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#team Cap was a jerk
diejager · 4 months
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@warenai gave me the juiciest idea.
Draw Cw: smut, porn, prostitution, P in V, creampie, jealousy, handjob, mating press, voyeurism, tell me if I missed any.
part 2
There was a silent understanding between the three of them after that whole fiasco, Ghost and Soap demanding answers from their captain on their own time. Ghost confronted Price in his office that night, body still hot and bothered from your live but wracked with cold sweat from finding out that Price was your third, highest donator. Price hadn’t expected him, neither did Price expect him to find out about his little secret, the thing he spent his money on, but when Soap stopped him outside of the base, he wasn’t surprised then. Ghost had told him about everything, how both he and Soap were members of your OnlyFans, devoted and loyal, only using the site to watch you.
Whether it bothered Gaz that they kept having silent conversations through side glances and open staring, he hadn’t voiced his confusion or curiosity, he stayed outside of this struggle to catch your attention. For all they knew, only the three of them knew you and enjoyed the content, spending their nights jerking off at your sweet voice and beautiful body dressed in all kinds of things. Gaz seemed none the wiser, acting as he usually did, smiling gently, taking care of his strict skin routine, trimming his moustache and caring for his favourite cap.
Yet, he seemed so energetic today, exhuming happiness and giddiness while the others looked dejected, shoulders slumped lower and sighing disappointedly. It was suspicious, for Gaz to act out of character, especially after your announcement of an anonymous winner of your draw, choosing at random one of your patrons to host a live with, letting them fuck you as they dreamed to. Unfortunately, you hadn’t told the public to protect the winner’s identity until the live, you would contact them directly for a day and time.
They seethed in silence, a storm of jealousy stewing in their guts while Gaz smiled and laughed to his phone, eyes glued to his screen and fingers tipping away as if he was in a rush to answer the person he was messaging. It went on like this for a while, a week before Gaz asked for a few days of leave, packing his rucksack with clothes and toiletries with the prettiest and newest clothes he had. Soap had teased him about leaving and dressing pretty for a date, that he’d been texting the girl who caught his heart for a wile now.
They forgot about Gaz after he left, happy for him and curious but not involving themselves into his business, until they got opened up your live after they got the notification about it starting in a few minutes. The watched you smile, wave at the camera, manicured nails gleaming under the soft, yellow light of a hotel room. You changed the location of stage, a comfortable looking hotel room with a queen bed and silken sheets. The highlight of this live - like every other - was you, dressed in a pretty, satin shirt fitting your dark navy teddy, the same shade under warm lights.
You sat on the bed, legs open and flashing the dark patch of your underwear, darkened with slick from earlier foreplay with your guest —the lucky bastard. You made the same introduction, a smile and wave, followed by welcoming them with your stage name, but this time, you reached out for someone off screen, fingers locking with a caramel one, thick fingers with calloused pads, the person who won the draw was lean but still muscular, his arms and thighs curved and abdomen hard. He wore a familiar mask —a skull painted balaclava.
“This is GazCan,” you pulled the man down to him hands and knees, pressing kisses against his gleaming chest, lips wandering up his throat and he’s masked cheek, “He won this year’s draw.”
They knew the balaclava, how could they not when they wore it before as a team, one singular squad fighting towards one goal — it was the Ghost team mask. This was no coincidence, it all fit in with their situation: Gaz had been overly enthusiastic and happy for a week, his sudden ask for days-worth leave and all the neatly folded clothes and skin care.
This winner was Gaz. They were watching Gaz finger you, pumping two of his fingers into your slick cunt, drooling over his palm for everyone to see and hear, the lewd and wet sound of his hand. They watched Gaz fuck you raw, folding you in half, knees to your ears and feet dangling over his shoulders as he snapped his hips, pounding you into the hotel bed and whispering filthy things into your ear. Your swollen folds puffing around his cock, hair trimmed and clean, veins bulging out as he drove in, were in full view of the camera, letting them watch how well Gaz was breeding you.
They boiled with jealousy, being forced to watch one of them feel you, taste you, fuck you. Gaz made you sign for them, mewls and keens rising high from how well he pleasured you, the pointed tip of his cock hitting your spongy cervix and veins rubbing against your g-spot. He was a mix of gentle sex and domination, keeping his hands on you and bending you to his liking, manhandling you to fit his wild fantasies and you liked it.
Despite seeing someone they knew fuck you, that didn’t stop them from coming, spreading their cum over their cock and jerking out the rest of it against their bed and desk. It drove them wild thinking that they could’ve been the one filling you up with their load rather than Gaz, his white jizz bubbling out of your twitching cunny and rolling down your perky rim.
“GazCan, is it, sergeant?” Price cock his brow, lip pursed and arms crossed, he looked so stern as he stared Gaz down.
“Captain,” Gaz smiled back, shamelessly comfortable with his date being shared in the briefing room, then he turned to Ghost, “Ghostie,” and to Soap, “SexiSoap, not exactly subtle.”
Part 4
Tag list: @warenai @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @cutiecusp @ladyof-themoon @yourdaydreamerfan
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End Game
James Potter x Slytherin!fem!reader
Summary: Playing Quidditch against your secret boyfriend is usually fun…
Genre: Fluff/hurt and comfort <3
Warnings: rivalry, chaser!captain!james, chaser!captain!reader, secret relationship (previous enemies to lovers), injuries, swearing, protective!james (my baby 😍), short-ish
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It had begun innocently.
You and James had promised not to tell anyone about your relationship for one week. Only that week turned into another, which eventually turned into four, and now it's much too awkward announcing to the entire school that you've been dating James Potter—the same boy you have publicly spent years saying you couldn't stand—for almost six months.
So, you never did, and neither did he.
However, the upside of your little arrangement was that now Quidditch is endlessly more entertaining.
"You ready, Cap?" Anne, your seeker, asks as you secure your gloves around your wrists. You nod and pull on the straps tightly. This is possibly the most important game of the season and you're determined to win.
You drown out the crowd's cheers when you mount your broom, adjust your hair, and fly up to where your lovely boyfriend is waiting for you to shake his hand.
James looks handsome, with his messy curls messier from the wind, and your heart flutters unintentionally. "Y/l/n," he says and balances on his broom as he grins.
"Potter."
He holds out his arm and looks around at his team and then at yours. "Good luck," James says and you know him well enough to hear his sincerity.
You take his hand, your breath hitching when his thumb caresses across your knuckles. It's such a quick brush you almost think you'd imagined it, but then James sends you a smile—that smile—and you know you hadn't imagined anything.
You drop his hand but return his smile. "May the best team win," your voice is smooth and you hear James chuckle as you fly away from him. You don't dare look back as you hide your smile and nod to your teammates.
The game starts normally, but as time progresses it becomes obvious this particular match is more competitive than usual. James's players become more flustered as the game continues, but you don't concern yourself with them as Slytherin is in the lead. Which, to your dismay, is more uncommon than you would like considering James's team is talented.
Annoyingly talented.
However, you should have been concerned considering when Danny Shepard hits the bludger directly at you out of pure anger, you're unprepared.
The front of your broom shatters from the force and you let out a loud scream when you jerk to the side, your broom malfunctioning as you plummet to the ground.
You can hear some of your teammates call out your name in worry but when you fall onto the grass and roll into the sidelines of a muddy ditch. Your eyes water as a piercing pain makes your head pound.
"Y/n!" James's calls and when you sit up, you see him land on the ground. He lets his broom fall without a care and sprints over to you. He kneels next to you and gently holds your head up, "Shit, shit, shit, shit," James sounds terrified. You blink. The world around him is spinning and his features are blurry.
"Help!" James screams and your heart leaps. What the hell is he doing? Everyone will know. You try to shake your head to tell him to shut up but you just wince in pain. James loops his arm around your back and concern etches his face when you cry out in pain from his movement.
You don't remember much after that. Just that some teachers and your teammates had rushed to your side to make sure you were okay. You weren't. You remember some of James's friends had to hold him back when the teachers hurried you to the Hospital Wing.
However, you wake up to him next to you. James is still in his Quidditch uniform, his head in his arms, his arm crossed beside your hips, as his chest lifts and falls lightly.
You blink, adjusting to the dim light from the lamp, and your shifting must wake James up because he looks up. Sheet lines are drawn on his cheeks and his voice is hoarse when he mutters, "Baby?"
"Hi," you whisper, forcing a small smile.
It's as if his entire face brightens and in his excitement James jumps up and wraps his arms around your shoulders. "Merlin, you're really okay! I was so worried," his voice sounds tense and when you wince a little, he moves back like he'd burned you. "Sorry, sorry," he blushes pink and slumps down onto the chair again.
"It's okay, Jamie," you smile at him and then ask, "What happened?" You look around you. It's dark outside. You must have been passed out for a few hours, at the very least.
"Shepard aimed his bludger at you out of anger," James hurries to explain, "He's off the team. Definitively. No arguments."
You smile at him a little but ask the important question, "You continued the game, did you?"
James nods solemnly, "Yeah, we did," he pauses as if debating something, "Gryffindor won," he says after a moment. Your eyebrows scrunch hearing him and you groan, cursing. James is quick to hold your hand. "But you'll beat us next time, lovie. It was such a close game."
You roll your eyes at him, turning your head to bury your face into your pillow. "You're such a twat," you whine and then look up at him through your hair, "this is why I disliked you."
James's smile falters, seemingly a little hurt. "I'm being serious! You played well. Your entire team did," he whispers, stroking his thumb over your hand.
You snort, "Oh, I know you're being serious, James. You're too kind. It's infuriating."
"Would you rather I rub my win in your face?" James asks with a raise of his brow. You sit up and glare at him. Admittedly, James has never been humble about his team winning a game but this was different.
You're his girlfriend now. His injured, and incredibly competitive, girlfriend.
"Well, nothing would have stopped you before," you say and James rolls his eyes. He leans in closer.
"Well, back then, I wouldn't have cared that one of my players hit you like that."
You send him a suspicious look.
"Okay, I would have cared, but not this much."
You smile. As much as you hate James for his undeniable chivalry and how annoyingly kind-hearted he is, if he wasn't then he wouldn't be the person you loved. And oh boy, do you love him.
"I want everyone to know about us," you say suddenly. James's eyes round like saucers. His hand finds yours and he tilts his head like a puppy, an endearing confusion gracing his features. He squeezes your hand in his.
"You must have really hit your head hard baby–"
"No," you interrupt him, your voice coming out stern, "I'm ready. I'm not ashamed. I've never been ashamed. I just didn't want anyone to know because if they did then they'd meddle, and if didn't know then you were mine. Only mine."
A smile curls James's lips. "What's changed?"
You look into his eyes. "Well, now I want everyone to know you are mine."
James raises and eyebrow and he chuckles. "So basically, you're claiming me?"
"Yeah, I guess I am."
With a smile, James nuzzles into you and then kisses your cheek, right under one of your bruises. "Good, because everyone already knows about us. When you passed out, I made too much of a scene and the game was up," he says sheepishly, "It's all anyone is talking about apparently."
You giggle as his breath tickles your skin and you hold his nape. "Fucking let them, I don't care. All that matters is that you're mine."
"I am yours," James confirms into your ear, "Wholeheartedly yours, Y/n."
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golden1u5t · 4 months
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ok can i request maybe at a police station spencer is standing doing the geological profile and its late at night and everyone left except you two and you rub his shoulders at the board kiss his neck and he still wont budge so you pull him by his tie to the bathroom and suck him off
this post is 18+
“You’re always so tense.” You murmur, stepping behind him and rubbing at his shoulders. He relaxed for only a split second before he was back to marking on the board, the same board he’d been at for well over an hour. While the rest of the team left to go back to the hotel for the night, you and Spencer stayed. He stayed because he wanted to finish the profile and you only stayed to keep him company.
Even though your thumbs were working into the tense muscles on his shoulders, Spencer still remain indifferent. You sighed quietly to yourself and moved forward to start pressing tender kisses to his shoulder.
“We could go back to the hotel, take a bath.” You tried again, hands moving down to wrap around his waist. Your fingers danced on the waistband of his pants, trying to seduce him into taking a break.
“You should go to the hotel if you’re tired. I still need to finish this.” He mumbled. You scoffed, your patience had ran out. You turned him around and put the cap on the marker, you tossed it on the table and started to tug him by his tie. “What are you doing?”
You stayed silent as you dragged him into the bathroom, you made sure no one was in the stalls and locked the door. Spencer gasped with you pushed him against the wall. You slowly lowered to your knees in front of him, trying to ignore his concerns about how dirty the floor may be.
“Shut up!” You groaned when he kept talking. Spencer’s mouth closed almost immediately and he silently stared at you while you unbuttoned his pants. Under any other circumstances you would love to hear him talk but you had a goal in mind and you didn’t want him going on about the number of germs on the floor.
You pulled his pants and boxers down until they pooled at his ankles, you looked up at him before looking back at his cock. You wrapped your hand around him and leaned forward to take the head of his cock in your mouth.
Spencer groaned and leaned into the wall, his hand reaching out to thread through your hair. You took his further into your mouth, softly moaning because of how hot and heavy he was on your tongue. You took him deeper into your mouth until the tile of your nose brushed against the patch of hair at the base of his cock.
You pulled off of him and started to stroke his cock faster, a string of saliva connected your lips to the swollen head of his cock. Spencer’s hips jerked forward into your hand, lewd moans falling past his lips. His hand tightened in your hair as spurts of cum started to shot from his twitching cock, you hurriedly leaned forward and wrapped you lips around the head of his cock, starting to suck and making him cum even more.
Spencer pushed your head back when it started to get to be too much for him, his head fell back into the wall as he tried to catch his breath. You chuckled and pulled his pants and boxers up for him, standing up and leaving him to do the rest while you cleaned your face from his cum.
“I think i’m ready to go to the hotel now.”
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clockwayswrites · 6 months
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A Broken Sort of Normal, Part 15
WC 1133, Masterpost
“Danny!”
“Lena, no,” Danny groaned. He let his bag slump off his shoulder as he turned to face them. “Lena. It’s Friday. I have been in meetings for the last three days. I have plans. I am actively leaving the building. Lena. Why are you stopping me, Lena?”
Lena held their tablet up, covering up the lower half of their face. Their dangerously large doe eyes looked over the top of it. “I just have one last thing!”
“Is it an emergency?”
They rolled their eyes. “Do you hear any alarms?”
“If I don’t deal with it until Monday and an emergency happens, are people going to be out of supplies they need to deal with said emergency?”
“No,” Lena huffed.
“Then can it please wait until Monday, Lena? Please? I’m begging you. I don’t want to have to get down on my knees, but I will,” Danny said. “Oh great now more of you are here. Please tell me you don’t all have things you need from me? Why are you smiling like that? If this is a mind control thing just thrown me tied up in my office and let me at least sleep under my desk.”
“You’ve been hanging out with the heroes too much Danny,” Greg said with a laugh from where he leaned on the bright green partition of his cubical. “You’ve picked up on their dramatics.”
“No, I’m just used to the crazy now and this,” he said, motioning to his gathering underlings (HR wouldn’t let him call them minions anymore), “is suspicious.”
“Well if you feel that way, we don’t have to give your gift,” Lena said.
Danny perked up a little. “Gift? Wait, gift?”
Hamid snorted. “Of course he pays attention when gift is mentioned. Danny, someone could catch you with a piece of cake under a cardboard box.”
Danny flapped a hand in Hamid’s direction. “Hush. But why gift? You all don’t have to get me anything.”
“Of course we did!” Lena said. “It’s your one year being the boss man, Boss!”
That made Danny pause. It couldn’t be, could it? Had he really been working as leadership in the Justice League Response Team for a year now? It felt like yesterday still when he had been moving to Central City.
“I think we broke him,” Hamid whispered loudly.
“I just can’t believe it’s been that long,” Danny said honestly.
“Well it has been, so here,” Lena said. They grabbed a tissue wrapped bundle and handed it over.
Danny unwrapped it carefully, aware he was grinning stupidly and not carrying to stop it. It was really sweet of his team. “I couldn’t have made a year without you all.”
“We know,” Greg said, which made Danny laugh.
When the paper was finally discarded, Danny was holding a mug that said ‘You’re the Best Boss’ with the word ‘best’ scratched out. Stuffed inside the mug were floppy Titan figures wrapped with fake bandages. “You’re all jerks, I love it. I’m taking a picture and sending it to the Titans. Nightwing’s little broken leg is inspired.”
“Thank you,” Lena said proudly. They waited for Danny to snap the picture before taking the mug away. “Now you go. I’ll put this on your desk for you.”
“Thank you, really, you’re all the best.”
“We know,” all three of the coursed as Danny headed out the door with a wave.
-
“I can’t believe they broke mini me’s leg!” Dick wined when Danny got back to his and Wally’s department.
“Of course they broken your leg with all the stunts you pull,” Victor said as he flicked the cap off a beer with his thumb. “Wait, that sounded wrong. It’s not like those were voodoo dolls or anything. Right…?”
Danny laughed hung up his work bag and keys on the hooks by the door. “Greg is right, you’re all paranoid and I’m around you way too much for it to be rubbing off on me.”
“Really only Wally rubs off on y—” Garfield started only to get a face full of pillow tossed by Donna. It sent Gar right over the couch back he had been perched on.
“No one needs to hear that,” she said.
“You’re just jealous Wally has a hot boyfriend,” Gar said.
The couch shifted a little before a green cat popped out from under the front of it. Danny picked Gar up as he passed, setting him back on the couch.
“I am not the hot boyfriend,” Danny said.
“Yes you are.”
“Right.”
“Dude.”
Victor just snorted.
“Wally,” Danny called out. “Our friends are being weird. Did you all get a collective head injury or something?”
“Our friends are always weird, babe,” Wally called back from either the bedroom or the office.
“Yes, but this is extra weird.”
There was a pause then Wally appeared with the monstrosity that was the current Uno set up. It now included a board and six different dice. “Okay, what’s extra weird?”
“That they think I’m the hot boyfriend.”
“Danny, babe,” Wally said. He leveled Danny with a look. “You are the hot boyfriend.”
“Collective head injury, all of you!” Danny said, throwing his hands up.
Wally just laughed, the bastard, and set the game box down so that he could pull Danny into his arms. “Accept it, you’re hot.”
“No,” Danny said, purposefully pouting.
“So hot,” Wally insisted before leaning in to kiss Danny.
Gar whistled while Victor made a fake gagging sound. The kiss broke as Danny laughed at being hit with a pillow.
“Okay, okay. I’m going to go change out of my work clothes. Is food ordered?” Danny asked as he dragged himself out of Wally’s arms.
“Indian. An absolute feast too,” Wally said, reluctantly letting Danny go.
“Good, I’m starving.” Danny headed for their bedroom, shucking off his clothing as soon as the door was closed. He hated meetings where people expected him to wear suits. It was a relief to change into jeans and a comfortable t-shirt.
“…wait till the others are here?” Dick was saying to Wally when Danny opened the door.
“I know we should, just…”
“Wait for what?” Danny asked.
It was a little startling how both their heads jerked up to look at Danny.
“Um, just explaining the Uno rules! You know?” Wally said with a nervous laugh. “Not all of them have played this version, yeah?”
Danny raised a brow, spotting the lie easily but not knowing what it was about. It was usually safer to not get between Wally and Dick plotting something though. “Right… pass me a cider?”
“Sure, babe!” Wally said with far too much perkiness.
Danny had just accepted the uncapped cider when suddenly the room was filled with a screaming alert. From the volume that wasn’t just one communicator.
That was everyone’s.
---
AN: I managed to shake out some words! I'm not actually sure of the pacing of this one, but I won't know till I write the next part! There's a chance this might get more added to it. We'll see! I wonder what Dick and Wally were talking about??
Stay delightful, darlings!
I no longer tag, instead you can subscribe to the masterpost.
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skylarsblue · 1 year
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✦Meeting & Flirting W/ The C.o.D Men✦
(Five scenes were gn!reader meets, flirts, and eventually gets with the C.o.D guys. You can thank Gaz & a Doja Cat song for this)
✧Gaz, Price, Soap, & Ghost. The others will come later✧ ✦Flirting, light sexual tension here and there, basically just fluff, some mild descriptions of wounds/war, no specified appearance but I do hint that you're shorter than the guys here and there in a subtle manner. Sporadic use of Y/N that I apologize for. Random callsigns I made up on the spot.✦
✧Kyle "Gaz" Garrick✧
Laswell walked beside Price whilst leading the team out onto some tarmac. "I know you all are very competent, but this is a rather big mission, and so I wanted to give you backup I think you can depend on." She said calmly, coming to a stop, turning to the four men. Ghost crossed his arms and bit back a scoff. Kyle smiled for a split second because of it, though shrouded in mystery, it was no secret that Ghost hated working with others. A black jeep rolled up from a slight distance. Gaz wasn't too interested, he'd been tired all day and meeting new people sounded like a bit of a pain. He adjusted the hat on his head and kept his gaze on the ground, even when some footsteps approached. He glanced up at least, not paying any particular attention to the five individuals in front of him. Though he did give his full attention to Laswell when she began speaking. "Team 141, this is Team Sonar. They'll be working with you this upcoming mission, which we still need to go over." The woman explained. Their captain shook hands with price, an older man with dark hair and a broad white streak in the front. Two younger men stood to the side, Soap greeted them. One was blond and the other, a light brunette, they looked like twins. The fourth one was fairly androgynous, tall, eyes cast at the ground. Gaz was just about to look back at Laswell when his eyes fell on the last member. Dressed in black military gear, holding a rifle aimed at the ground, vest decorated in patches and a filtration-gas mask over the lower half of their face. They looked up and locked with his gaze, a spark let off in the air as soon as they did. Gaz rolled back his shoulders, pinching the inside of his cheek between his teeth. He watched their eyes scan him up, down, then slowly back up. By the way their eyes scrunched slightly, he could assume they were smiling, giving him one more quick once over. It was hard not to smile as well, especially when their eyes stuck to him whilst turning to face their captains. "Careful sergeant." Ghost's deep voice made Gaz jump. "Ahem, right." He mumbled, shifting his hat down a bit. Though he did risk stealing one more glance, feeling an ego boost when he caught them doing the same.
"You ever take that hat off?" They asked, leaning on the common room's table as he sat down, arms crossed. "I do, I just don't feel like it." Gaz shrugged, adjusting the ratty baseball cap on his head. "The flag is literally fallin' off, mate." They teased with a smile, reaching to nudge the brim, making it push down. Gaz snorted and took it off for a split second to fix it. He gasped when it was snatched from his hand, smiling when he saw their face covered in a cheeky grin, holding the hat away. "Alright, c'mon. Give it back." He insisted, holding out his hand. They hummed, tapping their chin whilst looking at the ceiling. "Nnnoo, no I don't think so." They replied with their tongue stuck out. Gaz tucked his tongue into his cheek and glared at them playfully. He laughed when they jerked back as he lunged for it, smiling more when they hid it behind their back. "Oh, playing dirty now?" Gaz asked, moving to snatch it once more, only to be dodged. "I think you look better without it, actually. I'm doing you a favor." They insisted, backing up more and more. He naturally followed. They reached up to put it on, chin tilted at an endearing angle. "Should just lemme have it." Gaz shook his head, although he did enjoy the sight of them wearing it. "Over my dead body, give it!" He laughed. They blocked his arm when he went to grab it one last time, reaching into the back pocket of their camo pants. Good thing about military pants? Big pockets. Gaz blinked in surprise when he felt a pressure on his skull, raising a hand to feel a different hat. He quickly took it off and looked at it. A baseball cap with a British flag and an embroidered "K.G.G" on the brim, in a dark green color. He gazed at it with some awe, feeling a quick wave of sentimental joy enter his system. "I think green is more your color." They said, prompting him to look at. He blinked when they booped him on the nose and then turned to walk away. "Hey, what about my original hat?!" Gaz called. They turned, walking backwards. "It's mine now! No take-backsies!!" They giggled, rotating on their heel. The man ran his tongue over his teeth as he chuckled in disbelief. He glanced once more at the hat before putting it on, shaking his head fondly.
(nsfw implication in this one; cause Y/N a bold bitch) Gaz hummed to the tune of his music as he sat on one of the chairs in the common room, waiting for time to pass until their next briefing. Listening to Y/N make themselves tea, occasionally passing conversation between them both. The topic now? Why he never used his actual name. "I guess I just don't really get it. It's not like it's a bad name." They said, pouring hot water into a mug. Gaz shrugged whilst scrolling through a playlist. "I used to like it, now I don't. A lot of people don't like their name." He answered, glancing over at them. They placed a teabag into the water and turned to look at him, hip leaned on the counter. "Yeah, I guess. But usually there's a reason if you specifically dislike it, ya know?" They retorted. Gaz nodded and adjusted in his seat. "I guess...I dunno, anytime I hear that name, it usually means somethings going wrong? Either someone's needing something from me or I'm like, in trouble? So, I prefer the nickname." He explained, looking back down at his phone whilst they threw away the tea bag. "Then it's not the name, it's what you associate hearing the name with! You just need to put a different context to it." They said, though their voice was a bit muffled by his earbuds now. He snorted. "Oh yeah? Well, lemme know if you got any ideas." He said sarcastically, not hearing them walk closer. "Let's try this then." Gaz jumped a bit when the earbud was pulled from his ear, replaced with the feeling of warm breath. Hot blood rose to Gaz's cheeks and neck as the cupped their hand around his ear. "Oh Kyle...~" His breath stopped at the sound of a very convincing moan, heart stuttering as they laughed quietly, gently putting the earbud back in his ear. They made it a point to lightly drag their fingers across his shoulders when walking around him. Gaz watched them walk away with wide eyes until they were out of sight. He then sunk in his seat, hand covering the lower half of his burning face. He forced in a deep breath. "Fuckin' hell..." He mumbled while replaying the sound in his brain. They at least had a point. Hearing his name like that was pretty enjoyable.
"Gaz, Spark, how copy?" Gaz's radio crackled, Ghost's voice cutting in and out. "Copy sir, we're in a safe house. Hell of a storm outside, we'll need to wait it out." He said. Y/N was checking the pipes and looking around for firewood as Ghost gave choppy orders. The man huffed and took off his vest when he saw the fire being lit, grabbing a rickety wooden chair to pull up next to it. "Fuckin' snow." He grumbled as he heard the wind bare down on the house. "Not a winter guy?" They asked, making him look over his shoulder as they walked in with two cups. "Found coffee. I know you're more of a tea type, but warm is warm." They responded softly. He thanked them and took the cup, though he cringed at the bitter taste, swallowing so he could answer their question. "Nah, always liked Summer more." They nodded before setting their mug on the floor. "So, we're alone for god knows how many hours." They said, looking at a tactical watch on their wrist. Gaz rose an eyebrow while taking another sip of his coffee. "Yeah? What of it?" He asked. "You gonna finally make a move or should I keep pretending there's no tension here?" Their blunt words made him choke and began coughing. They laughed and lightly smacked his back, snickering when he cleared his throat. "I uh, wow, okay. Bit blunt to put it that way, innit?" He said with a breathless laugh, putting the cup down. "Bit rude to eye fuck me all the time and do nothin' about it, innit?" They mocked with a grin, making him blush, though thankfully the melanin in his skin left it unnoticeable. "Okay, I do not...alright, maybe a little, but listen." He laughed bashfully. He watched them roll their eyes with a heavy sigh, looking down at him with a smile. "What? Do I have to do everything?" He rose his hands up and sank in the seat slightly as they placed their hands on his knees, leaning in slowly. "Didn't take you for such a scaredy cat, sergeant.~" Gaz cleared his throat and couldn't stop himself from laughing nervously again. "I'm not a scaredy cat. I'm just...patient." "Patient?" "Yes, indeed." They hummed and clicked their tongue. "Well, I'm not." Gaz felt his lungs constrict and the air expel from his body once their weight rested on his lap, hands on the back of the chair, which creaked under their combined weight. He watched them take his hat off and rest it on their head. "So, sergeant major Gaz. You gonna make a move, or should I?" They asked quietly. He let out a slow exhaled before shaking his head. "You...are gonna get me in so much trouble." He said fondly, though he did invite them leaning in dangerously close. "Guess that's a risk you gotta take." They whispered back. He hummed in thought, stalling for the sake of mischievousness now. "Eh, only live once." He shrugged, grinning as they laughed, unable to stop smiling when the held his face to kiss him. Trouble or not, it was inevitable.
✧John Price✧
John sighed and messed with his dog tags as he waited of Laswell to come back into the room. She’d said she had something important to tell him. She finally poked her head into his office with a calm smile, giving him a nod. “A few weeks ago, you asked for a sniper. I found one I think is suitable.” She said, opening the door a bit further to reveal them. Stood in a compression shirt and camp pants, arms behind their back. John straightened his back as he took their figure in, acknowledging slightly nervous body language. They seemed young, but not by much compared to the rest of the team. “Alright. Lemme talk to’em.” John mumbled, motioning with his hand for the soldier to step inside. Laswell patted their shoulder as they entered, crossing the office to sit in the chair across from Price. Laswell left with the door closed. “You’re nervous, soldier.” He said. They swallowed and nodded, patting their leg. “A little sir, yes. Trying not to be.” They answered honestly with a little chuckle. “You afraid your skills aren’t up to snuff?” He questioned, voice gruff, trying to poke for insecurities. Not that he was cruel, but he needed soldiers made of steel on the field. “Oh, no. I’m 100% confident in my skills. It’s uh, just hard to not feel anxious when you’re sat in front of a captain with such an impressive resume. I’m uh, well, I’m worried about my impression is all.” They admitted bashfully, clenching their hands in their lap. John rose an eyebrow and let out an amused huff at their praise. “You’re certain you’ll keep up?” He asked. “Yes sir.” They answered immediately. John nodded, he motioned for them to stand as he did the same. They listened without hesitation. He rounded his desk and stood in front of them, watching them force back nerves in order to meet his gaze. He held out his hand. “I‘ll look forward to seeing you work, soldier.” He said. His smile grew when they shook his hand, a spark growing in their eyes. “You won’t be disappointed, sir.”
John huffed and rubbed his temple, soreness radiating through his skull as a result of persistent annoyance. He'd been put in charge of some new recruits, a batch of youngsters, all of which seemed to enjoy testing his patience. They all liked to slack off, lose focus, occasionally take a little jab at him. John was a patient man and did his best to keep his cool, usually only losing it in dire circumstances. But, he was a human, and humans had their limits, and the captain was at the end of his rope as he watched the recruits joke around. All right after he specifically told them to run laps, a standard training exercise. His frustration must've been obvious on his face, hence why Mist approached him. "You alright, captain? You look ready to blow a gasket." They asked, voice soft, showing sympathy. The brunet huffed and rested his hand on his hip, feeling a bit soothed by the gentle pat on his bicep. "These damn kids won't take me seriously, and I've bout had it." He explained, motioning to the group. The soldier's eyes widened and looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Unable to fathom it. They weren't much older than the newbies, and they'd already shown a genuine and powerful admiration for John. For various reasons. John watched them frown and shake their head. "Try again." They motioned, giving an encouraging nod. John was a bit confused but he cleared his throat and shouted to get their attention. "I said to run laps, not stand chit-chatting! Move it!" He demanded, voice rough and commanding, but not as intense was it was in the heat of battle. Y/N's blood boiled at the blatantly disrespectful laugh one recruit let out. "Whatever, old man!" A young man replied. John felt his jaw tighten and he took in a breath to yell again, on his last nerve, before a voice beside him beat him to it. "WATCH YOUR FUCKIN' MOUTH!" Mist exclaimed, voice echoing in the air like flying daggers. They'd been rather soft, quiet, and gentle the whole time they were with 141. Excluding battle. To see them so angry, so intense, it was enough to make John even jolt in surprise. "When your commanding officer gives you an order, you execute it on the first fucking demand! He said run, you sprint damnit! If you think you can dick around at the sake of the training that will save your life and the lives of your comrades, FUCK OFF BACK HOME!" They hissed, baring teeth like a raging dog. "Now, move it! Forty fucking laps at least and if I hear more disrespect at my captain, I'll have your fuckin' heads!" The recruits had already began on the track, wincing when the threat landed in their ears. John watched Mist compose themself with a look of shock interlaced with endearment. They gave him a bashful glance and cleared their throat. "Uhm...there ya go." They smiled. John let out a quiet chuckle and patted their back. "Remind me to stay on your good side." He said playfully.
(Brief description of bullet wound & war) The sounds of gunfire were sharp on the ear drums. Air permeated with the scent of rubble dust & metallic blood. Mist jumped over an enemy corpse as they dodged around a building, clicking the button on their radio in order to answer their captain. "This is Mist! Ran off about six yards east, where are you, cap?" They asked, chest heaving. "Three yards to your right! Haul ass before these cunts reload!" It was probably a terrible time to think it, but they couldn't help but worry about his throat, all those cigars surely made his voice rougher than it was naturally. That thought was pushed back by the need of survival, although their worry was barely focused on themselves, more on the safety of their captain. They found him settled behind some large stacked crates, littered with bullet holes. Taking no time to slide up beside him, huffing and puffing, face smeared with paint & dirt. "Are you steady, Cap?" They asked breathlessly. John nodded, adjusting his bucket cap. "For now. We gotta move out toward the evac, Soap's got this place set to blow and I wanna be out before it happens." He explained whilst loading a rifle. "Understood, I'll cover you." They replied. Whilst sprinting away from the enemy, ducking when the gunfire got heavy, their barriers were thinning. John huffed and pushed through, scanning for the next thing they could duck behind. As he did, he was left open. The young soldier's eyes locked in on a sniper overhead, gun angled directly at the man beside them. The world moved slow and frightfully quick all at once as they shoved John off to the side whilst shouting for him to take cover. The bullet spun through the air and made itself home in Mist's leg. John was quick to act, able to aim his rifle up at the roof, landing a rather lucky headshot in retaliation. "Damnit, soldier, what the hell were you thinkin'?!" He exclaimed, using his arm to help them stand. They didn't respond, teeth gritted in pain as the two of them continued to move. Making it to the evac wasn't easy, but it happened. The team left like a bat out of hell, holding up with shotty attempts at first-aid until they could get to a medic. John put Y/N on priority for one since the bullet was lodged in their thigh, risking a problem with an artery or bone. Thankfully though, it was just a muscle issue. They'd need recovery time and rest, but overall, they'd be fine. Likely to only sport a scar by the end of it. They sat on a medical bed as John heard the verdict, eventually waving off the doctor so he could speak with them alone. "What the hell were you thinking?" John whispered harshly. Though Mist was the more sensitive type, they didn't flinch, not a single waver as they met his gaze. "Thinking about saving your life." They answered. "And you got shot cause of it." John replied, making them snort. "I can handle a shot to the leg. Far less damage than losing you. In terms of pros & cons? I think I weighed'em pretty well." John felt his chest constrict as they gave him a satisfied smile, as if they weren't still covered in the signs of war. He opened his mouth and no words came out, he gave up and sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He stared at them for a moment. Eventually, his hand fell limp at his side, chuckling quietly. "You'll be the death of me, soldier." He said. They laughed and shrugged. "Nah, I think I'll keep you alive for awhile longer. That's my plan anyway." Their retort played like music in the strings of his neurons, sending waves of serotonin & oxytocin in his system. "I'll hold you to that." He sighed.
(NPC death mentions) The sound of paper rustlings and the scratch of a pen was monotonous and soul sucking. John had always been a diligent worker, but, he'd never enjoyed paper work. It was something he found particularly boring even as he got older, and there was always an air of somberness when he was filling out reports on men who'd died. Lost their lives under his command. In the late hours of the night where silence was suffocating and the loneliness began to grow more obvious in his bones, continuously marking his signature down on dotted lines until his wrists were sore. His throat was dry and his eyes stung. There was a bottle of whiskey on a side table calling his name, but he didn't have the energy to move, and he knew it wouldn't satisfy any actual thirst. The sigh he let out was full of exhaustion. Then, he flinched, silence broken by a knock at the door. The brunet's brows furrowed in confusion & suspicion, given lights out was at least two hours ago. "Who is it?" He called after clearing his throat. "It's me." The voice was unmistakable, and though he hated to admit it, his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Enter." He instructed, finding it worrisome how it felt easier to breathe when their figure poked through the door, entering slowly. A cup of steaming tea rested in their hands. "You should be asleep, soldier." John said, leaning back in his seat. They gave a soft laugh and a nod, walking up to his desk. "Couldn't. Kept thinkin' bout you, knowing you were overworking yourself. Finally gave in and made you a cup of tea. With all due respect, sir, you should also be in bed." They answered, setting the cup on the desk. Like a godsend, able to sense his unspoken needs from across the base. He was a providing type, protective too, he'd been called a "dad" type as well, always caring for others. Although being cared for was foreign, he couldn't help but have his heart melt in a way he hadn't really felt in a very long time. The man sighed, grabbing the cup, blowing on it before he took a sip. He could feel his soul grow warm as he realized it was a perfect replica of how he'd make it, ideal to his preferences. It was impossible not to smile. "You're a real saint, you know that?" He asked. The room felt brighter as they laughed again. "I'm not sure about that, but thank you." They replied. "I mean it. You stick out your neck to make things easier for me, even when I don't ask. I notice it, even if I'd prefer you keep a bullet out of your leg." He scolded lightly, making them nervously shift their gaze to the side, recalling the shot they'd taken for him. "Eh, I don't really regret it." They said, moving around his desk in order to sit on the same side as him, remaining on the corner of the wooden table, careful to avoid sitting on any of the papers. John shook his head. "I'd probably take another eighty bullets for you." They answered honestly, ignoring the stutter in their heartbeat as he stood, chair scraping on the rug below. "Now why would you do that?" He questioned cynically. The response he got struck every chord in his heart. "Because I care about you too much to see you get hurt." They whispered. "You're such a good person, and you do so much for everyone else, even when you're at the end of your rope. There really aren't people like that in the world, and I don't think I could really handle losing something so rare." John inhaled and stepped in front of them. He was intently in their personal space, but they didn't feel the need to lean away, even if their nerves were alight with a specific type of anxiety as he tilted their chin with his hand. He didn't say anything for a long while, only gazing, adoringly and intensely full of passion. Finally, he smiled with an amused breath. "I think I hit the nail on the head..." He heard their breath catch when he leaned close enough for his facial hair to lightly prick at their skin. "You're nothin' short of a saint, sweetheart."
✧Johnny "Soap" MacTavish✧
The bar was crowded and rowdy, dimly lit and teeming with energy. 141 settled in a booth. The bar was popular with veterans and active soldiers, so there wasn't a corner of the building that didn't have some camo print in it. Johnny chuckled at a joke Gaz made at the expense of a recently defeated enemy before taking a swing of beer. He scanned the bar lazily. At the same time as others, cerulean eyes settled on a small scene in the crowd. Kyle leaned around Soap to get a better visual. "Yeesh, can't a man take a hint?" The man mumbled as they watched a tipsy soldier flirt with, what seemed like, a civilian. Dressed up for a night of fun but clearly not having a good time with a slurring and pushy man not being able to take a no. "Think we should step in?" Soap questioned, to which Ghost rose his hand, a signal to stay seated. "Look at their friends, they look like they're waiting for somethin'. Maybe they've got it covered already." He mumbled past the fabric of his balaclava. Johnny cringed, scrunching his nose at the scene, biting his tongue, literally. "They're a civilian against a trained soldier. Drunk or not, they probably need some help." Kyle commented. It was immediately after he finished his sentence that the "civilian" set their drink down, face showing annoyance. They turned to the drunkard and in quick, trained movements, took him out. Or in less intense terms, knocked him out cold with a swift elbow to the chest and a well formed punch to the jaw. The bar went quiet after a collective "oooohhh" in response to it all. The "civilian huffed and rested their hands on their hips, shaking their head. Soap's jaw was lax as he watched them walk over to the bar, pay, and leave. Left in utter awe intermingled with disappointment that he hadn't had a chance to talk to them. Up until a week later when a higher up declared he'd be gifting a lieutenant with an impressive track record to aid the task force in a mission. A huge help, since apparently they had specialized information. The four men waited for the mystery person right outside of base. When they walked up, they had a mask on, but a collective string of shock hit the men when they came closer. Gaz let out a little laugh and nudged Soap with his elbow. "Looks like you get to talk to them after all." He teased, watching Johnny fight to keep his jaw closed. They stopped in front of him with their arms crossed and face stern. "You lot must be 141. Lieutenant Fern." They said. Price stepped up calmly to introduce the team. Johnny cut him off, practically leaping forward with his hand extended to greet them. "Sergeant Soap, pleasure to meet'cha Lieutenant." He said with a boyish grin. They tilted their head with a raised eyebrow. "You always this excitable, sergeant?" They asked. Johnny's eyes glimmered with childlike fascination and liveliness. "Only with beauties like ya'self." He said boldly. They scoffed with some amusement, shaking his hand as they glanced at an embarrassed Price. "Bold, this one." They praised.
Soap grunted and slammed his hand on the floor twice, letting out a strained word. He took a deep breath when the pressure let off his neck, hearing a few tongue clicks. "That's the third take down, Soap. You gotta stop leaving yourself open." Fern sighed, giving him a hand up. He rubbed his neck and coughed, frustrated at himself for letting his performance slip. It was showing on his face and in his shoulders, weighing down by the sense of failure. "Oi, suds, quit that." They ordered, making him look up with confusion. They made a vague motion to his person, referring to his posture, before resting their hands on their hips. "The self-doubt and anger at yourself. It ain't gonna help ya. You're not bad at what you do, you're learning still. That's normal." They explained. Though their tone sounded blunt and rough, as usual, Johnny had been around them enough now to hear the hint of softness that lingered in their words. Something he had yet to hear before. He huffed and dropped his hand at his side. "I shouldn't be havin' these fuck ups, L.T. I been doin' this for too many years for fuck ups." Johnny let out a yelp and a whine as he received a flick to the bridge of his nose. "'nough of that, sergeant. What'd I just say?" Fern demanded with their gaze sharpened. They poked his chest to keep his attention. "You listen here, and you listen good because I won't be repeating myself. You're smart, and you're good at what you do. Fuck ups happen no matter how long you've been doin' something. You ain't perfect and I ain't expecting you to be. I expect you to be observant and open minded." They stated. Johnny's face softened and so did their tone. Fern sighed and shook his head. "Don't beat yourself up over shit that's fixable or that you can't control. Doing that won't help you, it'll just make you feel like shit. Enough of that will turn you into a stick in the mud." Their hand smacked on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. Soap felt his heart squeeze when they gave him a rare and small smile. "And I like you as the puppy dog you are, alright, soldier?" Johnny blinked before he snorted and nodded, taking their words to heart. "Good man. Now, c'mon. Let's go again. I'll go slower and correct your form and we'll get those slip ups worked out. On your mark." They ordered, gentler this time. Soap got into position with a grin and determination lit aflame once more. "On it, Lieutenant. Hit me." He challenged, burning with joy when they gave a fond chuckle.
Music and commotion filled the air with noise, adding a backdrop to a conversation that flooded in and out. Soap threw back some whiskey and cringed as it hit his taste buds. He coughed and set the cup down, shaking his head whilst the person across from him chuckled. "Not a whiskey type, suds?" They teased. He shook his head and slid the cup over, letting them take it and refill it. "I'll stick to my beer, thanks." Johnny replied with a huff. He pushed down the warmth in his face he got from watching them drink out of the same glass, mouth placed over where he'd just pressed his lips. Unintentional, most likely. He felt ridiculous being flustered over such a school-yard level of intimacy, and indirect kiss from sharing a glass was juvenile. He looked over their face, eyes settling on the signs of exhaustion in their expression. The Scotsman frowned and tapped the table a few times before he gave into his thoughts. "You ain't been sleeping, 'ave ya?" He asked. They looked up from following the patters of paint in the wall beside the two of them. Their silence was answer enough but the fact they shook their head sealed the deal. "Mind if I pry?" Soap asked, leaning in a bit more on his elbows. Fern shrugged and sank in their seat a bit, sighing. They rubbed their eye before regaining eye contact. "Different reasons. Old demons, mostly." They muttered. Johnny's brows dipped in sympathy. "You got a way of dealin' wit' that? Therapist?" He asked, sadness bubbling in his chest as they gave a humorless laugh and headshake. "Nah, I ain't gonna put my shit in someone else's hands. It's my problems, I should be able to deal with'em-" "Now that's a loada shit, L.T." Soap's voice cutting them off caught them by surprise. Johnny was a bold man, a loud man too, but he knew respect and knew when he needed to bite his tongue. He'd never really given an outburst at them. "Ain't you the one always tellin' me an' the team to speak up when we're in trouble?" He asked. They opened their mouth and shut it, unable to formulate a response. Their eyes softened when he reached over and rested his hand on top of their own. "Don't hesitate to ask for help. When you're out your depth, holdin' you pride too tight will get'cha killed. That's what you said." Fern blinked before a sad smile crossed their face. "Yeah...I did say that." They nodded, heart clenching as Johnny gave their hand a squeeze. "Then take your own advice, Y/N. Don't'cha owe yourself that?" He asked in a hushed tone. They bit the inside of their cheek and took his words to heart, nodding slowly with a slow exhale. "You're right. I'll keep that in mind...thank you, Johnny." They replied. He gave that sunshine filled grin in reply. "Ain't gotta thank me for that, L.T. But, you can buy me a drink if you wanna show your gratitude." He joked, feeling proud when it got them to laugh. "How's a tequila sound?" They asked. "After my 'eart, you are! I'll take three." Johnny responded with a grin.
(Implied wound) Soap grunted and leaned against a wall whilst holding his side. Pain shot through his nervous system with every movement. He huffed and thumped his head against the brick. His skin was growing clammy and moving his head too fast lead to his vision blurring, the dizziness was something that always got him the worst. He'd never been good with the sensation. It always felt him nauseous. The brunet groaned past gritted teeth as he tried to force himself to focus, will his brain to work despite the myriad of overloaded senses. His radio crackled with sound and a voice that was choppy thanks to the slightly cracked speaker. He let out a huff and rose his arm to click the button whilst trying to focus on the words, spoken by a familiar voice. "Soap? Soap, do you copy? C'mon mate, don't leave me hanging here." Fern asked with a hint of worry. The man grunted and that alone let the lieutenant take a sigh of relief. "You broken, serge?" They asked. Johnny swallowed in order to clear his throat. "Cracked, L.T. Took a hit to the side. Not sure of the damage but I ain't doin' so hot." He wheezed. Speaking brought on a coughing fit. He barely heard the order to stay put as his ears rung from the pain coughing caused. His vision was going spotty by the time he heard footsteps rapidly approaching. In his half focused state, he weakly tried to reach for his gun, only for a gloved hand to stop his arm. "It's me, Johnny." Fern's voice brought him a sense of relief. He leaned his head back to look at them, giving a weak smile. "'ey there, beautiful." He said, coughing again, which was followed by what could only be described as a whimper. Fern frowned as they checked his wound, using one hand to keep him steady. "Shit, Johnny. We need to get you to the evac right now. Can you stand?" They asked. He shook his head, slumping on their shoulder. He sighed, soothed by their body heat. "Just go on...I had a pretty good r-FUCKIN' CHRIST!" He screeched as they applied pressure to his wound. His face was grabbed sternly, forcing him to look them in the eye. Shock flooded his system as he saw saltwater building along their lower lid. "You listen here, you bloody fuckin' moron. You ain't allowed to die on me. Not until I fuckin' say so." They hissed. Soap blinked and opened his mouth to speak, letting out a noise of surprise when their lips collided with his. He let out a shaky breath whilst leaned into them, hand clutching a strap on their vest. Left tingling and energized by the action as they pulled away. "You pull all that fightin' spirit back in your fuckin' body and fight for me. Then, we get you out of here, we get you fixed up, and you owe me a fuckin' date. You got me, loverboy?" They demanded. The Scotsman heaved some breaths before he nodded. "I got'cha." He replied. Fern gave a single nod and stood up, pulling up the weakened soldier, getting under his arm to keep him steady. "Atta boy. Keep your head up, Johnny. I need you to keep your word." They said as they began helping him move. He gave a weak chuckled and a wheeze. "Roger that, L.T. Roger that."
✧Simon "Ghost" Riley✧
(Brief description of an NPC gettin' knifed in the face) The stairs creaked under Ghost's weight as he moved up behind Price. The man made a hand motion to move up more, which Ghost followed. "Stay steady, boys. Remember, not everyone in this place is a hostile." Price whispered gruffly, getting some affirmative responses. Ghost motioned for Soap to help him scan one side of the second floor, moving slowly through the rooms. Three hostiles were down in the span of two minutes. "Floor clear?" Gaz asked. "Affirmative." Soap replied, looking around. Just as Ghost was about to move out of the room, his eyes fell on a door he hadn't seen at first, with noise from behind it. "Negative. Unchecked room to the south." He motioned. The men rose their guns as Ghost moved toward it, carefully turning the door knob. He listened closely before swinging the door open quickly, locking in on a target almost instantly. They rose their hands with a yelp, an unidentified box in their hand. Ghost's finger twitched on the trigger before they spoke. "Friendly, don't shoot! Unarmed!" They declared, which made Price motion for the team to hold fire. "Name!" Ghost demanded. "Y/N L/N, call sign Blister. I'm a medic with S.A.S, and currently a hostage!" They said, voice sounding out of breath from the rush of adrenaline. Price clicked into the radio for Laswell for an identification as Ghost's eyes looked back at the box they held. Now he could see it was white with a red cross on it, as well as some faded stickers. He lowered his gun as Price confirmed they were telling the truth. Ghost motioned to the box and opened his mouth to demand they hand it over before they tensed, eyes locked on something right past him. "COVER!" They exclaimed. Shots ran past him, Gaz & Soap ducked. An enemy had snuck up behind them. About to reload before a white box flew and clocked them in the face, quickly followed by a throwing knife. As the body dropped limp, the men of 141 looked over with widened eyes as the medic let out a huff. "You said you were unarmed." Ghost replied gruffly, pushing past his feelings of shock. "One knife compared to four AK-12's is pretty much unarmed, big guy." Blister retorted. Ghost scoffed a small amused huff with a nod. "Fair point and good aim." He praised, watching them smile slightly. Price snapped his fingers to get their attention. "Need a gun?" He asked, to which Blister nodded. Ghost took his pistol out and handed it over, though he jerked it from their grasp at the last second with a warning look. "I better not regret givin' you this." He threatened, slowly holding it out again. They took it from his palm slowly, fingertips brushing against his gloves. "Relax, big guy. Only grief I plan to give is to the enemy." They said, checking the ammo clip before putting the gun in their pocket. Price motioned for them to move, stay low. Ghost was sure to trail the medic closely from behind. Unaware that it'd be soon that a higher up would decide that 141 needed a medic, and who better than one with perfect aim?
"Bit late to be up, ain't it?" The voice from behind him made him tense and nearly choke on the smoke in his mouth. Ghost looked over his shoulder as he exhaled the vaporized tabaco, pulling his mask back down once it was expelled completely. He watched Blister meander up to him, highlighted by the color of the moon. "Could ask you the same thing, medic." He replied. They snorted as they came to stand beside him. "Fair point, Lieutenant, fair point." They nodded, tilting their head to look up at the sky. The air was cold and the roof was quiet, below their feet were sleeping soldiers, unaware of the bright moon and twinkling stars. Blister tilted their head as their shoulders fell lax, something Ghost noticed. They never seemed tense and he couldn't fathom it when he couldn't ever relax, even when he was alone his muscles were tight, ready for fight-or-flight at all times. "You're staring, sir." They whispered, looking at him in their peripheral. Ghost scoffed and looked at the sky. "Was not." He denied, hearing them snicker. Silence passed between them before the medic noted Ghost's posture, just like he'd done to them. "You ever gonna let your shoulders relax? Your muscles' are gonna snap under that hypertension, sir." The blond clicked his tongue and shook his head. "These are as relaxed as they're gonna get, medic." He answered. "Because you're burning off constant anxiety?" Their response hit him a bit hard and he snapped his head to look at them. They stood with all their weight shifted to one leg, head tilted. "You don't hide it real well, ya know. All that unease. I know it ain't my place to pry, but I want you to know I can see it." Y/N said softly. Ghost let out an exhale from his nose. "And so what if you do? You're on thin ice, Blister." He warned, getting a headshake in reply. "I'm saying I see it so you know you're not invisible to me." He scoffed, crossing his arms after tossing the put out cigarette off the edge of the roof. The moonlight bounced off his irises, providing superficial light to replace the one that'd been missing since he was young. "Hard to miss me. I'm a "big guy in a Halloween mask", aren't I?" He said, using air quotes. They clicked their tongue. Ghost tensed and looked at them once more as their hand rested on his arm. "What I meant is; I see when you're struggling. And I'm here for you when it gets a bit too heavy. Whether you like it or not. I'm stick to ya, like a superglued plaster, sir." They patted his bicep and gave a kind smile. "Come see me sometime, you don't have to be injured to talk to me. My door's always open." Their words hung in the air as they walked away, and Simon couldn't help but pivot to watch them leave. When they disappeared off the roof, he cursed under his breath, feeling his chest clench and a pressure in the back of his throat. He looked up at the stars with weakness in the circles of his pupils. "...fuckin' help me ma, I'm screwed." He whispered into the night air, watching a star blink back at him.
(Ghostie gets a panic attack but it's still fluffy) Ghost let out a shaky sigh as pins and needles made themselves at home in his extremities. His veins buzzed with anxious energy and his hands had begun to shake slightly. His breathing wasn't erratic yet, but he knew it wasn't long before it would be. He bounced his leg and weighed his options before he stood up, chair squeaking along the floor at the speed of which he did. His footsteps were quick and heavier than usual as he rushed down the halls and toward med-bay. It never made sense to him, why he'd be perfectly fine and then suddenly be hit with sense of panic. Like there was a guillotine hanging over his neck that he couldn't see, but he knew the blade would drop at any second. The med-bay was empty of anyone, except for one person, organizing a new shipment of bandages. Blister heard the door click shut and the ragged breathing. They looked over their shoulder, surprised at first to see Ghost. They went to greet him before noticing all the signs of something they'd seen a million times. Twitchy, anxious, unable to breathe clearly, trembling hands. Without him saying a word, they pulled out a chair and motioned to it. "Sit." They demanded. Simon wasn't one for listening to other's orders if he didn't have to, but he did it, bouncing his leg. Y/N walked over to the water cooler and then a mini fridge, pulling out an ice pack. They walked over with it in hand, along with a tiny cup of water. Y/N placed it on his chest and motioned for him to hold it there. "Simon, look at me." They instructed in a soft voice. "I need you to try and take a deep breath. I know that's not easy, but try your best." He felt them lift his balaclava just far enough to rest over his nose, making it easier to breathe. "Can't you just shoot me up wit' somethin'?" He gasped. "I'd rather not if I can help it. Do you know what's happening right now?" They asked as he took the cup, tossing back the cold water. He shook his head. "This is a panic attack, Si. I'm gonna walk you through it, you just gotta do your best to breathe and focus on me." He didn't have much choice. They took his free hand and sat in front of him, looking him in the eye. "Follow with me. Give me five things you see." Simon swallowed and scanned. "Uh...peeling paint, cracked window, fire hydrant, ugly tile, broken light." He answered. They nodded and squeezed his hand soothingly. "Four things you feel." He took a deep breath. "Your hand, the seam of my jeans, ice pack, my itchy ass stubble." That got a little amused huff out of the medic. "Very good, you're doing great. Now, three things you can hear." Their praise was more comforting than he liked to admit. "My heartbeat, the clock on the wall...your voice." He whispered. They gave him a gentle smile and another squeeze to his hand. "Two things you smell." Simon took a deep breath through his nose and noted what came with it. "Sanitizer and somethin' fruity." He mumbled. "That'd be me. Now, last one. Take a deep breath and then tell me something you taste." They asked. Simon did as he was told, it felt easier now, less like his lungs were collapsing. "Mmph, tea. Bad tea, let the bag sit for too long." He complained. Blister chuckled and stood up, taking the ice pack from him and putting it on the table. They rested their hands on his shoulders, lightly pressing into them as they told him to take some more deep breaths. Once his breathing was steady again, he sighed and blinked slowly. "You alright?" They asked. Simon nodded, though he felt tired now. "You're...a real good medic." He muttered, feeling warm as they snorted cutely. "Thanks, big guy. I do my best."
(Reference to Ghost's poor self image & a singular mention of a wound) Ghost sat in an unmarked van with his back against one of the doors, watching Blister rummage around in hopes of finding medical supplies. His eyes drifted down to his leg, a broken pipe ran through his thigh. It hurt like hell and based on the annoyed growl the medic let out whilst throwing away another useless box, there wasn't anything they could do to help at the moment. Their radios overlapped with the sound of Price's words, informing them about the evac on the way, and how they'd ensure to send the help needed to get Ghost out of there safely. Said man shook his head as Y/N replied to their captain. "Just go. I'll slow ya down, it ain't worth it." He grumbled, wincing as he attempted to move his leg again. "Shut your fucking mouth, lieutenant." Blister hissed back. The man blinked in surprise at their response. They rarely snapped, not unless they were in the midst of battle. "Damnit, medic, don't be stubborn right now. Just fucking go, leave me here. That's an order-" "God damnit, Simon, shut your fucking mouth!" Ghost flinched at their shouting, now even more caught off guard. He watched them stand, walking a few steps to sit between his thighs. They gripped his vest roughly, eyes sharp like daggers and their nose scrunched in anger, teeth clenched tightly. They pointed a finger in his face while breathing heavily. "Now you listen and you listen good, I am not fucking leaving you hear. I am not leaving you anywhere, you understand? We are gonna get you in that fucking evac." They insisted. Ghost rolled his eyes at their declaration. "I am a liability, Blister!" They jostled him roughly. "You are fucking important to me, Simon! Your survival fucking matters to me, and until you stop breathing I am going to ensure I do everything in my power to keep you alive. And not just because it's my fucking job, but because I give a shit!" They shouted. Simon's chest felt tight again. His hands trembled so he curled them into tight fists to hide it. He felt like a kid again, weak and vulnerable. Something he despised. "Why?" He whispered past clenched teeth. He watched their gaze soften and their grip on him loosened, leaving their hand resting on his chest. "Because I care about you, but I know you don't care about yourself. But whether you like it or not, I give a shit whether you live or die. And one day, even if it takes my entire god damn life, I will get you to the day you can look in the mirror and love what you see. In and out. In order to do that, I need you alive. I need you alive to see the great man I see every day, o you're gonna get in that fucking evac, we're gonna get you patched up, and you're gonna live." Their voice shook and he watched their bottom lip shake slightly. Simon shuddered under the weight of their words. "Do you copy?" They asked. He stared at them, unable to find any hints of deception. They meant every word. Simon bit his lower lip and inhaled slowly. "...yeah, I copy."
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momotonescreaming · 2 months
Text
Our Sweetness
Rating: T | WC: 1.4k | Steve/Tommy/Carol Polyamory, Established Relationship [also on ao3]
“Okay, so,” Carol starts, capping her pen. The fluffy end bobbles as she gestures with it, looking over at her boys. She’s sat cross legged at the end of her bed, weekly planner in her lap. Music plays softly in the background — a mixtape Steve made for the three of them — from a boombox she has resting on her desk on the other side of the room.
Steve looks up at the sound of her voice from his place in Tommy’s lap. Sat in between Tommy’s legs, his back pressed to his stomach, arms braced over Tommy’s thighs — splayed wide. He’s comfortable. Tommy’s hands carding through his hair, smoothing out the strands and ruining his carefully styled locks. Melting into it, blinking slowly. It’s a little thrilling, that they get this. They’re allowed to ruin his hair, to hold him, to make him feel comfortable.
“I’ve got our week all figured out, so listen up.” She continues, looking a little pointedly at Tommy. He lets out a quiet but indignant ‘Hey!’ as Carol barrels on. Tapping the page with the end of her capped pen, looking down at her careful cursive, and then back up at Steve and Tommy’s tangled bodies. “Monday I have a haircut and style, and I will not be rescheduling. So you two can hang unless there’s anything else you haven’t told me?”
“Nah,” Tommy replies, still absently running his hands through Steve’s hair. He looks down at the man, tilting his head up gently so they can lock eyes. “Wanna come over then, baby? Parents won’t get home ‘til late.”
Steve just sighs, sinking into the feeling. “Can’t. I still have that Social Studies essay to work on, and I’m rapidly running out of time.”
“Study date, then?” Tommy says, grinning. And Carol knows he does not have any actual studying in mind.
“Monday.” Carol says, talking over him, smothering any answer Steve might have. “I’m at the hairdresser, Steve is studying, and Tommy is jerking off alone.”
“Hey!” Tommy exclaims, hands stilling, and Steve just laughs. Brings one of his hands up to rest on Tommy’s side. Runs his hand in small circles, a comfort. “What the hell Carol!”
“We will be graduating together, if I have anything to do with it,” She continues. “Plus you two need to keep your grades if you want to stay on the team.”
Tommy scoffs, but Carol can see he carefully doesn’t move out of Steve’s hold, away from his hand. He grabs it actually, pulling it away from his side, and brings it to his mouth. Places a soft kiss to the back of Steve’s knuckles, at the soft hair there, and Steve smiles. Soft, and sweet, and looking up at Tommy.
Fuck, she loves them.
“Tuesday Steve has swim practice.”
“Yeah, and it might run late too, with the meet so soon. So no hanging out after, I’m afraid.” Steve adds, sighing, not letting go of Tommy’s hand. He sounds a little disappointed.
“No worries baby,” She says, voice dropping into something saccharine sweet. Comforting. Reassuring. She always takes care of her boys. “I can have time with Tommy, and then we can make it up to you later.”
She deliberately keeps her tone sweet, not dipping into something sultry. Because as much as she loves making it up to Steve — taking care of him, making him feel good and taking him apart. Sometimes he needs it a little sweeter. Non-sexual intimacy. Massages and baths, cuddling while watching a movie. That they’re in it for him, and not just his body.
“Okay,” Steve replies softly, and she can see how much he yearns to reach out and touch. But they have to organise their week, or they’ll never get anything done.
“Wednesday Tommy has the dentist with his Mom after school.” She starts, pointing at the appointment in her planner, time carefully recorded. Tommy scoffs, but doesn’t interrupt. “And I have a study/hang with Nicole.”
She doesn’t say anything, neither does Tommy, but they both look at Steve.
“It’s okay,” He says. “I’ll go to the gym, go for a run. It’ll be good.”
“Keeping those muscles warm for us, huh?” Tommy jokes, mouth curling into a smirk.
“Oh you know it,” Steve replies, looking back up at Tommy, and then back to Carol, smile on his face.
“Thursday is basketball practice, obviously,” She continues, lest the boys get lost in their banter, their flirting. “So if you guys want to have a date after, I’ll have some me time.”
The boys basketball dates, Carol knew, were quite often sweaty gross things. Full of shower sex, rough hand jobs, and manly grunting. They needed to get it out of their system, flirt on the basketball court, work themselves up, and then fuck it out.
And most of the time it was best if they did it without Carol. They had a system, it worked. They got to have their jockish hookups, and get it all out so they could be good for her.
She watched as Tommy and Steve looked at each other, grinning, sinking into each others gazes. It was sweet — or it would be if she couldn’t tell they were being horny about it.
“Friday we’re totally free,” Carol says, adjusting her posture. Finally. That was the thing about they dynamic they had, the relationship they had built — all three of them — was it was occasionally very, very, hard to find a time they were all free. No extracurriculars, no appointments, no other commitments with friends. “So date night? All of us?”
“Matty from swim has been talking about throwing a party,” Steve adds. “We could go let loose? Dance? Have a few drinks and then go back to mine?”
“I thought your parents are home?” Tommy asks, brow furrowing as he looks down at Steve, still reclining serenely in Tommy’s laps. Cradled by his legs, his warm thighs. It’s a good place to be, Carol knows. She’d almost be jealous if she didn’t love the sight of it so much.
“They are,” he replies with a sigh, chest moving with the sheer force of the air leaving his lungs. “But they’re driving out of town for some dinner party. They’ll be back Saturday afternoon.”
“Well that’s plenty of time for us to have some fun.” Carol adds with a cat-like grin. “We can go out Saturday morning, get some brunch? Get Steve out of the house?”
“Please,” he says with another sigh. “They’re always a nightmare when they get back.”
“Perfect.” Carol says with finality, snapping her planner closed. She rests her fluffy pen on top, and pushes it off to the side. “That’s it then. So please, for the love of all that is holy, please remember it all.”
“Could never forget you, hot stuff,” Tommy flirts, holding out his free hand for her to take. That glint in his eye, that curl to his lips, the look he gives her. It’s addicting. It’s charming. She rolls her eyes, of course she does, but she grabs Tommy’s hand. Lets him pull her closer, into his grasp. “Love your organisation skills.”
It sounds like a joke, like he’s teasing — and Tommy sort of is — but she knows he genuinely means it. The way she merges their lives together in her little planner. Everyone’s sports, and appointments, school due dates and family commitments.
She lets herself tumble down onto the bed, into Tommy’s hold, Steve shuffling over to make room for her. They’re curled together like commas, Tommy holding onto them both, sharing the same breath.
Steve hooks an ankle over hers, anchoring her, and brings his free hand up to gently brush across her face. Her flushed cheeks, her sharp jaw. Tilting it up with a gentle press of his fingers.
“Thank you sweetheart,” he says, and she feels a gasp hitch in her chest. It’s the way he says it, that always gets her. The warmth, the sheer emotion in all his words, his tone. He cares for her, for Tommy, and for all of them together. It leaks out of him, like it’s too big for him to contain.
She loves it. Lets her eyes drop down to Steve’s lips. Plush and pink and right there. He sees this, Tommy sees it, and a shiver runs down her spine. “You gonna kiss me, or what?”
“With pleasure,” Steve whispers, voice dropping low as he closes the distance between them.
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classicalchan · 3 months
Text
Try again
pairing: bangchan x dancer! reader
rating: sfw
tags: sad reader, comfort, a LOT of angst
prompt: "may i request a prompt where you are a dancer practicing with them in their studio and you cant get one move just right and you hate it and as they leave the room for a sec (potentially??) you lay down and start crying and then chan comes back in and comforts youuuu 🥺"
you got it <3
the dance floor had never felt colder beneath your feet in your life. you had been practicing with the boys and the other crew member for most of the day but little did you know that you could be so bad at the choreography.
you had never had trouble of this sort with the dances before. but this time you had managed to shock yourself in the worst way possible. you were holding the whole team back just because you couldn't get that one move right.
guilt, like a thousand celestial rocks tore through your chest. you could sink to the bottom of the ocean with how much it weighed you down.
you stared at yourself in the wall mirror in front of you- red-faced, hair a mess, your clothes crumpled with how you gripped at them in frustration. you watched everyone leave for the night but you couldn't get yourself to move from your spot.
you sank to your knees, a low thud reverberating through the now empty room. you curled into a ball on the floor and fought hard to keep your tears at bay.
but pain- it's treacherous. you tried so hard to conceal it but if it wants itself seen, it leaks, slips, screams.
"y/n?"
you jerked up.
you had thought that everyone had gone, that in the silence and emptiness of the room you had spent countless hours in- you could finally break down.
you wanted to wipe the tears that made their way slowly down your cheeks. you wanted to get up and pretend that you didn't break. that you tripped and fell, and that you cried because your knees hurt. not something deep within your chest.
you tried to sit up but your limbs failed you. you curled in on yourself further, shaking, sobbing, your humanity laid bare in the presence of another. chan.
before you knew it, nimble feet echoed through the room. he knelt down beside you and a soothing hand was circled around your bicep.
“are you okay?” he asked.
you turned your face into your shoulder. he did not have to see you like this. you waited for him to say something else. to get tired. to leave.
but the hand on your arm did not leave. the gentle pats on your head did not stop. the man next to you didn’t turn his back and give you what you were used to.
abandonment.
“i… i can’t do anything right,” you finally whispered.
you didn’t expect him to catch it but he did. he leaned down closer to you, his nails gently scratching your scalp.
“is this about the practice sessions today?”
you could only nod.
“come on, sit up.” he commanded. “i’ll get you some water.”
it felt like the coldest room in the world when he left your side to grab his bottle. you watched him fumble with the zip of his bag, then out came the black metal vessel you had gotten so accustomed to.
he twisted the cap open and offered it to you. when you had taken a sip, your tears momentarily halted, he repositioned himself to sit cross-legged in front of you.
he laid his bare palms before you, inviting you to hold them like you had always wanted to. you could never tell him that though. you moved, and soon enough, your fingers were closed around sturdy, warm ones.
“so you’re upset about not performing the choreography well, is that correct?” he asked.
“and i wasted everyone’s time. and i held everyone back. and-" you stopped.
“and?”
“and i don’t think i deserve to be here.” you admitted quietly.
there was silence, loud as a thunderstorm, floating through the room for a second. and then, before you could take another breath in, you were pulled into an embrace.
“is this okay?” he asked.
surprised gripped you with an iron fist but you managed to nod. he rubbed your back with such tenderness you could cry all over again.
“if you didn’t deserve to be here, then you wouldn’t be here. it is that simple. you’re here because we know that you have what it takes to give us the best,” he spoke.
you could feel tears stinging at the backs of your eyes but this time you bit your lip. this time you let his voice take charge. you let yourself be consumed by whatever this man was telling you.
“you’re a person. and people take time getting the hang of things sometimes. they make mistakes and they topple down. but that doesn’t mean that they’re not worthy of having what they have. or that they’re incompetent. do you hear me?”
all you could do again was nod as all your attempts to keep your tears at bay failed miserably. he held you close as you shook again. before tonight, you had never thought that the rhythmic beating of a heart against yours or the subtle breathing of another person could bring about peace.
“go home,” he spoke after minutes. “go home and rest. and come back tomorrow, alright? i want to see you try again.”
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turtle-babe83 · 1 month
Text
Eyes Shut Tight
As promised, here’s Leo. I guess I’m doing an eye series 😅👀 I think Donnie will be next. Hope you guys enjoy 💙
Tight.
You test the silky cord currently keeping your wrists behind your back. 
But not uncomfortably so.
Just like the turtle himself, your bindings are precise and controlled. Leo pours himself into everything he does, whether it’s the fluid way he moves through his katas emanating utter perfection, or the strategic nature that leads his team through successful missions. Right now, though, his steely focus and legendary self-control are totally fixated on you. 
Naked, kneeling on your knees, you wait for his direction. He doesn’t have to speak. His gaze demands your obedience. Blue orbs that hold you at attention, ready to salute your commander, anxious to please him. Your thighs are already damp and all he’s done is tie your hands. You know what reward awaits your perfect submission and you’ve come to crave it more than the play that defiance affords you. 
He licks his plump lips and you can’t help the way you hungrily watch his tongue, resisting the urge to squirm. Leo has taught you the benefits of denying yourself temporarily for a greater recompense in the end. So you throb and relish the deprivation. One side of his mouth curls in a slight smirk and you know that he knows…and approves. Not one word uttered, but “good girl” hovers in the air between the two of you. 
He steps closer, tugging away the towel wrapped around his trim waist. Always a gentleman, making sure to shower and wash well before any trysts with you. A detail you do not take for granted. His cock, half hard and swaying between his thick thighs, draws your attention and your mouth waters in anticipation. His hand wraps around his girth and he gives a couple of nonchalant jerks, lending just a bit of assistance to his slowly hardening length. One more step and his cock is at eye level so you straighten your back, open your mouth, and offer your tongue.
Leo watches your hooded eyes for any sign of impatience and finding none, he glides his thick head up and down, from the tip of your tongue to your barely exposed front teeth. It feels like silk and you desperately want him to push it past your lips. You want to suck until he can’t hold it back, spilling that salty tang down your throat, groaning your name, thrusting uncontrollably. You want him to fuck your mouth wildly, then pull out abruptly to paint you in his musky seed. You want an unrestrained Leo, a bad boy who can’t resist you. Apologizing for the bruises he’s sure to leave because you make him lose all control and he has to have you now and hard.
But you hold perfectly still, letting him take his time, tickling his tip with your tastebuds until he’s rock hard and starting to leak. He can smell your arousal and breathes deeply. He cups the back of your head, easing his cock further into your mouth until he bumps the back of your throat, enjoying your involuntary swallow. Eyes shuttered, he has to lock his jaw to keep from moaning. His body wants to push against his mental restraints, testing their strength. Your perfect mouth is just so…
…tight.
@raisin-shell @nittleboo @rebel-hamato @android-cap-007 @scholastic-dragon @lec743 @naya-queenzie @beckerboopin @knightish-knight @thebladedancer1158 @morning-sun-brah @aurora-the-kunoichi @forerunnertracer @roxosupreme @mysticboombox @ninnosaurus @digitlartmonstr @polypandragon @lostdreamerinafantasy @lunar-corgimon @selfless1978 @verothexeno @moxfirefly @inspiredwriter
Again, I have no idea who to tag anymore 🫣
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andreas-river · 7 months
Note
26 and 3 with Nikto
Prompts: 3. "don't get in my way." and 26. "i want you now." with Nikto.
A/N: hi anon, I really hope you are gonna enjoying this! It took me a while since I got a cold, I hope it came out good!
TW: angst, torture, blood minor character death, fluff, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), multimple orgasms.
Want to make a request with other prompts?
NSFW under the cut, please MDNI!
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Most of the time, you got along well with the Spetsnaz since you joined them—you had a lot of good memories with them, which you replayed in your head like a broken record.
Ropes dug into your wrists on top of your head, spinning so fast that you started to think that maybe the room was moving, since you couldn't even put your feet on the ground, hanging from the ceiling of a dark cell, the dripping sound of water felt like it was in your head, the last glimmer of your hope fading every second.
Yet you didn't react to the faint screams from the other side of the metal door, as if they were coming straight from hell, your vision blurred by the amount of blood leaving your body from the numerous injuries. The door opens in front of you, sadly recognizing the man who has been torturing you for the past week, or maybe more, you lost track of time after you began to faint from his tortures.
He cuts the ropes with a knife, your body falling to the floor with a thud, sending a jolt of pain through your legs as you watch him kneel before you, an evil smile on his face.
"A friend of yours is making a real mess behind this door," he nudges his rifle at your side, your body jerking instinctively. "I wonder if…"
At his words, the door was pushed open, the man finally leaving your side to face the other. It took more strength than expected to move your head and see the scene in front of you: the man standing straight in front of someone else, realizing that Nikto was there, his usual ballistic mask now stained with some blood that didn't look like his own.
"There's no need to use weapons here—I'm sure we can discuss this."
Nikto tilted his head slightly at his words, watching him with a predatory look, stepping forward but the other standing still, seemingly unfazed by the soldier's stance.
"I don't have time for this." Nikto's voice is deeper, the accent dragging with each word—you knew that happened when he was really upset. "Don't get in my way."
There's a second of silence before the other tries to grab the rifle hanging from his side, but Nikto is faster—always has been, that's why you were captured, not him—and the shot echoes through the room, the body falling to the floor with a loud thud. Nikto stares at him for a moment, a puddle of blood forming on the floor from the hole in his head.
When he finally turns around, his gaze travels all over your body, still lying on the cold floor. He puts his gun back in the holster, a knife in his other hand, cleaning the blood-stained blade on his trousers and cutting the ropes exposing the scratched skin underneath.
You can't decipher his eyes when he sees your blood all over your body—you've never been able to do that, as much as you remember, you always had a staring contest with him and for no reason at all, it became a thing between you and the man, and always teased by the rest of the team.
You watch as he presses the button on his radio, mumbling something your ears don't catch, your eyelids growing heavy again as you feel yourself slipping away. The last thing you feel is your body against the fabric of his gear, your body suspended in the air and a pair of arms holding you tight.
-
You woke up a few days later, after a long surgery to close all your wounds and a blood transfusion, to find the Bale twins already sitting at the side of the bed, both seemingly relieved to see you awake.
It was only when you told them what had happened during your captivity—obviously tortured as they tried to extract any information from you, from names to the intentions of the missions you did before you were captured—that you noticed Nikto sitting in a chair by the window, never taking his eyes off you.
In the days that followed, everyone visited you regularly, but Nikto stayed. Not even the nurses could make him leave, and they all gave up when he gave them a deadly stare.
Surprisingly, he talked more than you expected, and when the doctor finally dismissed you, Nikto was the one who helped you put your things back in your room, stunned to see him like that, closer than you even imagined. He ordered you to sit down as he put your duffel bag away, approaching you and leaning in front of you—the closeness with his covered face made your face heat up, giving you the opportunity to see every detail of his blue eyes, realizing how the pupils swallowed the irises, the color vivid and making you squirm under his gaze.
"I want you now."
Your mouth dries at his words, his head tilted to study your face, your lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly, and you feel your breath quicken against his mask.
You open your mouth to say something, anything, to his words that went straight to your heart—it was obvious that he was a man of few words, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves, but as he pushes you onto your bed and straddles you, your mind goes completely blank, your eyes glued to his own.
You let out a long held breath as he begins to caress your face, his gloveless hand tracing the lines of your face, following your jawline and slowly descending to your neck, your skin covered in waves of goosebumps from his oddly delicate touch. It reaches your shirt, finally stopping at the hem of the fabric.
"Give me a word." You are snapped out of your daydream by his firm tone, his eyes fixed intently on you.
You stuttered for a moment, unsure of what he meant. "You mean… a safeword?"
He nods, still waiting for your decision. You feel pressured by his intense gaze, as if your head were underwater and the pressure was crushing it. You take a breath and say the first thing that comes to mind. "Lemon."
He seems stunned for a moment before regaining the fervor in his eyes, finally removing your shirt and stroking his hands over the exposed skin, but he wastes no time before helping you remove your shorts, leaving you almost naked, his fingers constantly roaming over your skin but never putting pressure on the various bandages that littered your body.
You lift your hands as well, trying to touch his body through his clothes, hesitant to remove them and afraid of making him uncomfortable—surprisingly, he quickly complies with your silent request and takes off his shirt, your eyes glued to his muscles and unable to take your eyes off him.
He takes a step back, pushing your legs apart and finally rubbing his hand against your panties, making you gasp at the sudden pressure on that bundle of nerves that has been begging for attention for so long.
He takes his time removing your panties, savoring the moment when your pussy was on full display, staring hungrily at it, looking into your eyes only to admire your face, silently begging for any kind of attention with clouded eyes and slightly parted lips—he will remind himself to kiss them next time, but for now he wants to feel you differently.
"Stay down," he says in a lower tone, the thick accent making your ears tingle with pleasure. You obey, catching a glimpse of his plate being removed, trying not to let curiosity win out, but it seems he has other plans as something wet and soft strokes your outer labia, making you gasp and jerk in surprise, but you weren't able to get very far away as he used both of his arms to hold you in place.
Then he touches you again, licking your wetness all around as the realization hits you—his tongue is touching you, licking and sucking all your juices before he pushes a digit inside, feeling it around your walls. He seems eager, adding another as he finally pays some attention to your clit, feeling his lips suck gently on it. You try to focus on him for a moment, but the way he latches his mouth around you, devouring everything his lips touch, sends you over the edge without you even realizing it.
Even if you were falling off a cliff, your legs trembling uncontrollably at his sides, pulling away as you feel his hot breath against you, your eyes still squeezed shut by the force of your orgasm.
"Nikto—" but he starts again, your sentence dying in your mouth and only a few confused words leaving your lips, quickly reducing you to a babbling mess and uttering nonsense as his fingers move inside you, searching for that spot that could make you see stars.
You're moaning uncontrollably, trying to silence yourself by biting your lips, the skin red from being tortured by his teeth, your hands gripping the sheets so tightly that it hurts—hurts so badly that a second orgasm builds up inside you, setting your nerves on fire, your skin flushed and covered by a thin layer of sweat, feeling it dripping down.
And it got stronger, so much stronger that your back arched and your head tilted back, your whole body shaking, and only his hands around you helped you to ground yourself, reality blending and melting into something more, your mind reduced to a bubble of pleasure where you were floating on it.
You don't notice that he stopped, finally rising from the center of your legs and staring at you, cheeks red as a tomato and eyes half-closed as your body tries to regain its oxygen and succumbs to the fatigue. For a moment he tries to hold back, but when he sees how your lips are swollen, how you tried desperately to hold back your moans—without success—he comes closer and places his lips, still coated with some of your juices, against yours, and for a moment you can feel him, the taste of him and yours perfectly mixed and blended together as you drift off once and for all, tasting more than just skin from him.
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thoseboysinblue · 1 year
Text
Captain
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Christian Pulisic x reader
Christian gets a bit feisty on and off the pitch.
Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors DNI
You were stood at your seat near the bench just as you'd requested, watching as your boyfriend slams into a few players from the opposing team, jerking his captain's armband up his arm, and mouthing at them to "get the fuck off him". You watched wide-eyed as his teammates tried to restrain him while he eventually broke free and shoved into a few more people, continuing his tirade until Tyler finally stepped in and got between him and the other team. The ref came over and brandished a yellow card at him and you laughed when he applauded him and said "good job".
A few minutes later, he was coming off the pitch, applauding towards the crowd as he was being substituted off. You watch him as he makes his way to the bench, grabbing a water and sitting down, his night finished, a hat trick secured. He looks over to where you are sitting, making eye contact with you as you mouth at him "that was so hot" fanning yourself and biting your lip. He smirks at you and gestures for you to meet him in the tunnel after the match.
You do just that, leaning against the wall, scrolling through social media as you wait for him to finish his round of post match interviews. You look up when you finally hear his voice, seeing him and Weston and Tyler making their way towards you.
"There she is" he says as he picks you up and spins you around before sitting your feet back on the ground and kissing you feverishly, pressing your back against the wall of the tunnel.
"Do I get to have this?" you ask him, pulling at the hem of his jersey. He nods, pulling it over his head and dropping it into your hands.
"What about this?" you say, arching one eyebrow at him as you toy with the armband still hugging his bicep.
He smirks saying, "I'll see what I can do" as he presses another kiss to your lips. "I'll meet you back at the hotel in a little while, ok?"
You nod and swipe him on the ass as he turns to head to the locker room. "Good game, Cap" you shout as he takes one final look at you, chuckling as he pushes his way through the door, hearing his teammates cheer for him.
You make your way back to the hotel. Letting yourself into his room with the key he had given you earlier. Dropping your bags onto the floor, you make your way into the bathroom, you freshen up and then proceed with touching up your hair and makeup before you strip naked, pulling on a red lace thong and his match worn jersey over your head.
You don't mind that it smells of sweat and grass, one glance at yourself in the mirror and you knew you were going to drive him mad. You receive a text from him, letting you know that they had made it to the hotel and he'd be up in a few minutes.
You settle yourself onto the bed, leaning back onto your elbows, his shirt pulled up just high enough for your underwear to be on show, your hardened nipples visible through the thin material of the shirt.
You hear him come through the door, "babe?" he calls out, dropping his bag to the floor, reaching inside to pull out the captain's armband he'd managed to sneak away with. "This what your looking for?" he says as he comes around the corner, twirling the armband on his finger.
"Fuck me" he whispers when he sees you, ready and waiting on the bed for him. He tosses the armband on the bed beside you as he crawls up towards you, slotting himself between your legs, his eyes already a shade or two darker.
"You look unreal like this, baby" he whispers lowly before kissing you roughly. He moans as you open your mouth for him allowing him to slide his tongue inside. You gently nip at his lower lip before he moves to kiss along your jaw and neck.
"You were so good tonight, Chris" you moan quietly as his tongue grazes over a particular sweet spot on your neck that only he knows how to find. "So fucking hot, had me dripping before half time" you breathe out as he moans at your confession.
"So what did you want to do with this?" he asks, as he grabs the arm band, grazing his teeth over one of your nipples. You sit up slightly, pushing him up and holding your wrists out in front of you.
"Really?" he asks, his cock twitching slightly at the thought, since this isn't something the two of you have done before. You nod at him, biting your lower lip as he slips the material over your wrists, looping it to bind them together.
"You sure about this?" he asks one more time and you sigh, "Yes, Christian, I'm one hundred percent sure that this is what I want."
"Safe word?" he raises an eyebrow at you. "Hershey" you wink at him, earning a chuckle. "Only you would pick a word you know I'll have to use regularly in interviews as a safe word," he shakes his head at you. You nudge him towards the end of the bed until he is standing in front of you.
"Take this off" you whisper against his jaw, nipping at his earlobe with your teeth as you tug lightly on his shirt. You might be the one with your wrists bound, but you aren't quite ready to give him full control, yet.
He does as you ask, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. He brings his hand up to slightly squeeze along your jaw and cheeks, letting you know he wants you to open your mouth. When you comply with him, he drops a pool of spit onto your tongue, watching with blown out pupils as you swallow for him.
He pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, tangling his tongue with yours. You drop your kisses lower, working your way down his body until you are kneeling in front of him, he pulls his phone out of his pocket as you are working clumsily with your bound hands to untie his joggers and push them down his legs along with his boxers.
He lets out a pent up breath when you wrap one of your hands around his already hardened length. You look up at him from your knees as you say, "you can have anything you want tonight, Cap" before licking a stripe along the underside of his shaft and swirling your tongue around his tip. You hear him whimper as you continue teasing him slowly with your tongue and barely there kisses.
"Baby, please," he moans softly, eager for more than just teasing. "Please what?" you question him as you give him an innocent, doe-eyed look.
"Please don't tease me" he says as he weaves his hand into your hair, making a makeshift ponytail as you continue stroking your hand lazily up and down his cock.
"May I?" he asks, holding his phone up, indicating to you that he he wants your consent for pictures or videos. "I did say anything didn't I?" you smirk, your stomach knotting a bit at the thought of him wanting to document your activities.
You slowly take him into your mouth, inching your way further and further down him he throws his head back with a strangled moan of your name causing you to smirk slightly.
"Yes, just like that" he breathes out, adding slight pressure to the back of your head to steady your rhythm as you bob your head up and down over him, hollowing your cheeks out and running your tongue over the vein on the underside of his cock.
He snaps his head back up to watch you and takes a couple of pictures, starting a video as you weave your bound hands between his legs, adding pressure to his ass to force him further down your throat since you knew he wouldn't push you down onto him.
Your nose touches his pubic bone as you look up at him, gagging slightly, eyes watering "Jesus Christ, baby" he moans out as he starts thrusting into your mouth while you sputter and gag around him. You can tell he's getting close when his thrusts start becoming sloppy when he stops the video and pulls you up from the floor. He uses his thumb to wipe the drool from your chin before crashing his lips to yours in a heated kiss.
"You didn't want to finish?" you sigh against his lips. "Not yet" he says with a wink as he pushes you down onto the bed slipping your underwear down your legs. "God your such a slut, dripping from letting me fuck your face, hmm?"
He takes your hands and forces them up above your head kissing you roughly before dropping his head to kiss along your jaw and neck. He pushes his jersey up to expose your breasts as he swirls his tongue around one of your nipples while softly pinching the other between his fingers. He switches to flick over the other with his tongue, pulling a quiet gasp from you as your back arches slightly off the bed.
He kisses along the underside of your breasts sucking a few delicate bruises before soothing them over with his tongue as he continues working his way down your body.
He settles between your legs, dragging your legs over his shoulders before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You gasp when he bumps your clit with his nose before he returns to teasing your folds apart with his tongue.
You instinctively bring your hands down to tug at his hair and he quickly pushes them back above your head, shaking his head at you before lowering his face back down.
He continues slowly devouring you, enjoying the gasps and moans that are falling from your lips as he flicks his tongue over your clit. He slides two fingers into you, curling them against your g-spot as he circles over your clit with his thumb.
He brings his other hand up to toy with your nipples as he places slow, open mouth kisses along your stomach. He can tell how close you are by the way you are clenching around his fingers.
He whispers against your stomach, "you sound so pretty moaning for me baby" before he moves his hand down your body to hold you still while he flattens his tongue against your clit. Chuckling when you can't help but bring your hands back to his hair.
He sucks over your clit, continuing to work you perfectly from the inside and outside as you come undone. Your orgasm washes over you with a cry of his name as your back arches and you drop a line of expletives.
He doesn't even give you time to come down from your high before he turns you over, your arms outstretched in front of you as he pulls you up so that your chest is flat against the mattress with your ass in the air.
He lines himself up with your entrance and enters you with one long and slow thrust. Settling his hips fully against yours with low moan escaping his lips.
You push your hips back slightly, silently begging him to start moving. He starts thrusting slowly, the sounds of your mixed moans and pants filling the room as he picks up the pace.
He can tell you are trying your hardest to muffle your moans, unsure if anyone in the rooms close to yours can hear you. "Let them hear you, baby, let them know exactly who is making you feel this good" he groans out.
He grabs his phone and takes a few more pictures and videos of him thrusting into you from behind, his name on his jersey on full display before dropping the phone back on the bed.
He brings his hand down harshly against your ass and feels you clench at the sensation. "Hmm, you liked that didn't you?" he questions as you answer him with a nod of your head and a quiet moan. "Such a little slut" he notices you clench again.
"Oh shit you like that too don't you, you like it when I call you a slut?" he says as he reaches around to toy with your clit.
He leans forward so that he can whisper into your ear, burrying himself fully into you, "such a whore for me" he whispers as you clench again and let out moan of his name. He smirks as he places a kiss to your neck before tangling his fingers into your hair and pulling slightly causing your back to arch as he starts pounding into you again, his cock dragging perfectly against your walls, hitting every sweet spot inside of you.
"Fuck, baby" he moans out "as much as I want to cum all over my own fucking name right now, I need to see your pretty face" he manages to get out, through heavy breathing and a series of moans.
He pulls out of you turning you back over and pulling one of your legs up over his forearm before thrusting back into you.
"Oh shit" you moan out at the new angle as you pull your other leg up over his hips. He finds a rhythm that you are both enjoying before dropping your leg to allow you him to press his chest to yours and kiss you sloppily.
He drops his head to alternate flicking his tongue and sucking on your nipples while slipping one hand between your bodies to find your clit again. "You close, yeah?" he asks as you nod at him.
"Yes, so fucking close, please don't stop" you pant out as he smirks down at you, feeling you clench around him.
You second orgasm of the night hits you, as you fight against your restrained hands, trying desperately to grip onto something, your back arches and your legs tighten around him as he buries his head into your neck.
He gives you a minute to recover before he hitches your legs over his hips and begins to thrust into you again chasing his own high. His hips begin to falter and he pulls out of you, spilling himself all over your exposed breasts with a moan of your name. He drops his forehead against yours kissing you tenderly before collapsing on the bed beside you.
You both lay there trying to catch your breath as he says "babe, that was, shit, that was unreal" and you hum in agreement unable to form a sentence. He moves off of the bed and goes into the bathroom, flipping on the shower and grabbing a towel.
He walks back into the room and takes a few more pictures of you on the bed, hands bound above your head, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, covered in his cum, and looking utterly fucked out, before saving them along with the others to a hidden folder on his phone.
He gathers some of his cum onto his thumb, pressing it to your lips. He moans quietly as you pull his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and humming at the taste.
As he's cleaning you up he grins "gonna have to score more hat tricks and pick more fights on the field if this is my reward." He moves to pull the armband from your wrists, kissing you gently on the forehead.
"Those pictures and videos will get me through the rest of international duty" he winks at you.
"Glad I can be of service to my country" you answer giving him a half hearted salute.
"Oh, you only get to act like a complete asshole on the pitch, and you only get to call me a slut and a whore while your cock is buried in me, got it?" you smirk at him.
"As long as you only refer to me as Cap, when your looking up at me from your knees" he quips back with a chuckle.
"So don't you think a hat trick on the field deserves a hat trick off the field?" he smirks at you, pulling you off the bed.
"Hmmm, but I'm already at two" you grin back at him mischievously.
"Oh babe, if I get three, you get six" he practically growls at you as he pulls you towards the bathroom, while you clench at nothing but the thought of the long night you have ahead of you.
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nhularin · 8 months
Text
TUMBLR.COM
⋆。𖦹°‧★ TWO: nikiwiki
SYNOPSIS being a writer is hard, especially when you're a hardcore stan on tumblr.com. so when the legendary niki writer disappeared out of the blue, the readers were naturally heartbroken! but! what happens when their beloved nishirikithinker got revealed as THE yn of the hot new girl group?!
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YOU FOUND YOURSELF sitting in a room that felt far too intimidating for your comfort. your heart raced with anxiety as you glanced at the stern faces of everyone present: bang pd,manager hwang (who had that weird look on his face that you've only seen once when he had to pull sullyoon away from minji) enhypens manager and the PR team. and there, amidst them all, niki, who had the same look of terror on your face
"thank you for joining us today," bang sihyuk began, his voice carrying a serious tone. "i think we all know why we're here today?"
you sat up straight, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves "I assure you all, mr. bang. yes, there was a time when I wrote fanfiction about niki sunbaenim, but I abandoned that account as soon as i got accepted as a trainee."
you paused "I didn't want anything distracting from my dedication to my dream. writing was a hobby, a way to express my admiration. but I knew it was important to fully commit myself as an artist and a member of my group once I became a trainee. i am truly sorry to cause this mess" you stood up and bowed to the people in the room, showing your utmost sincerity
the PR team exchanged doubtful glances, while niki leaned forward slightly, a grin on his face "i support you, my fangirl" he whispered cheekily, only audible to your ears, in which you only kicked him under the table
the managers, recognizing the honesty of your words, stepped forward to present a plan to address the scandal. "we will work swiftly to clarify the situation and minimize any damage to your reputation and the image of your group," they assured with determination.
bang sihyuk nodded, taking a moment to absorb the information. "your commitment to your career is admirable. we will stand by you and protect your image, as part of our family. we will try our best to calm the situation down."
relief surged through you, the weight on your shoulders lessened, knowing that it all went well
leaving that meeting, you were left with the boy who you used to spend all of your attention to. you hated it, you absolutely hated it. "so" he started "i read your stuff"
"please stop talking" you were now on the floor, face buried in your hands and cheeks burning red. "its my darkest secret so dont you dare tell anyone that information, got it?" you utter with your best death glare
he laughed, ruffling his blonde-black hair before putting his cap on "youre cute when you're mad, did you know that?"
you were speechless, was he flirting with you? did he know about your love for jungwon, his band member? did years of one sided fan love finally get reciprocated? was he plotting your downfall?
before you could object his statement, he spoke "well, see you around, fangirl!"
what a jerk. what an annoyingly handsome jerk
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prev <- MASTERLIST -> next
A/N THIS SUCKS IM SORRY😭 i tried my best but it just sounds....!!! also not proofread
TAGLIST open! @neighborhae @cha3w0n-hearts @misokei @avocarua @sayescomfortplace @luvistqrzzz @he4rtsforjihoon @jmluvclub @porcelain-moths @wonqr @hyhees @kjrcrz @ilurvriki @luvrgirlkumi @suvgs @cha0thicpisces @mitsukifilms @saintriots @wqsty @ggggghost @backintomykpopphaseagain @eumppattv @tiissuebox-blog @miko1ly @lunavixia @iiraluv @byunrieu @leep0ems @mrchweeee @sngvhs @sobun1est @luvkpopp @arizejkt19 @hannahhbahng @yuemvi @xiaoderrrr @nshrkilvbt @wiltspring @schniti-is-in-the-house @cosmicwintr @flwrshee @tya0 @ocyeanicc @firesunflames @stariqwon @gweoriz @lucyinthesky-00 @piastrigate @wstarqi @schniti-is-in-the-house @j-wyoung
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whumpsoda · 3 months
Note
I love villian whumper brainwashing whumpee and forcing them to fight friends!
ME! TOO! It has to be one of my favorite tropes! This reminded me finally write it :D (I’ll probably end up doing a second part if I have the motivation)
Taglist- @softvampirewhump
cw: blood, violence, mind control
———————————————————————
Hero followed the splurts of blood trickle from Villain’s palm, each drop pooling together in a mess of gore on the piece of rubble he stood over. Sidekick wriggled under the grip of his other hand, lifted by unrelenting fingers seizing her curls. 
“He- helplp, help, pl- please!” She wailed to him, blood oozing from her mouth.
Admittedly, Hero was fairly skeptical when he received the call that Villain was on a rampage through the city. Supervillain, sure, but Villain? There was simply no way.
The sly, harmless entertainment seeker who made a point to never put innocents in harms way? Who teamed up with the Heroes whenever his heart so desired? His schemes were annoying at best, and he was practically more friend than foe! Hero must have simply heard wrong.
Now, he felt like a fool.
Hero met Sidekick’s desperate gaze as he neared, one of her eyes purple and puffy, the other salty with tears. Smears of rich red covered her face, and her hooked nose was now sitting crooked and smashed. A bump of bone jutted out around the cap of her knee.
Each forward step Hero took was planned but unsteady, his boots gripping to shards of glass and freshly cracked rubble. His breaths were shaky and worn from rushing to get civilians to safety, and cut with every following movement. 
Villain stayed standing rigid, watching the city as it actively burned. Like he was waiting. 
“Ah-!” A swift gasp escaped Hero’s quivering lips as one unfortunate rock slipped, his leg buckling and jumping to another slab of concrete. He caught Villain twitch at the noise from the corner of his eye.
Villain swayed dramatically for a moment, before stiffly spinning back to face his foe. His spine stayed firm and straight as he swiveled, his movements brittle and wooden.
Hero swallowed, his throat bobbing. He was well acquainted with Villain’s body language, the way he liked to gracefully dance about, feeding into his theatrical villain persona. All of his charm and charisma was now practically drained from his motions, creating an unsettling sight.
As Villain jerked around, Sidekick dragged across the rough terrain. Her outfit snagged on the rock and tore, allowing little cuts to form across her skin. She whimpered with each pull of her body over jagged debris.
Hero shot his arms to the sky, as a signal of safety and innocence. “H- hey, Villain.” He stammered. The other man simply stared with hollow, foggy eyes, keeping a tight grip on the woman writhing in pain. “It’s me man, Hero. I’m not here to hurt you.” In response Villain’s head dipped to the side, mimicking the behavior of a curious dog.
The hero studied him tensley, careful not to make a single sudden movement. His vision trailed along Villain’s blood stained suit- it strangely wasn’t his usual outfit- up to his sweat tainted, ragged hair. What caught Hero’s attention the most though, would have to have been the blocky, silver shining collar that sat around Villain’s neck.
After a beat, Villain’s lips began to part, shaky and uncertain. Sidekick continued to pull herself from his grasp, and Hero could tell as it weakened. 
“H-he…” Villain spoke, voice cracking between each letter he struggled to say. “He- H- He…ro?” The sound was gurgled and rocky, unlike the butter smooth voice Hero was used too. Villain’s blank, empty expression softened, just a smidge.
“Y- yeah, man. It’s just me, ‘kay?” Hero nodded eagerly. “So why don’t you let go of Sidekick there, and we can figure the rest of this out?” He smiled, as soft and unthreatening as possible. 
Villain took a moment, his brows furrowing, as if thinking over the suggestion. Before he could speak again, a neon green light surged on the front of the collar. 
His upper half lurched forward, while his legs stayed straight and stuck in position. He roared a piercing, grating shriek, his face contorting in pain, as he carelessly let go of Sidekick, dropping her tattered body to the floor. The villain desperately grabbed at his hair with both hands, yanking on it as he let out strangled whines.
After a moment of shock washed over him, Hero took his chance, using all of his strength to start toward Sidekick. As Villain whimpered and pulled at his bloodied locks, Hero swiftly lifted his companion, holding her tightly in both arms. 
He made a quick exit down the mountain of debris, before setting Sidekick to her feet. She wobbled for a second, before he directed her to a still intact alleyway. “I’ll be back to help you out in just a minute. Let me just take care of Villain, first.” He reassured.
He watched Sidekick limp away for a moment, each of her breaths hitching with the sting of her leg. Before he could redirect his attention to the matter at hand, his knees gave out, and he was forced to the ground. 
Villain quickly made his way on top of the other man, instead now clutching at Hero’s hair. “He- Hero! Hero’s, Hero’s bad!” He screamed into Hero’s face, spittle landing on his supple cheeks. With every furious tug, he screeched another word. “Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad, bad, bad!” 
“Villain! Villain, s- stop! Villain!” Hero shoved and jabbed at Villain frantically, not wanting to hurt him, and yet he couldn't get the other man to let go. Villain howled hysterically like a crazed animal, foamy saliva collecting at the edges of his mouth. 
“Bad! Bad! Bad!” He repeated, and with each repetition the green glowed brighter around his neck. Every wrench of his arms Hero’s scalp burned harder, and distressed tears mixed with beads of sweat on his face. He hit and kicked wildly, his back arching in a mountain of pain. 
“Villain, Villain!” Villain’s expression contorted savagely, an intense rage Hero had never before witnessed. With another slap to the face he released Hero’s hair, opting instead to grip at the man’s thick neck.
He twisted Hero’s flesh with an iron grip, still babbling the same word until he’d lost all coherency. Gasping for air, Hero clawed at his determined fingers, scraping and scratching to no avail. “S- sto- stop!”
Villain picked him up by the throat, then bashed him into the rock below. Once, twice, then a third, Hero couldn’t tell if the back of his head had already been pounded to mush. For all he knew Sidekick’s shouting could’ve just been a trick of the imagination.
His brain spun madly, and his vision was so fuzzy he could only clearly make out the vibrant ray of green that reflected across his face.
Just as his body went limp, losing consciousness and oxygen, Villain’s hold finally released. Hero’s head hit the rubble with yet another thud, his ears ringing with intensity. With the last of his strength he loudly gasped for air, coughing and hacking wildly.
At the click of a button Villain’s muscles had fallen weak as well, his arms resting at his sides and his head lolling back. His lips clamped shut, completely silent, and any and all emotion drained from his expression.
Hero’s chest heaved with every twitchy breath as he faded to the back of his mind, his lids descending to a close. A distant purr of nearing, delighted laughter buzzed through one ear and out the other, and he could do nothing but watch as Supervillain’s perfectly polished, blood stained boot entered his muddled vision.
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cevansbaby-dove · 5 months
Note
Hi! 🩵
I have a hurt-comfort request for you with our lovely, cuddly teddy bear Steve. It's up to you if you want to write 40s, Captain or Nomad Steve 🥰
For this one shot Reader is an Avenger and Steve's girlfriend, and both of them have been on a lot of missions, mainly without one another.
Because of the exhaustion from constant missions things can get a little tense, and Steve unintentionally raises his voice at Reader, but because she has a not so happy past, she flinches and curls in on herself out of fear when he does that.
Usually, he's always patient and careful around her and very aware of how he acts, but due to the exhaustion, it just slipped out. As soon as he sees this, he can't stop apologizing to her, and even though it takes a little while, she eventually forgives him, and everything goes back to the way it was.
I can't wait to see what you will do with this one! 🩵
Omg this request is tad triggering for me being that i grew up in a abusive home but i'll write a one shot just for you!
Steve Roger X Girlfriend Reader.
Title: Keep me safe.
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"You had one thing to do Y/n and you didn't do it! Stay in the jet and i even asked you if you understood!" Steve said as you and the team walk into the tower.
"Jesus christ Steve Sorry if i disobeyed your fucking orders! I had the whole thing-" "No you didn't have it handled!! You almost had our mission go south!"
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"So this is my fault!?" "yes it is! You should have done what i told you to do!"
You scoff. "The last time i checked i thought Tony was in charge" You fold your arms turning back to steve.
He presses his lips together. "Y/N are you dumb!? My name is-"
"I know what your name is Rogers! Doesn't mean i take you seriously" Steve Sighs and says. "I swear i wish i could-"
You walk up to him and say. "What? Say it Steve" He raises his hand to rub his chin when your eyes go wide and you back away and say as tears leak out of your eyes. "Please...don't"
The team looks at you as you sit on the ground rocking back and forth. Steve kneels by you. "Y/N?"
You scoot back and yell. "No don't hurt me please!"
He lightly touches your arm. "Y/N hey sh i'm not going to hurt-" He looks at the team "what happened to her?"
Tony says. "She was abused when she was a child you getting pissed just triggered"
Steve looks back at you and says. "Y/N look at me please' You shake your head.
"No no! Don't touch me!" he jerks his hand back before you can swat it away.
You take off into your room.
An hour later you hear a soft knock on the door.
You walk to the door and open it. Steve is looking sad when you look at him. "Hi honey" You walk back to your bed. "What the hell do you want?"
He walks in. "to talk, god, to say sorry about me overreacting..." You turn and look at him.
"Steve i just wish you would have been nicer about it...all though i didn't tell you about my past"
Steve sits by you. "Tony told me already, God Y/N I'm sorry if i had known i would have been nicer about this whole thing, please forgive me?"
You nod and smile. "You know i do boyfriend" He smiles. "Sometimes we fight like a married couple"
You chuckle lightly. "Yea we do but...I wouldn't change anything about us."
You lean your head on him and he wraps his arms around you. "I love you Y/n"
"I love you too Cap"
Thanks so much @nicoline1998enilocin For the request I hope this works for you! I enjoyed writing it too.
Taglist. @alternativeprincess94 @cutedisneygrl @k-slla @armystay89 @patzammit @katherineswritingsblog
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mangoisms · 9 months
Text
i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)
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━ chapter eight: you are beautiful like i’ve never seen | read chapter seven
━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader
━ word count: 5.6k
━ warnings: none
━ masterlist
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The first day of the four-day series between the Gotham Knights and the Metropolis Monarchs is soon upon you.
Like usual, Knights fans show up for their team. Even if they suck and have, on average, the worst win-loss record in the entire MLB, well. Gothamites take loyalty seriously. And you get it, anyway. Only you can say they suck miserably. Not the pretentious jerks who came down from Metropolis to jeer at the Knights. 
“They’re just jealous,” you say, sulkily biting into a pretzel, then offering it to Tim wordlessly as your eyes scan the packed stands. To your pleasure, despite the likely outcome of today’s game — and this series, the first one between the two teams finally taking place in Gotham — you see that those dressed in grey and blue, the Knights’ colors, outnumber those in Monarchs colors, which are white and red. 
He takes a bite, then, around a mouthful of pretzel, asks, “Why would they be jealous?”
“Metropolis got passed up to hold the All-Star game this summer. Which makes sense. They held it already a few years ago and Gotham’s never held it.”
“Sure.” Tim sips the absurdly large cup of Zesti, then offers you some. They were out of Soder, to your displeasure and his amusement. Still, you don’t say no, leaning over to wrap your mouth around the straw, your eyes still looking out at the field. With it being May, spring is in full-force and will soon be replaced with summer, though today, tendrils of it are already creeping in, humidity stifling you, along with the beaming heat of the sun. 
You’re in jean shorts and a Knights jersey, unbuttoned with a white camisole underneath, along with the Knights ballcap you bought last time, situated backwards over your hair. Finally, with a beat-up pair of Converse, you have a pair of black crew socks patterned with the Wonder Woman symbol. You are quite fond of her. All the Wonder ladies, really. Strong, beautiful women who can kick your ass to the moon and back — what more can anyone ask for? You’d said the same thing to Tim when he saw your socks and teased you about them. He found that very funny, though you aren’t totally sure why. 
The one in question is dressed in a maroon t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of surprisingly beat-up Vans, finished with the Gotham Knights cap you bought for him the last time you two were here. He wears his properly, though, unlike you, with the bill carefully hiding his face from any prying eyes. The air in the stadium is so charged with tension from the oncoming match, though, you doubt even if he took it off, no one would notice. 
“Bet you twenty the benches clear,” he says.
“That’s not even a question, Drake. Try better.”
“Alright… I say, the benches clear before the fourth inning.”
You squint thoughtfully, then nod. “I say after. You’re on.” 
The benches do clear after the fourth inning. But only in the ninth, both teams showing a, frankly, incredible amount of restraint despite the tense game that had them, shockingly enough, neck-and-neck. 
By the ninth inning, both teams were tied 4-4. But a grounder at the bottom of the inning allowed the player on third base to make it home, effectively breaking the tie. The stadium exploded into noise, the Knights themselves celebrating, too, and one thing led to another and then both teams were spilling onto the field, fists flying. 
Look, you aren’t saying the Monarchs are weaker because they’re from Metropolis. But the truth of the matter is, most of the Knights’ team is made up of Gotham natives and, well, this is Gotham. Can’t go around defenseless, not with the likes of the Joker, Scarecrow, Two-Face and more. More than that, you just think, in general, as being a team often at the bottom of the barrel… they must be holding in a lot of anger. 
And by the blood you two see, that anger is coming out full-force. Not at all helped by the tension among fans, who cheer on their teams, of course, but then…
Tim’s hand tightens around yours warily as a Monarchs and Knights fan start yelling at each other near you.
“I think,” he murmurs, lips near your ear in a way that has your heart stuttering, “we should go before we get our asses kicked.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t protect me?”
“I don’t assume that you are a person who explicitly needs my protection. But if you ask…”
“Aw, no. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your pretty face.” Fists start flying. You pull your legs in as someone drops a cup of beer, feeling droplets of it against your skin. “Yeah. I think we should go.”
The two of you leave posthaste, along with a decent amount of people also trying to avoid trouble. 
“So,” Tim starts when the two of you are in the safety of his car, blue eyes twinkling with something like mischief. “Pretty, huh?”
You refuse to be embarrassed. It’s, like, a fact of life. Everyone knows this. The sky is blue, the grass is green, Tim Drake is ridiculously pretty. So pretty he practically reinvents the word every time you see him. God, you like him so much. 
“Yeah,” you sniff, crossing your arms. “So gimme my twenty bucks, pretty boy.”
Tim grins and gives you your twenty bucks and the two of you get the hell out of there. 
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(“So, like, would you… want to go to the All-Star game?” he tries to ask you nonchalantly later that night.
“Tim.”
“Maybe I want to go to the All-Star game.”
“You don’t even like baseball.”
He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, knowing you caught him out, so, he ends up going for the kind of honesty that makes your breath catch. 
“Well, you do, so.”
You watch TV for a minute, trying to settle the raging feelings inside you.
“Alright… I’ll let you buy us tickets to it if you let me buy tickets to the Knights kickoff game when the season starts.”
“But you don’t like football.”
You give him a look that says Hello? Are you stupid? Because so what? He just said it. You like baseball, so he tolerates it. He likes football — or, well, the Knights — so you’d tolerate it, too.
He doesn’t get that, you think.
That you’d do anything for him.
But he can’t, for obvious reasons.
So, you’ll just have to remind him. 
And he understands, too, laughing. “Alright. Deal.”
You think he agrees so easily because the football season doesn’t start until September and it’s only the middle of May. 
But little does he know, you will in fact be saving up money for the tickets and you will be hunting Reddit forums for tips on seating and ticket dealers, thank you very much.)
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(Also, the Knights manage to win the next game, and you say manage, because a handful of them were suspended for fighting, along with a handful from the Monarchs; but you suppose that evens the playing field.
They lose the two after, but no one really cares. It’s nice to be able to win a game. And also a little bit nice to have seen the fight that unfolded between the two.)
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The nice thing about teaching social studies is that the state of New Jersey does not require an assessment test for it. The only tests they require, starting from third grade to ninth grade, are for the English Language Arts, Math, and Science — the New Jersey Student Learning Assessments, otherwise shortened to NJSLA and colloquially known as the SLA’s.
The SLA’s are taken in the spring semester, in the second to last week of school in June. While your fellow teacher aides and teachers scramble to prepare reviews and ensure the students are ready, you and Ms. C can, for the most part, kick back and relax. Final grades are due next week but you two have them ready, so you don’t have to stress about it.
Still, it’s not all great as you feel the usual guilt that comes with watching teachers and students alike fret over the tests. It is collectively known that the standardized tests aren’t indicative of anything at all and Gotham Pointe is the kind of school that wanted to move away from measuring knowledge with tests, but they are state mandated and so, unavoidable.
To that end, you and Ms. C agree to not make class stressful for any of the kids in the lead-up to the tests and you think you succeed for the most part. You get roped into proctoring for the eighth graders, who scare you much more than the sixth graders, and you’re pretty sure they could tell, too, so that’s just great… It’s easy work anyhow, if not boring and procedural. 
But soon, the SLA’s are taken and done with and you are about to enter the final week of the semester. 
The weekend calls for highs in the eighties and the familiar cloak of humidity that will only get heavier as you approach the height of the summer. Gotham has brutal winters that dry out your lips terribly and unforgiving summers that make you sweat from every pore you have. 
But with it being only the first weekend of June and spare cloud cover that gives the occasional break from the sun, the weather is pleasant. Pleasant enough for you to decide to brave your allergies and convince Tim to have a picnic at Robinson Park. Cleaned up directly following the earthquake by Lex Luthor and then again recently by Wayne Enterprises, it has become a nice place in the city to visit. As nice as it can get in Gotham, anyway.
The park takes up a fairly sizable swath of central Gotham, east of the Upper East Side and south of Coventry. Not as far as Otisburg, where the Knights Stadium is, which is part of the northernmost area of the city. (Well, the northernmost area is probably, to be accurate, Bristol, the neighborhood where Gotham’s wealthiest reside, but you digress.)
You and Tim occupy a small, quiet area on the south side of the park. A large tree and perfectly-cut shrubs hide you from the prying eyes of others. 
The park is bursting with greenery, a breath of fresh air — literally and figuratively. The healthy trees and shrubs and freshly-cut grass remind you that New Jersey is technically known as ‘the Garden State.’ Hard to remember when you’re downtown Gotham, standing among towering skyscrapers, brightly-lit screens, and smoggy skies, but here, it is a nice reminder. 
You say this idly to Tim as you two eat an early dinner — caprese sandwiches he made, with lemonade brought back from the manor, courtesy of one Alfred Pennyworth, and the freshest strawberries you have ever had the pleasure of looking at and eating. 
He nods at your words, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Ever since No Man’s Land, the park’s thrived. Nothing ever dies.”
“That’s not ominous at all. And… what about No Man’s Land?”
No Man’s Land, the cataclysmic earthquake that struck Gotham City several years ago — like when you were fifteen or something — that caused the death of millions and displaced even more. Though, you might say that is because of the US government’s response. Instead of continuing to fund rescue efforts and help, they abandoned Gotham, turned it into No Man’s Land. No longer part of the United States and those who stayed also exiled. Of course, many didn’t exactly have a choice…
The city has since been rebuilt, with all buildings built stronger — earthquake proofed. When it happened, the only buildings left standing were the ones owned and built by WE because Bruce Wayne specifically called for them to be earthquake-proof. He was also the last to leave, the last to fight in front of Congress. If not for the philanthropic efforts he does around the city, then for that, you have real respect for him. 
Tim shrugs, sipping his lemonade. “Apparently, Poison Ivy camped out here for the entirety of it. She left eventually when the city opened again but since, the park’s been healthy. Even during winter.”
“Huh,” you say. The conclusion is obvious, then, that she might have something to do with it. Well. You’ve heard she’s leaned more morally grey these days. Still wanted by the police and all but… you don’t know. It’s a nice notion, to keep some of the only greenery in the city healthy no matter the season. 
You’ve never frequented Robinson Park before now — again, allergies — but Tim often looks too pale for your liking and now that he isn’t working at WE, you are more inclined to get him out of Rose Oaks. Even at the risk of a stuffy nose and watery eyes that’ll bother you tomorrow. 
You finish your sandwich and lemonade, help yourself to more than a few strawberries, which are a delicious mix of sweet and tangy, then lay down, sprawling out on the blanket. Well. Not totally sprawling out. The sundress you wear doesn't allow for that. Yeah, you are wearing spandex underneath but still. It’s the principle. No one is allowed to get an eyeful under your dress. Other than maybe Tim. Definitely Tim.
The thought makes your face warm and you shove it away, distracting yourself with grabbing a napkin and digging through your tote bag for your makeup bag. 
You dab at your mouth and open your compact mirror, checking for any food that might’ve caught on the darkly-tinted lip balm you’re wearing. Looks fine, though it’s faded towards the center from eating.
Tim sits upright next to you, his body twisted toward you and one hand planted on the blanket as he leans back on it. His eyes are elsewhere as he lifts a strawberry to his lips. Your eye twitches as he bites into it and some of the juice dribbles down his hand and nearly out the corner of his mouth — you say nearly because his tongue darts out, catching the droplets before they can fall, and you’re pretty sure a meteor could hit Gotham right now and you would absolutely be none the wiser.
Doesn’t help when he lifts his hand to his mouth, either, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he catches the trails of strawberry juice. Pink lips move, shaping words, but you don’t notice, because this has to be a new circle of hell or something, you don’t give a shit what Dante thinks, this is the worst. 
With concerted effort, you turn your eyes to your compact mirror and dig for your lip balm. 
Forgetting that he had said something while you were staring at him and wondering why god was so cruel, you jump when his jean-clad knee brushes the outside of your thigh, the texture rough against the softer skin there. 
“Wh-huh?”
You look at him and he’s finally looking at you, the sunlight doing too much for him in the way it sets off his pale skin and his dark hair, his eyes a softer shade of blue than you’ve ever seen, like the sky in Metropolis, considerably less smoggy than Gotham’s. He’s cleaning his hands with a wet wipe — yes, he seriously brought wet wipes because he said ‘eating fruit is serious business’ — lips quirked as he gazes down at you.
“Did you hear me?”
“No. What did you say?”
“I said, do you know what that tree is?” he asks, nodding to the tree next to you, tall in height with faintly yellowed leaves.
You squint. “Should I…?”
“I guess not,” he says. “You’re more into social studies than science.”
You’re also not him, brain stuffed full with the oddest of facts. 
No one is like him. But this is thought with a ridiculous amount of fondness, as par the course. There is little he does that annoys you and info-dumping about some odd thing that grabbed his attention is not one of those things.
“So, you know, then?” you ask, lifting the lip balm to your mouth and reapplying it, a tad distracted as you keep an ear out for him.
“It's shagbark hickory. Carya ovata. Look at the trunk.”
You look at the tree trunk. 
“See how the bark is peeling and a little weird? That’s how you can tell.” 
“Kinda creepy, isn’t it?”
He exhales a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”
You turn your head, eyes scanning for another tree. You spot one some distance away, a pretty thing with white flowers blooming on the branches, reminding you vaguely of a cherry blossom.
“What about that one?” 
Silence meets your words. Your eyes flicker from the tree back to him. “Tim?”
Instead of looking at the tree you pointed out, he is looking at you. Not just at your face but your —
“Sorry,” he says quietly, lifting a hand to you. “You just have some lip balm right here…”
Just as he finishes speaking, his thumb slowly swipes the underside of your mouth, the slightly calloused pad of his thumb just barely catching the actual skin of your lips in a way that sparks a fire inside of you. 
There is no way for you to save face, you think dimly, and you know that to be utterly true as your eyes then find his thumb as he pulls back. On the pale skin, the smudge of your darkly-tinted lip balm stands out. 
You meet his eyes again in the next second and they seem a shade darker, more like the blue waters of Metropolis Harbor instead of their clear skies. It’s more than that, though, it’s the look in them, the weight of his gaze, like a physical thing, burning straight through you, and the urge to be close to him, to press your lips to his, is monumental, practically religious, like even that wouldn’t be enough, like the only way you might be satisfied is if you two were one, cells and atoms intermingling.
You want so much.
Too much that you can have.
The shriek of laughter from a child shatters the moment and he looks away quickly. Your heart pounds out of your chest, face unbearably hot. For him, too, red rises high in his cheeks, not doing anything to detract from your attraction. Exacerbating it, if anything. 
You raise your eyes to the sky, closing your eyes, trying to calm yourself.
Next to you, Tim clears his throat and suddenly flops down beside you with a grunt, arm brushing yours.
“White flowering dogwood.”
“Huh?” you ask, eyes opening as you glance at him. He’s looking up at the sky, allowing you a view of his sharp jawline, the slope of his nose, and the press of his full, pink lips. God…
“The tree,” he says, voice a little rough. “The one you asked about. It’s white flowering dogwood. Cornus florida. It can be pink, too, but, well, as you can tell, that one is white.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yeah.”
You loathe the slight awkwardness that falls over you in that following silence. He seems to dislike it as well as he clears his throat. 
“You were right about this,” he says, voice back to normal, soft, soothing tenor, music to your ears. “It’s nice.”
“A little vitamin C does wonders for the mood. And complexion.” You pause. “Your complexion, to be clear —”
“Alright, alright,” he says, faintly amused. “I get it. I’m pale.”
The silence that unfolds in that next moment is considerably lighter, more comfortable. You force yourself to relax, crossing your ankles idly. 
“Any plans for the summer?” he asks after a couple minutes.
“Hmm, no, not really. Probably pick up a few more classes. Might visit my family.”
In the corner of your eye, he nods. “If you get any more of those offers to bring someone, count me in.”
“Yeah?” 
“Well…” he trails off and you turn your head as he moves, a hand digging through his bag. The sound of something crinkling, before he pulls out an object wrapped in wrapping paper, the same kind you use in class for finished products, that way they don’t break.
A grin pulls sharply at your lips as you take it from him. 
“It didn’t turn out so bad,” he says, a smile in his voice, though your eyes are on the mug, which you eagerly unwrap. 
You can’t help your gasp. “Tim…”
The mug the two of you shaped is no longer dull grey clay, soft and malleable, but hard and durable; you still hold it gingerly, smoothing your thumb over the now-smooth surface. Underlaid by a soft shade of blue, the mug is iridescent, glimmering green, blue, yellow, purple, and many more colors, almost like the surface of the water.
“I had to get some help,” he admits. “But I got the hang of it eventually. Despite this little… imperfection —” he reaches out to brush a finger over the lip of the mug, where it’s a bit wonky “— I think it turned out nice.”
“Told you,” you say, your matter-of-fact words belied by the soft wonder in your expression. “Perfection is a false ideal. And boring. This is beautiful, Timmy. Seriously. Thank you.”
“‘Course,” he says softly, a kind of warmth in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat.  
You look at the mug a little longer, taken at how it shines under the sun, then wrap it up again, passing it back to him. He puts it away. 
Warmed at the thought he put into the mug, you two sink into a truly comfortable silence, broken by the laughter of children nearby, the distant and usual wail of sirens, and the chirp of birds.
He hums thoughtfully. 
“What?”
“The birds.”
“Let me guess, you’re an expert in birds, too?” 
“Something like that,” he says softly. “Listen.”
“I’m listening.”
Multiple birds chirp in that following silence. Quick, repetitive.
You scrunch your face up. “Pretty sure I’ve heard this one, like, every morning.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “Downy Woodpecker. Very common.”
You hum in acknowledgment, able to pick it out now that he’s put a name to it. The two of you lapse into silence again, a concentrated sort of energy coming from him as he focuses on something.
“Ah,” he murmurs, as another call joins. “Now this is a treat…”
“Share, share.”
“Any guesses?”
“Pigeon.”
He exhales a laugh. “Not even close.”
“Social studies. Not science. Or whatever that area could be classified as. Zoology?”
“Ornithology,” he says, because of course he knows the correct name, his arm brushing yours as he drops it to his side, like yours is. Fingers brush yours. You don’t pull away, allowing your pinky to skim his before his fingers slide against yours, filling the gaps. Your heart stutters as you let yourself bask in the contact, then attempt to focus on the bird call that just joined the Woodpeckers.
It’s not as repetitive or quick as the other one, calmer, in a sense.
“What is it?” you ask, voice unknowingly dropping into a whisper. 
Tim’s voice is just as low when he next speaks. “American Robin. Relatively common, too.”
His thumb rubs over your fingers right after, making your chest tighten with warmth, so all you can do is pinpoint the call of the Robin, that clear string of whistles the only sound in the silence. 
He is quiet for some time after, the both of you listening to the Robins and Woodpeckers sing. But eventually, he picks it up again, easily singling out bird calls and putting names to them.
You two spend several hours there, mostly dozing, but towards seven, you find yourself filled with perhaps too much sun and warmth, so he suggests something cold. You pack up and drop your things off in his car — you grimace at the grass clinging to the blanket and the way the blades of it catch on the material in the trunk but Tim waves a hand at it, unbothered, saying it’s not an issue. For him, with the ability to easily afford car washes and interior cleanings, you believe it. 
He pops by a Wawa’s to gas up while you search for nearby frozen treats but you get distracted by the attendant in the neon vest that quickly comes over to gas up the car. 
“This is why I could never get a car,” you say, watching the attendant punch the premium grade — at Tim’s request — then pull out the nozzle. “We didn’t have this so sometimes my parents made me fill up the car and I hated it. Something about it just makes me nervous. Like I know I’m pressing it for gasoline but I’m like… What if it did a little switchy-switchy and now I’m filling the tank with diesel and now it’s ruined and my dad’s going to kill me.”
Tim looks fondly amused. “So, shouldn’t the act of someone else doing it for you help?”
“No. Not even a little bit. Because yeah, I am nervous, but at least it’s me. We all grow up with different ways of doing this and I dunno. Besides,” you say, craning your neck to watch the attendant stand idly by the gas pump, numbers ticking rapidly as the tank fills up; the price makes you grimace. “This kind of feels like a safety risk, at least here in Gotham. What if they put in diesel?”
“Well, the good thing about that is they’re liable for it. So, I would think that makes it easier.”
You grunt. “I guess. I just think it’s a tricky thing, okay.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “Have you found anything?”
“Just some fro-yo places.”
“Fro-yo’s cold.”
“Yeah, but it’s fro-yo. I don’t want discount diet ice cream, I want ice cream. The whole concept of fro-yo is questionable.”
Tim laughs. “Who knew you had such strong opinions on New Jersey’s self-servicing laws and frozen yogurt?”
You flush, because despite the tease, he looks fond, and that’s too much for you after everything today, so you grumble a little bit and turn your eyes back to your phone.
The two of you end up at an ice cream parlor in the Upper East Side. Tim gets mint chocolate chip ice cream, much to your horror. 
“That’s basically toothpaste. You might as well brush your teeth then eat some chocolate.”
“Okay, drama queen. Relax. Maybe if you tried some —” the red spoon waves under your nose as he gets in close and you turn your head, bracing a hand on his chest, though you aren’t trying that hard to push him away. You find yourself noting the muscle there, something you’ve noticed since the two of you slept together on the couch. Tim has a lithe frame but there is no shortage of power, evidenced in the way he can easily carry a large pack of water bottles without losing breath. You can carry it, but even you have your limits for how long, limits he easily surpasses, you suspect.
The car doors unlock as you near it, parallel parked perfectly (and he made it look easy, too, though you won’t give him much credit on the driving front since he’s a little too much for you) in front of the ice cream parlor. Tim had asked if you’d ever driven the scenic route up in Bristol, to which you responded of course you hadn’t. That’s all the way north of the city, off the interconnected islands entirely. Much too far for you, at least with your bike. So, he matter-of-factly said that’s what you two were going to do and maybe if you stuck around long enough, you could see the sunset from there. It sounds awfully romantic but you try not to think about that.
Instead, you redouble your efforts on teasing him as the two of you pause by the car.
“Bleh. I’m not going to ruin my taste buds with that. You should try this.” You scoop out some of your ice cream, lifting it to him. 
“Chocolate chip cookie dough. Revolutionary. You’re really breaking barriers there.”
“It’s classic, Timothy. Do you deny that?”
“Have you even tried mint chocolate chip?” he shoots back, spoon still proffered. “Instead of, you know, jumping on the hating bandwagon.”
“Wow.”
He grins, stepping closer, wiggling the spoon at you. “Try it.”
And the mistake here, of course, is thinking that you have it in you to deny him. At least for something as unserious as this. 
And he can see the moment you give in, grin turning victorious as he lifts the spoon and you, with your face flaring with heat at the action, only just barely realizing it, have no choice but to take it. 
But the sharp minty flavoring combined with the sweetness of the chocolate chips saves it — you — from getting too weird.
Tim laughs, delighted, as you swallow it, face scrunched up in disgust. 
“I almost feel like you picked that one to torment me.”
“Tormenting you is fun,” he agrees, before dropping his spoon back into his cup, then taking your wrist, hand still holding the forgotten spoonful of ice cream, and guiding it to his mouth.
“You don’t deserve the goodness of my ice cream,” you say, forcing a scowl and a light-hearted glare in a desperate attempt to control the tidal wave of fizzling heat that envelops your insides at him doing that. Mostly his gall. Seriously what is up with him…
It seems to work as he releases your wrist, red spoon cleaned from his mouth — that’s going to haunt you while you eat — and he laughs again. 
You punch his chest lightly, grumbling, then go around him, checking the street for any oncoming cars before going to the passenger door. 
Tim slides in a second later, still chuckling as he turns on the car and leaves his cup of ice cream in the cupholder. You bluster about it for a little but eventually agree to help feed him some of it, since the drive might take a while. Along with that, he lets you commandeer his phone and the music, naturally turning on ABBA as he pulls out and starts for the Sprang Bridge that’ll take you to the northernmost island, with Otisburg and the Knights Stadium in the east and Burnley and Park Row to the west. Continuing north, you hit the Kane Bridge that’ll take you off the islands entirely.
Take A Chance On Me plays on the speakers as you dutifully spoon the last bits of Tim’s ice cream into his mouth, then set the cup aside. Traffic slows you down but you don’t mind. You’ve never actually crossed this bridge, you think, in your entire time here. To the east is Amusement Mile and Gotham River, while west shows the rest of the Atlantic, dark waters stretching out into oblivion.
Tim hums the song idly, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder as he moves into the left lane that is going faster than the one you are currently in. Even with his admittedly reckless and impatient driving skills, you are nothing less than smitten as he taps the rhythm to the song on the steering wheel. 
Hiding a smile, you finish your own ice cream and get comfortable. 
It takes a while to finally get off the bridge and onto the two-lane road for Bristol. Considerably higher in elevation, it affords you exactly what he said — a scenic route of Gotham, overlooking the entire island. Even Metropolis, off in the distance. The sun is starting to set, too, washing everything in gold. 
At that, he pulls off the main road to a small gravel-filled area with no other cars and a single path that leads through the woods. 
“I guess this is the time you’re going to finally murder me and dispose of my body?”
“Naturally. But only after we watch the sunset on Spillkin Hill,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning off the car.
“Ah, of course, of course.”
The trail leads to a grassy hill that overlooks the city. Tim brings out the blanket again and you collapse there, a little sweaty and a little out of breath. He offers you a drink from his water bottle, which you gladly accept. 
From here, you can see everything. The Kane Bridge, with bumper-to-bumper traffic, Amusement Mile, rollercoasters arching high into the sky, Knights Stadium, sun glinting off the metal, floodlights on and bright. Up here, away from the true reality of what goes on in the dark, the city looks beautiful washed in the golden light of the sunset.
So does Tim, you think, breath catching in your throat as a breeze ruffles his dark hair and your fingers twitch to run through it, to put it back into order. His skin glows under the light, thick lashes casting shadows over the swell of his cheeks, cornflower blue eyes softened in a way that makes you want to lean in. 
You don’t.
Instead, you look back out, biting at the inside of your cheek. 
You had thought and hoped that your feelings might be short-lived, just a crush, just an infatuation, but what you are learning, since the day you two went to the rec center, since he spent the night, is that it will not be that simple. These feelings, you think, are the kind that stick with you, the ones that will make themselves known every time you spy a flowering dogwood or hear the call of a Robin. 
But that’s fine. Tim has brightened your world, made it that much warmer. You just want him, in any capacity that you can have him.
Even with his odd behavior today and from the last few weeks, behavior that has you second-guessing… Hope is a dangerous thing to have in Gotham City, after all.
But who are you kidding, right? That’s half the reason you stay here. 
And maybe, just maybe, it can finally pay off here.
You’ll have to wait and see. 
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━ end notes
1. the stuff about the state tests for NJ — i did search that stuff up, however, the SLA stuff i just made up bc i like acronyms. so :D also! new jersey and oregon are in fact the only states in the us with self-service laws still in place, so basically, you cannot fill up your own gas. i always have a chuckle when i remember that LMAO
2. about the poison ivy thing, i just thought that would be some Fun Gotham Lore. i also don’t know if others would know, exactly, that she was inhabiting it during no man’s land because during that event, it was all hush-hush and mostly rumors, but afterward, there had to be more talk about it, especially when the kids she was taking care of were turned over to officials, you know?
3. here’s a website where you can listen to the calls of both the downy woodpecker and the robin mentioned here!
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reblogs are appreciated!
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128 notes · View notes
fixfoxnox · 11 months
Note
WAIT can I request you do that secret option where roach would get passed around like a toy by the 141
👉👈 -👑
Yes indeed 😏
Luke's Spicy Snippets (6)
Pairings: Roach/Everyone
Warnings: cock warming, deep throating, rough sex, biting, blood kink (I think), edging, lack of after care (implied that Roach denies it), dehumanization, mean 141
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"Cap-Captain," Roach's voice was a stuttering mess. He felt completely exposed, the expanse of his flush skin on display for anyone who would walk into his Captain's office to see. There were no sets of eyes on him though and, in fact, even the man currently buried balls deep inside of him didn't seem to be paying attention to his presence. "Please, I need you, God, I can't-"
All his begging earned him was a hum from Price. The older man's attention was focused solely on the bit of paperwork on his desk. The only thing he'd said to Roach in the past hour was a quick request for him to move his hands from where he'd had a death grip on the man's desk.
Roach tilted his head back against the other man's shoulder, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He was hard and leaking, kept that way by his Captain's hand that would occasionally come forward to give him a few slow jerks. He was desperate, the arousal that had been resting in his gut for the past hour was not enough and it kept him right at the brink of insanity. He was needy, he hated getting ignored like this for so long. Cock warming was never his favorite, but Price loved it and he would give Price whatever he wanted. But, above all, his legs were beginning to fucking hurt.
"Please," he begged again, nearly choking on his words as Price's hand wrapped around his cock to begin those slow torturous jerks again. "Please, Price I want you, I need you so fucking-"
The phone on Price's desk started to ring and Roach snapped his mouth shut. Price's hand on his cock sped up slightly, pulling muffled moans from his mouth. He was doing his best to stifle them, but he knew his Captain would do his best to make him break when there was the possibility of someone else listening in.
"Stay quiet," Price pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder before picking up the phone, "This is Price." There was a quiet moment as the other person spoke. Roach tried to keep himself silent, but it was hard when the hand around his cock felt so deliciously good. His hips jerked slightly into the movement, earning him a small slap on the thigh and a scolding look from Price.
The hand on his cock tightened, setting a quick and harsh pace that had him letting out quiet little gasps and trying to stifle his own moans. Pleasure zipped up his spine. Price's thumb stroked gently over the head of his cock, running repeatedly over his slit. The man twisted his hand and Roach couldn't help the loud moan that tore from his throat.
Suddenly the hand was removed from his cock and his Captain's fingers were shoved into his mouth, silencing him. He sucked on them obediently, only giving a small whine at the loss of friction. "Alright," Price's voice was tinged with amusement and Roach realized suddenly that he'd missed the man's entire conversation, "I'll send him over. Give me about fifteen minutes." He paused for a moment before chuckling, "Yes, I promise he'll still be usable."
Roach understood immediately what the phone call had been about and he couldn't help the way that excitement coiled in his gut. It wasn't often that multiple of his team members needed him in one day. Price hung the phone up and, before Roach could react, the older man had pulled out of him and roughly shoved him to lean over his desk, his legs spread wide.
Price was quick to slip back inside of him, his grip tight on his hips, "That was Gaz," one of his hands stroked along Roach's hip, "You're needed in the locker room after this." He didn't say anything else, only started a quick and punishing pace with his hips, fucking Roach into a pliant moaning mess.
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"Fuck," Gaz tilted his head back, an appreciative sigh leaving his mouth, "Hmm, go on, you know what I want."
He tugged Roach's hair, using his grip to guide Roach's face away from where he'd been licking and sucking at his balls. Roach went obediently, his eyes already glazed over from the way he'd been immediately shoved to his knees as soon as he'd stumbled into the locker room.
He gave a moan as Gaz took a moment to rut his cock over his face. Once he was pulled away fully he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, looking up at Gaz with wide eyes. Gaz gave another moan at the sigh before grabbing the base of his cock and resting the tip of his length against Roach's tongue.
He started with small, shallow thrusts, rutting his cock along Roach's tongue. "Fuck, that's it," he slowly pushed further. As soon as he could, Roach closed his mouth around Gaz's cock, alternating between sucking at the tip of his length and stroking slowly over him with his tongue.
Gaz allowed the movement for a moment, holding his hips still as little pants left his mouth. Eventually, though, he grew impatient. His hand tightened in Roach's hair and he slowly began to fuck his mouth, thrusting deeper and deeper with every jerk of his hips.
It wasn't long until he was moving quickly, using his grip in Roach's hair to force the younger man's mouth further around his cock. With every move he brushed against the back of Roach's throat, pulling choked out little moans from his mouth.
"Shit, oh fuck, so- oh, so fucking good," Gaz pulled Roach down hard, pressing his nose against the hairs at the base of his cock and holding him there for a moment as he choked around the length of him. Finally he pulled him all the way off, allowing Roach a moment to breathe as he admired the sight of him.
Drool dripped down Roach's chin and tears fell freely from his eyes. There was a hazy look on his face as he gave several little pants. For a few moments there was a thin string of drool that connected him to Gaz's cock. "Fuck, such a pretty thing," Gaz tightened his grip in Roach's hair, "'m gonna come in your mouth, want you to take it like the good little thing you are." With that, he shoved his cock back into Roach's waiting mouth.
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Roach was stumbling back to his room, using the wall for support for his shakey legs. He had cum still running down his thighs in his pants and he was sure he looked an absolute mess. Between Price fucking him and Gaz taking his mouth, he'd say he had a pretty productive day. He was beginning to regret turning down Gaz's offer to help him back to his room, though. He'd just felt guilty about accepting, after all, he knew the other man had plenty to do.
"Roach! There you are!" Roach froze in his place, turning his head just slightly to meet the approaching form of a grinning Soap. He couldn't help but meet the other man's grin with a smile of his own, affection curling in his chest.
"Hi," his voice was creaky and sore, his throat feeling the effects of Gaz's rough treatment.
Soap gave a chuckle, wrapping his arms around him and starting them off toward their rooms. "Gaz warned me that you'd already been used today, they definitely did a number on you."
"Nothing I can't handle," Roach assured him quietly. He allowed himself to be guided back to his room, at least, he'd thought his room. It wasn't until Soap was unlocking the door that he realized he'd been guided past his room and toward Soap's.
"Hope you don't mind," Soap gave him a small smile, "I leave on a mission in an hour, and, well..."
Roach rolled his eyes fondly at the man's awkwardness. He'd never been able to ask Roach outright for what he wanted. "Well," he motioned to the door, "help me inside and get to it then." Soap didn't even bother wrapping an arm around him, he just moved forward to wrap him up by the waist and sling him over his shoulder.
Roach vouldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips as Soap slammed his door shut behind him, quickly walking them over and dumping him onto his bed.
Roach watched as Soap started to unbuckle his belt and tug at the tops of his pants and underwear. "How do you want me?"
"Your thighs," Soap grunted as he was finally able to pull his cock out. He started to give himself several slow and measured jerks, saying nothing as he dug through his side drawer for a bottle of lube. Roach was quick to shove his pants and underwear down, kicking them off onto the ground with his sore legs.
Practically as soon as they hit the ground and Soap's hands were on his legs, tugging him to the edge of the bed and spreading them apart. Roach could do nothing but watch with low eyes as Soap stroked hungrily over his inner thighs, ducking down to pepper kisses along the expanse of skin. Roach tilted his head back at the feeling, giving soft little moans until a harsh sting had a yelp pulling from his throat.
Soap pulled back excitedly, a small bit of blood in his teeth from where he'd broken skin with his bite. Roach gave a weak moan at the sight. It didn't take Soap long after that to begin slathering the lube across his thighs. He hadn't even bothered to warm it up, instead he simply laughed when Roach yelped at the cold and hissed at the feeling of the lube against his fresh and likely still bleeding bite.
By the time he was satisfied with the slide, Soap was already fully hard and leaking. He pressed Roach's legs together carefully, holding his shins against his shoulder as he slowly slid his cock between Roach's thighs, moaning at the sensation. He pressed Roach's legs together harder, creating a tighter sensation around his cock.
"Fuck," he gave a growl. He leaned down, bringing Roach's legs with him and nearly bending the other man in half, Roach whimpered at the stretch. "Not quite as good as your hole, but at least I can get some use out of you." With that he started to quickly rut himself between Roach's thighs, the only sounds filling the room were his moans and the slap of skin against skin.
Soap pulled his legs tighter to his chest, latching his mouth and teeth onto Roach's leg to begin biting more harsh marks into the others skin. Roach whined at the feeling, his entire body moving with Soap's desperate thrusts between his slick thighs. He could see as precum was smeared in with the lube and bit of blood that decorated his skin and he knew based on the deep moan that Soap gave that the other could see it as well.
"When," Soap panted between his harsh thrusts, his hips already beginning to stutter, "When I get back from my mission, gonna make you, oh fuck, gonna make you choke on my cock like Gaz did." He gave a deep groan, his eyes closed and his head tilted back as he continued, "Gonna make you fucking cry for my cock. You want to cry for my cock? Want to be a good toy for me?"
"Yes," Roach answered back, knowing how much Soap liked it when he talked. His own cock was starting to grow hard again, the sight of Soap and the words that he spoke causing arousal to flood him. "I can be good," he whined out, "Want your cum, please, John!"
Soap came moments later, painting his chest and thighs with his cum.
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Ghost found him in the hallway on his way back to his room. The man had only given a grumble of, "They don't know how to clean up after themselves," before slinging Roach into his arms and carrying him kindly back to his room.
Thats how Roach had found himself under the warm spray of a shower with a chill still going down his spine from the cool press of tile against his chest.
His head was buried in his hand as little sobs escaped his mouth. His legs were shaking and he knew that he was only able to stand thanks to Ghosts hands tight around his waist. Ghost was moving slowly, thrusting in and out of him at a hard but slow pace. With every rough hit of his hips against Roach's ass, his cock nailed the other man's prostate, torturing him with a slow panging pleasure.
"Simon," he sobbed, trying to press himself back further against the other man, "please, please, please!"
Ghost hummed, pressing sweet kisses against his shoulder as he continued his slow pace, "Don't know what you're asking for, Bug." He sounded completely unaffected by the current situation, the only evidence of his enjoyment were the occasional grunts and moans he would let loose and his hard cock splitting Roach open.
"Need," Roach gave a watery gasp as Ghost's hand wrapped around his cock, joining in with slow torturous thrusts, "Need you!"
Ghost chuckled, "You have me, I'm fucking you aren't I?" He gave another roll of his hips and a sweet little nip to Roach's throat. The pleasure he was forcing on Roach was almost overwhelming, and yet it wasn't enough. He'd been slowly building Roach up, but with his pace it was like the build up was never ending.
"You're so, so- ah, oh fuck, so mean!"
"I'm mean?" Ghost gave another chuckle, nipping at Roach's ear before adding, "I'll show you mean."
With that, his slow pace was gone. Be began to fuck into Roach quickly, slamming their hips together with a punishing pace. Roach couldn't even moan as the pleasure overwhelmed him, taking his voice until nothing was left but weak desperate gasps. Finally he was almost there, he was almost to the point of tipping over and being set alight with the buzzing of pleasure through his system. He just needed a bit more. Just a bit more and-
Ghost stopped his movement, stilling completely inside of Roach and pulling a harsh sob from his mouth as the pleasure that had been about to spill over slowly ebbed away, taken from him with no satisfaction granted. Ghost answered his sobs with a low chuckle and a kiss to his neck, "I told you I'd show you mean. Let me do it again just to make sure you got the idea."
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Later, as Roach was cuddled up in bed against Ghost's chest, he had to mentally applaud himself. Four in one day! Sure he couldn't walk, but it was definitely worth it. After all, what was more enjoyable than taking care of his team?
187 notes · View notes
Note
I have to know if Santi and Frankie are awkward around each other after the events of Captain of the Team. Or if they’re friends with benefits now? Or only do the dirty when Will invites them over?
Please ignore if you don’t care to answer lol if you can’t tell I’m forever obsessed with this fic. 💙💙💙💙💙💙
Author’s note: Ozzie! Oh my goodness! I love this request! Thanks so much for sending this. I rly enjoyed exploring CotT more and I’d be so up for future blurbs stemming from that universe. For your request, I had a quick think about various ways it couldda feasibly gone down between these two in the aftermath of ALL THAT, and this was the first semi-plausible scenario that came to me. By no means definitive, as I can see it happening in a range of ways. I absolutely blitzed this in excitement also, so apologies if it’s incoherent / full of typos / OOC. The more I think about it the more convinced I am that Frankie is the perfect foil to all of Santi’s hang-ups and I love them together so much!
P.s. If you don’t know what the game Buckaroo is I’m so sorry and you’ll see why.
Summary: this blurb follows on after the events of my Triple Frontier poly! Fic, Captain of the Team (spoilers for that fic follow from here, stop reading if you’d rather read that first) which involves Will + Santiago + Frankie x reader, and Frankie x Santi.
Relationship: this fic focusses on Frankie x Santi, in the aftermath of Captain of the Team. Hints of Santi x reader also, in the present and also references to a past relationship. Refs to 4-way poly.
POV: Frankie’s POV
Warnings: sexual themes and smut references but no full smut. Everything else typical of my characterisation of these two. FEEL FREE TO CORRECT MY SPANISH. Sorry for any mistakes.
Solid ground: (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Francisco “Catfish” Morales)
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“Hey.”
“Hey.”
It’s unusual, Frankie notes, that Santi didn’t stand to hug him upon arrival, but he chooses not to address it.
Instead, Santi takes an exaggerated slurp of his coffee, via the inadequate little mouthpiece of the disposable cup. He then folds his arms tightly around himself, hands tucked under his pits and nipples visible beneath the fabric of his thin cotton tee. Either the bastard’s self-soothing because of this imminent conversation, Frankie surmises, or he’s cold. It’s not even cold, but Santiago thrives on warmth. Frankie could swear he’d even complained of feeling chilly in the tropics one time, with the midday sun blasting down on him and everything.
“You cold, hermano?” Frankie teases, settling his lanky legs astride his side of the picnic table. Taking his jacket off without thinking and tossing it over to Santiago.
The bastard’s face twists beneath the brim of his cap, and yet he still takes it, eagerly shoving his arms into the sleeves and tugging it around him.
After recent events, the sight of Santiago wearing his coat certainly hits different, in a way he isn’t prepared for, and it kills any good-natured, teasing chuckle which otherwise may have erupted in his throat.
“So,” Frankie begins. “What’s up?”
Frankie is, evidently, itching to get straight to business.
Santiago had convened this hang. A pre-work coffee in the park. One-on-one. Perfectly normal, under other circumstances; but under these circumstances, it all felt a little… clandestine.
“Nothing much,” Santi bristles. “What would be up?”
Frankie closes his eyes. Steels himself against Santiago’s typical knee-jerk responses. He gets this kinda way when emotions are involved. For all his confidence, he’s deeply insecure. Afraid of anything too real. Afraid of not being enough. Frankie’s learned this the hard way, from years of watching him spin-out in every single relationship so far. Having watched him self-sabotage. Witnessing him ending things before they’d even begun so that his partner could never hope to leave him first, for that’s always what he believed - to the depths of him - was coming.
Fuck. He’d done that with you, and oh boy, he’d loved you.
Loves you, in fact.
“Oh. I dunno,” Frankie says casually, taking an altogether more casual swig of the coffee Santi proffers, sliding the second cup across to Frankie with the back of his hand. Frankie tastes it, and it’s not lost on him that Santiago remembered his order. “Thought you might want to talk about how we fucked last week.”
Santiago looks thoroughly scandalised for a moment, and Frankie can’t help it when his mouth lilts up with a smile.
Shit. Did he really think that wouldn’t come up?
“Why would I wanna talk about that, huh?” Santi’s brow is heavy, face drawn down.
Great. He’s getting defensive; which sure as hell means he’s feeling vulnerable. He’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’s taking an aggressive sip of his coffee again. It would be a little funny - if it wasn’t so desperately sad.
So many people have had so much love to give Santiago over the years, Frankie reflects, and yet bestowing it upon him has almost had to be done by stealth, every time. It’s sorta like playing Buckaroo, Frankie figures. (That game where you place pieces of luggage on a plastic donkey until the weight eventually trips the mechanism and back hoofs everything off?) Yeah. Exactly. It’s like waiting for Santiago to drop-kick your gently applied love to shit, because inevitably, he suddenly decides he’s over-encumbered by it. Worried that he can’t possibly bear the burden.
Frankie frowns. Actually, he doesn’t like to think about donkeys so much, he decides. Not after the fucking Lorea job.
Anyway.
Instead: “Hey,” he says soothingly, and Santiago’s eyes snap up to his, warm but toughened. “Don’t be weird. It’s okay.”
Frankie knows what he needs, right? Prides himself on it. Knows how to take care of this bastard better than anyone does. Always has. Has done it by stealth, mostly - though sometimes overtly. Hasn’t been drop-kicked too many times for it either. He’d seemed, over the years, to be able to get away with things other couldn’t. He’s always felt kinda special because of that.
Given that fact then, Frankie decides that maybe he can be slightly bolder. Reaches his hand out towards Santiago’s own, and places it right on top.
A hard swallow dips down Santiago’s throat, but he doesn’t pull it away. He’s drawn towards warmth, after all. Always seeking out a little heat.
Frankie feels a warm jug of honey tip itself through his middle as his skin makes contact with Santiago’s. Decides that he can afford to get a little bolder again. Circles his thumb into Santiago’s wrist, in a way that definitely crosses beyond merely “friendly”.
“You look good in my jacket, pendejo,” Frankie purrs, and he deeply enjoys the crimson heat which blooms across Santiago’s cheeks - in the moment before he snatches his hand away.
Frankie’s not usually a flirt. Wouldn’t normally push it. Can’t ordinarily get his words out, instead opting for the pine and then die approach. But, there’s something about Santiago which makes all of this unfamiliar territory feel eminently comfortable. He wants to do the same for him - to help him break new ground without freaking out - but he also doesn’t want to push it.
Doesn’t want to push him.
The man doesn’t react well to being pushed. He’s already halfway out of everything he’s in, and that makes him far too easy to topple.
Frankie wants more out of this, he knows that much. But it occurs to him then, in a moment of panic, that Santiago might not. Or, even worse, and far more likely; that he does want more, but that he’ll do everything in his power to avoid admitting it.
Santiago has gone to great lengths to avoid his feelings before, after all - and so many of his “solutions” have included a goddamn one-way plane ticket.
“Pope,” Frankie begins, looking outward across the park so as to avoid Santiago feeling too boxed in. A tactic he’s deployed many times before when he’s needed to have tricky words with him. “Maybe we should talk about this.”
He glances at Santi briefly - risks it - and sees the fat vein throbbing relentlessly in his forehead. Can imagine his whole body similarly pulsing. Seeing his visible agitation, Frankie gives him time, taking another very deliberate and drawn-out swig of his coffee. Laboriously pondering - with a thinly feigned interest - the activities of the golden lab fetching sticks across the way.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” Santiago bites off after a while, and Frankie tries to obscure the way those words slice through him to his core. Now, he finds that he can’t look back at Santiago, albeit for completely different reasons than before.
Frankie takes a deep, calming breath. Avoids knee-jerk reactions. Tries to remember that this guy rarely says what he means. Starts to wonder, bitterly, if Santiago being so adept at knee-jerk reactions has cumulatively contributed to his joint problems; and then, he bites his lip to avoid saying that out-loud. Instead then, Frankie thinks. Pauses. Turns his body to face Santiago again and waits, until the man finally dares to peek up from under the brim of his cap. Only then does he speak what’s on his mind. Only then does he say what he needs to say, and, regardless of whether Santiago wants to hear it - he needs to. “I don’t regret anything,” Frankie says levelly. As clearly and calmly as possible. “Are you listening? I know what I felt in that room -with you- and I own it. I enjoyed what we did.” He lets the words bed down into Santiago. Knows that his cool, calm authority is just enough to command the space. Enough to avoid the little bastard interjecting before he is done. “I also value our friendship, and I don’t want to put that on the line. So… whatever you want from here goes, okay?”
Frankie genuinely thinks for a moment that he’s nailed it - but he should have known that his buddy wouldn’t be quite so easy to satisfy.
“Whatever I want from here?” Santiago openly scoffs.
“Yeah,” Frankie soothes, searching the other man’s turbulent brown eyes, expression soft and unblinking.
However, as he does so, Frankie suddenly has the awful, dawning feeling that -oh shit- he’s about to be drop-kicked.
“You know what I want from here? I think I want to leave this conversation,” Santi snipes. “This whole thing was clearly a fucking mistake.”
Frankie dares not ask whether Santiago means this conversation, or the whole damn thing. Frankie had been sincere, as per usual, when he’d said he regretted nothing, and pain flashes in his eyes and his gut at the notion Santiago might feel altogether differently.
Of course, though, he thinks. Of course Santiago can’t have a rational conversation about all of this. Has to fly off the handle before Frankie can possibly hope to establish what he truly feels.
So then, with a deep sigh, Frankie watches Santiago stand, the man apparently so in the habit of indulging his own bullshit that he can’t even stop for a fucking second.
“Cabrón,” Frankie says tiredly, standing too as he watches Santiago gather up his things, shoving the items angrily into his pockets.
Jesus.
Frankie suddenly has immense empathy for everything you’d had to deal with when you and Santiago had been together. He had a tendency towards the dramatic, that was for sure. He was also a stubborn bastard, determined to prove himself right. Even if that meant, ultimately, proving he wasn’t good enough for you after all by behaving that way.
Frankie grits his teeth, trying his best not to lose his temper - a rare thing for him as it was, but Santiago certainly testing his patience by being thoroughly infuriating. However, Frankie knows him well enough to know a reaction is exactly what he wants. A reaction so he can blame Frankie. A reaction so that he has an excuse to cut this short. So that he doesn’t actually have to deal with… whatever this is. With whatever he is feeling.
With a huff, then, Santiago next attempts to strip off Frankie’s kindly offered jacket and god; that’s the last straw to him. “Idiota. Eres un maldito burra,” Frankie growls - you’re a fucking donkey- and he strides right up to him, grabbing him squarely by the lapels and forcefully clasping the jacket shut before the bastard can wriggle himself - and his shapely boobs - out of it. “Would you just keep the damn jacket on,” Frankie spits. “There’s no need for you to be fucking cold.”
Frankie’s aggressively delivered kindness appears to shock Santi into submission and silence at least, his eyes going wide and his tongue quitting its wagging long enough to skim along his lower lip as slowly as spark along fuse. And, he does indeed halt his attempts to strip off. However, his nostrils do also flare in annoyance and he shrugs the taller man off of him, turning - dramatically - and marching directly towards his truck.
This dramatic exit leaves Frankie muttering under his breath, spitting expletives in all his tongues. His elbows cutting a sharp shape as he shoves one hand into the back pocket of his jeans, palm towards cheek, and the other palm slipping down his face in exasperation.
Jesus fucking christ.
Where did he go so wrong, huh? He knows this guy. Knows what he needs. Always has. Right? Unless the harsh truth of it is that, even after the impassioned melding of their bodies, Frankie actually doesn’t know Santiago half as well as he thinks.
Frankie thinks on that for a moment, his hand sliding over his scruff.
But.. it just doesn’t sit right with him. Doesn’t sit right because… no. That can’t be right.
There isn’t anybody else who comes close to having Santiago figured out - expect maybe you - and he’s damn sure he can get to the bottom of this. Therefore, suddenly feeling confident again - and determined not to put up with this utter nonsense - Frankie does indeed figure it out. Realises exactly where he’d gone wrong.
Frankie hastens, chasing the man down at a jog until he’s caught up on his little-legged strides. Rounds on his truck, and, as Santiago reaches towards the door handle, he flips around to face Frankie, a disdainful expression on his face.
Frankie doesn’t even wait for whatever bullshit is about to come out of Santiago’s mouth. Instead, he slowly but commandingly walks forward, shoving Santiago back. Pinning his back firmly to the vehicle, pressing him there firmly with the full length of his body. Frankie’s palms press to the glass either side of Santiago’s head. Boxing him in.
Frankie confirms it as he watches Santiago’s pupils blow-out with desire. As he catches the hard swallow dipping down his neck.
Frankie knows exactly where he’d gone wrong now, for sure.
He’d made the mistake you simply can’t make with Santiago. Frankie saying “whatever you want” was the worst thing he could have done, he realises. Because if you leave this insecure bastard to fill in the gaps? He’ll assume you don’t want him at all. You can’t leave him to say it first, or he never will.
Therein lies the impossible contradiction of Santiago Garcia. Tell him you want him, and he’ll run away from your feelings. Don’t tell him you want him and he’ll damn sure run from his own. Somehow, the man is simultaneously both the cockiest and most insecure bastard Frankie has ever known.
Frankie, meanwhile, had never had an issue with committing. With naming what he wanted, no holds barred, and standing by it.
And so, Frankie decides, he must go a little further for Santiago. Make things just a little clearer for him.
“I’m gonna say something, okay?” Frankie rumbles, his hips pinning Santiago’s body in place, the sturdy warmth of him bleeding through denim. Frankie searches his eyes, and Santiago nods meekly. “I want you,” Frankie breathes gruffly up against Santiago’s neck. “Wanted you for years.” He kicks Santiago’s legs apart with his boot, slotting one thigh in between his and letting him feel the urgent bulge at his crotch press firmly up against him. Then, Frankie lets his soft lips travel, grazing them up the column of Santiago’s throat, feeling his pulse point thrum wildly against them. “Want you again.” Ghosting his warm mouth along the stubble at his jaw until his lips hover, an inch away from a kiss and Santiago moans, low and resonant, into the air for him. “You got that, idiota?” Frankie pulls back with satisfaction, upon seeing the cock-drunk haze taking over Santiago’s heavy-lidded eyes. “That more along the lines of what you needed to hear, huh?”
“Uh. Uh huh,” Santiago stutters, and Frankie’s eyes soften with a sudden fondness.
“Good.” He crooks his forefinger under that shapely chin. “Now. We can go back to exactly how it was if you want. That’s okay. But if you do want this to happen again? I’m in. Alright?”
“Uh. Uh huh,” he repeats dumbly, frotting himself against Frankie’s bulging arousal with a hard promise all his own, and now it is Frankie’s turn to stutter as a zip of pleasure throbs all the way down to his balls.
“W-Will’s having people over on Sunday,” Santiago offers, his hands moving to Frankie’s waistband, clamping down on his leather belt and dragging him closer.
Fuck. Frankie’s length is throbbing with how fucking eager Santiago is. With the memory of being buried deep inside of him, years of unspoken tension finally finding an outlet. With how easily he could open him up all over again and find his release.
“No,” Frankie revs, desire churning in the pit of him.
“No?”
“How about sooner?” Frankie rumbles, losing himself a little in the sensations. Coming undone with the proximity. The delicious smell of Santiago’s obnoxious cologne.
And, as if by magic, suddenly, when Frankie’s eyes flutter closed and he releases a thick groan from his throat as Santiago cants his hips up against him, all the man’s smugness comes rushing back - just as forcefully as the blood rushing towards Frankie’s increasingly proud length.
“Wow. I really do look that good in your jacket, huh?” The cocky bastard arcs a thick, suggestive eyebrow, his eyes half-lidded and far too sinful for a man who perpetually carries around a hold-all full of lapsed-Catholic guilt.
“Be careful,” Frankie scolds, and a shit-eating grin splits Santiago’s face, his proud chin jutting out in challenge.
This fucking brat.
“Yeah? Why?”
“Last time, I was easy on you. Next time, I don’t have to be.”
And, despite his brazen, bold words, Frankie dips then to plant the softest, lightest kiss on Santiago’s mouth, stubble grazing against scruff.
He hadn’t realised just how much he had been needing to do that. How much he’d been aching for his soft lips since they’d first collided. And, gaze dancing around Santiago’s pretty face, he feels a rush of affection for the man. A deep need to take care of him. To make him feel safe.
He says so, in different words. “I’m not letting you run, alright?” Frankie breathes, the hypothetical possibility of Santiago ever skipping out on him constricting in his chest. “Not from me. Not after a lifetime.” It pains him that even still, Santiago looks somewhat conflicted. “Believe me,” he reaches to cup his face, the gesture halfway between a buddy’s chastising, harmless slap, and a tender signal of affection. “I already know alllll your bull shit, and you know mine. This doesn’t have to be anything it’s not already. Nothing it hasn’t already been. Nothing’s changed. Okay?”
Santiago seems to ponder this. His mouth pressed into a thin line.
Frankie’s gone out on a limb here, and his heart is in his mouth waiting to find out if the bough under him is about to snap. If he’s about to come crashing down.
Santiago doesn’t say anything for a moment, his dark eyes animated with thoughts. Slightly glassy with emotion. But then, with a sharp intake of breath he dips forward, slanting his supple kiss against Frankie’s mouth. Catching Frankie’s lower lip between his teeth, and ever so deliberately skimming his tongue along it.
Fuck. When he does that, an impossibly bright heat rolls down Frankie’s spine.
“And what is it?” Santiago asks cautiously. “What is this, exactly?”
A valid question. Four of you in an indecipherable tangle, feelings cutting across all corners. Frankie doesn’t know about all that, but he does know something.
And so, Frankie looks Santiago in the eyes. Looks right through the layers - each and every one. Filters through the cheek, the smugness. The lust and the loyalty. The vulnerability; and, eventually, he reaches all the way to that oh so familiar friendship beating right at the heart of this. The thing that feels unshakeable. Feels like solid ground.
He smiles, because the answer’s easy.
“It’s… us.”
“Us,” Santiago repeats levelly, and jeez; Frankie is eminently pleased that the suggestion doesn’t get his hackles up. Doesn’t seem to make him want to run, or to drop-kick Frankie’s affections clean off of him like a bucking luggage-loaded ass.
Simply “us”.
And what’s so scary about that?
It’s not an unknown.
It’s nothing new.
It’s something which has proven itself, time and again. A million times over.
In the next moment then, Frankie pushes himself away from Santiago’s body, creating some space, and taking some pains to slow his ragged breaths. Easing off, before they both get a little too excited - right here and now. Creates some distance, to make sure that Santiago has just a little spare blood to his brain when he receives the next question.
“Think you can handle that?”
Santiago rolls his eyes. Back to his old tricks. “You know you don’t have to be quite so condescending, cabrón?”
Frankie simply smiles with satisfaction, a throaty chuckle sounding out.
Santiago smiles right back.
It feels good, Frankie thinks. Feels good to know that he does knows what Santiago needs after all. Always has.
Nothing has really changed.
Oh, except for…
Santiago leans forward to whisper in Frankie’s ear, hands resting on his shoulders, winding up to the bare skin at the nape of his neck. “By the way.” This man’s sandy voice against the shell of his ear licks sugar down his spine. “When you said ‘sooner’…?”
“Yeah,” Frankie agrees immediately, fishing his car keys out of his jeans and beeping the doors unlocked from all the way across the lot. “See you at your place in 5?”
Santiago laughs. Laughs because of how worked up Frankie’s apparently gotten himself. Laughs, maybe, he hopes, because of how beautiful it is to have found this.
Frankie looks back at him as he nods the affirmative, before preparing to climb into the driver’s side of his own vehicle.
Santiago looks so fucking smug, and oh boy.
Frankie’s fantasised about wiping that smirk off his buddy’s face for decades, and he can’t believe he got so lucky.
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