a cyclone in you, a vortex of violently rotating winds that upturn every function. Hot. Cold. A puddle of melted something, stirring deep within the recesses of your gut. Your attempts to smother it down will forever be in vain. 

Him. Him.

He drives you mad. You’re fucking stupid. 

But pellucid blue light streams in from outside, the sun sinking behind gunmetal clouds, and Johnny fills his jeans nicely, you think. Hulking thighs force the denim to its limits, stretched and spread and–

Oh.

Maybe your mind had skipped over it purposely. For knowledge of what it would do to you. In knowing that your panties are already slick, unable to hold the extra saturation. You’ll leak onto his seat. 

Fuck.

A prominent, massive bulge. Strained, outwardly painful. 

Enticing. 

You flood, anyway. Overbearing heat and oblivion striking your core. A breath catches, spinning to form a small bubble of recklessness between constricting lungs. 

You speak before you begin to process it all. 

“We’ll be here for a while.” 

Stupid, silly girl. 

He halts, tangent lost to the half-lidded look you give him. Your nails graze the arm nearest to you, propped on the console, brushing through hair to elicit a deep shudder – mirror to your salacity. It tells him what he can already guess. 

In the split second it takes for your impulse to waver, he recovers, back to that ludic man you’d met just last week. 

“And there are only so many things to talk about.” Johnny nods.

Your heart slams on hollow ribs. He may hear it if he tries hard enough; an echoed melody of cosmic yearning. 

“Gotta save some for next time.” 

“Aye.” His head ducks closer to yours, locking you to those bonfire eyes. “Next time?”

“Hmm, if you like me enough.” The suggestion skips across your nervous titter. Spearmint washes over you when he speaks, cold breath a product of the pack of gum he keeps tucked in his car door. He’d told you he reserves the stash for special occasions, with only the ‘prettiest of hens.’ You’d folded the wrapper into a heart and placed it against the stick shift. 

“I like ya, bonnie. Only question is–”  A bent forefinger taps your chin, thumb caressing the curve of it. “Do ye like me?” 

You let your stare flutter down to his lips; perfect, pink, pulled in a devious smirk. It wipes any semblance of logic from you. Propriety, the manners your mother taught you at a holiday dinner table – cross your legs, elbows off the table – dissipate to ash. You’re raw; skinned alive and vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

Crackling nerves. You don’t answer, don’t say a word. 

Instead, you lean in to kiss the scar on his lip. 

And it all goes to hell from there. 

Hurried gropes, desperation fogging. You bend over the centre – precariously balanced on your knees – to hug his head closer to yours. His hands find purchase on your waist, exposed now, your sweater rucked upwards to hang just below your bra. You can see his back in the reflection of the window, his muscles rolling under a too-tight shirt, expanding to accommodate the weight you throw onto him. 

It’s hormone fuelled, messy. Your teeth clack and your tongues wrestle and you can only ponder on releasing him, on untucking his hard length from hindering pants. 

“H-Here–” You stutter into his mouth, left hand smoothing down his chest to dance teasingly at the waistband. His hips buck the slightest bit. “Let me…” 

“Wanna make ye feel good too, lass.” 

“Please.” 

And it must be the way you say it, the keen in your tone, the pout of your lips. You’re close to tears, eyes glossy like the wet road ahead. It must be; mutual magnetism, some shared fondness that makes him concede to your plea  (I like ye, bonnie), before he helps you pull them down to let his cock spring free. Head flush and base thick enough to split your lips. 

You swim impossibly deeper into the pool of crush-drunk abandon. 

Braw. That was it. Braw, for mind-numbing attractiveness. Or so to say– 

Maybe you’re exaggerating. It doesn’t feel like a grand enough word to encapsulate this. To capture him. 

Nothing could be enough. Your first date and yet you sit here, obsessed already, willing to spend a lifetime showing him all you can’t say. How those eyes draw from you a lightness, an ease. Hazel has quickly become your favourite colour. How mohawks are an abomination to conscientious style, but how he makes them work, much to your displeasure. You imagine plugging clippers in a shared bathroom, helping him buzz off the sides prior to longer missions. Sending him off with a kiss that means more than just interest.

“Fuck.”

“Feart, now?” 

His accent thickens in the throes of pleasure. You add the word to your growing list and spit on your hand to help slick him up. 

He stops you before you can wrap it around his leaking cock. “Wait, wait.” 

Head still buried into the crook of his neck, a trail of purpling bruises adorning the stubbled skin of his jaw – you can only spot him in your peripheral, a hazy blur of long eyelashes and a prominent nose. 

His hands unclip your bra when he speaks again: 

“Do it dry. I like when it hurts a little.”

A year later now. He’d wrapped an assignment early to see you on your anniversary. 

“Done?” 

You’re sticky with cooling sweat and spit, fluids hardening on supple flesh in the filtered air of your bedroom. Both naked, posed in the same position; your right glute burns with the ache of a prolonged stretch, still thrown over his shoulder as he hurriedly finishes the final details of his sketch. 

“Almost. Canae fuckin’ get the lightin’ right.” 

“Lemme see,” You make a grab for the journal. He bats your hand away. 

“No.” Johnny huffs, shifting to look at you from a slightly different angle. “I think it’s the glow.” 

“The glow?” 

“Aye. Took ower long ta get those gorgeous tits down, you’ve lost that sex sheen.”

“You’re mad.” 

The hand that was at your knee starts to knead your thigh, grabbing whatever it can hold. An intentional touch, he targets every tender area, sparking a match to an already smouldering flame. The pressure at your core tightens.

“I’d say it’s a quick fix,”

Your hips buck to meet the heavy weight of his palm as it flattens against your pelvis, seeking true fusion to the rough skin. You’re feverish, practically singing him; you spread your legs and do what you can to spear yourself further onto his cock, one that has not yet left the tight clutch of your cunt. 

This is what the poets eulogise, this ‘swete breeth’ reverence. Zephyrus – he’s zephyr adjacent – the god of westerly wind. But he places you on a shrine like he’s not the being made of sun; touches you with a prayer imbued into his callouses – barnacled reminders of his life as Soap. Your Johnny, as he is with you, finds you speechless and continues giving – pouring water onto wet clay, bending you as he pinpoints an electric centre, that bundle of nerves that has you seeing star-speckled pantheons. 

He continues to work your clit even as you kick his back, heel thrashing onto freckled skin. The overstimulation is not creeping, it does not wait until you’ve come undone – no. You’ve been on this tightrope for far too long now, and your legs tremble with the sheer exhaustion of it all. It’s never clear with him, whether the end is in sight. There are often moments of recovery where you pull away, only for him to flip you over and stuff you full again. 

The lewd squelch of your cunt, your wailing moans; you hardly register them as he begins pistoning into you, both hands and dick devoted to completing the picture. All that exists is sacred, divine insensibility. Pleasure in its purest form, locked in this haven where you’re safe to imagine holding onto him forever. 

“J-Johnny… Johnny, God– I’m gonna–”

He gains speed, fucking your sopping heat with a brutal pace, unrelenting as he circles your abused clit. You don’t have it in you to even move, boneless and wholly open to his ministrations. 

“Tha's exactly what we want now, bonnie. Go on, cum for me.” 

The muscles in your core harden, too brittle to stand against the wicked tide brimming within you. It drives you delirious, flooding your instincts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your back arches – you absolutely ruin the continuity that comes with being his live model. But you don’t care. You don’t care. He’s so good at hitting you in all the right places – head nudging your cervix, his breadth stretching you out with a fiery sting. He rubs you raw, chafing, and you’re so close. 

You think about jerking him off on your first date, coaxing from him groans that taste like scotch and spearmint-covered strawberries. The sorest handjob known to mankind – he’d cum hard, spurting thick globs of warm fluid onto his lap, webbing your fingers together with his essence. His apologies had fallen on deaf ears when you’d licked yourself clean. 

You think about meeting him at that bar, nursing a fruity drink with a wild name. Your friend had abandoned you for some blonde chick, but Johnny took your lonesome as an opportunity to swoop in and compliment your dress. He’d later told you that he’d only been looking for a quick fix to stall on the grief of a close friend's death. Turns out, ye're not so much a stall, more a remedy, love. Sad tae say I'm glad yer friend was horny that night. 

You think of him, now. Of the past twenty-something pages of his journal filled with nothing but idle doodles of you and gum-wrapper hearts, no longer dedicated to anguished attempts at remembering lost comrades. He’s grown to be a better artist, lines bold and drawn in sole strokes, able to capture just about anything in ballpoint pen alone. 

Well I’ve got the perfect muse now, haven’ I? 

You break, shattering into a million fragments. You know he’ll pick you up.

Finally resting, spooned together under clean sheets. A strong arm thrown over you, holding open a page for your scrutiny. 

“It’s nice, baby! You might’ve made me too pretty, though.” 

A growl. “Shut it. That’s all you.”

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