#poor thing was in his crate for so long

[b4nka1]

my favorite animated men and random things they do when jealous and want to grab your attention!

warnings: suggestive content (mentions of smut), misogyny, toji being nice, jjk manga spoilers. not proofread.

— FUSHIGURO TOJI : he would pout as you were busy with your office work. sure, you did love him, but your work was your priority for now. he would slowly walk into your room, standing behind you as you worked. he'd start massaging your shoulders, and within seconds, your eyes closed and body relaxed. "mmh, just right, baby..." you whispered to toji, you was still carefully and gently massaging your shoulders.

"if you gave me a tad bit more attention, i'd make you feel far far better, princess..."

— RYOMEN SUKUNA : he grumbled in annoyance when you paid no attention to him. the king of curses wanted to be mad but couldn't because you were so happy playing with the new puppy he'd gotten for you. you were laughing and giggling as the puppy kept whining and climbing over you. he got the most jealous when you kissed the puppy on its yucky, disgusting mouth, according to him. within seconds, he took the puppy from your hands and put the puppy back in his crate. he turned back towards you, picking you up and dragging you to the bathroom to make you brush your teeth.

"why'd you kiss that puppy on its disgusting mouth? now i can't kiss you without feeling disgusted."

— GOJO SATORU : he was pretty much annoyed at the fact that you were paying more attention to the three freshers than him. he scowled at megumi, who was getting more interest from your end. he was beyond irritated at this point. he sure was jealous but didn't admit it, not even to himself.bhe had to butt in, of course. his possessive ass simply couldn't handle the fact that you're quite nice and friendly. he stomped over to you, with a tiny pout on his face and his brows furrowed together.

"they're my students, but i hate the attention you're giving them."

— KUROSAKI ICHIGO : isn't exactly the type to get jealous, but he is very possessive. whenever he notices another man, especially abarai renji talking to you, he would ever so casually walk over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. he'd indulge himself in the conversation, laughing and nodding with whatever was going on. his arms would then creep down your back slowly as the conversation proceeded. he'd ever so subtly squeeze your butt and act as if nothing happened after he did so. when renji notices, he takes a leave and waved goodbye to you. you turn to ichigo and scold him for doing so.

"what? i'm just squeezing what belongs to me, you don't get to scold me on that."

— GETO SUGURU (villain era, you're not on his side) : he is a calm and collected man. but when he notices you and satoru being too close physically, practically invading each other's personal space, a smile and a bulging vein of anger on his forehead is prominent on his face. he silently swore to get you fucked raw before the war broke out. mimiko immediately notices this and huffs, "why don't you already go claim what's yours?" she snorts, going back to doing something on her phone.

"well, she will suffer. so what if we drifted apart? who is she to move on from me? she's still mine."

— NANAMI KENTO : he had been working overtime and came home late. to make matters worse, he found you on a long ass call with one of your guy friends, who used to like you. dismissing the jealousy, he took a shower and ate the dinner you prepared for him. and to make matters even worse, you were laughing at something he told you about. he was clearly frustrated and irritated, and of course, jealous of your little guy friend. when he had enough, he snatched the phone from you, putting it to his ear,

"either you end the call or hear me fuck her dumb and make her scream my name."

— ZARAKI KENPACHI : despite his rough and tough demeanor, poor guy also gets jealous of you spending time with ikkaku and yumichika. he tries his best not to show it as a kenpachi but fails when yachiru notices it. "ken-chan, don't worry, i gor your back!" she giggled happily. she searched around the seireitei and finally found you casually hanging out with yumichika. she walked over to you and held your hand. you raised your brows in surprise when she tugged you to the direction of the squad 11 barracks. she pushed you into zaraki's room, closing it behind her. zaraki sighed, hugging your waist.

"sorry, i kinda felt...jealous but didn't show it because of my status...i'll buy yachiru some treats for helping me."

— ABARAI RENJI : has his zanpakuto ready in its shikai state when you were found talking to ichigo. he angrily stomped over before byakuya stopped him. "they're just friends." he told renji and ordered him to sheathe his zanpakuto. renji grumbled and followed his order, stomping towards you, with a small pout on his face. he kept on giving ichigo glares until he took the signal and left.

"next time i see that piece of shit, i'm making him watch me pound into you."

— ZENIN NAOYA : oh boy, this misogynistic bastard wasn't ready to accept the fact that he was being jealous because his stupidly handsome cousin toji was being nice to you, complete contrast of how naoya usually treats you. toji helped you in the kitchen, he helped you with cleaning and helped you do the laundry. but naoya lost it when toji's arm wrapped around you instinctively as you were about to slip and fall. naoya grumbled, waiting until toji was out of sight. he pulled you by your kimono to his room, slamming you ruthlessly into the bed.

"that bastard crossed the line. might as well show him who this pretty but useless wife belongs to."

— KINJI HAKARI : is chill on the outside but the anger is bubbling within him inside as he watched your yoga instructor from afar being too touchy with you. his let out a low growl when he placed a hand on your hip and squeezed the skin. hakari had enough when the yoga instructor smirked and placed a hand on your inner thigh to "fix your posture," rubbing it sensually. you were too innocent to notice that. in a flash, hakari punched him square on the nose, stomping on the scum's face before leaving with you.

"he doesn't know.who he's messing with. we are finding you a new instructor. this one's gonna be fed to the curses."

— KAMO CHOSO : is a VERY pouty baby. yuji was his brother, yes, but that didn't mean you spend the whole day with him when you met him for the first time. it almost felt as though you and yuji were a couple and choso was the third wheel. after the whole day passed by, you and.choso went back to your shared apartment. he immediately went into the bedroom, snuggling under the xxovers and crying into the pillows. when you went into the bedroom, you noticed what's happening and frowned, rubbing his back and asking him what happened.

"i-i felt so left out today, bub... i-i know yuji is my brother b-but i needed you a-attention..."

— HIGURUMA HIROMI : he sighs once he comes back home after a long day. he put his bag on the coffee table in the living room before going into the kitchen, finding you there with your 2 month old baby, putting her to sleep. higuruma pouted as he wanted you all to himself tonight, but your baby had different plans. it took you great effort to rock her to sleep, eventually putting her in a crib and walking back into the living room, hugging him tightly. he returned the long hug, sighing in content and rubbing your back.

"didn't know i'd be so envious of our own princess, baby..."⁹

–

hope yall like it!

#jujutsu kaisen #bleach #fushiguro toji #ryomen sukuna #toji x reader #sukuna x reader #gojo satoru #kurosaki ichigo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #ichigo x reader #geto suguru #nanami kento #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #zaraki kenpachi #abarai renji #naoya zenin #naoya x reader #renji x reader #kinji hakari #kamo choso #higuruma hiromi #hakari x reader #choso x reader #higuruma x reader #smut

[dante-mightdie]

Just found you blog, and saw you mention "fosterowner!price and doghybrid!141+you" and a thought has never been better

Price with his mismatch pack of pups, always having to scruff the nearest one from niping or barking,

I know for a fact Soap and Ghost the asshole are always eating your food before you can get to it,

You're just so much smaller and their bigger you understand right? (No you don't, closer to hell with your hight, you've decked them right in the stomach for it)

Poor price he trys his hardest to keep the peace, and only when y'all are working on a mission is when y'all finally shut up about who price scratched behind the ears more,

Speaking of which, I don't make the rules but Johnny's leg twitches in tandem with his tail the second price goes in for a rub behind those soft ears :))

Gaz (he's a Doberman right?) Being the nicest of the pack, great for bodyguarding any clients on a mission and they just love him so much, cut to Soap mimicking him to try and get the same praise,

Ghost is your biggest rival in the pack, he's just that much bigger than you that no matter what you do it's like a Pomeranian yapping in his ear,

Price always scruffing you after you get a little to worked up at Ghosts indifference to your gnawing, (Simon knows no reaction works you up more that one, he does it on purpose, bastard)

-

P.s. bluecollar!Simon is giving me the biggest brain-rot right now

-Love Sins (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

laswell said you guys were temporary. that john was only watching over you all until she found you permanent placements

but john is so attached to you all now. and you guys don’t even realise that you’re a bonded pack now

all of you having a pretty rough past :(

gaz is the most perfect boy. so well behaved always, even the enemies have to stop themselves from giving this little cutie some ear scritches <3 can be found in johns office, napping under his desk on his feet or knelt between johns legs getting pets

but john found out that he was a stray on leave, no home or owners to go back to after deployment. found gaz shivering on the streets of london and immediately snatched him up

simon was rescued from a dog-fighting ring. price was on a mission involving hybrid trafficking and stumbled across this big lad. simon was absolutely feral, snapping sharp teeth at anyone who tried to come near him

price had no choice but to muzzle him and manhandle him :( price overheard that he was gonna get put down because he wasn’t letting anyone get close to him

simon was actually given permanent placements but was always sent back to price because he was too aggressive with anyone else that wasn’t him

soap my love :( poor thing was found in the base kennels by nikolai. cramped in a metal crate with a sad look on his face. kept getting sent back from his permanent placements for being to energetic, too rowdy

price immediately came to collect him and he’s been with him since. has to be taken on walks and played with regularly otherwise he’ll cause mayhem. price left him in his office for a few hours and came back to his couch pillows all ripped up :(

has one of those big ropes to play tug of war with

price carries treats in his pocket for all of you, sneaking them to you during long car rides

you’re the runt of the pack. this doesn’t mean they don’t love you and price does not reject you but you’re not as strong as the rest of the pack

deep down they’re actually very protective of you

this doesn’t stop them from being absolute bastards to you though

taking your toys, eating your food, roughhousing and play fighting with you. simon absolutely loves putting his scent all over your toys and bed because he knows how much it annoys you

cuddle piles are a thing after missions just saying. all of you crowded onto one bed, sprawled all over each other. gaz and soap drool on simon as you lay across his legs

john taking pictures and keeping them in a hidden folder on his phone

you know that thing that dads do where they just smack the side of the dog repeatedly to pet them? john does that to simon specifically

if it was anyone else, simon would rip their throat out with his teeth but john doing it keeps him grounded. no one says anything when they see his tail wagging lazily <3

#mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #soap mactavish #mw3 #soap mactavish x reader #gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #gaz x reader

[callsign-relic]

This idea has been my brainrot for months! If you've ever been on reddit, or tiktok lately you might have seen a funny subreddit titled "humans are space orcs". Well I fell inlove with that headcannon, so I wanted to put in the request for poly ratchet and drift with a human reader, reader had stowawayed on the lostlight and was lucky enough that the ship was being supplied oxygen, with occasional stops giving the chance for reader to go out and grab some supplies.

Long story short reader ends up getting caught in the medbay, battered and bruised, and gets stuck in a staring contest with ratchet, who is bewildered.

(I also find the comparison of cybertronians being possible scared of humans, like a elephant is of mice)

And my first request after my little hiatus! I apologize for the wait :) This was a fun idea to work with! This description matched the First Contact AU pretty perfectly so this accidentally became a First Contact fic, sorry if that’s not what you were looking for HAHA. Still though, i hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: SFW, GN!Human!Reader, First Contact AU

“And how did you say you found this creature, again?”

“By sheer coincidence! I was gathering some extra supplies from the crates in the back of the medbay, only to push a box aside and find… this.”

You lay flat against your elbows in the palm of a bright red servo, eyes darting frantically between the two titans above you as they conversed in an exchange of vowels and consonants you couldn’t comprehend. The two aliens were similar in color, yet couldn’t look more different— as if they were opposites, yet complemented one another all the same.

The bot that held you was square in his frame, his default expression a discontented scowl. From the platform of his palm, you could see the aged paint of his plating, full of dents and scratches galore. On the hand beneath you, specifically, you could see the chips of paint around each of his joints. Near-imperceptible to a being of his scale, certainly, but you could see the little splotches of blue peeking out from constant use.

The mech beside him was a completely different story, however. Rather than the square, boxy shape of his companion— this one was decorated with sharp angles. His color palette was like the other’s but reversed, more white with accents of bright red. Despite his triangular appearance, he gazed at you in Ratchet’s palm curiously— while Ratchet appeared more skeptical than anything.

“Have you ever seen a being such as this?” Wondered Drift aloud.

“Not in my years, no,” Ratchet replies with a shake of his head.

Wordlessly, Drift offers up both of his hands cupped before you. You pull back, head flicking between Drift’s face and his offered hands, grimacing.

Despite the language barrier, you know the sound of a scoff when you hear it, and as it echoes out from above you you can feel the platform of Ratchet’s palm start to tilt out from beneath you. You can do little to grab on— the ridges of his joints weren’t wide enough for you to cling to, so you succumb to your fate and tumble down into the samurai’s awaiting servos.

“Ratchet!” Drift scolds, “You could’ve handled them a little nicer.”

“C’mon, I wasn’t going to wait all day for it to hop off,” the medic grumbles. “Plus, it’s an organic. The texture was… off-putting.”

As if to prove his hypothesis, Ratchet reaches out a large digit and pokes at your stomach. In your injured state, you let out a wheeze, and Drift is quick to pull his hands closer towards him and away from his conjux.

“Did you hear that?” He asks, not really expecting an answer. “They almost sounded injured, poor thing.”

“Can I take a look?” Ratchet hums, and the white mech stares at him suspiciously for a moment. The older bot lets out another scoff, “I won’t handle them roughly, I promise.”

Satisfied, Drift nods, and slowly lowers his hands from his chassis to present you forwards. You were holding your stomach now, curled inwards in a fetal position, but even so, one could easily tell you were covered in marks and bruises all over your little form.

Again, Ratchet hums. “Let’s take them to the main medbay, see if our scanners can pick up anything.” As the medic concedes, a smile spreads wide across Drift’s faceplate, and Ratchet has to stuff down the urge to grin himself at seeing him so excited. He occupies himself by starting towards the main scanner, activating it and preparing any systems they may have needed. “With any luck, we can figure out just what this creature is.”

Drift starts to make his way over to the scanner as well, cradling you gently between his two hands. He lifts you up to his face, and though you scoot back up away from it, something about his innocent smile seems… endearing, to you.

“Hear that, little one? We’re going to get you all fixed up in no time.”

#relic writes #Transformers #reader insert #Transformers x reader #mtmte Ratchet #MTMTE Ratchet x reader #ratchet x reader #MTMTE drift #Transformers drift #drift x reader #mtmte #more than meets the eye #MTMTE x reader #Transformers mtmte #lost light #Transformers lost light #lost light x reader #maccadam #maccadams

[foldingfittedsheets]

At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.

My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.

On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.

As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.

The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.

Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.

The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.

Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.

The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.

This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.

That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.

Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.

It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.

Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.

My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.

Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.

Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.

They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.

“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.

Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted.

They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.

We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.

He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.

We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.

The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.

When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”

“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”

We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #cat rescue #Bengal #I do dumb shit sometimes #story #writing

[hollybell51]

If I don't have you

Navigation

Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding. 

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip. 

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?” 

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened. 

“That was fucking insane!” you burst. 

“Are you ok?” 

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” 

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers. 

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back. 

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.” 

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.” 

“A bullet graze!” 

“It’s fine.” 

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.” 

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !” 

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics. 

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes. 

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair. 

“Ethan?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another silence, though less tense. 

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest. 

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso. 

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–” 

“No, (Y/N)–” 

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall. 

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast. 

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled. 

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?” 

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own. 

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–” 

No one’s coming. 

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.” 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!” 

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear. 

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him. 

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should. 

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards. 

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed. 

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle. 

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back. 

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath. 

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you. 

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure. 

“(Y/N).” 

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive. 

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…” 

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.” 

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

 You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know. 

“For yelling at me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–” 

“All that matters. You said.” 

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle. 

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.” 

The frown deepened. “Hm?” 

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real. 

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely. 

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.” 

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek. 

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up. 

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades. 

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.” 

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” 

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his. 

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too. 

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition. 

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt. 

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything. 

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

“All’s fair in love and war.” 

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?” 

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine. 

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind. 

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?” 

Again, “Yeah.” 

You smiled. “What about me?” 

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.” 

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it. 

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity. 

“What else?” you asked. 

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.  

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys. 

“Can–” 

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair. 

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.” 

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.” 

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit. 

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders. 

“Hm?” 

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.” 

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?” 

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face. 

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises. 

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–” 

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad. 

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–” 

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders. 

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again. 

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail. 

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification. 

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?” 

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.” 

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?” 

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again. 

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap. 

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand. 

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.” 

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?” 

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?” 

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.” 

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–” 

“Insane?” 

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?” 

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?” 

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.” 

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again. 

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?” 

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other. 

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.” 

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined. 

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.” 

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.” 

“Hm?” 

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?” 

“(Y/N)–” 

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–” 

“In me.” 

“You sure?” 

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–” 

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter. 

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress. 

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?” 

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything. 

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?” 

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?” 

He nodded. 

“I still want to check them.” 

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.  

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?” 

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.” 

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?” 

“Yeah.” 

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.” 

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.” 

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.” 

“Guess I’m just that special.” 

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

#ethan hunt #ethan hunt x reader #mission impossible #shameless smut #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #tom cruise

[d-a-n-n-y-y]

𝐘𝐚𝐧?𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚/𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟗𝟗 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐜𝐬/

Based on this

Notes/ I don't condone yandere irl All fiction always,reader is gender neutral(describe as "you") reader lives in futuristic/cyberpunk era in their dimension also cyberpunk 2077 reference(maybe?)

Warnings: yandere themes(yk that.) Stalking, possessive Miguel?? Possibly ooc Miguel(sorry about that)

(2275 words)

Miguel has been watching over you, different variants of you in every dimension you are including photos videos on his monitor(s), except he hadn't seen the other prowler version of you though?

while you were in a serious situation of running away from the soldiers holding their guns,shooting,chasing after you while you were running,dodging and parkour crates and in every things thats in your way,no one knows who you are,your identity is anonymous everybody in your city have heard the prowler but never know who you really are..are you a villain? A hero? Nah your just a vigilante that's it. you manage to outrun the men but suddenly you see a random portal that just sucks into you,you tried using your claws stick through the wall to stop you from going in but the pressure is too strong,you were suck into this portal now you went somewhere,you don't belong.

Now you were still wearing your mask,gear, and removed it looking around this city,it looks like yours but not yours

when lyla announced a anomaly on the loose and showing photos/pictures,videos on holo of the anamoly from lyla and this time seeing your face unmasked its you..

After few moments Miguel finally captured you, Impressed by your ability to match his strength like other variant prowlers, he never intended to harm you but you were so stubborn get out his grip kept fighting back which caused intense adrenaline scene of you two fighting. He placed you trapped in a hologram cell, and you seeing anomalies in their enclosure, you were told being instructed to stay there for weeks until it was your turn the the"go home machine."

Eventually Miguel made up his mind and decided for the best work with him means spend time with him and gets you out the cell,

You agreed since you had no choice just work with him and the others you only agreed because you never wanted go back to your world. Your city, the generous rich isolated from external influences and leave the poor to fend themselves, lead to rampant crime,corrupted,and disease slowly polluting your city. Getting away from this hellhole.

And few weeks eventually getting along with Miguel helping throughout missions getting along with others—however sometimes he doesn't let you talk to others only if you had long conversation made him felt jealous,angry and its stupid for himself,and had told you stay away and never be friends with. he'll make exception to aaron davis(prowler MCU) since you two get along well

he's gets sometimes angry but not you like example the scene of miles meeting miguel literally yelling at him blah blah blah..you interrupted coming from miles and gwen behind and you needed and helped with

Also yes he may have watch many different variants of you on his monitor admiring watching you making sure your always here but never told how he feels towards you, when he met prowler!you and doesn't tell them either and he'll make sure that he always loves you in every universe makes you his.

#yandere spiderverse #yandere spiderman #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #‽ #srry for the long wait #yandere x reader

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 15

Figured I would go ahead and get this part out since it was already halfway written. Just some super fluffy and domestic stuff since I've been in my feels lately.

Also. JJk fandom. The name is for you. It's pretty obvious.

btw. I'm running out of OPLA Gifs of Mihawk, so you might start seeing some anime gifs.

Warnings! kissing is all.

Song reader is singing! Here!

Masterlist

Time passes as time does. Weeks turn into months since the day Dracule stumbled upon your island. He visits when he can, usually staying three or four days at a time, every couple of weeks. During that time, you and Mihawk have grown closer, to the point that the two of you were in each other's thoughts at every waking moment. There was nothing in this world that would keep Dracule away from his Snow Angel. 

Today Dracule had a rather unusual gift, so his ship was packed with the things necessary to take care of it. Dracule dearly hoped that you would like this one. He surely did not. Or maybe it didn't like him. 

As the months passed by, Dracule gifted you many things, some for you and some for your home. The three chickens, one rooster, and two hens had arrived not long after Mihawk had figured out your true heritage. Your garden expanded another four plots to accommodate all of the new seeds and saplings the warlord brought you. He had even gone so far as to help you build a pen for the goat Dracule had brought along on one memorable trip. The poor man had not been happy and made you help him clean his ship. 

The best gift of all was being able to finally meet Perona after weeks of speaking over the phone. The pink girl had quickly become your closest female friend, and it felt incredible to have someone to speak to about the girlier things in your life. There were some subjects that Mihawk just didn't get. 

Thankfully, Mihawk arrives at your island before he decides to toss your gift overboard. He gathers his things and then flashes off the ship, making sure the ocean doesn't touch the wiggling body in his arms. Golden eyes glare up at him and he glares right back down, and the warlord swears this thing is worse than the goat. Dracule can hear music pouring out of the cottage when he gets close enough. 

And then there suddenly appears before me 

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper “Please adore me” 

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

Mihawk huffs at the lyrics. His timing was far too good. The closer he gets, he begins to hear your voice as well, and Dracule would much rather hear you sing to him than some man who is long dead. He would stand and listen if his gift wasn't threatening to claw his eyes out. 

The warlord steps through the open door of the cottage, and his shoulder slumps as soon as he enters the humble abode. This place is his home away from home, and it never fails to bring him peace. 

Dracule finds you in the back storage room, a crate full of the older and unneeded stuff you had lying around. After not having anything but the couch for Perona to sleep over on, you had decided that it was about time to clean out the back room for her. Or anyone else that didn’t want to kill you first thing when they washed up on your island.

Blue moon

Now I’m no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own 

He leans in the doorway, watching you finish up dumping a broken oar into the crake. Mhawk knows that you see him when you jump and turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and a cute little sneer. 

“Bastard. You scared me,” you grumble and then you cross the floor to carefully slide his hat off, holding it to the side as your free hand slides into his hair and brings him down for a sweet kiss, “Welcome home, dear.”

Mihawk hums into the kiss, gently nipping your bottom lip, and then sliding his tongue inside your mouth when you open up for him. You taste like sweet chamomile, and it leaves a soft smile on his face when he pulls away to gaze down at you, “It is good to be back, Angel.” 

The two of you share several more sweet kisses before the wriggling bundle in his arms finally gets your attention. You pull away and look down to see a very angry feline staring up at you. You break immediately at the sight of its pitiful gold gaze and hand Mihawk his hat back so that you can scoop the kitten up.  

“Where did you find him?” You ask and have already abandoned Mihawk in favor of giving the orange tabby in your arms all of your attention. The kitten purrs happily when you scratch behind his ears. 

Dracule glares at the creature, and the kitten glares right back from where it is happily curled up against your breasts. Mihawk doesn’t know how much he likes this idea anymore. 

“I stopped for a resupply before I came here. There was a fishmonger that had chased it off, and I knew that you would give it a good home,” Mihawk explains. He sighs when you baby talk at the kitten, not giving half the attention he deserves for bringing the little demon to you, but your happiness was definitely worth it, “I have what you’ll need to care for it in my ship.” 

The grin you grant him is worth it too, and Dracule can’t help himself when he crosses the room to press you against the wall, lips connecting with yours in a kiss a little more fierce than the ones earlier. Mihawk has missed you, far more than usual for some reason. You moan into his mouth, eyes sliding shut when Dracule slides a hand around your jaw, angling you just how he likes.

A loud yowl interrupts the two of you, and Mihawk pulls away to sneer down at the kitten who proceeds to hiss at him. You laugh, seeing his jealousy clear as day, and over a cat of all things!

“I guess we should name him, huh?” You say and it’s your turn to be on the receiving end of that sneer. You scoff at him and lift the kitten, dangling him in front of Dracule, “You found him, so you get to name him.”

Dracule scoffs and turns on his heel, stripping off his coat to hang on the mantlepiece, quickly followed by his hat, “He is your cat, so you are the one naming the demon,” He dismisses and stalks to the kitchen, but you only pout and follow after him. 

“Nu-uh. That’s not how this works. You saved him, you name him.” You weren’t about to back down on this. The kitten mewls and you snuggle it back to your front, tucking the fuzz ball under your chin. 

Mihawk ignores you in favor of pouring himself a glass of wine and snacking on the green grapes you must have harvested earlier today. He feels you slide up beside him, and chances a glance down to see his darling staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes, “Ugh. Fine. Give me a moment to think.” 

You cheer at your victory and patiently wait for Dracule to decide on a name. He does you the courtesy of actually thinking of a name and smirks when he settles on a proper name for the hellspawn.

“Sukuna,” Mihawk decides and you repeat the name, getting a feel for it. You don’t know the story behind the name, but it must be an interesting one with the way Mihawk is smirking at the kitten. 

“I think that’s a good name,” You agree and scratch Sukuna’s little ears again, melting when the kitten only purrs louder and snuggles close. You giggle when you catch Mihawk glaring at the kitten again, “Let’s find Hank. I think he’ll like his new friend.” 

Hank turned out to not like his new housemate very much. Sukuna had taken one look at the big hound and had puffed up, long fur bristling so much that he resembled nothing but a cotton ball. Hank had run from the tiny ball of anger straight to Mihawk, cowering behind the man, and whining whenever Sukuna got too close. 

“Nothing but a coward,” Dracule says, but he is already kneeling to give into Hank’s puppy dog eyes and give him some pets. Sukuna stalks from one end of the room to the other, fluffy tail straight up in the air as he surveys his new home. 

Mihawk straightens up when he sees you approaching. You settle in his lap, hands cradling his handsome face as you lean in to press your lips to his brow. Mihawk grasps you by the hips, tugging you flush against his front and holding you close. He noses along your jaw, “Are you happy with your gift, sweet thing?” He rumbles quietly. 

You nod, “Very happy, Mihawk,” you assure him and settle more fully in his lap, letting the man under you take your weight. He massages your hips, causing a soft sigh to slip from between your lips, “I missed you.”

“Did you, Darling?” Mihawk breathes and pulls you down to press his lips to yours for half a second, “What all did you do while I was gone? I see that you already started to clean up, even though I told you to wait for me.” 

You shrug helplessly, “I couldn’t help it. I was really bored, and we already decided what needed to be thrown out, so,” You trail off and lean forward to snuggle against his chest, “You can help in the garden later?” 

Mihawk huffs and presses a kiss to your hair. He watches as Sukuna chases after Hank’s tail, lips twisting in satisfaction to see the two animals getting along better. His arms tighten around you, and you have relaxed completely in his grasp. 

“Whatever you wish, dear one.” Dracule agrees and says nothing when he feels you grin against his neck.    

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #one piece mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader #opla #cute #Peppermint tea #cats

[ofallthingsnasty]

a/n: Someone asked for more of Doflamingo's family pet - unfortunately I accidentally deleted the ask, but as I actually keep a physical list of all the asks I need to get to, it hasn't been lost! I hope this finds its way to you, anon 😘💖

tags: heavy dehumanization, weird pet metaphors, unreliable narrator, noncon, violence, minors dni, death (not yours), fat gn reader, vomit mention, read the tags and read them twice, just some thoughts

word count: 1.1k

Doflamingo thinks himself a good owner.

You're clean, well-groomed, clothed, fed and loved. Entertained, too. He stuffs you into your crate only at night - even if he has to leave you behind (which he rarely does), you stay with the rest of the family, not in that little cage. He's responsible. Loving. Tender.

But even he can forget about some things.

Maybe it should have been obvious, since you haven't been neutered. But to his defense, it's rather easy to forget that you, when stripped down, are just a mammal - blunt little teeth, yappy antics and bug-eyed, watery stares fool him so easily, make you sexless and too cute to have any needs of your own. And with his frequent appetites sated and you chewing through the leather of his newest chaise, you're just his mutt, feisty but spoiled. And really, who likes to think about their precious little darling dog being aroused? Not him, that's for sure. You're supposed to be something soft to spoil, something to lighten up his days.

Unfortunately, his pesky habit of kicking you whenever you drool just a little too much on his expensive pants (among other things) leads to the discovery of uncomfortable truths. One peculiarly placed hit, and something happens that he never expected - you yelp in pain, and then it climbs out of your throat, grotesque and breathy. A moan. And suddenly, something occurs to him. Makes him go down the lane of unsavory thoughts he never wanted to have when it comes to you.

He has neglected you. Greatly.

In all these years, he has been nothing but selfish - always enjoyed someone hanging off his arm, someone to warm his bed - while you had gone without, never had the possibility to get some relief. That's why you're getting winded over a simple kick to your crotch, poor, pathetic little thing. It's so wrong, so fucking depraved - he didn't train you to be so needy, to have to find pleasure in something so brutish. Yet here you are. Writhing in pain and something else as you try to shield your most sensitive parts from further intrusions.

He's suddenly going silent, brooding above you. Something needs to be done, he realizes.

The answer seems obvious - he should get you someone you can play around with, to let off steam, to indulge in the cruder parts of your nature. At first, the thought is appalling, but the more he ruminates and lets different scenarios play in his head, the more he sees that it has to be done. And it could be quite a bit of fun for him as well, if done correctly.

Arrangements are made almost too easily.

It's only fair that he gets you someone from that heap of trash you called your home. Maybe you even knew each other, before he found a place on his lap for you - it matters not, as long as the specimen is someone you would have fucked way back when he first took you. Doflamingo figures the man is up to your tastes, picks someone who looks healthy and strong. After all, he only wants the best for you - if he gets to pick his entertainment du jour, why shouldn't he at least get you someone appealing? (He also doesn't need any suspicious activity on Dressrosa, especially because he doesn't intend to have the man turned into a toy. He has his own visions for this - but that's not for little lap dogs like you to know.)

The male is taken, Doflamingo's room prepared and you - naive, stupid, and stunted that you are - follow him as you always do and walk right into his trap. It's nothing elaborate, really. But it does the job. Just the bound male, a flick of his wrist to restrain and oh-

He can play with the two of you like puppets. Of course, you're all confused. He rarely (if ever) uses his powers on you, so the sudden restraints feel like some sort of betrayal. Your big eyes question him, looking somehow even more pathetic underlined by your fat cheeks. He doesn't know if he should tut or laugh at you, that's how delicious your expression is - and it gets better and better as he tears your flimsy, carefully picked out pants apart. You are so utterly shocked, so taken by surprise it looks like you're short-circuiting. Only when the bigger man pounces on you - because Doflamingo is making him do so - you try to kick, bite, scratch, suddenly coming back to reality. But poor little fat pup, you're breathless and limp after a few minutes of struggle against his restraints and heave out your tears when your breath leaves you behind. Your fat ass up in the air, you can do very little with the way he's holding you in position.

You have to let it happen, even as the snot pools on the floor.

It's for your own good. And to his great amusement. He keeps you like this, makes the man mount you, fuck you, defile you - keeps intently watching the scene in front of him, the way you blubber and cry out. It's kind of cute, really - you're both crying. Like some grotesque version of two young lovers taking each other's virginity, you're both stuttering out apologies and clutching what is closest to you, even if that is your ass in his case.

It gets boring rather quickly, though. And rather tiring on the hands, too.

So he lets the male go - who gets cross-eyed faster than he can realize he's been freed because there is suddenly a pistol aimed directly at his forehead. If he was crying before, he's downright hysterical now. It doesn't leave you unfazed, either - Doflamingo's precious little mutt is suddenly deadly silent, too afraid to squeak out even a tiny moan. A precious sight to him. Especially when the man finally pumps his load into you, his orgasm flat and fast and unsatisfying, because it's ripped from him entirely due to the way his body functions, not because this is in any way enjoyable to him. Doflamingo smiles as the male huffs out a sigh, weighing himself in a moment of false security and-

He pulls the trigger.

You scream - but only a second later, only when the man goes limp above you, only when blood and brains splatter all over your back. You scream and scream and scream until you're hoarse, until your voice gets wet underneath the vomit that suddenly leaves you. Doflamingo would click his tongue at the sight if he wasn't so busy laughing at your predicament. Really, he had forgotten how fun it is to terrorize you a little, had forgotten how quaint it can be when your stupid face goes from empty stupidity to sheer and utter fear, the kind one can taste on their tongue. You can be so entertaining when pushed a little and he can't help but revel in the tiniest sliver of nostalgia as he looks at you, beaten down and traumatized like the day he took you.

Still, he's getting you neutered the next chance he gets.

#btw he is neither responsible nor loving nor tender. this is as always terrible horrible doffy vision™ #doflamingo x reader #one piece x reader #tw.noncon #tw.death #tw.pet play #/doflamingo #/one piece

[aalyssah]

Harsh Rejection

Pairing: Seth Rollins x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst/Fluff!

Word Count: 1,596

Summary: You confess your feelings to CM Punk, but after the harsh rejection you go to Seth for comfort, but instead, Seth goes to confront him, saying words you weren't supposed to hear.

A/N: Haven't wrote for Seth in a minute. Btw, should I write for Punk? Hope You Enjoy!

Today was the day you thought to yourself as you checked your appearance.

You were about to confess your feelings to your long time crush CM Punk. Although he might be 12 years older than you, with you being 33 and him 45, you've always had a thing for dilfs.

You walked out your hotel room, went to your car, and began driving to the arena. The whole ride you gave yourself a mini pep talk, trying to somewhat convince yourself that after you confess your feelings, he'll accept you, and you'll be a nice happy family.

(With a little bit of controversy, of course)

You parked and instantly skipped your way inside the arena. "Hey, have any of you seen Punk?" You asked a near-by staff member. "Yeah, he's over there." You thanked the woman and off you went towards that direction.

As you turned the corner you saw CM talking to Kofi. "Hey, Punk!" You called out, slightly waving to him. CM and Kofi stopped talking, looking at you.

You missed the way Punk's face changed into an annoyed expression. "Hey, Y/n, what's up?" CM asked, sounding unsure. "I was wondering if we could talk, in private?" CM looked at Kofi for a second, silently communicating before Kofi left.

You smiled as CM gave you his attention. "What did you wanna talk to me about?" He asked, taking a seat on a crate. "So, I just wanted to tell you something and it's that, I like you. I think you're very hot and I wanted to know if you like me back?" You looked at him nervously, hoping he would say something positive.

For at least a good second he was quiet, just staring at you. "Are you serious?" You nodded your head. "Do you feel the same?" You quietly muttered, biting your lip.

Punk abruptly stood up, shaking his head. "No. No I don't." Your mouth dropped open in shock. "What? Why?" You mewled out.

CM looked at you like you were crazy. "Why? Because you're a kid! I'm 12 years older than you. Plus, I've been talking to someone." Confusion took over your face. "Who?"

"Aj Lee. We've been talking for about a month now, and she seems really mature for someone like me."

Oh.

You looked down at the ground, trying to process everything. "So you don't want me because you're older than me?" CM took a deep breath, running a hand across his face. "No, it's because I don't like you. You're annoying, your in ring skills kinda suck, and you're not my age. I can't be seen with you."

You felt your heart shatter slowly as he kept talking. "And imagine the controversy online. It would go crazy and I can't live that life, especially not with you, so why don't you go find some other old man to crush on because it's not gonna be me."

CM didn't stick around to hear what you had to say and it wasn't like you could say anything. You stood there frozen, taking in all the words he just said to you.

Your vision began to slowly blur up as tears glossed your pupils, before you knew it, tears spilled from your eyes, down your cheeks.

Just then, Nia Jax walked around the corner, laughing historically. "Oh, poor Y/n, just got rejected by her idol, CM Punk." You turned to her with sad eyes. You felt humiliated. "You really thought he would be with someone like you?" She laughed loudly, making you run away.

You ran far away from that corner. Your feet took you to a specific locker room. 3 small knocks and the door opened revealing your best friend. "Hey what- Y/n?!" Seth's shocked voice echoed through the halls.

He instantly pulled you in the room, cradling you in a hug. "Hey, what happened, what's wrong?" Seth kept asking, but you didn't respond due to your cries.

You felt heartbroken, humiliated, and angry. Seth soothed you, running a hand through your hair. "It's okay, calm down." His words made you snap. "No, it's not okay!" You cried even louder.

Seth jumped at your sudden outburst. "What happened, why are you crying? Please, talk to me." He pleaded, concern clear in his eyes.

"I confessed my feelings to CM Punk and he rejected me and then Nia started bullying me about it. I felt so humiliated, and Punk even degraded me." As your sentence finished another rack of sobs came from your throat, but Seth didn't hear it.

All he heard was the last part of your sentence. 'Punk even degraded me.' Curiously, he asked, "Degraded you? What did he say?" You began telling him the whole conversation, anger taking over his face at each word.

For someone like Punk, you would expect him to have some dignity to his co-workers whether they have a crush on him or not, but the words he said to you were totally uncalled for.

"Then, he told me to 'find some other old man to crush on' and left." Once you finished your story, you went back to crying, a huge headache, attacking your head.

Seth didn't know what to do. He's never seen you like this before, and it hurts him. Seth loves you much more than you think.

He gently took you in his arms, tucking your head in his neck. "Okay, okay, calm down, it's okay. He's not here anymore, nor is Nia." Your cries died down and Seth finally let you go.

"Sit here and look pretty for me, I'm gonna go talk to that bastard." Seth stood up and walked towards the door, but you called out to stop him. "Wait, Seth, stop. He's not worth it." You tried reasoning with him.

It wasn't a secret that Seth hated Punk ever since his changed headspace, but now this is gonna make things even worse. Like said before, Seth loves you and even though you don't know that, he was gonna make sure CM Punk knows.

Seth gave you one last look before leaving the room. He stalked down the halls with a mad look. "Hey, have you seen Punk anywhere?" Co-workers and staff members shook their heads, scared for what was to come between the two former friends.

Seth ended up finding him sitting on a crate, scrolling on his phone. "Aye, Punk!" Seth yelled, his voice echoing around the halls. CM looked up and saw an angry Seth coming towards him.

"You wanna talk bad about Y/n?" CM smirked, understanding what this is about. "I wasn't talking bad about her, all I said is that I don't want her." Seth growled at how cocky CM sounded, and that dumb smirk on his face pissed him off even more.

"That's not all you said. You said she was annoying and she sucks in the ring. Do you know how bad that hurt her?"

Punk had a straight face, seemingly not caring for what Seth was saying. "Do you think I care? I told her how I felt, she got pressed, it's not my fault." Punk nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.

Seth grew mad, finally giving Punk a piece of his mind. "Y'know what Punk, you're nothing, but a sorry man who always wants to ruin someone's mood. Y/n is a good girl. She's good in the ring, and she's far from annoying, and if you can't see that, you're just stupid."

Punk's eyebrows rose, face looking a bit surprised. "Oh, so you're defending her? Do you like her or something." Seth bit his lip at Punk's teasing, but it was now or never.

"Yeah, Yeah I do like her, and that fact that she was after someone like you still has me confused till this day. You don't deserve someone like her. Hell, you don't even deserve to be in a relationship because every single one that you have, wether it's friends, or family, you always manage to fuck it up. I hope you realize what you did saying those words to her because you're never gonna have another chance."

Punk's facial expression finally changed from that smug grin to now anger. The fact Seth called him out and said such things about his relationship with his family made him feel the same way Seth did before his confrontation.

Pissed.

Seth walked away from Punk, feeling confident and proud of what he just said, but as he turned the corner there you were with a small smile on your face.

"Y/n? What are you doing out here, I thought I told you to stay in the locker room." You ignored his worrying, wrapping your arms around his neck.

It took Seth by surprise, a gasp escaping his lips. "I heard everything you said." Seth froze up. Did he just ruin the friendship he had with you? "Yeah, about that, I-" You cut him off when you pulled back and engulfed his lips in a kiss.

Seth let out a shocked noise, but soon relaxed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulling you closer.

Seth felt like he was on cloud 9. The feeling of your lips were so soft, something he's been dreaming of, and he finally can feel the real thing.

He broke the kiss when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching y'all. You avoided his eyes as a staff member came around, looking at you two suspiciously.

You both giggled as you ran away, back to his locker room, forgetting about that harsh rejection from Punk.

#seth rollins #seth rollins angst #seth rollins fluff #seth rollins imagine #seth rollins smut #seth rollins x reader #seth rollins one shot #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins wwe #wwe fluff #wwe smut

[xzhdjsj]

Elias x Reader

Elias wants you

(semi-nsfw)

Guess who's backkkkk🤡 Hi hello how are yall doinnnn👹 It's been a while

Last month, my laptop died and i lost a bunch of my files:( I was heartbroken and unmotivated BUT I WANNA GET BACK TO WRITING

That being said IF ANYONE WANTS ANYTHING WRITTEN LET ME KNOWWWWW (seriously bully me into writing it if you must, you have my full permission)

But yh here's a little Elias fic I whipped up this week. This one is pretty suggestive/ kinda nsfw-y so if you don't like that you can just ignore it altogether!

If you do decide to read it, I hope you like it💕

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Elias is shameless.

He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, or sees, or hear.

One time, Warden had scolded him about how close he’s gotten to you in such a short time and why it was unnecessary bla bla bla, the whole works. His father’s lengthy lecture ticked him off just the right amount, but he stayed quiet, silently scheming revenge.

When he spotted you as he exited his father’s office, patiently waiting for him, it all clicked. What could piss his father off more than the exact thing he was warned not to do? He tugged you down the hall, pulling you into a corner to kiss you, shielding your body with his. He purposely chose somewhere close to Warden’s office where a camera would easily catch the entire scene but keep you hidden behind him. It was a direct response to his father, a sort of 'fuck off, let me live my life' notion. Before leaving, he turned his head to slyly eye the camera with a content smirk. In every aspect of the word, Elias is a rebel.

And it didn’t stop there, Elias just loves kissing you. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing, if he wanted to taste you he was going to initiate. Not that there’s much to do at the safe house anyways, so when you return his eagerness it quickly escalates, but in addition to being a boring concrete crate the safe house is also loaded with camera. FUN!

So, much to Warden’s delight probably, the ‘escalation’ never gets as far as you both would like. The realisation of some random weirdos watching in on your intimate deeds together kills the mood faster than a speeding bullet, at least for you. Elias, on the other hand, respects your boundaries and take a moment to pace around, to distract himself, so he calms down.

You’re something that gets the mechanics in his head moving, he’s constantly thinking of you and if he finds himself staring at you a second too long, his pants start to feel tighter a little too easily. So just imagine what a touchy make out sesh does to the guy.

It’s far too clear how much you want each other, the sexual tension would cut smoothly, like a hot knife through butter. The employees weirdos monitoring the cameras must be entertained by the chaotic aftermath of a cuddle-turned-make out and laugh at the effort you make to avoid each other for the past couple weeks. Its like an embarrassing reality show.

Being the only two persons in the house, with very little entertainment, doesn’t make it any easier to survive either but there’s no other way to rid the desire so its best simply ignore it. It’s especially difficult for poor Elias, because he downright CRAVES you. It wears away at his resistance and he struggles to hold back at every sight of you.

Especially right now, when you walk into his room in shorts and a skimpy tank top that reveals too much skin for his ‘you engulfed’ brain to handle. If this were a loony toons episode there’d be smoke wafting out his ears as he melts into a puddle atop his sheets.

“Hey Elias, did you finish the Doritos?” You tilt your head at him.

Your words pull him back to reality and he scrambles for his blanket, dropping his astronomy text in the process. The pointy edge of the hardcover book sharply stabbed into his thigh as if an instant karma is chastising him for his inappropriate thoughts.

“Fucking OUCH!”

You rush towards him, worried eyes scanning his doubled over body.

“Crap I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in- I just wanted some- Christ are you okay?”

He stays crouched over groaning but when you reach out to touch him, he grips your wrist pulling you on top of him. You scream.

“You fucker! I was scared you lost a testicle or something!”

You scolded and smacked his arm while he’s choking out a hyena laugh under you.

“Okay okayyy I’m sorry,” he pouts “But I may have lost one wanna check?”

The red colour in your face burn brighter, you scold him again as he continues to giggle at your flustered expression.

“Alright I’m actually done this time.” He keeps his arms securely around your body, burying his face into your neck. God you smell good, he prays you wouldn't move on too of him or it'd be difficult to NOT feel him.

“You’re such an idiot, god why do I even find you attractive again?” You sigh and wrap your arms around him in defeat.

He perks up like a naughty cat, “You find me attractive, huh?”

“Oh please, don’t play dumb with me you made me call you pretty so many times I’m basically programmed to it now”

His eyes reflect pure mischief, “That doesn’t answer my question”, he moves closer to your face. His eyes trail down to your lips before finding your eyes again and he leans in closer. Instinctively, you close your eyes, waiting for him to close the space between your lips but he doesn’t. Instead you feel them on your ear, “Tell me and I’ll give you what you want”

You sigh, outmatched by his impish tactics. “Of course I do, else I wouldn’t be on top of-”

Finally satisfied with your answer he presses you into his body, lips finding yours in a familiar pattern that tie knots in your lower abdomen. The feeling of your body bubbling to life is enough to have you craving even more. You’re greedily pulling his face closer, hand on his neck while the other tugs at the back of his head. He's in no better shape himself, his fingers grip into you waist and one hand sneakily crawls up the back of your shirt.

The weeks’ worth of resolve and control immediately flushed down the sink and you both give into the desire that pesters the atmosphere. Its intense, it’s so much sweeter and it feels sinful.

The heat is addicting and your hips have no shame grinding down onto Elias, but at this point he's forgotten thats something he previously didn't want. He's immediately grips them, stilling you as he pulls away.

"You're gonna get yourself into deep trouble"

He voice sounds octaves lower and it might just be the hottest thing you've ever heard. Completely entranced by his demeanour, you don't fight the urge to harshly pull at his shirt.

He easily overpowers you, pushing you onto the mattress and crawling over you, between your welcoming legs. Its difficult to stay still, but his hands have no problem sinking into your body and pressing you firmly to the bed. The expression on his face is simply dreamy and his warm breaths paired with his breathy giggles only fules your need to kiss him more. Your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him down to kiss you again. He's quick to respond, consumed by the desire to simply have you. He kisses down your jaw to you neck, where he stays, leaving wet open-mouthed kisses.

"Elias- fuck"

Whatever thought was in your head quickly voided existence when he bit down on your skin. It was magical. He didn't hold out, sucking bright red-purple marks all over you, trailing down to your chest. A path of lovebites scatter down to your collar bones and he kissed lower to the top hem of your shirt. Its obvious what he wants.

He bites the thin strap down your shoulder.

"Elias..."

You called out to him, hoping he'd remember. But how could he when you were below him in this state? Eyes shut closed, breathing heavily and making those sounds that makes him greedy for more. Before he could pull the other side down you manage to grab his arm pulling him out of his trance.

"Cameras remember?"

You whine covering your face as the embarrassing realisation sets in.

"Fuck, I'm sorry"

He sounds so defeated, so desperate. His head falls into the crook of your neck, sighing against your skin. It sends a shiver down you spine and you gently pat his head

"Its okay, I'm pretty sure we both feel the same way, but we don't exactly need a sex tape to our name as well as a bounty."

He laughs again, the breathy kind that toys with the nerve endings where his breath touched.

He suddenly pulls away, sitting up.

"Or maybe I can just," he rolls off the corner of the bed walking up to the camera in the corner of the room.

"For your own good you'd better turn off the cameras for today."

He spoke directly at the lens pointing at him and before you know it he was pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it over the camera.

You sit up on your knees, amused to his action but even more dumbfounded at a shitless Elias approaching you.

"'m sorry babe, I can't take it anymore." he crawls back over to you, his hands perfectly moulded for your body. "I don't want to ignore this anymore, I don't think I can."

"They can still hear us", you point out but don't pull away from his touch.

"I'm sure they were able to read the room. They'll take them off, and if they don't.... we'll just have to give them a show, right?" his signature grin returns to his face. Lithe fingers run along the bottom hem of your shirt before sinking under and dragging it over your head.

If he wasn't already turned on, he's definitely ten times more aroused now.

#im bakkk #zsakuva #sakuverse #asmr #elias #elias x reader

[kaminocasey]

Shy Boys Go to Heaven

Summary: Fixer doesn't like how much Scorch cozied up to you. He intends to show you that you're his and only his.

Pairing: Delta Squad!Fixer x F Medic!Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+; SMUT, Possessive/Jealous!Fixer, P in V (unprotected; wrap it up friends), oral (f receiving), cum eating, Rough sex. (If I missed something, lemme know)

WC: 3.1K

A/N: Guys... I was like possessed while writing this. Lmao. I genuinely don't know where this sudden love for Fixer came from bc literally the man pissed me off yesterday while I was reading. But c'est la vie, right? Anyway... I think I'm gonna start writing more Rep Comm fics. I'm still working on the Ordo x Reader x Mereel one, don't worry!

Taglist Form

“Ma’am.” Scorch winks at you, as he and the other Deltas walk into the medbay. 

“Well, hello boys.” You smile. “Long time no see.”

“Only a few weeks.” Scorch teases.

Sev and Boss both nod in greeting toward you, taking off their helmets, but once you see Fixer’s familiar green armor, your whole body goes warm just as it does anytime you see him. It was still a secret to everyone, including his own brothers, that you and Fixer would hook up anytime they’d come planetside. You weren’t exactly official or anything, but you enjoyed each other’s company. He wasn’t exactly chatty or anything, as he was a man of few words, so you did most of the talking. 

Fixer nods, his helmet still on, but you know he’ll find you later, so you give him a flirtatious grin as you go to help Scorch and Sev stock up on their medical supplies.

“So, when are you gonna join the field?” Scorch teases, bumping you slightly. “We could always use a skilled medic.”

“Leave the poor woman alone, Scorch.” Boss rolls his eyes before walking over to Alai, your pretty coworker. 

Fixer told you once that Alai and Boss hooked up a couple times, but never became anything serious. But he wasn’t supposed to know that, and Alai never told you, so the two of you weren’t the only ones with secrets. 

“When are you gonna stop asking me?” You tease Scorch back.

“When you cave to my charm and good looks and say yes.” Scorch winks. 

With a roll of your eyes, you turn to look at Fixer, finding him more rigid than usual. Why hasn’t he taken his helmet off? 

You let Scorch and Sev do their thing as you walk over to Fixer, looking up into his visor. “You alright?” 

He nods once, which is code for “Not really, but we’ll talk about it later.” and you know it’s a promise. With a soft sigh, you pat his hand and go sit at your desk, pulling up your end of day data reports.

“How long are you boys planetside?” You ask them. 

“Til tomorrow. Why, you trying to join us for a night of fun?” Scorch flirts.

You shake your head with a laugh, but before you can say anything, Fixer tosses Scorch another crate, barely giving the other man time to catch it, and walks out.

“What’s his deal?” Scorch asks Sev, who just shrugs, taking the crate to stock it. 

You know you can’t go after him. If you do, it’ll raise suspicion, which you know is the last thing that Fixer wants. So, you just hope that you’ll see him later.

Later that night, back at your apartment, you can’t stop thinking about Fixer. What if he doesn’t come tonight? What if the real reason he was so stiff and rigid is because he wants to end it with you? You’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last few months, and you’ve come to the realization that you want this thing with Fixer to be more permanent… But if he doesn’t… then, you’ll have to accept it and move on. No matter how much it hurts. 

As you make a cup of tea, preparing for bed, you hear the front door open and you know immediately who it is. You don’t even have to look. 

But, he’s the one who left so swiftly and suddenly earlier, so he can be the one to initiate the conversation tonight, which you know is something he’s not particularly fond of doing. You aren’t going to sleep with him until he talks, though. A conversation has to be had, no matter what conversation it is.

You hear heavy footsteps make their way to your room as you make your bed down. 

“Hey.” You murmur, barely glancing at him in the doorway of your room.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He walks over to “his” side of the bed, but you put your hand up, stopping him. He’s not wearing his armor anymore, but he is in just his bodysuit. You try to avoid looking at his well-toned form, looking him in the face.

Fixer tilts his head.

“Nothing to say?” You ask, quietly, waiting for him to just say something, but he doesn’t. “Of course not…”

He looks down at your fluffy comforter he loves so much, which he’s mentioned a couple times before. 

“Fixer.” You sigh, making him look up at you with those deep warm brown eyes that you adore so much.

He sighs with a soft grunt running his hand through his curls, clearly frustrated. 

“You have to give me something.” You crawl on the bed, settling in the middle on your knees. 

He’s eyeing the soft skin of your thighs that’s showing in your short silk pajama set. It’s his favorite pair, and you know it. Maybe you’re using it to your advantage. He looks like he wants to touch you, but isn’t letting himself. 

“If you want to fuck me tonight… you have to let me in.” You do your best to look at him, firmly.

“I…” He starts, rolling his eyes as he struggles to say what he wants to say. “Ugh. Scorch… knows that I… feel things… for you.”

“And?” 

“And… he flirts with you… to get under my skin.” Fixer’s gripping the comforter, his fists tight. “And it works. I hate that it works, cyar’ika.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why do you hate it?” 

“Because…” He struggles again. 

You crawl to him, running your hands up his chest, making his tight fists let go of the sheets. His calloused hands run around your soft body, pulling you against each other. His eyes are on your lips. 

Stay firm, you remind yourself. Who cares if he’s second in command in one of the most intimidating commando squads? Not you. You are not giving in first. 

“Please, Fixer.” You sigh. “I was under the impression you wanted to end things with me.”

“Oh… That’s not it at all.” He murmurs. “I promise.” 

Maker, he smells so fucking good. Too good. 

“So, what is it, then?” You pull away, sitting back on your butt in the middle of the bed, needing a little space before you cave.

He climbs up into the bed, pushing you on your back, pinning you down. 

“Fixer-” You start.

“Just listen, will you?” He asks, gently, but also strained. 

You nod, letting him continue. 

“You, cyar’ika… are mine. Only mine. You belong to me. The thought of any other man touching you, or even speaking to you…” You hear a low frustrated rumble in his throat. “If Scorch wasn’t my vod, I’d have ripped him apart.” 

You didn’t know that Fixer feels this way about you, but it does something to your insides and goes straight to your warmth. Does he know how you feel about him? Surely, he does.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Fixer asks, lowly, his lips so close to yours.

You nod, losing yourself in those brown orbs and breathlessly murmur, “Yes.” 

“Say it then.” Fixer whispers, even closer to lips. “I need to hear it.” 

You think this might be the most he’s ever said in an entire night. And fuck, if they’re not the hottest words any man has ever said to you… 

“I’m yours.” You bite your lip, trying to squeeze your legs together for some sort of release. “I belong to you, Fixer.”

“That’s right.” He smiles, softly. “Good girl.”

Unable to hold back any longer, you reach up, crushing your lips to his. He groans loudly against your mouth, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. All from hearing you tell him you belong to him. 

“You like hearing that you belong to me?” He hums.

You nod, whimpering as he grinds his hardened cock against your clothed core. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” He whispers before, pulling away to pull your shorts down, dropping them to the floor behind him. 

“Clothes off-” You gasp as he grips your thighs.

Fixer chuckles, getting up off the bed quickly. “Yes, ma’am.” 

As you watch him drop his clothes with yours, you sit up to pull your silky tank top off, tossing it with the rest. He takes in your naked form and groans, gripping his cock, already dripping precum. 

You start back toward him, eager to get your mouth on him, but he pushes you back again and then, to your surprise, flips you over onto your stomach, pulling you up on your knees and then pressing your face down so that your ass is up. 

You think he’s gonna push his cock into you, unable to wait any longer, but he surprises you once again, by licking a long stripe up your drenched folds.

“Oh, Fuck… Fix…” You groan, reaching above you to grip the comforter, just as he was doing earlier. 

“Taste so good, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your cunt. “Like always.” 

You whimper softly, almost pathetically, when he continues licking into you, his strong fingers, pressing against your clit and rubbing expertly, as always. 

“So wet.” He teases.

“So talkative.” You tease back, just happy to hear him talking. 

He places a swift smack to your back cheek and you gasp sharply into the room. He rubs the spot where he spanked you and then kisses it before returning back to your soaked pussy.

Your moans fill the room as he continues to work your cunt, getting you nice and soaked for his cock, soon you hope. You want so desperately to be filled by him again. It feels like it’s been too long. 

Twenty-six days. But who’s counting?

When he reaches his fingers into you, you feel like you’re about to come right then. It’s been days since you even touched yourself, and you’re pretty sure Fixer can tell. 

He chuckles breathlessly. “So needy for me.”

“Mmhmm.” You groan, burying your whimpers into the covers. 

“So fucking tight… Can’t wait to sink my cock into you.” He rambles.

You’ve always been accepting that he was a man of few words, but tonight… something changed. Like some sort of switch inside of him, flipped the other way. He’s talking, quietly, and Maker, you love his voice. It’s so low, and so sensual, and goes straight to your warmth. 

“Why… wait?” You bounce yourself on his fingers.

“Patience, cyar’ika… Or I’ll make you fuck your own fingers.” He threatens you. 

You whine softly, looking back at him and he grins before burying his face in your cunt again, still thrusting his fingers into you, starting to tease that spongy part deep inside of you. The warm familiar feeling pools into you, spreading all the way to your toes, making them curl and before you know it, you’re cumming all over Fixer’s fingers and tongue, moaning into the mattress.

“Let me fucking hear you.” He reaches up to grab your hair, pulling so that your moans and wet sounds fill the entire room. 

His thrusting fingers gently slow, before pulling out of you. You pant slightly, as you fall to the bed, rolling over to look up at him, smiling blissfully. 

“Fuck me… please?” You whisper. 

“I will, I promise.” He murmurs, laying next to you. 

The look in his eyes is serious now, not playful like it was just moments ago. 

“What is it?” You trace your gentle fingers over his chest, anxiously making lazy patterns.

“I’m afraid that I sounded overbearing earlier…” He stops your hand and brings it to his lips.

This is the softest, most domestic that he’s ever been with you, and you’re almost afraid to move, not wanting it to end. 

“I didn’t think you did.” You assure him. 

“I don’t want to like… own you.” He chuckles. “But… I guess what I’m trying to say is… I want people to know you- we belong to each other.”

Your chest tightens at his confession and you can’t help but reach up and kiss him. It’s different somehow. Like, all of your kisses before were that of passion or lust… this is… sweet… kind. Fixer sighs against your lips, full of content. 

“Next time Scorch flirts with me, I’ll just punch him if you want?” You tease. 

“Actually, yes please.” He laughs and you cross your leg over his thigh. 

This is the first time you’ve ever heard him laugh fully and you try to commit the sound to memory, hoping that you get to hear it more.

“What made you come to this realization?” You ask.

“Oh, I always want to punch Scorch.” He smirks.

You playfully smack him in the chest, making him chuckle. 

“I was on a mission… and I thought for sure we were going to die…” Fixer murmurs, making your stomach churn. “All I could think of was you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your kindness. The way you curl up next to me at night. The way you-” You roll over on top of him, straddling him, grinding your wet folds over his still hard cock. “Keep going.” 

“Fuck…” He groans, gripping your hips tightly. “The way that you cry at holofilms…”

You lift your hips, reaching under you and grabbing his cock, making him gasp. 

“Th-the way y-you…” He struggles.

“Keep. Going.” You encourage him, smiling down at him as you line yourself up with his hardened length. 

“Th-the way you have to stop to say hi to every loth cat-” He groans incredibly loud as you sink down onto him. “Fuck!”

His eyes roll back in his head as he tilts his head back slightly, making you smile. Clenching around him in a teasing manner, he lets out another string of curses. He fills you so perfectly, just like always. But tonight… it just feels like it means so much more. He feels the same way about you, that you do him. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, not a mission.” He grumbles. 

“Yeah, but what a way to go, right?” You grin down at him, brightly.

“I’ll fucking say.” He starts to buck up into you and you push him back down, keeping your hands against his chest. 

You start to lift up slightly, only to fall back down against him, making him actually whimper. It’s always music to your ears when you get that sound out of Fixer. 

“Maker, Fix… you’re so hard.” You tell him, seduction clear in your tone and his hands fly up to yours on his chest, gripping your hands, creating more support. 

He wants you to take over. And you’re happy to oblige. You start bouncing up and down on his cock, causing both of you to groan with need. 

The sounds leaving the man underneath you deserve to go into some sort of auditory museum, they’re so fucking beautiful. He’s so beautiful. 

“You like when I’m on top?” You ask him, breathlessly, squatting so you can glide up and down on his cock, easier. 

“Stars, yes…” He pants. “So… tight.”

You feel the burn in your thighs but you’re able to ignore it, purely driven by the craving for this man. He must sense it though, because he provides support under you, gripping your ass, helping lift you up and down and you can’t help but smile. He winks up at you and it goes straight to your core. You can tell he’s getting closer with each thrust, though.

“Permission to take over?” He whispers.

“Granted, trooper.” You laugh. 

He flips the two of you over, so that you’re on your back and starts driving into you. 

Oh, he’s definitely welcome to take over. 

“So fucking pretty… and perfect.” He groans in your ear, continuously slamming into you, getting the most perfect sounds out of you. “All mine.”

As he tells you that you’re his, his hips stutter only slightly, filling you up, painting your walls with himself. Normally, he’d start to pull away, but he just keeps fucking his cum into you, and honestly, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. And then when he pulls out, you expect him to stop, but he doesn’t. 

He travels down your body, latching his mouth to your cunt again and you nearly descend into another realm. 

“Fuck…” You moan, still overstimulated from earlier. 

He’s never done this before, cumming in you and then going down on you again. But you’re not complaining. His tongue feels way too good, but with the way that it's moving in you… it takes you a moment to realize he’s gathering up his cum as he rubs your clit. Before you can even say anything, another orgasm is ripped from your body, and he travels back up your body and taps your lips, clearly wanting you to open your mouth. Oh. You gladly open for him and he lets his cum slide into your mouth.

“Swallow for me, sweetheart.” He smirks.

Who are you to deny a dangerous commando? You do as you’re told, swallowing his cum, appreciating the taste of him like you normally do when you go down on him. 

“Good girl.” He tells you again for the second time tonight, and then kisses you, proudly. 

You both pant against each other, your chests heaving, as you try to come down. He pulls you up to the head of the bed, against the pillows, wrapping his arms around you.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. You’ve always found it calming. 

“Maybe I should join your squad…” You tease, only slightly. 

“Absolutely not.” Fixer shakes his head as he traces patterns over your bare back. 

“Why not?” You ask, looking up at him, confused.

“Because I wouldn’t be able to focus… I’d be too busy trying to make sure you were okay.” He smiles. “I like knowing you’re here… safe and sound.”

You suppose that makes sense… Even though, when he’s away, you don’t know if he’s safe.

“Can I tell you something?” You whisper, afraid to speak too loudly.

“Anything.” He kisses your forehead.

“Every time you go, you take a piece of me with you, Fix.” You admit. 

“Can I tell you something?” He murmurs.

“Of course.” You answer, nervously.

“Every time I go, I leave my heart here with you.” He admits. 

Warmth floods your veins. “Well, I promise to keep it safe.” 

“I know you will.” He leans down to kiss you again.

You eventually fall asleep like that, holding each other with sweet promises of him returning to you and you keeping his heart safe and sound. 

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @misogirl828 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @quigonswife8 @idlenesses @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @brownstalebread @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz

#rep comm fixer #delta squad fixer #delta squad fixer x reader #fixer x reader #rep comm fixer x reader #republic commando fixer

[dragonagecompanions]

It's been a while since I've submitted anything, but no pressure ^.^

Romances react to Fem!Inquisitor dealing w/ debilitating chronic pain. They hid it for so long because they were worried they wouldn't be an effective leader if it was known they were always in pain. (I am dealing with it myself so if you want specifics, hip and shoulder pain. Frequent migraines.)

Cassandra: She sees it right away.

Seekers of Truth have a calling to watch for magic, and that is their primary duty. But in that pursuit the martial and combat arts have always featured heavily, and in her tenure with the order Cassandra has trained more than one apprentice to the sword and shield and fighting arts. Young people are so impatient to learn and eager to show their prowess, even in the face of injury; women tolerate pain better and hide even more, already feeling the difference on the field.

All of that experience means that Skyhold's seeker sees the short swings and tighter movements, the subtle winces and how their lady inquisitor always sits just close enough to the fire on even the warmest nights. There are no injuries to cause this, and after a life of combat Cassandra is well versed with the sapping radiating ache of chronic and untreated pain.

"You are a herald, not Andraste herself. You must tell me or one of the others if you are in pain. We will support you. Come with me-- I will show you how to wrap your shoulders and we will find a new stance to help your hips. I have a tea that will help your head."

Varric: Ten years of fighting the good fight in Kirkwall can leave anyone with a few aches that just don't go away, and his keen eye for detail does not miss the signs. Blondie hasn't been around to tend those joints and muscles for a long time (not that Varric would trust him anymore regardless), and so a shopping list goes out to those merchants who specialize in a few key purchases.

Its after a late round of wicked grace, when there is no one else to save face for, that Varric briefly blocks her path and heaves a crate into his arms.

"This might be a poor story for heroes, Herald, but that doesn't mean you get to martyr yourself before the final act. Don't ask what is in the muscle balm, you don't want to know. Burns like bad whiskey but it works. Got some servants putting cushions on that throne for you, and Dennet has a good padded saddle like the jousters use. Few other things too."

He doesn't let them demur, and instead takes the crate to their quarters for them to avoid an argument. "You give enough, sunshine. Let us give back."

Solas: Chronic ailments are the most frustrating to manage, for there is no simple cure. When her pain follows her even into the Fade Solas can feel it, and when there is time he sits with the Herald and is gentle but firm.

"There is no reason to suffer-- your silence does not make the pain noble, no more than asking for help is callow. We will find a way to make this better for you, if you will only let us."

They establish a routine of slow healing spells to reduce the worst of the pain, and Solas coordinates with spirits of healing and valor to ease her sleeping mind and guard her dreams. Better rest and continual treatment are the best he can offer-- his guilt at aggravating her suffering he will carry in silence.

Sera: Hurting is stupid. Hurting when there is no injury is stupid. Stupid bodies are stupid!

Without any solid healing training there isn't much Sera can do to cure the symptoms. But the softest cushions and pillows find their way into the inquisitor's quarters, and the not insignificant portion of Skyhold's staff that coordinate through the Red Jenny keep her abreast (ha) of how their herald is doing. Sera ends up coordinating with those who can help, and heading off the most boring and unnecessary work so that their inquisitor can rest.

Blackwell: A hard life on the road adds up on any warrior, and the Herald is putting so much into a short amount of time. He knows the aching of his own joints enough to recognize it in her, but understands the need to hide any sign of weakness enough to not wish her embarrassment.

And so on the road he is less careful at measuring out the herbs to ease pain, and uses waste as an excuse to keep her cup full of the draught. He works with the others to make sure she has the best ground for her tent, and watches are coordinated so that she has ample time to rest.

When it finally does come to a head, his answer is simple and gruff-- but honest. "You alleviate enough suffering, my lady. Let me help when I can."

Vivienne: She is not fooled. Caretakers, when it comes to knowing the ins and outs of pain and the necessity of treating it, rarely are. The inquisitor is of course due her pride, and Madame de Fer can find no fault with keeping even the rumor of weakness at bay. The game is ruthless when it smells blood in the water, after all.

But that does not mean she lets the situation go unaddressed, and who but one of the most talented alchemists in Orlais to treat the Herald herself? The regiment starts off trial and error, as most treatments must, but in time the first enchanter isolates and perfects the tonics needed to lessen the worst of the aches and negate the migraines. Magic and herb work hand in hand, and few truly appreciate how much good can be done with just a shaving of root and leaf and the proper spells. She can even make them pleasant to the tongue.

"Think nothing of it, my dear. Though I do hope you will accompany me to my tailor's salon, next time we both grace Val Royeaux. There are better options for your comfort than...whatever they are having you wear now."

Dorian: Few physicians and even fewer magic users will ever gain the minute and detailed understanding of the human body quite like the necromancer. It is a study down to the cellular level, and understanding is key when knowing how much mana is required to reanimate bone and muscle. Many famous Mortalitasi were also famed healers, and for those who straddle the line between life and death it is the body that builds the bridge.

Dorian is no slouch in his own field, of course, but in truth it was the long months he spent with Felix that sharpened his novice healer's gaze. His late friend was never good at letting anyone know the extent of his suffering, and so the scion of House Pavus became a seer of suffering. The smallest shift or wince, or even the dillation of the pupil were enough to prompt rest or food or a restoration potion.

The Blight made all of his stud complex and hard to chart-- at the risk of down playing their leader's condition, chronic pain is childs play in comparison. She has only to lean back in her saddle at a certain angle (indicative of pain in the hips) before Dorian is bemoaning the Southern terrain and demanding a rest. The stoop of her shoulders after a long march will cut even the most important missions short, and Dorian is both vain and selfish enough on occasion to make all the delays entirely his fault.

The Inquisitor has chosen intelligent persons for her cirlce, thankfully, and after awhile the others catch onto his game. They still let his play the shirking violet, mostly for their Herald's sake, but as a rule the entire squad defers to the Tevinter's judgement on their inquisitor's condition. And that self same anatomical knowledge means that on the worst days Dorian calls heat into his hands and works the muscles and joints in theraputic massage until at least the edge of the pain is gone.

(The lack of rumors following the sounds of those massages might annoy the inquisition's resident necromancer, but the simple fact is everyone has heard him and the iron bull by that point and no one is fooled.

Shame.)

The Iron Bull: Having only one eye does not lessen his attention to detail, and like Dorian the Ben- Hassrath agent learns to read their leader's tells quickly. Stitches will be glad to have someone who actually wears the poultices for once, and when they are in the kind of terrain where horses cannot go (and he sees the pain wearing lines in far too young a face), he is the easiest solution.

"Now boss, come on! Think of the mayhem you can unleash from ten feet in the air! You'll be at rift height, really get them sputtering. Say, think if you get at the right angle you can get a rock into the Fade?"

Cole: "Like glass in the joints, can't get comfortable, no good angle. How can I lead if I can't even make my body listen? Too much pain, on and off but always on, no one will listen to a weak Inquisitor. But you aren't weak! You keep going even when it hurts, so that others don't hurt more. It helps! You help. And I can help you too.

Sleep."

Josephine: Once she is made aware of it, there is no stopping the Inquisition's ambassador. Doctors and healers and any number of resources are brought in. Work is reassigned and assistants are hired, soldiers are assigned so that there is enough gear for comfortable accommodations on the road. It takes hardly any time at all to arrange, but Josephine does make sure the pull their herald aside first. Her tone is as compassionate and unyielding as when her brothers were sick but still wanted to be outdoors and active.

"Your are important to Thedas, yes. Maybe even vital. But your health is even more so. You must let us be there for you, Your Worship, as you have been there for us. It is easy enough to manage, and no one shall begrudge you. Now, would you prefer down or wool for your cot padding?"

Cullen: He understands. Maker does the Commander understand. Withdraw leaves him with pain in every muscle and headaches that can last for days. Much of what he suffers is the consequences of his own choices and actions though, and Cullen cannot imagine how much worse it must be to have no understanding of why-- and no idea how to cure it.

His support is quiet, a bulwark against her duties. The medicines and treatments that help him are shared, but sometimes simply knowing that another deeply understands your plight is enough. He hopes, for her, that is helps.

Leliana: Divine Justiania hurt, sometimes. From her understanding, it was a combination of arthritis and age, but the pain was frequent enough that intervention was sometimes necessary. Justinia believed firmly that what was eaten affected who ate it, and the personal chef of her office had made careful notations and created a diet designed to ease the worst of her suffering.

When she asks, blunt in the way she can only be with those who understood the Divine, his answer is full of common sense and compassionate suggestions. These are sent to the people who can best use it, kitchens and servants and those members of the inner circle who can help.

The Herald will never need to know who it is that realized how much fish helped instead of red meat, or who ordered the green tea of Rivian that reduces inflammation in the joints. She need never be told of the letters, full of blackmail and threats, that silence those nobles who claim the herald unfit to lead, or keep the deliveries and ingredients to help off of manifests and inventories.

Her work is in the shadows, and she does not need to show it. But it feels right, somehow, that even gone the Divine might help the Herald. And her Left Hand shall make it so.

Mod Fereldone

#dragon age inquisition #solas #blackwall #dorian pavus #cassandra pentaghast #sera #varric tethras #cullen rutherford #josephine montilyet #lelianna

[ohbo-ohno]

this is bad. this is REALLLLL bad. i was just a normal gal til I read your ghoap puppy play. i. just. what the fuck. now, first of all, i’m even MORE kinky than before, and you’ve infected my writing too

like soap gets all pouty when ghost first starts training because what the hell, he didn’t sign up for this :((( and like when ghost makes him sleep in the crate because he’s been bad, edges him for weeks because mutts don’t get rewards, he can’t help but hump the bars and whine all night ‘til ghost groans, wakes up, and then degrades him until he falls silent again :(((

and ghost doesn’t even give a shit. cuz it doesn’t matter if Johnny is our talking with literally anyone on base, ghost can literally just say a few little words and poor soap just slips right back into the puppy headspace :(( and then he gets all whiney when they’re alone and can’t help it when he starts to bark, nuzzling closer like the good boy he is :(((

omg ew what have I become

i love hearing that my stuff is what got people into puppyplay but it never fails to fucking BLOW my mind. ME??? are you sure????

anyways the last paragraph of this ask made me loooooooose my fucking mind. i don't think you meant it this way but i would KILL to be able to write hypno properly, there's sooo much fun there. hypnotizing someone to be your puppy.... they don't know why they feel like dropping to their knees every time you whistle :(((

equally as fun, of course, is just regular ol' training. ghost getting soap conditioned to certain signals and sounds, doing it so casually that soap doesn't even notice. goes so far that soap stops responding to commands from other people - the first time soap looks to ghost instead of price in the field (ignoring price, waiting for ghost), simon nearly fucking melts. praises his boy for hours when they get home

"ghost makes him sleep in the crate because he’s been bad, edges him for weeks because mutts don’t get rewards, he can’t help but hump the bars and whine all night ‘til ghost groans, wakes up, and then degrades him until he falls silent again" has been something i've been meaning to actually write a full scene out for for MONTHS now but i never have. it's just. godddddddd i fucking. ugh i can't. SO goddamn hot, it's egregious. i can't

ghost playing with soap (even in public) with miscellaneous items... love. ceilidh has this tweet that i haven't stopped thinking about since she posted it. just...

ghost making soap grab him things by saying "fetch that for me" and eventually shortening it to just "fetch" :( holding things a little too long when he offers them to johnny, making him play a quick game of tug of war :( grabbing johnny by the jaw and shaking his head real rough when he's not listening :( taking him on walks when he gets all wound up so he doesn't make a mess of himself or ghost's room :( goddamn i could write a whole drabble for every single one of these ideas if i was in the right fucking mood. hate it here

#“omg ew” is sending me lmfao #asks and answers #ghoap #anyways i need this ask engraved on my brain thx #wish i had the energy to actually write something for it :( sorry anon #i just havent had the brain power for Real Smut recently and i don't want this one to rot in my inbox lol #bo writes #for later puppy play inspo lmao

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Hi!

I wanna preface this question by saying it is entirely hypothetical, and I sincerely hope it will remain so!!!

But just like I take first aid training while hoping I won't need it, I would like to ask this.

First, background explanation: As I've started in previous questions I've sent, I live in Norway. Until the last handful of years, snakes were illegal to have as pets here, but it was loosened up and some snakes became legal in the second half of the 2010s.

During Covid, lots of people who had previously never owned snakes, bought them. I have no doubt that many were good, well prepared owners who had dreamed of having snakes for decades. However, there were still MORE than enough people who didn't know what they were getting into, and as a predictable outcome, many snakes were returned to the pet stores (who are obliged to take them back) when they turned out to grow and become long bois. (Apparently, people didn't expect animals famously being many feet long to actually BE many feet long - shocking.)

There were so many returned snakes that it was written about in the national news broadcasting service.

And I need to mention that animal rescues/shelters are ...kinda not a thing here. We have vets, and we have organizations dedicated to that kind of thing in GENERAL, but homeless pets that aren't cats are very very rarely a big issue here, so they're only usually equipped to take in cats and have foster homes for cats.

The institution most people know about and call of encountering animals, are wildlife patrol, who can help assess a situation, or relocate an animal, or take them to the vet MAYBE if deemed necessary. But they don't have resources to take animals in like a rescue, and their most well known purpose is usually to track down and kill moose after people hit them with their cars and they run off with broken legs and shit. (This happens several times every winter.)

So on to my hypothetical question:

If I should happen to come across an escaped pet snake, like a ball python or boa or whatever (I don't remember which snakes are legal pets here now, off the top of my head), outdoors, I should get it to a vet or pet shop that sells snakes ASAP. Everywhere like that is closed on Sundays here, so let's say I come across this poor bewildered snake on a Saturday evening or a Sunday.

What should I do? How do I approach it? How do I handle this unexpected snake who probably cannot survive outside in Norway? How should I go about picking it up and getting it into a bucket or box or crate or something, and how can I look after it and make it comfortable until I can get it to a vet/pet shop?

This is a great and very important question!

If you see an unexpected pet snake species, approach slowly and cautiously. Even a pet snake who's used to human contact is likely to spooked by an approaching human when they're outside and likely feeling overstimulated! The best thing you can do is find a long stick to scoop the snake up and get them into a bucket/box/whatever's handy. Most snakes will freeze when you lift them up with a stick, so that's the easiest option. If nothing's handy, slowly sneaking up on them and then putting a box/bucket over them, then sliding a piece of paper or cardboard underneath and flipping it over to trap them inside can work well, too.

Since in this hypothetical you just have to look after the poor confused snake for about a day, it won't be too difficult. Your impulse will likely be to try to keep the snake warm next to a heater - don't do that! Snakes can actually handle being a bit too cold for a lot longer than they can handle getting too warm, so if you just keep them in a reasonably warm room that's comfortable for humans, they'll be okay. Set them up with a bowl of water, and see if you can make a hiding place for them by cutting a doorway in a shoebox or other small container.

Hopefully, it's something you'll never need to do, but you're right that it's always best to be prepared!

#not a rating #snake safety #snake emergencies

[sunlightmurdock]

all i can think about is hot steamy breakup makeup sex with older bf bradley, like older bf bradley and his girlfriend breakup and eventually they meet up again and they have hot steamy makeup sex for all the time they missed out on😵‍💫

I feel like a break up with older bf Bradley would happen nine times out of ten because of other people’s thoughts on the two of you other. It’s hard to stand, the way that people look at you and the things that they say behind your back. It had led to one too many arguments between the two of you and you had called it quits just over a month ago.

You had taken a trip with your friends right after, he hadn’t seen you much in the time that you’ve been apart. But today, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of you.

Your friends had taken you to the beach specifically to get your mind off of him, and there he had been. Turns out that Penny’s daughter is off to college tomorrow and they’re throwing her a party at the hard deck. So, you’ve had to sit there and watch your ex-boyfriend wandering around shirtless all day — carrying out chairs and decorations, crates of drinks.

He looks over at you periodically, well aware of the fact that you’re staring at him, unsure of if you’re still too mad at him for him to say something. It hadn’t ended well. There are a lot of hurt feelings there, Rooster figures that staying away is probably for the best.

“You should go home and shower before the party — Amelia will be making fun of you all night if you turn up all sweaty.” Penny tells Rooster as she ties balloons to the fence outside. Rooster’s standing on one of the benches, trying to find the one bulb on the string lights that isn’t working. He makes a faint sound of acknowledgment and keeps doing what he’s doing. “Besides, I can’t stand to see that poor girl looking over here like a lost puppy for one more minute.”

Rooster shoots a look in your direction and watches as you quickly turn your attention back to your friends. “Mav said that she would be better off if I left her alone for a while.”

Penny turns and smacks his hand gently, “When has Maverick ever been right about anything to do with women?”

Rooster just chuckles and keeps on working, pretending like it doesn’t hurt to be talking about you like this. All those nights that he had spent with you in his arms, he hadn’t ever really thought that he would be one day talking about you in past tense. Penny just keeps on staring at him.

“What? — You think I should talk to her?” Bradley tries to ask it like it doesn’t matter to him. Like it isn’t all he has thought about for the entire time you’ve been apart.

“Yeah, I do.” Penny replies calmly. “And I think you should shower.”

He walks over with his heart in his mouth, knowing that, with the way that it ended, it’s stupid to do this in front of your friends. He can see it in your face that you want to tell him to leave you alone — but it’s too late for him to do that, he’s already standing right there. Closer than he has been to you in a month, suddenly lost for words. Hands pushed deep into his pockets and your friends staring at him like he just grew an extra head, he exhales softly and asks if he can talk to you.

Quickly, someone answers for you. One of your friends tucks an arm across you like a seatbelt and narrows their gaze. “Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

They mean well, they’ve seen first hand how heartbroken you’ve been over this guy. He waits for you to say something for yourself for a second too long, then gives a small nod. Quietly, he tells you that he hopes you’re doing alright and that if you change your mind then he’ll be waiting.

Then, he goes home in complete silence. He wonders for a moment whether Maverick’s advice had been rooted in self-preservation above anything else — because staying away definitely hurt less than that shit.

He undresses and throws his clothes into the hamper, and then stands silently under the warm stream of water for a while without moving. Faintly, he hears some moving around outside. He turns the shower off and listens.

“Bradley?”

His eyes widen slightly as he grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. He tears open his bathroom door to find you standing at the end of his hallway. His brows knit together. “Did you just break in?”

You’re quiet for a moment, silenced by his lack of clothing and the warm droplets of water trailing down his tanned chest. Everything hits you all at once and you rush out all of your answers in one big breath. “Yeah. No — um — I used the key under the plant pot. Kinda.”

There’s a short silence between you before you finally take a breath and just say, “I miss you.”

There’s so much more that needs to be said, but that’s enough for right then. It’s enough for him to pull you against him and kiss you hard. There are more words exchanged once he has you out of your clothes and backed up against the tile of his shower.

He tells you he was wrong between passionate, open-mouthed kisses, that he should never have dismissed the way that you had felt as your naked body presses flush against his.

You tell him that you forgive him, panting it into his chest, grabbing onto his back as he fucks you against the tile, holding onto you so tightly. Eyes screwed shut and your stomach tightening into knots, you scrape together the coherency to tell him that you’re sorry too — that it hadn’t been his fault.

He squeezes at the nape of your neck and kisses you deeply, slowing his hips to stop almost completely for a moment. He tells you that he loves you, murmuring it quietly against your lips.

Once you’re out of the shower and wrapped up in one of his big, fluffy towels, it’s easier to talk. And you do, the two of you talk for over an hour, about anything and everything. What went wrong, the way you had both felt towards the end, how you’ve been feeling since.

It’s just that discussing how much you’ve been thinking about each other since the break up, and how much you’ve missed each other — that’s a slippery slope. It ends with you straddling his hips with his arms wrapped around your middle to keep you steady as you ride him.

Finally, the two of you stroll into Amelia’s party two hours late and holding hands. Penny shoots Rooster a knowing look, seeing as it’s evident he did more than just talk to you.

But, no one says anything, and you’re waking up in his bed again the next morning, sliding your hand under the sheets to cup him through his boxers and whisper in his ear.

#idk why this turned out so long #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut

[sandinthemachine]

No running by the pool

Summary: You and Soap make a bet at Ghost's expense...they really shouldn't leave you two alone

Warnings: This is just a fun little one so not much. You and Soap are little shits, Ghost nearly blows a gasket, Price is exhausted dad and poor Gaz gets caught in the middle

Words: 858

guys i can't title things to save my life, if you have a better title id love to hear it

-

-

-

"Ya should've seen it, Captain, the perfect ricochet right through his head," Soap bragged.

"That's because I shot it," Gaz interjected, shaking his head, and Price laughed, taking a swig of his beer. It had been a long mission, and the 141 were relaxing at a hotel for the night before the plane ride home. It was the off-season, and they had the whole place to themselves, choosing to recline and chat by the pool. Price had kept his holsters on, but Soap and Gaz had chosen the casual route, looking for all the world like a couple of college kids on spring break in their jeans and tight t-shirts.

He is pulled out of his reverie by you trotting up to the group, squeezing in between Gaz and Soap.

Soap laughs at you. "Eager to hear more of my heroic stories, are we?"

You chuckle, scratching the back of your head. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He laughs even harder, slapping you on the shoulder. "Good lass."

Price just shakes his head at you before turning to talk to Gaz. You take the opportunity to lean in, whispering into Soap's ear. "You owe me 200 bucks."

His eyes double in size from behind his beer. "You didn't-"

You grin. "I did."

Soap snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth as he swallows. "Where is-"

You're interrupted by a splutter as Price chokes on his drink, spitting beer all over Gaz's face, but the poor man doesn't even notice, too busy staring open-mouthed to the side.

You and Soap whirl around to look, you inching behind him just slightly.

Ghost has just walked out of the hotel, eyes scanning the pool. He's wearing his full mask, balaclava and hard plastic both.

And the entire thing is neon pink.

Soap HOWLS, doubling over himself and spilling beer everywhere, completely exposing you.

Ghost whips around and bellows your name before charging at you, and with a scream you sprint away, leaving Soap to collapse on the ground as he laughs even harder.

You rush to the pool house, barreling around it like the devil himself is on your heels. You spot a stack of crates and jump up them, leaping onto the roof and kicking out at the crate stack just as Ghost reaches them. The crates wobble and collapse, sending him backwards with an angry yell, and you pull yourself up, running across the roof with a mad laugh.

"Y/N!" You freeze at Price's commanding voice and turn to see him marching up to the side of the building, Gaz and Soap trailing behind him.

Ghost stalks around the building, looking for all intents and purposes like a bull in a gladiator's ring. Well, except for the pink. You giggle again, and he glares at you.

Price says your name again, pulling your attention away from the fuming phantom. "Get down from there. Now."

You shake your head vigorously. "Uh-uh, no way, sir, Ghost is gonna murder me."

"Damn right I will," Ghost growls, walking closer to the wall, and you squeal, pushing yourself further back onto the roof.

"Ghost. Stand down," Price commands.

You laugh. "Yeah, come on Ghost, it wasn't even my fault, it was Soap's idea."

Soap's eyes round into saucers as the hulking man turns to face him. He forces a smile. "Just want you to let loose a bit, Lt, ya look like you could use a little-NO!" He cuts himself off with a screech as Ghost leaps at him, the pair sprinting back towards the pool.

Unfortunately, Soap isn't as fast as you, and within two seconds Ghost tackles him to the ground, rolling and flinging the poor Scotsman straight into the pool with a splash.

Price burrows his face into his hands, and you laugh hysterically, shaking on your legs until one of your feet slips and you squeal, sliding right down the roof. You grab at the gutters as you go over, leaving your legs dangling.

And Ghost is there. Of course Ghost is there. You look down just to see him looking back at you, his hands wrapping around your ankles with a chuckle before he yanks, wrenching your grip free and pulling you right down into his arms.

You smile up at him. "Uhh...sorry?"

But it's too late to beg for mercy as the man marches you right over to the pool and opens his arms, letting you drop into the water ass-first.

You splutter as you come back up, treading water next to Soap. "You happy now?"

He sticks his hands up, sinking into the water for a second. "Hey, it was your idea."

You both start laughing, splashing around before you see Ghost in the corner of your eye, still standing at the edge of the pool. You look back at Soap and give him a wink. He winks back.

In one motion the both of you twist, bringing your arms together and hurling a wave of dirty pool water all over Ghost's pants.

His long-suffering groan is drowned out as you both cackle.

A job well done, if you do say so yourself.

-

-

-

A/N I thought of this the other day and I couldn't help myself, the thought was too funny. It's torture Ghost season, and reader and Soap are star players.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Love you guys :)

#simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #call of duty #cod #cod mwii #ghost x reader