#this is short enough to not need a read more eh?

[unproduciblesmackdown]

more info, via a couple of reviews:

"Is this the best, most exhilarating, most close-to-perpetual dancing ever to grace the Goodspeed Opera House stage?

It certainly could be.

The new stage adaptation of “Summer Stock” at the East Haddam theater has plenty to recommend it in terms of the canny script and the hummable songs. But it’s the dancing that leaves the biggest impression.

The show is jam-packed with choreography from Donna Feore, who also directs, that is thrillingly executed by the cast.

We’re talking: Gravity-defying kicks. Head-spinning turns. Male dancers lifting and tossing and catching the female ones. It runs the gamut from Cossack-dance athleticism to soft shoe grace, tap precision to Lindy hop energy.

How the cast manages to sing after executing these (literally) breathtaking numbers, I have no idea.

And how do they make it through two performances on some days? Amazing.

Also amazing: the fact that they do all this on Goodspeed’s small stage without making the space feel cramped.

So, yes, the dancing is phenomenal. But there’s more to the show than that.

This stage version of “Summer Stock” — which is enjoying its world premiere at Goodspeed — is inspired by the 1950 MGM movie starring Judy Garland and Gene Kelly. Writer Cheri Steinkellner, though, has reimagined the piece in many ways, making it better, stronger and propelled by a more modern sensibility. (Steinkellner’s writing credits range from “Cheers” to the Broadway adaptation of “Sister Act.”)

The foundational story, though, remains the same: A no-nonsense young woman named Jane is trying to save her family farm. Her actress sister (named Gloria in the version at Goodspeed) brings her compatriots to the farm to rehearse a show. Jane first spars with and then starts falling for Gloria’s beau Joe, the production’s director.

Steinkellner has also changed up the score, to great effect. While some tunes from the movie remain, she has pulled others that are in the public domain (such as “Accentuate the Positive,” “Paper Moon” and “It Had to Be You”), and she has woven them perfectly into various plot points and important emotional moments.

As director, Feore makes sure the whole enterprise has a dynamic spirit. It’s a story and a production that brims with optimism and cheerfulness.

Leading the cast is Corbin Bleu, who became famous with his work in “High School Musical” and has gone on to star in several Broadway shows, as Joe. Bleu is a true, and truly talented, triple-threat. He has a warm, welcoming presence as an actor; he also brings an authority to Joe so you believe he’s someone the actors respect and will follow. Bleu’s singing is strong and lustrous, and his dancing — particularly his tremendous tap ability — is … wow.

Arguably the biggest scene-stealer here is Veanne Cox, as the wealthy, snooty owner of huge property surrounding Jane’s. The way she trills dialogue can turn anything into a punchline. She can wave her arms about as her character repeats “l’amour” and generate audience laughs. When her character falls for the egoistic actor Montgomery Leach (played by J. Anthony Crane with Barrymore flair), Cox burbles with girlish romantic giddiness.

Danielle Wade does her own take on the Judy Garland role. She gives Jane a swagger and a tough façade that reveals a more human self during the course of the story. Wade’s most important feature is her voice, which is potent whether she’s finessing a ballad or powering through a big number. While she can’t compete with Garland’s renowned version of “Get Happy” (who could?), Wade does a good job in the number — choreographed and costumed in an homage to the original — that serves as the culmination of the production.

Arianna Rosario gets to play an interesting arc at Gloria. At first, Gloria seems to be a blithe, self-centered actress, but she later shows that she is quite the problem-solving producer. Rosario makes the transformation believable, as if Gloria is finally letting her real self come through.

The scenic design by Wilson Chin suggests the various elements of a Connecticut River Valley farm in the 1950s while still allowing room for the cast to burst into all of those big dance numbers. And the costume design by Tina McCartney provides a fun and functional take on country clothing of the era.

I will say that the second act could be tightened up (we don’t need to see so many beats of the rehearsal process), but, in total, this “Summer Stock” is sensational." [source]

(hooray for most directly explaining gloria's overall arc)

and the next review:

"A throwback to the golden age of Broadway and movie musicals, "Summer Stock" is a timeless, inspiring song-and-dance tale of good deeds, fairy tale showbiz, classic romance and backstage intrigue played out to such dazzling effect, you want to freeze frame it, take it home with you and watch it over and over again for pure fun and a let's-put-a-smile-on-your-face endorsement. This is Goodspeed Musicals at its best - old-fashioned musical entertainment designed to deliver by the bucket's load, stir the senses, rhythmically intoxicate you and dance up a continual storm of good cheer that's guaranteed to leave you breathless.

Animated. Airborne. Magical. Sweet-natured. Fresh-faced. Dance happy. It's all here, wrapped up in shiny gold ribbons and signature colors that complement and complete the picture with a technicolor flourish, a big bang and an internal logic that flows with appropriate style, stamina, full command and intent.

Adapted to the stage by Cheri Steinkellner, "Summer Stock" replays that popular let's- put-on-a-show conceit where everything rests of the big opening night, the box-office intake, the big kiss between the leading man and the leading lady and how a complete unknown saves the day right before the final fadeout. Here, struggling Connecticut farmer Jane Falbury decides to let her actress sister Abigail and her actor friends from New York use the family barn as a rehearsal space for their brand-new Broadway bound musical in exchange for doing the daily farm chores to raise enough money to keep the business from going completely under. One slight problem. During rehearsals, Jane finds herself falling for the show's handsome director, Joe Ross, who, happens to be engaged to the show's leading lady - her sister Abigail.

Staging "Summer Stock," director Donna Feore ("Chicago," "Billy Elliot," "A Chorus Line"), who doubles as choreographer, creates a loveable, intoxicating show that reels you in, grabs hold of you until the final curtain and lets you fall in love with every little detail, surprise, plot twist, joke, visual gag, one-liner and tilt of her jolly agenda while she articulates every element of this musical story with thrust, warmth, spin and splendid articulation. Directorially, she pulls it off spectacularly. No wrong moves here as "Summer Stock" catches fire with a spark, a gusto, a shine and a 1950s mentality infused with plenty of imagination, originality, style and flair.  More importantly, the production never loses sight of its origins, its functional plotting and its love of musicals of yesteryear despite well-intentioned doses of kitsch, takeaway humor, giddy backchat and story arcs right out of the MGM library of backlot moviemaking.  Feore, free spirit that she is, fuels the musical with a sharpened wit and sentiment that works especially well as does her decision to let "Summer Stock" remain rooted in the period from whence it came in terms of staging, development, expression and interaction. 

Moving from screen to stage," "Summer Stock" retains only four songs from the 1950 MGM musical. The addition of several new songs to the original version of the score turns the two-act musical into more of a showstopping event and adds clarity, luster and vintage spin to its already proven material, its let's launch into another song and dance routine blueprint and its firm grasp on characterization, story evolution and its happily ever after conclusion. At Goodspeed, there are 28 important, recognizable, smartly placed musical numbers. They are:  "Get Happy," "Happy Days Are Here Again/I Want to Be Happy," "Accentuate the Positive," "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows," "Always," "Always (reprise)," "It's Only a Paper Moon," "The Best Things in Life Are Free," "Dig for Your Dinner," "Me and My Shadow," "Howdy Neighbor, Happy Harvest," "Red Hot Mama," " 'Til We Meet Again," "You Wonderful You," "June Night," "Some of These Days," "Joe's Dance," "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows (reprise)," "It All Depends on You," "Always (reprise)," "Everybody Step," "Lucky Day," "How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm," "Hinky-Dinky Parlez Vouz," "It Had to Be You," "Get Happy (reprise)" and "You Wonderful You (Finale)."

Musical director Adam Souza ("42nd Street," "Cabaret," "Next to Normal," "A Grand Night for Singing," "Because of Winn Dixie," "Rags") grabs hold of the "Summer Stock" score and allows it to breathe, gesticulate, excite, envelop and rhapsodize with the golden age sentimentality of MGM movie musicals and the timeless, larger-than-life spirit of old Broadway. Here, every song matters. Every song is important. Every song travels down memory lane. Every song is tuned to the max with sweet, centered, warm-heartedness. Every song fulfills its intended purpose. All of this is complemented by the strong, flavorful sound of Souza's orchestral team, all of whom share his tremendous sense of theatricality, musical interlude, impassioned communication and delight of the actual musical itself.  They are: David Uhl (bass), Sal Ranniello (percussion), Liz Baker Smith (reed 1), Andrew Studenski (reed II), Travis Higgins III (trumpet) and Matthew Russo (trombone). As with other Goodspeed musicals, Souza doubles as conductor and keyboardist. As "Summer Stock" zings and pops, pretty music every song unfolds with a contagious orchestral musical glow, matched by the splendid musicality of the entire cast who address the catchy, homespun music and lyrics with perfect harmony, rhythm, phrasing and nostalgic commitment. These elements heighten the on-stage mode of the production, its progression from Act I to Act II, its send offs, its pastiche and its electrifying, barn-raising influence and thwack.

As with any big stage musical, choreography is key to a production's success, its fluidity of form, its artistic expression and its accompanying dance routines. Here, Feore, as choreographer, gives "Summer Stock" a highly personal touch of invigoration and speedy excitement that is tipped and generated with wonderfully elongated inspiration, stamina and determination. This is star quality choreography that peaks, shines and tilts with clever build ups, catchy dance steps and bold, concentrated rhythms, moves and beats that joyfully celebrate 1950's musicals in all their technicolor glory.   As storyteller and dance interpreter, she brings great dimension and scope to the piece using techniques, styles, descriptions and an enriched canvas of thoughts and ideas that make their mark most engagingly. Everything that happens on the Goodspeed Musicals stage has been beautifully blocked, rehearsed and staged with such thrust and individuality, no two dance numbers are alike. In fact, once "Summer Stock" catches fire, there's no stopping it.  Creating a freshly minted fusion of moods, tableaus, lifts, twirls and swirls, Feore pays homage to the actual vintage look and mindset of the musical, its dance-friendly art form and its free-flowing feel of excitement and exhilaration. Hands pop. Arms move heavenward. Dancers smile and glisten as they passionately ignite into joyful visions of sweetness, passion, frenzy and syncopation. Everyone is lost in the moment illustrating the traditions, the conscience and the power of musical theatre, giving and getting the most out of Feore's phenomenal, ovation-worthy choreography. Trained, drilled and confident, they each get a chance to shine - and shine they do - all making strong impressions that will live long in memory.

Making his Goodspeed Musicals debut, Corbin Bleu, as Joe Ross, a character originated by Gene Kelly in the 1950 film version, creates a "Wow!" song-and-dance-man factor chock full of charm, personality, self-confidence and full-beam, champagne delightness that astounds, cajoles and sparkles with leading man gait and luxury like no other. No matter what he does, he's a proverbial triple-threat (i.e., a player who excels at acting, singing and dancing) who makes everything that happens on stage feel fresh, spontaneous, real, raw and very much in the moment. It's in his eyes. It's in his moves. It's in his expressions. Exhibiting a sweet, contagious rapport that extends far beyond the footlights, it's the performance of the year and one that Bleu exudes with a Gene Kelly/Fred Astaire aura of showbiz savvy, knockabout whimsy, graceful athleticism and sterling encapsulation. "Joe's Dance," a solo dance number in Act II performed by Bleu only furthers that notion.

In the role of Jane Falbury, a role made famous by Judy Garland in the original "Summer Stock" MGM musical, Danielle Wade lights up the Goodspeed Musicals stage with a breezy, intuitive musical comedy performance of real warmth and spirit that is a constant joy to watch. Veanne Cox, cast in the role of the wickedly devious Connecticut farming magnate Margaret Wingate, is jaw-dropping brilliant, using humor, music, dance and melodrama in divinely daft and glorious ways that prompt applause and laughter whenever she's in the limelight. It's a scene-stealing performance so seamlessly entrenched in glee and fiery abandon, Cox, would be the ideal choice to play narcissistic Broadway diva Dee Dee Allen in the 2024 summer presentation of "The Prom" at Playhouse in Park in West Hartford. I'll personally deliver the contract. Other memorable performances are delivered by Arianna Rosario (Gloria Falbury), Stephen Lee Anderson (Henry "Pop" Falbury), Gilbert L. Bailey II (Phil Filmore), Will Roland (Orville Wingate) and J. Anthony Crane (Montgomery Leach). A musical escape brimming with delightful songs, engaging performances and full-beam dance numbers, "Summer Stock" is not only a bubbly tonic for theatergoers of all ages, but one that kicks nostalgia into high gear with uncomplicated bliss, fizz and vintage sparkle. It sings. It dances. It pops. It dazzles. Like "42nd Street" which played Goodspeed Musicals last season, it overflows with Kelly/Astaire lightness, punch and precision, sunny vibes and well-played exactitude. The energy displayed here is fast and furious with first-night exhilaration and thrill paired especially well with Corbin Bleu's charming star turn, Danielle Wade's joyous "Get Happy" abandon and Veanne Cox's well-prepped, icy cool villain. This is musical theatre of the highest order - infectious, irresistible, glorious. Its leave-your-troubles-at-the-door/Let's-put-on-a-show mentality accelerates with sparkle and cherry pie goodness. And boy, do we need it now!" [source]

(the reference to jane's sister abigail uses the film's names: abigail becomes gloria in this production, which is the name of abigail's actor in the film, which also mirrors how the role of herb is now phil, also the name of herb's actor in the film)

(also shoutout to providing A Full, Chronological List Of Songs. noting that according to another interview, intermission would be between "you wonderful you" and "june night")

#summer stock #dearth of peak relevant info for our purposes otherwise lol but hey #pressing f for danielle wade's performance Tending to be juxtaposed w/either corbin bleu's or judy garland's #which in fact doesn't always mean their going ''eh comes up short Relative to that comparison but good enough'' but yknow #also that role just isn't gonna be designed to be the most thrilling lol...let's get those character(tm) parts babeyyy #further photos of that preview performance do suggest there's more like midshow conflict b/w jane & gloria vs Only getting along great.... #and intrigued here if it's like yeah gloria can be written to have Flaws kiiinda like the film dunking on her though not as much as it #(though not as much as it might've; parallel to orville; relevant to their compatibility lol though in this show it indeed just might not #go for ''conveniently gloria's also always already liked him & orville's just glad someone's being nice to him'' lmao. & in fact yes the #material already in the film was like hm sure could be the queer readings in these ''so you're doing cishettery wrong'' roles here #and going aw man wrt the comedy boys herb/phil & orville/orville not getting to interact more #herb getting to make One reference to kinda being the outsider/misfit even amongst the troupe like hey more abt that? what's your job also #meanwhile yeah you can do something like ''oh gloria has this idea re: being The Star but isn't actually as interested in that Process'' #but that then instead of that Just being her at odds w/jane & her coming up short she can have her own arc still #finding out what behind the scenes work she Does want to do; jane & gloria of course ending up being mutually supportive one imagines #rather than jane Just being freer from Dealing With her lesser sister or what have you; whom can graciously enough accept this #and ofc we don't Need the partner swaps for everyone's guaranteed happiness communicated through ''they're not single'' #whilest the lack of [oh this backup relationship was here the whole time kind of] does make your potential love triangle trickier then lol #hence perhaps some more significant conflict if you're like kissing your sister's date or what have you & she can't Just(tm) have yours #but then being The Lead can't be the ultimate of All [doing theatre]; having kissing status w/a guy isn't the ultimate of all Arcs/Life #(though noting tim wasn't Relieved if another ostensibly straight romance; a cliche in the modern musical; wasn't shoehorned in there...) #(also the awkward notes about Male Dancers and The Female Ones like alright? supposed relevance Where?) #long post ///

[rileysluvr]

super short price nsfw because i am his girlie til the day i die. he’s a bit of a meanie in this one tho so read with caution!!

“Again,” he orders.

You take a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to somewhat ground yourself, but it’s a difficult feat when you're being held down on your surperior’s hard lap by his big arm splayed over your hips. A thick, dusty book on the desk in front of you, flipped to the page that entirely covers the military-workplace regulations he was scolding you for until tears began to bead at your waterline. You don’t think you’ve ever been this humiliated.

Your vision is blurry, and it’s at that point where your memory serves you better than what you’ve been ordered to do, which is to read until you can’t. He’s broken you down to a writhing mess atop his thigh as both of yours can only drape over one of his huge ones. Back flush against his chest with his palm rubbing your pussy in all the right ways; you swallow thickly, wondering if you can even go on any longer in this state.

“Fifty-nine, oh-one: ‘Service personnel are to wear-” you pause to breathe, fighting back a stutter, “…appropriate regulation uniform on duty—”

A bashful whimper cuts you off mid-recitement as he somehow manages to shove his two fingers even deeper into your cunt, nudging against your nerves rather harshly. Your legs squeeze around his thigh and your hands twitch in their place wrapped around to your sides. All the willpower in your body being used to keep yourself from bucking your hips forward and earning another half-hour of degrading names and treatment.

“Did you hear me tellin’ you to stop?” he barks, but it’s in that calmer manner that spins your mind around until you can’t decipher the difference between anger and sympathy. You shake your head, and you don’t need to have a visual on his face to feel the disapproval teetering off his bitten tongue and firm expression. “Then why don’t I hear you reading, eh?”

Your voice trembles, almost enough for him to take pity on you; “Sir, please- I’m trying.”

You weren’t even on duty today, for fuck’s sake. You had stopped by to pick up a personal belonging, only to be reminded how your captain views you as his own the second you step foot through the base’s front gate. And you were never good at avoiding his stalking gaze, especially when he’s got access to eyes stationed at every nook and corner.

“Christ, y’need me to spell it out for you? Is that it?” he scoffs. “How many times’ve we been over this?”

The way he berates and babies you has your cheeks stained and glistening with tears, and your mind all jumbled considering how easily he switches back and forth from mean to soft. Soft like how his fingers pull out and away from your cunt and hold themselves just far enough to make you shift your hips forward in search of them, only to be held back by his arm’s weight. Mean like his spat words and the grip with which he grabs your jaw, squeezing tight and puffing your cheeks out a bit in an attempt to get you to focus; to knock some sense into that strained, precious little brain of yours.

“Pretty fuckin’ simple task for a soldier, if y’ask me.”

Because deep down, he truly cares about your well-being. He only wants the best for his girl, and the dynamic between you.

And you wouldn’t want to disappoint your superior even more than you already have, now, would you?

He lets go of your face to allow you to finish, a nervous and newfound quietness croaking in your throat in addition to your already shy voice after his display of aggression; “—except when otherwise ordered by a Commanding Officer…’”

“Good girl,” he drags upon your completion, along with his hand that sneaks back into your panties. You jump from the coldness of his skin but he barely pays any mind to it. “Keep going for me, now, pretty. Go ‘head and skip some.”

It’s a repeated process; you recite what you know, mess up due to his cruel ways of sadistic teasing, and watch on from the outside as your self-respect crumbles so easily. You acknowledge it, you feel it, and you willingly ignore it because you know that whatever he plans on giving you afterwards will far surpass any other means to pleasure.

His time, his teachings and guidance, his own pleasure. They’re better than gifts, really.

“‘No item of uniform which has not been authorized is to be worn.’” You mumble for the entirety of the final sentence, now expecting him to get on you for not speaking clearly enough.

Instead, his middle finger delves between your folds and dips into your cunt at last, ripping a hiss and another whine from high in your throat from his rough treatment.

“And who authorizes your uniform?” he finally asks.

He adds his ring finger and the fullness in your cunt would be uncomfortable if the heel of his palm wasn’t digging into your clit at the particular angle. It numbs the stretch and your worries, so much so you nearly forget what he had asked you.

You gasp, eyes shooting open to meet cold, empty office in stark contrast to the warm, staggering frame pressed up against your back. Every muscle and every flex beneath the cotton material of his shirt being embedded into your mind.

“You do, Sir—mph!—it’s only you.”

An approving rumble from his chest vibrates against your back, and you lean into him with a soft moan when he curls his fingers upward in that way he knows you respond to the best. Head leant back on his shoulder, you hold onto his arm to stabilize your spinning mind once he begins slipping his rough fingers in and out of your sensitive pussy more firmly.

“So you show up to base in this pretty, little dress on your off-day, and expect to leave here without any punishment?”

His words exceed intimidating to a great extent, but the way he coos them so gently right by your ear leads directly to you scrambling them into nothing more than sweet blurbs and mumbles. He continues his short scolding as if he doesn’t know how dumb he’s got you already, ready to make you bite the consequences for your inability to respond to him later.

“Distractin’ me ‘nd all the other men here while we work, like you don’t know what your body does to them. What you’re worth around here, to the lot of bastards falling asleep with their dicks in their hands to the pretty image of you dressed like this,” he emphasizes with the tug of your dress’s ending hem.

“Sir,” you whine, not paying a single nod to his language because your numbed mind can simply no longer compute it. Muffled and unclear, though the mean and deep drawl that bleeds through pushes you all the much closer to bliss.

“Feels good, I—please… ’m so, so close, Sir—!”

You whine and clasp your hand down on his arm for some sort of spiritual stabilization, and he only picks up the pace. He works you up so quickly after edging you for what felt like hours, as this time he gives absolutely no notion to relenting.

“That right?” Of course, you can’t respond with much more than a whimper as you rock your hips back and forth on his hard thigh, his skilled fingers working you up to ecstasy.

“Yes, yes ‘m gonna—it’s too much, Sir, ‘m gonna come—!”

He chuckles, his arm around your waist pulling you impossibly closer into him. You convulse around his fingers and moan through your high as he militantly, yet somehow so expertly, turns your vision to stars and your limbs into a limp mess atop him. It’s like he knows your body better than you do yourself, making you come harder with his fingers alone than anyone has ever. You thank him profusely, soft words of mantra like music to his ears as he decides what to do with you next.

He gives you no time to recover before he’s wrapping both his hefty arms around you and hauling you up in front of him, big palm instantly meeting with your shoulder blade to shove you down on the wooden desk and ripping a gasp from high in your lungs. He leans over you, caging you in as he soothes his hand across your forehead; his version of intimacy, and whatnot.

You’re panting, utterly exasperated, but simply can’t help the way you wiggle your hips back against his to chase that good friction. He laughs at your display of neediness for his cock, knowing it’ll be a much longer while before he’ll let you have it.

“My stupid fuckin’ toy,” he mutters softly against your skin, and it sounds just as good as any flattering compliment would.

He takes the hem of your dress and hikes it up to reveal your ass, humming at the sight before leaning back in to kiss your temple. Facial hair tickling and invading your senses, nearly feeling like a sweet treat to shush the way you whine out with his hard bulge pressed up against where you’re most sensitive.

Thoughts of what he could do to you right now running rampant through both of your minds, none differing from each other nor unwanted from either party.

“You’re gonna let me use this body however I like, until you learn to behave yourself ‘round your coworkers. Till you learn a fuckin’ lesson for once. Sound quite alright, sweetheart?”

#cod mw2 #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price smut

[roosterr]

i've known war

john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader wc: 9.3k (whoops) summary: you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. warnings: established relationship, angst and sadness and depression, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, graphic description of injury, mentions of torture, eventual happy ending, military and medical inaccuracies, pls ignore any plot holes i beg

requested here! follow up to love you from afar, but can be read as a standalone. im so sorry this took me so long to write lmao.

it always feels like the first time when you kiss him. even now, years down the line, the sparks, the warmth, the daze that you leave him in; he truly believes it will never get old.

the way you look, standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, it makes his head feel so fuzzy he almost forgets why you're all here in the first place.

it's the sweet sound of his name passing your lips that pulls him back to the present, your voice sending his stomach fluttering.

"earth to johnny," you chuckle, turning to face him and resting your weight against one side of the open door, "what're you thinking so hard about?"

he can't help the smile that breaks out at the sound of your laughter. "just you." johnny replies, closing the small distance between you and snaking an arm around your waist. you smile as he leans in closer, murmuring low in your ear, "and, how i cannae wait to get ye home."

you laugh again, placing a hand on his chest but not quite pushing him back. "we've got a job to do first."

he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. "then we'd better get a move on, eh?"

"i'll race you," you grin at him, haloed by the light of the sun so beautifully he has to snap himself out of his reverence to respond.

"oh, you're on." 

perhaps it was slightly irresponsible the way he was rushing the others along for his own gain, but within a matter of minutes they're breaching the facility and well on their way to being done with this.

it's only when he's stalking along a dimly lit corridor that he slows down. something was bothering him, an off feeling in the back of his mind that he just can't ignore.

before he can think about it any further, a boom shakes the walls, filling the air with dust and obscuring his vision even more. it was close enough to start a faint ringing in his ears, coming from back the way he came; where he'd split up with ghost and, more importantly, you.

he should stay on target, continue with what they're here to do, his job – but what if you were in trouble? if there's a chance you need his help, he couldn't risk it. it takes less than a second for him to turn back, making the decision to check on what caused the explosion before continuing.

quietly stalking back down the corridor, it takes him slightly longer to register the fact that he hasn't heard anything over the radio; no updates, no clever remarks from ghost, nothing. they worked not fifteen minutes ago, just after you'd split up and checked them. surely nothing could've happened in such a short space of time?

he does his best to push through the sinking feeling that tries to drag him down, but it's stubborn, creeping in from the corners of his mind.

he reaches where he left you in half the time it took him to walk away, the intersection of two corridors just as empty as the rest of the halls. he points his flashlight in the direction you went, and the feeling in his gut gets worse.

something glinting in the light catches his attention. the end of the corridor is collapsed, when it definitely hadn't been before, but it's what lies in front of the rubble that he zeroes in on. partially obscured by the layer of filth and blood coating it, there's no mistaking it when he kneels down, dropping his rifle to the ground beside him, and carefully takes the metal in his trembling hand.

it's a pair of id tags.

he numbly calls your name. it bounces off the walls and echoes back to him. the blood runs through the creases of his hand, staining the flesh. the letters of your name are clear through the dirt.

no. you can't be gone.

he looks up to the rubble, shrouded in darkness, back down to your tags, back up to the rubble, and there's a hand just visible under the concrete that looks sickeningly like yours and–

he tears his gaze away, back down to your tags. the chain is snapped, like it had been ripped off in a hurry, as if you'd known you were going to die and wanted to make sure he would find them–

no, no no. you're not dead. you can't be. he just saw you fifteen minutes ago, he bumped his helmet against yours in lieu of a kiss like he always did before you parted ways. you were fine and you were smiling at him. it was only fifteen minutes, you were right here, he can still hear your voice taunting him about the race between you, it was only fifteen minutes–

a heavy hand comes down on johnny's shoulder, startling him out of his panicked daze and instinctively he jumps up and swings his arm at whoever stuck up on him.

ghost catches his forearm easily, his eyes moving between your tags clutched in johnny's fist to the wreckage behind him. when he meets johnny's watery eyes again, the coldness in his gaze seems to soften as he arrives at the same conclusion.

the ringing in johnny's ears hasn't left. in fact, it's gotten worse.

"we– we gotta find 'em," johnny's breath comes out shallow and ragged, the panic slowly rising in his chest through the initial numbness. "fucks sake, they cannae– we– we–"

"johnny." ghost interrupts his sputtering short, bracing both hands on his biceps and giving him a gentle, grounding shake. "...come on."

"no! simon we–" his breath catches in his throat, heart constricting painfully beneath his sternum as he grips the front of ghost's vest in desperation. why was ghost giving up so easily? didn't he care? didn't he want to find you?

ghost lowers his gaze, tearing away from the distraught expression on the sergeant's face. "they're gone, soap."

"shut the fuck up!" johnny growls, despair seeping into his voice with every second that passes without you. he tries to shake ghost's hands off, but he doesn't budge. "ye dinnae ken that! they're still here somewhere, we cannae leave without 'em!"

he's gripping your tags like a lifeline, the metal searing against his palm and heavier than anything else he'd ever carried. he shouldn't have them, they shouldn't be in his hand, they should be around your neck, you should be here, with him, and not…

it's too much. his knees give out from under him and, despite ghost's firm grip on his shoulders, he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

"simon, fuck– please…" it's a whisper, under his breath, but he knows ghost heard from how he crouches down beside him, laying an arm over his heaving shoulders as he steadily begins to sob.

it's not real. it can't be real. he wants this to be a nightmare so fucking badly, but the pain in his chest is far too real, his tears burning tracks down his face, the weight of your absence pressing down on him and crushing him under the pressure.

he barely notices when price and gaz appear in the hall ahead of them, just about registering the sound of the debris crunching under their boots as they approach. the pair don't say anything as they take in the scene, looking down with furrowed brows at where johnny and ghost are crouched on the floor.

the captain opens his mouth to ask, but ghost cuts him of with a solemn shake of his head.

words are exchanged, but johnny doesn't hear them. his head feels impossibly light, an expanding pressure beneath his temples that makes it hard to think. the ringing keeps getting worse.

the sound of gunfire makes it through the fog. gaz and ghost each take one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and essentially dragging him after the captain as they make their way back out of the building. he can't bring himself to fight them. he blinks, and finds himself strapped into his seat, the one next to him hauntingly empty.

price is talking into the radio, to laswell he assumes, but johnny doesn't register anything he says – anything except the last two words:

"...one k.i.a."

the air is thick with a kind of tension he's never felt before, a shroud of numbness that he can't seem to shake. when they land it follows them, seeping into the air on base and pushing down on whoever crosses their path. none of them have to ask to understand what happened.

johnny keeps your tags, clutches them close to his heart, and practically bites the head off of anyone who tries to take them from his white-knuckled grip, even as he gets checked out in the medical wing. his quietness puts the medics on edge, he can tell. something about the way he doesn't even flinch when they cleanse his wounds, the polar opposite to his his usual talkative nature, it tells them there's no use trying to console him. they try to convince him to let the tags go, but he doesn't acknowledge their words.

the broken chain stays firmly wrapped around his palm until he's staring down his own hollow face in the bathroom mirror. he'd turned the sink on fifteen minutes ago to wash the blood away, the water so hot it fogs up his reflection, but he can't bring himself to put his hands under the stream.

because it's your blood, not just the usual grime from missions. if he washes it off, he's washing you off, and he doesn't want to do that, no matter how disgusting it is.

there's a knock at the door, and only then does he realise how long he's been staring at the red that decorates his hands. he still makes no effort to move. 

despite his lack of response, gaz opens the door and meets his eyes in the mirror. there's a pause as he waits for johnny to say something, but when he only lets the silence go on, he takes it upon himself to approach.

"soap…" he utters, brows tilting in concern watching his friend continue to stare absently into the mirror. with a deep sigh, kyle takes his empty fist and pries his fingers from his palm. johnny's eyes gravitate to the fresh blood that wells up in the crescent indents. watching the red droplets fall, disappearing into the running water, the pain finally registering in his mind when kyle presses a cloth to his hand.

the sting of the hot water is there, a distant feeling as johnny allows him to wash the blood away, never saying a word as he watches kyle's efforts, like an observer of his own form, right there but looking in from the outside.

kyle reaches for your tags, but his fingers barely brush the metal before johnny is shoving him back with a rush of anger that happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process his own reaction.

with a thud, kyle's back hits the wall and for a moment neither of them dare move. they watch each other in silence, wide-eyed shock mirrored in both their expressions.

"i…" i'm sorry. the words catch in his chest, falling into the void there and never escaping for gaz to hear. he can't let him touch your tags. it's the only part of you he has left. "...don't touch 'em."

kyle squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch them." his tone is low and careful as he steps closer again, hands open so johnny can see them. he feels like a feral animal, being coaxed to let kyle approach. "but you need to rest, mate."

the weeks blend together after that day. some days johnny feels like the shock will never wear off, like he's living on autopilot. others, it all comes crashing down on him and even dragging himself out of bed becomes a challenge.

his dreams are plagued with images of you, lifeless and cold. it stops him from sleeping most nights, but others are filled with memories of your life together playing on loop, a constant reminder of what he can never have again.

the room you used to share is always filled with flowers; gardenias, gladioli, forget-me-nots, and anything else he sees that he thinks you'd like. when they wilt, and eventually die, he presses the petals in the pages of his sketchbook, keeping them in a box next to the very first flowers he ever got you, the memories preserved forever under your – his bed.

that same sketchbook that's filled with page after page of your image, some from the multitude of pictures he keeps of you, and when he inevitably runs out of references, he draws you from memory. it gets to the point where he can't pick up a pencil without your face haunting him; you always did love his art, even if he didn't think it was any good.

he knows he's not the only one taking it hard. the others are different too; gaz is quieter, something more serious in his eyes now. the captain doesn't appear moved on the surface, and neither does ghost, but when they look at the empty seat where you used to sit, the memory of you is evident in the way their shoulders deflate ever so slightly.

once word spreads about what exactly happened, the never-ending condolences and pitying looks from the people around base gets old very quickly. they tell him how they're so sorry for his loss and what happened to you was so tragic, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up in his chest when they talk about you.

he doesn't want to hear it, and every time he has to listen to their pitying comments it only makes him resent them more. they didn't know you, they didn’t care, they probably didn't even know who you were before you died. they could never hope to understand what you meant to him, to the taskforce, the gap in their team that you left behind.

it's when someone suggests moving on from you that it all finally bubbles over.

six months later, a long time since that day but somehow no time at all. he'd gone out for drinks for the first time in a while, after some gentle coercion from simon, along with another group of soldiers staying on base.

he didn't even want to go, not really, but something in him knew he couldn't carry on like he had been. he needed some form of normalcy, one night where he can pretend everything is fine and you're just waiting for him back home, to just forget.

it didn't take him long to realise going out with them was a mistake. almost immediately he was dragged into a conversation with a few guys from another unit, and despite his many attempts they just wouldn't leave him be.

somehow, after about an hour of mindless chatter, they land on the topic of their love lives and recent conquests, and johnny immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. he wanted to slip away, avoid what he knew was coming at any cost, but he couldn't get away fast enough.

one of them brings up your name, they all look to him with a sort of curiosity that makes his skin crawl. they ask him if he's planning on staying hung up on you forever. johnny says it's only been six months. one of them laughs and tells him it's just sad, and from the looks of it you weren't anything special.

johnny smashes a glass over his head. price benches him for a few weeks after that.

it's hell, being left behind, alone, while the others went on like usual, and truthfully he starts to resent them all, bit by bit from the first time he's left on the tarmac. it felt like they didn't care, that johnny's heart, his life, his soul has changed but they carried on without looking back once. he isolates and shuts them out in a fit of misplaced anger, building the walls around his heart higher and higher and letting that resentment fester.

the day of your funeral brings it all crashing down. after all those months of waiting, johnny didn't even make it more than five lines into the speech he'd prepared before he's breaking down and stumbling out the side door in a hyperventilating mess. simon follows behind like his shadow, sitting down with him when he slides down the wall with a hand clutching his chest. he cries into simon's shoulder for rest of the service, releasing all the pent up anguish he'd been trying to keep inside in a catharsis he didn't realise he needed. 

when they get back to base the next morning, johnny’s practically begging to be allowed back in the field. he found himself missing the chaos, the unpredictability of the battlefield was where he was in his element. this job was how you met, how you got together, how you lived. he never felt closer to you than when he was out in the field with adrenaline pumping through his veins.

it takes some convincing, but price gives in and everything feels like it's back to normal. missions are quieter than they'd ever been, but johnny finds it doesn't bother him anymore. he feels your presence by his side like the sun on his back, always with him, like his guardian angel.

it's six more months before anything changes.

in the back of the helicopter, a few minutes out from the landing site, an oddly comforting sense of déjà vu washes over him. the bright blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of the sun on his skin, he almost feels that if he turned to his left, he'd see you sitting there with that same smile lighting up your face.

his fingers tighten around your tags.

"you watchin', bonnie?" he presses his lips to the cool metal, feeling your name under his skin as he mumbles to himself. his gaze finds the roof of the helicopter, and even without looking he knows the others are watching him, that familiar solemn look on their faces.

they were doing this for you. everything johnny did was for you. he puts your tags safely away in the pocket if his vest closest to his heart.

the helicopter jolts as it lands, and with no more than a second's hesitation he's shooting up from his seat, a renewed energy flooding his body to the tips of his fingers. they step out into the biting air, a chill than not even the afternoon sun could stave off, and quickly begin their march into the small facility.

"you two, take that side. gaz, with me." price commands, and with a sharp nod from the three of them, they split up and begin their canvassing. they were here for intel, but there was no guarantee they were alone, despite the emptiness of the halls they move through.

their footsteps echo off the walls, only the distant howling of the wind outside to accompany them. the hairs on the back of johnny's neck were on end, an unease setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind following behind ghost.

the déjà vu from earlier isn't comforting anymore. he doesn't feel you watching over him, and the feeling only gets stronger as they approach a doorway ahead, bathed in a red light.

ghost pauses in the entrance, looking back at johnny and waiting for his affirming nod before pushing forward. the room is empty, the same as the rest of the building, save for the table sitting against the far wall.

there's something else there, he notices as he creeps closer to get a better look. a frown darkens his expression. it's a laptop, untouched and central on the table, a strange contrast to the almost methodical emptiness around it.

"oi, check this." johnny calls, turning around as ghost stalks over with a similar confusion on his face.

"that what we're here for?" he asks, examining the laptop with a deep frown casting shadow over his eyes.

"looks like it." johnny replies, slowly and carefully picking it up as his frown deepens. he was half expecting it to somehow blow up, but when he lifts the screen it lights up to the desktop with no issue. "that's convenient."

"very convenient..." ghost grunts, jerking his head in the direction of the door and speaking into the radio as he walks ahead of johnny. "price, we've got it. headin' to exfil now."

back on base a few hours later, the four of them with the addition of laswell sit around the table in a meeting room with the doors firmly shut, eyes locked onto the laptop with rapt tension as gaz opens the only file they could recover from the device.

the video starts abruptly with 'the mask' – the pretentious alias of man that heads the organisation they've been steadily eliminating all this time – in front of the camera, the dingy room behind him barely lit, the walls splattered with what johnny could only assume was blood.

"i trust that my message has found you well, task force one-four-one." his voice comes through the speakers, crackly and distorted by the low quality recording. "you have been relentless in your pursuit of us, and i applaud you for your efforts, but it's time to put an end to this."

johnny looks back at price, watching as his expression hardens and his fingers dig into his arms where they're crossed over his chest. it's obvious they've been set up, but it's too late to be concerned with that now. the problem now is how they're going to continue knowing the enemy has information on them that they shouldn't have.

the sound of something being dragged brings his attention back to the video, facing the screen again to see another masked man dumping a person with a bag over their head onto a chair in the centre of the room.

"i have something i believe you will be interested in." the chuckle is audible in his voice even beneath the mask and through the screen.

their wrists and ankles are tied together, and if it weren't for the laboured rise and fall of their chest, johnny wouldn't be sure if they were even alive.

"fuck– a hostage?" price spits, and even without looking he knows laswell is already working on finding a location, if the sound of her rapidly typing is any indication.

"something very… precious to you."

the figure moves to stand behind the person in the chair and yanks the bag from their head. he grabs their jaw and forces them to look up, a sickening laugh meeting johnny's ears as they make eye contact with the camera. 

it's…

it's you.

you're beaten and bruised and covered head to toe in blood, but it's undoubtedly you when the faceless man yanks your head up.

johnny's sure his heart stops.

you're alive. you've been alive all this time. in the hands of a terrorist, and within an inch of your life, but…

you're alive.

"drop your investigation of us, and i will let them live." the masked man stalks back around to your side, still holding your jaw in a vice grip. the way you cower, as much as you can with that man's filthy hands on you, it breaks something in johnny. how long have you been in their hands, how long have you been abused by them?

how long have you been waiting for him?

he feels sick to his stomach, but he can't tear his eyes away. the lacerations on your face, the endless bruises littering your skin – when he spots the ones around your neck, he has to swallow down the bile – and how you just seem so tired, barely even fighting to keep your eyes open.

the masked man looks down to you again, pausing as he directs you to look at him through what seems like a black eye. the five of them watch, frozen by shock or anger or both, as the man rears his hand back and slaps you across the face so hard your head whips in the other direction. a pained, defeated sound escapes you, and johnny’s sure a knife to the chest would hurt less.

"do not disappoint me, captain price, or your sergeant will regret it."

the video cuts to black.

the sight of your face is burned into johnny's retinas, every time he blinks your features are there, dripping in your own blood, the only thing he can see.

"kate, tell me you can find this." price growls behind him, his words sounding distant to johnny's ears.

she hums distractedly. "working on it."

their conversation doesn't register, floating in one ear and straight out the other. you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. it's like his prayers have been answered for once in his life, and it may be some cruel trick from god to find you like this but johnny finds himself praying his thanks anyway.

"johnny…?" simon lays a hand on his shoulder, turning him in his chair to make worried eye contact with his shell-shocked expression. it jolts him out of his thoughts, the energy of the room a controlled kind of frantic as he comes back down to earth.

"that's– it's them, they're–" johnny sputters, gripping ghost's forearm with an absent desperation in his glassy eyes, "simon, they're alive."

he can't stop thinking about how empty your expression looked, the way you didn't have any fight left, and the gravity of what's been happening to you since the moment he lost you slowly creeps up on him.

have you given up hope of them finding you?

"we'll get 'em back, soap, listen to me," price drops a heavy, grounding hand on his other shoulder, halting his spiralling train of thought, "they're comin' home." his voice is resolute, no room for argument where he speaks it almost like a command.

johnny can only nod. 

his head is still light as more rushed conversation happens around him. simon's hand is still on his shoulder, and that might be the only reason he hasn't completely fallen apart yet, but the thread is pulling taught enough to snap. his nails carve dents into his palms but he doesn't have the mind to unfurl them.

"sir, we've got a hit." gaz speaks up from where he's leaned over kate's shoulder, a determined glint in his eye when he meets the captain's gaze. johnny’s head snaps in his direction, his pulse quickening with every word that sparks new hope in his chest. "two hundred klicks northeast of where we found the laptop."

"good work, you two," price is pacing back and forth, scratching his beard with a calculating look on his face. they watch him for a moment, waiting for his command on what their next move will be, but johnny finds his patience wearing incredibly thin.

"the fuck we waitin' for? let's get out there'n go after the wee bastards!" he growls, his narrowed gaze darting between price and the others as he steadily grows more and more restless.

simon shakes his head from beside him, "hold your horses."

"this is delicate, we have to do this one right." price pauses, his eyes losing their hardness as he meets johnny's desperate face. "i know how much this means to you, but you're too close to this, soap."

the pause that follows that is so thick with tension it makes it hard to breath. a boiling type of rage bubbles up in his chest, extending to every trembling limb and turning his vision red. there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be there for you every step of the way when – not if – they rescued you.

"ye can get yersel' right tae fuck!" he spits, his face contorted with anger as he shoots up from his chair and points an accusatory finger at the captain. "that's too far, price, ye cannae keep me outta this!"

"johnny, sit down." simon warns, using the hand still on his shoulder to put some space between him and price, but johnny doesn't budge; this was far too important.

"yer aff yer heid, both of ye's! if ye won't let me come, i'll go mysel', ye fuckin' hear?" he growls, shaking free of simon's hand. his glare travels between him and price, hands wound into fists at his sides.

the air turns heavy as they stare each other down. if price thinks he'll back down on this, johnny would love nothing more than to prove him wrong.

he's moments away from meeting his fist to price's face when gaz stands up and gets between them. "that's his other half, sir. respectfully, he deserves to be part of this." he reasons, giving price a firm look and a small nod to johnny. "you'd be the same in his position."

the tension is palpable. he watches  over gaz's shoulder as the captain deliberates, clearly having an internal battle over the decision, but eventually he sighs and fixes johnny with a stern look.

price closes the distance between them, patting gaz on the arm as he passes. "screw your head on, mactavish. we only get one shot at this, i need to know i can trust you not to fuck it up."

a spark of hope makes johnny's heart race, and he gives price a single resolute nod of confirmation. "i won't, sir."

laswell stands and walks around the table to stand beside price, a similarly firm expression. "we have to play this carefully. they wanted us to find that laptop, i have no doubt they wanted us to find where they are too."

"so what's our angle?" gaz asks.

laswell and price share a look.

"this has to be off the books, there's no way we'll get clearance for this." laswell answers, her expression turning noticeably darker, looking over to price as she continues, "if we want them back alive, we'll have to act fast. that means we're on our own."

the captain nods with no hesitation. "we are getting my sergeant back. i don't care how we have to do it."

they're loading into the back of a helo not even an hour later. the five of them, along with two field medics and the pilot, with the strict instructions in johnny's head to bring you home or to not come back at all.

there's only one coherent thought racing through his mind for the entire; you. getting you back, taking you home, finding the man that took you away from him – and hurt you – and making him pay.

he fishes your tags out of his pocket and presses them to his lips in a lingering kiss, just like he always does. soon, he thinks, it would be you he'd be kissing, not just a remnant of you.

the flight passes by so quickly it's almost as if he'd blinked and they were landing again.

the air is glacial as they ready themselves, preparing for the mask to put up a fight that they fully intend to win. the plan was decided on during the journey; kate and ghost would provide support from a distance while price, gaz, and johnny would confront the bastard head on. his focus is razor sharp, marching through the trees and underbrush, blood rushing in his ears and jaw clenched painfully tight.

the sky is just as strikingly blue as the day he lost you.

bring you home, or don't come back.

they reach a break in the trees, surrounding the small facility they tracked the video to that looked more like a derelict warehouse than a base. either way, the dark figure of their target is visible against the brick wall, surrounded by a number of his own soldiers – johnny counts six as he, price, and gaz make themselves known coming through the treeline. they share a quick look; they know how this will end.

"well met, captain," the mask calls, slowing to a stop and leaving a few metres of space between himself and the three of them, "will you make the right choice, or will your sergeant suffer for your pride, i wond–"

his monologue is cut short by a shot from the darkness of the treeline and lodging mercilessly into the base of his throat. his deadweight hits the ground with a thud that echoes, and in less than a second bullets are flying.

soap tightens his grip on his gun, raising it to glare down the sights and firing at the soldier nearest to him and dropping him with one well placed bullet to the leg and another to the face once he was on the floor.

another shot from the treeline drops one more; four left.

gaz and price take out another two between them in a similar fashion to soap, leaving two still standing – one of whom was advancing fast with the barrel of his gun pointed at soap while the other backed away.

one more shot rings out from the trees and one more body falls, but the last hostile was far too close for comfort now, johnny had no choice but to tackle him to the ground, narrowly avoiding being shot himself on the way down.

a few seconds pass as they wrestle on the ground, both trying desperately to gain the upper hand but falling just short because of the other. from his peripheral soap can see price running to his aid, but his momentary distraction allowed his assailant to take the upper hand and roll on top of him.

hands constrict around his neck, cutting off his airflow, but a well timed shot from price sends him falling over sideways, sputtering blood from the wound in his side.

soap heaves and cough, pulling air back into his lungs and glaring at the body of the man who almost got the better of him. this only meant they were one step closer to getting you back; he was one step closer to having you in his arms again. it didn't matter if he got hurt in the process.

price's outstretched hand suddenly appears in his vision, "get up soap, we've got a job to do."

his daze melts away and he takes the captain's hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright with an affirming nod shared between them.

"good aim, ma'am." gaz calls over the radio, looking down his nose at the steadily declining state of the mask; his infamous facade now cracked and broken, revealing the agonised face beneath.

"bring 'em home, boys." kate replies, and though he can't see her face johnny can imagine the commanding look she's undoubtedly wearing.

gaz backs away as johnny crosses the mess of crimson and dirt to where the mask lays, sprawled out and immobilised by his injuries but still very much alive, giving the fellow sergeant a respectful nod as he goes. "he's all yours, mate."

johnny stands over his fading form, watching with a detached look in his eye as the blood spills from the gaping wound in his neck with every struggled breath, his disjointed intake of air and the pathetic sputters as he inhales his own viscera. there's not a shred of mercy in him as he gazes down at the man, every bit of agony was completely deserved for what he did to you. the death that claws at him would be a blessing.

he gurgles to johnny, raising a weak arm to brush the hem of his trousers as he attempts to expel the words, "pl–ea– plea-se–"

johnny scoffs, dry and venomous. he has half a mind to leave him to suffer until the life finally bleeds from him, but the pure rage he feels listening to this bastard plead for help after putting you through hell for a year is far too strong for him to restrain.

it's unconscious, the way johnny's arm raises to point the barrel of his pistol squarely at the centre of his forehead. he pauses for a moment, if only to see the fear creep into the bastard's expression before his fingers squeeze the trigger and the light is gone from his eyes.

his chest stops heaving and his hand drops back to the mud,  leaving nothing but a few bloody fingerprints in his wake.

johnny pulls the trigger again.

and again, and again, and again, until his face is nothing more than a cavity of gore and lead and the ringing in his ears blocks out everything else around him.

a firm hand comes down on his shoulder and it’s only then does he notice the tension in his muscles and the fierce sneer pulling at his features. his eyes snap to the dark figure in the corner of his vision, meeting the bone white of simon's mask and the frown underneath.

"that'll do, johnny." simon murmurs, his own darkened eyes glaring down at the mangled corpse laying at their feet. he nods, somewhat absently, and turns away from the offending body.

there were more important things he needed to keep his head on straight for.

neither him or simon spare the remains of the mask another glance as they leave him behind. price and gaz are waiting by the entrance for them, and as soon as they're close enough they head together into the dark corridors of the building.

as the creep through the abandoned building, now deep in the cold basement, weapons poised and on high alert, there's a new sense of dread that forms in the back of his mind; what if you're not here after all? what if the mask was bluffing and you're already dead?

johnny grits his teeth and shakes his head to rid himself of that damning train of thought. he couldn't afford to think like that, he wouldn't, but another corridor of empty rooms has his heart sinking like an anchor to his stomach. he's trying to stay hopeful, but every dead end only makes him feel worse.

price grips his shoulder, firm and comforting, with a look in his eye to match as he catches johnny's gaze. "we'll find 'em, soap." 

"i know." he replies, but there's a waver in his voice despite the certainty of his words. price doesn't release his gaze or his shoulder until he moves to follow the others.

he doesn't say much else as the search continues. the ringing in his ears is back, amplified by the eerie silence of the halls. he can feel the air getting colder after each empty room the clear.

the time passes arbitrarily, until there's one last room to check. johnny watches gaz and ghost pry it open, the sound of the lock breaking only just reaching him through the fog over his senses.

gaz pauses once the door swings open, his eyes locked onto something in the room as they widen dramatically. he still doesn't tear his gaze away as his jaw falls open, something frantic in the way he yells, "soap!"

a spark of hope strikes his heart and travels to the very ends of his limbs, a new burst of energy filling him as he shoves past his teammates to stand in the doorway and look into the room himself.

it's you.

curled into yourself in the corner of the damp cell, shivering with your face buried in your knees with your hands clamped over your ears. it's almost uncanny, how small you look. the tremble in your limbs, the fear in your quickened breaths, it was the exact opposite of how you should be, but despite it all…

it's really you.

johnny feels his heart swell painfully with relief, and without another second of hesitation he's skidding to his knees beside you and gripping the cold skin of your wrists. you let out a muffled sob at the contact, and johnny feels his blood turn cold when it meets his ears.

"don't!" you cry, weak and desperate. johnny's caught off guard with how you try to rip yourself away from him, the shakes that wrack your body only increasing when he keeps his hold on you. "get off! please– please don't!"

his heart cracks anew at the distress in your hoarse voice. he feels his eyes well up with hot tears that he has to fight to keep from falling.

"hey, it's me! it's johnny, it's your johnny! look at me, sweetheart, i'm here!" he tries to calm you with his words, keeping his voice low between you both, but you keep your eyes screwed tightly shut.

johnny lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hands instead, gently turning your head towards him and using his thumbs to stroke soft shapes into your cheeks. the gesture makes your breath hitch audibly, and your eyes slowly open to meet his. "that's it, I'm here, i got ye, yer alright."

"don't– i don't– i can't…" whatever you're trying to say is broken up by the effort it takes you to keep breathing through your sobs. you still try to lean away from his touch, but johnny doesn't let you move far. he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own breakdown.

"no-one's gonna hurt you again, darlin', i promise ye." he murmurs, searching your glassy eyes while he continues to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your face, wet with your tears. "c'mere, i've got ye…"

with little more resistance from you, johnny gathers you into his arms and presses you close to his chest, they way he'd been dreaming off all the time you'd been apart. he pays no mind to the way the hard ground digs into his knees, and instead focuses on feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage against his own, your heartbeat under his fingertips, and the very real sound of your voice.

"you– j-johnny…" you stutter, your hiccuping sobs gradually fading away as you grip the bulk of his vest like a lifeline. "are you… real?"

"i'm real, darlin'," his voice cracks despite his efforts to stay strong for you. he presses his lips to the tip of your head in a lingering kiss, partly so you won't see the glossy tears in his eyes as he tries to stamp them down. "i'm here. i swear, i'm never lettin' you out of my sight again."

the simple feeling of your weight leaning against him is so overwhelming he's worried he might faint. he lets you calm down, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arms and back and wherever he can reach, even when the position becomes uncomfortable and the dampness from the floor has seeped into his bones.

eventually though, he does pull back, softly shush you when you protest in the thought that he's leaving you, and cups your head in his warm hands.

"let's get you home, eh?" he smiles. your uncertain eyes dart between his for a moment, searching, before you nod. it's weak and hesitant, but the gesture makes his grin stretch a little wider all the same. "c'mon then, think ye can walk?"

johnny sighs when you shake your head, looking down and seeming almost embarrassed by your frail condition as if any of this was your fault. if he could kill that bastard again, he wouldn't even hesitate.

it's no bother to him to haul you up with him, holding you carefully against his chest with an arm under your knees and the other around your back. you still gingerly grip the top of his vest, your free arm looping itself around his neck and pulling yourself as close to him as you can muster. he gives a concise nod to the others, crowded in the doorway, and they begin the trek back to the helo.

the sunlight causes you to bury your face in the crook of johnny's neck, shielding your eyes from the blindingly bright rays. he allows himself a moment of distraction as they cross the clearing to revel in the feeling. he'd feel the sun on his face again, but he'd never again take for granted a single moment he spends with you.

they're almost to the edge of the clearing, almost departed from that haunted place with a graveyard of mangled bodies in their wake, but he doesn't quite make it to the treeline.

a single gunshot echoes through the clearing and before any of them can react, the shell has found its mark in johnny's leg. the force and shock of it sends him tumbling to the floor, scrambling through the blossoming pain to brace his fall on his arms so he won't land on top of you.

there's yelling, returning fire, but johnny can only focus on covering your body with his own, shielding you from any harm that might find you. even through the agony travelling up his thigh, even when the air is still again, and even when his own eyes are threatening to follow yours in falling shut and succumbing to the weakness that drags him down.

when did you shut your eyes? johnny slips his hand under your hand, grunting in his chest as his weight shifts, and to his horror his fingers come back red.

no, no no. he only just got you back, he cannot lose you again.

he doesn't even register that he's shouting – for help, a medic, something – until his weight is being heaved over ghost's shoulder and you're being taken by price, the cracks in his stony expression only fuel the sick dread making its way up johnny's throat.

back in the helo, in no time but he doesn't remember the journey, he tries to push the medic away who starts working on his leg, slurring for them to help you first. they ignore him, obviously, and if he had any energy left he would've berated them for not listening. ghost holds him down as they secure the tourniquet, and as his vision finally begins to fade, he turns his head to the side so you can be the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness.

for once, he doesn't dream of you.

there are no images of your body, laying motionless under the rubble. he sleeps in blissful oblivion, his head completely silent, and wakes a day and a half later feeling more rested than he ever has despite the wound in his leg.

simon is by his bedside when he finally opens his eyes. it's late, the room dark apart from the fluorescent light bleeding in from the gap under the door and simon's phone highlighting his balaclava. he notices the moment johnny turns his head to watch him, because of course he does, and reaches over to turn on the lamp on the side table without a word.

"mornin', lt…" johnny mumbles, voice hoarse and eyes heavy as he pushes through the tiredness clinging to his senses to sit up in his bed. the light is abrasive to his eyes, but he blinks through the sting and manages a lazy smile towards simon.

"evenin', more like." he replies, a trace of humour in the way his eyes lift at the corners. "been asleep nearly thirty-eight hours."

johnny baulks at that, suddenly feeling a lot more awake from the cold shock that passes through him. "thirty–? jesus wept, i need'ta–" he sputters, wide-eyed as he throws the blankets from his legs and starts to get up, "i need'ta see 'em, how–"

before he can get his feet on the ground however, he's pushed back by simon's hand on his chest, forcing him to sit back and acknowledge the pain radiating from his thigh.

"they're fine, johnny." simon tells him, punctuated with a roll of his eyes before he continues, "been in and out of consciousness, but they're stable."

johnny sighs deeply, relief flooding through his body as he slumps back against his pillows. you're okay, you're alive, you're here, and you're home and safe. his thoughts have already begun racing and despite how much his wounds are aching, he's already set his mind to how he's going to see you as soon as possible.

as if sensing his plotting, simon leans forward to catch his gaze and even through the mask johnny can see the look he's sending him.

"i'm goin' back to bed, so don't do anythin' stupid." simon begins, pushing himself to stand using the arms of his chair and narrowing his eyes as he leans even closer. "if you rip these stitches, i'll put 'em back in myself, clear?"

"crystal, lt." johnny nods, and simon holds his stare as one last warning before he turns to leave – but not without giving him a firm pat just below his bandages that makes him wince, feeling the silent threat behind the gesture as he watches simon exit silently out into the hall.

johnny swings his legs over the side of the bed the second the door swings shut again, a sharp intake of breath following the movement as his weight shifts. surely he could get to where you are without making his wound any worse, he hard could it be?

he makes it two doors down before he realises that this might've been a bad idea. the muscles of his thigh burn and his breath comes out in heavy, stuttered huffs, but despite the strain on his injured body he refuses to give up before he's seen that you're okay with his own two eyes.

the fourth door he peeks through is where he finds you, the sight of your sleeping form instantly overpowering the pain in his leg. he shoulders open the door and beelines in a limp to your bedside, his gaze never once leaving your face until he's close enough to grasp your hand in a slow, featherlight touch like you'd disappear if he made a wrong move. you don't react as he strokes your knuckles, but johnny is more than content to just sit with you, perched on the edge of your bed and taking in the way your breath fills your lungs, the gentle thrum of your pulse under his fingertips on your wrist.

time passes easily like this, until the minutes have gone by and he can find the strength to lift himself into the bed beside you, snaking his arm around your neck and shoulder to hold you close as he settles in, careful not to agitate any of your own injuries.

"i missed you, my love," johnny whispers, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "i missed you so much…"

your fingers twitch in his hold, the steady rhythm of your breathing hitching as a shaky sigh leaves you. johnny freezes, his hand stilling on your bicep and his eyes growing wide.

"john–" the sound of his name passing your lips pulls him out of his shock, and he pulls back to watch your eyes twitch and flutter open. your voice is raspy and still weak, but not even an angel choir could sound sweeter to him. "johnny…?"

"i'm here–" his voice breaks, but he continues anyway, "i'm here, i got ye." he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low despite how much he wants to cry from joy. "how ye feelin'? you comfy, sweetheart? any pain?" he asks, shifting the both of you to sit against the pillows and keep you nestled against his side.

"i'm okay–" your hoarse response is interrupted by a cough that devolves into wet hiccups, your hands curling tightly into his shirt as you look up at him, "it– am i– it's–"

"shushsh, i'm here darlin', i've got ye." he coos, his eyes welling up to match yours, resuming his soothing touch over your arm. you stay like that, for minutes that could've been hours, gazing into each other's eyes while you softly cry and johnny comforts you.

it aches him to see you cry, but he can't help but awe at how beautiful you still manage to be, with cuts and bruises and tears littering your face. his heart swells in his chest with the love he holds for you.

your hand finds its place on johnny's cheek, your staggered breaths calming down at last. he covers it with his own to feel more of your skin on his. a wince crosses your expression as you try to lean up towards him, but he stops you before you hurt yourself any further and leans his forehead against yours.

you pull his face even closer, digging your fingertips into his cheek in an almost uncomfortable sensation, before brushing your lips against his in something like disbelief. "am i dreaming?"

"no, my love," he utters against your skin, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, nudging your cheek with his nose, "this is real."

your breath hitches again when he closes the little space left between you and presses his lips to yours, encapsulating you in a kiss that holds every ounce of desperation he's been holding on to. it's passionate, all-encompassing, and it reminds him of the first time he kissed you all those years ago. your free hand travels up to his hair, tangling the longer strands around your fingers and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

he's reluctant to let you when you pull away for air, tasting the salt from your last stray tears as he chases your lips.

"say it again…?" you ask in a murmur, your eyes fluttering open again. the look you give him, one of pure hope that you won't suddenly wake up alone, it makes johnny's heart miss a beat.

he squeezes your hand, turning slightly to leave a kiss on your palm. "it's real, bonnie. i'll die before i ever let you go again."

your mouth opens to say something, but you stop yourself just before you can choke the words out, fresh tears building in your eyes again. johnny gives you an encouraging nod, holding your gaze while you muster the courage to voice what you're thinking.

"i–" you begin, your words catching on a lump in your throat, "i watched you leave without me, i had to watch the helicopter disappear and, and you…" your voice fades, eyes darting between his while they gloss with unshed tears once again.

"sweetheart…" he frowns, his heart breaking anew from the anguish that he never wants to hear in your voice.

you swallow thickly, your hold on his hair tightening ever so slightly. "i thought– i didn't think you'd ever find me…"

"i'd always find you." johnny replies, his resolute tone leaving no room for argument. he touches his forehead to yours again and lowers his voice to continue, "even if i had to go tae the ends of the earth, i'd never stop lookin' fer you."

his words release the fresh tears you've been holding back, and with a quiet sob you drop your face to the crook of his neck, gripping his hair and face tighter still. johnny softly shushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth as much as he can with you held close in his arms.

"you're staying with me tonight…" your voice is muffled, spoken into his neck and sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. a comforting nostalgia follows your words, one he can't help but chuckle at.

"would'nae have it any other way, darlin'."

#soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #mw2 x reader #mw3 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #roosterr writes

[wonderiing-wanderiing]

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 | 𝐞. 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬

tags: ellie is smoking a cigarette, finger sucking, groping, nipple sucking, mild language, use of pet names (pretty girl, baby), light marking, afab!reader, a healthy mixture of fluff and smut, wooo, we all cheered

a/n: wrote this directly in tumblr, so it might look slightly off? anyways im kinda rusty so, and im praying this isn’t ass chat. 🙏 to be real, i was watching millers girl and i suddenly got inspired. literally don’t know how, it just hit me like a bus.

Ellie was sitting across from you, a cigarette loosely hanging from her lips as she looks at you. You’d been laying on her bed, chewing gum as you read one of her comics. Ellie was twirling her gnawed up No. 2 pencil between her fingers as she looks at you. Once you finally notice, you turn onto your stomach to look at her.

“What? You look like you’re gonna eat me or something.” You said with a chuckle. “Since when did you smoke?” You point to the cigarette and the puff of smoke coming from her mouth. “Since now. Well, not really. Trying to find my ‘creative outlet’ or something.” She shrugs. “And smoking is gonna help you with that?” You queried with a raised eyebrow. ”Eh. No, not really. It’s a start though.” She responds as she looks at you again.

Another chuckle escaped your lips. “Yeah, the start to your nicotine addiction.” You pop your gum at the end of your sentence and she hadn’t responded for some time. She puts her cigarette out in her ashtray. She joins you on the bed, sitting with her legs crossed.

“I want you,” She pointed at you. “You be my muse.” She points at herself. “Your muse, huh?” “Yeah. I want you to be my fucking muse.” She said as a smile creeps on her face. “So, I’m just that pretty that you want me to be your muse?” She nods. “Fine then. Should I pose for you? Sit here and look pretty?”

“You already look pretty.” Ellie smiles slightly. Slowly, her hand creeps closer to your face. Once it’s close enough, her thumb sweeps over your cheek, then your lips. Her thumb seems to linger there for a little before she parts your lips. You let her. She slowly pushed it into your mouth. “Is this necessary for the drawing process?” You mumble, to which she nods.

You put a hand on her wrist, taking her thumb further into your mouth. You coat her thumb in your saliva, letting one soft moan that makes Ellie blush a little. “This.. makes a pretty reference.” Ellie says as she watches you closely.

“Maybe we should get some more references then..” You suggest. “Take your shirt off.” Ellie replies seriously. “Would’ve preferred a ‘please’ on the end of that.” You say, pulling your shirt over your head. You sat infront of Ellie with only a bra on. Ellie runs her hands over the valley of your breasts, giving them squeezes that make you moan softly. Her eyes focus solely on how her hands look on your boobs and your reaction to it.

“Such a fucking tease.” You mumble as she continued groping you. “Am not.” She responded under her breath. “I’m.. studying you.”

It was obviously something more than some silly ‘art reference’ now. (As if Ellie hadn’t already made that apparent.) Her studying of you leads to her softly kissing you, but she doesn’t let it deepen in the way you need. She was getting you worked up on purpose.

”Why don’t you actually touch me? Or kiss me?” You ask. “Am I not touching you right now?” “Well, yeah you are but—“ “Then shhh.. just lemme study you, pretty girl.”

She pressed gentle kisses up and down your neck, looking up at you occasionally as she moves to your collarbone. You put your hand on the back of her head, your fingers tangling in her short, brown hair as she continues kissing you.

“Ellie cmon.. stop teasing..” You whine in her ear. She doesn’t respond. Ellie peppers kisses on your breasts, then she takes your bra off.

She leans down towards one of your boobs, then softly sucking on your nipple. Your back arches slightly as she continues on. The other nipple hadn’t been left neglected, as she’d been groping it and tweaking with your nipple.

It was driving you crazy. Her actions made you grow unbelievably wet. “Ellie.. I need you.” You whined out to her again. “I know, baby. I know.” She coos. “Then touch me!” “I’ll think about it.”

Her response makes you pout. After she’d decided she had enough of sucking your nipples, she leaves a small hickey on your collarbone. This makes you softly moan.

Then she just grabs her sketchbook and pencil and sits at her desk. You sit there dumbfounded. She left you all worked up and she didn’t even care! She was cruel.

#soras-sonnets #sora writes #tlou #the last of us #the last of us two #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #ellie imagine #ellie x you #did i eat chat

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

cursed hours, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You know what your boyfriend is? That's right – horny. (Can relate.) And, you know what, you are too. Jeon Jungkook is super mega ultra hot. (Facts.) But. Even you don't fuck doing cursed hours. You try to delicately explain to your love that there are, in fact, suboptimal times to be asking for banging. (This conversation ends exactly in the way that everyone is predicting.)

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; playful banter and shitty jokes; in which Jungkook tries to listen to your grievance but then he remembers what you look like naked and then the Calvin Klein's fly off; crack and fluff; smut (fem reader, ball torture JK is a freak, m-receiving oral, handjob, edging, penetrative sex (doggy), clitoral stimulation, m-masturbation); squabbling tbh; non-idol!BTS - short black-haired!JK with his two lip rings; the parenthesis are the reader’s inner thoughts

crackhead best laid plans / counter point / well dressed couple no need to read the others, but they’re there if you want more happy birthday, Jungkook! XD

--

It was the middle of the day.

“We need to talk.”

Your boyfriend and absolute love of your life, Jean Jungkook, vehemently shook his head and puffed his cheeks. It was quite sad to see that all of his previously bleach-blond (read: extremely fried) long waves were gone, but his current shorter black hair made him look even younger (carding territory, for real). At least he got another lip ring next to his first one. Not really to make up for anything. Just because he felt like being your forever wet dream (he was, keke).

You cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“No talk.” He stuck his tongue out (the disrespect, hah). “Nothing good comes out of your girlfriend saying, we need to talk.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out (or in… yet). He had a point. He wasn’t going to like what you had to say. (Be strong!) You had to say it anyway.

“Jeon Jungkook, you can't wake me up at six in the morning with your rock-hard dick shoved against my ass cheeks and expect me to have enough brain function to cooperate.”

Big pout. The biggest pout with the biggest peepers.

“But... I'm horny.”

Irrefutable argument, surely. He was horny.

(Yeah, when are you not?)

You laid down the law with vigorous hand waving. “Two in the morning? Okay. Three? Eh, pushing it but I can sleep right after. But six? Six in the morning?! That is too much. That (that) is cursed hours. There’s no way I can go back to sleep then. Cursed. I’m not a morning person. You’re not a morning person. Why is you dick awake?”

Big shrug. (Big dick too, wait, what?) “He’s an all-day person,” he nodded sagely. “Your tits and butt are right there. What can I do?”

Your eyes twitched.

“You’re the one who wants me to sleep in panties!”

Your boyfriend shook his head primly (and childishly and one-hundred percent like a freaking annoying little shit). “No,” Jungkook clarified. Very serious. Too serious. “I want you to sleep naked. You’re the one being unreasonable.”

You gasped dramatically. “I’m not waking up with jizz all over me… again!”

“Hence the compromise! That’s why I wake you up first… and then jizz all over you!”

This conversation would be a lot more (ahem) concerning if Jungkook wasn’t grinning like a madman and you weren’t clutching your non-existent pearls in a state of fabricated shock (although you would have pearls if he jizzed all over your neck right now, eh, eh, okay, never mind), anyway, you knew damn well that Jungkook would probably stop for, mmmm, a couple weeks, then promptly forget this conversation, and inevitably wake you up way too early to hump your sleepy ass (literally).

You weren’t with him because he listened (we can see that).

“I am just saying,” you lowered your tone, still lighthearted but somewhat stern now. “If you want me to be receptive and not grumpy, six in the morning is not the time. You can rub yourself all over me if you want but it’s very unlikely that I will be in the mood. I don’t want to get mad to you. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Jungkook firmly nodded. Ah, he understood! Finally. He raised his rigid hand against his temple in salute.

“Okay. From now on, I’ll hump you to completion instead.”

You gave him a blank stare of utter disbelief.

That playful grin with those gleaming lip rings bounced forward and tackled you onto the bed as you continued gawking at him, shell-shocked. Really? (Really, dude?) But you could tell he was apologetic, showering your neck and cheeks with kisses, saying between blossoming laughter, “Sorry, sorry, you just look so cute when you’re mad,” and you were trying to stay mad. The principle of it all. Hmph! “I’m mad!” You vocalized with a huff. Maybe if you said it, you would mean it. (You didn’t.) “Yep, you’re definitely mad, so mad…!” This idiot was repeatedly mushing your cheeks with his big palms and deliberately piling on the aegyo. You squinted your eyes into lines. “Stop messing with my cheeks!” “Don’t wanna!”

You chopped his head.

“Yah!”

Your idiot – cough, sorry, boyfriend, love of your life, darling, all that fluff stuff – made a fake dying noise but you didn’t catch on to his admission of defeat (couldn’t trust it anyway, this was Jeon Jungkook), and grabbed his wrist, pinning it down onto the bed and getting right up in his face, planting your palm his broad chest and shoving him (which did approximately nothing, you really do need to work out).

“I’m being serious here. I’m telling you something that would piss me off and you hate it when I’m mad at you so I’m warning you in advance. I’m working on myself too, but sunrise is really pushing it,” you emphasized, practically sitting in his lap now, your (his) big white t-shirt spilling over his bare thighs. Nobody wore pants in this household. Jungkook could barely keep his underwear on (foreshadowing). “I didn’t want to get mad at you this morning out of nowhere, but you’re not good at taking the hint.”

Those glittering chocolate eyes softened. “Oh. I’m sorry. I get excited…”

“And you can get excited,” you sighed, letting go of his wrist and patting the top of his head. “I only want you to be aware of how I’m feeling at that time and it’s a whole lot of why do humans have to sleep, waking up sucks ass. Not good for horny.”

Damn, these big rueful peepers were going to be the death of you. “You know me. I like being with you more than anything in the world. I don’t like being without you. Even sleeping is such a pain,” Jungkook finished with a puff.

You smacked his (very firm) chest. “I’m not telling you leave me alone. Just don’t ask me to fuck, because the answer is most likely going to be no at that time of day. Wait for me to wake up, at least!”

“But…!”

He grabbed the front of your (his) shirt and you tensed, thinking he was about to shake you, adjusting to be a bit more stable on his legs and then your shin slid to the front of his crotch and both of you abruptly fell silent (a shocking moment in this household).

“Jungkook.”

He was trying very hard not to grin but you could see it in those dark brown orbs.

“Yeah?”

He really was your favorite person. Really. He had an intense, passionate outlook on life. Tried hard at everything and made a fuss when certain things didn’t work out as he planned. Slowly learned to let things go but still picked up too many interests. Still thought he could do anything (and you believed with him, so maybe you were both the problem). Jungkook always told you he was grateful that you were so into about the things you liked (read: obsessive), because he made him feel less weird, made him feel that someone could match his energy, made him feel like he finally met his person, someone loved to live life as much as he did.

Romantic, yeah?

“Why is your dick hard?” you accused.

Your (lovable but idiot) boyfriend grinned. “Just remembering what you look like naked.”

Really romantic.

Yeah.

“Oh?”

You backed off his lap and forced his legs open.

“W-W-Wait–”

Which was how you ended up yoinking off Jungkook’s Calvin Klein's (with force and a tangle of legs and maybe a yelp if you bothered to listen), and did not take off your shirt as you got to your knees and curled your tongue around his already-hard-and-getting-harder cock. Sure, he was saying stuff (blah blah that’s not fair blah, the usual), but you cared not. Zero fucks given. Hey, if Jungkook was going to be all horny on you whenever he felt like it, you were going to give it to him whenever you felt like it too. He needed to be punished for being insufferable!

(Never mind that this has been going on for years.)

“Come on, take off your… oooh, fuck…”

(Your predictable arguments ended in predictable ways.)

You spared no expense. Tongue all over his length. Dripping saliva. Porn-star-esque, complete with the slurping it all back up and jamming the head of that throbbing cock into the back of your throat, squishing it against the pocket of saliva. Nasty. Yo, you didn’t have sex to be elegant. You had sex to watch Jungkook’s torso shudder uncontrollably and hear him whine in the middle of him yanking off his oversized black t-shirt, his head of crazy messy black hair popping out. You watched as he emerged like a just-saved, half-drowned vacationer and then his eyes rolled back like he had been knocked out, all while you bounced your head up and down, running your tongue along the base and his balls, making sure to be extra soft at the tip and caress the slit with the gentlest of kisses. Not enough to pressure to really get him off, but so much pleasure, lovingly swirling your tongue around and pressing your lips against the sensitive skin.

Then you did what any reasonable person would do (heh) and replaced your soothing mouth with your punishing grip, pumping him roughly.

“Gah!”

Your tongue circled around his balls and both slid into your mouth, sucking on them as you jacked him off. Any intelligent response was immediately annihilated by the gargling moan Jungkook choked out, falling back to his hands. Mmmm, those arms. The tension was making his muscles bulge, the dark colorful tattoos on his right arm gleaming in the bedroom light, his left just as shapely and defined. You switched between each side, sucking and licking and toying with his balls while your hand built up a furious pace, grinning as you felt his length twitch and throb. Glassy, dark brown orbs glanced down to watch, the ends of his black hair stuck to his cheeks, mouth open, pink lips glossy.

The look in those eyes.

So needy.

You delicately trapped one of his balls between your teeth and sucked hard before pulling your lips back and grinning. The reaction was immediate. The shiver visible, the hitched breath sharp, the tremble lingering at his shoulders, exasperation and desire flashing over his expression. Jungkook pleaded with you, knowing full well he didn’t want you to listen to a single word he was saying.

“N-No, please, d-don’t make me a f-freak…”

(Not sure how to tell you this, Jungkook, but you’ve been a freak since day one.)

“You like it,” you replied (with his nut in your mouth, smacking it with your tongue as you spoke). “Don’t lie to me.”

“No, I like it when you’re nice,” Jungkook stressed and he was very stressed because your hand was slowing down and that was not a good sign.

“Oh, yeah?” you taunted. Totally unnecessary but totally necessary. You let go of his cock and switched balls, squeezing the other saliva-covered one in a slippery, punishing grip that make Jungkook yelp with an edge of panic.

His cock jolted, sticking straight up.

You gave him the look of see what I see?

Jungkook sputtered, frantically waving his hand about. “N-No! It’s not what it looks like!”

(It’s not… it’s not what it looks like? What does it look like then, huh?!)

You raked your teeth over his balls and started sucking and tugging on them.

His right hand instantly flew to his dick (bombastic side-eye) and he started desperately jacking himself off as you used precise pressure and tongue to tease him. He was loudly moaning in reckless abandon, “H-Harder, yeah, like that, oooh, fuck, yes, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop” (criminally offensive side-eye), but you obeyed, gripping the inside of his thigh and ravishing his balls. You could barely see from your peripheral vision but you could certainly feel the force of Jungkook’s firm, tight grip around his stiff length.

Damn.

Your panties were also getting uncomfortably drenched.

Suddenly his hand froze up, his whole arm shaking. You glanced up. White teeth biting the left edge of his lower lip, lashes fluttering, jaw clenched. Muffled scream in his throat. The line from his neck to torso to abs to crotch to tattooed hand choking his hard cock was incredibly hot. Even hotter was how dark the head was becoming, angry purple-red and beading pearly translucent pre-cum.

“Fuck, I almost came, fuck…”

(Was that not the goal or are we missing something here?)

You spoke sloppily with his nut halfway in your mouth.

“Thought you were going to jizz all over me.”

His dark brows furrowed, gasping for breath, trembling all over. “You know I would ask you first, I’m not a big meanie,” Jungkook pouted, opening his eyes when you knocked away his hand, then his peepers popping open wide as you picked up his vicious pace with a smirk, lowering your shoulder to squeeze his balls at the same time (zero chill here). It could have been your name somewhere in that strangled moan. Could have, but it wasn’t that discernable and you were unbothered, even as his hands flew up and grabbed your (his) shirt, practically ripping it off in frustration.

“Please, ack, please…!”

You stopped.

Jungkook nearly yelled bloody murder and snatched you by the waist, lifting you far too easily. He was two beats away from suplex-ing you onto the bed if it wasn’t for the horny beating out his frustration of being edged for the second? third? whatever time. You were almost worried (not really), but everything worked out (kind of). There were always condoms on the nightstand (for reasons) and it took Jungkook record time to rip one open and slide it on before forcefully grabbing your ass (you had been trying to move away for… reasons) and dragging you back to him from a growl, flipping the bottom of your (his) shirt up.

Somehow, in the tangle of legs and arms, you had managed to slip off your panties and put them on the other nightstand so Jungkook wouldn’t rip them off your body.

(It has happened before.)

At the sight of your naked and wet pussy, Jungkook forgot how to be mad.

“Oh!”

You looked back to see a pair of shining, starry-eyed dark brown orbs.

“You really do love me.”

You blinked at him (what do you say to that?). “Y… Yeah? Woah!”

Turned out horny also beats out romance (?) and now Jungkook was balls deep and you were gasping and beating up the pillows in attempt to get your bearings because, holy fuck, he was insanely hard (scientific term). Your lower torso dropped and you both moaned in unison, satisfaction from the sudden depth, the ache perfectly fulfilled at this angle. Thrust in, push back, overwhelming rush heating up your chest and down your legs, beginning right where you both left off.

Rough, fast, and deep.

Your (and probably his) knees were really feeling it. You didn’t care. (Classic.) The fullness was unbearable and addictive and it made your walls spasm, squeezing around him as your eyelids fluttered, skin prickling hot and heartbeat leaping to your throat. The wave swelled in your chest and pooled down, amplifying the sensation of slapping hips, pitching your moan, you fucking him and him fucking you, a joint effort, the grip on your hips tightening, fuck, he was so strong, not slowing down even in the middle of your orgasm, your mind fizzling to white noise.

And then.

You suddenly realized it was weirdly silent behind you.

You tried not to snort in laughter (being nice, of course) as you realized Jungkook was whining behind his bitten lip, trying desperately not to cum in your crushing fervor. Not that you were going to let up. Absolutely not. In fact, you moaned breathily and reached back with one hand, tugging on the flapping shirt and pulling it over your head, bunching it up. Heard him gasp, but now your hair was all over your face (didn’t think that through, did you). There was no time to correct. You shoved the ball of fabric under your chin and dropped your shoulders, ramming back into his crotch with a wet smack, a vicious bolt of painful pleasure flaring up your inner thighs and spreading over your lungs, knocking the wind out of you.

“Ah, Jungkook!”

Didn’t think that through, did you?

You nearly choked on your own moan (and a mouthful of your own hair), entire body shaking from the force of orgasm bursting within, your inner walls clamping down and hips flinching, carnal pulse radiating throughout your core, breathless, lust-blindness, your ass jerking forward from another powerful thrust, and then Jungkook made a series of noises that could only be described as unholy.

(Wanton moaning, spitting swears, using various higher entities’ names in vain, things like that.)

You basically faceplanted into the t-shirt, vibrating from the high.

Down for the count.

But not out.

You reached back and wrapped your fingers around Jungkook’s balls, firmly squeezing.

He let out a quivering groan of approval, long fingers on your hips tightening, pressing his twitching cock inside you. No intention of leaving. The tension was so electric that you could feel the sparks flying up your belly (or was that your arm falling asleep from this unnatural position, who knows) and you sucked in a ragged breath, not sure what was coming over you but it was so unbelievably arousing that all you could do was smile.

Well.

You couldn’t really breathe since you were mostly face-first into the mattress.

Thankfully, Jungkook had a brain (bless) and sighed contentedly, sliding his hot (read: scorching) hands up your sides and pulling your body up. You let go of his nuts, panting, feeling him slide out, drawing in a tight breath – his skin like fiiiiiiire (don’t sing it) – relaxing as you felt his fingers fan out over your breasts.

This was nice.

He squeezed your breasts and toyed with your nipples, sending pleasing tingles all over.

“My back is getting sweaty,” you chuckled. “You’re burning up.”

“No, you’re hot.”

Whines (his) and a flop onto the bed later (you), and you ended up on your back, catching your breath while looking up at the ceiling. Ah, that was nice. You didn’t think too much about your limbs akimbo. There wasn’t any shame. After all, this was your home and this was your love. Attentive, caring, enthusiastic (about laundry and dishes and fucking especially) love of your life Jeon Jungkook who was definitely not a freak. Nope.

You felt a hand on your knee.

Then you felt your legs being dragged apart even wider.

The slapping sound of hand on dick.

Eh?

You turned your head to see Jungkook masturbating while staring at your pussy, used condom still on the bed. Oi! How was he still going? You were pretty sure he blasted out several nuts worth of cum (and the fullness of that used condom was the visible proof, oop).

“Hey. I’m still here,” you reminded him.

Heavy exhale and brief glance at your tits. “I know,” Jungkook shuddered, voice low and gravelly. “And you’re so fucking beautiful, fuck.”

“I’m not a porn video,” you joked, secretly enjoying how heatedly he was getting himself off to your sexy bits.

“You really need to make some for me,” he replied absentmindedly, reaching out to spread your pussy lips. You flexed them. They made a wet, lewd sound. Obscene. Jungkook moaned and tightened his grip, speeding up, running his finger over your exposed clit. “At least send nudes.”

“I’m physically next to you almost all the time,” you gasped. “Whachu need nudes for?”

This really wasn’t the time for a full-on conversation and soon you both forgot about it, lost in the haze of pleasure. Your eyes slid shut, arms fanned out over the bed, back arching, following that racing feeling. Basking in it. You were sure he was watching and you let him enjoy the show, spreading your legs and letting your hips be guided by his rough fingertip, clenching your jaw at the sensitivity. Almost too much was the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing over your throbbing nerves, aching tension dispersing over your muscles, nearly uncontrollable, so close to the edge, his name in a husky whisper, closer, listening to his breathing shallow, tighten, closer…

Your eyes opened, lids heavy, watching him though lashes and the haze of moans.

Jungkook was gazing back at you, up and down, lust-drunk on your body, his chest flexing, his black hair over his eyes, sweat beading along his temples, shuddering again at your eye contact.

“You… You fuck me up.”

You smiled and was about to say, you too, but then your pent-up orgasm shot up your torso and you hissed at the intensity, your hand flying down and harshly gripping his wrist. Head snapping back, spine arcing, mouth open to an airless moan, fighting to leave your lungs as the powerful continuous flinching overtook your hips, each pulse thundering against his fingertip, your juices seeping out.

Slick painted over your pussy lips clenching around nothing.

Jungkook sucked in his inhale and groaned, cupping his palm around the head of his cock. Heat and tremors and visible lust, the pleasure sinking, sinking, and you heard Jungkook whimper, looking down to see that his hand was turned, his long fingers digging into the soft dip of his balls and roughly massaging them as he came.

You watched.

Glanced up at his face.

Your boyfriend glared back.

“Don’t… say… anything…” he wheezed.

You did not listen.

(No one is surprised.)

“You’re a slutty freak, huh.”

“Oi!” he barked, yanking his hand away from you, and then his face contorted, instantly regretting vacating your pussy. You peeled open your puffy lower lips with two fingers and wiggled your tongue at him. “Hey! Stop that. I’ll–”

Faster than light (and smoother than butter), you shot off the bed as Jungkook threatened you with his cum-covered hand. “I don’t think so!” All these years with Jeon Jungkook and he still looked shocked when you knew exactly what he was thinking. “Get back here!” You did not. You ran to the bathroom instead and proceeded to fight on opposite sides of the door as he tried to get in and you tried to lock it.

“Why are you only strong at times like this?” Jungkook whined as you threw your weight into the door and locked him (and his cum hand) out. “Let me in!”

“No! Not until you wash your hand in the kitchen.”

“I promise not to wipe it on you.”

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Which is not very far.”

“You should!”

“Throw you?”

The whine on the other side pitched. “Open the door…”

You sighed. (Uh oh.) Opened the door. (Duck!) And smacked Jungkook’s wrist as he tried to wipe his dried cum onto you in a bout of maniacal laughter. (You punk!) Naked wrestling match (nice) and some neck chopping infused minutes later, you managed to shove Jungkook’s right hand under the sink faucet and blast water over it, fiercely gripping (and very much enjoying) his forearm to prevent him from being a brat.

And he was laughing, the bubbly sound drifting between you and him, laughing with his left arm around your waist and his face in the crook of your shoulder and neck, his warm breath tickling your skin, pulling your close as you vainly tried to avoid his sweat (failing spectacularly). Asshat.

He sighed, breathless and shivery, nuzzling your jaw with his (big) nose.

“I love you.”

He was a freaking annoying brat but he was your freaking annoying brat and, to be honest, you loved it.

“I love you too. If you splash water on me, I will waterboard you next time we shower together.”

Jungkook pouted and squeezed your boobs with his left hand. Now that was talent.

“Aw, how’d you know…”

You turned the water off.

“Stop playing with my tits.”

“My nutties are sore. It’s the least you can do.”

“You did that to yourself.”

“Nu uh. I’m wholesome.”

(The lie detector test determined that was a lie.)

--

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

[cuffmeinblack]

Crimson Sheets

Ron Weasley x f!reader

Tags: explicit | period sex | blood | cunnilingus | menophilia??

1.5k words

Summary: Ron doesn't let a silly little thing like menstruation stop perfectly good morning sex.

A/n: I feel like I should apologise. Eh. But seriously if period sex gives you the squick obviously don't read!

Sheer torture.

That's what this was. 

Your skin heated with the flush of arousal, every gentle flick of Ron's tongue against your lips sending your heart hammering against your rib cage. There was no escaping this without the bitter pang of disappointment and the resultant hours spent in agonising frustration.

With all the regret in the world, you pulled away from the heated kiss, panting and fingers flexing around the fabric of his shirt, held together by a mere two buttons. You’d been busy unpicking them when you’d had the bitter realisation that you had to stop. 

Ron's eyelids fluttered, lips still parted as his groggy mind caught up to what you’d just done. He looked adorable, confused and entirely fuckable—and therein lay the problem. You groaned and covered your face with your hands, willing the throbbing ache between your legs to dull.

“What's wrong? Not feeling it?” He'd never been very good at keeping his emotions from his voice; you could hear the barely masked disappointment, the hint of concern.

“No! I mean yes, God, yes I am, but…fuck.” Your fingers slid down your cheeks, looking up into Ron's eyes that sparkled in the gentle dawn light, shadows dancing across his fiery ruffled hair. “I just can't. You know…” You gestured vaguely to where your bodies met, his morning glory pressed against you. It wasn't enough, could never be enough; the tantalising friction never quite brought the relief you desperately sought. Another low groan left your mouth, hips shifting in surrender—it would have to do. “M’on my period,” you muttered.

Ron, rather than simply rolling off you or wincing in disgust, merely licked his lips and his gaze continued to linger on where you were pressed together. When he finally looked at you through hooded eyes, framed in those pretty blond lashes, he did so with a devilishly crooked smile. He shrugged with one shoulder, resuming his slow grinding against your aching core. “Doesn't bother me.” And then his lips were once again pressed to yours, firmer, his tongue slipping between your parted lips.

“Ron…,” you gasped, further debate captured by his increasingly heated kiss. His hands were roaming, shedding his layers. 

Thank Merlin.

You kissed him back eagerly, fingers tracing the waistband of his pyjama trousers before tugging them down, grabbing a handful of his behind to pull him closer, desperate for more friction. He grinned against your lips and shuffled out of the last of his clothes, kneeling before you completely unabashed. His cock stood proud, thick and glistening; your core throbbed in response.

He was staring hungrily at your curves, sliding your vest up and shorts down to expose as much skin as possible, and then it hit you—shyness. Your hand flew out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t look, I need to take off—”

“Don’t be daft, I’m not afraid of a bit of blood,” he scoffed.

There was no deterring him, as much as it pained you to see him ogling your knickers with a blood-stained pad clinging to them for dear life. To his credit, he didn’t bat an eyelid, didn’t seem to care at all; merely threw them over his shoulder and resumed kneading every inch of flesh he could find with a mesmerised sort of worship whilst his erection twitched with want.

Ron took a palm full of your tender breast and lowered himself on top of you, lips finding the sensitive skin behind your ear. Kissing, licking and murmuring praises, he sent you into a pleasure-filled stupor where nothing else mattered but his touch. He trailed down your body, his copper mop fisted tightly in your hand.

The ache between your legs grew painful as he took his sweet time, breathing so ragged you could scarcely call his name between gasping for air. When finally you felt him nip at your hip bone, your eyes flew wide in realisation of where he was and what he intended to do.

“Ron, what—”

“Just relax, will you?” He tutted and planted two large hands on your thighs, spreading your legs wide with a firm grip that invited no debate before shuffling to get comfortable on the bed between them. 

All you could do was gape, disbelieving. You almost shoved him away in shame, but what exactly was there to be shameful of? Ron was busy kissing your inner thighs, tinged pink with blood, entirely unperturbed and moaning happily as he did so. You loosened the grip on his hair and he looked up at you, smirking, before delving between your thighs with renewed vigour.

His tongue found its mark almost immediately. A great shiver ran up your spine as he licked between your folds, right over your sensitive clit. He pushed your legs higher, firmly planted against his shoulders, and nestled deeper.

“Fucking hell,” was all you could manage to say as he licked and sucked without hesitation, barely drawing breath. He was clearly enjoying himself, just as much as he usually did when he’d beg to taste you; even as you saw red blooming on his cupid’s bow and the tip of his nose, he didn’t falter. 

Your combined moans filled the room, almost deafening amongst the wet, squelching sounds emanating from between your legs. Your face was already too heated to blush, and he was far too distracting to give the mess much thought. Your orgasm didn’t merely creep up on you; it ramped up so swiftly your head spun, until you were gripping the sheets and arching your back clean off them, gasping Ron’s name with an uninhibited plea.

His eyes fixed upon you so intently it might’ve been unnerving, yet was so beautifully intimate as he wordlessly coaxed forth your release. When he added two fingers inside you, you finally let go. Stars erupted in your vision as you reached your climax and fell into blissful oblivion, the orgasm so intense you almost cried with relief.

“Th’s’it,” Ron mumbled, before returning his mouth to you, gently lapping in rhythm to the waves of pleasure threatening to drown you. His fingers curled inside you, languorously pumping in and out, as if beckoning more, more, more. “You’re so bloody beautiful, fuck…”

It might have been a mere minute later, yet felt like an eternity before you could finally manage to prop yourself on your elbows, dizzy and enveloped in a heavenly haze. Ron smiled up at you, and he looked like he’d been caught in a massacre. Red streaked his chin, his nose; his lips stained so darkly with fresh blood it reminded you of a vampire caught feasting on his prey.

“I…what a mess,” you said weakly. He still had his fingers inside you, lazily caressing. He licked his lips again and smiled.

“You still taste amazing,” he replied, blinking slowly.

You let out a shaky laugh, still helplessly aroused; either in despite of or because of the sight, you weren’t sure. Though your muscles protested, you sat up, intending to push Ron back on the side of the bed still unmarred, but he had other plans.

“I’m not done with you yet.” His voice was low and husky, dripping with lust, and the fire in his eyes caught you by surprise.

“I thought I'd repay the favour,” you said by way of explanation, but clearly he didn’t want your hand, or your mouth.

“I need to be inside you.” He clambered over you, and you fell back against the mattress. Hands stained crimson pinned you beneath him, thighs spreading your legs wide once more. His cock prodded at your slick entrance, twitching eagerly. He looked feral, animalistic, almost.

“You like this, don’t you?” 

He answered with a hard thrust, one swift motion that filled you completely. “You have no idea,” he rasped. He pulled out slowly before plunging back inside with a low groan. “You feel so good.”

There was no stopping him, and you had no intention of doing so. Every nerve ending you possessed seemed sensitised, and his relentless pounding turned you into a limp and boneless mess that knew only pleasure and nothing of your own name. He held you tightly, his knuckles white, hips snapping with synchronised moans. You thought you managed to say his name but it only came out as a whimper when your walls fluttered around him, another orgasm consuming the last of your ability to form coherent speech.

“That’s it, come for me…” Ron gasped, his gaze fixed where he continued to pound into you, watching intently as you squeezed around him. “Fucking hell, babe, you’re such a mess.”

He said it not laughing or with disgust but in awe, utterly transfixed. “I’m gonna…”

“Come inside me, Ron,” you whimpered.

He needed no more encouragement; with a shudder and an ear splitting moan, his orgasm exploded, filling you with his release. Each pulse of his cock came with a new gasp or expletive, his head thrown back but eyes still on you. Soon you were dripping cum on the ruined bed sheets as he thrusted slowly inside you, unable to take any more. 

You had nothing left to give; you were ruined.

Ron slumped down next to you, and you lapsed into astonished silence for several minutes before you both tried to break it at once.

“That was ama—”

“Best sex ev—”

You both laughed, relieved that the other felt the same. 

When you looked down at your bodies, legs now entwined and Ron’s hands firmly encircling your waist, you smiled. The blood would wash off with the sweat and other bodily fluids once you stood under the shower; just another to add to the steady stream of water. All those days you’d shied away from intimacy for fear of disgusting him now felt like wasted opportunities.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asked.

“That it’s a shame. I really liked these bed sheets.”

#what even is this #ron weasley #ron weasley smut #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x you

[yorshie]

11 & 10 with Raph, a sort of confession\first kiss type of deal please! I need my boy to discover being loved.

-justalotoffanfic ❤️

Oooooooooooooo. First kiss. I think you might like reading this if you haven't yet, But Also Thank You for Requesting on Blurb Day! Let's have Pining Soft Raph to fight off those Mikey Brooms for a bit, eh? (edit: uh..... I guess this turned out more pining Reader and hopeless kiss. oops) also, sorry i forgot to do this with the other side blog requests but @justalotoffanfiction

Being with Raph wasn't always....a straight line. The curve of progress sometimes doubled back on itself, or stalled for a bit before resuming at a glacial place.

It was easy enough to understand, you thought, watching him move purposefully through his workout, racking weights and eyeing the amount before he slotted himself underneath on the inclined bench. There were things you'd probably never know about, but the few big ticket items you had heard of left several things completely clear.

The Turtles had been hunted, and could be so again in the future. They weren't human, and people sometimes reacted badly to that. And the last thing, probably the root of your problem with Raph, was that there would always be someone 'better' for you, in his mind.

Someone that didn't live in the sewers, that didn't have a shell and a different amount of fingers, someone that didn't tower over you or place themselves in danger over and over again.

He was stubborn, you thought with an exhale, watching him knock off a weight from each side and slot himself under the bar once more, the suicide set causing his muscles to twitch under the exertion.

You watched the tensed line of a vein curling over his tricep, the little hollow below his elbow dipping in and out of existence with each flex. Your eyes followed the strain of his deltoid where it disappeared under his plastron-

"Whatcha thinking about, sweetheart?" His gruff voice called, words bitten short from exertion, and you blinked, pulled from your line of perusal.

"What?" You asked back, shifting in your seat, playing innocent even as you drank in his figure again.

"There's something rattling around in that pretty head of yours," He paused, knocked off another pair of weights, and you followed the beads of sweat running down the back of his elbow without conscious thought. "Gotta be something you're not telling me, isn't it?"

Your mouth pulled to the side, not quite a frown, not quite a smirk, and you finally stood when he paused once more, chest heaving as he re-racked the bar and glanced your way.

You could be stubborn, you reminded yourself, but another little voice echoed the words, sounding a lot more sure of itself than the immediate bravado. You could also push too hard.

"I just..." You trailed off, but Raph ducked a shoulder and leaned forward, resting his shell against the bar. He lifted one eye ridge towards you, clearly waiting.

When you still couldn't get the words out, he gestured you over with a jerk of his head, repeated the motion with more sass when you took too long.

When you finally stood in front of him, eyes taking in how his plastron swelled with each breath, the obvious way his arms had all but doubled from the exercise, you swallowed heavily.

Raph snorted at your ogling, one large hand coming up to tuck against your waist. "I uh," He tapped his fingers, slowly, against the back of your hip, obviously thinking, " I don't.... I really don't wanna end up doing the wrong thing here, sweetheart, but-"

He broke off, staring at your face, and you couldn't care less who moved first, just that you did-

And you were both stubborn idiots, it seemed, because you both bobbed when one should have weaved, and the first time you missed completely, lips nudging along cheeks instead of finding each other.

Your fingers found his jaw halfway through his eye roll, and his hand cupped the back of your head through exasperation more so than any tender feeling, but the tiny well of ire at how stubborn he was disappeared the second his lips landed true.

They were wide, and soft, and you could tell he was trying so hard to keep it sweet. After the third tentative scrub you finally lost your patience and opened your mouth to lick against his lower lip, and he pulled back with a grunt and a look in his eyes that promised retribution.

You grinned at him, feeling drunk, and a little bit stubborn yourself.

#blurb day #tmnt bayverse #tmnt raphael #bayverse raphael #bayverse raph x reader

[gaybananabread]

Hi!!! 💖 If 21 isn’t filled yet for tickletober, do you think you could do ler Asmodeus and lee Fizzarolli from Helluva Boss? The new episode has me craving for some tickle content for them they’re so cute!! Hope you’re well and take all the time you need. 💖

TickleTober Day 21 - New Discovery

Writing this one made me happy. I dunno what it was, but writing the scrunkles just boosted my happy brain chems. I know I’ve been squeaking these in at like 11:50 something at night, but I actually paced myself this week and loved getting this out! Hopefully you like reading this as much as I did writing it. Enjoy!

Lee: Fizzarolli

Ler: Asmodeus

Summary: After a shitty day, Fizz is more than ready for some love from his partner. Ozzie is happy to help, though he does it in his own silly way. After all, what's love without some laughter?

Warnings: swearing (obviously), implied murder (don't worry, they deserve it)! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!!

Hell's worst kept secret…

Not wrong, but the title still pissed the pair off. Ever since the kidnapping incident, they had been a bit more open with their relationship. They obviously weren't announcing it; all of Hell didn't need to know that Ozzie and an Imp were together. But around the factory and his quarters, the fruits were showing more PDA and less shitty excuses when they were caught. 

The workers knew better than to say anything.

Still, the occasional whisper or snide comment outside of Asmodeus's safe zone got the jester's blood boiling. Especially when they were about his man.

"Did you hear about Asmodeus and that little imp? Man, what a way to fall. Never thought the embodiment of Lust would do that to himself." The second demon nodded, smirking. "Oh, Fizzer-something? Yeah, a big rooster and a clown. Sounds like the plot of a shitty porno." "Heh, they kinda are!"

Oho, Fizz wanted to rip their throats out and shove them so far up their-

Whooo-kay. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He promised Asmodeus that he wouldn't let small-minded loudmouths get to him, especially sinners. But they so deserved it, and he was just a few feet away…

They just had to keep talking, though. "And hey, he didn't even pick a working one! The thing's defective! Robotic limbs and shit. Dude really needs higher standards."

That was it. The jester turned, running at them with nothing but rage and hate in his eyes. The dumb fuckheads barely had time to begin a plea before Fizz went to town.

-

When his Fizzie got home, Ozzie immediately knew something was wrong. His partner’s colorful clothes were coated with black blood. The sin hurried over to him, surveying the imp for injuries before scooping him up into his arms. “Fizzie, babe, what happened?”

Asmodeus’s voice radiated concern, comfort and love for the jester. Fizzarolli couldn’t have gotten any luckier when him and the demon connected for the first time. Or the second. Or the many, many times after that. Eh, who needs labels?

“Some…assholes, spewing shit about you and me. I tried, but…they needed a lesson on how to shut up.” One of the robotic arms was damaged in his fit of rage. Apparently the loudmouthed sinners had a bit of fight in them. Fizz still disposed of the garbage; he just got a bit messy.

Ozzie sighed, nuzzling his feathery head against Fizz’s smooth skin. “Froggie, I love that you wanna defend me, but it’s not worth you getting hurt. I’d take all the shit-talk Hell has to offer if it meant you’d be okay.”

So mushy… The imp rolled his eyes, secretly melting inside at the sweet words. “Alright, alright, I get it. No more fighting over your honor. Tell Hallmark the message worked.”

Then he did Fizzarolli’s most favorite thing ever. He laughed, a deep snort kicking off the rumbling chuckles. Fizz laid his head on Ozzie’s chest, feeling the vibrations and listening to the short burst of amusement. The sin stood, sighing out a final huff before carrying his partner to their bed. It was the only one big enough for Asmodeus, let alone Fizz, to fit. 

Following their pattern, Ozzie removed his elaborate suit, slipping on his robe instead. He then helped the jester peel away the blood-stained outfit, quickly drawing a bath for him. They were at the point where it was just second nature; one of them has a bad day, they get a warm bath, cuddles and shitty RomComs until they fall asleep. That day was Fizz’s day to be pampered.

After some calming back rubs in a nice bath, all blood was clean and the imp was feeling a bit better. Ozzie got him a new arm, making sure to give him little forehead kisses as he worked. Finally, they were ready to lay down.

Surprising no one, Ozzie was the big spoon. He hugged Fizz close under the covers, rubbing his back soothingly. The Lust ring’s RomCom channel played distantly on the TV.  It was barely a minute before the jester was dozing off. The sin’s touch softened, absentmindedly wandering across Fizzarolli’s bare skin. 

His feathery fingers eventually made their way to the imp’s sides. Fizz was drawn from his sleepy stupor by an unexpected buzzing along his side. A feeling he hadn’t felt in quite some time. He squirmed a bit, feeling the fingers go back to his back. The moment he settled back down, however, they returned. 

A quick glance at Ozzie’s dreamy expression told him that the sin wasn’t doing it on purpose. The rooster just thought he was giving him soft affections. Sighing, Fizz squirmed again, adjusting himself so the tracing was closer to his lower back. That was apparently a big mistake.

The moment one of the feathery fingers brushed his back, he squeaked, flinching away from the touch. Asmodeus immediately went into Mother Hen mode, lightning his touch and looking for injuries. “Fizzarolli, why didn’t you tell me you hurt yourself? Back injuries are serious!”

Ugh, why did he have to care so much? “I-I didn’t…” The lighter touch was somehow worse, sending a flurry of butterflies to attack his stomach. Fizz’s tail twitched, trying to wag; he made sure to force it still. Unfortunately for him, that also meant he took a small amount of focus off his verbal reactions. The smallest, teensiest little giggle slipped past his lips. Ozzie immediately stilled his fingers; as a sin, he easily heard the noise. Then something clicked.

“Froggie…are you ticklish?” Shit…Fizz tried to run, a burst of adrenaline pulling him from the sleepy peace. Ozzie was on him before he could move an inch. The little imp didn’t stand a chance.

“W-wait! Ozz, don’t you fucking dare!” His robotic arms wrapped around the sin’s body, trying to push him off. That was nearly impossible, as Asmodeus was over four times his size and much stronger than the prosthetics. Still, he could only try. 

The rooster smirked, his demeanor doing a complete 180. Ozzie went from concerned and soft to playful and smug in seconds; it was almost scary how fast he could switch like that. “Oooh, babe, I definitely fucking do~”

Before he could get another protest out, ten feathered fingers attacked his torso. Five running along his back, five snaking around to his stomach. In seconds, small giggles slipped past his lips, a blush tinting his scarred cheeks. “N-nohoho! Ohohozzie you dihihick!”

“I know it’s one of your favorite features, but let’s leave my dick out of this.” Stupid, cheesy words; it was unfair how blushy they made him. Fizz tried to wiggle away, but even with his insane flexibility, Ozzie’s strong arms kept him trapped.

He twisted and kicked, his limbs swinging and flailing as he tried to escape. He didn’t fully mind the tickling, but Fizz had an image to protect. The amazing, alluring, ass-kicking Fizzarolli couldn’t be seen getting reduced to a giggly puddle; even if nobody was watching but his boyfriend.

“Tickle tickle tickle, Fizzie~” He just had to tease… If there was one thing that killed Fizz, it was Ozzie’s silly teases. Normally, they were just flustering. Those teases, though; they drove him nuts. “Shuhut the fuhuhuck uhuhup!”

Ozzie loved the sight of his squirmy boyfriend. The genuine laughter, happy smile, vibrant blushes and adorable noises warmed his loving heart. He genuinely couldn’t be happier than when he was with his Fizzie Frog; especially when the imp was all giggly like that. “Awww, babe, I’m just tryna cheer you up! Are you not feelin’ just a teeny bit better?”

Okay, that wasn’t fair. He was definitely feeling better than when he arrived, but that wasn’t totally because of the tickling. Being around Asmodeus, as evil as he was, immediately boosted his mood. “Thihis- ihit’s nohot fahahair! Youhuhu suhuhuck!”

“Only for you, Fizz~” Just to be evil, Asmodeus fluttered his fingers on the jester’s hips. FIzz squealed, his arms swinging to try and grab Ozzie’s hands. Oh, that asshole! “SH-SHIHIHIT! AHASMODEHEHEUS! NAHAT THEHERE!” 

Ozzie chuckled, loving the high-pitched cackles from his partner. “But right there is my favorite! C’mon babe, you gotta admit that this is pretty cute.” Fizz groaned through his laughter, thrashing under the sin’s tickly assault. His robotic appendages were no help, merely bouncing off the sin’s feathered skin instead of actually deterring him. 

“NOHO IHIHI”M NAHAT! OHOZZIEHEHEEEE!” Fizz could feel his tail wagging, the tip making a gentle thump against the sheets. At least the rooster wasn’t teasing him about that. “Ooh, Fizzie, your tail’s wagging. Are you enjoying yourself?” Spoke too soon…

Seeing that he was working his partner up a bit too much, he moved away from the imp’s hips, deciding to focus on Fizz’s neck instead. “Alright, alright. I won’t kill you, Fizzie babe.”

“F-fuhuckin’ feehels like ihihit!” Fizz whined, his laughter dying down to squeaky giggles. He turned his head, burying his face in the pillowy mattress. The muffled giggles only made him cuter, in Ozzie’s opinion. He leaned his head down, peppering the jester’s face with light kisses. Fizz scrunched up his shoulders, both loving and hating how the ticklish kisses made him melt. “Bahahahaaaabe!”

Ozzie chuckled, basking in the way his boyfriend reacted to the silly affections. The faces in his hair were smiling wide, portraying his obvious adoration and love. So fucking cute…

It was almost comical, the way the large sin cuddled up to the smaller imp. The love they shared was like no other; based on good communication, mutual respect and pure affection, it was about as healthy as you could get. Sure, they weren’t officially public, but nobody else needed to know about them for it to be wonderful. Especially in the cutesy moments like those.

As much as Fizzarolli loved the attention, he was wearing out. Dealing with the dicks from that morning, combined with the goofy fun, had him pretty drained. “Ohozziehehe! Plehease, noho mohohore!” 

And just like that, it was over. Asmodeus respected boundaries more than any other creature in hell; the moment Fizz wanted him to stop, he would, no questions asked. He did, however, pull the imp against his chest, rubbing small circles into his back to help calm him down. The sin’s voice was soft once again, save for a teasing edge. “Easy, babe. You okay? I didn’t go too far, did I?”

Fizz took a few deep breaths, getting out the last few giggles as he snuggled against his man. “Uhum…no, you’re good. But *damn*, did you have to go for my hips?” Ozzie snorted, nuzzling his head against the imp’s. “You know I did. It’s adorable, how can I not?”

He held Fizz tight, flipping them over so the jester was laying on his chest. It was their favorite way to sleep; Fizz could feel the warmth of his boyfriend, and Ozzie could sleep peacefully, knowing his partner was safe while he was with him. Fizzie grumbled, but didn’t protest the movement. He was tired, and he couldn’t deny that the sin’s chest was rather comfortable.

The covers were pulled over the pair, concealing almost all of Fizz’s body. His concealing hat was removed, placed on its holder for the night. It was nice, affectionate and calm; just the way the pair liked it. They drifted off, the small yet happy smile never leaving the imp’s face.

#hb tickle #lee!fizzarolli #ler!asmodeus #ler!ozzie #ticklish!fizzarolli #augtickletober2023 #tickle fic #sfw tickling community #tickle #augtickletober 2023 #augtickletober #helluva boss tickle #hb fizzarolli #hb asmodeus #hb ozzie #fizzmodeus #fluffy tickles #the skrunkles

[txtistheloml]

evelyn…tutor taehyun eating u out while u study..

aura... the dream... (just a short drabble to get back into posting :3)

hot tutor bf - kang . th

genre! - smut (mdni)

pairing! - tutor bf!taehyun x fem!reader

wordcount! - 642

warnings! - oral (fem rec.), nth much tbh, not proofread so pls read at ur own risk

note! - kinda got carried away n this is lowkey a short fic LOLL, wasnt as good as i thought it would be but eh, i tweaked it a lil so it wasn't him eating u out as u study but instead it was a form of reward... idk if you'll like it i tried 🥲

"did u listen?"

"y-yea of course i did, you can test me on it now if you'd like."

words stumbling from the sudden question as his intent eyes peer into your averting gaze.

it was hard pretending that you could focus when your boyfriend looked this hot when teaching you.

words that came out from his mouth sounded like nothing but the buzzing of white noise, impossible to make out words if you didn't listen hard enough.

your eyes were locked onto his sharp features that you've always found attractive, even more attractive now when he was teaching.

fuck he looked hot.

it took quite literally everything in you to listen to him instead of focusing on the slight rubbing for your thighs, desperate for some kind of friction.

you were insanely horny to say the least.

and he definitely noticed.

"sit on the edge of the chair." taehyun says as he pulls your chair back, allowing him some space to slip beneath the desk.

your heart rate picked up as you obeyed silently, a surprised yelp escaping you when he pulls you in by the calves.

he doesn't mutter a single word as his doe eyes peer up at you, pulling down your pants along with your cute panties - the ones with a little bow at the top that he loved.

"w-what are you doing tyun... need t-to study..." you protest shakily, with what he intends to do already quite obvious.

as much as you wanted him, you had classes to study for.

specifically ones that you were on the verge of failing - which was why you asked your hot nerdy boyfriend to tutor you in the first place.

"need to test you right? read what i explained to you earlier out loud, don't stop. if you read it right then i'll reward you, hm?" he reasons as he spreads your legs to reveal your dripping core.

"go on, start."

as you start reading with shaky breaths to calm yourself, he hums intently as you read through all the parts he explained earlier, his thumb rubbing your thigh soothingly as if to encourage you.

you were stuck a couple of times but miraculously pulled through even though you zoning out half the time he was talking - maybe it was your desire to get off that pulled you through.

he doesn't even needs to tell you that you were right, the way that he dives into your cunt already speaks for itself.

he doesn't take his time like he usually would - going straight for it this time. his lips attach to your weeping pearl, sucking on it as he dips his tongue into your hot and dripping hole briefly, almost teasingly.

he licks n laps at your wet cunt eagerly, catching every drop of your juices as he nuzzles his face impossibly closer to your pussy, catching a whiff of your scent. you would be worried that he couldn't breathe if not for the occasional moans he makes against you, devouring every inch of your pussy diligently, rewarding you like he said he would.

your whines n moans of his name - "taehyun..." " s'good fuck..." - only serve to spur him on even more, becoming rougher n rougher by the second to make you cum. his tongue flicking faster n harder against your clit as you cry out, hips rolling into his face as you tug on his hair which your hands had long found purchase on, as he inches you closer to your high.

when you cum, broken sobs n mewls were ripped from your throat as your legs threaten to close around his head, legs shaking from the intense wave of pleasure.

taehyun coos praises at you as you wind down from your high, telling you you've improved n he's so so proud of you~

feedback along with reblogs n likes r appreciated!

taglist! - @huckleberrykai (send an ask to be added n pls specify sfw or nsfw!)

#idk tbh #bleh #not my best definitely #evelyn answers #aura <3 #evelyn's works ⭐️ #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt fic #txt x reader #taehyun fics #taehyun smut #taehyun hard hours #taehyun hard thoughts #taehyun x reader

[ghosthunterbuck]

the most important thing

(pre-buddie) (862 words) (7x06 spec) what are weddings for, if not completely ignoring the fact that you're in love with your best friend

It’s a glance, at first. And then a longer look, when he’s sure no one’s looking back. It’s the slope of Buck’s shoulders that catches Eddie’s eye.

There’s an ease there that he hasn’t seen before. An ease he’s never really felt himself, either. And a part of him wonders – is it really that simple? He tightens his grip on Marisol’s waist and spins her around, smiles at the high peal of laughter she lets loose into the cool evening air.

Eddie allows his eyes to drift, following the line of Buck’s shoulder down his arm and to his hand. He watches Buck’s thumb pull slowly across Tommy’s jaw, sees the way Tommy’s mouth ticks up into a small smile, like his lips are following the motion.

He drags his eyes away then, feeling like he’s intruding on something.

“Oh, I think I need a minute,” Marisol gasps as the song comes to an end.

“Me too,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “Can I grab you something?” He gestures vaguely towards the refreshments table.

“Some water,” she says, punctuating her request with a soft kiss pressed into the corner of his mouth, “would be wonderful.”

Eddie smiles and fights the ever-present urge to wipe the kiss away. “Water. You got it.”

Buck finds him trying to balance a cookie between two cups and takes it from him with a grin. “You can come back for it, you know?” he asks with a teasing sparkle in his eye.

“You’re just jealous your date’s not bringing you a cookie,” Eddie replies.

Buck’s grin grows even wider. “My date,” he says, “is braving the bar for me.” He tilts his head towards the throng of people crowding around the single bartender.

“Alright,” Eddie laughs, “Tommy wins. You’ve got a better date than Marisol does.”

“Eh, don’t sell yourself short.” Buck bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s, a familiar gesture that makes him feel warm, even on a chilly spring night. “He hasn’t asked me to move in with him yet.”

“Bet he hasn’t asked you to move out, either.” Eddie says wryly.

Buck’s eyebrows shoot up. “You—”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts. “But we didn’t—we’re just going to take things a little slower.”

“Slower,” Buck repeats. “Yeah, that’s – that’s probably not a bad thing.”

“I think it’s good,” Eddie says. “I think—I never give myself enough time, you know? Even with Shannon—we hardly knew each other when we first got together, and then—”

“I get it,” Buck says softly, and Eddie knows he does.

“I just need to get to her, really get to know her. I think… I need us to be friends before we can really be something else.”

Buck’s expression changes into one Eddie doesn’t know how to read and he swallows. “Yeah, that’s—friends. It’s a good idea. It’s—that’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” It’s not a rhetorical question, Eddie can tell.  It sounds more like some kind of revelation.

Eddie glances over Buck’s shoulder and sees Tommy on his way back, a drink in each hand. He returns his gaze to Buck. “I think it is,” he says softly. He nods in Tommy’s direction, then turns to head back towards Marisol.

He doesn’t remember the cookie until he’s nearly back to her side.

“What were you to talking about?” Marisol asks after taking a long sip of water.

“Just—tonight. The wedding,” Eddie answers, and it almost feels true. He takes a sip of his drink and allows his eyes to wander again.

“I’m glad it all came together,” Marisol says. She takes his hand, and Eddie tries to ignore the way he immediately wants to pull it away.

“Me too,” Eddie replies. “It was touch and go for a minute, there.”

“It’s a good thing you had an extra suit,” Marisol says, playfulness in her voice. “And a brand new one, no less! Did you have a special occasion in mind?”

Eddie grimaces. “I’ve had it for a while, actually. Just, never got around to taking the tags off.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally did. You look wonderful in it.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. The skin beneath his collar starts to crawl.

Across the dance floor, Eddie watches Buck laugh, then tuck his face into Tommy’s neck. A part of him is jealous, Eddie realizes. Of the easy way they touch, of the comfort that’s settled between them with just a few drinks to aid it on its way. It’s not a feeling he knows, not like that. He’d like to, though. He turns back to Marisol.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks.

She furrows her brow. “My favorite movie?”

“We said we were going to take it slower, right?”

Marisol nods. “We did.”

“Well,” Eddie asks, letting go of her hand so he can spread his apart, “what’s slower than a first date question?”

Marisol covers her mouth and laughs. “Fair enough,” she says. “Ask me again.”

Eddie puts his drink down and looks her in the eye. “Marisol,” he asks, “what’s your favorite movie?”

Inexplicably, he finds himself thinking that, if it were Buck sitting here across from him, he wouldn’t have to ask.

#far too much happened for me to process a coda #so please have some wedding spec instead #911 #911 spoilers #911fic #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #bucktommy #and technically eddie/marisol BUT IS IT REALLY #abbie writes #fic

[qiwoomi]

ii. unexpected gesture

warnings: trauma, death, mentions of blood

series masterlist main masterlist prev next

You don't even want to recall how you end up having a dinner in a fancy restaurant with your husband in the first place.

Or rather, it is actually the first time that you both eat dinner together.

Only the clinking sound of your cutlery could be heard, making the silence between you both all the more obvious. Gods above, it's as if the universe itself turned its back towards you.

The silence drags on, until both of you finally finished your meals. Alhaitham looks up from his plate, grabbing a tissue as he wipes his mouth. You do the same, anticipating if you should say anything.

"I... want you to postpone the divorce." The man before you uttered, finally filling the uncomfortable silence. His gaze focused on you, searching for your eyes. You internally shrink under his eyes, his sudden suggestion to eat dinner with you is already enough to make you feel out of place, and now he is trying to make an eye contact with you.

The statement alone left you taken aback. "...Why?" You finally replied. There is so much you want to say, but you could only dream of mustering up the courage to say it to him. After all, he's quite unpredictable. What if you said something stupid? He would probably internally mock you, thus it's better for you to keep it to yourself. It's why you never try talking to him first.

It's laughable really. Maybe, even the moon and stars above would be entertained. What a loser. It's humiliating to think that you would end up in a loveless marriage when you've always been a hopeless romantic.

What's even more embarrassing is that the exchange of conversation between both of you is comparable to a regular discussion between business partners.

However, what Alhaitham says next is what fully caught your attention. "To be honest, I've never thought of our marriage as something out of convenience. It's no wonder that you would think that of course, since our situation itself is quiet... eh." It's the first time that he talks a lot. Usually, it would be either just a short request, question or reply. Nothing more than that.

"Like I stated. It's neither you nor is it my fault that we end up like this... So if you are planning to apologise, you shouldn't." You finally look at him in the eye. His mouth forming into a thin line, his brows furrowing. It's evident that he's already coming up of a reply.

"I want you to give me some space to think," Alhaitham folded his arms, his face morphing into his usual poker face. "it is to make sure that I don't make rushed decision. Moreover, I have yet to manage your alimony."

To make sure that he doesn't make rushed decision? It's not like he's the one who wants a divorce. Your relationship was fake anyway, what decision is there to make?

As if reading your thought, Alhaitham adds, "By the way, I'm not trying to invalidate your feelings in any way. I just... nevermind. Just give me 6 months."

Now that you think about it, you also do have to prepare for some things before the divorce. You still hadn't thought of which place you're going to stay at and etc.

Though a logical part of your brain wondered why would he need about 6 months to make up his mind. It's not like he's the one who requested for a divorce anyway.

You still agreed however. He might just want to exaggerate the time. Knowing him, he probably didn't take that much time to make up his mind... Alhaitham is known for his cleverness, he's the type to make a final decision immediately after hearing about them. Though, this is a different case.

As if last night's scenario isn't enough to leave you internally gag, you find yourself waking up to breakfast that is already prepared on the dining table.

A sticky note was then found beside the plate. 'I made you breakfast. — A.' You read.

You set yourself down, placing the glass of coffee as you start munching on the food. It makes you feel somewhat guilty for eating something that he make. After all, both of you mostly eat individually. Except when there's a special occasion of course.

Finishing the food, you immediately clean them up as usual.

Unexpectedly, you finished your class earlier than you thought. Your lecturer had business to do, so the class had to end at 3PM.

Your friends invited you to go out with them, but you refused. You want to head home and rest.

Stepping your foot inside the apartment, you went straight to your room. Immediately going for a warm shower. After that, you cooked some meal, and eat it inside your room while facing your laptop, which contains drafts for your assignments.

After finishing your meal, you clean them up and put it back to it's usual place, while also tidying up the living room for a bit. You continue where you left your assignment, typing away on your laptop now in a prone position on your bed.

Without your will, you inevitably pass out from exhaustion.

"You will lose everyone Y/n. Everyone will turn their backs from you. Just like me. " A voice echoed in the unknown room.

"You... Who are you?" You questioned. The woman in front of you has her face blurred, her body hidden from the mist. She's far from you, but her voice is loud enough for you to hear.

The figure only drew closer, your eyes widen at the sight of bloods dripping from her dress. As she draws closer and closer, you instinctively step back from her, as her face finally shows what you didn't expect. "Silly little girl, can't even remember her mother..." She then laughed maniacally. Her face was distorted, as your breathing becomes out of control.

"NO! Stay away from me! I don't know you!"

"You can deny it if you want but every time you remember about what happened, you'll always think about me. I'll always haunt your mind."

You covered your ears at this, shutting your eyes. "Please, leave me alone. I don't want to see you. Go away!"

"You know Y/n," She calls your name in a sing-song voice, "I've always wished you were dead. If only you were the one to die, years ago..."

Images of the incident years ago flashes through your mind, as you hyperventilate. The woman then walk towards you, her pace now increasing. It's as if she's chasing you.

"GO AWAY FROM ME!"

"Y/n! Hey, wake up!" Your body was shaken up. You quickly opened your eyes, only to see Alhaitham next to your bed. You don't even realise that your eyes are dripping with tears, your cheeks stained.

You are still recollecting what happened, but your body instantly reacted against your consent. As it reaches to hug the man beside you.

The man flinched, before resorting to pat your back.

taglist: @odevote118 @levisbebe @hitomi-inaru @no3hg3nshin

author's note: the first few chapters are a bit boring but it gradually gets better i swear 🤫 also taglist is open if u guys want

© @qiwoomi

est. 020323

do not copy, translate and repost my work.

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #alhaitham #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham angst #alhaitham x reader

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

The Ward Pt. 1 | Jonathan Breech x fem!character

Summary: Jonathan Breech is sentenced to three months in a Dublin psych ward after trying to take his life. He meets a girl and thinks he's fallen in love... but is this just a product of opportunity and loneliness or could it be more?

Warnings: Based heavily on One the Edge (2001) so there is already a lot of mental-health specific discussions. More specifically- mentions of suicide, self-harm, death, depression, anxiety, feeling helpless and alone, medication, vomiting, pregnancy. There is nothing explicitly sexual in pt. 1 so there are no warnings for that here. Please don't read if you think any of the previously mentioned topics could be triggering! Some of this is taken from my personal experience with mental-health issues so read with care.

word count: 3098k

1979- The Smashing Pumpkins 🎶

Up the Junction- Squeeze 🎵

note- I named the female character because I personally don't love using "y/n." It can take away from the story that I'm trying to tell sometimes but the character is supposed to be general enough to be whomever you wish.

additional note (sry)- One the Edge is free on Internet Archive...

Please read the warnings before continuing, thanks!

Jonathan made his way through the hospital corridors, glancing briefly into each room they passed. 

“This is a pretty shitty hotel, eh? What do you charge per night? Whatever it is, I’m not fucking paying it,” he stumbled around behind one of the nurses and laughed lightly. They stopped in front of a room. 

“This is you. You’re expected in group therapy at 4.” The nurse deadpanned and unlocked the yellow steel door for him. Jonathan poked his head inside the door and whistled low. 

“Mhm, yep. Just what I was expecting,” he leaned out again and yelled after the nurse, “would it kill yeh to add some fucking color to this room? Fucking depressing.” He shook his head and wandered inside. He sat down on the mattress, the metal springs popped below and it sagged below his weight. He looked around at the drab gray room, the one window covered by rusted bars, and the bare bedside table. Jonathan emptied his pockets on the bed beside him and moved the carton of cigarettes to the table. A clock on the opposite wall ticked quietly and he watched it with his bright blue eyes, blinking every so often to the rhythm. 

A second nurse came by and handed him some clothes, pajamas. 

“What are these for?” Jonathan frowned, “I don’t need pajamas.” 

“You have to wear them during the day,” the nurse responded. 

“Why the hell would I do that when I have my normal clothes?” 

“Its policy, it distinguishes you from guests and day patients. In-patients have to wear these.” The nurse pointed to the pile of neatly folded clothes in Jonathan’s arms. “Put them on.” 

Jonathan sighed and kicked off his shoes. 

“You’re not gonna watch are yeh?” He sneered at the nurse when he didn’t leave immediately. The nurse turned and left, closing the door without another word. Jonathan stripped down to his underwear and examined the clothes that he was given. It was a matching pajama set in an icy blue color with smaller blue designs across the fabric. The sleeves were too short and ended at his forearm and the pants around his midcalf. He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed under his breath. He put on his shoes and the cardigan he had brought with him, a yellow wool cardigan that still smelled like home. 

…

Around 4 o'clock Jonathan left his room and wandered aimlessly through the psychiatric ward, looking for the group therapy room. He walked until he spotted Dr. Figure walking into a small room and called out to him. 

“Heya, Dr. Figure. I’m here for my group therapy!” He said with a flare of dramatic excitement. Dr. Figure looked tired and responded with a strained smile. 

“Hello, Jonathan. Please come in.” They walked inside the room and Jonathan took a seat in a chair beside a boy around his age wearing a dark blue bathrobe. His light brown hair was messy and long and he wore round wire-framed glasses over his eyes. Dr. Figure sat opposite of him across the circle and cleared his throat as he arranged a stack of papers. Another boy and a girl sat at the circle too though neither of them looked up when Jonathan sat down. 

“Good afternoon everyone, thank you for coming today.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Jonathan shrugged and pulled one of his knees up to his chest in the chair and rested his chin on his knee. 

“Yes, thank you Jonathan for coming anyway.” Dr. Figure sighed and gestured towards him, “this is Jonathan, everyone. He’s new and he’ll be joining us in group therapy. Why don’t we all introduce ourselves? I’ll start. I’m Dr. Figure and I’m the head psychiatrist here.”   

“I’m Toby.” The boy next to Jonathan nodded his head and Jonathan smiled at him. It passed across Jonathan to the girl on his otherside. She glanced up briefly to introduce herself with a small smile. 

“I’m Margaret.” She said softly and looked down at her hands again as the last boy introduced himself. He had headphones around his neck and a walkman clipped inside the pocket of his robe. Jonathan looked back at the girl, studying her. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in a while with the dark circles shading her downcast eyes. She was wearing a vintage nightgown, he realized, one with long sleeves and a modest neckline even though the dress was shorter than her knees. On her legs she had long brown socks tucked into a pair of duck boots. Her hair was brushed away from her face and fell straight down her back but he couldn’t see how long it actually was. She had a busted lip, he could tell from the bruising around her bottom lip and a scab that looked as if it was still bleeding. She played with the hem of her nightgown and glanced up again, catching him as he stared at her but he didn’t look away, she did. She flushed and stared at the tan tile around her chair. 

“Now I’d like to pass this around and I want you all to add any recent fears or anxieties that may have come up in the last few days that we haven’t talked about yet,” Dr. Figure handed the clipboard to the boy next to Margaret. Toby raised his hand. 

“Yes?”

“What if we’re scared of filling out paperwork?” Toby asked and Jonathan laughed. Dr. Figure seemed to genuinely ponder the question before Toby added, “that was a joke,” and Jonathan laughed again. 

“Why don’t you tell us what you’re afraid of, doctor?” Jonathan smiled and Dr. Figure exhaled. 

“It’s not important.”

“I think you’re deflecting, doctor.” 

“Jonathan, if you’d like to discuss my fears then I would be happy to do so at a later time in my office,” Dr. Figure answered calmly. 

“Oh, I see. You can analyze us as much as you want but as soon as someone asks the same question of you, you can’t answer, eh?” Jonathan crossed his arms across his chest. 

“It’s just not something that I do with my patients during group therapy. This is your time to get better, it isn’t about me.” 

“You know what would make me better, doctor?”

“What’s that, Jonathan?” Dr. Figure rubbed his eyes and waited for Jonathan to answer.

“I want clothes that actually fit. These are too short, I look ridiculous! And why do we have to wear fucking pajamas? How am I supposed to feel good about myself walking around in these, eh? And no one told me that girls were gonna be here too! Jesus, it's embarrassing.” Jonathan huffed and complained loudly, leaning forward in his seat sometimes to emphasize his point. He looked over at Margaret who was turning red. 

“I understand that you’re upset about the clothes but they shouldn’t matter. You’re here to get better, Jonathan.” Dr. Figure crossed his legs and clasped his hands together. 

“Now, if we could, please continue.” He gestured to Margaret to take the clipboard from the boy next to her. As she did so, Jonathan stood up and walked towards the door. 

“Thanks, doc. That’s it for today.” He waved his hand and left the room, letting the door close behind him. He went straight to his room and sat down on his bed. Gray light filtered in through the window and he looked out at the rainy streets. 

…

That evening he found the rec room and sat down by a window, bracing himself against a heater. Toby was sitting by the window as well and looked up at him when Jonathan approached. 

“Hey,” Toby nodded.

“Hey.” Jonathan replied and opened the window but it caught after a few inches. 

“It doesn’t open all the way,” Toby smiled, “they don’t want us to jump out.” 

“Damnit, that was going to be my plan A,” Jonathan shook his head.

“What’s your plan B?” 

“Wait out the next four months,” Jonathan chuckled darkly and reached into his breast pocket for a cigarette. 

“They won’t let you smoke that in here,” Toby advised and glanced over at the female nurses speaking quietly near the door. 

“I wouldn’t mind getting in trouble with them, eh?” He smirked at Toby who laughed. “Toby, right?”

“Yeah,” Toby nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Jonathan,” he patted his chest for a second and changed the subject, “By the way, what’s that girl’s story, the one from group.”

“Margaret?” Toby asked and Jonathan nodded. “She’s been here for a week or two. I think we came in around the same time. I don’t know a lot about her because she doesn’t say much in group. It must be hard being the only girl around our age here.” Toby shrugged and continued, “She’s had that busted lip for a while but I’m not sure exactly how she got it. I’ve talked to her a little and she’s nice.”

“And cute,” Jonathan added with a laugh and Toby nodded. 

“Yeah, that too. I think she’s been through some shit.”

“Haven’t we all?” Jonathan muttered and Toby nodded knowingly. They sat in silence for a moment before Toby spoke again. 

“You know I’ve been sneaking out of here a few times a week at night. I could take you if you wanted.” 

“No shit,” Jonathan whispered with a smirk, “really?”

“Yeah. Wanna go tomorrow night?” 

“Of course.” 

“Ok,” Toby smiled. 

“Ok.” Jonathan affirmed and hopped up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See yah,” Toby waved and went back to looking out the window. 

Jonathan left the rec room and wandered further down the hallways, passing the women’s ward. There was one men’s bathroom in the women’s ward and he went in. The opposite end of the bathroom had a short tiled wall that ended in a ledge below a row of barred windows. There were three sinks on his left and two stalls on his right, one a handicapped stall. A single urinal stood against the wall. Sitting on the ledge and leaning against one of the walls of the handicapped stall was Margaret, reading a book. The dying light from the window shone through her nightgown, showing the dark silhouette of her body underneath. She looked up quickly and jumped at seeing her. 

“Shit sorry, I thought this was the men’s room.” 

“It is, sorry.” Margaret closed her book and hopped down from the ledge, wincing as her feet hit the ground. “I like to read in here.”

“In the men’s room?” Jonathan raised his dark eyebrow, his pink lips pursed. 

“No one uses this bathroom in the women’s ward.” 

“The male nurses?”

“They aren’t allowed to work in the ward… legal reasons.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and held the book against her chest. He looked at the cover of the book. 

“What are you reading?”

“Jane Eyre.”

“That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Jonathan laughed and she smiled. 

“Maybe but I love it. I love anything by the Brönte sisters.” She fingered one of the pages on the book and met his eyes. She had a heart-shaped face with messy unkempt eyebrows and she was short, barely 5”3. 

“Did someone have you locked up in their attic?” He joked. 

“No, though it would have made my life more interesting.” She smiled at him, her cheeks pressed up into her eyes and flushed slightly from the conversation.

“You’re cute,” Jonathan broke the momentary silence and her eyes widened slightly. 

“You don’t know me,” she laughed breathlessly and brushed past him to the door. He spun around and followed her. 

“I don’t have to know you to know that you’re cute.” He protested and smiled as she took the door handle in her hand. 

“Don’t be stupid,” She frowned and he threw up his hands in surrender. 

“Personally, I thought that was pretty smart but hey- wait! Don’t go, I wasn’t actually coming in here to use the bathroom, I just wanted some space.” 

She looked at him for a moment and rolled her eyes, “word of advice? Don’t call girls cute, it's demeaning.” She cocked her head at him and left the bathroom. He left after her and watched as she walked down the corridor to her room. She looked back at him and smiled to herself as she went inside and closed the door. 

…

Jonathan woke up early the next morning for his private appointment with Dr. Figure. His room was cold and he’d slept in a t-shirt on top of his covers like a child. He was shivering when he finally woke up and quickly changed into his warmer pajamas, gritting his teeth as he remembered how short they were on him. He pulled on a jumper and laced his roughed up sneakers. Stepping out into the corridor, he rubbed his shoulders for warmth and hopped down the stairs two at a time. He pushed open the door to the garden and followed the cement sidewalk through a row of tall hedges. The morning was cold but the sun was already in the sky and shining on the hospital’s grounds. As Jonathan passed through the first set of hedges he looked to the side. Sitting on a small wooden bench was Margaret, still reading Jane Eyre. She had on a pair of men’s blue checkered pajama pants and a dark green jumper, also still wearing her duck boots. She sat with her legs crossed beneath her and her hair billowed in the short rushes of wind. He caught himself looking at her crotch and snapped out of it. He stuck his hands beneath his armpits and walked over, smiling wide when she looked up. 

“How was your first night?” She dog-eared the page in her book and squinted up at him. 

“Not bad, but I woke up fucking freezing.” 

“The heaters don’t work in the rooms. That’s why I go into the bathrooms to read.”

“Or outside,” he pointed at her book. She smiled and looked down for a moment. 

“It’s part of my treatment. I spend an hour outside everyday, for the fresh air and sun. It’s supposed to make me happier.” 

“You know they have drugs that do the same thing.” Jonathan smiled and rocked back and forth on his feet. 

“I don’t take them… I haven’t for a few weeks.” 

“Oh?” Jonathan sniffed, his nose already running in the cold air. She thought about telling him why she wasn’t on her meds but changed her mind. Jonathan noticed her change in body language and cleared his throat. 

“Look, I’m supposed to have a meeting with the doc. Could you show me where his office is?” He cocked his head to the side, twisting his lips into a smile. 

“You think you’re real smooth, don’t you?” She shook her head, laughing. 

“Don’t know, it depends on whether or not you say yes doesn’t it?”

“And what if I have something I’d rather be doing?” She smirked slightly and brought her knees up to her chest, balancing her heels on the edge of the bench. 

“Do yah?” Jonathan asked. 

“Of course.”

“And what is that?” He brought his head back upright and continued to smile, “what would you rather be doing than walking with me?”

“Eating real food at a restaurant with warm bread at the table, or going to a library where I actually have a valid library card, or buying expensive ice cream that I can’t eat because it's freezing outside…” she listed off the items, taping her lips with her index finger. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and Jonathan imagined how soft and cold they would be against his fingers. 

“What if in exchange for showing me where the old man’s office is, I buy you an ice cream when we get out of this shithole?” He shuffled his feet in the brown grass and Margaret smiled softly. 

“You think we’re getting out of this place?” She shook her head, almost sad but still smiling. 

“Why don’t we just pretend we are, for the sake of today?” He shrugged and twisted his torso side to side. She watched him for a second, trailing her eyes over his lanky body stuffed into clothing that was made for someone much younger. She had to admit that he was pretty but there was a reason that they were all in there, and Jonathan wasn’t exempted from that. She nodded and put her feet back on the ground and stood. Holding Jane Eyre in her arms she led Jonathan back to the path in the direction of the smaller house near the border wall. 

“So, what ice cream do you like?” Jonathan asked. His sneakers gripped the pavement and sent small pebbles bouncing across the pavement. 

“German chocolate,” she answered after a moment of serious deliberation. 

“You know, I’ve noticed something.”

“What?” She looked at him as they walked. 

“I don’t recognize your accent. You aren’t Irish.”

“No,” she shook her head, “are you disappointed?” 

He smiled and put his head back, “No, no. I’m just surprised. You don’t sound British either…” He bit his lip, trying to place her accent. 

“I’m American,” she answered for him and pulled her hair to the side of her shoulder. 

“American? What are you doing here?” He laughed lightly and she blushed. 

“I’m studying here for a semester.”

“Where?” 

“Trinity,” she glanced at him, “for Literature.” 

“Fuck, no wonder you’re depressed. Why would you come to Ireland for college?” He laughed and she blushed further. 

“I just wanted to get away from my family and Ireland seemed like the farthest place from home… and you have a good Literature program here.” 

“Ah, all the Irish poets and writers…”

“And Sinead O’conner.” She added and Jonathan laughed loudly. 

“You’re funny.” 

“And cute, apparently.” She shrugged, “you still haven’t apologized.” 

“For what?” He played dumb. 

“For calling me cute.” 

“I’m not apologizing for pointing out something that’s true.” He argued and she looked up at the sky, pretending to study the clouds. 

“I think you’re an asshole, Jonathan.” She looked up at him and he nodded slowly, a small smile stuck to his lips. 

“So do I.” 

They walked in silence to the house and Margaret left him at the door. He walked in through the door, strips of paint curled and fell onto the doormat. 

“Don’t forget that you owe me an ice cream,” she called quietly before the door closed and he gave a little salute before the door snapped shut.

...

end of pt. 1 :)

Thank you so much for all of the support. This community means the world to me and I feel very supported by everyone on this niche community. I love writing these silly little fanfics and I'm flattered that people like them. I read all of your comments and reblogs- lots of love!

#cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #fanfiction #young cillian murphy #cillian fluff #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan breech #on the edge 2001 #fem!reader #imagine #multi chap fic #jonathan crane

[floral-force]

Lay Me Down to Sleep

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Reader

summary: Insomnia plagues you during your first night on-base with Task Force 141. A little midnight stroll leads you to the imposing masked lieutenant you'd been warned about. Maybe a common struggle can lead to comfort...

words: 1.8k+

warnings/tags: just really soft stuff here (but my work/blog is always 18+ only), this one goes out to my fellow insomniacs, insomniac!simon "ghost" riley, pride and prejudice mention, all fluff, technically pre-slash, soap is a lil shit

a/n: hi, hello, I am back (sort of). I took a long hiatus bc of work/life stress but I cranked this out a while ago and finally feel confident enough to post it. thank you for reading and sticking with me &lt;3

masterlist | read on ao3 | taglist

You stared up at the ceiling of your room, rubbing the heels of your palms into your tired eyes. Hours had passed since you’d gotten into bed to rest up before a briefing in the morning. Sleep still hadn’t found you yet. Maybe it was the time difference—you had flown into England from the States not even 12 hours ago—or maybe it was the stiff mattress. Or maybe it was the way you still thought of the masked lieutenant at Price’s side when you’d gotten off the heli. 

Whatever it was, you needed to get over it. You’d read online that sometimes leaving bed to do something other than try to sleep helps, so maybe it was the perfect time for you to check out that tiny little excuse for a kitchen the Scottish private—nicknamed Soap, he’d told you with a wink—had shown you earlier. With a sigh, you got up and wiggled out of your sleep shorts and into more modest sweatpants, anxiously pulling at the hem of your shirt as you stepped into your crocs and walked out of the door.

Your eyes finally adjusted to the bright fluorescent hallway light as you reached the kitchen, surprised to see a light on when you opened the heavy door with bated breath. You peeked inside and saw a broad man sitting at a table, absolutely dwarfing it with his size. 

“Can’t sleep, eh?” 

You jumped at the deep voice and nearly let the door slam, catching it right before impact and slowly closing it. “Uh, no.” You chuckled, walking behind him to the right side of the table.

You reached the chair, then stopped in your tracks when you lifted your gaze off the floor. 

It was him—the masked lieutenant. 

You could barely make out a quirked-up eyebrow under the shadow of his sweatshirt’s hood as he took a sip from the mug his large hand dwarfed, his fabric mask scrunched up over his nose. Your heart raced and you looked down at the seat of the crummy plastic chair in front of you. The kitchen was now the last place you wanted to be, but you were too tired to make up some shitty excuse to flee. 

So, you stood awkwardly in front of the chair, hands in your pockets, biting your lips.

“I’m—” you cleared your throat, “I’m guessing you can’t either, Lieutenant?”

“Never can these days,” he replied gruffly. 

There was the sound of another sip from his mug, a thump when it was lowered to the table, and then silence. It was heavy and awkward, and you were certain you’d never felt more embarrassed in front of a commanding officer before, even though you’d fainted in front of one during a basic training run.

There was a heavy sigh. “Christ, ‘m not gonna fuckin’ bite ya.”

“Soap told me you would,” you quipped back.

Soap had warned you about the masked man—Ghost, he’d called him—and told you not to bother him much. “That’s my job,” he’d laughed. 

Right now, you felt like you were definitely bothering him.

“Figures,” he grumbled. 

You finally looked back up at Ghost, meeting his brown-eyed gaze for the first time since you’d entered the room. He looked at you with curiosity, not malice; somehow, that made you feel a little better, even if it still made your heart race and your palms sweat. 

“I just—I can’t stop thinking,” you blurted out, finally responding to the question he’d asked when you’d opened the door with a solid answer beyond your meek “no.” 

“I get nightmares.”

It felt like a confession, and you pulled out the chair, cringing when it squeaked across the linoleum floor. You sat down to hear more, crossing your arms on the table and resting your chin on them. Ghost’s eyes tracked your movements, even as he took another leisurely sip from his mug. Now that you were closer, you could smell that its contents weren’t coffee, but tea, the herbal notes reaching your nose. 

Before you thought better of it, words rushed out of your mouth. “It’s stupid, but when my insomnia is really bad—like it is now—I call my best friend and ask them to read to me. I’d do it now, but they’re at work.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Gotta love the time difference.”

Ghost shook his head. “Tha’s not stupid at all.” He took a long drink from his mug and set it down. “Whatever works. I jus’ make myself a cuppa, then see what happens.”

“And what’s happening next?” you probed.

He nudged his thumb against the mug and tilted his head. “I think ‘m gonna try reading.”

“Y’all keep books in the kitchen?” you teased.

“Hell no,” Ghost scoffed. “Did’ya bring any wi’you?” he asked.

You pursed your lips and squinted as you thought. “I think I brought Pride and Prejudice with me. I told myself I’d start rereading it since the plane ride over here was the perfect opportunity…but I fell asleep.” You sat up and smiled at him. “Why do you ask?”

He shifted in his seat and his hood fell, revealing short hair and red-tinged ears. “Could I read a bit of it?”

You blinked, a bit stunned at his shy question. Ghost, a man with a taste for Jane Austen? Something about a man like him wanting to read a period romance novel lit a tiny fire in your chest.

“Um, sure.” You stood and took a few steps, pointing at the door. “I can go grab it—”

“No, no, I’ll go wi’you, save you the trip back, yeah?” He rushed to his feet, and you stopped in your tracks at his side, gulping at the way he towered over you. 

“If you say so, Lieutenant.”

“Ghost,” he nodded.

“Ghost,” you repeated with a soft smile, leading him to the door.

The walk to your room was silent except for your footsteps tapping on the floor; his boots and your crocs mixing into a twilight harmony. Ghost kept up behind you. Your cheeks burned at the thought of him seeing you in your ratty sweats and shirt and crocs—fucking crocs—as you finally reached your door. You fumbled with your keys, swearing under your breath.

You unlocked the door and hurried across the room to flick on the lamp at your bedside. Ghost closed the door, then loomed over you as you crouched down and rummaged through your backpack. You hummed in triumph when you finally pulled out the beat-up and well-loved book, turning and reaching up to hand it to him. You stood and sat on the edge of your bed, expecting him to leave. Instead, he pulled the chair from the desk across the bed over to your bedside, settling in as he read the back cover. You were suddenly aware of his musky, amber scent because of the short distance, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel inviting, much unlike the person it clung to.

“Making sure you like it?” you asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Do you like it, love?” Ghost’s eyes flitted up to meet yours.

The pet name and Ghost’s suddenly soft voice caught you off guard. You reminded yourself it wasn’t personal, that it was a common British thing, that he didn’t mean anything by it, that it was colloquial. It didn’t feel bad or gross—it felt like a warm hug, a gentle kiss on the forehead, a thumb softly stroking across your cheek. 

You swallowed and dug your nails into the mattress. “Yeah, yeah! I’ve—I’ve read it, like, twice now.” You silently cursed yourself for stumbling over your words.

He nodded. “Have you ever listened to someone read it?”

“No,” you answered hesitantly.

“Would you like to?”

You nearly choked on your breath. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening and your lips from parting. Having Ghost read to you would be absolutely unreal—his voice was strangely soothing, washing over you with a gentleness you didn’t think he’d be capable of. And yet, here he sat, staring you down as his thumb stroked the front cover of one of your favorite books, his offer dangling in the air.

“You said being read to helps you fall asleep,” he continued. “You’re gonna need the sleep to handle Price’s brief, I promise you that, love.”

“I mean, yeah,” you replied. “But I don’t want you to think you have to or need to. I’m a big girl, I can force myself to fall asleep if you say Price is really that bad.”

Ghost shook his head. “Nah, I want to.” He reached for the lamp and jerked his head at you. “Get settled, love. You can still get a decent amount’a sleep in.”

“What will you do?” you asked as he dimmed the light.

“Me?” he shrugged as you lay down. “I’ll live.”

“Then I should stay up too.”

“No, sleep. That’s an order,” he said, the command stern yet playful and stoking the fire in your chest. You swore he winked at you, but it could’ve been a trick of the light. 

“Fine,” you huffed. You closed your eyes so you could focus on the silky tones of his voice.

“Now then,” he cleared his throat. “Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.”

You smirked. “Off to a great start already, Ghost.”

There was a low chuckle. You smiled, hoping he was looking at the page, but also secretly hoping he was looking at you. Maybe he was, but you could already feel your mind relaxing even though he’d only read the title. There was something in your gut telling you that Ghost was softer than he seemed. The imposing, threatening lieutenant was just a man that enjoyed tea and struggled with insomnia—and apparently, he was a bit of a softie underneath his vest and mask.

As he read, you began to let your mind drift off into dreamland, lulled by Ghost’s dulcet tones and the way he tried to engage with the text, varying his intonation and even chuckling at some of the dialogue and sentences. If he truly didn’t care, you couldn’t tell; he seemed to get more wrapped up in the book the more he read. 

“..but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, and noble mien, and—”

“Hm, like you,” you mumbled to your pillow, thinking of Ghost.

There was a pause, then he continued, sounding amused. He probably hadn’t heard you. He was probably just smirking at the next sentence about Darcy’s money, not your sleepy comment. You yawned, your eyes heavy and brain finally quiet enough for sleep to overtake you right as Darcy commented on Elizabeth’s appearance, Austen establishing their complicated and dramatic love-hate relationship.

Ghost wouldn’t tell you he’d blushed at your comment. That would be his sleepy secret.

masterlist | taglist

taglist: @tizylish @dheet @sinfulsalutations @oliviagreenaway @johfaam0 @sofasoap @nickangel13

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty fic #cod fic #soft simon riley #soft ghost #cod mwii fanfic #fluff #did I mention this is fluffy? #absurdly fluffy #my fic #gn!reader

[lizzyk137]

What about Tony flirting with the new head of NCIS & not knowing they are married to Gibbs ?

Flirting With the Boss' Wife- An NCIS Short (Tony/Gibbs X Gibbs' Wife)

Warnings: None, just fluff! Thank you for asking for this!! I haven't written in a while, and it was nice to sit down, watch NCIS, and write something! Hope you like it!! :)

Want to read more, visit my Masterlist!

"Have you seen the new director yet?" Tony asked McGee as they sat at their desks during a quick break between doing paperwork.

"No, I can't say I have." McGee answered back, not at all interested in another one of Tony's rambles about a girl. "I doubt she'll be paying any attention to us, though, since it's her first week here."

"Eh." Tony looked around the office, tiring of the conversion, and decided to set his sights on the gorgeous women that had just walked out of the elevator. "Damn..."

This woman dressed in a suit that clung to every curve she had and had black heels that helped elongate her body, making everything sit right where it needed to be. She put everyone women he's been with and all the women at N.C.I.S to shame. She was naturally gorgeous, not to the point where she looked faked, but just enough to catch your breath when you looked at her.

She made her way up to their bullpen and smiled at both men who had watched her walk up, jaws slightly hanging. "Hello, gentleman. Do you know where I might find Special Agent Gibbs?"

Tony stood and flashed his thousand watt smile. "Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. Gibbs is out, but what can I do to help a beautiful woman like yourself?"

"Is this how you greet everyone women who come to the office, oh Very Special Agent DiNozzo?" The woman said with a playful tone.

"Not unless they're you." Which earned Tony a snort from McGee.

The woman walked over to Gibbs' desk and sat down, resting her chin on the back of her hands as she leaned against the desk with her elbows. "I doubt that much to be true, but I'm flattered nonetheless. I don't mind waiting for him, do you know when he'll be back?"

"I would say soon, but with Gibbs sometimes, you don't know." McGee answered before Tony could rely with another flirtatious remark. "Special Agent McGee, ma'am."

"It's nice to meet you, McGee, I've only heard good things about you so far." Both men stared at her questioningly, and she answered before they could ask. "I'm the new director. Call me Liza, for now."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am." McGee said with a short nod.

Tony came up to Gibbs' desk and leaned against it, a smile still on his face. "And have you heard anything particular about me? I can assure you, I have many good qualities."

"Oh, yes, I've heard quite a few things about you, DiNozzo." A small smirk forming on her lips. "One of the top things is how obnoxious your flirting can be."

DiNozzo looked at her with a small amount of shock for a second before replacing with a smile and a small chuckle. "You can't always believe what people say. I guess we just gotta spend some more time together, say how about tomorrow night, 7 o'clock, I'll pick you up?"

Before Tony could hear a reply, a hard slap to the back of the head made him grunt and turn to see Gibbs walking up to the new director and giving her a kiss on the cheek before he turned to Tony to ask, "Are you hitting on my wife, DiNozzo?"

#ncis #ncis fandom #ncis gibbs #jethro gibbs #ncis imagine #tony dinozzo #ncis tony #ncis mcgee #tim mcgee #gibbs #gibbs wife #anthony dinozzo #dinozzo

[modelbus]

Hiiii can I request a Tommyinnit x fem!reader where it’s during the ‘making 100 friends in one day vlog’ where Tommy meets the reader and he gets sad when he didn’t pick up the courage to ask for her number but the reader sneakily snuck it in his pocket.

I read this request right as I started to play that video, so I'm taking it as a sign that I was meant to write this.

Final Friend

Pairing: CC!Tommyinnit x Fem!Reader

He’s trying to get his final five friends when he sees you. You’re just reading a book on a bench, maybe for school or for fun, but his eyes are drawn to you for some reason. And now that he’s seen you… well.

It’s just natural to notice that you’re pretty, right? Because you’re really pretty. Ash nudges him after he stares for too long with a knowing grin.

“Fuck off.” “Are we talking about how you were staring at that girl?” Elodie asks from behind the camera. “You should go ask her to be your friend.”

“No!” He immediately protests. “I can’t do that!”

“Because she’s pretty?”

“Exactly! Wait-“

“Talk to her at least.”

“Maybe.” He concludes.

And by maybe, Tommy means no. While he’s perfectly fine asking strangers whose opinions he doesn’t give a shit about to be his friend, he isn’t with asking you. Mostly because you’re a pretty girl whose opinion he actually cares about.

About ten minutes later he’s gone through four more new friends, leaving him just one person short of a hundred. He can’t help but glance over at you. It was a weird coincidence that you were still here, he needed one more friend, and that you were the closest person to him. Elodie and Ash had been nudging him towards you, eagerly trying to hype him up to talk to you.

Worst case scenario you tell him no, right? Technically yes, but then his ego would be bruised and he’d be embarrassed.

(and his shot with you would be gone)

Best case scenario, he gets your number and maybe even a date! But, as Dream would say, that was a one in 7.5 trillion chance. “Ask Schlatt for advice.” Elodie suggests. “Content.”

The idea that Schlatt would decide for him was the most disastrous idea ever. But the thought of it was making him smile so he starts FaceTiming his idol.

“Hey Schlatt.” He greets, acting all mopey for the camera. “I’ve been trying to make a hundred friends, and I have one left, but…”

“But what Tommy?!” Schlatt yells, face too close to the camera just like Tommy’s. “I don’t have all day!”

“I- too many bitches, yeah?”

“Yeahh!”

“So there’s this girl that is just really pretty, and Elodie and Ash are trying to get me to ask her to be my friend but I-“

“You know what I always say Tommy?!”

“Shoot guns?”

“No, no, the other one.”

“Monkey balls?”

“Eh, close enough. Go for it, Tommy. Ask her to be your friend or whatever. Fuck failure.”

“Fuck failure.” Tommy repeats, nodding. “Fuck failure! Thanks Schlatt!”

“Now hurry up and do your fucking tasks!”

Schlatt hangs up on him, and Tommy doesn’t give himself time to think it over. He turns and marches right up to you, holding his mic. Maybe he’ll even ask for your number!

“Hi! Uh, so I’m new to New York and I was trying to make a hundred friends! I’m Tom, by the way.” He holds out his mic to you, watching as you close your book with an amused smile.

Shit, he forgot to ask if you’d be his friend.

“Are you British? Sorry, the accent surprised me.”

American. He doesn’t know why it surprises him, he’s in America, but it does. Somehow he still finds himself completely absorbed in your voice.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nods. “I’ve moved here for two weeks. I’m trying to become a true New Yorker though.”

“Really? Good luck with that. Have you been to the Statue of Liberty yet?”

“No.”

“Good, no New Yorker actually goes to it.”

“That’s what everyone else said!” He laughs. “So, would you be my final friend?”

“Gladly.” Gladly! You said gladly!

“Great! Could we get a photo?”

“What good is a friend if you don’t document it?”

He sits down next to you on the bench, holding out his phone. After the photo he gets up. “Thank you so much!”

“Anytime.” It’s only after he heads to dinner for the day that he realizes he never got your number. All of that conversation and he still didn’t manage to string words together to ask.

Fucking sucks, because he genuinely thought you were a cool person. Just from that brief conversation he knew you wouldn’t be leaving his mind.

The rest of the dinner passes in miserable thoughts of “what if.”

What if he had asked for your number? What if you two would’ve became close friends through texting? What if you two would've had a great romance all because he had asked for your number? “You look so sad.” Elodie points out to him.

“I forgot to ask for her number!”

“Or her name.” He forgot to ask your name! Tommy just kept fucking things up, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He groans, tucking his hands into his pockets. Upon feeling paper, he freezes.

Tommy definitely didn’t remember having any paper on him. Maybe it was a receipt he stashed there? Pulling it out, he stares down at it.

Not a receipt: it’s a sticky note. He flips it over and grins. Your name and number. How you had managed to slip it to him he had no idea, but he was glad you did.

Ash points to it curiously.

“Her name and number!” He cheers. “I’m going to message her right now.”

Grabbing out his phone, he opens up his messages and inputs your number. Then, he begins to type.

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x you #dsmp #mcyt #mcyt imagine #tommy mcyt #tommy innit

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part Six)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest (at this stage accidental), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Smut

Words: 1,456

You heard a few more footsteps until the door was ripped wide open and you saw her. You looked her straight into the eyes which were filled with anger and you were barely quick enough to cover your naked body with the large white cotton that made up Tommy’s bed sheets.

“What is she doing here?” the brunette asked, causing Tommy to sit up and pull up his suit pants which, by this point, he had already gotten rid of simple for the sake of comfort.

“Lizzie, let’s talk downstairs, eh” he then said without bothering to put on any other clothing. He approached her as he spoke, but she pulled away from him and spat with anger.

“I cannot believe that you are fucking this whore” she cursed and Tommy immediately lifted his index finger, cautioning her.

“Lizzie, shut up and calm down” Tommy spat before pulling Lizzie into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

“You don’t tell me to shut up Thomas! I am carrying your child and you need to show some fucking respect” Lizzie argued as, slowly, but surely, she followed him downstairs and into his office.

“I will show you some fucking respect when you learn how to respect my guests. Y/N is one of them and I expect you to behave accordingly, eh’ Tommy told her angrily while, on the way to his office, lightening himself a cigarette which he retrieved from the pocket in his pants.

“Now tell me Lizzie, what’s wrong? Why are you here?” he then asked as, finally, they both reached his office. He took a seat while Lizzie stood in front of him with her arms crossed in protest.

“This woman you brought into your bedroom is a thief. She stole from the safe at the gambling den last night” Lizzie said rather angrily, causing Tommy’s eyebrows to furrow.

“How much is missing?” he asked, although he did not really appear to be concerned.

“A lot. About 10,000 pounds. Linda did two counts and we are exactly 10,000 pounds short and I am telling you that it was her. It must have been her” Lizzie tried to allege but, of course, Tommy had your back and chuckled.

“It couldn’t have been her Lizzie. She was with the night before, at the library” Tommy explained with a sense of calm in his voice and this frustrated Lizzie even more.

“At the library? She can’t even fucking read Tommy” Lizzie spat and Tommy answered her calmly again.

“I am teaching her” he explained and this surprised Lizzie. He really seemed to be making an effort with you and she did not understand why.

“You disgust me” Lizzie said before asking him whether he was in love with you.

“Perhaps I am” Tommy told her calmly again and, when she queried what this meant for her and her baby, Tommy began to think about it. It was not really something he had put his mind to just yet but he knew that, sometime soon, he had to make a decision and Lizzie reminded him of exactly that.  

“You are in the run to become a Labour MP and I am not going to keep quiet about the baby being yours. Just keep that in mind when you fuck her” Lizzie threatened him and, as if the threat didn’t mean anything to him, he changed the topic. He knew that, ideally, he should be marrying her. It would be the right thing to do and increase his chances during the election. But, even for Tommy, marriage was something reserved for people who were in love and he was certainly not in love with Lizzie. He was in love with you.

***

After twenty minutes of talking to Lizzie about you and the stolen money and a couple of phone calls to Michael and Arthur, Tommy returned to his bedroom and saw that you had gone.

“The lady has left sir. But she did leave a rather cryptic note” Frances said as she noticed from the hallway that Tommy was looking for you.

“A note?” Tommy asked surprised and, when Frances handed it to him, he smiled.

“Gone Home. See you. Love, Y/N” was all it said and, considering that, until most recently, you could not even write out your own name, he was rather impressed by your efforts.

At home, however, you were met by a surprise and when you noticed some light shining through your apartment’s window, you pulled out the gun from your handbag which Tommy had given last night simply as a precaution.

Of course, you lacked experience when it came to shooting a gun but carrying and pointing one was often intimidating enough for any intruder to disappear. Thus, you opened the door to your unit just like this, with the gun in your hand, pointing inwards and into the direction of your living room.

“Who is it and what are you doing in my apartment?” you called out and, when you heard a familiar voice greeting you, you quickly lowered your weapon.

“Mother? Jesus! What are you doing here?” you asked as you put your gun away but your mother was furious already.

“What are you doing with a gun?” she yelled at you and, when you explained to her that you were carrying it simply as a precaution, she began to lecture you until you finally interrupted her.

“Can you please tell me why you are here?” you asked her again and she sighed before sitting back down at the kitchen table to sip on her cup of tea.

“I am here to check on you because I received this from a local member of the police. His name is Constable Moss” she told you before handing you letter which informed her that her husband had been found dead. Since he had been missing for a while, his death alone did not really surprise her, but the fact that he was shot was something that came as concern for her.

“You did this, didn’t you?” she then immediately alleged, seeing that you were carrying a gun and when you did not answer her right away, she began to yell again. “Answer me!” she demanded, which is when you smiled and shook your head.

“I didn’t do jack shit mother” you then said but she didn’t believe you.

“You killed him” she thus alleged again and, again, you shook your head.

“No, I didn’t. But I am glad that he is dead now. He deserved it and I am thankful to whomever was kind enough to pull the trigger” you then said and, for some reason, she was even more concerned about him having been shot now than before, when she assumed that it was you who had killed him.

“What is wrong with you child? Who did you get yourself involved with?” she asked, panicking, while roaming through the papers and letters scattered across your kitchen table/

“I got myself involved with people who can actually stand up for themselves” was all that you said until, suddenly, your mother picked up your latest pay cheque.

“Shelby Company Limited” she read out loud before giving you yet another lecture.

“I told you to stay away from the factories around here” she told you harshly but you did not want to hear it. You had enough of her trying to protect you after she failed to protect you from the monster who was your stepfather.

“I am not working at the factories, mother. I am working for Thomas Shelby. He has offices in town” you explained to her nonetheless in order to relief her from her concerns but, unbeknownst to you, telling her that you were working for this man himself made her worry even more.

“You must resign immediately” she told you and, when she spoke, it almost sounded like she was giving you an order.

“No” was your response. “I enjoy working for him and won’t be resigning” you explained.

“I beg you Y/N, just listen to me this one time. Resign and come back to Camden Town with me” she then begged you almost desperately but, again, you shook your head.

“No. I am done with this life. I like it here. Now please leave” you told her sternly, but she would not relent. This was too important to her and you did not quite know why.

“I am staying here for a few days Y/N. This is my apartment too. I will be departing Sunday afternoon” she then told you, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Fine. You should have the bed then as I have things to do” you told her before grabbing hold of your bag again with the intention to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked but you did not answer her.

“I won’t be gone for long” was all you said before closing the door behind you.

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