#john stones drabble

[footballffbarbiex]

player: John Stones words: 712 request: John Stones - you / your - 500 - 750 words - Going gift shopping with him while you are pregnant so you end up buying things also for the baby, all so sweet and fluff please

“We could just get everything online, you know?” John says as he pulls up his hood a little more and tweaks his beanie beneath it. 

It was cold in Manchester. Freezing perhaps. And it wasn’t even winter yet. The icy wind doesn’t help, creating a colder environment than it is because of it. Frost lays thicker on the ground, giving the illusion of a thin snowfall. It was still slippy as hell and John made sure that you remained standing upwards. 

“It’s not the same. We get enough deliveries on a day to day basis. Christmas should be more personal.” You counter, and pull out your phone to check, once more, which store was next. It’s a list you’ve checked far too many times that you should have memorised by now but it’s always best to look again. You’d hate to leave anyone off and ideally, you’d like to wrap it all up today if possible. 

One of John’s bodyguards has taken care of one lot of bags, taking them back to the car so that you two can concentrate on remaining on your feet and not having to worry about leaving some items behind or struggling with too many. John has shown a little enthusiasm when entering certain stores but for the most part, he’s hoping not to be noticed and trying to get through this with minimal damage to his bank account. 

You pause outside Next, noticing that they have a Next baby section in this one. “I didn’t realise the baby is on your list.” 

“You of all people should know that the baby is always on the list.” you reply and wiggle your shoulders in a happy dance while throwing signals with your thumb as you walk in backwards while grinning and John follows obediently while shaking his head. 

He knows as well as you that this is going to be one of the times that you drop the most amount of money. Though you do try to be smart about it, you’ve been around enough babies to know how quickly they grow and so know how pointless it is to drop too much money on the early stages of their life when they outgrow the clothes far too quickly. Newborn and first sizes should really be kept to the bare basics. Plenty of vests and baby grows. Anything over a month to 3 months you can have a little fun with but this stage will also be outgrown far too quickly. 

Quite a few people you know, including several brands thanks to John, have already bought and sent quite the haul of newborn clothes, so that’s one less stage for you to stockpile. With Christmas sales in full swing, you fully plan to utilise them for the upcoming year, buying quite a few for the age groups past 3-6 months. You didn’t want to be caught short but were happy to pick up a few extras if needed. Of course, the sales wouldn’t count for certain seasons and they would be picked up at a later date. 

You scan the rows and tables of clothes, eyes searching every different set as you pick up a few and hold it in the air to examine. 

“I prefer that one,” you hear John say and watch as his arm extends past you to touch at the fabric of the one he’s chosen. 

“Yeah, me too.” you nod in agreement as you turn the item this way and that to get a better look at it. 

“I still can’t believe that she’ll be this size.” There’s a softness in his voice as he takes it from you with one hand and drapes it over his other as he tries to envision a very real, squirming baby in it. You turn to face him and grin as he holds it up to your bump, an action you do frequently when hanging up or folding the clothes in her nursery as you put them away. She’s not due for another month and nesting is well and truly kicking in now for you. Sometimes you find yourself sitting on the floor, burying your face into the soft fabrics and taking in the smell of the baby softener. 

Unbeknown to you, so does John. 

[percervall]

all I want for christmas

Player: John Stones Word: 1038 Warnings: None, babydaddy!John, fluff Request: Present shopping You left no suggestions anon, so I hope you like it! Merry Christmas!

---

“Are you sure you’re okay taking them both?” she asked him as she fixed Willow’s bobble hat. The plan was for John to take both children shopping while she got the gifts Father Christmas would bring. John could tell she was nervous about leaving the children, but mainly baby Ollie with him. He knew it wasn’t because she didn’t trust him, it was more because Oliver was only six months old. 

“I’m sure. Oliver is asleep in his carrier and Willow is so excited to pick out a gift for mummy, aren’t you baby?” John said, gently tugging on his daughter’s arm who nodded excitedly. 

“Go, love. I’ve got this. We’ll meet you at the restaurant for lunch,” he reassured her when he saw the worry etch itself between her brows. She gave him a quick kiss, brushing a finger over their son’s head before kneeling down in front of Willow. 

“You be good for daddy, okay?”

“I always good mummy,” Willow said, making her mother chuckle. She stood back up and took the car keys John held out for her. They watched her walk away before John looked down at his 4-year-old. 

“Okay sweet pea, what do you want to get mummy for Christmas?”

Willow thought for a moment before her face broke out in a smile. 

“Mummy always steals my pencils when we draw, so pencils! And a mug for tea!”

“Those are great ideas baby, let’s go find mummy some pencils,” John said with a smile and started them off in the direction of an art supply shop. Ever since their daughter was born, they had made sure that the focus during the holidays would be on giving and not receiving. They knew their children would grow up in a privileged position because of John’s line of work and both found it important that they taught that to their children.

“I can’t find the pencils daddy,” Willow said as she looked around the shop, still holding his hand.

“I think they’re over there, sweet pea,” John said, pointing towards the back. Willow pretty much skipped over to the display, taking in all the different brands and types of colouring pencils. To the four-year-old the brand names meant very little, and John knew that his wife wouldn’t care much either whether they’d be Faber-Castell or some house name brand; as long as Willow had picked them, she’d treasure them. 

“Remember you have £20,- to spend and you also want to get mummy a new mug,” John gently explained as Willow looked at all the tins of pencils. 

“If I get this one daddy, do I still have moneys for a mug?” she asked, pointing to a set that cost around ten pounds.

“You do, well done baby,” he praised his daughter. He was stunned every day by how clever she was and how fast she was growing up now that she had started school. John cherished spending time with her, especially with his hectic schedule. 

Willow carefully picked up the tin and made her way over to the till.

“Hi!” she said as she placed it down for the employee to scan.

“Oh hey little miss,” the woman behind the till said, “Would you like it gift wrapped?” 

“Yes, please,” Willow answered, “It’s for my mummy. For Christmas,” she added, resting her hands on the edge of the counter as she stood on her tiptoes so she could watch. The woman smiled, continuing to make small talk with the little girl as she expertly wrapped the gift. John handed Willow a twenty pound note so she could pay for her own gift.

“There you go sweetheart, and here’s your change,” the woman said, giving Willow the money back.

“Thank you!” the little girl replied, handing her dad the money while she took the paper bag with her mum’s Christmas present. 

“Daddy, what does this say?” Willow asked when they were standing in front of a display of holiday-themed mugs. She pointed at a cream coloured mug with red lettering and decorated with a Christmas tree sitting in a cup of tea. 

“That one says Christmas tea oh Christmas tea ,” John said, swaying slightly from side to side to settle Oliver who had just woken up. 

“Really?” she asked, looking up at him. John chuckled and nodded.

“Yes, sweet pea, really. And you have enough money left to get it if you want.” 

“Mummy will love it. She loves Christmas and she loves tea!” Willow said excitedly as she carefully picked up the mug. John couldn’t help but smile at his daughter’s enthusiasm.

“Okay baby, let’s go pay and then we’re going to get lunch,” he said, steering her in the direction of the till. 

+

By the time they arrived at the restaurant, his wife had already gotten them a table. Willow spotted her mum and ran inside, flinging herself into her mother’s arms.

“Mummy! I got all your presents! But it’s a surprise so I can’t tell you what I got!” the girl rambled excitedly as she let her mum help her out of her coat. John chuckled and leaned down as best he could with Oliver still strapped to his chest to give her a kiss.

“Hey love,” he murmured. She smiled back at him in return before focussing her attention back on Willow. John unzipped his coat and undid the straps of the carrier so he could put Oliver in the high chair.

“Sounds like you had fun with daddy, my darling girl.” Willow nodded her head as she climbed onto the chair in between her parents. John leant back in the chair as he watched her help Willow navigate the menu. Oliver was happily playing with some toys, babbling away. John couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found such a warm and caring person in his wife to share life with, who in turn had gifted him with two amazing children. As if she could read his mind, his wife looked up from the menu and gave him a wink. John knew she had also bought his present while she had the time, but in all honesty this was all he wanted for Christmas: just spending time with his little family. 

Tags: @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass

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[charliemwrites]

Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

CW for threats, dirty talk, objectification, and dubcon. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Congrats on 5k! For the request thing— what about Price, doing some wedding/engagement ring shopping? He wants something special, and something perfect! I think some of the other boys would like to propose with a family ring, but he REALLY wants something nice for his lover, even if she'd be happy with something small and simple.

Give that man extra grey hairs trying to choose between tiny, miniscule details that only a trained jeweler would notice.

—The Perfect One

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He stares at the rings under the glass with an acute narrowness to his eyes. He inspects every one as if a bomb might go off at any second, not missing a single detail in the metal.] ❞

The Captain’s lips thinned and once more the Jeweler’s face fell with an inward sigh of disappointment. 

“Next,” John places the ring back down to the glass counter, the rows and rows of engagement bands inside lit up by background lighting.

“Sir, it’s nearly closing time. I don’t think you’re going to find one today—” Blue eyes stare and don’t blink at the man behind the counter; with nearly three solid seconds of eye-to-eye contact. 

The Jeweler clears his throat. 

“L…Let me go check in the back.” John grunts and the man scurries out of sight after locking up the previous ring. 

They just weren’t right, the Captain admits as he sighs long and rubs a hand over his beard, scratching at his cheek. Some rings were too simple, others too gaudy or far too intricate—there had to be that perfect medium somewhere.

But hell, this was the last jeweler in the city. John scowls at himself; glaring down at the glass and at the hundreds of options inside; all having been taken out and inspected as if they were bombs out in the field. The epitome of no stone left unturned. No man left behind. 

No ring left behind. 

“Bloody fuckin’...” The Captain trails off, harshly grunting his anger. 

If you could see the blatant annoyance in John’s eyes, you’d laugh and take him by the face, kissing his chin before speaking about blood pressure. As if he wasn’t constantly one bullet away from getting his brains shot out of his skull. 

It was the thought that counted. 

The man closes his small eyes and tilts his head to the side, fingers tapping the counter once. 

He just…he wanted it to be everything you would want. All he needed was a plain band, truth be told, but for you, he wanted that ring to show everything that you’d been through together. The good and the bad—past and future. An even mix of love and devotion swathed around your finger to join you both in a promise you’d already been keeping for years. 

And none of these blasted bits of metal and stone were good enough.

“If I’d of known it’d be this much trouble,” John grumbles, looking outside at the steadily darkening sky. “I would have just made my own, yeah?” 

But it was too late to change career paths, God forbid. 

Yet the man really wonders if it’s the ring that’s bothering him or the fact that he’s nervous to finally bend a knee. He knows he shouldn’t be, rationally there’s little chance you’d refuse—this wasn’t exactly a new relationship by any means. You’d both taken your time with things over the course of years. 

This was just a matter of when and not if. 

Still, the sink in his gut didn’t let up. 

“Here,” the Jeweler returns and John snaps back to the shop, moving away his clenched hands from the counter to fold them over his chest as the man brings over a small jewelry box made of reddish wood. “This is it—after you go through that,” he splays his hands in defeat and sends a painful glance John’s way. “You’ve fully gone through my entire stock. Had to dig through all of my displays to find it.”

“What’s wrong with them?” The Captain asks in curiosity, his deep accent pushing through as he grabs and opens the box with two hands—firm and not really hoping for much.

“Nothing!” The Jeweler exclaims, mildly offended. “They’re old pieces—antiques. They don’t match the rest of the designs I have out.” He blinks, thinking hard before he puffs out, saying, “They’ll cost you extra!”

John slides an unimpressed glance upward and frowns, but the rings in the box do more than he expected them to.

He blinks, slightly taken aback. 

There were only two in there, swathed by their precious sides in deep navy blue silk to hold them up. The glint of gold and platinum makes John’s breath still as the Jeweler begins talking about the ring that the Captain then takes out carefully.

“Circa 1940, the mixture of gold and platinum makes a unique and yet beautiful mix of class and antiquity with this piece. I would call it Victorian in style, judging by the detail around the raw gemstone—diamond, by the way. The ring is both simple but utterly striking when you look at the finer details, Sir.”

John ignores him, large fingers delicately bringing the object closer to his eye and moving it this way and that. He even goes far enough as to place it on the counter and take a step back to gaze at it from a distance, his eyes narrowed and wrinkles pulled in.

It was stunning. But, above all…it reminded John of you. 

The Captain’s lips twitch for a moment, his tension slowly dripping out of him like water. 

It made him huff a chuckle, but the Jeweler had been right about this one—the ring was simple, but the deeper intricacies of carved metal built it up to a point of elegance. A reverence and dedication to the craft. 

Dedication.

John slowly hums to himself, going back and picking the ring up another time. It sits in his palm, such a little thing, but, oh, so heavy. It wasn’t a shackling weight, no—it was the deep press of purpose. 

John closes his hand. 

“How much?”

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[jimmy-j-james]

Any chance you could make a part two of Venom!Reader x Price, or a similar idea with Soap/Ghost? I think it's such a cool prompt

VENOM AU W/ SOAP AND GHOST

- Ghost x M!symbiote!reader & Soap x M!symbiote!reader

- Proofread:

- Genre: ???

- Synopsis: Drabbles on what it’d be like if Soap and Ghost had you as their symbiote, or more specifically their first impressions.

A/N: If anyone is wanting either drabbles for other characters, or full stories like Price’s, do request!

⚠️ Simon’s part is a bit graphic and more aggressive in nature⚠️

════════════════

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

Simon had found you while on a lone mission. The task at hand was simple. Walk in, grab the valuables (this case being the illegal scientific subjects), and get out.

Of course, the Brit wasn’t as lucky as the one tank for grabs was broken, the symbiote no where in sight.

The sight was a panic alone, but what further presented as eerie was the obscene sounds of wet flesh from above.

As Simon raised his gaze, he was shocked to find a black inky blob drop down onto his face. Pained noises escaping the man as the unlabelled thing forced its way into his maw before disappearing into his body.

Panting and shaking, Simon calls in the incident, called back for evac and an immediate check up with the base’s doctors.

The checkup had gone awful. He was sweating, hungry, and aggressive. Feral, that’s how the doctors described him.

They sent him in for an MRI, which had only caused more harm. In a strange fit of rage, Simon had even destroyed the machine. God knows how he had the strength to do such harm..

The strange behaviours only continued though. From general hunger to thoughts of cannibalism.. he’d express his concerns to Price again, earning himself a necessary time in solitary.

Pounding at the walls, screaming things he’d swear was out of his control. He felt insane and drained.

Lying back against a cold stone wall, that’s when Simon met the parasite. He had thought it was trick of the eye, but no.

A slick and slimy tendril traced out from beneath his sleeve, snaking down onto the floor as grasping hold of a small mouse that had been idly picking through rubble.

Simon watched out in horror as the creature strangled the small creature. Inside he thought back to the men he had killed in similar ways, but something about the way this small mouse was slowly being killed.. it scared him.

The tendril slowly retrieved the dead mouse, dragging it up to the head it had poked out from Simon’s shoulder.

The crunch alone scared traumatized the Brit, shooting up in a panic as he banged on the door desperately. Shouting out about the alien.. something passers would ignore on claims of him being insane.

“You are scared?” A low, raspy, and grotesque voice calls out from behind Simon, another small tendril slipping up his neck, beneath his mask. “They will not help you like I can. You want love, I can be that.”

The tendril is cold to the touch, dragging goosebumps along the man’s skin. A stuttered exhale leaving Simon’s scarred lips. He can’t help the way the touches relax him, an unexplainable phenomenon.

“You like this?” The creature purrs, almost tauntingly. “You humans are such needy beings.”

To you, Simon was a needy man. He practically lived off your touch and praise. Completely and solely dependent on you.

It was such a contrast to his past shell of being. The old Ghost, the one that would berate him for being so clingy to this alien.. but to him, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

He fed you his victims, devoted his life to you. Saw upon you as a god rather than a parasite. A blessing even.

No one knew if it was a good or bad change for the bloke, but one thing was certain. Don’t bother trying to remove you from his body. If you were to be removed, either you’d let the man die, or he’d let himself die. Both of you needed each other, and no one could take that from you.

════════════════

JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

John had found you after running loose within a crash site. He had happened to pass by the crash of your ship, to which you had taken it upon yourself to use him as a host, without his knowledge of course.

He hadn’t noticed until days had passed. He was constantly craving weird things.. chocolate at first but then live animals. Next was the ungodly fevers he faced. Constantly sweating, and not your average amount either. Drenched head to toe in the stench. It was so bad to the point he was forced on medical leave, forced into bed rest while studied by the many doctors on base.

All was fine until they had him in a MRI. He freaked, or more so, whatever possessed him did. It was painful and traumatic. Seeing the sickly black mess slide across the floor. The doors were immediately locked, trapping him inside with it. Better him than the whole base, huh?

It’s what caused the alien creature to reattach to his body, to the life source it needed. It was what provoked the first verbal contact with said being.

“They want to hurt us.” It echoed throughout the Scot’s thoughts. Causing the man to stammer and desperately disagree.

“M-me? No, no, no! They’re after you!” He argued in turn, accent heavy in the moments of his panic. “Steamin’ jesus- get out of my body! Out of my head!”

To anyone else, the man looked absolutely insane. Fisting into his Mohawk, screaming on into an empty room. He remained like that, all until the other being spoke again. An grotesque tendril slipping out from his wrist, wrapping around one of his fingers.

“They don’t understand you like I do, John.”

The knowledge of his name alone had Johnny choking up. He was scared beyond belief. This had to be some cruel joke, maybe even the side effects of a bad concussion? But no. This was real. The thing was real. And he was stuck with it.

You thought of Johnny as the perfect specimen. Destructive and dependent of social praise. But those things didn’t matter anymore, he had you!

You kept him alive and well, refusing to detach from the Scot without harm caused. You truly were a parasite to him.

It had taken him awhile, but he had eventually learned to accept and care for you. Truly the perfect specimen.

════════════════

[pilfappreciator]

•○•PILF'S REQUEST GUIDELINES•○•

Some of these aren't entirely set in stone, but here are just some general rules for asks and stuff!

⚠️CLOSED FOR NOW⚠️

WHAT I'll WRITE

Headcanons/drabbles for ships and X-Reader content

Romantic and/or platonic relationships

Fluff, angst, crack

Polyamory (just know that won't write anything that involves siblings "sharing" the Reader in any way that's not platonic!)

WHAT I WON'T WRITE

NSFW (for now at least lol)

Incest

Minors x Older! Reader— this is particularly for Velvet and Veneer

I'll do angst but I'm not too comfy with anything hard-core (i.e. anything that involves physical violence, extreme depictions of abuse, etc.)

WHO I'LL WRITE

John Dory – 🥽

Bruce – 💜

Brandi – 🧡

Clay – 📗

Floyd – 💔 (Male!/GN! Readers only)

Branch – 🌿

Poppy – 🌷

Viva – 🌟

Velvet – 💋

Veneer – 💎 (Male!/GN! Readers only)

If you'd like something for a character that's not on the list, definitely feel free to send an ask and I'll see what I can do! Might add other characters from the series to this list in the future, but for now we'll just stick with those from Band Together ;3

I'll try my best to get to all asks as quick as possible, babes!

[97keanu]

Please can you write something to do with young John and the ballerina kinda like a continuation for the smoking fic

Ah yes, the infamous shotgunning the cigarette fic… I have gotten a lot of requests for that one, and have tried a few times now to actually sit down and write for it, but haven’t had any luck in producing something that I thought was worthy of posting. I have been working on a bigger project for my writing, but seeing this ask today inspired me to finally come up with something to further this idea. I will link the original fic here as well if anyone would like to read that one first, but you don’t need to in order to read this one! Thank you for sending this ask in today, and believing in my writing enough to want to read more, it means the world to me <3

Premise: It’s been days since you last saw Jardani, and all you’re left with is the taste of his lips on yours, and the smoke of his cigarette in your lungs. That and the memories you two made together here in this place of shadows and secrets. You reflect tonight as you lean out your window of your room, a cigarette loose in your hand.

Tags/CW: young!john wick, ballerina!reader, smoking, yearning, love that blossoms where it should not grow, aching, melancholy, a unspoken connection, drabble 1.1k words.

It doesn’t taste the same, not without his softness breathing the smoke into your lungs, breathing life into your body that aches for more than this. The want inside you doesn’t burn anymore, not when he’s gone. It smolders.

You feel like a fire that was left out in the cold too long with no one to stoke it, and he’s only been gone a week. You knew that when you and Jardani shared that moment, you may never see him again. That he was on his way to getting out of this place, that he had become what The Director always wanted from him. A weapon. A tool. A dog that bites on command.

He would make her a lot of money, this much you knew.

Still, you sit against the window sill of your little crummy room, the walls here having seen more girls than you can imagine in it’s time, seeing them come here innocent, then turned into cold blooded killers like a stone overworked until smooth. The smoke from your cigarette thinly rises to the sky, the cold still chilling you to the bone, no one here to share that experience with. You remember when you first came here, first begun your trek into this underground world, ferried here as some forgotten child on the street. You met Jardani soon after, his stay having started when he was much younger than you, you were somehow lucky to begin your training at fifteen in comparison. Now, at eighteen, you wonder what your life could have been like without all this, without him…

Back then, everyone seemed like an enemy. You couldn’t trust any of the other ballerinas, they would take your spot as soon as you gave them the chance. When you were assigned to a new ballet The Director was producing, you wondered who your ballet partner would be this time. When a tall, lanky boy walked in, ordered to practice with you, you had no idea what to think of him at first.

He walked with poise, but his eyes didn’t seem to meet anyone’s. That was until, they met yours. You couldn’t help your heart thumping at that contact, of the thought of actually being seen after hiding yourself away for so long, trying not to give too much attention to anyone in fear that they would give too much attention to you. And yet, here he was, looking at you, really looking, observing you with those puppy dog eyes of his. Later you would realize those eyes had grown into that of a wolf, primed and ready to strike in a moments notice, but for now, he was still young, still figuring it all out.

He had figured out one thing then, which was that he didn’t wish to dance with anyone else after you.

When you two moved together, it was as if you anticipated each others next movements. You felt light as a the brush of cold snow on warm cheeks, barely there at all in his arms. Neither of you knew what that really meant back then, you didn’t ever really even speak to each other.

No, Jardani was the silent type, he always was. And you didn’t try to crack that shell of his, not by poking and prodding him with questions the way the other ballerinas may have tried. Everyone knew Jardani was one of the most skilled here, they wanted to know him better, wanted to know their competition. But you were never competing with him, you let him guide you when and where he wanted on his own terms, and he gave you the same. An alliance without a word said about it. It was as easy as breathing.

Soon enough, a year or two had passed that way, The Director obviously knowing that you two were made to be together on stage, and allowing you to mostly work together there. What you thought she didn’t know about, was when you left the small warmth of your room at night, traveling down the icy fire escape to the boy with sharp eyes waiting for you down below. You wonder now if that was why she sent him away. Was his work getting sloppy from thoughts of you filling his head? No, you could never kid yourself into thinking that, you never wanted to think about how he felt about you, it was safer to not think of what you had at all as being anything more than what it was.

An escape.

And escape you did. Into dark alleys where you said little, but shared the taste of each other’s breath. Finding something warm to cling to that just felt natural, easy, real.

Jardani never needed to tell you how he felt, his hands and eyes showed you, his lips caressed you, his teeth have tasted your flesh and you thought perhaps he may never let go. Now you wonder if he wanted to release you from between his teeth, and there is no way to find the answer in his eyes.

You take a long drag from your cigarette for a moment, holding it in, nowhere to alleviate this heaviness in your chest, not even when it billows out from your chest into the dark sky above.

God, would you ever even see him again?

Your stomach churned at the thought that maybe it wasn’t enough. All that training, all those years of pain and misery for nothing, for Jardani to walk out into that big world out there and get himself killed on his first mission…

You know that some of the others come back often, to talk with The Director about new work, but you also know that there are empty rooms that haven’t been filled since their owners went off for their first taste of blood, never to return.

“Please,” you whisper into the night air, the wind stealing your voice. “Let me see him again, I don’t care how, I don’t care when, but let me see him again…”

You feel as if you’re emptying your heart and soul into a cold, uncaring abyss that makes no promises. And yet, it helps ease the tension in your knuckles as you grip the window sill.

You sleep tonight wondering if he can feel your heart ache a million miles away.

Taglist: @emacarrigton @sunnythebunny7 @worldsgreatestsinner @discoscoob @nwheregirl @slutforsoliderboy @sebastianstanisahotmf @iovesia @brooxie3 @generalkenobee @desolatewrath

Feel free to ask to be added/removed from taglist!

[ohmoonbeam]

FOOTBALL RPF TAG LISTS

I love to cover multiple themes, genres, AU's etc when I read and reblog, so to help you find the topic(s) best suited to you, feel free to navigate your way through my tagging system and find a few new fics to love! BEN CHILWELL all | reader | angst | fluff | smut | complete | series | standalone | family | friends | friends to lovers | friends with benefits | romance DOMINIK SZOBOSZLAI all | reader | angst | fluff | smut | complete | series | standalone | friends to lovers JACK GREALISH all | reader | angst | fluff | smut | complete | drabble | series | standalone | friends to lovers | romance JOHN STONES all | reader | angst | fluff | smut | complete | drabble | series | standalone | christmas | family | friends | friends to lovers | friends with benefits | romance | threesome

JORDAN HENDERSON all | reader | fluff | complete | standalone | family MASON MOUNT all | reader | angst | fluff | smut | complete | drabble | series | standalone | friends to lovers | friends with benefits | neighbours | romance RÚBEN DIAS all | reader | angst | au | fluff | smut | complete | drabble | series | standalone | brothers best friend | fake dating | friends to lovers | friends with benefits | neighbours | romance If you see any tags I've missed, feel free to let me know!

[bigassmoonchild]

please enjoy the email i had to send our favourite team because of them being pure gremlins { i have known most of them since i was 18 so 7 years }

just to fluster them the hell out and since im at my main job tonight and cannot do it myself

can we get the 141 ones reactions

{ never thought to request reactions until the latest one about crocheting which i total understand }

this is my third time trying to answer this. both times i initially tried tumblr closed me out of the submission and deleted the entire thing. i will answer all other asks tomorrow 🫶🫶

(also, why is croissant banned? who did what with croissant? and if your team is good, i am always more than happy to write them little drabbles or hcs 😉 )

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

initially, he walked past the medbay door. he briefly saw the sign on the door but didn't think much of it. until he fully registered what it said. spinning around and marching back the way he had come, he pulled it off the door and read it.

fully. he read all of it and had to pause for a few moments to gather his thoughts. what the hell? why did you have to write this? who caused you to write this? he had too many questions that he didn't exactly want answered.

almost worried, but just more confused than anything. simon wasn't entirely sure what to think about the paper, but he knew the only way to figure it out would be through questions. he didn't entirely need them answered, but it would be nice to know. he almost didn't want them answered.

still, simon found himself entering your office and laying the paper down in front of you. your head turned to the side, looking almost flustered at the fact that he had seen the paper. you didn't give an answer, and so he sat down in the chair across from you, staring nearly through you.

sighing deeply, you looked up from the paperwork and gave him a little grimace. 'what?' you asked. simon once more gestured to the paper in front of you.

'what's this?' was all he asked and you looked away again. biting at your lip, you picked it up to read it over. 'stop stalling,' he told you and you heaved a deep sigh.

you didn't make eye contact. 'we've read a book together, my squad 'n i,' you started. 'it made a lot of comments and little quips start. then they started to argue about certain parts of the book and well,' you gestured at the paper.

he nodded slowly in understanding, standing up and grabbing the paper to return it to where he'd found it. turning around, he held it up and raised his brow. 'ghosts medical blower?'

Captain John Price:

the way to the mess hall had him pass by your office, and so he figured he'd bring some paperwork meant for you. kill two birds with one stone, it would be easier than running back and forth later on.

placing the files and others miscellaneous papers down, he nearly missed it. just one quick glance brought all of his attention to one piece of paper, just barely uncovered by other random items strewn across your desk.

The below terms are banned:

and so he read it. curiosity killed the cat, so to speak, but the satisfaction of knowing what this was did not bring it back. all price could do was stare for a few moments, just trying to think through it. and as he thought, he knew he did not want answers.

it was either some new terms and language that people were using but he wasn't caught up on, or it really was just some strange thing within your own squad. either way, he tucked the paper away so that you wouldn't know he saw it.

when you returned to your office, you knew price saw the paper. it was tucked between a few files and some of the papers he'd given you. you wanted to give him answers, you wanted to let him know what it was, but you didn't. maybe he'd come to you, or maybe you'd just moved it without realizing.

he didn't meet your eye for a few days, loking a little worriedly at you when he thought you weren't looking.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

you weren't one to email him. you almost never did, unless it was absolutely important that he be added. so when he opened up his email after a long mission, he found one from you with no subject line.

to be honest, he was a little worried about what it might be. maybe spam? did someone hack your account? he wasn't sure, but gaz wanted to make sure it wasn't anything important.

he almost wishes he didn't read that email. almost wishes he had just left it alone, especially without a subject line. and so when he'd gotten to 'ghosts medical blower' he closed the email and deleted it.

it had to be a joke. he wouldn't admit it, but it made him a little flustered to read some of that stuff. did people really think of his lieutenant like that? especially those working so closely with him?

and he'd found you, in your office typing away. standing awkwardly for a few moments, gaz looked around the room. he wasn't often in your office, especially not regarding these types of situations.

when you'd finally looked up at him, raising your brows expectantly, he could barely get the words out. 'you sent me an email,' was all he could say. you nodded, giving him a confused look.

'i send a lot of people emails, gaz, you need to be more specific,' you told him. he didn't meet your eye, just looked around and nodded slowly.

finally opening his mouth, he gave you a little grimace. 'some terms needed to be banned?' he asked and watched your eyes widen. covering your hand with your mouth, you clicked and tpyed a few things before sighing in relief.

'lord, gaz, that was absolutely not meant for you,' you whispered, clearly flustered and not meeting his eye. 'i am so, so sorry about that,' you looked at him briefly.

he gave you a little smile, finally making eye contact. 'all is forgiven if you tell me what it's about,'

Johnny 'Soap' McTavish:

you were a tough nut to crack. soap spent weeks trying to wear you down to the point where you'd become comfortable enough with him that you would talk with him freely. and when it happened, he was ecstatic.

but he never expected this to happen. you'd handed him a few papers absentmindedly as you walked by him, giving him an affirmative sound when he'd asked if it was for him to read. and so he read them.

when he'd gotten to the one paper, he had to rub his eyes. he was tired, sure it had been a long day, but soap was positive he was dreaming. you would never just give him this paper, not without context.

and so he found you, waving it around in front of your face and giving you a cheeky smile. with a quick glance, you'd jumped up and tried to rip the paper out of his grasp. soap was faster, though, and easily held it out of your reach.

'now what's this, lass, about being ghosts medical blower?' he asked you and you huffed angrily. shoving at his shoulders, you tried harder to get the paper back.

he tsked at you, waiting for an explanation. 'my squad's been reading some weird stuff online, and they're making comments and it's turned nearly into an argument over some things,' you told him. he howled with laughter at that, bending over to catch himself from falling.

you'd snatched the paper from him and turned around. and that's how, for the next four or five weeks, you found yourself at the end of his jokes. all of them seemed to somehow mention some term or phrase mentioned in the paper he'd read.

it took you elbowing him in the stomach and making your own comments about him before he finally put it behind him. soap may have found it and made a copy, which sits hung on on his wall in the flat back home.

[footballffbarbiex]

player: John Stones (and a long cameo from Dias) words: 981 request: John Stones - you / your - 500 - 750 words - As I'm terribly shy and introvert, I was 🤔 if you could write sth about you and him going to a Xmas/NYE party and you struggle in fitting in and doing small talk but he helps you throughout the night and he's so careful

You stand nervously, fingers alternating between clutching and playing with your glass. John isn’t standing with you, but you’d also stressed to him that you didn’t want him to feel as though he needed to babysit you. And while it may have taken a few attempts to push him away from you, John had reluctantly moved away and engaged in conversations with some of his teammates and here you are, standing awkwardly both hoping you had someone to talk to and praying that no-one does just so you don’t have to talk while panicking. 

Wishing you could pull out your phone to give you some distraction, you take another drink instead and glance back around you. Some of the faces here are familiar, and though some of the women close by have spoken to you a handful of times at matches for both club and country, there’s no real familiarity there to enable neither you nor them to come and strike up conversation. You’ve had a few conversations, more small talk than anything, but you haven’t always been standing or sat away from everyone. 

“I’ve been sent to rescue you,” Rúben says as he appears at your side, making you jump slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” he gives you a warm smile and for the first time since John left you, you feel settled. “Drink?” He offers you a flute of something sparkling and you graciously accept. 

“Rescue me from who?”

“Yourself. Don’t give me that look, I’ve been watching you too. Come my little bird, there’s food over there and I’m hungry.” he says this part loud enough for anyone close by to be listening. When he drops his voice he adds, “John’s stuck talking to someone and needs you as a diversion.”

“Oh, I have to rescue him but he couldn’t do the same.” You challenge as the two of you begin to walk. 

“Thought you didn’t want a babysitter?” Rúben replies quickly and you feel heat begin to burn at your cheeks. “Yeah, he told me. Do you want one?” he asks and gestures to the stack of plates. You shake your head and he picks one up for himself. “I get it, I don’t like these things either.” he confesses, scanning over the table and selecting a few pieces of food to add to his plate. “Especially since becoming single. It’s just you in the spotlight and everyone is looking at you. She was amazing at making me feel calm and as though no-one else was paying attention to us. Something tells me you know how that feels.” It’s not a question and yet it feels a little like one. 

“I get envious of how John can step into a room and just… be John. I’m rehearsing lines in my head before anyone has even spoken to me and more often than not, I don’t even need to use those because no-one speaks to me.”

“I’m speaking to you.” Rúben states, giving your hand a little squeeze before turning away from the buffet now he’s happy with his food haul and begins to make his way, with you in tow, towards John. “If you ever need someone, come and get me.”

“You’re a good man Rú.”

“I know.” he flashes a grin and instead of verbally responding, you swipe something from his plate and eat it with much enthusiasm. 

“Hey!” John beams at you as you approach, his arm reaching out to pull you as close to his body as he can without it seeming too inappropriate. “I missed you,” he mutters into your hair as he places a little kiss into your hair. 

If Rúben had calmed you previously, then John has sedated you. Just having one arm around you, the feel of your body moulding to his, taking in a scent that is only John as well as the scent of his aftershave is enough to leave you feeling content again. 

“He was just speaking about you,” the man standing with John says. His expression is a happy one, there’s no malice in his tone and yet there’s a little panic that begins to rise up in you. 

“Oh is that so?”

“I was talking about the promotion you earnt.” 

Earnt. Not given. John always made sure to use vocabulary that credited you at all times but hearing it tonight made your stomach flip. When you look back at John, he beams down at you with an expression of love and adoration. He had no reason to speak of you when you weren’t close by, but to hear that he was? It made you feel good. 

“Congratulations. Does it come with a bigger responsibility list? I imagine it would.” 

It’s a topic that you weren’t expecting and in a way, talking about yourself makes you feel a little nervous even if it’s an easy topic. Rúben remains with you both, and though each person chimes in at the right moments, John lets you take the heat off him and you find yourself shedding the anxiety the longer the conversation continues. You wouldn’t say you’re “cured” for the night, but he’s making it easier. When Rúben speaks, it continues to keep the mood light and the conversation just as much so. 

Every so often you feel some small gesture from him. A light touch on your arm, a gentle stroke of the small of your back, fingers and thumb at your elbow when he reaches around you for something. Nothing too much, but enough to let you know quietly that he’s thinking of you, he wants to interact but he’s letting you have this moment. This isn’t babysitting and you realise this now, it’s him bringing you to the right people and him trying to gently guide you out of the shell you’ve been hiding in. And this is what you love about him.

[teenwolf-theoriginals]

A prompt for a Tommy drabble: “Tommy, I love you, but you are so goddamn stupid sometimes.”

Maybe something funny/fluffy, a sort of misunderstanding? Or it could be serious too! whichever works

Anyways I love your writing and I love reading them! 💕

thank you for requesting, i had fun with this. hope you like it. ♡

Finding the right time to tell Tommy you were pregnant seemed impossible. If business did not occupy his mind, distractions flooded in to ruin the moment. This afternoon marked your fourth attempt to tell your husband the news. While Tommy was upstairs conducting business with Arthur and John, you joined Polly in the kitchen, a cup of tea cooling on the table.

"When will you tell Tommy?".

"When he stands still for more than a minute".

Polly chuckled. "Good luck with that. How's the nausea been?".

You grimaced. Even thinking about morning sickness made you ill. "Not so bad".

"Liar".

You smiled. Nothing got past Polly. Tommy arrived, leaning on the threshold, lighting a cigarette. Glancing at Polly, her eyes sparkled, encouraging you that now was the time. He was finally standing still for more than a minute.

"Drink". Polly stood as she sternly yet lovingly instructed. "I'll come by later to drop some more off".

"Thanks, Pol".

Once the green double doors closed, Tommy spoke. "What was that about, eh?".

"Polly's special tea for my upset stomach. It's been bothering me for a few days now". You hinted.

"If it gets any worse, I'll call the doctor".

"No need". Taking a sip of tea, you added. "It'll come and go over the next few months".

Tommy inhaled the nicotine, not quite catching on. "I don't like the sound of that, love. I'll call the doctor. He'll figure out what's causing your upset stomach”.

"Well, my husband is the cause".

He blinked, still not registering your meaning. "Whatever I did, I will make it up to you when we go home".

"Upset stomach. Polly's special tea. A few nights go. Ringing any bells, Tommy?".

"Whatever you want to tell me, love, just tell me. I'm in no mood for guessing games".

For a smart man, Tommy sure did have his moments. Looking up at your husband, you lightly joked. "Tommy, I love you, but you are so goddamn stupid sometimes". He glanced your way, face stone-cold serious. Standing, you placed a light kiss on his lips. "I'm pregnant".

Stroking your cheek, he whispered. "Pregnant, eh? That is most definitely my doing". You laughed. “Tomorrow, I'll call the doctor to make sure everything is as it should be. And keep drinking the tea to help with your stomach, alright?".

"Tommy, I'm barely two weeks".

"Doesn't matter. Your health as well as the baby is top priority".

"Already in over-protective mode".

He smiled, kissing you with softness that caused your heart to flutter. "When it comes to you, always. Come on, I'll drive you home".

Taking your hand, Tommy escorted you out of the Betting shop and safely home.

[blurredcolour]

so much John Brady brainrot 🤭 so that being said…..soft dom! Brady headcanons?

Oh my nonny, this ask jumped out at me like a jackrabbit and I feel like it is the perfect time to expound on the forbidden dress scenario I first touched upon around Easter.

Behold some headcannons AND a drabble

Mature/explicit themes below the cut - 18+ only

Given the fact that dear Brady rules his fort with an iron fist (see his lecture to Croz after his struggles finding, I don’t know, England?!) I definitely feel like this man prefers to be in control, but I agree that it errs on the side of a soft!Dom rather than an outright dominant

While he hasn’t engaged in penetrative sex prior to your wedding night, he’s still the one on top, in charge, executing his seduction of you like some kind of pre-flight checklist

And let me tell you it works

As your relationship grows, you definitely feel more confident initiating intimacy, usually at times and in places that leave him slightly bewildered, your desire for him something so utterly mysterious whereas it’s completely logical to him that he cannot get enough of you

But he soon takes over to ensure you get the most amount of pleasure possible, putting himself last

You never realized, however, the potential for him to be suddenly overcome by a need until you wore that seemingly innocuous dress

Securing the zipper at your side, you took a moment to check your appearance in the floor length mirror of your shared bedroom, smoothing the hem of the spring dress in your favourite colour against your knees. It had been an irresistible extravagance when you were at the department store with only socks and underwear on your list, but the neckline and style had called out to you like a siren song.

Smoothing an errant strand of hair, you grabbed your handbag and hurried down the stairs to the living room where John was waiting, scanning the paper for something of interest.

“Ready, honey. Thanks for waiting.” You smiled and he snapped the paper closed along its pre-folded lines but froze as you came into view.

“That’s…that’s new…” he intoned, expression unreadable and making you feel the need to apologize for your over-spending.

“I…yes, I indulged a little at the store, did you want me to-” the sharp shake of his head cut off your offer to take it off, to return it tomorrow.

“It’s perfect.” He exhaled, eyeing you intensely before surging to his feet. “Come on, don’t let me make us late.” He grunted and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the couch, sliding it on before leading you out to the car.

There was a different tension in the vehicle, John’s eyes flashing in your direction frequently through the short drive to the cathedral, his hand resting heavily against your lower back as he guided you to your favourite pew. The heat of his palm was soaking through the thin fabric of your dress making you shiver at the temperature contrast with the cool stone of the building.

“You chilly?” He leaned in the murmur, the roughness in his voice taking you back to your lazy lovemaking yesterday morning and your jaw dropped open as you suddenly realized just what was going on.

A glance at him to offer a reassuring smile and shake of your head revealed his dilated pupils and slightly flushed cheeks, making you sink to teeth into your lower lip. What on earth had gotten into your husband?!

You could feel the weight of his heated gaze on you like numerous caresses throughout the service, more than confident he didn’t catch a word of the sermon, pressing your lips together sheepishly as somehow you felt at fault for this predicament and yet you couldn’t really bring yourself to mind?

How many times had you found yourself staring at this man, star-struck and breathless with desire in the most inopportune of places…what a heady turn of events this role-reversal was.

As you rose to join your fellow congregants for the weekly post-service chat over coffee and cake, John’s hand slid to your lower back, his skin scorching through your dress by now.

“Would you mind if we ducked out early, sweetheart? I’ve got a bit of a headache…”

Feigning wifely concern, you nodded quickly. “Of course, Johnny, let’s get you home.”

The drive home felt faster than usual, perhaps because he barely stopped at the stop signs, his hand resting on your thigh, fingertips plucking at the hem of your dress idly in the silence of the vehicle. Stepping into the house, you’d barely removed your shoes before his mouth was on yours, hungrily devouring, as his hands seized your hips and pulled you flush against his body.

The prominent bulge of his cock pressed against your hip and you dropped your handbag to slide your fingers into his hair.

“This dress is my devil in the desert.” He growled against your lips, making you laugh breathlessly.

“I wasn’t sure you were paying attention, honey.”

Turning to press you up against the front door, he ground his aching hardness into you. “I was enduring my own test…” he nipped your lips before trailing his mouth down your neck, hands rucking up the hem to slip between your thighs.

Mewling as you pulled at his suit jacket, you clung to him as he pinned you tightly to the door and quickly wrung an orgasm from you with practiced efficiency, leaving you a knock-kneed, panting, shaking mess.

Stepping back to shuck off his jacket and yank his tie free, you reached up to pull down your side zipper, eyes shooting wide at his verbal interjection.

“Ah! This?” His fingers strayed back to toy with the hem of your dress. “No, this stays on.” He said firmly, voice taking on a deep timber that flooded you with fresh desire.

Lurching forward, you instead focused your efforts on stripping him completely, following him down to the small carpet on the foyer floor, lifting your hips as he pulled your underwear off over your garter straps and stockings. Nestling between your thighs beneath your dress, his darkened eyes hungrily drank in the sight of you as he rocked his hardened length through your damp folds until you were begging for him.

“If my wife insists.” He smirked and rocked forward, sinking into your wet heat as your mingled groans filled the foyer.

The novelty of this coupling and desperation of his thrusts, combined with the insistent circles of his thumb on your clit, meant it did not take long for either of you to find release, left a sweaty, gasping mess on the floor of the entry way.

[peckforlovingheck]

small drabble snippet thing whatever about these two bc they are so important to me

It was a darker evening, just briefly before dark. John felt the wind blow in his face.

He and Rosalie stood by the hole they’d just dug. Rosalie kneeled down and gently took out the wooden box from her bag. She opened it, her eyes glancing at the contained items.

There it was; the most beautiful earrings John had ever seen. Teardrop shaped dangling earrings seemingly made of gold, with rose shaped crystals. Costed her father a fortune.

“You don’t have to do this, we can do it without burying this,” John said, resting his hand on her shoulder, noticing her hesitation.

“No, we need to do this. I need to do this, John. Do you have yours?”

He suddenly felt his pocket, pulling out a small locket. John put it in the box. Inside of it was a photo of him and someone he used to hold dear but now would rather forget.

Rosalie closed the box. She dropped it into the six foot hole they had dug, then taking a lighter and dropping it in next. Rosalie and John pushed the dirt back over it.

They then crudely wrote on a large stone, ‘Here lies Rosalie Thomas and Johnathan Garcia’.

“….We need to leave,” Rosalie said. She took his hand and the two ran to John’s beat up car.

They drove until they were on the outskirts of the next town over.

Rosalie was curled up in the passenger seat. She was shivering and crying.

“It’s going to be okay,” John said, his hand gently resting on her knee. He stopped the car for a second, handing her his jacket.

“It’s never going to fix what happened…” she mumbled.

“You’re right. But it sure made it better getting out of there.”

He held her face, brushing away her tear with his thumb.

Rosalie leaned into him, slight sobbing.

“…I love you…”

“I know. I love you too. Shh, it’s alright. You’re so strong for getting through this,” he reassured.

“…”

She eventually fell asleep there. He smiled a little, then dozing off as well. Really, this was the best option for both of them to get away from that environment.

All he felt was Rosalie’s warmth from her arms.

[ceilidho]

“you're about ten seconds from slamming the door in this guy's face when john pulls up and you melt a little when you see the stone cold look on his face” I’m late to the game but I know they fucked nasty asf after that neighbor got the door slammed in his face

i can't remember if this is from "birdsongs" or just one of the many ex-husband asks i've answered and written short drabbles about, but im ugly laughing at this. Price and his wife always fuck nasty. i love imagining their weird, sensual, sickeningly in love, disgusting love making.

[salsasvault]

about me: selia she/her 20s

hi! my names selia or salsa, an odd nickname i’ve acquired!

i mostly just read but have recently gotten more into my old writing hobby! asks and requests are open! masterlist below

masterlist:

airportsecurity!ghost + airportsecurity!price x reader

ceo!ghost x reader

gym!ghost x reader

the supermarket/simon riley x reader

Like A Rolling Stone/john price x reader

drabbles:

takeout/simon riley x reader

babysitting/simon riley x reader

what do i like?

call of duty is currently the two year strong phase im going through but the mcu and batman will always have a chokehold on me

currently listening to:

alt for reblogs: @salsa-reads

[esmealux]

Masterlist

A list of all my Deckerstar fanfiction works. Will be updated as I post more.

Roommates au

Living with the Devil (isn't always Hell on Earth)

In a world where everyone who desires it gets to dance with the Devil, Chloe is the only one who has to live with him.

Or, 5 times Chloe seriously considers moving out, and 1 time she doesn’t.

The original roommates au, written in collaboration with @my-crazy-awesome-sox. 6 chapters. Rated M.

A First Time for Everything

The prologue; Lucifer Morningstar and the soon-to-be-retired actress Chloe Decker meet at a party. Rated T.

Coming to join us?

Weird, how crashing on Lucifer Morningstar’s couch has now become her new ‘normal’. Rated M.

An Array of Menstrual Products

Chloe gets her period in Lucifer's bathroom, with no pads or tampons available. Or so she thinks. Rated T.

Coffee for the Devil

Chloe makes Lucifer a cup of coffee. Or, Lucifer isn't used to acts of kindness. Rated G.

Please Stay

Lucifer repays Chloe for the cup of coffee she made him. Rated T.

Welcome Home

Lucifer has a surprise for Chloe. Rated T.

Clothes. Now.

Lucifer meets Penelope. Rated T.

In Vodka Veritas

Chloe and Lucifer play Truth or Drink. Rated M.

You're positively stoned!

Chloe eats a brownie from the wrong badge. Rated M.

Take A Chance on Me

Chloe and Lucifer go to a 70s-themed karaoke night with Ella. Chloe gets drunk, and jealous. Rated T.

She's Gonna Be Okay

Chloe takes a gunshot to the shoulder. Rated T.

Valentine's Day Poppycock

Chloe doesn’t really care that much about Valentine’s Day. She doesn’t. But spending it with Lucifer might not be worst thing in the world. Rated T.

In Your Dreams

He looks up at her, dark eyes wide and serious. “Detective, are you sure about this?”

Chloe nods eagerly, too breathless to speak. Rated E.

You Know What This Means, Right?

Say hello to Uncle Lucy. Rated T.

Too Good To Be True

Lucifer has a dream about Chloe. Rated M.

Spouses without Benefits

Lucifer can’t exactly remember why he said yes to being Chloe’s plus-one for a wedding (he thinks it might have something to do with the look in her eyes when she’d asked), but now, he’s happy he did. Lux is fun, but it’s never… this. Rated M.

So Close

Lucifer thinks he's alone. Rated E.

Even Closer

She shouldn’t think about him like this. He shouldn’t feel this way about her.  Rated E.

What took you so long?

Chloe and Lucifer go on their first date. Rated T.

Can't say the feeling's mutual

Chloe can’t have it both ways. It’s just not possible. Which means she has to choose. Rated M.

Locked Out of Heaven

Lucifer is going on a date with Chloe. What could go wrong? ('What took you so long?' and 'Can't say the feeling's mutual' from Lucifer's pov) Rated T.

Where Are You Going?

“I’m going out with Dan,” she reminds him. Rated G. Taken out of the series because it's included in 'Locked Out of Heaven.'

For Now, At Least

Lucifer insists on joining Chloe on the beach. Chloe doesn't stare as he walks around shirtless. She doesn't. Rated T.

They're wrong about you

"There's something I need to tell you." Rated T.

Take Me With You

Lucifer joins Chloe in the shower. Rated M.

Could You Knock Maybe?

Penelope finds out Chloe and Lucifer are in a relationship.

One-shots and drabbles

Like the Very Stars

“Mummy say you cweate de starz.” Rated G.

Happy Anniversary, Detective

‘Anniversary?’ She frowns, forever puzzled by the walking mystery he is. His smile falters, just a little, but she notices, and then she’s even more confused. Rated G.

Being a Dad

Lucifer has always worn suits. But then, he became a dad. Rated G.

When All Else Fails

Lucifer has something to ask John Decker. Rated T. Set in the universe of 'take me back to the start' by usuallysunny.

Mummy's Workplace: The Guided Tour

Lucifer shows baby Rory around the precinct. Rated T.

Aurora

How and when Chloe came up with Rory's name. Rated T.

Going through Hell

He is never really ‘done’ mourning, but he is here for a reason, and in the fashion of his favourite Detective, he eventually throws himself into work. Not to distract himself, but to cope. And because, well, ‘work’ is the reason why he’s here. And then, after a few hundred years or so, Amenadiel pays him a visit. Rated T.

Definitely Don't Like You

He presses her up against the door to the evidence closet, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement. ‘There’s something we never got to try.’

An Unspoken Promise

Chloe waits till the last angel has ascended into the sky, till Maze and Eve have left hand-in-hand, till Amenadiel has followed them, proud and reverent, and till it’s just her and Lucifer—then she falls apart.

He’s by her side in an instant, catching her before her knees hit the ground. Rated T.

Tit or Tat

Chloe and Lucifer make a bet. Rated T.

The Original Starry Night

Lucifer leaves after his father arrives. Chloe follows him. Rated M.

Something Close to Sex? Yet Entirely Different

‘Lucifer, you’re hurting.’ Her eyes, full of worry, flicker over his wounded, broken body. And yes, it hurts. Like hell, as a matter of fact. But what hurts more is the thought of being alone. Rated T.

Certainly Our Best Collab

‘I just want to let you know that I love you.’ Rated G.

Rejected at the Pearly Gates

He stays by her side, holding her still hand, waiting. Hoping. And—when the sun has set, risen, and set again without the slightest movement from her—praying. Rated T.

The Devil Doesn't Do Children

Last time Linda saw Lucifer in a state similarly chaotic, dark, leathery wings were sticking out of his back. Before she can ask him what’s wrong, his trembling voice fills her office.

‘The Detective’s pregnant.’

Not what she’d expected, but his reaction seems about right. Rated M. Posted in 3 chapters, but it's only 10K words and was written as a one-shot.

How Chloe Decker Ruined the First and Greatest Slut of the Universe

Lucifer had never seen the point of monogamy. But then he’d met her. Rated M.

Bloody Hell

‘Yes, thank you, Detective, I am familiar with the concept of menstruation.' Rated T.

Granniest Panties (sequel to 'Bloody Hell')

Lucifer proves his worth as Chloe's very own PA. Period Assistant. Rated T.

Ship: Sailing

Ella finds out her OTP is finally happening. Or, Lucifer bragging about finally having sex with Chloe, Ella fangirling over it, and Chloe being so done with them. Rated T.

Two Firsts in One Night

‘I guess that’s two firsts in one day… Well, night,’ he smirks at her, surprised when she mirrors his suggestive smile instead of rolling her eyes at his last remark. But then again, she did seem to enjoy the night in question.

Series

You and Me, from A to Z

A Deckerstar drabble for every letter of the alphabet. Not rated. Not completed.

Planning a Hell of a Wedding

The Devil and the Detective make their way through the wedding planning checklist. Rated M. Set about a year after season 5. (Written before season 5b was released). Not posted in chronological order.