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velvetures · 1 year

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Vulnerable pt.1?

A/N: A not-so-little thing I've had for a few weeks, and wanted to see if a part two was something anyone would be interested in reading. If so, please let me know. Summary: You try and get Ghost to relax after a harsh mission and find a bit of a quiet moment. T/W: not proofread :)

Bad intel led to you and your Lieutenant being nearly hunted down and killed by a not-so-small group of arms dealers who caught on quickly to the pair of foreigners lingering just a little bit too close to their sheltered storage garage right in the middle of a market district in the South East. The task force assumed sending in an entire squad would be overkill just for some simple recon information and decided that you and Ghost would be the perfect pair for the job. ‘In and Out…’ Price had said quite offhandedly, sliding the prepared information in two files across the table to you. Only Price’s sources hadn’t double-checked if the area was secure enough for them to enter without full backup on standby. Not necessarily a lethal kind of mistake when bringing you and the Lieutenant into the equation, but there were too many close calls and stray bullets that were clearly heard for either of you to feel super confident in getting away unscathed.

Your only savior was a small farmhouse that had been recently abandoned due to the illegal and dangerous activity that had been surrounding the small city. Modest in size with two bedrooms and running water. Perfect for a makeshift safe house to keep the trackers off your asses until an extraction could be arranged and put into motion. Contrary to belief, the 141 didn’t have the bottomless pit of resources everyone believed they had at their disposal. Which included access to evac and trained air-support teams. This wasn’t a big mission that had a lot of working parts and multiple organizations involved that had enough liquidated funds to through out for a helo and heavy gunners to rescue two operators from the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where.

That means with busted equipment, inoperable comms, hardly enough ammunition to fight out of a wet paper bag, and zero way of knowing when and if you’d be rescued, there was nothing left to do but try and relax in one of the most difficult predicaments. It left you searching through cabinets for maybe some kind of food to keep the both of you while Ghost did one of his favorite things. Pacing the house from window to window looking for the slightest bit of movement. The trouble being, there wasn’t anything for at least two miles in any direction. The people who owned this place were farmers of some sort, and had placed their home right in the middle of crop fields that gave a very advantageous sightline. While that information gave you quite a bit of comfort, it was not effecting Ghost positively in the slightest.

Your relationship with the Lieutenant was complex, to say the least. When you were first introduced it was for a succession of short co-op missions that were nothing if not brief and very impersonal leaving you with more questions than answers about the man who stayed hidden under the mask. Through some talks that you hadn’t been privy to being in the room for, John Price decided that your skills would be more useful to Task Force 141 than for the U.S. Division of Clandestine Service and offered you a position that you couldn’t possibly decline.

By day-in and day-out contact with Ghost, you got a lot more comfortable with him and learned much of his little idiosyncratic behaviors. Maybe a little too well…. He didn’t particularly act much differently towards you in the grand scheme of things, but something in you felt like trust had been developed to where he could depend on you when the situation called for it.

“Go hit the rack, I’ll take first watch.” He called gruffly from the living room where he had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit facing the front door head on with his MP5 resting lazily on his chest.

You couldn’t help but notice just how damn tired he looked under all that gear and through the black smeared around his eyes. He couldn’t be carrying less than one hundred pounds on him right now; even sitting in that chair with it wasn’t a good enough solution. Let you take a moment or two for yourself, stripping out of your tac vest and heavily weighted gear to drop it on top of the kitchen counter with a little grunt. Two days ago you both got the luxury of sleeping, and since then it’s been nothing but being on the run.

This would be the safest place for you that wasn’t in the belly of an evac bird, and the thought of Ghost not taking the time to sleep sat in your mind like a lead sinker. Leaning against the doorway and watching him for a long moment, you start having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Ones that normally wouldn’t surface if you’d been able to separate working with Ghost from the more personal aspect of literally sharing almost every part of your life with him. Thoughts about how you could make him feel better… even if just for the night. That no one was around for miles��and whatever happened could safely stay between the pair of you.

By utter carelessness of your position with the team or lack of fear about how the Lieutenant might respond, you walk into the living room and kneel down right in front of him with your fingers reaching out to unlace his dusty boots. Off instinct alone, you expected and watched as his foot flinched away from you. His whole body jumps and stiffens at the contact and sight of you kneeling on the floor. He quickly pauses and collects himself, taking several moments before his gravelly voice breaks the silence.

“What’re you doin’ Sergeant?” His eyes grew heavy and showed more expression than the rest of his massive body as they flashed with confusion and a little swell of anger. That aloofness didn’t hide that slight guardedness of something that made him uncomfortable in one way or another.

“I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of my fuckin’ self.” He adds with zero discernible sign of either offense or gratitude. You can’t help but smile tiredly, feeling like you’re attempting to soothe a feral wolf into letting you pull it’s paw out of trap.

“I never said you couldn’t L.T.,” You reply gently, reaching back to start unhooking the laces from their claws on his left foot. “Just thought you couldn’t use some affection.” Smirking to yourself, you can’t help but think something this small being considered ‘affection’ didn’t fit anyone save for Ghost. He was just too hard to approach. Walls so thick and tall that it would take someone with patience beyond that of a human to break through and see what rested behind all of that brash posturing and icy disposition.

“You know affection is something I’m averse to,” he utters, watching yet making no effort to stop you. “What you’re doin’ is unnecessary.” A small sound close to a growl escapes from behind the mask when my hand reaches to the back of his leg to help aid my effort of pulling his boot off.

Chuckling softly and sitting the boot down at your side you respond, “I know you don’t like affection,” You’re already working on the other one, purposefully moving slowly as not to overwhelm or spook him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, L.T..” You can’t help but look up at him almost exhaustedly yet still trying to be reassuring.

“M’fine without it.” He spits out quickly, looking away from your face back down to your progress on the laces, his masked face otherwise unreadable. “Didn’t ask you for this shit, Sergeant.” Tinged with an undercurrent of irritation his deep voice sounds near the bridge of turning to anger.

“Mothering me isn’t in your best interest.” He growls low and threateningly in your face as he bends down to grab the boot sitting next to you and giving it a quick look of observation before sitting it back down closer to him. You just finish taking off his other boot and sit it down next to the other without much more of a verbal fight and put a hand on his thigh to steady your sore legs as you get back up to your feet.

“I’m younger than you Ghost, I can’t mother you.” You reply, holding out your hand for him.

He doesn’t make note or stop you from using him to help yourself up, however, Ghost follows your movements carefully… closely. He’s doing everything in his power to hide his emotions, but there’s still a faint twitch of his lips when he looks down at his boots sitting at his side. You’d done something very unusual, and he knew berating you was what he should’ve done. Yet a flinch of a smile was what really moved Ghost’s mouth. It’s gone before it even surfaces, pushed down by the sight. of you holding out your little hand in front of him. The sounds of his deep breathing fill the quiet house as you both sit there unflinching of each other. The Lieutenant shifts in his chair, readjusting his rifle on his chest.

“Go to bed. It’s late.” His repeated command felt softer now. Wavering a bit with you hand still held out and your fingers wiggling a little.

“Come on,” You hold steady and patient.

Reward comes in the form of feeling Ghost’s heavy and large hand falling into yours and gripping just hard enough to allow you the phantom sensation that you’re actually helping him up from the chair, hearing a short grunt as his back straightens up. Without explanation, you lead the Lieutenant through the small house back towards the only bedroom in the house with an actual bed left behind by the owners, pulling him to the center of the room and turning around to face him.

“Put your arms up for me.”

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s frown can be heard from behind the mask. Despite his apparent bewilderment, he hesitantly obeys, extending his arms above his head with an exhale of a tense breath, looking down at you with dark and questioning eyes. “What are you doing now?”

You just smile and hum to yourself softly, reaching out to begin unclipping and unzipping the sections of his tac vest holding it on his upper body and the multiple ammo belts. Carefully draping them over you shoulder as you release his body from them one by one. Seeing the way Ghost’s body sinks into itself with the weight being pulled off after days without rest. You feel his eyes scan over you, over your hands finding ways to take off his gear for the first time in your life, feeling your way through sunch an unusual yet careful act.

“Bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous…” He growls, covering up the feelings of not being so concealed by barking at you a little.

“Shhh.” Your hush does enough to stop his quiet and brooding complaints.

Long enough for you to kneel back down at his feet and work at the thigh straps over his pants and even remove the ankle holster you’d left alone while taking off his boots. He doesn’t resist this part, just watching you undress him bit by bit with half a mind questioning just what had happened for you to start acting so strangely. You’d always been sweet. Much nicer than your job allowed for. Yet even this was quite off the edge of the character Ghost had built for you over the years. This felt downright intimate for just two operators to be doing.

Then again your shared situation wasn’t exactly one of professionalism at this point. You’d been improvising for nearly a full day just trying to stay alive. Once back on your feet, you take hold of his hand again, this time with a little less caution since you’d already touched him there, and begin pulling at the fingertips to slide his sand and dirt-cakes gloves off. Even seeing his bare skin under his gloves be seen in the dim lamplight of the house, Ghost doesn’t do more than flex his fingers once you’ve rid him of the stiff material.

Purposefully avoiding his mask, you get Ghost down to nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, even with his help at certain parts without him growling more or acting like you were irritating him. While he still gave off a feeling of all-around grumpiness and more than a little confused as hell, you paid it no mind as you led him towards the edge of the bed and pointed to it with a short yet polite command for him to ’sit’. Right away you noticed his hesitation and the way that his shoulders and arms tensed, his attention solely on you, flashing between your eyes and mouth like he was trying to reassure himself that he’d heard you correctly. But with one small tug on his hand, he turns around and sits on the bed with his feet resting on the floor and his arms braced on both sides of him a little stiffly.

“Now what?” His voice held a bit of rasp to it as he tracked your movement from his side, seeing you climb up into the bed and position yourself on your knees behind him. The close proximity didn’t go unnoticed by the Lieutenant as he cleared his throat, once again interrupting the calm silence in the house. His tension filled the small space between you, heating the gap of air, almost electrifying it.

“Just relax Ghost.” Easily touching his shoulders, you begin working your palms flat against the slopes of his muscled neck.

Purposefully but gently rubbing at the stiff cords of muscle and introducing the sensation to him as easily as possible in the case that it was a bit too overwhelming for him all at once. You knew you’d pushed the boundaries with him much further past anything you’d expected to achieve in one night. But now that he was sitting here in front of you, it was hard not to smile brightly that he was trusting you so much. Allowing your hands to be on him. Accepting that you had positioned the both of you in a very vulnerable position that could lead to a lot more violent options than affectionate ones. Torture and nightmares had given more than a fair share to Ghost, yet he was patiently staving off his own clear hesitation so that you could play out whatever this was turning out to be.

Your command went unacknowledged just like all of Ghost’s from earlier had; His breathing steadily slowing down into a deep and rich, relaxed sort of rhythm. Power of your hands and calming attitude worked faster than you anticipated, leaving the massive man sitting between your thighs begin to release. Tension falling out of his body not only under your hands but by sight of his jaw loosening. You’re even lucky enough to spot him trying to take glances at you from the corner of his eye, only to look back ahead since you were in quite the blindspot. Taking your thumbs in a sweeping motion from the edges of his shoulders inward, you apply pressure on the back of his neck and experimentally reach higher up under the hem of his mask. A dangerous game to play. Rumbling sounds of appreciation filling your ears are better than any sort of medal you could earn or bet you’d ever cash in. His head rolls back slightly with each small circle of your thumbs and fingers, pushing against you. Silently asking for more pressure.

“Feel good?” You ask at just a whisper, not wanting to disturb the warm sort of feeling the room has right now by speaking too loud.

Under the safety of his mask, Ghost’s mouth curves into a smile hearing you. He rolls his head back again, arching slightly to accommodate your small hands struggling to find good purchase to keep working at the intensity he’d been hinting at. A much less controllable sound escapes his mouth when you begin working at a very sore spot he didn’t even know was present right at the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” His sleepy-sounding mutter makes your chest ache.

Grinning at the feeling of his harsh accent and sudden domestication you work away diligently down his back carefully and methodically so as to not miss a single thing. And while it’s not necessarily going to help him much, you go ahead and use your fingernails to gently scratch up and down. It’s then a groan interrupts your focus and you see Ghost shift on the edge of the bed. Believing you’d found the end of your time, you leaned back on your heels and expected him to get up and leave you in the bedroom alone. Watching him tug at his t-shirt and pull it over his head to toss it somewhere across the room was how you were told that Ghost did indeed want more. Only his shirt was getting in the way of something he wasn’t getting.

Hearing him give a deep sigh when your fingertips returned to his now bared skin gave you a rush of adrenaline and nearly caused you to wiggle happily that you’d been able to share this with Ghost. He leans back into you a little more, letting your hands and arms take more of the weight as he groans out;

“You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but not for a long time.” You answer, eyes smoothing over the muscles rippling as your hands work at them.

“You’re good,” He grunts, closing his eyes and zeroing in on how to focus his attention between your small hands working so efficiently and the conversation he’d begun. “How’d you get so good at it?” His head turns a little, trying to get at least one good look at you. He keeps shifting now, allowing him to keep you just in the edge of his periphery.

“Had a good teacher for a few years,” You answer, working in tight circles over a large ball of muscle fibers all collected just at the edge of his shoulder blade, earning another growling sound from the Lieutenant.

“Teacher? When?” He asks, giving a slow release of a deep breath giving a short indication that the muscle you’d been working to release was getting a bit uncomfortable. Pulling back for a moment just to give him and your hands a break, you hear him make a noise then lean back a little further, pressing his back against you almost like a dog wanting to be pet more.

“Don’t stop.” He requests in a husky tone. You chuckle aloud, returning your hands and taking a less aggressive approach by smoothing your palms over him in less-than-planned patterns, just enjoying feeling his tattooed and scarred skin under your hands as you think about how to answer him.

“A woman in London taught me,” you start, using your nails again on his skin softly. “In the year or so between my U.S. military discharge and acceptance into the task force with you.” You see the effect of your touch on Ghost as it takes him longer to respond and the way he keeps leaning more and more weight back into you, unable to keep himself from subconsciously trying to get closer. Wanting more whether he’d ever admit it or not. There’s no mistaking it between either of you, he’s enjoying this.

“I assume she was special to you.”

It was your neighbor just across the hallway from you. An older woman named Sarah. Eccentric in modern times, you’d always believed she must’ve been a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t hindered by an aging body and an even more ailing mind. A massage therapist by trade, and a pianist by heart there wasn’t much that Sarah could accomplish without someone helping her once she became limited in movement living on the eighth floor of the apartment building you shared. Back then you didn’t have much in the way of contacts after leaving the country, and it led to a friendship with the old woman living across from you. Sharing stories, eating dinner together, grocery shopping together when she felt like going out, and trading some skills between each other. After telling Ghost this much with your fingers tracing out letters and shapes over his back, you can sense he’s listening carefully. And Ghost is feeling a slight fuzzy sensation building in the back of his brain, spreading out in a warm wave down to his fingertips and toes.

“She taught me massage since at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life.” Your head falls to the side, examining how the lamplight shines on ghost and deepens the already significant definition in his physique.

Ghost falls against you even more, and this time he lets his head fall back against you. Trying to counterbalance his weight and keep both of you from falling backwards with just him limp he’s becoming, you wrap on arm around his neck and hold his head in the bend of your arm. He gives another sigh, and settles against you heavily. He. looks at you in silence out of the corner of his eye listening to your explanation.

“Why was she your only friend?” You can’t help but chuckle at his question, resting your chin on his opposite shoulder and bringing your other arm under his to begin scratching and rubbing at his chest, feeling deep and puckered scars littering nearly every inch of him.

“I didn’t know anyone else. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not exactly extroverted.” You smile, tracing lightly up and down his well-defined arm. Ghost couldn’t be more comfortable laid against you.

“Sorry to hear that.” His voice low and husky with his mouth so close to your ear. “She must call or ask about you…”

You shake your head. “No. She died just before I joined you all. Her mind was… failing her. And there was some kind of accident in the middle of the night The police told me she was likely trying to get to the bathroom and fell. She apparently died on impact… they didn’t say what, but I think her head hit something.” You explain quietly. “And you and I both know that means lights out. So she didn’t suffer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he answers as softly as he can manage after hearing the darker part of your happy memories. “How did it become… intimate, like this?” He asks, nodding to the way you were leaned up against his back with your hand tracing over every inch of him that you could reach. The longer you’ve both let this go, the more boundaries get pushed further out of reach, making it hard for either of you to really know where it could end.

You smile with a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks, thankful you’re somewhat hidden out of sight. “This isn’t really what she taught me,” You mutter a bit quiet. “When i was massaging you… yes. That I got taught. But this, it’s… just me.”

Out of your sight Ghost’s face flushes slightly as well, his cheeks a warm rose-color. You’re touching him in a way that he’d never expected. But hearing that you’re not just doing it for… relaxation, it’s a heavy but welcome thought. And Ghost can’t help that his body reacts to it with chills raising all over his skin despite the house being perfectly warm. He lets out a deep breath focusing on your words, repeating him over just to ensure that you’re not saying it one way and him interpreting it differently due to your hands being all over him, making him feel so good. Mind racing, heart pounding, he truly realizes just how vulnerable he is under you at this moment.

“I can stop if you’d like?” You offer, preparing to move away from him.

“No,” His hoarse voice gives away his sudden dry mouth. No matter how much your touch is affecting his body, he’s not willing to stop you right now. You’ve crossed into a level of trust that he can’t think to make you abide by anymore. It’s a foreign feeling for him, but he wants to push through it. Hoping he can feel more of you if he just holds on a little longer to this.

“Don’t stop."

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated <3

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures

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silverzoomies · 4 months

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Imagine quickie rails u so good u squirt but you’re low key embarrassed bc that’s never happened before but he talks you through it so sweetly and so hornily bc he obviously finds it the hottest thing in the world and he’s kinda obsessed with the fact that you just did that bc of him

…..yeah I need to know what he’s like talking you through it …….

anon, i'm so sorry. i dunno if this is what you were expecting. but i went a little off the rails. i haven't actually sat down and written anything in fifty gajillion years. apologies in advance if i'm super duper rusty. you're a doll, by the way. thanks for the inspiration !! this ask had me red in the face all over again !! 🤍 here's a short drabble for ya 🤍🤍🤍

In the boring emptiness of some secret, government research facility, soft squeals call out with ecstasy.

Hold that thought.

Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?

🤍

Since the OG X-Men were busy with more important endeavors (another fancy gala. Huge snore fest), Xavier took it upon himself to recruit some newbie trainees. He sent three of them to a top secret facility. Super below radar. The building sat far away from the bustle of society, hidden at an off-the-record base.

It’s around one AM when Quicksilver himself finally crashes your boring, patrol party. He zips through the entire building, scouting the area; before checking in on the trainees. After sending the other two off on their twenty minute breaks, he soon finds you.

A newbie he’s far more acquainted with. In more ways than one.

But not as many as he’d like.

You look bored as hell sitting there by yourself, swirling in a swivel chair. A series of CCTV screens flicker before you. But you barely pay them any attention. Keeping your head down, clipboard on your lap; you doodle all over a security protocol sheet. Your legs kick in a childlike way.

Your first, official mission is the most lame of X-Men operations. But even despite that, you appear to be in high spirits. Peter’s almost jealous. The first time he joined up with the team, all he got out of it was a lousy, broken leg.

Anyway, you’re cute and all. But…don’t you have a job to do, you slacker?

Peter leans against the doorway, his hands nestled in the pockets of his silver, bomber jacket. Beady eyes watch you through the lenses of his goggles. His earphones hang around his neck. A quiet jam resonates from them. But you're so mesmerized by your doodling, you don't even notice.

In a flash, Peter makes his presence known. Big hands grab your shoulders hard. He leans in to whisper sternly in your ear. His voice vibrates, robust and quaking in an attempt to spook you.

“GOTCHA! Annnnnnnd, yer dead, kid! Mwahahaha!”

You swivel around in an instant. Hopping from your seat, you raise your hands in defense. Jeez! Peter's caught off guard by how quickly you react. Blinding beams of golden light burst from your palms. The same glow floods your eyes. You hurl scorching hot rays in Peter's direction.

Well…shit.

Thanks to Xavier's mad training skills, Peter's a little faster than light nowadays. And he's ultra lucky for it. Had you raised your hands and gone pew pew pew so many years ago - he probably would've charred to a crisp right then and there.

“Damn! You got some killer aim! That was a close call.” He whistles. Peter gawks at the holes seared into the wall, straight through some ruined blueprints. A smirk plays on his lips. He gestures at the damage with a thumb, “Eh, they probably got backups ‘a those lyin’ around, right?”

Your only response is an affectionate eye roll. But Peter notes the curl at the corner of your mouth as you try not to smile.

Screw it. You're pretty fun. Why doesn't he hang with you for a bit? He's probably got some time to kill. At least before Chuck realizes the speedster isn't dressed to the nines, bored out of his mind at the gala.

The two of you goof off for a few minutes. As you doodle, Peter looms over your seat. Watching the CCTV screens with a ready eye, he teases you about your lack of focus on the job. You're just such a supreme newbie, he can't help it.

To which you respond with a counterpoint - isn't he the reigning champion of getting sidetracked?

Touché, little newbie. Touché.

Boredom quickly makes him antsy. And being antsy has Peter's brain reaching for any stimulation he can find. Pacing the room, Peter casts subtle glances at your figure in tactical clothing. Hot damn. Black really does highlight your most bodacious assets.

Amidst casual conversation, Peter shamelessly flirts with you. And when you flirt back, he isn’t all that fazed. The two of you are always making saucy passes at one another. Horny topics of discussion happen more often than they should. You once poured your heart out for twenty minutes, complaining that you couldn’t squirt when you got off. Part of him took this confession as a challenge.

Peter never forgot how sexually charged the energy of that night was.

Or…maybe it wasn’t? Maybe you just wanted to vent to someone who would listen. Yeah. He’s probably uber delusional. That ‘energy’ might’ve come from the sunbeams radiating in your genes.

Sure. Nothing sexual.

But if that’s the case, why else are you giving him bedroom eyes - if not ‘cuz you really wanna bone?

Expelling a bland sigh, Peter leans back against the console where the CCTV screens are. He bounces a random ball he swiped from a researcher’s desk. Flirtatious teasing continues back and forth, remaining casual.

Until Peter makes a needlessly suggestive comment.

“I’m just sayin’. Picture this, ‘kay? You ‘n me, goin’ at it like there’s no tomorrow. Pretty sure I’d get you off in under, say, three minutes er less. That’s not a promise, it’s a fact.”

Throwing you a sly look, Peter smirks payfully. He bounces the ball again.

“Pshh. Not fast enough.” You mumble.

Peter’s dark gaze leers at you from under his brows.

Oh. Oh no, you didn't just...

His eyes fire across each CCTV screen, double checking for any unwanted visitors. All clear, it’s go time. Moving swiftly, he props you up on a nearby desk. At record speed - before you can begin to comprehend his impossibly fast actions - he crams six inches of girthy, speedster cock inside you. All without any warning.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have been so impulsive. But in the microsecond it took him to move your body and pull your pants off, at the very least; he had the courtesy to prep you with his fingers. And now, you’re coming undone as he jackhammers your cunt. Peter rolls into you in a blur of silver motion. Your walls clench perfectly over his cock.

You protest through shallow moans, “W-Wait! Oh my g-...too fast, Peter! Too fast!”

The tips of his fingers circle your clit, the vibrations shattering your moans. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you bring him closer. Peter shivers as your pussy squeezes him so tight. It’s an outrageously awesome sensation that drives him to drill his dick deeper. Tilting forward, he groans, his lips grazing yours.

“Y’think I can make you squirt like this?” He chuckles, his throat bobbing as he swallows down a moan.

You shake your head wildly, whimpering the softest, “Noooooo! I told you already, I cannnnn’t!”

“Huh? What’s that, cutie? Aw. Too bad. ‘Cuz I’m not gunna slow down ‘til you do.” Peter teases, looking over his shoulder at the CCTV screens. He smirks crookedly, “Better be quick. Yer teammates’re gunna be back soon.”

You tip your head back as you whine again. Peter ruts into you so inexplicably fast, his pace renders your lungs useless. His fingers keep torturing your clit, guiding your pearl in a whirring dance of speedy buzzes. You shudder, clawing into his arms as your hips move on instinct.

Speeding the rhythm of his thrusts, Peter furrows his brows. His cock pulses when he watches your tits bounce in your shirt. He bites his lip to stifle a whimper. Below him, you try to call his name. But his powerful movements rupture your pretty voice. “Hell yeah, gorgeous. That’s it. Don’t hold back, ‘kay? Just let it happen. Gunna cum, pretty girl? C’mon, ya gotta cum for me. You can do it. C’mon.” He begs, his tone a little closer to a whine.

Not even two minutes into sexing you up, he has you gushing a spritz of luscious heat. Score. He'll be thinking about this sexy success for weeks. The corners of your eyes leak hot tears, as a rapturous orgasm overtakes you. The entire, lower half of your body tightens, muscles clenching. Your pussy pops with a juicy burst. Leaking down your thighs and ass, your slick coats his twitchy cock.

He kisses you, his breath burning hot, “Doin’ so good, princess. So good for me. Was that fast enough for you? Hmm? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”

Pulling his soaked length free, he showers your tummy in virile, white jets. Leaning over you, Peter laughs again, exhaling a long sigh of elation. His lips capture yours, drinking in your kisses for a few beats. He feels his heart twist with satisfaction. All at the awesome notion that he drove you to such an intimate, breaking point.

“How’s that for a quickie?” He teases with a cheeky grin, winking down at you.

Your blinky eyes gaze over his shoulder, looking somewhat dazed. Beneath him, you stir in place. You’re trying to say something. But you’re so braindead from the totally slammin’ orgasm he gave you, the words won’t happen.

But then, Peter notices the way your glazed hues narrow. That vibrant, golden glow from earlier returns. Sitting up on an elbow, you raise a hand to point at the CCTV screens behind him. Oh, you probably saw someone on cam. Peter’s dark gaze widens. A sudden beam of light pulsates at the tip of your finger.

“NO, NO, NO, NO-” He starts.

Too late. The golden flash fires like a speeding bullet from your fingertip, colliding into the screens. A powerful burst shatters the entire CCTV setup on impact. Electric static buzzes amongst broken glass and fried wires. Peter sighs, looking over his shoulder, then back down at your cute face.

“Babe, seriously? Now’s not the time to be tryin’ interior decorating!” He rolls his eyes, playing ignorant to your shared romp in the research lab, “Hold that thought...aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

#listen...i know him rushing things like this might be a little ooc but bear with me ok #sorry i dont remember how to write at all skjghskdjgddsg #txt #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader

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as-is-above-so-below · 8 months

Text

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 2: Midnight Rain

summary: you get yourself in a pickle a/n: hi! I return again! I'm sorry it's short, but I'm trying a new method of posting. Instead of aiming for a specific word count (which leads to me getting writer's block and not posting ANYTHING), I write until I'm satisfied with what I'm trying to achieve. Hopefully, I've achieved that goal, and y'all like it :) Blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

You drummed your fingers against the notebook in your lap and gnawed on the top of your pen. It was late, even by your standards; the sun had long since set, and dinner eaten hours ago. But you were up, sitting in the dark in your living room, heavy rain pelting your old windows. You were trying to pull together a new lesson plan for the following day. A few curious students had started asking questions about the modern military. Like, key differences between military strategies used in the time they were studying and today. And, of course, yet again, you made promises that you were struggling to keep. And you always keep your promises to your students.

Fuck.

The internet wasn’t helping at all. You didn’t study military strategy in any of your courses. Was that even a thing?

The last thing you wanted to do was call him. You were so confident that you could solve your problem yourself, at nine o’clock. Now, it was past midnight, and you were absolutely desperate.

Fuck.

Before your tired brain can flood with guilt and change its mind, you grab your phone from your nightstand and tap into your recent calls log. Your stomach churned, anxiety bubbling up with every trill. God, it’s so fucking late to be calling. It felt like you were split in two. One half of you was praying that his phone was on silent (you know it’s not) or he’ll sleep through the ringing (he won’t), while the other–the miserable, exhausted half–needed him to pick up.

The latter won out.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

John’s deep, sleepy voice made you feel guilty and incredibly happy that you’d woken him up. Soft and grumbly, rolling in his chest; it made you feel soft and warm inside…

Not the point of the call.

“Hi, John. I’m completely fine, I just…” You took a deep breath, the heel of your free hand pressed into one of your dry, worn-out eyes. “I know you’re this big important captain, and you have work in the morning, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and need a massive favor.”

There was a slight rustling on the other end like he had turned slightly to check the nearby time. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, love,” he mumbled.

You felt even worse. “I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me,” you begged, running a hand over the top of your head. “One of my kids asked about the military. It sparked a whole discussion in class, and I may have overstated my knowledge. I barely know anything about it, and my brain is turning to mush. I’m so tired I wanna cry, and-”

He quickly cut off your rambling. “Woah, hey. Slow down there. What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more awake.

That brought you pause. You honestly hadn’t thought what you would ask if John actually answered the phone through. It was one o’clock in the morning, which John had correctly pointed out, and your brain wasn’t operating at full capacity.

“I was…wondering if you could give me a lesson. Because I’m super tired, and I like to hear you talk.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah. I’ve learned a lot from you just…talking to me? But I’m a history teacher. I’m an expert on wars, not war.”

There was some shuffling on the phone. On the other line, John was leaning over the edge of his bed, searching blindly for his little pocket planner in the pile of clothes on the floor. The rustling stopped when he placed the device on his pillow, rifling through the calendar. He sniffed and was quiet for a moment, while you nibbled anxiously at your pen. Again.

The silence finally broke with a tired sniffle from John. “I can do you better. Why don’t I come to your classes tomorrow?” he asked.

You froze, pen still between your teeth. John? Coming to your school? Spending the day with your students? That would be the equivalent of introducing your boyfriend to your children.

“…Really?”

“Sure.”

Could you even call him your boyfriend? You’d been on a few dates, sure, over the last…two months? No, it was closer to three. Had it been that long already? You did some quick math in your head. You’d gone on about one date a week, with a few canceled due to last-minute commitments. Still, about one date a week, over three months…

Holy shit.

“John, I’m sure you’re busy. I couldn’t-”

“Not at all,” he hummed, cutting you off. “Besides, it would take me ‘til class tomorrow to give you a good enough rundown, and the boss loves shite like this.”

“I thought you were the boss?”

You could practically hear a small smile tugging at John’s lips. The expression was a familiar one. The corner of his mouth quirked up, shifting his beard and creating happy wrinkles near his eyes. His nose would scrunch up a bit, too, especially if you were out in cold weather.

“Everybody has a boss, sweetness. Myself included.”

Christ. Not the pet names. And especially not in the tired, gravelly tone his voice was currently in. John Price was going to be the death of you, even in his unfocused state.

You unfolded your legs from underneath you and moved your notebook onto the coffee table. Your resolve was fading, and you couldn’t be bothered to argue. While you did feel bad about dragging John to your school to fix the problem you created, you weren’t sure you had any other option. Accept defeat? To a group of teenagers? Absolutely not. You’d never live it down. You sighed, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

A soft smile crossed your face. “Is this just a ploy to meet my kids?”

“Maybe.”

Your sleepy giggles were like music to John’s ears. The sound alone was worth the favor. As if he wouldn’t have done it anyway, just to ease your stress. He would take any and every opportunity to make your day easier or make you happy. What he wouldn’t give to hear that laugh in person, laying beside you in your bed–

No. John’s a good man. A gentleman, he would say. A man who was perfectly capable of not acting on his urges and thoughts. At least, not in person. However, in the privacy of his own home? That was a different story.

“Thank you so much, John.”

Right. You’re still on the phone. He heard a soft click on your end of the call.

“That’d better be you closing your laptop, I’m hearing.”

“It is.”

“Good girl.” You blushed furiously. Fuck. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

taglist: @novausstuff, @cutiecusp, @ittosbigfatmantitties, @helpimhyperfixating, @hihhasotherfixations, @dugiioh, @glitterypirateduck, @cringeycookies, @lethalchiralium

#captain john price x f!reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #john price x teacher!reader #call of duty #captain john price #cardigan as is above so below #as is above so below #cod mw #mw fics #call of duty fanfic #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #teacher!reader #john price x afab!reader

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crushedsweets · 1 year

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what do you think natalie and jack interacting would be like or. if they do at all or

jacks the only one taller than nat. ok i have words now

nat and jack met through toby, shortly after she was finally 'released' from the operator.

really it would just be nat and toby talking in jacks cabin, while jack listens. they never spent time alone together UNTIL toby and nat got into this massive argument and went weeks without speaking. this put nat on edge when she was at the barn that jeff usually crashed at, and she ended up also getting into a huge fight with jeff. so now she couldnt crash at tobys or the barn(when jeff was around) because she would get too angry.

so she went to the next place she deemed safe, jacks cabin. he accepted because he felt bad.

it was a really awkward night, but when she woke up jack awkwardly offered to make her breakfast because that's always how he was with his little siblings. she was kinda surprised, asked about it, and he awkwardly told her about how he used to cook a lot. she said smth about 'kinda ironic you dont eat this stuff then' and he just laughed. etc etc and they finally start actually talking.

natalies lack of filter and jack just accepting whatever the hell people say oddly works out...

she stays another night, she cleans up around the place because like. he sort of has like... echolocation and thermographic vision, so he gets around real easy and knows when there's stuff on the floor, but doesnt really see dust and dirt and whatever. he never even realized his place was kinda dirty and gets hella embarrassed and is like 'why the hell didnt anyone say anything' . he cleans a lot more thoroughly now. he gets so upset whenever he remembers all the times toby was there and said nothing LOL

theyre just.... so relaxed around eachother idk how to explain it. jacks always been pretty calm, and only got more quiet/distant after the sacrifice. natalie isnt super chatty but she keeps a decent conversation and he's oddly appreciative of her bluntness.

eventually they start talking about stuff they like. she shares that shes always liked stories, mentioned how toby tried reading to her bc she has pretty bad dyslexia but they thought it was cringe so she started listening to audio books, and jack was like holy crap. WHY HAVENT I THOUGHT OF AUDIO BOOKS. because hes always been a bookworm but cant read anymore on account of... well....

they listen to audiobooks together while doing their own thing. she'll be painting or something and he'll be cooking and it's overall pretty nice.

inevitably she ends up going back to the barn and her and toby reconcile, plus she doesnt really wanna live at jacks cabin cuz she sleeps on the couch and doesnt like to intrude more than she already has. but jack tells her she's always welcome

they never connect on a like, deep emotional level where they share trauma or something, but overall theyre just really good company

#their heights arent set in stone i might make nat 6'5 #creepypasta #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcannons #creepypasta art #clockwork #clockwork creepypasta #creepypasta clockwork #natalie ouellette #clocky #eyeless jack #jack nyras #eyeless jack art #clockwork art #sweetart #creeped #hcs

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underdark-dreams · 1 year

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ok, I'm too cowardly to actually reply to your post about Rolan/ Dammon headcannons/ prompts but here are a few:

Rolan:

-He finally gets to be hero, he saves Tav from some scenario and when Tav is thanking him he has no idea what to do with himself.

-Cal and Lia being siblings and absolutely embarrassing him anytime Tav is around. (Sharing embarrassing but endearing stories from when they were younger, hinting at his feelings for Tav, making kissy faces from behind Tav when he's trying to have a conversation.)

-Also, I just have a feeling that he's a jealous green monster whenever someone who isn't any one the companions try and talk to Tav.. especially if its another wizard.

Dammon:

-Him trying to muster up the courage to ask Tav out when he has his shop in Baulders Gate.

-Dammon would 100% be the type who wants to court someone the 'proper' way, but could be convinced otherwise.

-He seems like he would act like a love sick puppy when he's in love.

Thank you for this delicious bouquet of ideas!! 🖤 Twirling my hair over these!! I do want to save a few for fics, but I couldn’t look at this in my inbox any longer without writing out some headcanons:

Rolan

[Cal & Lia embarrassing him around Tav]

The three of them have a super close bond underneath all the bickering. So the absolute second Rolan catches feelings, Cal & Lia smell blood in the water

Honestly they probably catch it before Rolan admits him to himself

When Lia starts to drop hints or Cal asks if he’s gotten up the nerve to kiss them yet, Rolan is like "what? stop being stupid"

But then he turns away & checks in with himself for a second & he's like "oh fuck"

Rolan makes an effort to only interact with Tav far away from his home, his workplace, the general vicinity of his neighborhood in Baldur’s Gate—basically avoiding anywhere they might run into his sister or brother. They already make him nervous enough

But once they start getting closer he also really wants to bring them home, so at some point, he’ll suck it up and face this potential trainwreck head-on

His siblings make light conversation over dinner about what Tav’s been doing or working on lately. Lia’s like “oh yeah Rolan mentioned that, you know he talks about you a lot, like all the time”

Tav’s hand silently taking his under the table is the only thing that could distract Rolan from snapping back

Somehow, Rolan is even more embarrassed when his siblings start genuinely reminiscing and telling Tav stories about the three of them growing up in Elturel

He’ll chime in if Tav asks him a question, but otherwise he’s pretty quiet. Rolan doesn’t want them to think about him as a refugee or an orphan

In his mind, he still thinks he needs to be powerful and significant in order to truly deserve Tav’s affection

If Rolan paid any attention, he’d realize that Cal and Lia talking up what a stubborn, protective big brother he’s always been is putting stars in Tav’s eyes

[Jealousy]

He’s so fucking jealous and it drives him crazy

Rolan likes controlling the narrative, keeping any vulnerability under control & well hidden from others, etc.

Falling in love with Tav creates a big complication in the way he usually operates

Once he’s master of Ramazith’s Tower, he has a certain amount of social obligations—hosting members of the wizarding community, professional gatherings, etc

And Tav is an integral part of his life now, so they'll always be involved to some extent

Midway through the evening, Rolan glances across the room and sees one of his colleagues talking much closer than he'd like to his beloved. As he watches, their hand actually reaches out to touch Tav’s elbow

Whatever he's doing or whoever he's conversing with is abandoned without ceremony

Rolan does that thing where he casually walks up to join the conversation and places a hand on the small of Tav's back, just resting there with a slight smile as he pretends to listen. But he’s staking his claim

In his head the gesture means step the fuck back, this person is with me. It’s honestly about as subtle as a sledgehammer

After they're finally alone again he'll probably want to fuck Tav on his desk or against one of the bookstacks in the Tower

Capturing them for himself and hearing them moan his name and making sure they know they’re his

Dammon

[Working up the courage to ask Tav out]

He’s been really glad their paths have converged here and there along the way, but nothing could make him prouder than when Tav comes to visit the Forge of Nine Hells in the city

Dammon is completely in his element in Baldur’s Gate

He’s pretty modest and down-to-earth, but he feels a swell of pride when Tav finally sees him running a proper forge. It’s how he always hoped they’d see him

And is it just his imagination, or does he see them…often? Almost every day they’re dropping by for one reason or the other, and they seem to linger to chat and watch him work

The hints that they’re interested are all Dammon needs to start working up his courage to make a move

He's alone and tied to his work most of the day, which gives his mind ample time to run through different options

Getting the timing right drives him a little crazy. So often Tav is in a hurry, or with their companions, or he's got a rush commission that he has to get finished

When he finally finds the moment, he’ll probably come right out with it & ask them out for a drink. He wants something simple where they can talk, plus smithing is thirsty work

When Tav agrees with a smile, Dammon drops everything, his leather apron snagging as he pulls it over his horns in his haste to get going

Gathers his courage and puts an arm around their shoulders as they walk

With anyone else Dammon would be self-conscious about how he smells like iron and smoke and sweat all the time. But if anyone can look past it it’s Tav, with everything they’ve been through

A feeling that's confirmed when they lean further into him with a laugh

[Being totally lovesick over Tav]

The definition of devoted

He would 100% be that type of boyfriend who likes to be always touching Tav when they’re close

Prefers to rest his hand on their hip while they’re side by side, maybe on the curve of their ass if he can get away with it. The contrast against the doting look in his eye is classic Dammon—sweet and hot

It's not a possessiveness thing, and he'd tone it down if Tav asked, he's just super into them & touching them feels natural

Just in general, he loves telling Tav yes and has a very hard time telling them no

At the end of the day, Dammon likes to pull Tav down to sit on his lap and talk about their days. He might stroke their hair or rub their back while he listens, just helping his love relax at the end of a long day

Dammon’s used to being a single bachelor and taking care of himself, but he discovers that he adores when Tav does little things to dote on him or pamper him

One night he comes home with the usual soot stains on his skin and ache in his shoulders to find that Tav has drawn him a warm, pleasant-smelling bath. Ignoring any mild protests, Tav insists on helping him peel off his sweaty layers and sink in, then loosens his knot of hair to gently lather and wash his locks. The feel of Tav’s fingers and nails massaging his scalp is the most loving, tender thing. Dammon feels like he could fall asleep right right there in the water under their hands

He calls Tav all kinds of pet names: darling, love, dearest, gorgeous, sometimes angel if he's feeling especially whipped

Dammon is one to say "I love you' freely and often, but hearing Tav say it back never fails to make him sigh with happiness

#mildly spicy #dammon x tav #rolan x tav #bg3 dammon #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #dammon bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

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jennifer-jeong · 1 month

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haiii!! could I put in a request for boothill x an alcoholic engineer reader who’s personality takes a complete 180 when drunk? Like when sober they’re really quiet and a total introvert but when drunk they’re basically a party animal/super hype(the reason why they drink so much is because it helps them forget about their life problems like taxes and student loan debt, if I had to compare the reader’s personality to a character I’d say hiroi kikuri from bocchi the rock) but they’re like crazy smart when it comes to machines and stuff and even fixes up boothill from time to time

headcanons or a small fic is fine^^

HII I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I’ve just been out of the groove of writing for a bit but your request is so cute and I wanted to take a shot at it. Thank you for your request and I hope you like it!

Fluff + Suggestive | Boothill x GN!Reader A Few Drinks

CONTENT Fluff, suggestive, him flirting with you, you flirting with him, getting handsy, alcohol consumption, pet name usage, no reader pronouns used, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

WORD COUNT: 1227

It was a regular Friday afternoon in your personal workshop situated in your home on a planet not far off from Penacony and easily accessible via space anchors. The planet was mostly made up of plains, your house sat near a pond and was surrounded by grass and your tiny gardens that you filled with flowers and succulents. You were an excellent engineer working both for corporations as well as taking on smaller private contracts/projects occasionally. You were currently working on a specific cyborg’s finger joint, putting the finishing touches on the cybernetics before he came to have it attached to his robotic body.

You heard a familiar clicking of boots against the sidewalk to your open workshop door before an equally familiar greeting from the cyborg cowboy.

“Heya sweetheart, how ya been? Hows my dumb fudging finger treatin ya?” he chirped, his voice slightly grainy and robotic due to a lack of organic vocal chords.

You swivel around in your chair, giving him a small smile. “Your pinky was pretty messed up but I managed,” you replied quietly, a little anxious talking to the -handsome- man you knew killed people on the daily.

“Ah, ya always fix me up fine and dandy, I knew you’d be able to help,” he said as he walked towards your workbench.

You gave him a small chuckle at the praise and turned around to grab the fixed finger. “Thanks… now just have a seat on the-” you were cut off by turning slightly and being met with his face awfully close to yours. He had leaned over your shoulder to take a closer look at your work, his hands held behind his back.

Your eyes widened as you froze for a moment, unintentionally staring at him before looking away. He was looking at your work but when you turned away he took the opportunity to scan over your flustered self, grinning slightly at how cute you were.

You always treated him so sweetly, disregarding what he did for work because you knew about his past. How could he not find you adorable?

He pulled away to walk towards the table that doubled as an operating table when he or your other clients needed bigger fixes.

“Here?” he says knowingly.

You nod quickly before grabbing a few tools and setting up to attach the part back to his synthetic nervous system.

It was a painful few minutes of him watching you intently as you worked. He was sitting up, leaning back on his right hand, legs spread as he got comfy. His left hand was propped up into a sleeve to keep it still as you worked on it. You tried hard to not look up at him despite knowing he was staring down at you the entire time, probably with that teasing grin he always wore around you.

Once you were done and he finished paying you (with a generous tip no less), he suddenly wondered what you’d be doing since the work week just ended.

“So, whadda ya doin after closin’ up shop today? Ya ever go out for Friday happy hour?”

You whipped your head around to him at the mention of drinking before looking down at the ground, hoping you didn’t seem too eager to talk about alcohol.

“Y-yeah, I go every weekend,” you replied.

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “really? Ya didn’t really strike me as the drinkin’ type darlin’.”

You swallowed at his use of pet name.

“Yeah… it helps me get my mind off work and shit,” you shared with him, figuring it was fine to tell him about it since you already started to get to know each other pretty well during his visits. It was hard to explain, but you trusted him.

“Huh… Well, let’s fudgin’ go then!” He says, jumping off the table. “Lemme know when ya ready darlin”.”

“W-whoa there darlin’” Boothill says for the nth time after you two got to a vintage looking club in the city. You were stumbling a bit as he tried to prevent you from knocking anything over or getting yourself hurt. You kept bumping into him, grabbing onto his arms or his chest to stabilize yourself.

It was your turn to fluster the man.

After all the times he’d made you shy and bashful, him feeling your hands all over him in this context and not during some sort of repair procedure was really setting off his sensors.

You giggled in your drunken state and dragged him by his hand to the crowded dance floor. The current song was just ending and you heard the first few beats of one of your favorite songs. The crowd clearly also liked the song as you all started getting hyped. You started jumping and dancing in front of him as you held his shoulders. You even grabbed the attention of some nearby girls as they encouraged you and you did the same to them.

Boothill’s expression slowly morphed from curious shock to an endearing smirk as he laughed at your total 180 shift in personality as soon as you had a few drinks. His hands found your hips as you continued to dance all over him while he moved with the rhythm.

It was also in this moment that he realized exactly what you were wearing too, it was a pretty, skin tight top and ripped shorts, completely different from the baggy overalls and t-shirt you usually wore in the workshop.

He felt his body’s cooling system kick in a bit harder.

You noticed his eyes on you as you always did, but this time, with alcohol in your system, you decided to do something about it.

You pushed him into a nearby bar stool, forcing him to sit down and lean against the bar counter. You stood between his legs, hands on his chest as you leaned towards his face.

“Thanks for coming out with me Bootie~” you said with your eyes lidded, batting your eyelashes at him. His breath hitched at the sudden nickname usage that you’ve call him by before.

“I’ve been stressed about shit recently but this is fun” you giggle, “we should do it more often,” you add, looking him up and down, something he doesn’t miss.

He relaxes slightly, hands finding their place on your waist again as his signature grin comes out. You could tell he was still pretty flustered though, he was into it, but still a bit shy.

“You’re always looking at me like that, Bootie,” you say as you trace a finger on the underside of his jaw, making him look at you. “I don’t say it when I’m not drunk… but I hope y’know I don’t mind it,” you say with a smile and lidded eyes. Your finger trails off the bottom of his chin as he ever so slightly chases your touch.

You giggle again at his reactions to you, feeling a bit giddy knowing that he was as into you as you were into him.

You push off him to run back to the dance floor, calling out to him with the nickname you just gave him.

The cowboy adjusts his hat before blinking a few times, smiling, and exhaling the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He follows you back to the dance floor as he thinks “I’m fudged.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#boothill x reader #boothill fluff #boothill smut #honkai x reader #honkai fluff #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #star rail x reader #star rail fluff #j's silly ramblings

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sailor-aviator · 1 year

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Ok so I just saw a TikTok about a woman who found out she was pregnant with their first child a few weeks after her husband left for deployment and she’s like 8 months pregnant now and he’s coming home from deployment finally. I was wondering about Jake in that situation. Like how would he react? I know he’s be devastated to miss most of the pregnancy and not being able to give you a hug when you guys found out. He would have been so attentive and doting during the pregnancy normally, but now he would be SUPER doting to try to make up for lost time. What do you think?

(Feel free to ignore this💕)

Pffffft as if I'd ignore this gold mine.

But like, imagine though.

You waited anxiously in the parking lot, leaning up against your car in a futile effort to ease some of the comfort. It wasn't easy being eight months pregnant. And it wasn't easy having to go through it alone while your husband had been shipped off to god only knows where just before you had found out. And it certainly wasn't easy keeping it a secret from him for that entire time.

You still weren't sure you had done the right thing by not telling him. On one hand, you hadn't wanted him to worry while he was an ocean away, and you definitely didn't want him to worry about you when he was operating a multi-ton machine thousands of feet up in the air. No, the very thought made you sick with worry of your own.

On the other hand...

You opened up the passenger side door, carefully dipping down to grab your water bottle that you had flung in the seat and some Tums for your heartburn. You had just found the bottle of Tums when a pair of strong legs stopped in your peripheral.

"Well, hi there gorgeous."

You jumped, turning to face the man beside you.

"Jake!" you cried, smiling reflexively at the sight of your husband. He beamed down at you as you straightened, tummy still hidden by the car door. Jake leaned in to plant a long, slow kiss to your lips. One turned into two. Two turned into three. Finally, you pulled away from him with a hum, and a pout settled on his lips. "Missed you, baby."

Your heart stuttered. "I missed you too," you replied, cursing at the nerves that made their way into your tone. Jake's brow furrowed.

"You okay, darlin'?" he asked. You shifted your weight as you tried to figure out the best way to tell him. Before you could, Jake rounded the door, stopping when he finally took in your full form. His eyes widened, and his jaw nearly fell to the ground. "What?" he trailed off.

"I wanted to tell you," you rushed out, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. Damn hormones. "I just didn't know how, and it didn't seem like the kind of thing you say over the phone, and I didn't want to worry you, and it's not like you could just up and leave, and-"

Jake didn't seem to be paying attention to your rambling as he stared down your stomach, his gaze full of quiet awe. Slowly, he reached a hand out to place it on your stomach.

"We're having a baby?" he asked quietly. You felt the tears roll down your cheeks before you could stop them.

"Yes," you sobbed. "Oh, Jake. I'm so sorry."

That caught his attention. His eyes snapped up to meet yours. A confused frown tugging at his lips. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for, sweetheart?"

"I should have told you before now," you cried. Jake shook his head, reaching up to cradle your head to his chest as much as your stomach would allow.

"None of that, mama," he cooed, rocking you gently from side to side. "It's me who should be sorry for leaving you here to do this all by yourself."

"It's not like you had a choice," you muttered, nuzzling into his chest. Jake ran a soothing hand over your hair.

"Doesn't matter now," he hummed, pulling away just far enough to see you. "I'm here, and I plan on making up for lost time. Now, let's get home so I can pamper and spoil my beautiful wife that's carrying my baby."

Jake helped you into the passenger seat, making sure you were buckled in securely before jogging over to the other side.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" he asked excitedly as he drove the speed limit home, something completely out of character for your husband.

"A boy," you smiled, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

Jake grinned. "A boy," he breathed with a shake of his head. You were sure his cheeks were sore from how hard he was smiling. "Have you decided on a name?"

You shook your head. "Wanted to wait until you came home so we could decide together."

"What about Jake Junior?"

"Absolutely not," you snort. Jake's smile never faltered as he let out a chuckle.

"That's okay, mama. I've still got a whole month to get you to come around."

#uuuuuuuuugh #i love him your honor #sailor aviator's 100 follower celebration #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #angst #fluff

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the-californicationist · 6 months

Text

Troubleshooting

For @glitterypirateduck's super fun Oh, Captain! challenge. This is for prompt #8 where our deceptive captain tries to hide a secret from his gunsmith.

She could smell him long before she saw his hulking form stop in front of her office door. The sweet scent of his signature Romeo y Julieta cigars gave him away; a jewel from Villa Clara, Cuba. The tight-rolled tobacco smoldered amber and gold in the dark, its rustic funk and black licorice smoke gently curling out of his parted lips, trapped under his dirty boonie hat.

When she had been assigned to his team, she’d been dreading the constant relocating and high profile secrecy. It was hard enough to find 5.56 ammo for that mouthy Scot’s Steyr bullpup, much less have it delivered to a black site without a postcode. But, as she let her eyes wander up his mountainous shoulders, tracing the outline of a sharp, scruffy Adam’s apple, watching as his jaw rippled and clenched to bite down on the soft end of his cigar, she admitted to herself that she could deal with a few shipping delays as long as she got to enjoy John Price. Now, just a few weeks into this roughshod operation, she ached to see what lurked under all that gear.

She cleaned up her station, carefully screwing on the cap to her powder and putting it under the workbench. When he spoke, it was always confident but soft, like a stage whisper, words only she was meant to hear.

“Smithy,” he took a long drag from his Cuban and pulled the creamy smoke in through his nose, a very casual French inhale, breathing it out and down sharply, purposefully avoiding her face.

He’d never called her by her name, only by his clipped version of her title of Chief Gunsmith. She knew he must be aware of it since he requested her transfer, but she had always been “Smithy” to him.

“Captain, how are we this evening?” She gazed into his eyes with intent, hoping he would see her desire in them and be pleased.

“We’re alright,” he took the cigar from his mouth and let it rest between his fingers, smiling down at her as he loomed, his height making her feel small. He removed his hat, placing it on her bench before leaning against the table, his huge hand spreading wide across the stainless surface. He continued,

“You know, this M4 has been giving me a bit of trouble. I cleaned it, but even after a full breakdown, the bolt isn’t sitting flush. Think you could help me get it all the way in?”

She let his quiet rumbling voice wash over her like a wave, lapping at her mind and making her breath catch in her chest. The double entendre was so obvious as to almost be in jest, but his suggestive tone - though subtle - was enough for her to believe in it.

“Did you use enough oil? A little lubricant goes a long way, Captain, but some parts need more than others. Especially if it was a vigorous cleaning,” she threw him a bone in hopes he would bite it.

He did, replying with a sly smile,

“Perhaps I went a little rough with her. Think you can take a look?”

He licked his lips, watching as the flush tinted her neck and cheeks, hungry for her attention. She watched him shift his weight, rocking forward towards the bench, flexing his hips. Obviously, she was getting to him. She turned up the heat, pushing her luck,

“Rough is just fine, John, but with the size of the bolt head you’ve got here, you just need to make sure she’s slick enough to take it.”

She smiled sweetly, taking the rifle from him and laying it across the bench. Now that she had turned her attention to the gun, she could only watch him from the corner of her eye. But, she knew she had landed a punch when he had to turn his head away from her and pull at the inside leg of his pants, adjusting.

Then, as she took apart the barrel from the bolt and its lever, she realized he had been lying to her. He had replaced the trigger assembly before the bolt, effectively causing the problem he was asking her to solve. Price knew this gun better than the back of his own hand, and he had come down to her office with this game, hoping to score.

Her heart raced when she discovered the error, and she tried her best to maintain a straight face, not wanting him to realize she’d caught him yet. She still wanted to play.

She rebuilt the weapon, glossing over the false mistake, and pulled the bolt back flush.

“There,” she sighed, “good as new.”

The ball was clearly in his court and she waited to see what he would do. His voice had dropped into a deep, threatening register, and he was leaning so far over the workbench that she could see his pupils dilate, pushing back the bright blue and revealing the blackness behind it,

“What was the problem, Smithy?”

He began to stalk her around the edge of the table, taking impossibly slow steps toward her side of the bench, eyes fixed on her mouth. She saw his chest rising and falling faster and stronger, lifting his protective vest and causing the lingering smoke between his lips to billow chaotically around his dark beard. She held her ground, turning her body toward his as he walked,

“You made a rookie mistake, Captain Price. One that you’re not capable of making...”

His eyes sparked to life, focusing on hers now, and he knew that he’d been discovered. She continued to dismantle his farce,

“…and I wonder how it can be possible…”

Price rounded the first corner of the table, hanging on her every word. He took his cigar and pulled a long drag.

“...that such an experienced…”

Another step. The leather of his boot creaked as he pressed it down.

“...intelligent…”

Another step. She could smell his cologne now. Vetiver. Musk.

“...diligent soldier…”

He crossed the second corner, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth, pouring like water down his chin and tangling in his beard, holding his breath to let her view the effect. His teeth were clenched together behind his full mouth, and he began to smile in a sinister, pained way. She went on, quieter, her voice betraying her nerves,

“...would somehow forget how to put his own gun back together.”

Price’s cigar had come to an end, and he crushed it out under his boot as he stood in front of her, too close for propriety, just close enough to smell her coconut shampoo. He hummed, playing along, falsifying a sense of wonder and mystery in his tone.

“That is quite the mystery, innit? Must’ve been distracted by…” Price brought his hand up to touch the tip of his gunsmith’s long braid as it lay draped over her shoulder, laying on her breast, “…something important.”

“John,” she whispered, leaning toward him instinctively.

In the half-second between her speaking his name and the silence that came after, he struck like a snake, wrapping the rest of her braid around his fist like a rope, yanking her head back and pulling her to his body, letting their gear and clothes rustle between them, not caring where the vests and belts and buckles twisted and pinched, letting the tension linger. His free hand grabbed her jaw and neck in his wide, open palm, fingers pressing into her skin, warm and callused.

His voice was so strained and full of his want that it seemed like a growl, rambling in a rushed, fervent monologue,

“You’ve been teasing me again, Smithy. Ever since we got back from that damn operation. You’ve been coming to the gym at night, when I lift, and you wear those fucking shorts and you show off that thick arse, bending over in front of the racks, pulling them up higher so I can how see your wet cunt is soaking right through them,” his hand yanked her head back, making her gasp. He loved that noise,

“Delicious. Your pretty little cunt, ready to eat. Right within my reach. A whole gym, empty, and you pick that spot every damn time. Moving past me in the lockers, letting me smell you, and now I want a taste.”

She felt the stinging tightness of her scalp as he tugged on her braid, locking her body in place against his, controlling her head, moving it toward his face. He grimaced like he was in agony even though she was the one under his fist. His touch was such a relief. She’d been torturing him for weeks, and she surrendered to him, pliant to his whims, hoping he understood that her lack of resistance was essentially her begging him to forgive her for leaving him starving.

“Alright,” she smiled, still at his mercy, “If you want a taste, you can have one.” She watched as his eyes grew wide with anticipation as she unbuttoned her pants and tugged down the zipper. She bit her lip and shrugged, “On your knees, soldier.”

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #cod mwii #john price #cod #captain price #call of duty #oh captain my captain #ohcaptainchallenge #it's captain season

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

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Okay okay, time for me to word vomit an idea:

So imagine that after Dabi does his whole vengeful arc, kills dozens of people and publicly calls out Enji's abusive ass, my man just gets caught by the cops and he's like put in a psychiatric hospital (because obviously Enji pulled some strings to save his son from death row to ease his own guilt).

Anyways, Dabi is like majorly depressed obviously and he's like "well, I've done everything I wanted to, so I might as well off myself" and cue reader's entry.

So basically, reader could be a nurse/doctor(NOT A PSYCHIATRIST) and she's all warm and fuzzy and a literal Ray of sunshine and Dabi hates her, but he doesn't give a crap atm.

And like everytime Dabi tries to kill himself, reader is there to stop him. It obviously started with "nooo, please don't kill yourself🥺 you are precious🥺🥺" to reader just swooping in and foiling his plans like "can you not die during my shift? I need an early night off🥱". Dabi is actively trying to kill himself, like he's standing on the ledge to jump, and reader is tackling him down and then punching him for making you run all the way up to the roof.

And like reader is bandaging him up with great gentleness and care and Dabi is staring at her being all close to him (he is mesmerised), and he goes-

"I'll be successful in my suicide one day."

And you just smile and shake your head. "Not as long as I'm praying." And at first, Dabi is super annoyed because he's think you're into the whole religious mumbo jumbo, but he actually caught you one day praying (insert whatever religion) and he's bewitched by the sincerity you pray for his (and others) well being. As if you believed with your whole heart that someone up there is listening to you.

He doesn't know what or when exactly he fell for you, but he did. And he decides that he'll confess to you after he gets out of psychiatric hospital (after tugging at Rei's and Enji's heart strings and them using money and influence to free their menace son). After spending 6 years in the hospital, 6 years where you were the only one who truly cared for him, he'll finally confess to you.

But then you don't come. Not even the next day, or the week after that. Turns out, you left your job.

Out of the blue? Dabi's suspicions rose.

He got out of the hospital and began doing his own research on you until he found your address and well... he sort of came in unannounced (look he knocked, you didn't answer, so he melted the lock and let himself in. At least he came in bearing flowers and wine).

He wasn't expecting you to be at home, but there you were, lying in your bed, a little too still for someone to be asleep.

He throws the covers off you, eyes narrowing on the red stains on your sheet before moving to your bleeding wrists.

Dabi's world stops, every cell in his body stops before every fiber in his being screams and makes him move. He doesn't check for pulse, doesn't check if you're still breathing, perhaps he'd die himself if he didn't like the answer he found. He picks you up and immeadiately goes to the nearest hospital, which fortunately was near.

While you were being operated on, Dabi sat outside, heart thumping as he prayed to whatever deity you did.

Please... not yet.

His prayers were answered as tge doctors told him that you're going to be alright... physically that is. Mentally? Well, Dabi is about to figure it out.

He sat by your side waiting for you to wake up. When you finally did, he saw how different you looked. Obviously he had noticed that you were physically weak, but your eyes... they lost their shine.

Your eyes turned to confusion when you looked at him. "D-Dabi? What are you-"

"I found you." That was enough for you to put together what he meant. You turned your eyes away from him, ashamed.

"Why?" He asks in a quiet tone. "What made you do it?"

"My choices." You whispered. "Bad decisions in the past."

Dabi wanted to pry more out of you, but he knew you wouldn't explain more. So, he takes matter into his own hands and leaves the hospital, telling you that he needs to run some errands, but he's actually going back to your apartment and starts rummaging through your stuff to find some clues as to what exactly caused you to do this.

He didn't have to look around too much because he found your phone and snooped through your messages. Someone was blackmailing you. They had some explicit pictures of you, seems like a toxic ex who was threatening to share these photos with your family and social circle.

So Dabi pays a visit to your ex, takes care of him and the pictures he had,making sure to get rid of all the copies too. All in a day!

By night he had returned to the hospital, you were asleep. He slept there too, in the uncomfortable hospital chair, heart at peace as he watched your chest rise and fall steadily.

Next morning, when it was time for you to leave, Dabi helped you and took you home. You thanked him for everything, and Dabi made sure to tell you that he'll be picking you up for lunch later. You agreed hesitantly. And at lunch, he finally revealed that he came to you because he wanted to ask you out.

You look surprised, more so when he reveals that he had fancied you for a while and that he understands that relationships might not be a priority for you at the moment but-

"I understand if dating is not a priority for you right now but if you ever do consider falling in love, know that I've been on the top of your wait list for the past 6 years and will wait another lifetime if that's all the time you need."

You're in tears at his words, and you have a hard time not breaking down as he takes your hands in his, his thumbs carefully tracing over your bandaged wrists as he promises to wait by your side, that he'll always be there to help you with anything, that if you gave him a chance, he'll spend the rest of his life trying to make you happy.

"Dabi, i- I am not good for you." You say, voice wobbly. "My past, it'll always haunt me and I care too much about you to let it haunt you as well."

"Your ex? His pictures?" He asked watching shock appear on your face. "You won't ever have to worry about him, Y/n."

You shook off your surprise. "That's not it. It's not the only problem I have!"

"Then tell me. I'll fix all of your problems." Dabi promises with such sincerity that you're compelled to believe him.

You don't tell him obviously, saying that it is your burden, your mess to deal with. Dabi doesn't push more, only because he knows he'll figure it out later anyways. Hey, he may be a criminal but he was once the son of the top hero who trained him, so Dabi's IQ is through the fucking roof.

And a man in love has no limitations.

Had a DUI? He deals with it. Parents disowned you? He'll make them regret it. Killed someone? He'll make sure you have an alibi to prove your innocence. Cheated off a test in grade 2? He'll make sure there are no witnesses alive. He'll burn the world- burn himself if it means keeping you warm.

You don't wanna date a criminal? Fine, he's working a cooperate job and since he's so smart, he'll be a fucking CEO in no time and have enough money and time to spend on you. Youre crying because you feel ugly when you see your scars? Dabi makes sure to kiss them every day and pulls out his turtleneck (aka the trademark Todoroki fit) for you, while he buys the best treatment money can buy for your scars. Mental health is going down? He's taking you to the best therapist in town. You're sad he's an atheist because it means you won't be with him in heaven? Damn, he's a convert now.

I just adore men in love :(

Okay but I don't think we're focusing on how scary smart Dabi actually is😳😳😳 I just know it, I KNOW he's super smart but he downplays it all the time because he's depressed or whatever.

#yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines

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darlingdarkly · 6 months

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Fates Worse Than Death

A Deimos x f!reader Series

Chapter 1

Word count: 5k

Part: 2

OG A/N: Hey, hi! So, tomorrow is my birthday. And for my birthday I decided to write a hugely self indulgent smutty fic for myself and instead of writing one for cod like I’ve been doing and contributing to an already super saturated fandom I have decided to write it for my r6s fandom, which admittedly keeps looking deader and deader, but I know that if I’m scouring the tags for fics then maybe someone else is too and so I’m gonna share my gift to myself in hopes that someone else who’s desperate for content will find it and be glad it’s there.

Second A/N: Hey! So I decided to make this a series actually. This will stand as chapter 1 💕

Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Listen to me 👁️👁️ I need you to heed the tags. I am going to tag the hell out of this thing and if you don’t read the tags then you’re throwing yourself into a mixed bag of whatever the hell and that’s on you. The tags are there for your benefit. Not mine. You have been warned.

CW: non con elements, dub con elements, interrogation, belt spanking, bondage, unprotected climactic p in v intercourse, oral (f!receiving), abduction, hair pulling, fingering, death, blood, mild game spoilers 🤷‍♀️

This is the point of no return, you click this button and you consent to the content on the other side.

This takes place after Deimos has killed Harry but before Rainbow has captured him, if you give a shit about canon events and timeline. Enjoy 💕

The chilly night wind whipped through the leaves, rattling them noisily and aiding in concealing your stealthy movements. You and three other operatives cut through the wooded terrain like silent wraiths as you sought out the hidden compound due north, said to be home to his lair. The mission was simple, get in, extract Deimos and exfil.

You moved quickly and quietly bringing up the rear of the squad. Rifle locked and loaded, the muzzle pointed out ahead of you, strafing for contact. You heard your squad leader over the comms, gruff and clear as he spoke to your contact back on base.

“Rainbow, this is O1, we are two clicks due south of the compound. ETA 15 for contact, are we a go?”

After a moment of measured silence he got a response. “Rainbow to O1, you’re green lit. Standby for evac.”

O1 came back moments later. “Copy that. Over.” There was an audible cut through the radio before O1 addressed your squad. “Alright, squad. You heard the man. On your toes.” Each of you responded in turn. “O2 copy.” A pause. “O3 copy.” You depressed the button on your headset and responded. “O4 copy.”

Soon after, the four of you crested a hill and fanned out over the top of it, laying eyes upon the brilliant glow cutting through the velvet of night like a knife. O1 came through your ear piece and gave curt instruction. “O2, follow me to the east. O3 and O4 you take west. Stick close to the perimeter, plant the charge and fall back. We detonate on my count and breach simultaneously. Do you understand?”

The three of you responded in unison. “Sir, yes sir.” You saw him motion forward and your group began to move, splitting into your assigned pairs and descending upon the compound. You lost sight of your squad mates in the thick of the trees but kept close to O3 as you neared the far west walls of the hidden base. Just as you made the bottom of the hill there was a panicked cry over the comms from O2. “What the fuck is that? O1 we have a disturbance.” There’s a break in his speech, a long drawn out eerie quiet that unnerves you.

“Sir, we’re not alone! I repeat, not alone.” There was a faint scuffle in the distance and a single gunshot before O1 came over the comms, frantic. “O1 to Rainbow, we’re made! Requesting evac. It’s him.”

You and O3 stopped and turned towards the commotion, unsure of how to proceed. There was a heart stopping, pained scream in the distance and you heard Rainbow call to the pair of you over the comms. “O3, O4, this is Rainbow. Get out of there, you’re compromised. Get to evac. I repeat, Get to evac!”

The pair of you took off in the woods, abandoning mission and headed west towards the evac point. You could feel your heartbeat in your chest and had to focus to calm your breathing. At this point it was about survival as you followed close behind O3 and cut through the woodlands for the helo just eight clicks west.

There’s a flutter in the air, a woosh of displaced air as something whizzes by and you hear O3 ahead of you begin to panic. “Christ it’s him! Run for it, now!” O3 bolts forward and you’re sprinting to catch up but soon he’s lost in the copse of pines and all you have left of him is his panicked yells and heavy breathing over the radio. “O3, where are you? O3!?!” You hear the deafening discharge of a heavy caliber ring out in the still night and it’s too close for comfort.

You veer away from it and towards the evac. Splitting off on your own as the blood of your last remaining squad member drains from the brand new vent hole in his head and begins to quickly cool in the night air. You can hardly hear yourself crash through the woods, boots scaling over rocks and fallen logs as your breath quickens and terror begins to set in.

You miss the whirring of the foreign object the second time around but there’s no mistaking the calm, collected voice in your ear as he hacks through your comms and makes himself known. “There you are. There’s no hiding. Not for you. Not for me.”

Rainbow comes in low and static-y though the comms and you struggle to make him out clearly. “O4 do you… in O4… Get out! I rep-… Deimos is tra-…. On your posit-….” And then everything cuts. Your comms go dark and you’re officially alone, the last of a nearly dead and shattered squad in the dead of night in the thick of the sticks.

Determined not to die in the midst of these pines you beeline for the green blip on your gps. If you could just make it to the helo you’d survive but as you took a final glance at your position a second blip pinged. A dark red skull just twenty meters back. His deathMARK. You felt a lump in your throat as you realized you’d been made and triple timed it, arms pumping at your sides as you tore through the woods in fear. Pure terror coursed through your veins and nipped at your heels, promising death if caught. There was no capture, Deimos wasn’t known for taking prisoners.

You mounted a hill and pushed out between two huge oaks as you practically slid down the other side. You made huge strides, legs driving you towards salvation as you pushed them to the limit in hopes of escape. You were only four clicks out when you tripped, stumbling over something hard and unseen as you crashed ungracefully to the ground and tumbled in the leaf litter. You scrambled to regain your footing, clawing at the earth and struggling to your feet.

You had just made it up when he hit you like a freight train, violently tackling you and knocking you on your back. The pair of you rolled in the foliage, tumbling over one another in the night and sprawling apart as you came to a jolting stop.

This was it, it was fight or die so you grabbed for the push daggers secured to the straps of your tac vest and faced your adversary. He came up ready to fight, charging forward and lunging for you. You drove forward with a fist, spearheaded leathily by the edge of the knife and swung out to bite at his throat. He pulled back and you sliced through air instead, he followed through with an arm on your elbow and brought your arm down over one thick thigh, breaking your hold and successfully disarming you.

With one knife left you pushed back at his chest and swung forward to attack, hoping to aggressively close the distance and quickly end him but he grabbed your arm with his strong gloved hands and twisted it around until your back was socketed into his chest. He pulled on your limb and brought it down hard over his knee, breaking your hold for a second time and disarming you completely.

You struggled out of his grip and tried to make a break for it, a last ditch effort to stay alive and bolt but he caught a grip on your ankle and you once more went sprawling to the ground, ass over teapot. When you turned around to face death you caught sight of his ballistic mask towering over you, he held the magnum in a tight grip in his right hand and you knew it was over. At least you’d die with your squad, knowing you’d done your best and been outplayed.

But instead of staring down the unblinking black eye that was the bore of his barrel you felt the butt of the .44 Vendetta crash down on your temple before the night stole over you and blocked out all thought.

It wasn’t til much later that you awoke, sluggish, confused and in tremendous pain. The room was bright but cold and when you tried to alleviate the pain in your head by bringing your hand up to soothe it you realized you were bound and secured to some kind of padded platform. Your arms were stretched out and down in front of you, bound together by something strong and without give. Your legs were similarly bound but tucked up beneath you on the padded bench. It was then you realized you were also naked from the waist down. Your chest was covered but had been stripped of your tac gear and uniform and replaced with a stark white tee, your bra was also missing.

You weren’t blindfolded or gagged but when you tried to whip your head around you found it hard to maneuver, only about five degrees of field of view to see on either side and all you could see of that was dingy white tile from floor to ceiling. You struggled in your bonds but stopped as you heard the slow, methodical blows of his boots on the concrete steadily drawing nearer. You stiffened and tried not to think about the view he no doubt was privy to from this angle. He broke the silence first.

“Well she’s finally awake. Don’t struggle, the knots won’t give, I tied them myself.” He sounds smug and confident as he strides up behind you, voice low and clear, not quite deep but thoroughly resolute, the draw of a southern twang peeking out subtly but sophisticated. The venom in you begins to well up in your throat, your teeth grit and body tensing as your anger builds and your hate gestates.

You let loose on him, anger burning a hole in your chest as you feel robbed of your rightful death, you shouldn’t be here still breathing, you should be dead in the woods with your squad, not tied up and captured like some kind of prized war spoil. “Fuck you! Kill me, you bastard!” He let himself come into view, circling around you with his arms clasped behind his back. He was still fully clad in his black tac gear and ballistic helmet, the dark, obsidian lenses of his eyes gleamed deviously in the fluorescent light.

“Can’t get information out of you if you’re dead, now can we?” You ground your teeth in your skull, body trembling in half fear, half seething rage. “You won’t get a damn word out of me, motherfucker! You’ll have to kill me, I won’t talk!”

His head tilted slightly as he tisked, chiding you calmly. “Such a nasty mouth.” He disappeared from view, the dark drape of his cape flowing out behind him, returning to his position behind you as you heard a rustle and the soft tink of metal on metal as he lifted something off of a table. “My godfather was a stern but loving man. He taught me at an early age about duty and responsibility. About discipline and respect. I loved and respected him dearly but as all boys are, I had a tendency to be rowdy and disrespectful at times. He taught me these values with a firm and unyielding hand. Something I think you could use a good helping of.”

You heard the crack of the belt as he brought the two looped ends taut in his hands and immediately stiffened, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, including the details of your mission, the intel you received and who you received it from along with the coordinates of the Rainbow base.” He stopped and waited for your response, you sat still and silent, mentally preparing yourself for the coming onslaught.

“Nothing to share?” You shifted in place but spat out at him, tongue in cheek. “Fuck you.” Shortly after you felt the first lick of the belt as it cut through the air and cracked across your bare ass, making you jump and yelp. It may have been a far cry from conventional interrogation methods but it was still painful and humiliating. You heard the leather slide in his fist before you felt the second blow, just parallel to the first, aimed and executed with precision to land just beside it on the same cheek. “Fuck!”

He hummed contently. “Tell me what your mission objective was.” He languidly paced behind you as he waited for your answer, when none came he brought the belt down on the other cheek twice in rapid succession, giving you no time to recover. You tried shifting away from the blows but had about a half an inch of clearance for wiggle room, there was no evading it.

He kept it up, pausing and then attacking ruthlessly, periodically stopping before doling it out again, fat, opaque lines began to criss cross on the smooth surface, marking his progress. He questioned you again and you held silent, preferring to suffer through the consequences rather than give in and endanger an entire base of your colleagues for the quicker respite of death. He’d kill you in time either way, it was better to hold out and die honorably than relent for a swifter end.

“You’re resilient, tough little spit fire, I’ll give you that. But you should know your silence has consequences.”

You sneered at him where he couldn’t see. “I don’t give a fuck about me. Beat me, torture me, cut my toes off one by one, I don’t care. You’ll kill me when you figure out I’ve got nothing to say to you and I will die honorably.”

He laughs and it makes a sliver of uncertainty worm through you. “I’m not going to kill you, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you queasy but his response only confuses you. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“When our little talk ends, the door closes. If you don’t tell me what I wanna know by the time we’re through here your life as you know it ceases to exist.”

“I already told you to just go ahead and kill me. I’ll die before I tell you anything that would put Rainbow at risk.” Instead of punching you in the ribs or breaking a finger he just leaned in til you could feel the warmth of his chest settle over the top of your bare ass and it felt much more sinister than any strike or blow.

“Oh sweetheart, there are fates much worse than death.” You still don’t quite understand and he senses you struggling to grasp the full scope of the threat so he takes a break from the spanking and explains it to you in full detail.

You hear him set the belt down on something before you feel his gloved hands caressing your ass, running the covered fingertips over his handiwork and down the swell of your cheeks before dipping lower and skimming the slit of your sex. His fingers come away slick and he smirks behind the mask where you can’t see.

“If you don’t tell me what I want to hear then I’m going to take these-“ You hear a jingle from behind you and know they’re your dog tags, probably scalped from your neck as he undressed you no doubt. “-and I’m going to throw them out in the woods with your dead squad mates. They’ll think one of two things. Either you died out there like a good soldier and some animal, pack of coyotes perhaps, carted your body away or, I finally caught up with you, gave you an ultimatum, and you sold them out from under the rug. Either way they’ll come to the conclusion that you’re beyond saving and they’ll bury you in an empty casket and move on.”

You felt it all coming to a head and the audacity of it came to be too much. “You’re wrong! They’ll never stop looking for me! You think they’ll give up so easily! They won’t stop until they find me! Ohhhh and they will find me! You are so fucked! You are sooo-“

The crack of the belt against your ass cut off your angry rant, the words dying in a pained yelp as he brought the leather down on your ass in an angry torrent. SMACK. SMACK. SMACKSMACKSMACK.

You clenched against the pain, trying to curl up on yourself but of course it was no use, you could only sit and take it. When the onslaught ended he continued.

“You didn’t let me finish. Either way… no one is going to come looking for you. And I think I’m starting to like you so instead of killing you, like you’re dying to have me do-“ You feel the return of his fingers, the cool leather of his glove soothing against the heated stinging welts already swelling on your cheeks. Then they glided down and you felt his fingers spread your lips and when he spoke this time he sounded different somehow, louder and clearer.

“-I’m going to keep you all to myself. I’ll house you, clean you, feed you. During the day I’ll keep you tied up in here, my own sweet little stress relief, make the walls of this room echo with screams of a different caliber for a change.”

It wasn’t until you felt the flat of his tongue glide up the length of your sex that you realized why he sounded so much clearer, he’d taken his mask off and now he was casually eating your pussy, tongue dipping in between his fingers spreading you apart so gently, a stark contrast from the harsh belt treatment he’d been afflicting upon you moments before.

He hummed into your pussy and you squirmed against the heat of him, simultaneously freaking out yet undeniably turned on as his tongue probed you and his hands caressed the cheeks of your ass. He pulled away and you weren’t sure if it was a sigh of relief or a whine of protest that built a home in your throat, kept at bay only by the last mustering of your will.

“So sweet. When I was a boy growing up in Birmingham, I used to play in the sugar cane fields for hours. Me and my friends would cut away stalks from the edges of the field for a taste. You taste just like that, fresh cut sugar cane.” You shuddered in his hold and told yourself it was all psychological warfare, it changed nothing. When he had the information he seeked he would cut you down just like he did all the rest.

You felt him step away from behind you and come up to your side, his hands trailing like fire along the length of your body as he did so. He reached under the platform you were tied to and suddenly your arms pulled forward in front of you, forcing your chest to pull forward and press against the bench. Your ass raised up high and unshielded as you felt the collective wetness of his saliva and your slick coating your lips, chilly exposed like this, but it doesn’t take long before he’s resumed the position and you feel his hot breath fanning against it, rewarming his meal.

“We’re gonna have a lot fun, sugar cane.”

“So.” Lick. “Much.” Lick. “Fun.” Lick.

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped, at this new angle he had access to the fulty of you and his tongue dipped down and swiped at your clit on the last lick making you momentarily lose yourself in the white hot pleasure of it. “Fuck!”

“I intend to.” You don’t grasp until much later the meaning of that, lost to the way he eats you so slow and sensual. He chuckles behind you and you know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that he intends to keep true to his word because he’s stopped questioning you, stopped beating you, just content to sample his new toy. Your life is over, because you won’t give up Rainbow and you won’t tell him a goddamn thing and your stubborn honor has damned you in a way that was worse than death and now you’ll spend the rest of your days keeping his cock warm until you’ve gone insane from it.

Taking his time and savoring the taste of you on his tongue, you feel the first press of his padded fingers prodding your entrance. Gently pushing forward til he was in just up to the first knuckle, sawing them in and out slowly and twisting them in your heat as his tongue stayed latched to your clit, suckling it.

“Deimos!” He rewarded you with an open mouthed kiss to your clit as he pushed his gloved fingers further into your depths, exploring them as your back arched nice and pretty for him as far as your binds would allow.

He pulled his tongue away to your dismay but kept his fingers buried in you, stilling their movement but curling them inside you to press teasingly against your sweet spot. “Got some new insights for me, sugar cane?”

Your lips were sealed shut as far as that was concerned but your resolve was waning, you recognized the point of no return you were quickly approaching and despite the horrible implications of your future, there were just too many good men and women with their lives on the line for you to justify the alternative.

So you shifted shamelessly to push back on his fingers, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to focus on the pleasure and not the humiliating position you were quickly failing to resist against. He recognized the move as you made it and gave you what was to be his last warning.

“Let me put it in no uncertain terms for you. When I come right in here-“ He flexed his fingers inside you to demonstrate his point, eliciting a high whine from you. “-your time is up. You can sing all you want but past that point you’re no longer your own woman. You’re mine, do you understand?”

You didn’t even consider your freedom for the briefest of seconds, just nodded solemnly as you accepted his terms, though little they mattered. Although he’d seen your nod it mustn’t have been good enough as you felt the all too familiar crack of the leather, jolting you from your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. You clenched down on his fingers, eyes rolling in their sockets at the euphoric sensation.

“I need a verbal answer.” Your grit your teeth for not the first and certainly not the last time dealing with him. “Screw you!”

He laughed, it was easy and carefree. “All in good time, sweetheart. I’m gonna enjoy my meal first.” With that he seemed to be done speaking, leaving you to stew over a decision you’d already made and ruminate in the consequences of it. He dove eagerly back into the heat of your sex, plunging his fingers enthusiastically in and out of your pussy while his tongue lapped at the juices that seeped out around them.

He watched as your toes curled in on themselves, mouth dropping open where he couldn’t see and expelling breath in a silent moan. He proved to be skillful in a manner of ways and this seemed to be no exception to the rule, making light work of bringing your pleasure to a head and threatening to throw you over the edge quicker than you’d like to admit.

You fought for control of your body but it was a battle you were unavoidably losing as he pulled his fingers free and replaced them with his tongue, pushing it deep into you and occupying his hands by rubbing circles over your clit with his thumb. It was a devastating sensation that pulled your muscles taut, your head raised up off the padding and tipped back as far as your restraints would allow as you suddenly came violently.

He spurred it on, lapping at your sopping wet slit and never ceasing the movements of his thumb, making you shake and really test the strength of your ties. He drove you through your orgasm, not even slowing as you began to plead with him to stop, it was too much. When you thought you’d tumble head first into a second one he finally relented, leaving you gasping and panting as you vaguely heard him shucking his pants behind you.

You felt something hard and blunt at your entrance as he slid his cock up to you and rifled it up and down your slit, wetting the tip and enjoying the light springy jump that coursed through you every time his head hit your clit.

“Last chance, sweetheart. As much as I’d hate to lose your company, you’re running out of chances to secure your freedom.” You could hardly focus on his words, still caught between struggling to catch up from your first mind blowing orgasm and steeling yourself against the promise of a second one if the way your pussy was trying and failing to catch his tip and suck it in was any indicator.

He lined himself up and pushed forward, causing you both to moan out together as he stretched you open on his girth. “Fuck me, you are sweet.” He slid home, hips pushing flush with yours as you adjusted to the way he seemed to fill you out perfectly. Your head dipped as he began a steady, unrushed rhythm, slapping his hips to yours every time he drove it home.

You had stopped breathing since he’d entered you and suddenly took one huge sucking breath in, filling your lungs just to immediately expel it as a broken but pleasured moan. He growled behind you and you could feel it vibrate through you in a whole new sensation, overloading your senses, coursing white and blinding in its intensity.

“Please!” You had no idea what you were begging for but it just felt so right, losing your sense of self, reduced to nothing more than nerve endings. He reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling back and taking out the slack as your back arched to accommodate his hold.

“Oh god!” You could hardly imagine how you must look, head cocked back and slack-jawed as he split you open from behind. Each thrust was precise and calculated, wringing you for every last drop of pleasure until your mind went blank and your whole being submitted to the fucking.

He leaned forward, breath hot and heavy right behind your ear as he spoke and he must’ve known you were a goner because instead of trying to extract information he just spoke of the future. All the ways he’d bend you to his will, how he’d break you and build you back better in his image.

“It’s truly a shame we met under these circumstances. Under a different light I’d have enjoyed training you, honing your skills instead of wasting all this potential such as it is. Under me you’d have made an unstoppable operator. Now you’ll never see combat again.”

For some reason this truth had only now dawned on you, some deep part of your brain had held out hope of escape or retaliation or vengeance but cock drunk beneath him you knew it was hopeless, he was absolutely right and you were ultimately fucked.

As if he’d been holding back he renewed his vigor and began to pound into you from behind with abandon. Your mouth was dry and your knees were screeching at you from below, despite the padding, but all you could focus on was the pool of pleasure building heavy in your gut. There was no turning back from this, your mind screamed for you to do something but any other thoughts were beyond you and so you expelled them with the rest and took your fate as it sealed, securing a chokehold around your throat and brought you to heel.

You came around his cock, the second world shattering orgasm of the evening and much more all encompassing in its magnitude. You were certain you felt your heart stop, lungs burning for air as you clenched down around him. Seconds later he followed, coming with a half moan, half growl as you squeezed him for all he was worth. White hot spend filled you from the inside out and it was as blissful as it was damning.

The game was up, you were his. You stayed like that, riding the bliss and eyeing up the defeat that swelled up to take its place as it faded. He pulled out of you slowly and you felt his seed drip from you, slide down your thighs and puddle on the bench below you. You hardly heard him as he cleaned himself up and redressed. There was a click as the door to the room opened for the first time you were aware to hear it and two men stepped into the room.

There was a moment of nothing before you felt two firm hands wrap themselves around your arms and loosen your binds. They held you up til the tips of your feet hardly grazed the cool concrete floor and stationed on either side of you, held you up for inspection. You lifted your head to see him standing before you, dog tags dangling from one fist and the belt folded over on itself held tight in the other.

“I can’t say I’m disappointed in you, soldier. You stood your ground and that commands immense bravery. But you knew the rules and now you’ll reap what you’ve sown. You mustered up enough strength to gather saliva in between your lips and spit at his face. It didn’t quite make it and landed at his feet but you could hear a smile in his voice as he commanded the men at your side to carry you up to his quarters. He’d be seeing you again very soon.

#dead dove do not eat #tw noncon #tw dubcon #dark fic #tw dark content #tw dark themes #r6s #r6s deimos #r6s Deimos smut #r6s Deimos x you #not cod

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