#drawing on your phone is so freaking hard

[vvesna]

It’s him!!! God in the flesh

[hoesformatt]

LOW

“whatever you want, don’t call me”

“I need you to get the fuck out of my space”

“I’m fuckin, I ain’t making love no more”

chris smut/angst (first angst y’all), FOR THE CHALLENGE @annamcdonalds67 + THANK YOU FOR 1800?!?! WTF THERE’S 1800 OF THE FREAKS

toxic ex!dom!chris • poc!reader friendly

contains: oral (female!receiving), missionary, kinda angsty, pet names, no use of y/n

word count: 1.4k

proofread

Booty calls, all the fucking time, does he never think a bitch is tired? He broke up with me two weeks ago just to fuck some lame ass blonde bitch that he was texting while we were dating. In his defence ‘It’s not cheating if I broke up with you before I even fucked her’. What type of fuckboy shit is that?

It’s the 6th call from a 3rd No Caller ID and I’ve had about enough of it, I shut off my phone leaving my device to charge on my bedside table.

I raced down my stairs, pulling down my shorts because my thighs were rubbing. I turned on the tv to take my mind off but I heard a ping from my iPad.

Shaye⛽️

how you been holding up bae

Give me a fucking break. I just get out of a relationship and she’s too busy trying to scissor me?

My stud-plug texted me for the millionth time of the week, can people get out my phone and mind their own business? I guess that’s my fault for telling her about my situation with my now ex-boyfriend, we were getting high and I got off topic or whatever. I debated on blocking her knowing that I can’t, cause as much as I display my tits to a store owner they weren’t going to sell kush to someone ‘underage’.

I was in need to disconnect from everyone by turning off my iPad rolling my eyes while grabbing an energy drink from the fridge.

In time, I got back on my phone having nothing better to do as I had already developed a headache. I scrolled through instagram being unamused by everything until Jana sent me a photo of a random girl. ‘I found her’, I knew I could count on her. When I first saw the blonde bitch on my ex boyfriend’s camera roll I sent the photo to myself then sent it to Jana to do her investigation skills.

I searched her profile and saw a bunch of bikini photos, picture of flowers and photos of herself. What does she have that I don’t? Cause she most definitely does not have these curves. I brushed it off and called it his loss because at the end of the day, he’s the one blowing my phone up.

Unknown

I need to talk to you

Don’t block me

I’m coming over

Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to?

I checked that the text was sent 28 minutes ago and I heard a car pull up in the driveway. I ran to the door holding the doorknob when he was unlocking the door. “I swear to— OPEN THE DOOR!”

“You better fucking leave!”

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR” He pushed the door with force sending me almost flying. He shut the door locking it behind him as I rushed to the kitchen shaking my head “I can’t believe this shits happening right now” I cursed under my breath.

“Did you miss me” His lips curled into a smile looking down at my ass before I turned around and caught him. “It seems more like you miss me, blowing up my phone and showing up at my door?” Our eyes were locked and tense along with the air in the room.

“I’m not sucking your dick.” Chris scoffed, walking towards me “so you’re gonna ride me?” I pushed him away the folding my arms looking at him with a ‘are you fucking serious’ face.

Unbe-fucking-lieveable.

“Go get that flat corny ass blonde bitch to ride your small dick” He raised his eyebrows being taken aback from my remark “that’s a new low for you ma, you know that’s not true—and I don’t want her, I want you” I laughed. I laughed hard in his face making him scrunch his face.

“You realised she didn't have what I got?” I continued to laugh “that’s what happens when you don’t appreciate what you have”. Fuck face. Chris clenched his jaw drawing a deep breath in before gripping my wrist, taking me behind the kitchen counter.

“Bend over” He ordered I sternly looked at him with a stone face “tell me that you want me to leave”. Chris stopped his actions waiting on my response. The healing part of me wants him to leave but I honestly want him to put on me, and good so I stayed quiet. “Bend over. Now” I let Chris spin me around and arch my back across the counter.

Chris yanked off my shorts, spanking my ass leaving a stinging sensation, then kneading it to ease the pain. He leaned over to my ear “you’re so beautiful mama” I slightly smiled at his compliment as he snaked his hand into my panties, rubbing my clit and feeling my wetness “this is the last i’m fucking you” he chuckled with cockiness.

“Get up on the counter baby, I wanna eat you out” I immediately climbed onto the counter, lying on my back and the cold granite sending shivers down my spine. The brunette pulled my thong to the side while he was going on his knees, inserting his tongue between my folds making me gasp.

The warmth of Chris’ tongue on my cunt made my back arch and he sucked on my clit. My eyes flutters close from all the pleasure and Chris twisted his tongue in pussy, cleaning up all my juices in one lick “I can’t get enough of you, can’t believe I let this pussy go” he began to push a finger deep into my cunt “Fuckkkk—” My moans dragged out from between my lips as I felt my climax.

I gripped on his brunette locks waving my hip towards his face while he placed wet kisses on clit. I gasped loudly as Chris sloppily licked off all liquids while they came out “such a sweet pussy that cums just for me” he kissed my inner thighs, the spots darkening.

Chris pulled me off the counter, carrying my naked body to my room, laying me on the bed with my legs spread open. He slid his tip across my wet, sensitive slit, coating the head of cock with my wetness.

Pressing his tip to my hole, he groaned entering my tight pussy. “You’re so tightttt” I tensed up the more his inches entered my cunt. Did he get bigger? My eyes began to water as I felt his cock hit my tensed walls “relax mama” his hand was on my stomach feeling for dick that’s creating a little poke. I took a deep breath, exhale trying to stop tensing as he began to thrust into me.

Hands gripping on my hips, small moans escaped my lips, feeling his length abuse my walls with every thrust becoming harder than the last. Chris lowered himself for lips to kiss neck then in the crevice where his forehead was on my pillow making our bodies collide.

I opened my eyes with Chris’ hair laid on my cheek realizing this was the closest me and him have ever been and kind of scared of it but he started to kiss my jaw as if he could tell what I was thinking “c’mon baby”

My walls tightened around his cock making it harder for him to ram into me. Instead he hit in a different angle hitting my g-spot “please Christopher, right there” I placed my nails on his back, scratching it up while doing. My breathes were laboured with the rush of my orgasm was about to come and his thrusts got sloppy up until I came and he did also inside of me

“Fuck baby” post-nut clarity hit me while Chris leaned in to kiss me and I shoved him away by his chest “get out” I said quiet but loud enough for him to hear “what do you mean—” he looked at me lost and confused “I mean get the fuck out my bed Chris”. I got out the bed naked picking up his discarded clothing from the floor of my bedroom.

“We can work this out baby you know this” He put on his jeans buttoning them up before looking up at my bare body “GET THE FUCK OUT MY HOUSE CHRISTOPHER, YOU KNOW YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE” Chris backed up as I pointed to my door collecting the rest of his shit before leaving.

Worst ex, but great sex

tags: @lunariaxzz @chrissturniolosbitch @leahsbussy @luv4kozume @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @idkwhosnyla @strniohoeee @iiheartstef @nonamegirlxsturniolo @ka1nani @1800chokedathoe @fuzzycupcakebeliever @mattgirly @love4chris @mattslutt @nicksmainbitch @luhsexcbihh @hearts4chriss @thesturniolos @junnnilieee07

[gamerwoo]

dumb/random things skz would do while ur dating

a/n: don’t ask me what this is or why i came up w it these are just Thoughts That I Have Sometimes 

-

chan: if he has spare time and gets bored, he’ll splice up voicemails or voice messages you’ve sent him to make you say random shit and then he sends it to you out of nowhere with absolutely zero context. it could be anywhere from the raunchiest, dirtiest things you’ve ever heard, to just straight up dumb things, to him making you say how amazing and great he is and how much you love him. either way, he thinks he’s hilarious

minho: literally just stares at you for no reason. you’re on your phone across the room and he’s staring. just deadpan staring. and once you notice and make eye contact he gives you a mean look like you were staring at him first and he’s mad about it. even after you look away, he’s still staring. if you ask what he wants he’ll be like “why tf are you staring at me?? get a hobby, freak”

changbin: actually expects you to open doors for him and pull out his chair and lay your jacket out over a puddle. if you don’t, he just stares at you and eyes the thing he wanted you to do for him. obviously you’d never put your jacket over a puddle when he could literally walk around it but he’ll scoff and dramatically roll his eyes and make some comment about “guess romance really is dead” or something dumb

hyunjin: maybe he used to actually sketch you really nicely at one point but now he’s comfortable with you and now the only times he draws you is a really rough and quick sketch that’s so poorly done and it’s always you making ugly faces and he just slides it over to you and goes “this is you rn" and it’s you looking very pissed off and with a unibrow and you’re shrimp-backing so hard

jisung: keeps making those powerpoint presentations for you about different topics but he only makes them between like 11pm-3am so the farther into it he gets, the weirder it gets and the less sense it makes. usually the topics don’t really make sense either, though. like the time he showed you ‘101 reasons why you should still love me as a worm :)’. but there was the time he presented you with ‘69 reasons why i love you’ and even though 25% of them were weird things like ‘your breath smells normal’ and ‘you haven’t committed a felony so i don’t have to have a long distance relationship with someone in prison’ you still thought it was pretty sweet

felix: if you think he won’t act like those cringey gamer couples, you’re so fucking wrong. whether he’s doing it ironically or seriously, he’s going to drag you into his shenanigans. your names on different games have to match. they’ve been shit like ‘their dps / his pocket’ and 'grilled cheese / tomato soup’ to unhinged things like ‘mike huchie / mike hunt’ and ‘blowing smoke / smoke’. he always thinks it’s so fucking funny but you want to die. your discord names are ‘their daddy / his kitten’ and whenever you change it, he changes it back

seungmin: he does literally anything and pretends it wasn’t him. plays with your hair while you’re cooking dinner, but when you turn to look at him, he looks around and starts whistling. he’ll knock your closed water bottle straight out of your hand for no reason and then shrug at you like it was the fucking wind. even when he kisses your cheek he’ll gasp and be like “who did that?”

jeongin: he’ll act cute or whatever when he wants something but god forbid you do it back. the amount of judging he’ll do will make you want to leave the house. “please don’t ever do that again, you’re embarrassing me” as if you didn’t just copy everything he’s ever done to you. he’s gone so far as to pretend he doesn’t know you out in public over this. only he can be cute to get his way. if you do it, it’s cringe

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic. 

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world. 

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea. 

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?” 

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension. 

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise. 

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever. 

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. 

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor. 

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.” 

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone. 

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.” 

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction. 

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation. 

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

 “Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal. 

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” 

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant. 

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment. 

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

[usedtobecooler]

steve takes on a shitty little side job for halloween, working as a scare actor at the pumpkin patches after dark strictly adult shows.

his character changes most nights, to keep things fresh but mostly so that eddie won’t come running in with his girl of the night — with the sole purpose of dragging steve to the ground to make himself look tough in front of her.

tonight he’s got a burlap sack over his face, dressed in a blue boiler suit that’s ripped at the chest from an overzealous customer a few days previous — and okay, maybe he should’ve worn a shirt under it, but, y’know, the chicks dig it.

he’s hiding behind a hay bale when he spots you with your group of friends — you’re an easy target, jumping at every little noise, flash of light and brush of fingers on your elbows. your friends are laughing so hard it draws attention, every actor in the place jumping out on you all and terrifying you further.

he almost feels bad about praying on you, knowing he’s gonna freak you out, but it was what you paid for, after all. and he was endeared by the fact that, no matter how nervous you seemed, you were laughing just as hard as your friends were and looked to be genuinely enjoying it.

as you get closer, excitement builds in steve’s chest, you’re slightly sideways, unaware of his presence, and he takes his opportunity — pushes his way out from behind the bales to a gaggle of ear piercing screams and laughter. you jump, trip over your own feet and basically fall onto him, a panicked little giggle pushing past your lips.

he crowds you back up against the hay bale stack, honey flecked eyes narrowed and hardened as you stare at him, a nervous laugh escaping you. you’re breathing heavily, he can feel your chest heaving against his own with how tightly pressed together you are. he forgets for a moment that he’s meant to be scaring you, instead leaning a toned arm out to bracket you in.

he only plans to do it for a moment, but then you actively push up into him, like you’re daring him to do more and, oh. steve leans in, so close in fact, that your noses brush through the thick, scratchy material of the sack covering his face.

you gasp, another nervous laugh being punched out of you, though your gaze finally leave his to rake down the vast expanse of exposed, tan, freckled skin. steve almost feels a little smug at how long it takes for you to rip your pretty eyes off of his toned body.

your friends have long gone, their laughter and screams to be heard just over steve’s shoulder. he’s almost glad that they left you both alone to have your moment, but his shackles go up at the idea of them leaving you.

he’s almost ready to break character to escort you back to them, when a high pitched trill of your name is echoed through the maze. you almost look sad as you acknowledge your friend, pouting exaggeratedly and nodding towards them.

he holds his hand up to his ear, fingers in the shape of a makeshift phone, “gimme your number?” he’s grinning, even though you can’t see, and he knows his voice sounds deeper than usual with the muffled affect of the burlap mask.

you fluster, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your laugh, “when do you finish up?” your voice is soft, sweet and steve kind of melts with it.

steve doesn’t speak again, just holds up all ten fingers to mimic that he gets off at 10pm. you look down at your watch on your wrist, just a slight glance but it’s enough for him to catch.

“meet me under the ferris wheel once you’re off?”

and hell, who was steve to pass on that opportunity?

[luvbugs-blog]

(( if requests are open rn/okay)

Getting caught with the boys, Hitoshi Shinsou version? xx

getting caught with the mha boys - part 3

featuring: hitoshi shinsou

a/n: aged up characters!

warnings: just a lil spicy dicey. spoilers for a grey's anatomy episode.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

midterms were exhausting. it was a friday afternoon, and you were trudging back to your dorm to rot in your bed for a little bit. you barely had any time for yourself this week, choosing to lock yourself in your room or the library to prepare for all the tests. the late nights took a toll on you, so when you finally fall into bed, you almost want to take a nap. but you choose to scroll on tik tok instead, occasionally giggling at a funny one before sending it to your boyfriend.

oh. shinsou! you haven't seen him at all this week, as his test schedule happened to be when your free time was, and vice versa.

you would go visit him after taking some time to recharge. eventually, you do end up falling asleep, not waking up until the morning, weirdly warm. you blink, extremely tired despite sleeping for 10+ hours and shift in bed before hitting something hard. you whip around, heart pounding, to see your boyfriend leaning up against the headboard, smiling at whatever video he was watching. he glances over at you, before sending you a cheeky smile.

"finally up, kitten?"

"you freak! what are you doing in here?"

"i have an extra key."

"oh yeah." he sets his phone to the side and smirks at you.

"i missed you."

"i know, i'm sorry babe." he scoots closer to you, putting his leg over your hip and drawing you into his chest.

"well, we have time now." you smile, holding him close, nudging your nose to his.

"yes we do."

you didn't. just as your lips touched, his phone buzzed. the two of you jumped and he glanced at his phone before groaning loudly.

"what is it?"

"extra training with aizawa." he looked at you and you grinned.

"go on you big, lazy baby. i'll be here when you're done." he tucked some hair behind your ear before rolling over the bed, heading to training so he could get back to you.

but now that he left, you were twitchy, moving around the bed, feeling a bit anxious for him to come back. he had gotten you in the mood and then left. prick. you straighten up your room, clean your bathroom, and then decide to start an episode of grey's anatomy. at this point, you were relaxed again, and the door cracked open just as meredith placed her hand on the live bazooka in the guy's chest. locked in, you barely noticed as shinsou throws his shoes off and goes to take a shower in your bathroom.

he comes out in a towel and starts to crawl over to you, positioning himself over you. you push him aside, much to his displeasure, to watch meredith shakily put the live bazooka in the bomb squad guy's hand.

when the kisses start up your neck, you whine.

"baby, wait. this is interesting."

"i'm interesting."

but when meredith exists the O.R. to see the bomb squad blown up, shinou sits up.

"whoa."

you smirk. "told you it's totally interesting."

the ending credits play and you finally turn your attention to him. when you start kissing him now, he pays no attention as the next episode started playing.

"shinsou."

"no you're right. this is interesting."

"ugh." he smiles, still looking at the tv, and puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. but you are not going to wait another 40 minutes. your hand trails down his abs (and damn, they are defined) to the hair that peeks out from the top of his towel.

no reaction.

your hand doesn't stop, lightly touching the bulge under the towel. he hisses and grabs your shoulder tighter.

"what are you doing?"

"asking for attention."

"you needy baby."

you throw your leg over his lap, now straddling him, hands reaching to move his hair out of his eyes. his eyes travel back to the tv, but you grab his chin and forced him to look at you.

"pay attention to me," you whine.

he smirks.

"make me."

you do. you smash your lips onto his, swallowing his groans. your hands move up his chest and one links in his hair while the other claws at his back. he kisses back with fervor, and to throw him off his game, you grind down on him. his head falls back onto the headboard, and you take the chance to start sucking on his neck.

his hand goes to your hair, pulling him back. his lips part, ready to say something, when a loud pounding on your door has the two of you quickly breaking apart.

"SHUT THE HELL UP."

the both of you groan, and shinsou shouts,

"way to kill the mood!"

you hear, "DON'T CARE," as he stomps back to his room and slams the door. you totally forgot his was your neighbor.

oops.

[luveline]

Hi! I seriously love the way you write parental relationships with kids. Not really sure if you’d be interested in this idea but would the reader ever need to pick up Roan from daycare when Eddie has to stay late at work?

hi! im so happy you do baby, thanks so much for your request! this was a great idea, you're a wonder ;) this one got really long by accident it's not my fault ♡ girl dad eddie x fem!reader

It's a desperate phone call. You just got home from work and you can hear the landline ringing as you open the door.

"Hello?" you ask, hooking the red plastic receiver between your cheek and your shoulder.

"Hey, it's Eddie!"

You could tell from the grinding sounds in the background. "Hey. Working hard or hardly working?"

Usually Eddie would laugh at your bad jokes. He might look all frosty and cool on the outside but he's not so tough on the inside, a veritable goodball through and through. It's easy to think of him blowing raspberries on Roan's tummy, their matching happy smiles.

"Did you hear me?" he asks.

"What?"

"I asked if you'd do me a favour."

"Sure thing," you say immediately. You ease your shoes back on. "What do you need?"

"Could you pick Roan up from daycare?"

You drop the phone and scramble to pick it up where it's swaying left to right. "Is everything okay?" you ask worriedly.

"Everything is fine! Well, everything sucks, but it's fine. They need my hands for something, 'n usually I'd ask Wayne to grab her for me but he's tied up." You blink. "It's okay if you can't," he adds. You think he might be saying, It's okay if you don't want to.

You grin. "I can get her no problem. Will they let me? Do I need to be on, like, a list?"

"I can call them first. You're sure you don't mind? You can bring her here-"

"Where? To the garage? Can't she just come watch movies with me?"

He clears his throat. "You want to?"

There's lots of things you could say here. Eddie, I adore her. Of course I want to. Or even, Eddie, I'm pretty sure I adore you, so I'd do it even if I didn't love her to pieces.

"I'd love to! We can have a princess party, and-"

"That sounds great, baby. Thank you." His tone is a tad strained.

"Oh, right. Finish your thing! I'll get in the car as soon as you go," you assure him.

"Thank you," he says again, and hangs up.

You let yourself in through the first door and approach the desk.

You drive down to the daycare and can't help thinking about how excited you are to see Roan. You hope she'll be excited in turn, and then you tell yourself off for entertaining the idea. You're not her mom, you're not her anything. You're barely Eddie's anything.

You're really hoping you will be.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up Roan Munson," you say, nervous to talk to this lady you've never met before.

She squints up at you assessingly from behind a pair of bifocals.

"Eddie said he was gonna call."

"Nobody's called me," she says, monotone. "What's your name?"

You tell her your name. She says, "Uh-huh," like she couldn't believe you less and then clicks through a struggling computer, green light illuminating her face.

You twiddle your thumbs. You can hear the sound of kids playing behind the door but don't want to try peeking in case the lady thinks you're a freak.

Maybe Eddie's gonna call any second now and save you the awkwardness.

You open your mouth to reiterate when she hums. "Alright. I'll buzz you in."

She buzzes you in.

You're on the list. Eddie put you on the list.

You walk through the second door and spot Roan instantly, already dressed in her shoes, a chunky pair of black mary janes, and a sparkly red nylon jacket. Her curls are in frizzy braids, one hanging dangerously close to what looks like a pot of dirtied paint water.

The toes of your shoes hit the baby gate. The sound draws lots of attention, a bundle of kids all excited to see their parents and go home. Among them is Roan. Her eyes get wide and she smiles her lovely baby smile, hands paused where she'd been drawing a picture.

"Hey, princess," you say, not too loud as to disturb the workers but more than enough for her to hear you clearly. "You coming home with me?"

Rhetorical, obviously, but amazing to get to hear her say, "Yes! Yes, I'm come with you."

She strides to the babygate and lifts her arms. It's familiar now; while you haven't gotten any better at picking her up, you do it without thinking. You've barely wrapped your arms around Roan when a young man is passing you her backpack.

"Thank you," you say emphatically, not sure what to do with it. In the end you shrug it over your own shoulder.

Roan gives you a hug right there and then. She's all short limbs and extreme enthusiasm as she does, the paper in her hand smashed to your neck and the flyaways from her braids tickling your nose.

She so heavy. You can never get used to how heavy she is. You give her a great back-rubbing squeeze and then set her down. She isn't happy, but she doesn't get too mad, only pouts.

"You look like daddy when you do that."

"Where is daddy?" she asks.

You smooth down the lapels of her jacket. "He's at work with Uncle Wayne. But he sent me to come and get you. Does that sound okay?"

She shrugs. You shrug back at her because she's funny, and it makes you laugh.

"Yeah? I figured we'd go buy some candy and have a princess party." You whisper the last bit and watch awe slacken her face.

It quickly tightens. She screams and jumps at you, almost knocking you over in her rush to hug you.

It's a great feeling. You can tell why Eddie loves this part as much as he does.

You don't have a car seat for her so you decide you can walk the half an hour to your place. It feels long. You take pity on her little legs dragging halfway in and politely ask if you can carry her. She rests on the moving bump of your hip and answers questions about her day as best as she can, her drawing now safely tucked away in her mini backpack.

You stop at the small corner store on the way and let her fill a basket with drinks and chips and candy. All pink or purple, of course. Your princess party needs appropriate catering. There's a cheap tiara and wand set hanging on a rotating rack in the back and you add it as inconspicuously as you can to a growing heap of things so as not to spoil the surprise.

Carrying her and a grocery bag full of things is hard work but you don't mind, not when she's having such a great time. All she's done is chatter about princesses and her dad and you in varying arrangements and with varying passion.

"This is my house," you announce outside.

You let yourselves in, help her out of her shoes, and hold her hand as you climb the stairs together. Roan takes them one at a time. You don't suppose the trailer has as many.

"Good job, baby," you praise.

She gives you one of her more shy smiles and gets noticeably closer to your leg, almost clinging to you as you show her where the bathroom is and then your bedroom.

You don't quite have a princess bed, but you do have a lot of soft looking pillows. She squeals.

"You want to lie down?" you ask her knowingly.

Roan nods. You smirk and pick her up, rocking her back and forth as you count, "1, 2, 3," and toss her into your sheets. She lands with a roaring bubble of giggles and a poof of silken sheets.

You throw yourself down beside her.

She lolls her head to look at you. You share a private smile.

When Eddie finds you, it's in the living room. He'd knocked a couple of time and got no answer, had almost turned around to leave when he heard the TV playing a familiar princess song.

"Girls?" he asks, shocked at your sleeping figures.

Roan wears a cheaply made plastic tiara. Her shoes and socks are gone, her small legs and feet pushed out straight in front of her on the couch cushion. You have your legs kicked up on the coffee table and are surrounded by snacks, a plastic wind in one hand and Roan's hand in the other.

He weaves around discarded shoes and things and perches carefully on the coffee table next to your legs, freshly scrubbed hand reaching out to clasp your calf, rubbing up and down the length of it until you rouse from your dozing. Your hand tightens around his daughters. She's the first thing you check when you wake up.

His heart aches in the best way.

"Hey," he says, still rubbing your leg slowly.

"Hi, Eddie." You rub your face and sit up with a sigh, flopping over until your back is hunched.

Eddie chuckles under his breath and applies a little more pressure to his massage.

"That feels nice," you say through a yawn.

"I bet it does. Did you walk all the way here?"

You wipe your eyes with one hand and look at him through parted fingers for a moment. "Yeah," you confess sheepishly, dropping your hand. "I don't have a car seat."

His turn to be sheepish. "I'm sorry."

"No! Don't be, we," — you hold her hand like a trophy; his heart aches worse — "had a really good walk. Great arm workout. That's my exercise for the year."

He holds his hand out for your empty one. You pass it to him. "Mm," he hums skeptically.

You blink owlishly. "It's okay."

"Seriously, I had a great time. Um, Roan might be out of commission for a bit though. She did some intense jumping on the bed earlier. Oh, and I'm totally forgetting the best part, she..." You fade off as Eddie brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

"I'm sorry you had to walk. I didn't think."

Eddie kisses the same spot and then let's it fall, rubbing the invisible mark with purpose. "Poor girls. I'll make it upto you," he promises.

"That's okay." You mean it. "I had a great time. She's- she's really awesome."

"Gets that from me."

"Sure does. Same as her bottomless pit of a stomach, and her moods, and her-"

"Okay, that's enough."

"-lovely good looks," you finish, eyebrows raising at the starts innocently. "What did you think I was gonna say?"

His laughter finally wakes Roan. She stretches out and mumbles dispassionately, grumpy to be pulled from sleep.

"Hey, princess," he says gently.

Though he feels bad for stealing your nickname, he can't not call her that when she's soft with sleep and wearing her cute crown. The fake pink gems shaped like hearts set in silver painted plastic adorning her inky curls may as well be real jewellery for how pretty she looks.

"Daddy," she cheers weakly, fatigue scratching her throat.

"Poor baby needs a drink," you say.

You're on your feet before Eddie can stop you. He watches you go. Roan climbs into his lap with a self-satsified noise, digging her face into his chest. He looks down at her and drops a handful of dainty kisses against her head.

"Did you have a good day?" he murmurs into her hair.

"Good day, daddy," she says agreeably, already falling back into sleep.

"Best day ever!" you say from the kitchen.

He tries not to feel too jealous and fails.

-

more of eddie and roan

[allastoredeer]

Hello I had this dream last night and I need to share it with you!!!

We know the whole crew is invited to the Cannibal Cookout for the weekend.

So I imagine Al is gonna let cameras take pictures of him and Lucifer, that way the headline of his relationship with the king of hell will reach the seven pentagram faster(it was showed that he can take pictures when he wants to, since vox kept one). But that also mean he is gonna be exposed for the first time in probably forever. Like he is known for his terrifying radio podcast, which means that not many ppl know about his true form, especially new born sinners. So I can only imagine the surprise of those people to see the radio demon , the scariest overlord of them all, being a cute deer with a a fluffy tail and all the package that comes with it. Also Alastor mentioned to Lucy to ‘Wear your Sunday best.”, which might imply that he is gonna wear something nice as well…

It would be hilarious if Half of hell will start simping for Alastor and downright ignoring Lucifer.

I can imagine the internet exploding with Alastor pictures and people going like 'aww his ears are moving’ or something, sinners go as far as make fan club about him, meanwhile a certain picture box is having a mental breakdown…

~Valentino: “u know u can just say it that u want him”

~Vox: “Alright alright fuck yea I do and so Does half of hell. God damn it”

Meanwhile Angel reading through the chaos Alastor just unleashed

“oh he is so stealing my job already”

Lmao

OFC In all of this Al is completely oblivious about the situation he caused, so the crew tries to keep him out the flow, to not freak him out, which it’s not hard at all, since the dude doesn’t have a phone, but he does get a bit suspicious when Lucifer makes him wear something to cover his upper body, almost as far as making him wear an hat and glasses lol(I don’t see Lucifer as being who enjoys losing himself on new trends and gossip on the internet, so Angel probably showed him a innocent picture of them, but Lucy made the bad choice to go read through the comments. Nonetheless to say he was scarred for life, and decided to take it upon himself to protect Alastor’s privacy)

Also Alastor can probably sense when someone takes pictures of him, twitching his eyes and tail but otherwise leaves it be for the sake of maintaining the charade.

This was it ehehe, I kinda felt bad I woke up from that dream, I honestly wanted to know how it ended.

Either way I can’t wait to see how u are planning to go with it. Cause I just know u are gonna make me love every second of it😆👌

thank you for listening

Ps I wrote this at 5 in the morning a week ago, and I am not sure if I already sent it to u or my mind is playing tricks to me…so I am sorry if u already got the message.

Heheheheh I love this! You have the BEST dreams. I'm so in love with most of Hell not knowing Alastor, or not really remembering what he looked like, since he's been gone (and Hell is expanding by the thousands every day, so of course there would be people who don't know him).

And so they see him for the first time and it's such a stark difference to what they were expecting XD He's developing a fan-base and Lucifer has to scare them all of (otherwise Alastor WILL murder. He will).

And no worries! I did get the ask from earlier! Sometimes, if it takes me a long time to get to an ask, that's because I want to draw some doodles for it like the pics above ^.^

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

girls just wanna have fun 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, blackmail, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you're struggle to push back against your controlling father result in a misguided crush. (Silverfox AU)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

You bite your lip as you look at your reflection. The ribbed top clings to your figure, the razorback cut covers your cleavage but your lack of layers if obvious. If your dad was home, he’d freak out.

What the hell are you wearing? Put a bra on! 

You’re tired of telling him you’re an adult. You’re over his distrust. You’ve always been a good a daughter. What have you ever done to let him down? You kept your GPA high enough to get into college and your extracurriculars even made you a hot commodity. Yes, that’s exactly what you are. 

You turn and push out your bum, running your hands over the curve. The TikToks might call it a glow up. It’s that classic era of a woman’s life when she comes into her own. When she fills out just enough, when she knows the power she has. Well, you think that’s what it is. You don’t know, it’s all still a bit confusing. 

Hard to be your own woman when you still live at home, but daddy pays tuition so you play by his rules. Well, it’s summertime and you don’t need to turn in a 4.0 to make him happy until Fall. This is going to be your summer. No studying, no lame ass book clubs, you’re breaking free. Well, you’re gnawing on the bars. 

Your phone buzzes and draws you away from your narcissistic revery. Before, you weren’t really into yourself. You wore a school uniform and your hair was always the same style, nails clean and cut, no makeup. Your coming-of-age at least let you take a bit more control over your autonomy. Your dad couldn’t really keep you from spending the money you made at your campus work study. 

Another text from Shelby. You don’t click on the preview. It’s worse to leave her on read than to just ignore the notifications. She’s a good friend but you think you’ve outgrown her. The last time you hung out, she just wanted to play MarioKart. You wanted to go out and do stuff but she hates public places. You’re no more fond of strangers but you wanted a bikini. You ended up staying in and ordering off Amazon. 

You put the phone down as the whir of a weed whacker sounds outside your window. You go to it and look out the pane. You can’t help the curl of your lips. You watch your neighbour trimming the edges of his lawn. He’s overly diligent about his landscaping. While many others hire gardeners, he’s certain to tend to every inch of his lot. 

Mr. Barnes doesn’t seem the type for half-measures. You like that about him. No, you love it. You feel giddy just watching him. 

You spin and lean against the wall with a sigh. You have a terrible crush. On an older man. For all the novels and movies you’ve seen, it’s a common trope, but that’s fiction and this is real life. You can’t lust after your neighbour. Especially not him. 

Just because you feel a certain kind of way, doesn’t mean you need to do anything about it. You can still dream. You can pretend when you’re home alone or at night when you’re lying in bed, unable to sleep. You feel a tingle flow through you and shudder. 

You get a bad idea. Nothing’s going to happen, but you just want him to notice you. Just a little. Just for a moment. 

You turn to the mirror again and touch the sides of your white denim shorts, slightly distressed for effect. You wiggle your hips and clutch onto your courage. You spin and flit out before it can elude you. 

You scramble downstairs and stop to push your feet into your slides. You stop and take a breath, centering yourself on your act. You pull open the front door and flurry through, squealing as you scramble across the porch and nearly tripping down the steps. You throw up your hands, shaking them as you commit to your act. 

“Ew, ew, ew,” you chant shrilly and the whirring trimmer stops. “Oh god!” 

You hear a deep breath and a grunt. You put your hands to your head and cringe, turning to look at Mr. Barnes as he squints in your direction. You turn your grimace to a sheepish smile and drop your arms, rubbing one shyly, certain to push up your chest with the act. 

“Hi,” you poke out the tip of your tongue, “sorry I...” you laugh at yourself, “there’s a spider in my bedroom. I panicked.” 

He nods and squares his jaw, shifting the trimmer as he grips it. He comes towards the low picket fence between your yards. You drop your hands and hook your thumbs in your shorts pockets, rocking back and forth. 

“Sorry, didn’t meant to bother,” you push your shoulders to your ears. His eyes twitch, barely resisting a skim of your figure. Instead, he looks past you to the long drive at the other side of your lot. 

“Dad’s not around?” He asks warily, his voice rocky and deep, just like you hear it in your head. 

You shake your head, batting your lashes at him. Him and your father don’t get along. Maybe you have some daddy issues but you really don’t care. He’s just so hot. His slightly mussed silver hair and his still toned arms. He might have some years on you but there’s no guys your age who look that good. 

“Working,” you pout, “he won’t kill them either. He just puts them out in the yard and they come right back in.” 

“Mm,” he hums and leans the trimmer against the fence, “want me to take care of it?”

Yes, I want you to take care of me. Focus.

You let your eyes round and push your lip out, “if you don’t mind. They give me the heebies.” 

“Heebies,” he repeats the word flatly, “huh.” 

He comes around the fence and lets himself in through the gate. You meet him at the walk and step in front of him, leading him up the front steps. You can’t remember the last time he came over. Not since he moved in. Yeah, his brief acquaintance with your father ended in a city prospector measuring the lots and relaying the property line. Oof, your dad still hasn’t let that go. 

You’re overly aware of him behind you as you climb the steps. You hope he’s looking at your ass. Those shorts hug it in just the right way.  

The front door is still open from your feigned escape. You step inside and habitually leave your slides on the mat. Mr. Barnes pauses and steps out of his workboots. 

“Um, it’s in my room,” you point up the stairs, almost shaking. You didn’t really plan this far. 

“Right,” he follows your direction and you stay a few feet back, keeping up your frightful act. 

He climbs the stairs and you tell him which way to go. He enters your room and looks around. Shoot. Your head is empty. Something about him just makes you dumb. 

“It was in the corner,” you lie, “it must’ve skittered off. Oh no! You think it’s hiding somewhere.” 

“Probably won’t see it again,” he shrugs. “Keep a shoe by your bed.” 

You hum and nod. Your eyes linger on the small vibe on your nightstand. Whoops. You kinda hope he sees it too. He faces you and clears his throat. 

“Eucalyptus or peppermint,” he says, “those will keep them away. Spray a little around your windows and door.” He points around the walls. He looks a little out of place among your purple walls and your fluffy aesthetic, yet not at all. You can just see him on your bed. You gulp as you realise he’s still talking. “All good?” 

“Uh, yes, d—sir,” you smile and clench your teeth tight around your near slip. Had you really almost called him dad? Oh shit. Yeah, that can just be tucked away and never thought of again. “Thanks for trying.” 

“Yeah, no worries,” he shrugs and moves towards you. 

You just stand there. He arches a brow and gesture past you. You blink and giggle, “oh, uh, sorry. Thanks again.” 

“Mm, I’ll let myself out,” he says as he brushes by you. Just the scent of his sweat has you flustered. 

“Sure,” you murmur after him, your heart fluttering. “Bye, Mr. Barnes.” 

You listen to him go and as the front door shuts, you spin and float over to fall onto your bed. You lay face down and groan. Ugh, that only made everything so much worse. You want him! You need him! You lift your head and reach for the vibe on the nightstand. Hopefully the battery in this thing still has some juice. 

[vvesna]

I drew this cringe car on the plane today

[josephquinnswhore]

Hi 🌸

What about a fic where reader is walking with Pedro and they are at the airport but they get swarmed with paparazzi. Everyone wants to talk with Pedro so the reader falls and the paparazzi start to push her around and he freaks out trying to find her 😩☺️

Breaking Point

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.

Summary: pedro looses his shit after you get hurt from paparazzi.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: paparazzi being assholes, reader gets hurt, slight panic attack, Pedro losing his shit.

Note: I FUCKING LOVE YOU ANON. TRULY. Anyway I’m gunna source Pedro’s rage from that video of him at the airport where he’s frustrated but make it 100 times worse lol. I cant believe people are actually requesting my fics, I love you guys.

It’s no secret that Pedro spends a lot of time in LA when he’s not at home in New York, snaps of him plastered on the internet for the world to see; exposing his location within the day of him arriving. Privacy wasn’t a luxury you could afford, especially after his upcoming fame after his role as Joel Miller in the last of us, paparazzi just seemed to be everywhere you went, no matter if you were ordering a coffee, driving to a family members house or even going to the gym. Pedro was often apologetic about the lack of privacy and how intrusive the paparazzi could be, your life has changed drastically since being with Pedro. It was hard to acclimate to, being followed and having hundreds of photos of your face and personal life plastered on the internet and magazines worldwide. You had put your big girl pants on and learnt to deal with it, Pedro admired your resilience, even though the paparazzi were moderately tame up until today.

Today was one of those instances where you and Pedro were on your way to LA, a frequency that had become a fortnightly occurrence, the airport was nearly empty, a few people floating around, you try not to draw to much attention to yourselves regardless as you pull your luggage behind you, the few people that occupied the airport seemingly recognising Pedro despite the cap and sunglasses in an attempt to hide his face. He never minded the fans approaching him, in fact he loved it, as long as they were polite he would entertain them, what he didn’t need however was for someone to post online that he was in the airport, much against your luck that’s what happened when a particular fan approaches the both of you.

“Oh my god Pedro! Could we get a photo please, I’m such a huge fan!” A young girl asks him, his attempt of a disguise obviously failed, Pedro offers a polite smile, “yeah of course, thank you for your support.” You step to the side while she takes a selfie, not wanting to intrude on her moment, “I can totally take a picture for you if you like?” You offer kindly. The girl smiles and is trembling as she hands you her phone, you snap a picture of them together, Pedro wearing a genuine smile, his tired pose captured in the image on the girls iPhone.

You hand the iPhone back to her and she thanks you both, speed walking back to her friend that had been left by the seating area, showing her phone and seemingly posting it to the internet. Within minutes your phone is buzzing from a text notification, Lux sending you a screenshot of the post on Twitter from the girl, in her excited high she exposed your location to the world; worse off the paparazzi. You try to prepare yourself for the shit storm bound to happen.

“This isn’t good.” You mumble to yourself, a loud sigh leaves your lips that catches Pedro’s attention. “What’s wrong honey?” You simply turn your phone to him, he squints through his sunglasses and exhales loudly. “This is going to turn to shit.” He looks around the airport as you walk toward where you’ll be boarding your plane, about to stick your luggage on the belt carousel when you hear shouting and clamouring heading in your direction, that didn’t take long. Pedro turns your body away from the audience as to give you some privacy from the invasive images being snapped of you. He wished just once that the way he touched you would be kept private, he gentle hand on your back, his lips on your temple, nothing seemed sacred between you and Pedro despised it.

“Pedro, Pedro! Look here!”

“Please here look! Just one picture.”

“Someone move the girl out of the way.”

The paparazzi were screaming over each other, pushing and shoving their way closer to you with every second. Their desperation to get a new picture of Pedro outweighed any morals they had, if they had any at all. You struggle to make out their sentences and demands as they rush you, pushing you a few steps back, separating you from Pedro as they surround him in a half circle as they scream at him, each trying to gain his attention for their news report.

You begin to panic once you’re separated, never having death with paparazzi that act like this before, the noise and clamouring becomes too much to handle, it’s easy to become overstimulated when the screaming overlaps each other and the noise becomes havoc, you try to squeeze between the gaps to get back to Pedro, reaching out to him as you try to get his attention, to no avail. Pedro is polite in the way he’s shielding his eyes from the blinding flash as he calls your name, asking them to move out of the way so he can find you, unable to see you past the swarm of strangers. “Pedro!” You call out, voice breathless and strained as you panic, you’d never been around paparazzi like this before. “Please move out of the way so we can get on with our day.” Pedro pleas.

One man shoved past you harshly, seeing the gap you occupied in order to get the perfect picture of Pedro once he had taken his sunglasses off. You trip backwards at the force of his shoulder barging you, stumbling over your luggage that’s pulled tightly behind your legs and as if in slow motion, it takes a few seconds to register the pain in your head as it smacks into the floor as you fall onto the cold tile.

“Baby! Oh my god look at what you people have done! Move out of my way!” Pedro tries to shove his way past in an effort to get to you, seeing you being brutally shoved to the ground, groaning in pain set a fire inside of him.

You grunt in pain as you cradle your head, the area hot to the touch where it met the cold floor, the throbbing spreads to your ears leaving a ringing noise to squeal through them. “Oh fuck,” you mutter which comes out slurred, your own voice sounds unrecognisable, unable to stop the room as it spins around you, the dizziness sets a nausea in you that climbs from your stomach to your throat.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people, have you got no dignity or respect?” Pedro snaps as he rushes towards you, seeing your face paler than normal and the pained look on your face as it scrunches. He kneels above you, your eyes seeing doubles as he comes into view. “Baby, are you okay?” His hand is cradling your head and one is waving in front of your eyes, you blink slowly, trying to gain a clearer view of your surroundings.

Pedro slowly helps you sit up, leaning against your luggage as the clicks of the camera are still shuddering throughout the ordeal, not caring that they’ve physically hurt you. Pedro’s face is red and a large vein in his neck and forehead begin bulging in his rage. “You fucking cockroaches, you did this to her. You can expect to hear from my lawyer for this stunt. Get that camera the fuck away from me.” Some of the men flinched, never seeing this side of Pedro. It was a first for you too; the indescribable rage he’d shown was a direct result of your injury at the hands of these people. The clicking and flashes of the camera finally stopped, your vertigo stops to a standstill and you’re brought back to your senses. “We’re sorry man, we just wanted some new pictures. I got a family to support you know.” The man who pushed you excused himself, the irritated tone didn’t go unnoticed, Pedro scoffs, “go and get a real fucking job. All you do is harass people it’s pathetic. Now get the fuck away from us before I call the police. You’re lucky I don’t beat your ass for this.”

“I’m sorry man, I can’t afford a lawsuit.” The man stutters as he realises Pedro is dead serious in his threat. Pedro helps you stand and you wobble on your feet, his arms hold you upright as he leads you away from the crowd. “I don’t give a fuck if you can afford it or not you spineless prick.”

“Come on baby, you need to get your head checked out.” The paparazzi that lingered snapped a few more shots of Pedro leading you to the front desk as they’re escorted out by security.

You’re sat down on a small chair, an EMT approaches you, kneeling down so you can see him.

“Hey, how’re you feeling? Heard you had a bit of a fall.” He starts, opening his medical pack as he observes you. “A fall? She was shoved by those heathens.”

“Its okay.” You turn to assure Pedro, but it was totally not fine, he just shakes his head at the way you’re still trying to make this out to be no big deal. “I think I’ll live. I still feel a little dizzy though.” The EMT takes out a torch, you blink harshly a few times as it blinds you, you try to adjust to the bright LED light. “Just follow this light for me. That’s it, now look up.” Your eyes follow the light lazily, seeing Pedro with a concerned expression on his face out of the corner of your eye, made you feel guilty for ruining his whole day.

“Your reaction is a bit sluggish. Just going to check your head now okay? Where does it hurt?” You nod and point to the area at the back of your head slightly to the left and wince as his gloved hands part your hair where the giant egg on your head was. Pedro’s hand sits on your knee, rubbing it to reassure and offer some support to you. The man gently prods the sore spot and you tense, holding your breath, a headache coming on at the sudden contact with the sore spot.

“It’s very possible you’ve got a concussion. I’d advise not getting on a flight until you’ve been cleared. It may take a few days.”

You sigh, “thank you for looking over me.”

“It’s no problem at all, look after yourselves,” the man farewells as he walks away. Your hands are aggressively rubbing your hands over your face in annoyance, you’ve just delayed Pedro’s flight and now you would have to stay home while he flies to LA for his interview.

“I’ll call a cab to get home, you should still go to LA. You can call me tonight once you land.” You offer weakly and Pedro frowns deeper, the stress lines on his face making him age a few years by the whole ordeal. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving you here after that, concussion or not. I’m staying with you honey.”

Before you can protest Pedro hushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I can rebook the flight and reschedule the interview for next week. I need to be here to make sure you’re okay. Don’t ask me to leave without you.”

“Okay.” You accept which helps Pedro relax, his face red from where the stress lines had been a semi permanent fixture on his face. “Let’s get you home baby. Gotta make sure my girl is looked after.”

Pedro calls a cab outside the airport and helps you into the car, the taxi driver loads your luggage for you. “They’re going to point the narrative about you being awful. You know that right?” You look up at him through your lashes, Pedro scoffs, “let them, they can get fucked.”

He tucks your hair behind your ears and slips his fingers in between yours to hold your hand, a sincere look in his eyes, “no one fucks with my girl and gets away with it.”

[valeskawhore]

VOX

HAZBIN HOTEL! RANDOM THOUGHTS.

I’m hitting on Sherlock Phones yall.

Someone help this man.

Someone PLEASE help this man.

Let's be real with ourselves lonely sinners, vox is not the man we need but he is the man we fawn for. I’ve done a lot of research on his character, his voice actor, his background and his main focus in hazbin hotel just to come up with the most canon version I can write him as.

He is NOT “that guy”. Vox is conniving, manipulative, egotistical, rude,and has been described as not “a nice person” by Vizi herself.

I'm pretty sure he was the “where my hug at?” guy back in college for computer science and theater arts. The guy who no one liked; laughed at not with and continuously thought that everyone was intimidated by him because no one wanted to approach him. Yet it was really because— No one thought he was cool whatsoever.

Of course this man took dance lessons and acting classes, his mind is quite literally a computer even back when he was alive. Vox understands the concept behind “good television” and how to appease his audience.

The lack of attention in his life to early childhood/adulthood was made up when he became a TV host. Vox wanted everyone to love him just so he could push them away and be this “Awesome guy who's too busy and successful for everyone”.

He totally speaks to everyone like they are 4-12 years old. Someone could be older than him, taller, or stronger and he’s just going to immediately deem them imperior to him because of his success.

“My dear, whatever could be the problem?”

“Awe cupcake, are you sad? panties in a twist? Is your bra too tight or are you just going through shark week?”

Vox will literally say one phrase when he knows things aren't going his way.

“Let’s think about this.” Not TALK– THINK. Let's THINK about this.

And darling, he’s not talking to himself but to you and again, immediately placing you underneath him–trying to have you use that “big brain of yours”

This man will plant shit in your head causing you to draw conclusions about things so you can focus entirely on what HE wants. As done with Valentino in episode 2 SE1; when valentine is flipping his shit and all vox does is control the situation.

He’ll flip his shit, igniting fear into the person he’s talking to, allowing the victim to find him ‘scary’ enough to break into submission and shut their mouth.

He’ll take this time to plant thoughts into their head. “What do you think going half cocked around hell to find angel dust will do to our image?”---”U-uh.. fuck it up?” DING DING DING. “Good boy/girl”

And then praise when they come to their “senses” (What he wants them to do)

“Such a big brain you have, you’re so smart.”

“Aren't you a pretty doll? hm?”

“That’s right baby, I knew you had it in you.” No he didn’t, you surprised him but he’s gonna take on the ‘caring best man role’ to cover up his surprise.

He gets hard easily. Don't ask me how I know, I just do.

*~*~*~*~*

ok so I really wanna write like a whole freaking series of events for him, just one shots and I’m interested in all kinds of ideas, these are really just random thoughts that came to my mind while writing. If you guys like the way I write him or the ideas I present— totally let me know if I should continue my obsession with this man.

[mrsaltieri-real]

Sam Carpenter as a Girlfriend (SFW and NSFW)

Sam Carpenter as a girlfriend (with fem!afab!reader)

A/N: Just realised this will be my last post as a 22 year old as it’s my birthday tomorrow and I’ve never written anything for my best girl before. Disgraceful. So let’s start off with some Headcanons!

SFW

Initially, it takes her a while to trust you

She wanted just a fling to start with but found she couldn’t stop thinking about you and it was driving her nuts

Eventually plucks up the courage to ask you out and is just so relieved when you say yes

She’d be very hesitant on dates and try and avoid talking about herself as much as possible

Is still on edge after everything with Richie and his family, she doesn’t know if you’re just using her

She has really bad trust issues, will need a lot of reassurance that you’re in it for the long run

Will take her a few months to begin to open up about herself

Once she does? Oh boy.

Honestly the sweetest girlfriend ever

She’ll open doors for you, pull out your chair for you, kiss your hand

She’s just a sweetie

Loves taking her girlfriend on dates to the movies so she has an excuse to hold your hand or put her arm around you

Likes to lie down with her head in your lap and just chat to you about the most mundane things, enjoying the normality

ADORES it when you play with her hair

She’s just so SOFT with you

But extremely overprotective

Considering what she’s been through can you blame her?

Anyone looks at you the wrong way she’ll immediately get defensive

She’ll honestly square up to a 6ft5 boxer if they made you even a little uncomfortable

Will honestly knock a bitch out for you and have no regrets

She likes it when you cook for her

Even if you’re an awful cook she’ll eat every last bite of it

Likes to get stoned and laugh with you all fucking night

Works overtime at her job just so she can treat you to date nights, jewelry, clothes, everything

When you tell her to stop she’ll shut you DOWN

Loved to cuddle, more in private

Gushes about you to Tara

Will watch you sleep for hours on end just asking herself how she got so lucky to find someone like you

Her main love languages are words of affirmation, gift giving and quality time

She’s seriously an amazing girlfriend

NSFW

Sam is a FREAK I don’t make the rules

She’s a dom, a goddamn top

Has a high sex drive for sure

Channels her inner rage and bloodlust into fucking you stupid

She’s an ass and thigh girl with a soft spot for tits

But HEAVY on the thighs

She’ll tie you down and grind her clit on your thigh till she cums

And make you do the same to her, literally manhandle you into her and force your hips to move

Owns a strap, scratch that, she has an entire collection of sex toys that she’ll use on you

Treat her strap like it’s her own cock

She’ll make you gag on it, beg for it, fuck your hand with it

Really really gets her going when your sucking her off, looking up into her eyes

Her hands will be on your head, forcing it down your throat

Likes to finger you. Like, REALLY likes to finger you

Then force her fingers into your mouth and make you taste yourself

Same when she’s eating you cunt, she’ll make out with you hard afterward

Likes you to know how wet she’s made you

Her favourite positions with the strap are missionary and doggy

Doggy because she likes the view and it allows her to spank you (she loves spanking)

Missionary because it allows her to kiss you, choke you, rub your clit

A big dirty talker. Not much on degradation but has a massive praise kink on both ends

Likes when you tell her how good she feels, likes to tell you how good you are, how amazing you taste, how good you feel

Really loves phone sex, hearing you get off to her words is just such a turn on for her

She does enjoy scissoring but she prefers thigh riding

Likes when you scratch her up with your nails hard enough to draw blood

Expect to be marked up to holy hell when she is done with you

She really loves to leave hickeys everywhere

You neck, chest, stomach, thighs

Everywhere

Has a big ol’ blood kink that she can’t help

Same with a knife kink

But she’s very calculated with how she incorporates that, the last thing she’d want to do is scare you away

Can and will go down on you for hours, overstimulate the hell out of you and not stop till SHE is done with tasting you

But she loves to receive just as much

She’ll literally fuck your face till your a whimpering, drooling mess

Likes to make you ride her face, will die happily suffocated by your cunt

Sometimes it’s like she a woman possessed and she just can’t control herself when she’s around you

But this is all when she entirely trusts you

After Richie and how he treated her it took her a while to let someone see that side of her

The aftercare is sweet

She’ll clean you up, leaving kisses on every mark she left and just be so gentle with you

Likes to take showers with you and help you clean yourself up

You’ll fall asleep to her tracing her fingers over the hickeys she’d left scattered across your body

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2)

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

[bellabean24]

The Freak Panty Thief

Kinktober Day 1 Jean Kirstien x Fem!Reader

Word count:1310

Tags: NSFW, Modern AU, Panty thief, slight begging, slight sub!Jean, slight dom!Reader, caught, panty gag, cream pie, forgetting that there is a camera in the room so recorded sex

Synopsis:After finding your out your panties been going missing for two weeks when your best friend Jean would come over your decide to set a “trap” for him

Kinktober Masterlist | Attack on Titan Masterlist

For the past 2 weeks you notice pairs of panties would go missing then randomly show up whenever your dear best friend, Jean comes over. You obviously just thought it was a coincidence and that he wouldn’t steal your panties, he’s not that dirty or a perv. But one day when you notice he was in the bathroom for too long, you also notice your bathroom door wide open so you came to the conclusion that it is Jean but why not wait it out for a bit. 

To be honest you hope it is him because it kinda arouses you picturing Jean with a pair of your panties around his cock as he plays with himself, or him smelling a pair of them as he jacks off. 

—--- 

3 days later you now have a small baby camera hooked up to your room pointing at your dresser, you also cleared out your panties drawer and put a little note for Jean “I knew you were a freak<3.”  Now it’s time to lay your plan out.

You call Jean over for a horror movie night to start off the month, “Yea I’ll be there soon, Y/N.” He speaks into the phone, “Ok make it fast, bye” you hang up before he can say his goodbye, a smirk on your face as you wait for him to show up. 

Around 9 pm Jean is knocking on your door with food from your favorite restaurant, “Coming” you shout getting up from your spot on the couch to open up the door for him, “Took you long enough” Jean smiles at you, the smile he uses when he leaves you house with a pair of your panties in his pocket. ‘I got your favorite” he holds up the bag as he walks past you and into your kitchen, you close the door behind him walking into the kitchen as well grabbing some plates and silverware. 

“Hurry so we can start,” you tell him, rocking back and forth on your feet, “Hold on, let me go to the bathroom first.” He puts the food he had in his hands down on the counter before walking down the hall and to the ‘bathroom’ with his hand in his pocket like he is holding on to something. 

Within seconds you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, pulling it out you see it’s a notification from the app that's connected to the camera in your room, opening the app you see Jean about to pull the drawer door open. Before he can open it you walk down the hallway and to your room watching the video that displays on your phone as you reach your room. Jean opens the draw and the look of horror washes over his face. 

“What you doin’ Jean?” you bite your lip hiding the smile that's on your face as you watch Jean look at you with fearful eyes, “I-It’s not what you think I swear.” He stutters out his eyes leaving yours and looking down at the floor. “You sure? Cause it kinda looks like you're going through my panty drawer,” smirking at him you walk closer to him pressing your chest up against him as his back hits your dresser, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to.” he bites his lower lip trying not to look down into your shirt, and a bit ashamed that he was just caught looking through your private things and trying to put the ones he took back. 

“I hope you washed them before putting them back”, teasing him. You bat your eyelashes at him, rubbing your hand up and down his arm “Of course I did.” He blushes, knowing you could feel his hard on that makes his pants 10 times more tighter, “Jean do you want to have sex with me” getting straight to the point hoping he says yes to you, “Yes please” he barely whispers. You take your shirt off dragging him to your bed, the back of his knees hit the bed. Jean soon takes his shirt off and throws it on the floor next to yours; his pants soon follow and left in only this boxer, his boner more noticeable. 

“Lay down for me, Jean” you ordered him as you took your pants and bra off waiting for him to lay down before taking your panties off. Jean lays up against your headboard, when he is finally situated you take your panties off and toss them at him. 

Getting on the bed you crawl up to his pelvis, looking up at him silently asking permission to pull his dick out, Jean nods his head letting out a small quiet yes. You pull his aching dick out of its confinements, his tip leaking just from getting caught and you touching him. Swiping your thumb across his flushed tip he lets out a small whimper, before you take his thick length down your throat, bobbing your head up down on his cock, drool seeping from the sides of your mouth the more you suck his cock, stopping at the base of this cock you hold yourself there as your hand reaches for his heavy balls you squeeze them as your pull your head back up. 

“Shit, Y/N I’m gonna cum don’t stop” he whines throwing his head back against your headboard, you quickly pull yourself from his cock licking your lips as you pant. “Fuck why you stop” Jean looks at you with doe eyes as his hip buck up into the air looking for some sort of friction. “Cause I want you to cum in me” you tilt your head at him, moving to straddle his lap, grabbing his length aligning it with your dripping hole, “I’m gonna need you to be quiet, Jean I don’t want my neighbors to hear you” you tell him before leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

“Ok I’ll be quiet” You know he is lying Jean can be whiny even without sex, smiling at him you lower yourself on his dick bottoming him out as you both let out a hushed moan. “Fuck Jean your so big” slowly rocking your hips back and forth, Jean brings his hands to your hips gripping them so hard that it will probably leave bruises tomorrow. You grip his shoulders as you bounce up and down on his cock, your cunt squeezing him every time you lower yourself, “Shit if you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna cum” he moans out his grip on your hips tightening even more. 

“Please don’t stop” he begs and moans as your sweet cunt squeezes him, annoyed by how loud he is getting your grab the pair of panties you threw at him and stuff em in his mouth “Thought I told you to be quiet” his grunts and moans become muffled and his blush deepens. Fucking you and Jean dumb on his cock you feel your high approarch you grab Jeans hand from your hip and bring it to your clit, “Rub it for me Jean.” His thumb rubs tight fast circles against your swollen bud, “Shit I’m coming” your walls tighten around him as you gush on his cock, the moan you let out was louder than Jeans you drop your head on his shoulder, Jean soon follows after you his cum painting your pretty pussy white as his cries get muffled by your panites. 

“Shit Jean you felt so good” taking your panties out his mouth, he’s panting has his licks lips the blush on his face never fading, “next time you want a pair just ask for one” you kiss his cheek as he hums in agreement still dazed from his orgasm. You giggle at his response getting up from your bed to clean yourself up. “Wait what you say” 

©Bella2023

[sgt-seabass]

Joining in on the clockwork fan train, I have a Drabble prompt if you are interested. Nick often plays fast and loose with reader’s safety, and although he’s a control freak so he thinks of everything to prevent her getting harmed (like using air rifle etc) I wonder how he might react if he goes too far/something goes wrong and she does actually get badly hurt from one of his games. Maybe playtime gone wrong or he misjudged his strength. Would he feel guilt, or shrug it off?

𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒚

pairing — mob boss!prime alpha!nick fowler x omega!reader w/c — 1.9k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. part of the Clockwork AU. listening to — ♫ sip u slowly warnings — general dark elements, smut (dubcon due to stokholm, p in v, cunnilingus), choking to the point of passing out and bruising, possessiveness, pet names (pup, puppy, omega), a/b/o dynamics, very light medical elements, reference to past minor character death a/n — i hope you like it! thank you so much for the support and interest in the Clockwork AU! written on my phone. thank you so much to @rookthorne for helping with beta and suggestions 🥺🥺💙 this was meant to be short whoops.

Nick had been insatiable, fucking you for hours and eating you out each time in-between sessions.

After a work deal had gone awry and lives had been lost, he wanted nothing more than to bury his problems in your tight heat. With your essence on his tongue, he could be absolved of his irreverence.

Nick was angry. He didn’t take to fuck ups well.

When he’d heard about an omega retrieval gone wrong that ended with the death of a few targeted girls, he was irate.

Nick had to murder his men for their actions. They were there to capture them, not kill them - professionalism was expected, mandated, in his organisation. Nick didn’t need more red in his ledger, yet it seemed to have a way of seeping in, tainting the pages and bleeding everywhere.

His temper was no more than his inner child locked in an endless cycle of self-flagellation, so he fixated on you to distract himself. He’d created you and turned you into the omega he wanted. However, the problem with manipulating is that you deny yourself the love and support that partnership provides. Nick knew he was fooling himself by thinking you were unequivocally his, so he wanted to show you how good he could make you feel.

The urge boiled beneath his skin, an unbridled need to claim you; to fuck you into oblivion.

Barely keeping himself restrained, he’d carried you to the bedroom just after dinner, and the sun had long set. His need for you continued into the early morning.

By the time the clock hit three am, you were exhausted. That much was evident by the way your eyes struggled to stay open even as you orgasmed. The little sounds Nick pulled from you got whinier and more strained the more your body tried to get its rest.

But there was no rest for the wicked, and Nick was certainly feeling sinful.

“Give me another, puppy,” Nick growled to you, face between your legs before moaning at the taste of his seed and your wet mixing.

“I’m tired, alpha. I can’t.” You whimpered, sweat dotting your brow while your back arched against the silk bedsheets. “S’too much.”

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to decide that. I’ll tell you when it’s enough, omega.” Nick’s voice reverberated against your clit before he gently sucked it, causing your fingers to fist into the sheets from the unrelenting pleasure.

This was Nick’s favourite way to have you. Crumpled from the euphoria he caused you. You’d fought so hard against him, but at the end of the day, you ended up right where you belonged.

In his bed.

Nick started slow, drawing circles around your clit before replacing his tongue with his fingers. He flicked his finger while his mouth pressed kisses along your hip and down your thigh. Nick couldn’t help himself when it came to tasting all of you, so he bit into the supple flesh of your thigh as he kept working your sensitive clit.

Your wail only served to make Nick bite again, closer to your cunt this time. Fuck, your tears were gorgeous. “Does it hurt, omega?” When you nodded in response, Nick slapped your thigh. “Use your words.”

“Ye— Yes. Hurts, alpha.”

“Mm, but you look so beautiful with my marks.” Nick looked at the teeth marks adorning your skin, smirking to himself before turning his attention back to your clit. “Tell me what you want, puppy. Tell me what you need.”

Your thighs clenched, and Nick chuckled dryly as he ground himself against the bed, his erection painfully hard. He wanted to do nothing more than fuck you senseless, but it was worth waiting if it meant he got to see you shatter.

“I need…” You stopped yourself, and Nick could see the embarrassment in your expression. It was beautiful. “I need your mouth, please, alpha.”

“Such nice manners,” Nick praised before giving you exactly what you wanted.

He drank you in slowly, running his tongue over your folds and watching how you responded. You were so tense. As if each muscle was waiting for the anticipated precipice. And Nick would give it to you, but he wanted his fun first.

Deft fingers pulled your folds apart, and Nick groaned at the sight of you. Glistening and inviting. “Such a pretty pussy, pup. Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

Nick ran his flat tongue up your cunt, starting with long, languid licks that began to gradually get faster. Nick placed a hand on your stomach to stablise you as his broad strokes got shorter, turning into quick flicks across your clit.

He didn’t stop, not tiring even as the clock ticked away on the bedside table.

The tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm started to show as Nick alternated between licking and sucking, his hand running up and down your thigh as the other held you down. Your body tensed, and it goaded Nick to go faster, gripping your flesh tightly.

Nick hummed against your clit, and the dams burst. Like music to his ears, your mewls turned high-pitched as you came, your juices gushing down his chin. Nick had lost count of how many orgasms you’d had tonight, but each one was better than the last. He’d never get sick of this.

“My puppy does love playtime, don’t you, baby?” Nick watched as your glazed eyes looked at him, surprised at the new pet name. Baby. It’s endearing. Intimate. “You’re going to sit back and let your alpha do all the work now, right? Puppies are just too silly to do anything but lay down and get fucked.”

Seeing you so raw, so vulnerable, was bringing out the beast in Nick. The further down this rabbit hole he fell, the harder it was to keep his semblance of control. If you tried to make a run for it right now, he might actually kill you, too lost in the chase of his prey to realise what was happening. But you don’t run. Instead, you shuffled a little up the sheets, so your head rested on one of the satin pillows.

You knew you couldn’t escape, so you prepared yourself to be comfortable. Nick crawled up the bed, cock standing proud between his parted thighs, and he loomed over you. “Are you scared, puppy?”

Nick smiled when you gave him an odd look like you weren’t sure what response he wanted. “You should be.”

His words were the only warning you got before he mounted you, sheathing his dick in your dripping cunt with one swift motion of his hips. Nick let out a growl, pulling out the pillow from under you so he could grip the back of your neck. “Fuck. Fuck. You feel like fucking velvet, omega.”

The teasing nature Nick had earlier was long gone, replaced with a feral alpha desperate to breed. His thrusts were deep, rutting against your hips as his heavy breaths filled the room, mixed with your moans. It was a fucking symphony.

“This little cunt is mine, isn’t it? Tell me,” Nick snarled, pounding into your sore, used pussy without resolve.

“S’yours. All yours,” you sobbed into the cool air, tears streaking down your cheeks.

“That’s right. You’re fucking mine.” Nick moved his hand to rest on the front of your neck. He tiled his head back while his eyes fluttered closed.

It was a complete state of bliss. Nick didn’t look down as he let himself be free. No control, no thoughts. Just alpha.

You moaned with each plunge of his cock, but Nick didn’t notice the way your moans were weakening under the sound of smacking flesh.

Your hands clawed at Nick’s arm, but he didn’t even register it.

It wasn’t until you went quiet altogether that Nick opened his eyes.

Suddenly, cold washed over Nick when he looked down, his hand tight around your neck and your eyes closed. Not even a squeak came from your parted lips.

“Omega? Shit. Omega, open your eyes.” Nick tapped your cheek, but you were completely unconscious. “Puppy, wake up.”

He shook your shoulders, pulling his now soft cock out of you before he placed his finger under your nose. A sigh of relief left Nick when he felt the soft blow of your breath against his skin.

Nick’s jaw clenched, guilt awash over him. He was so lost in the moment he didn’t realise he’d begun squeezing, and he’d choked you out.

Your lack of response concerned Nick, so he sat on the bed, pulling you to his chest. He cradled you, and suddenly he was like his ten-year-old self again, holding the body of his dead sister on the living room floor. “Wake up. Please. I’ll�� I’ll get you even more strawberries. You love them, right?”

You didn’t wake. Still soundly asleep and unaware of your distressed alpha.

In making you vulnerable, Nick had actually exposed himself. Desperate and alone, he was nothing without something of his own. Without you.

“Beck! Bring your med kit!” Nick’s voice boomed through the mansion, a prime alpha call.

Only moments later, Beck came barrelling through the door with his doctor’s bag. His eyes widened at the sight of you in Nick’s lap, mottled bruises already beginning to spread over your neck. “What happened?”

“I didn’t realise I was squeezing,” Nick’s voice came out monotone, devoid of emotion. His heart had begun to lock down. He wasn’t ready to lose anyone else.

Beck rushed over, gently taking you from Nick and resting you back against the bed. Your alpha moved away from the bed, arms crossed and expression cold as he watched.

“She’s alive,” Beck commented. You were obviously alive, but hearing Beck’s assurance eased Nick a little. The alpha always managed to calm him down.

There was a flurry of movement as Beck checked you over, Nick watching closely, not moving from his spot. As if he were a statue, frozen by pain.

“She’s going to be fine. I think she could use an IV with some fluids, and I can do a scan of her neck if you’re really worried,” Beck sighed, standing up. “But she’s okay. We could put her in the medical bay?”

“No. She stays here,” Nick snapped back quickly. Beck didn’t flinch, not phased by the icy mood of his boss. “Do the IV here.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go get the stuff from downstairs if you want to get her into bed for me. Her body is pretty run down, so I imagine she’ll wake up when she’s got some energy back.” Not waiting for a response, Beck packed his things. On the way out, he passed Nick, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Accidents happen. It’s okay.”

Without further comment, Beck left, leaving Nick staring at you. He could have snapped your neck and not even realised.

Nick ran a hand over his face, the memories of his sister still fresh in his mind; he couldn’t protect her or his mother, but he could keep you safe. You were the only thing that had ever made him feel human.

After the loss of his family, he’d turned into a hardened shell. But something about you and your homely scent cracked his defences. Around you, his heart was exposed. It meant he could love with a burning intensity, but also hurt just as much.

Body tensed, Nick maneuvered you carefully so the sheet and duvet shielded you from the cool night air. You were covered in your slick and Nick’s cum, but washing you was an issue he’d resolve after you’d rested.

Waiting for Beck to return, Nick pulled up an armchair to sit beside you. He’d never let you see this side of him, not for now anyway. He wasn’t ready. But with you unaware, Nick leant forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry, omega.”

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