#Pearl is just very messy

[howhow326]

... so are we ever going to talk about the fact that Pearl traumatized every member of the crystal gems or?

[froganni]

It's 4 am but wanted to post more Solar-punk Pearl :D

Reblogs appreciated!

[swsf]

insulting someone doing ur hair is the worst mistake you could ever make. I’d say you’d have to be incredibly brave but you actually just have to be really stupid. anyway femdubs got her hair ripped out after this. sad!

[starkeyisthelastname]

Stepbro!rafe making reader mad then apologizing by eating her out

“Hey.” His voice soft as his tall frame walked into your dimly lit bedroom, shutting the door behind him quietly. You looked up from writing in your journal, eyes rolling as he strutted closer to the bed. You didn’t know why Rafe was in here after being such an asshole to you today, especially after yelling at you to get away from him when you came to check on him after a fight with Ward.

“Go away.” You told him, looking back down at the words you were writing as you tried to ignore his presence. Your step-brother being a Cameron though wasn’t going to let you continue to do that, he hated when you were mad at him.

You heard him take a long sigh before kneeling down below you. “I’m sorry. Alright? He just pisses me off and I lose control in those moments.” He tells you, large hands resting on your knees gently. “I’m trying to do better. Closing your journal, you looked down at him with a hesitant expression. His baby blue eyes looking up into yours, silently pleading for you to forgive him. “You yelled at me.” You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Let me make it up to you. Yeah?” He whispered.

You didn’t think your step-brother’s way of apologizing was going to be him with his face buried between your thighs. It was so very wrong that this was even happening, the harder part being that he was so fucking good at it and you didn’t want him to stop. Your hand even resting on the back of his head to encourage him as he sloppily ate your leaking hole. “So good.” You whimpered, free hand coming up to squeeze your own tits.

The man was tongue fucking you, nose buried against your clit as his hands spread your thighs further apart. “Good fucking girl.” He groaned watching you play with yourself as he brought his tongue up to flick your little bud. Your eyes squeezing shut, letting out a moan as you felt him start to suck harshly on your sensitive pearl.

“Rafe-don’t stop.” You cried, pretty white toes curling as you held his head in place. The messy sounds of him eating, and that handsome face covered in wetness had you close to the edge. He would tease your clit with his mouth only to bring his tongue back down and lick you as he had never tasted anything so good.

“Be careful telling me that.” He mumbled, pulling his face back slightly to look up at you. “Gonna have me burying my dick inside this pretty pussy before long.” He smirked, sliding his middle finger in your slick hole. “But you would like that wouldn’t you?” He laughed, his mouth attacking your clit once again.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Pet Pastimes.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Dub/Con, Hybrid AU, Snow Leopard!Gojo, Puppy!Reader, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Degradation, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Reader Is Very Oblivious, and Manipulation.

“And you’re sure this is going to help?”

Satoru had been agitated when Suguru first brought you home – all dolled up in your collar, ecstatic to be led along the very same leash he always strained against. You were more obedient than most of the unruly mutts he knew, always happy enough to sit patiently and wait for your next command, but it would take more than a few weeks of passable behavior to convince Satoru dogs were anything but hyper and messy and so loud, he could hear their mindless barking from a mile away. The fact that you were supposedly here to ‘help’ him (Suguru called you a “service animal”, said most captive-born exotic hybrids had more domestic companions, but Satoru didn’t think you deserved such a pretentious title) didn’t make anything better. Satoru didn’t need help. What he needed was Suguru’s attention, but if he couldn’t have that, he’d settle for yours.

“Oh, I’m sure, puppy.” His fist tightened around the base of his cock. Suguru wasn’t home – just a quick errand, he’d claimed, it should only take a few minutes, as if that was an excuse for leaving his favorite pet and dutiful companion at home – and Satoru barely waited for the apartment door to lock before luring you into the kitchen and telling you to get on your knees while he leaned against the counter, Suguru’s forgotten phone well within reach. Currently, you were kneeling in front of him, your hands balled on your thighs and your gaze almost cross-eyed as you struggled to see what he was holding to your lips. He thought you would’ve had a little more experience, but your first owner must’ve been the sheltering type. Part of him was annoyed that he’d have to pick up the slack and teach you something so basic, but overall, he was pleased to know that it would be a long, long time before you got enough practice in to replace Satoru as Suguru’s favorite playmate. “I’ve just been feeling a little stressed out lately,” he said, drawing it out each word, giving your stupid canine brain time to process what he was saying. “This’ll really help me relax. You wanna help me out, right?”

Automatically, you nodded – your pressed frown instantly replaced with an eager smile. Your ears perked up, your concerns completely forgotten when presented with the chance to do what you’d been trained for. “Please, ‘toru,” you whined, and he fought the urge to cringe at the way Suguru’s nickname sounded coming out of your mouth. “Please let me help!”

It was almost cute, just how desperate you were to make him happy.

Almost.

He forced himself to smile back at you, using one hand to scratch at the base of your ears while the other jerked lazily over his cock. He was already hard, thankfully, and at the added stimulation, the sight of you practically drooling on yourself to get a taste of his cock, he felt himself twitch – thick pearls of arousal beginning to bead at the tip and drip onto your chin. You didn’t seem to care, to notice. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that his was the first cock you’d ever seen. “Can you open your mouth for me? Big n’ wide, just like I showed you.”

Like the trained dog you were, you obeyed immediately – letting your mouth fall open and looking up at him with the same bright, expectant eyes that must’ve won Suguru over, when he first picked you up. His hips wanted to buck forward, to bury him to the hilt in your newly available hole, but he held himself back, told himself he had to ease you into it no matter how little you’d done to earn his oh so generously given kindness. In the end, he settled for swiping his thumb over the flushed tip before resting it gingerly on your splayed-out tongue. It only took a second for you to stiffen, to jerk back. You didn’t cough or sputter, but your mouth snapped shut, your expression taking on a certain unease. Satoru fought the urge to bare his teeth. “Is something wrong, puppy?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” You closed your mouth, looking away. “It tasted weird. It was bitter, n’ stuff.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Look, if you still don’t think you can handle this, I can just tell Suguru you decided you’d rather go back to the pound—”

“Please don’t!” Your hands shot to his thighs. “I’ll be good, I promise, and I can’t— I don’t want to go back to the—”

“Then open your mouth.” After a second, you straightened, your lips parting and your jaw going slack. Still, he feigned reluctance, narrowing his eyes into a half-hearted glare as he raked his fingers through your hair and tugged half-heartedly, just hard enough to draw out a strained whimper. “And this time, don’t fuck everything up just because it ‘tastes weird’. If you do that again, I’ll have to tell Suguru you were being a bad dog.”

Your ears drooped, your tail falling slack against the tiled floor. Still, you managed not to jerk back as he slid his cock into your open mouth, slotting his tip against the velvety inside of your cheek. He could see you wince, your shoulders rising as you fought the urge to pull away, but even if you’d tried, the fingers knotted in your hair would’ve kept you rooted to the floor as he rolled his hips and thrust shallowly into the hollow of your cheek. Your tongue was smooth compared to his and wide compared to Suguru’s, and he could tell you were fighting not to move, not to explore the unknown factor trespassing inside of you. With a slight hum, he took pity on you – hazy lust having softened his previous annoyance. “It’s okay, puppy – you can lick, if you want to.” There was a moment of hesitation, then the broad flat against your tongue against the underside of his cock, tracing the shape of a prominent vein Suguru tended to favor, too. He shuddered, but told himself it was only out of reflex. You got lucky, that was all. “Mind your teeth. I’m takin’ you back to the shelter myself if you bite down.”

You tried to nod, but gave up quickly. Instead, your acknowledgment came in the form of your tongue curling around his tip, licking at the arousal dripping down his shaft, doing your best to lap at the shaft of his cock despite the awkward angle. Saliva and pre-cum pooled in the corners of your mouth, but you didn’t dare tilt your head back, didn’t dare swallow - keeping your mouth wide open as he drew back just far enough to pull out of your cheek and aim, instead, towards the back of your throat. You flinched, your dull nails scraping against his thighs, but it was easy to drown out the dull spark of pain as your tight throat fluttered and tightened around his cock, as the hand still wrapped around his base fell away in favor of joining its twin on the back of your skull and pulling you flush against his crotch. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from reacting – your body lurching against his legs as you gagged, as you tried to wretch yourself out of his hold, but he was too far gone to so much as consider letting you go. “Stupid mutt,” he mumbled, cupping the back of your skull while you fought not to suffocate on his length. “Don’t even know how to breathe right. Can’t do anything on your own, huh, can you?”

Your only response was a choked inhale, a string of incoherent gibberish half-muffled by his cock. Drool wasn’t the only thing dripping down your face, now – tears were rolling down your cheeks, fat and hot, drawing thick trails through the mess of cum and spit. Your tongue wasn’t moving, anymore, but he didn’t care – your mouth was warm and soft and fuckable enough to make up for your lack of skill. You were beating at his legs, too, your little hands made even smaller when compared to him, and for a second, he could be convinced that you were a little cute. Not cute enough to deserve as much of Suguru’s attention as you got, obviously, but cute.

His cock pulsed against the convulsing walls of your throat, and he cursed under his breath. You let out a pained whine as he drew back, pulling out of you entirely. Without his support, you threatened to buckle over, to collapse into yourself, but he held you up with one hand while the other pumped over his cock too quickly, too roughly not to tip him over the edge. It was all you could do to stare up at him with those big, watery eyes as he let out an airy moan, as he painted thick ropes of white across your messy face, as he left you stained and teary-eyed and covered with his cum.

You blinked once, then twice, but didn’t react, too out of it to complain or cry out or question why his lips quirked up into a small grin, his eyes taking on a dreamy, half-lidded sort of lull. “Good puppy,” he cooed, his heart skipping a beat as he heard your formerly stagnant tail begin to sweep lazily over the tile floor. He reached for Suguru’s phone as he went on, keeping his tone light, delicate. “Can you smile for me, too? A big, wide smile – to show how happy you are that you get to stay with me n’ Suguru.”

It took a second, but eventually, you managed a stilted nod. It was shaky, at first, more of a mangled frown than anything, but with a little love and patience, you found your footing, your lips splitting apart into a wide, beaming smile – as if you were the happiest, most pathetic puppy in the world.

God.

You were fucking adorable.

Your smile barely faltered as the camera shuttered, as Satoru’s hand fell back to your head and pet over your disheveled hair – a treat for his well-behaved mutt. He could feel you melting into his palm, but his eyes were fixed on his picture of your smiling face and, with a few taps of his thumb, Suguru’s shiny new lockscreen.

Maybe, once Suguru got a good look at your pretty face, he’d think twice before deciding to be such a neglectful owner again.

[scaredpigeons]

Aqua Regia VII: Saturate me, I can’t get enough.

Previous chapter // First Chapter

Neuvillette x Fem!reader

Warning: SMUT NSFW 18+ MDNI

Word count: 5.7k

Conifer forests quake in fear at the way you two pine. What do you get when you cross a very pent up dragon and the object of his affections? So much fucking love it will rot your teeth.

CW: sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (fem rec) neuvillette has a dragon tongue, claws appear but no wounds are made, Neuvillettes nest™️ nicknames: my dearest, my darling, love, pretty girl, perfect girl, very gendered language, im sorry :( unrealistic first time sex, multiple orgasms, implied multiple rounds.

Authors note: this is so fucking mushy gushy heavy fluff heavy romance. I literally couldn’t write his first time being any other way. He’s obsessed, okay? There is a lot of declarations of love, devotion, very flowery and flattering language. There are not many things hotter than an all powerful being declaring their utter devotion to you and then fucking you until the sun rises. I left it a little open ended, so maybe an epilogue chapter, if y’all are interested? Anyways, remember to reblog and comment your thoughts! It’s my literal favourite thing to read your opinions and compliments, even if you’re shy, just send an anon ask! I love you all, thank you so much for your support on this piece.

————————————

The sound of little pearls scattering onto the floor accompanied the press of your spine against the inside of Neuvillette’s front door as his mouth consumed yours. 

You were panting, hands roaming over each other as your tongues danced. You’d never kissed like this before. The polite pecks you’ve given men after failed dates were nothing compared to the way Neuvillette drank in your lips like they were the finest water in the world. 

His large, lean body pushed you against the fine wood of his door, hands pressing up into your hair as he pulled your face ever closer, scattering more little pearls along his entryway. 

“Do you…” he panted, lips never leaving yours for more than necessary. “Truly want tea?” He asked.

You smiled as he continued to kiss you breathless. “Tea can wait.” 

He picked you up and hoisted you against him once more, your bottom resting on his forearms as he twirled you around, making you giggle and squeal. 

“Your perfection knows no bounds.” He murmured against your lips as he began to move towards the stairs. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you up the stairs and down the hall, but he hesitated before bringing you into what you guessed was his room. 

“Ah…” he said, a deeper blush working its way into his pale skin. “I forgot about my… well you see…” 

You smiled, pulling him closer to press a peck to his lips. ”What? I can hardly imagine your room is messy, Neuvillette.”

He closed his eyes tight, opening the door to set you down inside. You turned, looking around the room. 

A very large four poster bed was the main focal point of the room, lush sheer curtains hanging from the tall frame, making it seem luxurious and inviting. But the piles of silks, pillows and blankets surrounding the mattress making a large circle in the center was what stood out the most to you. Taking a step closer, you could see there were little things scattered throughout the barrier, the gloves you’d gifted him last month, a few shirts and coats, little trinkets and things here and there. 

Your brow furrowed before you turned to look up at him, finding him looking between you and the bed with a hand covering the lower half of his face. 

“It looks like…” you glanced back at the bed. “It looks like a nest?” 

He breathed, nodding, pinching his temples in embarrassment. “When you were last here, we spoke of some subtle changes I’d been experiencing since gaining my full dragonhood, yes?” 

You nodded, walking towards the bed to run your hands along the fabrics making up the walls of the nest. 

“I’ve been experiencing strange urges, instincts I cannot seem to control no matter how hard I try.” He said lowly, somewhere behind you.

The blanket you ran your hands across was soft, fur of some sort, and it felt so luxurious you wanted to bury your face in it and never leave its soothing embrace. 

“Urges?” You said, feeling a heat pool between your thighs at the thought. 

“Yes.” His voice was suddenly right by your ear, his heat pressing up against your spine. “For example, right now, seeing you next to my bed, admiring my nest— it makes me want to pick you up and place you within it so that I may crawl over top of you to do deplorable, feral and unspeakable things to you.” 

A deep, spine tingling shiver raced through you. You knew the general direction of where this was headed when you begged him to take you to his house, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect Neuvillette to admit something so… dirty… so openly. 

You turned, meeting his eyes with a gasp as you came face to face with a version of your leader you’d never seen. 

He was flushed, panting, his eyes glowing in the moonlight streaming into his dark room. His horns were glowing too, their blue hue radiating behind him as he loomed over you. To anyone else it might’ve been intimidating, but you felt so safe in this moment, so satisfied to know that he wanted you. 

“I…” you wondered how you should phrase this, how to make him understand that you were not put off in the slightest by any of these changes in him. To you, he was still Neuvillette. His draconian quirks made him all the more desirable because it was just another part of him. 

“I’d like to help you satisfy those urges, if you’ll let me.” You said, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Very suddenly, he dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at your dress. The act startled you, and you stumbled back, bumping into the walls of fabrics lining his nest.

”I am undeserving,” he whimpers, and your legs nearly give out at how broken he sounds in this moment, looking up at you. “I know not how to pleasure you in the way you are so deserving, I only have these instincts, these feelings pushing me to take.” 

He stumbled forward, almost blindly on his knees as his eyes kept yours locked to him. He pushes his face closer to your core, inhaling deeply against the fabric of your dress, his eyes fluttering back. 

“And you always smell so sweet, it eats at my very soul to not taste you at every moment of every day.” His eyes look like they’re watering, begging and pleading as he keeps talking, keeps sending waves of pleasure to your core with every word spoken. 

“You deserve more than this animal I’ve become, but I cannot help that you undo me. You unravel the very stitching that I have woven over these past five hundred years and the thought terrifies me because—“ he’s panting, chest heaving, hands gripping the crushed velvet of your gown. “Because I want you so completely, so entirely. My want for you consumes my very being.” 

Your heart sings, because how could it not? You didn’t have very much experience with anything like this either— really none at all. And he was worried? He was worried he was too much? Not enough? This man was the sovereign ruler of a nation. The elemental dragon of your land, a primordial being with more power than you could even begin to fathom. 

“Oh, Neuvillette,” you brought a hand to cup his cheek, the very same action you made the last time you were in his home, comforting him. “Will you do something for me?” 

He clutched you closer, pupils nearly consuming his irises. “I would drain the seas if you told me you did not favor the way they glimmer in the sunshine. I would blot out the sun if you told me you did not enjoy the heat on your skin. Anything, my dearest. Anything for you.” 

“Give in to it.” And you swore you could feel the breath catching in his chest. “Take me and give me everything your heart desires, because I am already yours.”

”Truly?” He pleaded, seeming so small below you.

You nodded, speaking softly to him as you ran your fingertips across his cheekbone. “From the moment I entered your office Neuvillette, I’ve been yours.”  

Your world flipped upside down as Neuvillette lunged, tackling you over the wall of his nest and into the bed. 

He kissed you so deeply it stole your breath away, you gasped as he pulled back to mouth across your jaw, nipping at your throat. 

You noticed his teeth had grown sharper during your fervent kissing, but feeling those teeth drag like little daggers against the delicate skin of your throat made you shiver with something like fear— but it was laced with arousal, with anticipation. 

You moaned as he licked and sucked on your neck, and he whimpered above you, clutching your waist as he went. 

“I'm sorry, I’m sorry—“ he said between kisses along your skin. “I can’t control myself, I can't—“ 

You reached up, grabbing his face in your hands, making him look at you. 

“Neuvillette, listen to me.” His eyes fluttered between yours, searching. 

“When I told you I love you, that means I love you without conditions.” You said, leaning up to kiss his lips gently. “Which means I will love you when you are poise and regal, when you are the perfect gentleman, but I will also love you when you are not.”

You could see iridescent blue scales rising into his skin, framing his eyes so beautifully. You could see them form around his throat, and his horns continued to glow. When he told you he was becoming undone, you knew he was serious, but you didn't realize what exactly that would entail. 

He was beautiful. Raw and open and completely yours. 

“I will love you even if you are rough, or crude, or selfish. I will not watch you suffer against your instincts when I so desperately wish to see you dive headfirst into them.” 

The subtlest of tears formed in his eyes, and the rain continued to batter the windows outside, pouring down around you— the perfect symphony to accompany this moment. 

“I love every aspect of you, Neuvillette. Even this. Please,” you whispered, pulling him ever closer to your lips. “Please, just take what you need. Take me.” 

———————————

He does not remember how your dress and petticoat managed to find themselves sprawled across his bedroom floor, or when his gloves and shirt followed, but he does remember the delightful squeak you gave when he tore them from your body. 

You were shy, of course you were— but he was having none of that, gently and selfishly pinning your arms against the bed as his eyes consumed your body, your naked skin. 

You squirmed and whimpered underneath him, and part of Neuvillette worried that you weren’t enjoying yourself— but the closer he came to your lower half the more he realized that the source of that mouthwatering smell was coming from between your legs, and his mouth did indeed water. 

You had told him to let go of his restraint, to give in, but he had the sense to keep part of himself in check, knowing he needed to be somewhat gentle, attentive to your needs. 

What knowledge he did have of this process was from books, and even then, he thinks the last time he read a romance novel was likely over a century ago. 

He knew basic anatomical structures, their functions, but putting it all into practice was another thought entirely. 

Through his lust filled haze of admiring your naked body, he swallowed the drool pooling in his mouth— so barbaric. 

“Tell me,” he panted. “Tell me how to make this pleasurable for you.” 

You were so red, it fluttered down to your chest, and he watched as your breasts heaved with each breath. He wanted to wrap his lips around them, suck on the delicate skin, so he did. 

You whined as he leaned down, and he loved the feeling of your hands mussing up his hair, pulling his golden circlet away and tossing it into the void that had captured the rest of your clothes with a clattering sound. 

“You, ah—” your breaths were heavy. “You have to work me open. So you don’t tear me.” 

He gripped your waist again, licking and sucking gracelessly across your chest, just enjoying the taste of your skin. 

“How?” He asked, tonguing his way down to your navel, slipping his tongue around the skin of your adorable stomach. Your skin tasted like pure relief, calming the aching fever inside of him one motion of his tongue at a time. 

“F-fingers?” You said, looking down at his hands. He looked too, and you both seemed to notice at the same time that his hands weren’t exactly… normal anymore. 

Those pesky scales had wound up coating his hands too, he could feel them aching around his eyes and throat, his nails forming long black claws that dragged the faintest red lines along your perfect skin. 

“Hah— yeah,” you breathed a panicked laugh, making his chest flutter with anxiety. “Maybe no fingers this time.” 

“What about my tongue?” He said, looking between your eyes and the apex of your thighs.  He wanted so desperately to make this good for you, but he couldn't deny that the thought of tasting that delicious smell directly from the source was a more than appetizing idea. 

You groaned, throwing your hands up to cover your flushed face. “You say it so casually, too—“ 

“Would you enjoy it if I used my tongue, darling?” 

He watched your thighs clench the best they could with him between your legs, and your hands started shaking.  

“Yes,” you whimpered, hands still covering your heated face. “Yes please.” 

Your thighs quivered as he shifted down, his nostrils flaring as he came face to face with your covered core. 

There was a small damp spot on the soft cotton covering you, and he brought his nose directly to it, inhaling deep and groaning as you whined. 

He was truly drooling now, and the desire to taste you became too overwhelming for him to wait any longer. 

The cotton was shredded off your body in delicate ribbons in the wake of his claws, but before you could react, his tongue was already swiping over the entire length of you. 

“Oh!” Your back arched sinfully off the bed, your hands gripping into his hair as he swallowed and sucked and licked over you. You tasted like perfection. No water in the world could taste as crisp and pure as you did— like sweet ambrosia, like everything he never knew he needed until now. 

He tongued over your clitoris, and you seemed to like that the most, keening out as he increased the pressure. But you said you needed to be worked open, which meant…

He pressed his tongue lower, circling it around your twitching hole. You jumped, your nails scraping his scalp— making him moan into you. Your fingers flexed around the base of his horns, and his whole body shuddered as he listened to you whine and keen. 

He pressed in then, eyes blowing wide as a warm, tight heat enveloped the tip of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further, pulling himself closer to press more of himself inside you.

”Neuvillette!” You gasped out as he pushed in further. Even so, He couldn't help but feel like it wasn’t enough, like you needed more. 

Just as that thought crossed his mind, his tongue seemed to expand, thickening and rolling out into your twitching walls even further. He’d never felt a change like that before, but he kept going, moving and undulating it within your tight heat and savoring the taste of you so deep.

”Holy—“ you screeched, “Oh my Archons!”

A deep, chest rumbling growl reverberated from where Neuvillette was pressed into your core, and even though he knew it wasn’t truly a problem, something inside him did not enjoy hearing those words slip from your precious lips.

But you told him to let go, so he truly did lean into his instincts. 

He pulled his tongue from within you, letting its new length dangle from his mouth a bit before licking up all the slick that had smeared across his face, delighted at the way your eyes popped and your mouth gaped open. 

“There are no pathetic gods here, little one.” He growled, that primal aching welling up in his chest. “Only me.” 

“N-Neuvillette,” you stuttered, hands grabbing at his hair as you tried to pull him between your legs again. “Please—“ 

“Better.” 

He dove back in, using the new length of his tongue to thrust in and out of your dripping hole. He could feel your soft walls relaxing, and a deep, rumbling purr pulled from his chest as you writhed and moaned beneath him. 

Tasting you like this, feeling you move and cry out beneath his hold… it was slowly soothing the ache inside of him that had been tormenting him for months. He could feel himself twitching in his pants, his cock pressing against the confines as it leaked all over the fine material of his pants and briefs. 

In the back of his mind, he was grateful he had enough of a grip on his form to not be sporting one of his more… alarming draconic features, surely that would frighten you far too much to continue. Well, perhaps another time. 

He continued his thrusting, working you open and relishing in the wetness coating his tongue, in the way you cried out his name, your fingertips brushing against his horns as you pulled at his hair. It only served to make him drool more, soaking you even further. 

“Neuvillette—“ you keened as he arched his tongue upwards, feeling your walls clench and quiver around him. He repeated the motion, making you slap your hands down to the bed beside you, grasping at the sheets as your eyes popped wide. 

He continued to press against the spot that seemed to make you fall deeper into your pleasure, his eyes never leaving your face as he thrust his tongue with vigor, watching as you quivered. 

Yes, something inside him purred, watching you lose yourself. Keep going, take it from her. 

He felt the moment your walls tightened so completely that he thought something might be wrong— only to watch as your face shattered into a broken sob of pure delight, your whole body twitching as you cried out. Your thighs tried to clamp around his head, but he pressed further, working you through it with his writhing tongue. 

After a few moments of him working you through the height of your pleasure, you grasped at his hair again, only now you were pushing him back, gasping as your body violently twitched. 

“Too much—“ you squeaked. “T-too much!” 

He pulled back from you, licking your remaining juices from his lips as he watched you regain your breath. 

You threw an arm over your eyes, your every breath heaving in your chest as parts of your body twitched in the aftershocks. 

He crawled over your body, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he purred and murmured against your skin to comfort you.

”Your taste is divine,” he whispered. “Better than I ever could have dreamed, and my dreams were always drenched in your image.” 

“I—“ you sighed, finally pulling air into your chest unlabored. “I dream of you too.” 

“Oh?” He purred, smiling against your skin as he ran his hands down your arms. “And what exactly do you dream of, dearest?” 

You smiled, staring up at the ceiling and avoiding his gaze with flushed cheeks. 

“Your eyes.” You whispered, glancing down at him. “I dream of the way you look at me.” 

———————

You knew this was going to be a lot. 

Neuvillette is not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but you always figured he would at least be a reasonable size — whatever that may be. 

Clearly your expectations were a little on the small side, because when he unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down and off his body, exposing his naked skin in all its glory, your eyes ached with how wide they were staring openly at the apex of his creamy white thighs. 

Flushed a ruddy purplish red at the tip, it was literally leaking as he knelt between your spread legs. It twitched—he must’ve noticed your staring, and you chewed on your bottom lip, wondering how in all the abyss you were supposed to fit that thing inside of you. 

Neuvillette was panting. He looked irrevocably desperate, like he was ready to burst at the seams at any moment. 

“Neuvillette,” you whimpered, spreading your thighs further for him. 

He hadn’t touched you since he took his pants off, just staring down at you as you drank him in, watching your reactions. 

“Are…” he seemed strained, like the words themselves pained him. “Are you sure?” 

“Please,” you whined. “Please, inside me, I want you inside.”

He seemed to bite back a groan, eyes roaming over your soaked core, your blush traveling down your chest. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

It was delicate, loving, nothing like the unrestrained devouring before, but it still seemed like he was holding himself back. A beautiful bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. 

“Neuvillette,” you murmured against his lips. “Please, I want it. I trust you, I want you, please.” 

Your pleading seemed to stir him, and you could feel the hot press of his length against your aching hole. You didn't know what it would feel like, the anticipation making you tense up and hold your breath. 

“Breathe, my love.” Neuvillette said, though he himself was shaking as his hands held him up above you. “Relax, breathe.” 

You released a breath and the tension from your spine, melting into the pillows as he chose that moment to breach your entrance, the slick pooling out of you allowing him to slide the crown in with no resistance. 

You keened, your back arching as you felt the first push. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!”

Neuvillette was still shaking, his voice quivering and yet he still found it within himself to chuckle, low and deep as his eyes fluttered across your face, drinking in your pleasured reactions. 

“Such vulgar language,” he breathed. “Where’d my polite little assistant go?” 

You swear your eyes were about to bulge out of your skull as he pushed another inch in, slowly, his body vibrating above you in restraint. 

It wasn’t hurting, but the stretch was so intense it was turning your brain into mush. You never swear in front of Neuvillette, gods, you never curse in front of anyone but Wriothesley, but your brain seems to short circuit as Neuvillette enters your body one delicious inch at a time.

You were thankful you told him to stretch you out, thankful for that gods forsaken tongue that just came out of nowhere, long and thick and surprisingly serpentine.  

“P-politeness isn’t really…” you tossed your head back in the blankets as he sunk in further. “Isn’t really my main focus… r-right now.” 

“Ah, yes.” Neuvillettes words spoke confidence, but his voice was shaking, his arms vibrating as they held him above you. “We have more pressing things to focus on at the moment, don’t we?”

You groaned, half in embarrassment at his wordplay and half at the way he pulled out a bit just to press back in further. 

He just licked up the column of your throat, that ridiculously long tongue making your whole body shiver in delight as he pressed in further. 

“Holy f—“ you grabbed his forearms, leaning up the best you could to look down at where your bodies were connected. “How much more is there? It’s so… so…”

Your stomach flipped at how much you still had to go, how little your brain could comprehend that this weapon was supposed to fit inside you. 

“Do you need me to stop, my darling? Is it too much for you?” Neuvillette breathed against your neck. His words spoke one thing, but it was like his body was screaming for you to say anything but. 

“No!” You panicked a bit, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him against your lips, kissing him filthy. “Please, don’t stop.” 

It took a couple more minutes of gentle thrusting, the rough texture of this thumb swirling against your throbbing clit and some very messy kisses, but when his hips finally pushed flush against yours, your eyes rolled back in your head, mind finally vacating all thought in favor focusing on how blindingly full you felt. 

“Oh,” Neuvillette breathed. “—My darling. My sweet, sweet girl.” His hips were frozen, probably taking in how you clenched around him, because you could feel it— the way your walls fluttered and squeezed around his length as he remained motionless. 

He twitched, and you keened, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring his face level with yours, panting into his mouth. “Please,” you whined. “Please move.” 

He shuddered before hesitantly bringing his hips back, watching your every breath as he pressed forward again. 

The deep, guttural moan it pulled from your chest must have flipped some kind of switch within him, because all sense of hesitancy seemed to drain from his body as his hips began a desperate rhythm, smacking against yours. 

“Ah!” Your back arched, eyes rolling into your skull as he finally, finally fucked you. “Neuvi— Neuvillette!”

His eyes seemed glazed over with emotions, looking down at you with so much wonder. His expression was strained, breaths coming short as his hands snaked down to your hips, leaning back up and away from your grip.

The change in angle, though minuscule, drastically altered the way his cock pummeled your insides. It was intense before, your mind was nearly floating in the clouds— but now his cock bullied itself along your most sensitive spot and pressed so deep within you, you were sure you could nearly taste it.

”Perfect,” he breathed. “My perfect, perfect girl. So warm and tight— it's like you were made to take me.” 

Your brain had exited the atmosphere, and was now drifting away into the deep nothingness of space. You swore you could feel your orgasm welling in the pit of your core, making your legs shake where they were perched on Neuvillettes hips. 

“It— it feels so good,” your words were starting to slur, your vision hazy with unshed tears of pure ecstasy as you blinked up at him. “I n-never— I never wanna stop. I want this forever.” 

His hips never faltered, not even once as he shuddered and groaned, the sound making you clench down around him even more. His hands gripped your waist tighter, the black claws digging into your skin, sure to leave marks. 

A possessive sort of noise rumbled from his chest, his eyes flaring with need. 

“I’ll give you all of myself until the end of time,” he murmurs, voice full of deep, rasping need. “Tell me you’re mine, I’ll give you everything.” 

Your heart welled, your eyes blinking tears as your legs shook harder. 

“I’m yours,” you cried. “I love you, Neuvillette. I’m yours.” 

He pushed at your legs, hands grabbing your thighs to press them up and forward, nearly folding you in half as you sobbed out in pleasure. Your body ached, your orgasm now on the very precipice as he managed to fuck into you even deeper than before, and you didnt know how it was possible. 

“Again.” He growled. 

“I’m yours!” You keened. 

His hands pressed harder into your thighs, his face leaning closer to yours. Through your haze, you could see how his pupils were blown wide, consuming all of his otherworldly irises. You could see how deeply he looked at you, drinking in your trembling form. 

“Mine.” He whispered. 

And that was all it took for the fraying cord inside you to snap. 

You screamed into the darkness of his room, writhing and shaking as it pulsed through you, all consuming and more intense than anything you’d ever felt in your life. He gasped, muttering something in a language you didn't recognize as his hips stuttered. He pushed you through it, the mind melting pleasure pulsing out into your limbs, making you go limp into the bed. 

His eyes were wild, and his pace slowed, hands holding onto you like you would slip away if he didn’t. 

“My love,” he moaned, desperate as the fluttering aftershocks worked through you, your body twitching in the sensitive overstimulation. “My love, I want to— I need—“

“Inside me,” your voice cracked, hoarse from how loud you’d been in your revelry, but it only seemed to spur him on. “Please, inside me.” 

And within the last three stuttering strokes, he was gone, his forehead pressing into yours as he leaned forward and moaned, long and wrecked and obscene. It made you flutter around him, milking him absolutely dry as he filled and filled and filled you. 

You could feel it, hot and heavy— each jerk of him inside you coating you further, marking you in white, in the deepest places as his. 

He was mumbling, his face moving to press into the curve of your neck and shoulder. Dazed, you couldn’t tell what he was saying— whether he was speaking in another language or if you were just too out of it to register his words. 

You lifted an arm to rest on his back, feeling the heat and the sweat of him. Unfazed, you drag your hand up and down his shoulder blades, relishing in the feeling of his skin, his breath as he murmurs against your neck. 

As your breath finally steadied in your lungs, no longer struggling, you ran your hands through his long, luscious hair, fingertips ghosting his horns. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said aloud, clear and in a language you understood. “I’m sorry.”

”What for?” You smiled, trying to get him to look at you. When you finally pried him from the crook of your shoulder, your heart skipped a beat at how flushed he still was, how guilty he looked. 

It was then that you realized he was still inside you, still hard as before, twitching and throbbing as he held himself above you. 

“You begged me to take you,” he breathed, clawed hands pulling at the sheets. “And I can’t help but crave more.”

————————————

The sun had just begun rising over the dewy cypress trees by the time Neuvillette sat in the warm bath, cradling you in his arms. 

You twitched and groaned in displeasure as he ran the washcloth along your heated skin, but he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride at the marks scattered along your body. 

He’d been too afraid to hurt you, but after the moan you let out when his teeth accidentally scraped across your collarbone during the second round, (or was it the third?) he’d lost all sense of decency. You seemed to like them as well, and you certainly liked when he ran his tongue across the red and purple splotches to soothe them. So, c’est la vie. 

Your head lolled against his shoulder, you were barely conscious at this point, and he wanted to feel guilty, he really did. But you’d begged and begged and begged for him to take what he needed, how could he refuse? 

He pulled the glass bottle he’d brought from the cooler to your lips, stirring you a bit to prompt you to drink. 

“Please, my love. You need to rehydrate.” He smiled at the way you pouted, But opened your lips to take tentative sips anyways, your eyes still closed. 

He watched a trail of water slip past your lax lips and run down your chin and throat, his eyes carefully following the movement. He swallowed deeply, willing away the erection that was still threatening the dark corners of his willpower. 

He could honestly keep going, he couldn't get enough of you, but you were still so fragile, so incredibly mortal. He knew that he had to stop, give you a moment of reprieve. Force himself to behave until your sweet voice would sing to him again, begging him for more. He licked his lips at the thought. 

“Are… are your urges… satisfied?” You mumbled as he pulled the bottle away. You cuddled up to him, so sleepy. 

He thought very carefully on how to reply to you. 

“For now, yes. They are, darling.” He finally said. “But I believe I will always desire you as strongly as I did then— as I do now, still.”

You gave a sleepy smirk, your eyes still closed as you snuggled closer to him, your bare skin pressed so beautifully against his. 

This— this was perfect. He didn't think anything else could compare to the feeling of being inside you, so connected to your body and in tune with your emotions. But this… being with you, holding you and caring for you… it was just as beautiful. His heart felt full, and for the first time in months, he didn’t feel restless.

“I meant what I said, you know.” He said, kissing the top of your head. 

You sighed wistfully. “Which part? Because when you said you were going to ‘spend the rest of your existence finding new ways to make me shatter into millions of delicious little pieces,’ I was rather inclined to believe you.” 

He felt his cheeks heat a little. “Ah, well. I meant all of that too. But I’m referring to something I said earlier on in the evening.”   

Your voice was wavering, and he could see sleep pulling at you, tugging you into its embrace one sleepy blink at a time. “Which part, my love?” 

His chest still fluttered at those words, despite both of your endless proclamations of devotion and love last night, he was still so blissful at the prospect of being yours, of you being his. His love. 

“The bit where I told you that I would give you all of me until the end of time. That I’ll give you everything.” 

“Mm,” you said, eyes closed and words loose. “I know.” 

He ran his hands along your back, his skin finally calmed down closer to the end of the night, his scales and claws retracting and freeing his fingers for nefarious purposes. But now, he was enjoying feeling your smooth skin against his own. 

“I have things I must do, duties to this realm beyond that of my role as Iudex. It will be a long and perilous road, a road uneasy for myself and those I love. But in this, as in every other aspect of my life— I feel as though if you stood beside me, it would lighten the burden. You make every part of my life better, and I would be honored to have you beside me for the rest of time.” 

He wasn’t sure how, but if he could free the people of Fontaine from their curse, surely he could find a way to keep you with him, if you so wished. 

“Your voice is pretty,” you sighed. “I love you,” you were mumbling, and he realized you were already rather deep in the clutches of sleep, likely not even hearing a word he’d said. 

He smiled, breathing out a sigh as he kissed the top of your head once more. 

“Sleep well, my darling.” 

La Fin.

—————————————————————

Authors Note: remember to drop a comment with your thoughts! I love you guys so much 🖤

[sinsirellaxx]

omgg could you please do slytherin boys and what you do that turns them on

Slytherin Boys – Things you do that turn them on

Warning: Just our boys and slightly smutty topics?

A/N: Thank you for your request – hope you'll like it. On another note: Do you want me to involve Tom Riddle as well?

Mattheo …

… loves you in skirts and leggings. Whenever you wear one of them one of his hands is always either on your hip or your ass. If it’s a skirt, he’ll occasionally play with the hem of it pulling it down to make sure that no one sees what’s only meant for his eyes.

… goes crazy whenever you have to concentrate – because you always bite your lip whenever you do, a slight frown on your face as you absentmindedly play with your hair. If he looks at you too long, you’ll have to postpone whatever you’re doing for another hour or two – because he definitely won’t be able to resist.

… immediately grabs his crotch whenever you pull your hair into a ponytail in front of him – it’s something he does without noticing and it definitely has happened in public as well. But he can’t help it; you just look so good, and it definitely reminds him of all the times you have gone down on him.

… love when you’re on your period because your breasts swell up so nicely. Even though they are tender to touch he can’t keep his hands (or his lips) off them whenever you are in private, and he won’t stop until he is satisfied – even if you’re whining because it’s uncomfortable.

… purposefully provokes you because he thinks you are the hottest when angry. He especially adores the way your cheeks flush. And sometimes, when you get too bratty, he loves putting you into place. Iykyk.

Theodore …

… has heart eyes whenever you wear grey sweats – especially if they are a little tight around your thighs and ass. And if you’re lying on his bed, on your stomach wearing those sweats? Of, Italian boy will knead your ass like pizza dough – depending on how horny he is he might even bite into one of your cheeks.

… always has to watch you whenever you’re painting your nails. The only thing he can think about it while doing so, is the image of your pretty fingers wrapped around his member. He often asks you to paint them red – he loves red.

… is very, very sensitive to your touch. Especially if you comb through his hair whenever he naps on your lap – he’s always torn between enjoying your soft touch or pulling you down to kiss him and … well, more

… would be ready to go in a matter of seconds if you spoke Italian to him. He’d stare at you, eyes blinking and mouth agape. At first you would be confused and wondered if you’d pronounced something wrong. But you quickly caught on when you saw the way his cheeks flushed, your eyes wandering down until you noticed his rather prominent bulge

Lorenzo …

… loves pearls on you. Pearl earrings. Pearl bracelet. Pearl necklace. He has this one reoccurring dream of you on his messy sheets with this beautiful long pearl necklace decorating your beautiful skin. He’d go feral if you wore a pearl choker.

… enjoys cooking from time to time. He loves it even more when you cook, dressed in your beautiful frilly apron. His eyes will be glued to your waist all the time and if you bend down in front of him to grab something from the bottom, you won’t be coming back up anytime soon.

… always wants to study with you. Not because you’re productive when together, but because he enjoys watching you study because you tend to wrap your lips around your pen whenever you’re very focused. He loves it.

Draco …

… loves, loves, loves when you’re confident! Or the way you carry yourself whenever you like your outfit or your hair – like you own the school. It’s a major turn on for Draco.

… enjoys watching you curl your hair. He doesn’t know what it is exactly, whether it’s the curls that drive him mad or the way you doll yourself up for him – just for him. The thought alone makes him fidget in his seat.

… sometimes lets you wait whenever you ask for kisses, just because he desperately wants to see you pout and bat your eyelashes at him – makes him want to push you down onto your knees.

Blaise …

… always takes you out to eat dessert because of the way moan silently after the first bite, your eyes closed in pure bliss at the sweetness of whatever it is that you are devouring.

… loves the way you slightly part your lips whenever you put on mascara, followed by you leaning back slightly to look at your reflection while not trying to blink in fear of smudging everything.

… needs to cuddle with you at the end of every single day. He is obsessed with the way you cling to him. If you throw your leg over him, grazing his crotch while doing so, he’ll be a goner.

[redr0sewrites]

SITTING ON ADAMS FACE HC’S? God I’m telling you that man eats pussy like it’s his last meal, HES GOOD AND HE KNOWS IT.

YESSSSS ANON UR LITERALLY ME I JUST KNOW HE EATS GOOD, TRUST

🥀Cw: smut, oral sex (reader recieving), facesitting, afab!reader

🥀minors dni

there is no way that adam has not tried every position under the sun, and he has absolutely tried facesitting before. there is not a doubt in my mind that this man eats puss good, and he would fucking LOVE the opportunity to have you sit on his face

absolutely brags about his oral skills to the point where you almost don't believe he's as good as he claims. so, of course, you tell adam to prove it. to your shock, its adam who offers for you to sit on his face

adam is a strong man, he wants you to SIT on your throne. he wants all of your weight on him, no matter your size he can take it. he has a firm hold on your thighs, he genuinely wants to be smothered by your aching cunt as he eats you out

i def hc that adam eats pussy very sloppily- not in the sense that it doesn't feel good, no, but in the sense that it feels too good. he wants you to squirt, by the end of the night he needs you to be whimpering as he wears your thighs like earmuffs

not even joking it's actually almost disgustingly hot how messy he is when he eats you out. cum will be covering his entire face and lips, he's actually so addicted to eating you out its insane and he loooves your taste. he doesn't need to breathe, he just needs to keep fucking you silly and holding you down against his face as his tongue works wonders against your aching clit

adam definitely gets hard from eating you out and has came untouched before while your sitting on his face. in his defense, you're just too undeniable to resist! honestly though, its the hottest thing in the world to watch his hips jerk upwards, humping up against nothing as he groans beneath you, absolutely drunk of your pussy

he adores 69'ing as well, the added stimulation of you sucking his cock while he eats you out? fuck, he's reached heaven again and absolutely cums in your mouth or sprays over your chest

his moans send vibrations against your cunt and only makes the entire situation 10x more pleasurable for you

honestly facesitting pretty much becomes a typical part of u and adams foreplay

"c'mon babes, i want ya t' sit," adam murmured, his large hands gripping into the soft flesh of your thigh. "none 'f that hovering shit, i can take ya," his hot breath fanned over your aching cunt as your knuckles gripped the headboard. "are you sure?" you ask shakily, his thumb running soothing circles on your thigh as you clit pulses with need. fuck, you wanted to just sit, but what if you hurt him? what if you were too heavy?

"course im sure," adam rasps, licking a stripe through your folds. "fuuuck baby, y'need to sit on my face, or i'm gonna pull you down myself." your face flushes at his warning, and you slowly lower yourself until your perched on his face. his tongue circles your clit, sucking and slurping with noises so lewd that your head begins to spin. it wasn't just the embarrassment of the entire situation that made your head fuzzy, no, it was the mind blowing pleasure you were receiving from adams skilled tongue.

a sudden jerk of adams' hips below you makes you shiver, and you realize he's grinding up into thin air. his cock is already hard, and a low groan vibrates against your cunt. adam does something especially sinful with his tongue and you let out a wanton moan, thighs shaking with pleasure. "c'mon hon, give it t'me" adam groans, his voice muffled by your needy cunt. your juices spill over his face, and precum pearls at the tip of his cock. his tongue swirls around your aching pearl before traveling back down to your slit, paying special attention to your folds and making you whimper.

your hips rock against his face as you start to chase your own orgasm. one of your hands travels down to grab a fistful of his hair, his firm hands assisting you in grinding against his face. the tip of his nose keeps brushing against your pulsing clit, and you can feel yourself reaching the edge. adam lets out a moan, and with one last roll of your hips, your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. adam helps you ride out your high as your cum spurts, coating his face. he doesn't hesitate to swallow it all as he milks you dry, you entire body shaking from the mind blowing orgasm.

"did you just squirt?" adam smirks, gasping for breath as you pull away to lay down beside him. "did you just come? i didn't even touch you~" you retort, your voice falsely sweet. adam scowls, and you giggle, moving to straddle him again. you grind your cunt against his aching cock, and he lets out a strained groan. "you up for round two, or has the original dick already given up?" large hands come to rest on your waist and adam smirks up at you with his usual gloating nature. "im just getting started sugar tits~"

this is not the fic that got deleted (that fic is some vox hcs im currently rewriting) but this is just some fun hcs ab one of my favs to make me feel better after the literal hell that was today 😭😭😭 anyways yall hope u enjoyed!!!! i actually need to write more for adam, especially smut this is not a drill.

[krashlite]

Anyways my hot take abt the cheater’s arc is that all four of them were in the wrong but it was mostly Grian’s fault things went so horrendously since man was the reason why the actual Cheating part of the cheater’s arc happened (characters, obviously)

But yeah here’s how they were all wrong yes

Grian was being incredibly controlling because he didn’t trust Scar to keep them safe. Man was scared of his own damn shadow for a lot of this, but his way of ensuring his own safety was basically to tell Scar to stand in one place and not move. He pretty much disregarded the fact that Scar is a grown man capable of making his own decisions And capable of keeping himself, and the both of them, alive. The fact that they were last on green doesn’t reassure him, only confirms that he is in the right for being so controlling. He thinks his behavior kept them alive. He only loosens up once they hit their red life since at that point danger is assumed. Grian DOES NOT learn to respect Scar here, just puts his paranoia on hold for another day. His conclusion is that he was right and Scar was unreasonable

Scar was pushing back against said control since he knew it was unfounded. Again, he’s a grown man capable of making his own decisions. He has a tendency to mock people to show when they’re being ridiculous, something he does here through being purposefully careless. It’s both to point out how ridiculous Grian’s being and a way to punish him for being so obsessive. Instead of having the intended effect, Scar just pushes Grian further away. He later winds up just following everything Grian says, which doesn’t address the root of the problem here. Except he has no way of knowing what’s wrong because Grian doesn’t tell him. From his perspective, the only thing that got Grian back at his side was murder- since the only times they actually stood on equal footing was when there was a plan for a kill or when that plan went well. Scar’s conclusion here isn’t that he was unsafe, but that he was boring. So it reaffirms that he’s in the right and Grian was being unreasonable

BigB is not and never was the mistress in this situation. Had Grian never approached him, he would’ve never left Ren. He was using his Secret Soulmate as an escape from normal relationship problems he was too scared to address. BigB mainly felt overlooked because he has a quieter personality than Ren, meaning Ren wound up making most decisions for the two of them. BigB did a lot to mirror Ren and to be Ren’s other half, but didn’t give himself space to be his own person in the relationship. This is something that’s brought up in couple’s counseling and something they at least started to address before dying. BigB never intended to hurt either of them, since he did love and value both Ren and Grian- something that’s affirmed by how he talks to them after dying. BigB and Ren talk about how they stayed together until the end and B takes the time to forgive Grian for murdering both him and his soulmate

Ren was doing his best to keep Box afloat but failed to meet BigB’s needs. Since B wouldn’t communicate what was wrong, Ren kept trying to course correct in ways that inadvertently made the situation worse. Ren’s instinct is to be protective- to find an enemy to defend against. That enemy was first Pearl and then Clockduo when Bdubs inadvertently got BigB killed. He also reacted to news of B cheating by distancing himself from BigB. Which, reasonable!! Ren wasn’t obligated to save them if B was the one who left. However, this action only pushed BigB away since Ren was so quick to assume they were over. Ren has a habit of isolating himself when something’s wrong, assuming the worst of a situation when things can be fixed. It worked out between him and BigB in the end but goddamn was that rough

Anyways the four of them are very!! Very messy, I love them dearly

[g1rld1ary]

you never disappointed me - part two

part one part two part three part four

➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; percy and beckendorf's plan to set you up with luke is in motion, but you're extremely resistant to any advances (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 3462

➻ warnings: swearing, ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, sexual innuendos

➻ thank u so much for all the love on part 1 I am such a happy gal!!!!! also, have my first day at uni tomorrow (so pls wish me luck) and sorry if updates slow down!

TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

It turned out that getting you to go out with Luke was harder than he’d originally anticipated. Eager for the whole ordeal to be over and for him to be 50 dollars richer, he’d hopped down from his spot on a fallen log and hurried to meet you by the volleyball courts when your match ended. You, unaware of Luke’s agenda, were fanning your face to combat some of the sweat that had accumulated, quickly tightening the messy ponytail you’d tied. Luke watched you in your own world, unbothered by anybody watching you, unlike the rest of your siblings. Sucking in a quick breath for confidence he approached you.

“Hey there, girly,” He smiled, “How’re you doing?” You looked up at him, inquisitive for a moment but ultimately unimpressed.

“Sweating like a pig actually, and yourself?” You were barely looking at him, skulling an impressive amount of your water bottle quickly. He stared at you, not expecting to be dismissed so easily. He recovered smoothly, not prepared to give up so soon.

“You really know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?”

“My mission in life,” You shot him a cloying smile, now giving him your full attention, unable to help being slightly interested by his boldness. “But obviously I’ve struck your fancy, so you see it worked. The world makes sense again.” You‘d figured out his motives now and had no interest, so began the walk back to your cabin. He followed, much to your dismay. Couldn’t men ever take the hint?

“So I’ll pick you up Friday then?”

“Oh right, Friday, uh huh.” You kept your eyes ahead, dodging a few younger kids as Luke trailed after you, annoyingly optimistic still.

“The night I take you places you’ve never been before,” He said, and you looked at him in disbelief. The ego on this kid!

“Right, like the makeout clearing in the forest? Do you even know my name, Castellan?” Luke could tell that you were mocking him, but he still had high hopes.

“I know a lot more than you think.” He smiled then, a lopsided thing that would have been somewhat charming if you’d actually bothered to look. Instead you were already walking away, calling out a “Doubtful. Very doubtful,” over your shoulder as you picked up into a run, presumably to go tell Clarisse about the bizarre experience you just had. Luke watched you go, dumbstruck in the middle of camp.

Percy and Beckendorf watched the exchange from the porch of the Hephaestus cabin, the latter putting his head in his hands dramatically.

“We’re screwed,” He groaned and Percy winced slightly.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine, dude. Luke has faced a lot worse than a teenage girl.”

When you sat at dinner that night, desperately avoiding the eye contact Luke seemed desperate on initiating, you almost told Silena about your bizarre day. You’d opened your mouth to start the story when you realised that she’d only be encouraged by Luke’s antics, pressuring you into going out with him for her own benefit and quickly shut it. She’d noticed your odd behaviour and searched for meaning in your face. Panicking for something to replace the conversation, you zeroed in on the necklace sitting nicely on top of her camp one.

“Where’d you get the pearls?” You asked, already dreading the answer. Silena only confirmed your fears, claiming them as your grandmother’s with a coy smile.

“So what? You’ve just been hiding them the last three years?” You were always closest with your grandmother, and you were sure she wouldn’t leave her favourite pearls for Silena over you.

“Daddy found them in a drawer just before summer.” Silena shrugged as if you weren’t sitting across from her, cheeks a blotchy red in your upset. “Besides, they look good on me.” Your hands itched to hit her as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, knowing exactly how much she was pissing you off.

“Trust me, they don’t,” You spat, quietly glad when Silena stalked off in a huff, amongst the first to leave the meal. You didn’t know how much longer you could argue with her before starting to cry, which you really didn’t want to do in front of the whole camp. You thought you were safe for the rest of the meal when Drew began speaking instead.

“You could try being nice sometimes, you know, people wouldn’t know what to think.” You rolled your eyes aggressively.

“You forget, I don’t care what people think,” You replied, taking in a spoonful of food.

“Yes you do. Everyone does. You know, with a new look you could have some serious potential.” You ignored her last statement.

“No, I don’t,” You emphasised, “You don’t always have to be who they want you to be.” You knew that wouldn’t impact Drew in the slightest, but you hoped it might resonate with some of your younger siblings — encourage them to nurture their internal beauty rather than accept the vain stereotype Aphrodite children were forced into. You pushed yourself out of the bench you were sitting on, needing a break from your insufferable siblings. As you dumped your dishes where they needed to be you saw Luke beginning to follow you and turned to make dead eye contact. Knowing you’d only scream at him (or worse) you gave him a dangerous look, accompanied with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Not enough for anyone else to know you’d even acknowledged him, but enough to tell Luke to back off. He was smarter than you thought, as he held up his hands in a show of surrender, redirecting his action to innocently collect up his own dishes.

You may not have had any interest in knowing the boy, but you did appreciate that he knew when to back off. Or so you thought.

You were proven not-so-free from Luke Castellan the very next morning. It was the Aphrodite cabin’s day to check all the storerooms, and you’d volunteered to do the one which held all the weapons and armour near the sword fighting arena. You knew none of your siblings would come near if they could help it, mostly against weapons and the violence that surrounded the area, so you’d get a whole morning alone. It was peaceful attending to the chore, and you were allowed to use some of your Aphrodite eye for beauty. Of course, stacks of swords and assorted weapons could only be made so pretty, but you enjoyed organising them into neat rows, making it look as nice as possible — not that you would admit that to Silena or you’d be in her vanity chair receiving an unwelcome makeover in seconds.

You were just admiring your own sword, which you’d taken the time to polish while you were taking care of the others, when you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t react, assuming it was just some camper coming for a weapon, until he spoke.

“Nice sword, vintage hilt?” You tensed as Luke’s voice infiltrated your peace.

“Are you following me?” You disregarded his statement, an unimpressed frown present on your lips.

“I was training in the arena and needed to polish my sword. I saw you come in a while ago and not leave, I came to say hi,” He explained, and you raised an eyebrow. You weren’t friends, why would he come for a chat?

“Hi.” You promptly turned back to your task, shoving the cloth into the intricate designs of the hilt.

“Not a big talker, huh?” He persisted.

“Depends on the topic. My sword doesn’t exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy.” That wasn’t strictly true — the sword was a gift from your mother, with gold twisting around a blood red ruby in the centre of the hilt. After you’d made it clear that you weren’t going to just sit around during your time at camp she gifted you the sword, her way of saying that if you were going to fight, you should at least look good doing it. You’d had several conversations with Clarisse gushing over the intricacy of it, and profusely thanked Aphrodite for the gift in your offerings. You didn’t quite care to share this with Luke, being a relative stranger.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He asked, and you were somewhat taken aback by the earnest tone of his voice.

“Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that crept into your sentence.

“Most people are.” He gestured subtly towards his scar — gnarled and twisted against his otherwise tanned skin. You put a hand on your hip, resigned to conversation now.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Ok, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” You were pretty sure Luke was going for smooth or charming, but you thought in this moment he was entirely lame. The wink didn’t help his case.

“Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.” You put on your best Drew impression, nasally and whiny, before handing him the cloth he needed to polish his own sword and turning to leave. There, quickly approaching the door, was Ethan. Seeing you he put on a disgusting smirk and blocked the doorway, effectively caging you into the storeroom.

“Gods, what is it, asshole day?” You asked, not caring that both boys could very clearly hear you. “Do you mind?” You gestured to his blocking the exit. He simply looked down at you, clearly doing his best to appear sexy (and failing miserably).

“Not at all.” His stupid smirk was going to kill you, and not in the good way. You scoffed, giving him a last chance to get the fuck out of your way. Then, sparing a fraction of a glance back to Luke pretending to mind his own business, you slammed the hilt of your sword into his foot, wishing it was the blade instead. You watched him crumble to the ground, holding his foot with both hands.

“You bitch!” He yelled, voice cracking pathetically in the middle. You forced your smile to stay contained.

“Oops,” You feigned innocence, one hands covering your mouth strategically. “You might need some ambrosia for that…” With that you side-stepped him, eager to leave the situation. If you’d have looked back, you would have seen the gleeful, disbelieving smile on Luke’s face, probably the biggest one he’d worn in a while. Although he didn’t get the date he’d entered for, he was beginning to think you were a little more interesting than you let on.

“Did you just cripple Ethan?” Silena shrieked as you entered your cabin to grab your things. “He’s a model, you can’t do that! Has it escaped your notice that you’re completely psychotic?” You pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.

“Guess your long walks on the beach are gonna have to wait,” You sighed dramatically, leaving Silena to wallow in her pity alone. It wasn’t like it was really your fault — if Ethan had learned how to respond to words or learn the meaning of ‘move’ he wouldn’t have gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

Meanwhile, Ethan and Luke were having a similarly emotional conversation after Luke had — very reluctantly — helped Ethan over to the infirmary to get his foot checked out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results.” Luke sighed, could this boy get any whinier?

“Yeah, I’m on it,” He said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to hurt him.

“Watching that bitch obliterate my foot doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get any, I don’t get any, so let’s get some,” Ethan said, running a hand through his ridiculously styled hair. Luke couldn’t believe his nerve. First of all, obliterated? He would be left with a bruise for a few days, if anything. Secondly, this whole things was Ethan’s idea, Luke had never given any indication wanting to ‘get some’, especially not with someone so clearly resisting his advances. Just as Ethan left, giving the Apollo girl treating him a douchebag smile, Luke hardened his resolve.

“I just upped my price,” He said, loving the way Ethan’s eyes widened like a cartoon character. “A hundred bucks a date, in advance.”

“Forget it,” Ethan grumbled, moving to leave again.

“Forget her sister then.” The two boys stared at each other, one significantly more amused than the other. Luke knew he had the upper hand in the dynamic, something he revelled in. Then, after the intimidation tactic clearly wasn’t having any effect, Ethan reached for his wallet, Luke admiring the crisp fifty he was handed.

“You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Castellan.” Luke just watched him go, confident tilt of his head conveying his outlook on the situation.

Luke had taken his usual spot overseeing combat training, but his usual thoughts were long gone. Instead, he was entirely preoccupied with you. He didn’t know how to get you to go out with him when you could barely entertain a conversation, and he twirled his cigarette between his fingers as he pondered.

Percy and Beckendorf saw his internal conflicts, slowly moving closer to him under the guise of a very chaotic fight between the two. Finally Luke gave them attention, knowing Percy’s skills would never have him running all over the place like that. He raised an eyebrow, a sign for them to get on with whatever they were angling at.

“We know what you’re trying to do, for Beauregard,” Percy said, and Luke appeared almost startled.

“And we want to help,” Added Beckendorf helpfully, shying away when Luke’s eyes bore into his.

“And why would you do that?”

“Beckendorf here has a major crush on Silena—”

“Gods, what is it with this girl? Does she sweat nectar?” Beckendorf opened his mouth to protest when Percy spoke over him, knowing it would be more beneficial to let Luke lead.

“Look, I think we can both tell that Charlie’s love is pure, well-intentioned, better than, say, Ethan White?” Luke sighed, catching on.

“I’m in this for the cash, that’s it. Who Ethan wants to bang is of no interest to me.”

“There will be no banging!” Beckendorf cried as Percy pushed him behind. He was no use in a delicate situation like this.

“Ok, Luke, it’s just that we’re the masterminds behind this whole thing. We set it up so Beckendorf can get the girl — Ethan’s just a pawn.” Luke paid closer attention suddenly, intrigued by the chess match he’d been pulled into.

“So you two are gonna help me win her over?”

“We’ll do research, find out what she likes. We can be your guys on the inside.”

“In a strictly non-mission type of way,” Beckendorf added helpfully, nervous of the legends he’d heard about Luke’s failed quest. Luke chose to simply ignore that comment, and Percy filled the silence before he could get angry about it.

“Let’s just start here: the Apollo cabin is throwing a party on Friday night, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“I’ll think about it,” Was all Luke said, a clear signal the conversation was over. Percy and Beckendorf returned to fighting, slightly more regulated now they had gotten what they’d wanted, and Luke brought the cigarette back up to his lips, new thoughts clouding his mind.

Meanwhile, Ethan had found Silena where she was known to hang out by the rocks near the lake. He was hovering next to her, providing snatches of shade as he performed pose after pose, claiming he had a modelling job lined up when he left for the year.

“So which do you like better?” He asked, moving his hands fractionally to the left of his chin.

“The second,” Silena giggled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s more… pensive.”

“Damn,” Ethan kicked the sand softly. “I was going for thoughtful. So, you going to the Apollo party on Friday?”

“Maybe.” She produced her best coy smile, looking up at him from behind her lashes.

“Good, ‘cause you know I’ll only bother if you’re there.” Silena smiled, getting up from her spot on the rock.

“Bye.” Her voice was airy in the way she knew drove boys mad. She walked away leaving Ethan wanting more, her specialty. You scoffed, catching the end of the exchange. You and Silena made momentary eye contact, tension thick between the two of you.

As Beckendorf approached Silena, fishing for more information about you, Ethan had caught you in his sights and wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

“You sister is so cute,” His voice infiltrated your bubble in a way that made you want to hit him so desperately. “Doesn’t have your bite though, a feisty woman is so sexy.” You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, but it was so close to working.

“Come any closer and I’ll show you just how feisty I can get,” You snapped, braid almost whacking him in the face as you turned to face him. You could have sworn Ethan looked afraid for a second before he covered it with bravado.

“One day you’re gonna realise that all of this hostility is just your sexual repression. Don’t worry, babe, I’ll be waiting with open arms… And legs.” You almost threw up.

“Gods, can’t you just leave me alone, asshole?” You yelled, trying to push past him to get anywhere else.

“C’mon, don’t be a prude,” He whined, and you were really close to taking him to the ground — not in the way he wanted.

“You heard the girl,” A voice called from behind you, and instantly Ethan took a step back. “She wants you to leave her alone.” Luke appeared behind you, a respectful distance away whilst still making his intentions clear. Ethan shrunk back into himself, making a lame excuse as to why he had to leave, hurriedly fleeing the beach. Reluctantly, you turned to face Luke.

“I’m not going out with you just for that,” You said plainly, daring him to try again.

“You think that low of me?” He laughed, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. You forced yourself not to notice. “I don’t have to want something from you to know that Ethan White isn’t worth your time.” It was your turn to be embarrassed at that, feeling slightly narcissistic for assuming that was the purpose of the conversation (it was, but Luke sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin his chances because you were in a mood, justified or otherwise).

“Oh.” You stared at his shoes. “Well, thanks, I guess.” You moved to leave but Luke stopped you, hand not quite touching your arm, unwilling to have it bitten off.

“So you do have a heart!” He joked, signature grin on his face. You wondered why you were seeing so much of it lately when he’d been so dour since his quest.

“Ha! You wish.”

“Don’t try to hide it, Beauregard, you’re warming up to me.”

“I’d sooner fuck Mister D,” You replied, actually taking your leave.

Luke watched you go, chewing his lip between his teeth. There was more to you than you let on, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t say it was any fondness, but he was starting to have a curiosity attaching itself to this scheme, and he knew that going out with you would satisfy it. He should have known having any personal stakes involved — sentimental or otherwise — would get dangerous.

Your own thoughts had barely budged on Luke. He was still a pain in your side and you figured you knew what kind of guy he was — not the type you had any interest in. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were appreciative he’d saved you from Ethan (and the inevitable washing up duty you’d be punished with when you beat him up), so maybe he wasn’t quite as despicable as you’d initially judged him to be. Close, though.

part three

[melminli]

my boy - by billie eilish

pairing: young coriolanus x fem. reader

summery - he ain't a man and sure as hell ain't honest

word count: 2.5k

contains: angst, slightly dark themes, possessiv but soft coryo, politician coryo, talk about pregnancy and marriage, alcohol consumption

a/n: i have many songs that i think r just so coryo coded, so i thought i would choose one and write something about it. this one is just so him like, every lyric fits him perfectly

You sometimes wondered if there really had been a time when you had truly loved Coriolanus Snow. You didn't want to doubt that you didn't anymore, but the fact that you had any doubts at all said more than you wanted to admit to yourself.

"Don't you want to get dressed?" The voice of the person you were thinking about asked you. As his Fiancée, you should definitely not think about such things. You turned your attention to him and saw him standing in front of the mirror, buttoning the buttons of his expensive waistcoat.

You noticed he was about to tie his black tie next as he reached for it, and you stood up to stop him so you could do it for him. It always looked a little messy when he tied it himself. "I thought maybe I'd stay home this time. I'm a bit tired." You said, concentrating on doing a neat job, even though you probably could do it with your eyes closed by now. Perhaps the reason was more that you were trying to avoid his gaze and also his silence.

He said something back to you as you were pulling the tie tighter around his neck. "I think you should get dressed." Was all he said and ended the discussion with a few words like he always did. It would look bad if I turned up without my fiancée. Though, at the same time - I really need something pretty to look at if I want to get through the evening.

You just sighed softly as Coriolanus walked past you to fix his hair. I think I'd better wear a matching dress then. You went to your closet to look for a black dress and it should be very easy for you to find something suitable since you had a dress for every occasion. Especially since you and Coriolanus had had started to be invited regularly to galas and events.

But you just weren't in the mood. Whatever, this should be fine. You finally decided on one and put it on. However, you had a little trouble zipping up the back, though luckily, your fiancé returned the favor and helped you out. After he finished, he watched your figure in front of the mirror and gave you a gentle kiss on the back of your neck while holding you in his arms. "There you go, my dear, you look beautiful. You should also wear the pearl jewelry I bought you, they would look good on you."

You leaned back into his arms. "Good on me, or good on the wealthy impression you want to give others." You said, already knowing the answer. Coriolanu's gaze sharpened slightly at your words. He didn't like it when you got sassy with him - no matter to what extent. It seemed to be one of your traits that were hard to get rid of, but he hoped that perhaps with time, you would learn to watch your tongue more. I don't think so, but a man can still hope. At least it's not as bad as it used to be.

"Pollux will be there." He announced and sat down on the armchair next to your dressing table while he watched you make yourself pretty for him. One of the reasons why it was there. "But I would argue that one doesn't exclude the other." He came back to your earlier statement.

So, that's what this is about. The name Pollux was not necessarily associated with positive things in your household. Ever since Coriolanus had started getting involved in politics around Panem, the two of them were considered arch enemies, one could say. Both very charming men with sweet words who also each hid a poisonous dagger behind their fake smiles so they could take the other out at the slightest mistake.

"I can't stand that fucking bastard." Coriolanus complained, grimacing as he thought about his face. "If I have to listen to him make one more pun with his name, I'll shoot myself and everyone in the room. Just because your name means crown doesn't mean you're going to get it stupid asshole. I really fucking hate that guy."

Your fiancé rarely swore, at least that's how it used to be. He thought it was bad manners and therefore never did it in public, but well, maybe you secretly just wished that he would show his best side in your presence too and not just to stupid important people.

It didn't suit him. Well, at least from your point of view, it always sounded a bit strange and kind off forced to hear him swear when he hadn't done it for so long. Like he was trying to imitate someone. "You're sounding more and more like your father." You said quietly to yourself, averting your gaze from his hate-filled eyes.

That seemed to cheer him up. "Well, thank you, my dear. Didn't realize you knew so much about him." He said and became curious. He couldn't remember telling you about him. He certainly mentioned him a couple times, but not that much that you could draw that comparison.

It wasn't a compliment. You opened the bottom drawer to pull out the box of pearl earrings and necklace after you finished doing your hair. "I don't know that much. Tigris has only told me a few things from time to time, and that's it."

He hummed as he just shook off his right sleeve a little to look at his watch. "Did she." he replied with his head somewhere else as he abruptly changed the subject to be able to talk about his own interests. "Don't take too long. The Avox should have the car ready by now, and I want to leave soon." He announced and stood up from his seat. He took the necklace from your hand and placed it on your free neck before gracefully pulling the clasp. "What did I tell you, hm? Like a pretty princess." He said in good humor and gently held you by the chin to place a kiss on your lips. My pretty princess. All that's missing is her lonely tower. "I'll go down and see if everything is all right. Just come down when you're ready."

You tried to stay in a good mood too. "Okay, Coriolanus. I'll be right there." you told him, leaving his casual mention of your staff unmentioned. You got tired of talking about how your heart got heavy when you saw the silent workers.

At least you can treat them well while they are working us. Trust me, others would not grant them such luxury. With us, they are better off than most. After all, there is a reason why they are in the position they are now. What kind of luxury? Treating them like ordinary people should not be treated as such, and yet he was right once again. They would be worse off somewhere else, so you should be able to suck it up and do your best to at least give them the dignity of looking them in the eye and enduring their silent nature. After all, they had to do the same.

That's probably what he likes the most about them. You thought to yourself and were pretty sure that your fiancé would approve if you said just as little - to just open your mouth to say what he liked to hear, like a bird that he only let sing when it was his favorite song. Wouldn't he like that? Of course he would. Well, if he wants a quiet good girl then he can fuck off.

"You know, I noticed how you don't really call me Coryo anymore." He briefly stated and left open how he interpreted this.

You continued with your make-up. "Hm? Well, I think it just suits you better now, dear. You're not the same boy you used to be."

He begs to differ. "Don't be like that. I haven't changed that much. I'm still the same Coryo you fell in love with all those years ago." He laughed as he said goodbye to you with one last kiss on your head before leaving the room.

You just sat there with a heavy heart in your lonely room while staring at your silhouette in the mirror. That's what I've been trying to convince myself lately, too.

Thank goodness there's alcohol at these events. As someone who was born and raised in the Capitol and also came from a wealthy family, you were no stranger to popular events.

However, you definitely liked them more when they were considered parties and not some lame adult gathering. You'd give anything to hear the booming music from big speakers now while a few crazy, very drunk people hit the dance floor. It was chaotic, but at least it was real - people weren't hiding behind their pretty dresses and fake smiles like they are now. Whatever, you can't stop getting older, I guess. Maybe it would take a few more years for the Capitol to figure out a way around that, too, but by the time they did, it would have already lost its value.

You started listening again when your name was mentioned. "Now that you're engaged, I suppose the wedding isn't far off, huh?" Mrs. Valentius laughed merrily. If you remembered correctly, she was the wife of the man who had won some important literary prize or something last year. "And we all know that when marriage is near, children are not far away."

You laughed with her, albeit very uncomfortably. I'm not going to elaborate on that. You took another sip of your drink and saw how you just had a little bit left, same goes with your patience, too. I need more of both.

Your eyes looked up again when Coriolanus put an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to his side. "Of course. The preparations are a little stressful even if they are going well, but who knows, maybe the first one will be there on our big day. What do you say, my dear?" He replied in your place with his disgustingly charming smile. I think I would like it if she was pregnant with my child on the day of the wedding. Would just have to make a few alterations to her dress, but that can easily be arranged.

Yes, you definitely needed a new drink. "Let's see, Coriolanus. Like you said, things are stressful enough right now, and I'm sure you don't want me to be any harder to handle than I already am, huh?" You joked around and laughed with the couple in front of you. I can't believe what kind of shit I'm saying about myself, but those are the only jokes these two douchebags are laughing at, and I really don't want to talk about this subject anymore. "I'm going to go and freshen up, if that's all right with you." You excuse yourself and make your way to the toilets, but not without grabbing a glass from a tray of a walking waiter.

You shut the door behind you and finally felt like you could breathe properly again since you were no longer surrounded by all these people. Could be worse. We didn't meet Pollux and his wife yet, but it's still pretty bad. "Oh, this is a nightmare." You said, leaning your arms on the sink. "Why don't you tell them when we're fucking so they know that the baby is in the making, huh? Ugh, since when did it become normal to get so personal?" You complained and swallowed the contents of your glass in one gulp, feeling it burn in your throat. It felt good.

You wanted to give yourself a few minutes alone to clear your head and come out re-energized, but the more time you spent in the room, the less you wanted to leave. You preferred to hear the voices muffled through the door, but this thought was interrupted when it opened, and you tried to act unruffled for a moment until you realized who was coming in. "Coriolanus? What are you doing here?" You asked nervously as you watched him enter. "This is a ladies' room, you can't be here!" You whispered aggressively as you stepped closer to him and saw him turn the lock behind his back. I should have fucking done that. My head is all fuzzy.

His eyebrows drew together in slight irritation. "Your breath reeks of alcohol. You've had too much to drink." He stated, making a mental note to pay more attention to your consumption next time so it wouldn't happen again. He ignored your earlier statement and continued. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick, or why have you been in here so long?" He asked you, slightly concerned, rubbing your arms as you seemed quite drunk

"No, I'm fine." You replied stubbornly, a little annoyed and couldn't quite find the right words, so you just said the first thing that came into your mind. "I just didn't like all this baby talk."

He hummed and continued to speak to you in a calm tone since you seemed upset. "Well, you know I want kids." He said, trying to be a little more understanding. "But I get why you would find it a bit intrusive. Don't let them get to you. That's just the way these people are." He finished, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Maybe, but that's not the way you have to be. You didn't expect him to apologize for his behavior, but it still didn't hurt any less. "I suppose you're right." You just whispered, trying not to get too emotional under the intoxication.

But you didn't manage to hide it from him. "Oh, my dear. Are you really that upset about it?" Your fiancé cooed as he saw you holding back from bursting into tears. He put his index finger to your chin and lifted your face so you couldn't hide from him. His lips moved to the spot where the first tear fell and left a soft kiss there. "You're too cute. It's really too bad that we still have to wait. A baby would certainly stop the questions, wouldn't it?" He asked you sweetly as he stroked your cheek thoughtfully and lied through his pearly white teeth. "A real shame it is. You should freshen up, I think we can leave a little early tonight since you're not feeling so well."

You just hated that he looked so pretty doing it.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

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

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

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[ptolemaeacles]

♡ being hazel callahan’s cheerleader gf hcs

pairing: hazel callahan x cheerleader!reader

synopsis: what it’s like dating hazel (post huntington fight)

notes: unofficial part two to this !! if you guys have anything to add, feel free to hop into my inbox or comment, i love interacting with you guys !!

word count: 1k

after the huntington fight, she finally took you out on a date. she completely wracked her brain for days trying to find the best place to take you.

most likely, asked josie where she would take isabel since the four of you seemed to be parallels of each other (nerdy, loser lesbian and her super hot, preppy gf)

going back to the first date though, i would imagine she took you to an arcade or maybe a diner (like josie and isabel were at). and of course she shyly asked you if that’s what you wanted.

hazel and you were sat in your english, making usual conversation since the both of you had finished your work. hazel realized it was probably a good time to ask you about that date.

“so i wanted to ask you, um, about the date. i know it’s been a few days and i’ve been planning it but what do you think about the diner? you know, after school, you can pick the day if you’d like, or if you changed your mind, we can just not go at all, it depends on you-”

“haze,” you stopped her with a soft smile and putting your hand on top of hers, “i’d love to go to a diner. that’s perfect. and tomorrow is good with me if it’s good with you!”

hazel sheepishly smiled back at you.

“yeah, it’s good with me.” she murmured.

after the third or fourth date, she wanted to pop the “will you be my girlfriend” speech badly. she wanted it to be romantic but not cheesy, heartfelt but not corny, cute but not cliche. god she was over thinking this like a motherfucker.

and to her surprise, you popped the question before her.

hazel was lounging on the loveseat in the corner of your room while you were sitting cross legged on your bed. the both of you had decided to study at your house after school. (not much studying was done so far. often getting distracted by making out with each other. so much so, the two of you had realized that nearly an hour had passed which resulted in hazel moving to the loveseat so the two of you could get some actual studying done.)

“so did you divide both sides by 6 or by 4? i don’t get that part.” hazel lifted her gaze from her notebook to you, who was already looking at her.

you decided to just blurt it out.

“haze,” she hummed in response, “do you want to be my girlfriend?”

hazel felt her mouth go dry. she really did want to be the one to ask you but it was so much hotter that you asked her.

“yeah, uh, yes, fuck, i’d love to.” she exclaimed.

now onto the actual BEING hazel’s gf (i love to over explain things, sorry)

hazel’s love language is definitely physical touch or gifting-giving. not super into pda but will put her arm around your shoulders or a hand on your lower back when you’re walking. if she’s feeling risqué, then an arm around your waist.

no matter how long you guys have been dating, she still gets nervous around you. doesn’t matter if you woke up with horrid morning breath, messy bed head, and/or a puffy face, she’d still look at you starstruck, as if you held the entire world in your palms. she’s a hopeless woman in love.

she does have a lot of money (probably one of those kids who refuses to say she’s rich, she calls herself “comfortable” …..) but she loves to make gifts for you. i can see her being into welding or wood workshop. (not sure if all schools have these types of classes, i’m american soooo)

100% makes wooden sculptures or welding a ring with the both of your initials on the inside. she made a wooden sculpture of the two of you holding hands (you nearly cried when she gave it to you)

very big music lover. listens to divorced dad rock. pearl jam, metallica, nirvana, etc. probably a minor swiftie (really obsessed with folklore and evermore but not a big fan of her other albums) definitely listens to boygenius (she listens to ‘leonard cohen’ and thinks of you). likes r&b/rap from time to time. (frank ocean, mac miller, a bit of tyler the creator.) oh and some 80s r&b like sade. her playlist is very diverse to say the least.

not really a gf headcanon but she’s definitely got some irregular allergies. strawberries, i would say. walnuts too.

PLAYS GUITAR. both acoustic and electric, she's interested in drums too and she tried learning how to play but it was too loud for her so she quit. writes songs for you but you would never get her to perform them or even show you in a million years.

LOVESSSSSS to nap and cuddle with you. a lot of the time, she invites you to her house under the guise of “studying”. you’ll be grabbing your backpack ready to pull out your english homework and she’s grabbing her blanket and asking you to just lay in her bed with her for “5 minutes”. you guys end up falling asleep (exactly like she planned) and wasted 2 hours. it was worth it.

“okay so i think we should start with our english homework because we need to brainstorm for the ess-“ you opened your bag, ready to study with your girlfriend.

“we can do that later, babe,” hazel grabbed your bag and set it on the ground, “aren’t you tired? i mean you walked all around campus, which is huge, might i add-“

“not really-“

“doesn’t matter. we should lay down and rest a bit so we can have clear minds, and we’ll be ready to study.” hazel had already kicked off her shoes and crawled into her bed, lifting her blanket and silently asking you to lay down with her.

“only a few minutes, okay, and then we have to get to work.” you breathily chuckeld, not impressed with your girlfriend’s antics.

hazel giggled and ushered you under her blanket, wrapping her arm tightly around your waist and tucking your head in the crook of her neck.

you knew what her plan was but she was too cute to say no to.

[cryyon]

Pearl’s sheet is a bit more messy but I think if I tried to make a really nice ref sheet for her I’d perish after making so many for the other three so!! sketchy it is!! also a lil bit of info on the Architects villain group is that, unlike irl, pearl is the founder, mumbo is co founder. They formed the group together a little bit after mumbo/inventor was classified as a villain, pearl/lune was the one to offer mumbo the proposition. Grian joins last and its just them three, I don’t have plans on scar joining but maybe that will change. I would’ve done a proper lil comic bit but im rewriting the bits of planning i have... ALSO Rendog’s hero name is Sirius!! Theres a bit of lore between him, grian/poultry man and mumbo/inventor but that might change a bit? Because its very easy to make Ren the corrupt/bad guy imo bc of his whole king arc in season 9 of hermitcraft. Also a little pic of grian, mumbo and scar cuddling. Probably well after they find out each other’s identities n stuff. Another small note about them is that they’re incredibly loyal to each other.

[rae-writes]

om boys cumcanons

nsfw 

Lucifer

off white, has the thickest consistency of his brothers; it actually can be a bit hard to swallow all at once sometimes because of that, so he practically keens whenever your cheeks are puffed, visibly full of his cum, as you take your time swallowing it all. Tastes a bit bitter from all the coffee he drinks, but it’s not unbearable, and you start to actually like it after a while

Mammon

pearl colored with a golden tint, creamy consistency; you would think it tastes like sugar with the way it looks, but it’s just a distinct Mammon taste (with a tang of sourness from all the hell-sauce), and the texture is perfect for making you greedy to come back for more, which he is all too happy to give

Levi

paper white, but has some transparency to it, with an iridescent shine— it’s thinner than his brothers and a bit runny; he cums a lot so the consistency is good for quickly swallowing it down (and for easy clean up). Tastes like candy— literally. Sometimes leftover beads of it will roll off your tongue when you open to show him and the sight drives him crazy

Satan

milky with a rather normal consistency, though sometimes it’s thicker depending on how pent up he was; it genuinely looks like milk and is very easy to swallow. Tastes rich and almost sweet, like a loaded coffee that gives you the energy to keep going and going until you’ve both had your fill (gives a whole new meaning to the nickname ‘kitten’)

Asmo

pearly with a rose gold tint to it, a bit on the thinner side; he actually likes painting your face/body with it, so it’s pretty to take photos of and not too messy to where it’ll be hard to clean off (and he tastes amazing- like a fruity mixture but not too sweet and not too sour) 

Beel

off white and has the second thickest consistency, though his is more of a creamy texture like Mammon’s; he cums the most out of all his brothers so it’ll definitely overflow out of your mouth (not that he minds the sight). Surprisingly, he doesn’t taste that bad, but you can’t really pinpoint the taste- it’s kind of bland, but given what he eats all the time, you’re okay with it

Belphie

milky, normal consistency, and glints under direct light (like stars); loves having you open your mouth with your tongue out and let his cum drip off- very aesthetic, tbh. He’s a mixture between sweet and bland yet it tastes so good, especially in the morning (where you can be caught giving him a wake up call with head on many occasions)

Diavolo

off white and is the third thickest consistency, but he comes so much (more than Beel) that it’s basically impossible to swallow it all down without either taking your time or having it dribble down your chin. Has a hint of sweetness, but it’s mostly bitter in taste, and even more so because of how much is in your mouth at once. Not the most pleasant, but you manage

Barbatos

paper white, bit of a thin consistency, but thick enough to where it’s pleasant as it pools in your mouth when he doesn’t allow you to swallow until he’s finished working; he’s a curious mix of bitter and shockingly sweet, it’s almost confusing on whether you love it or hate it (you love it, come on)

Simeon

pearly white with a pearlescent glimmer, and the consistency is perfect, just the right amount of thick and thin; and- and his taste??? Delicious— a delicacy, if you will. You could sit and swallow his cum down all day if you could (and when you tell him this during one of your cock-drunk spells while licking said cum up? he ascends. absolutely lets you overstimulate him till he’s passing out right then and there) 

Solomon

off white, on the thicker consistency side; and I know what you’re thinking- but he actually tastes good- it’s kind of irritating, really (and makes you just want to get on your knees instead when he offers to cook for you. He can’t complain though, not when you’re shoving your cum coated tongue in his mouth and making him agree, though that might just be because your taste was mixed in too)

[ofswordsandpens]

just finished episode 6…. truly don’t know how to feel about these changes. would love to know your thoughts bc i’m just kinda baffled by some changes tbh

Mixed feelings as always:

Percy's dream slapped. I loved Kronos's actor. It felt perfectly eery. No notes.

No percabeth late night convo on the truck. This doesn't surprise me given we sort of did that on the train already, but now there's just another iconic book moment that we'll get bits and pieces of, but never actually get to see in its entirety/original setting.

I did vibe with the glass prism tool for the iris message and it was pretty cool. The Percy + Annabeth argument was great but I'm gonna be honest, Luke being like "you're arguing like an old married couple" was laying it on a tad thick to me idk idk. I know I'll probably be in the minority there lol but I think it would have liked the line better if Percy and Annabeth got more embarrassed to his statement but they both reacted to it like :/ so it just felt heavy handed on the show runners part more than anything

Lotus Hotel vibes? Lackluster. Uninspired. It just didn't capture that outrageous paradise for kids feeling from the book because they turned it into Hermes' hangout so there's a whole bunch more adults than kids. Basically felt like if you took the movie's version and turned down the energy of it by a mile lmao. (Which is also ironic given RR's post about it today).

And of course the kids immediately know what's happening so like. No fun mystery. No Percy figuring it out. Just them being like "omg we need to be careful" and then immediately separating from Grover lmao.

Okay. LMM's Hermes.... it wasn't bad. Thankfully there was no singing. He was fine. It's more or less that turning the Lotus story line into a Hermes' storyline was like an "okay, I guess we're doing this" thing. I mean I guess we finally introduced something for the non-book reader's to pick up on that Luke might not have the best relationship with his dad (and consequently the gods). But like, nothing about this storyline is something that isn't introduced later on in the books. Nor was it better or more interesting than the original lotus storyline in the books.

Again, its the constant replacement of everything fun and silly and absurd in the book and turning it into a very serious moment, is just like, killing the energy. Seriousness is good. Silliness is also good. The book balanced it greatly. The show struggles here.

Glad we got a Pan mention tho!! Finally!

But um 4 pearls, so no dilemma about who to save. A part of me is relieved because the show's created like 3 other sacrifice convo scenarios so its gotten bit reductive, but Sally being a part of the equation is an entirely different dynamic and now that dilemma is theoretically gone. (unless he loses one of the pearls?)

And Percy's missed the deadline?? Right?? So like? I really don't know what we're doing anymore. In the book the deadline was pretty strict lol. Here I guess the deadline was like, a loose suggestion? Percy's walking into the middle of the god's battle field with master bolt in his hand? Idk.

Overall things in the show feel messy and way less cohesive. They seem to know that certain things from the book are important but not necessarily why, or they'll introduce events or plot points strangely late or way too early.