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ghoulphile · 20 days

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sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout smut #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout fanfic

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certifiedyapperx · 27 days

Text

Captain John Price • broken.

PAIRING: John Price x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: the result of my poll. in short, you tell your captain that the reason you’ve only dated one man is because your ex said you were broken due to your inability to orgasm; and price offers to show you that the only thing broken was your confidence.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k (got carried away.)

TAGS: 18+, PURE FILTHY SMUT MDNI, Slight Degradation, Praise, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Absurd amount of swearing, Fingering, Price being daddy as fuck.

"What about that ex girlfriend of yours, Gaz?"

As soon as those words left the Scottish lads lips, everyone in the room was giggling like a lot of fucking schoolgirls. You'd be lying if you said that didn't include yourself.

"You want to talk about ex girlfriends now, Soap?" Gaz sat forward in his chair, eyeing his grinning teammate from across the room, the grip on his glass so tight you were worried it'd shatter between his fingers. "What about that woman you boned in Prague? The one that wanted, oh--how do I say it...a little ride on train 141."

"Nuthin' little about that train." Ghost added through a choked chuckle, barely able to get the words out.

Your fucking abdomen was starting to get sore from the amount of laughing you'd done tonight. These men were absolutely ridiculous. You'd never heard more obscene sex stories in your damn life, and they've got a bloody abundance of them--the back and fourth taunting over who fucked who and who did what never seemed to end. It was almost three in the morning and they were still going strong.

"Aye," Soap leaned back in his chair, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a slow sip, wide eyes gleaming as he reminisced. "Fuckn' wild one, that one. Had her nice and tamed for me by the end of that deployment.”

"Aye, the fucking woman whisperer, this one," Ghost chimed in again, his balaclava half pulled up, exposing his stubble-donned chin and grinning lips as he took a hefty swig of bourbon. Not even fazed. "Almost as smooth as Price."

Everyone in the room chuckled, nodding and muttering words of agreement, but you were stuck in place--still absentmindedly staring at Ghost while turning the words over in your mind, curiosity piqued.

"Price?" His name left your lips before you could even attempt to prevent it.

All eyes in the room shifted toward you, and Gaz cocked an eyebrow. "You've never heard any of his stories?"

Ghost shot him a look. "Clearly not."

"I mean, I've heard some..." you mumbled, awkwardly trying to fix the mess you've just made. Your gaze darted between the three men staring at you, each set of eyes glazed with confusion, clearly trying to figure out why you were so taken aback. "Captain is far more secretive than the rest of you."

You'd been on the team for a solid eight months. Since recruitment, you'd worked alongside Price every single fucking day, yet the man hardly ever spoke about his personal life.

Unlike the others, who seemed to never stop.

"Around you, yeah." Soap mumbled with a smirk, shooting a knowing glance toward Gaz who instantly returned it.

Your brows knit in confusion. "Around me?"

"Aye." Ghost replied for Soap, and you were practically sitting on the edge of your goddamn seat as you knew he wasn't finished. He shifted lower in his chair as his eyes traced up and down your form. "You're new. You're hot. You've never spoken a word about your own personal life. The man's a bloody nutcase, but he hides it well when he needs to--he probably doesn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" You had to fight to keep your jaw off the floor. Trying to mask your confusion, you cleared your throat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

At your reaction, everyone chuckled again, and your face immediately flushed with blood--shading you the same crimson colour found on a ripe fucking tomato. If there was some joke happening here, it'd clearly flown way above your radar.

And yet, before you or anyone else could even consider speaking again, the man of the hour appeared in the doorway, and you nearly fell out of your chair.

"Valid question." He didn't even acknowledge you as he spoke, eyes fixed on Ghost as he took a step into the room.

Gods, he was fucking attractive—every molecule in your being screamed at the sight of him. You'd done everything you could to ignore that fact for the entirety of your time here, ensuring your focus was trained on keeping things professional--but after two glasses of whiskey and the current topic of conversation, the flood gates were wide fucking open.

"Go on, Ghost," his voice was low, deep as the depths of your desire as his ocean eyes slowly danced around the room. "...I'd like to know the answer as well."

Price took a seat across from you, slouching slightly and nodding toward Soap who promptly poured him a glass of burning brown liquid and slid it across the table. Ghost pulled down his balaclava in attempt to hide his cheeky fucking grin, shrugging as though he had no idea what his Captain was on about.

"Not sure what you mean, Cap." Ghost quipped, and you could practically hear the beaming delight in his words. "We're just talking."

"Hm," Price side-eyed him, humoured. "You always talk about me?"

"Only when you're not around." Soap chimed in, snuffing a groan in his throat as he'd downed the rest of his drink and stood up, shooting an inebriated nod to each of you. "Well, would you look at the time--I'm gonna' hit the sack. Duty calls, y'know."

Your stomach churned with confusion, your eyes glued to the Scottish bloke who decided it was convenient to make his exit the exact moment Price entered the room. You almost wanted to reach over and yank him back into his seat.

"Keep it classy ya filthy bastards."

He shot you a cheeky wink from beyond the door frame before disappearing into the abyss, only for Gaz and Ghost to rise from their seats as well, seemingly following Soap's lead, muttering excuses about how late it was and how exhausted they were.

Your mind raced at lightning speed, trying to make sense of the sudden exodus. You were going to kill those fuckers in the morning.

Price broke the silence before it had the chance to linger for too long. "It's not personal, you know."

Your heart slammed your sternum. You sucked in a breath and trapped it there. You needed to calm the fuck down--though that seemed like a goddamn impossible task at the moment. Prices' voice was the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. It stirred every last atom within you.

Avoiding his eyes, you straightened in your seat, clearing your throat. "I know."

"Do you?" He cocked an eyebrow, two fingertips tracing the rim of his glass. "I'm not so sure."

You looked up now--almost immediately regretting it as your eyes caught his. You forced words out of your mouth before you could acknowledge how the way he was looking at you made you feel.

"It's because I haven’t opened up to you..." you murmured. "Yeah?"

Price nodded, choosing to remain silent, his gaze anchoring you to the floor—every muscle stiff as stone.

You cleared your throat again. "Well. What do you want to know? My family? Where I grew up-"

"No." He cut you off, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as his stare intensified. "...I already know all that. You're my recruit, I know everything about your past..." his head tilted, his eyes narrowed, and he pushed his glass to the side, clasping his hands together infront of him. "What I don't know, is why a woman as skilled, as smart, and as undeniably attractive as you, has only ever been with one man."

Blood crystallized in your veins, every ounce of your skin vibrating with an emotion you couldn't identify. He was so close—closer than you'd initially gauged—and that closeness ignited dormant desperation, one you'd nearly forgotten existed.

Your throat was thick. Saliva lodged inside it. "I..."

There was a reason. There was a very good reason as to why you've only been with one man, why you promised to never put yourself through that shit again. But you couldn't bring yourself to say it, you couldn't bring yourself to speak the words aloud. That would mean being vulnerable, humiliatingly vulnerable--one of the many things soldiers were trained not to be.

Captain Price hummed, leaning back slightly, and a swarm of unpreventable desire roared alive in your chest. His attention flicked over you. Like he'd felt it.

He remained silent. He was waiting for an answer.

"It's...um..."

Your brain filtered through pages of plausible excuses until it landed on one. Inhaling a breath, you forced the fibbing syllables past your teeth, shrugging in an attempt to make it believable.

"I just...never found anyone I jived with.”

Price paused, his scrutiny skinning you raw. It was like he knew what was waiting on the edge of your tongue, like he could smell the smoke swirling off the fire below your waist. He wasn't buying it.

"You can't lie to me." His words only confirmed your thoughts. "I mean, theoretically you could, though I'd advise against it."

You swallowed, forcing your eyes to your hands. "I'm not lying."

"Perhaps not," he replied, voice cool as ice. "But you're certainly omitting."

Fuck, he was good. And of course he was--there was a reason he was Captain. He was fucking bred for this. You were certain he could detect a lie from light years away.

"It's embarrassing," you replied, ignoring the thrilled leap your heart made that he'd read you so well. "You'll think less of me."

John Price leaned further across the small table, nibbling the distance between you. The intensity of his focus made your insides tangle, something was undoubtedly churning within his mind. A breath caught in your throat as his eyes held yours.

"I don't care," he stole another inch, and you could now comfortably say that he was well within your personal space. "If this is going to work, there has to be trust. Because you should trust me—as your Captain, and as your friend..." in a single abrupt movement, he stood up, towering over you, eyes boring into the top of your head until he shifted toward the door. "...when you're ready to open up to me, I’ll open up to you."

Ice braced your veins. This was the most conversation you'd had with your Captain since you joined the team, and you were about to blow it with your inability to talk to him. To just telling him the fucking truth. He took a step back from the table, began moving toward the door, and you panicked.

You let him get two steps from reaching it before you jumped up, out of your seat. "Wait!"

Time was a relative concept. But as your Captain spun, and as you linked eyes with him, it slowed. Stopped.

You cleared your throat for the millionth time. "It's because...it's because I'm broken."

Price's eyes widened, only momentarily, before they narrowed--out of curiosity or skepticism, you couldn't tell.

"You’re broken." He said, drawing the words out on his tongue while taking a slow, lengthy step toward you. "Elaborate."

You dropped your eyes to the floor again, catching sight of his brown, rugged combat boots as they stepped into your line of sight. Heat flashed your face, and you shifted on your feet.

"My...my ex...um," your voice was barely above a whisper. Something felt gut-wrenchingly humiliating about having this conversation with your fucking Captain. "He, he kinda fucked with my head, I guess. Made me never want to date again."

You heard an exhale, a huff of enticed breath leaving lungs.

"I think," Price eased closer, and you caught whiff of his cologne--the scent engulfing your senses, sending hunger snarling and snapping for relief. "...you're omitting again."

"Why?..." you blurted, trailing your gaze past the vast expanse of his strong chest and up to his gleaming eyes peering down at you. You blinked. "...do you think that?"

Price raised a brow. "Am I wrong?"

"No, it��s just…” you closed your eyes, took a breath. Let it out. No point in lying. Just rip off the fucking bandaid. "He broke up with me because I couldn't orgasm. He said I was broken because of it. It’s dumb, but it hurt.”

Gods, it felt so fucking stupid that you had to smile, had to damn near laugh at yourself. As much as it sounded so foolish, you'd always just considered that maybe something was actually wrong with you. After all, he was your first, and your only—and the fact that you could never orgasm bothered you, too.

However, when you finally reopened your eyes, swallowing whatever ounces of pride you had left, you found a depth to your Captain's ocean irises that was not there before.

There was something floating inside them, now--something primal, something depraved.

"Interesting." His hand raised from his side, grazing over your cheek and coming to a slow on your neck, the tips of his fingers skimming over your racing pulse. "Broken."

Any blood that had been left in your head was now plummeting to your core.

"Broken." You whispered.

Price exhaled, his breath caressing your face, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to thrust itself past your teeth. Never once would you have considered the thought of actually fucking your Captain--but right here, right now, with the way he was touching you, analyzing you, palpably tempting you--it was becoming more difficult to deny the physical need steaming from your pores.

"This,” his voice was so deep it made your blood sweat, his thumb stroking your pulse. "Doesn't feel broken at all."

Adrenaline surged you, ambushing your lungs with rapid breath, flares of lust sparking over your skin. You leaned into his touch, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a hum and a straight up growl.

Your pulse soared, your hand finding his wrist. “Captain…”

It would be lying to say you thought this was a good decision. But you couldn't find a fuck within you. After years of denying yourself any sort of physical touch due to the shame that consumed you, Price had perceived it without effort and ordered you strip yourself of pretense in his presence.

"Let me show you...." Price wedged a boot between your feet, his hips brushing yours, other hand finding your hip. "...that the only thing broken is your confidence."

You nearly whimpered. "Please."

Without further contemplation, your eyes darted to his lips the same millisecond his darted to yours, and you both moved at once. Price groaned, one hand shooting into your hair, the other supporting the small of your back, tugging you close. His hungry mouth captured yours, teeth nipping your lower lip as he spun you around and pushed you back against the table.

You groaned into his mouth, your ass hitting the cool metal with abrupt force. His lips attacked your jawline, moved down to your neck, and another groan escaped you, this time in bliss.

"Fuck," you cursed under your breath, throwing your hips into his, allowing desperation to guide you. "Captain..."

A low, menacing noise reverberated in his throat and he seized your neck again, bringing his mouth to your ear.

"My name," he took the lobe between his teeth, earning a squeak. "Say it."

"John—" You gasped, clawing at his back. "Shit."

"Mm. Good girl. So obedient..." he purred, tracing his mouth along the curve of your ear. "So responsive."

"Fuck." Every new beat of your heart brought a desperate pulse to your cunt. His fingers found your hair again, curling into a fist. "John...please..."

Your Captain hummed, just as his lips moved back to your pulse and attacked it, sucking rough rabid marks to the surface, his hips grinding against yours. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and he moved lower, releasing your head to work on removing your clothes.

Before your belt even hit the floor, he was tearing off your shirt and tugging off your bra--exposing your breasts to the cool air of the dimly lit room, surging goosebumps to life that he was quick to cover with his hands, taking the fresh tissue between them and kneading it.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, to himself you presumed. "You're fucking perfect."

There was one brief second of thought surrounding the notion that any one of your teammates could walk in and find the two of you here—but that thought was quickly lost as Price leant down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You squealed, squeaking in pleasure, and his grip possessed your hips.

"So sensitive..." he said with a grunt. Your Captain wasn't just hungry—he was starved, more voracious by the second, spurred on by your reactions. "Fucking hell."

He leaned back, hooked his fingers under the waist of your pants and pulled, unconcerned for the ripping seams as he forced them down the curve of your thighs. Your head rung, entire body tingling. Paralyzed, you watched your Captain tear off your boots and rip your pants free, tossing them all to the side.

"Fuck me." He muttered again, returning his sights to your figure. "Look at you."

Price examined you like a meal, gaze traveling from your collarbone to your breasts, down past the curve of your belly to the swell of your hips, coming to a slow between your quivering thighs.

Adrenaline had got you this far. Reality was setting in. "Captain..."

"Shh," calloused hands found your hips, urging you back against the desk, spreading your legs further apart as he inserted himself between them. "I already told you what to call me."

You shuddered, twitching from his touch, and the corner of his lip quirked. Smouldering blue eyes searing into your skin. "John, I—"

His thumbs slid close to your heat, dipping into the crease and teasing close to the edge of your thong. Reality was a plummeting star, crashing down into your mind without regard. Nerves were consuming you, fingers digging into his biceps in attempt to stop them from shaking.

"You...what?" His voice was practically a lullaby. How something so deep could be so soothing was beyond your comprehension. "Go on, pretty thing..."

"I just..." you shifted your hips, trying to balance fear with desire. "I'm just...I don't want to disappoint you..."

Price assessed you, only for a moment, gracing your thigh with a stern yet gentle smack before trailing upward.

"Enough." It was an order. "I want you out of that beautiful mind."

He brushed his finger across your cunt, grazing over your swollen clit, and you choked, hips snapping toward him.

"Don't think..." the power in his words was intoxicating, a command given with the confidence of knowing you'd obey. He teased your clit again and you whinged, gripping him harder. "...just feel."

Before a coherent thought could enter your head, he pulled your panties to the side with two thick fingers, not giving you a second to brace for it before he used those same fingers and sank them into your tight, aching cunt.

"Oh—fuck-"

You groaned, head tossed back, walls tightening around the delicious stretch as he pried you open with slippery ease. The intensity, the fullness from just his fingers stole your breath, dizzied your mind, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the growling breath escaping his lungs, trying to ground yourself as much as you could.

"Christ...tight little cunts just soaked..." he was right, you were dripping. You couldn't ever remember being this wet. In truth, you couldn't ever remember being this turned on, this desperate for touch. "Tell me how that feels."

"G-oh, fuck—" any additional words you had planned on using instantly died on your tongue as Price curled inside of you, pushing deep, every coherent thought fleeing your mind with a moan. Your entire body pulsed for him, like he'd shaken every cell awake and enthralled it under his possession. "John—oh, Gods!"

It wasn't like you'd never been fingered. It'd just never felt like this.

Something about the trained motion of his hand, the skilled curl of his wrist, the attunement to your body was consuming you--the need for more only increasing as he found a perfect rhythm, fucking slow, reaching to your belly while his thumb circled your sensitive clit. Your cunt throbbed, squeezed around him, as if to coax him deeper inside of you.

"Needy little thing," an amused huff at the corner of your consciousness. You forced yourself to look at him—he was smirking. "Tell me how it feels."

Desperation was throbbing at your temples, growling and coiling in your belly—unfathomable, incredible desperation stalling your lungs. Unfamiliar, but entirely absentmindedly as Price stroked your walls, stroked your clit, and you were gasping, you were—

"So fucking good—" you were practically screaming, brain a mangled mess of aimless words. "Cap—John, I—I'm-"

His free hand seized your jaw, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his fingers still keeping their pace, your vision blurring to bliss. "You're?"

You gasped. "I’m-"

"You’re close." Fire flooded your flesh, and you mewled like a nervous, helpless animal. His grip tightened. Intensity and power radiating off him in waves. "S’ that what you want, little slut? Hm? You wanna’ fuckin’ cum for your Captain, don’t you?”

“Yes!” No thought required. “Pleasepleaseplease-“

“Mhm. That’s right, that’s right—“ he was just as gone as you were. Air rattled in your lungs like rocks. Your vision blurring as you held onto him like your life depended on it. “Cum on my fingers, darling, let me feel you.”

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the gates of heaven themselves. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunting for air while he worked you through the receding tide of your release.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled, the arrogance in his tone palpable. “Look how easy that was, hm?”

Your Captian pulled his fingers from cunt and yanked you off the table by the hold on your jaw—you stumbled into him, wetness seeping down your thighs, brain given less than two seconds to process the slew of events before his slick covered fingers were at your lips and pushing past your teeth.

"The way I see it, soldier—there are two possible explanations here." He shoved his fingers deeper, reaching for the back of your throat. "Either you somehow managed to lie to me..." he pressed against you, his desire evident in the way it was jabbing against your stomach. "Or this tight little cunt has never been properly sated."

Your heart was in your feet, your lips sealed around his fingers as you held his eyes, a shade of blue so deep you'd almost thought you were staring into the depths of the ocean. His pupils were blown wide with lust, it was clear what he was getting at—and judging by the way your cunt clenched in response to his words, it was clear that you felt the same.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, looking for a response. You gave the only words you could think of. "I didn’t lie…I’ve had sex, Captain...I’ve just never done—that.”

"Well I think I've just proven that it wasn’t due to any fault of your own." His words were backing you into a corner, an explanation that was challenging to draw yet completely impossible to now ignore. "I got you there in seconds."

Your face grew hot. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he assessed you, eyes looking past you, through you. “Your ex didn’t know what he was doing.” he leaned in closer, plush lips curling into a mischievous grin. “All you needed was someone who knew how to handle you.”

"Hm." The arrogance was stifling, setting you ablaze. It only made you want him more. "Cocky bastard."

"Cocky," he repeated with a raised brow. "You have no idea, princess.”

"You know what, Captain," you teased with a smirk of your own, unable to tear your sights off him. His eyes. His lips. "I think you just got lucky."

“Luck.” He chuckled—a deep, growling thing. "I don’t do luck, soldier. I do facts.” Price shifted a hand to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants as he pressed against you. “Fact one, I just gave you your first orgasm.” He was possessed, hungry, borderline rabid. “Fact two, I could do it again on my cock. If you’d like.”

And you, you were his eager, willing prey.

"Shit," you muttered, the words shooting straight to your cunt. You didn’t need any further discussion. You wanted him, and nothing could stop the next words from leaving your lips. "Please...please fuck me..."

Your Captain growled. The sweet desperation of your pleas sending him past the point of salvation. He sucked in a breath. Trapped it there—internally clutching whatever ounces of restraint he had left.

"You sure you want this?" His voice was so fucking low you almost missed it. His fingers moved to his belt, and his lips moved to your ear. "I'm not so sure you can take it."

"I'm built for combat, Captain..." you murmured with a grin, spurred on by the evidence of his throbbing desire, fingers trailing toward his belt to help him along. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Price huffed against your jawline. Amused.

"You’re built for combat, undoubtedly..." you watched as he pulled free his thick, heavy cock. Your jaw slackened, your mouth watered. "But by the time I'm done with you, darling..." he seethed in relief as he guided his hand back and forth along his length, other one directing you back against the table. "You'll be built for me."

A sharp intake of breath found your lungs and then you were lying flat against the table, cool metal biting your backside and ripping goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You shuddered, seething in discomfort, but two strong hands made quick work to soothe them, coasting up your thighs until they found your hips, and then he stepped forward.

"Christ..." you whimpered as he loomed over you, the warm head of his cock rolling over your clit, teasing you with false thrusts, making sure you were well aware of just how long and fucking thick he was. "John..."

"Quiet." He purred, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Just let me break you open."

His heavy, smooth tip pressed against your entrance and then pushed in, head just barely spearing you yet somehow still splitting your cunt with a girth that stole your breath and forced a cry from your throat. With a breathless groan he pulled out, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing.

He smacked your thigh again. “Look at me.” He hissed, teeth sinking into the plush of his bottom lip as you instantly obeyed. “That’s it. Eyes on me.”

There was a mere second of silence before he sank in again, entirely this time—and though you were fucking sopped and pliant and voracious, he tore you wide with a sting.

"Oh—fuck-"

You fought for air, your body trembling, fingers clawing at anything that might steady you. He’d stuffed you full with ease, lungs heaving upon impact. Both big hands tightened around you, and he slid out, driving into you again with a hidden hiss of air, earning a loud, shameless groan from your lips.

"Fucking hell.” A dark, low voice rumbled from his throat. "Tight little whore. So fucking tight—"

"You're—oh, fuck—" words died on your tongue as he pulled out, pushed in again, sucking in air through his teeth, working you wider with each plunge into your pussy. You clenched around him, and he snuffed a moan, snapping his hips. "You're fucking huge."

"Mhm, yeah," it was a shameless admission. He placed a palm on your pelvis, pressing down, feeling himself fucking into you. He leaned back slightly, drawing long, slow strokes, forcing you to quake around every inch of his length. "That's how fucking deep I'm in you."

And deep he fucking was. Every centimeter banishing the ability to do anything other than exist as a stammering sheath for his cock. It wasn't penetration—it was pervasion, it was domination. Sex had never felt this intense. Sex had never felt this fucking tranquilizing.

"Christ—Cap-John—fuck—"

Price slid out and rocked in, driving to your stomach with a stab of blissful pain. Eyes snapping shut, you gripped his arms, seething when he thrusted again, and again. Each stroke shoved a cry from your chest, tightened your walls, and this only seemed to entice him, his cock splitting you apart. You scratched at his shoulders, fighting to find yourself in the bewildering delirium.

"There we go." His voice was distant in the sea of pleasure. "Look at you. Brainless on my fucking cock."

Your response was a moan, loud and shameless, gripping onto his arms and matching his rhythm, forcing your hips to his, a plea—faster, harder, more, more. Your Captain hissed in satisfaction, and his hand snaked between you, rolling and teasing your clit.

Your vision blurred for the hundredth time. "Oh, fuck—"

Delirium ascended into ecstasy, pleasure amplified by the stretch of his dick. He fucked into you, his skin smacking yours, his breath heaving in feral huffs.

"Fucking perfect pussy," he growled through his teeth, shifting your legs together and directing both ankles over his left shoulder, his thrusts slowly slightly as you gasped and whimpered, clawing at his hips, the new position causing the head of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. "Mm, fuck...this is what you needed, darling. You needed a proper fucking."

"Fuck," you replied, brain numbed by bliss. Words didn't even make sense. "Deep. So fuck—deep—"

"Fuck—take it, take it little slut." His thumb was back on your clit, swirling it in tight, fast circles, his cock fucking deep into you. "I warned you."

"John—" You needed to scream, fingers clawing at anything they could find. If you weren't broken before, you’d certainly be broken when he was done with you. "Fuck—"

Bliss burned to burst, stars swarmed your sight entirely, and you knew it, knew it was happening, knew that you were about to break. The feeling was so intense you didn't know what to do with yourself, you weren't sure if you could even get the words out to warn him.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck—I'm—I-I'm..."

"Yeah, that's right." He hissed, teeth barred, hips snapping. He already knew. "Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock."

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt milked his dick, your thighs spasming, your back reached for the ceiling, pleasure possessing your nerves.

"There we go—good little fucking slut—squeezing me so good," it seemed an eternity--he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, until he edged his climax. "Fucking hell."

He sputtered, pummelling your cunt with sloppy final thrusts, pouring his cum inside you, grip gouging your flesh until he descended, meeting you in the receding tides of your peaks. Both of you twitched with aftershocks, both of you seeking air.

Once he stalled, you sucked in a long inhale and peeled your eyes open, taking in your surroundings for the first time in however many minutes it had been. The room was still as dim and dreary as it was prior to your mind shattering, the only thing now different was your Captain—who remained looming over the table, cock still buried inside you, precipitation lining his forehead and chest still heaving for breath, piercing gaze perceiving you like a sated predator.

With a glance at your lips, he finally moved, pulling back and out of you, tucking himself away. It was then that reality struck you hard—you'd just fucked your Captain. And he'd just shattered the preconceived notions of everything you thought you knew.

You were not broken. You were perfectly fucking fine.

Price cleared his throat as you pulled yourself off of the table and stood. "Y'alright?"

You nodded, grabbing your pants off the floor. "Yes, Sir."

Shame engulfed you, for reasons you couldn't explain. Embarrassment threatened to swallow you whole.

"Hey." Sensing this, Price stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't do that."

Your eyes fixed on his. Outlining his perfectly tamed facial hair, his striking blue eyes. "Do what?"

"Avoid me." He simply stated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "All this was, was me proving to you that you're not broken. You're the furthest from. It doesn't have to be any more than that."

"I know…just feel stupid, I guess.” Your face was in flames. You swallowed your pride until it was digested. There was no room for that here, not after what’d just happened. “I, uh, I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

Price regarded you with eyes warm as the summer sun, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. “I wanted you to open up to me. Willingly. I never pry.”

You cracked a smile, slipping on your shoes. “You got your wish, then. Emotionally and physically.”

“Aye.” Your captain chuckled, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and plopping himself into a seat, sliding a glass across the table toward you. “My turn, yeah?”

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landograndprix · 3 months

Text

╰┈➤ ❝ desire • l.n c.l ❞ viii

part seven - part nine

➪ Charles hasn't paid much attention to you after your daughter was born but a certain Brit does.

➪ lando is here for the good, the bad and the ugly.

➪ mom!reader x dad!Charles x lando

➪ they are in fact my babies your honor 🥺 said I was gonna go super sweet, fluffy cute which okay..it still is but with a lil' spice 😇

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername

📍 Nice, France

liked by landonorris, manon_roux and 534,767 others

y/nusername ☀days

tagged; landonorris, milliexoxo

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milliexoxo how about you delete that picture? It's taken without my consent?!

↳ y/nusername just capturing the moments where you're the sweetest

milliexoxo I will quit my job

charliecharlie you should find a real job instead

milliexoxo girl why would i when I can stay with a rich, hot milf, her cute ass daughter and occasionally her sugar daddy?

bott_ass not millie calling lando a sugar daddy 😂

charliecharlie she didn't say it was lando 🙄

bott_ass bffr are you blind?

yourmumsuser pretty zoë 😍😍

manon_roux the happiest baby on earth 🥺

norrizz just casually laying in the same bed lmfao

↳ chilisainz jesus christ, so I'm not allowed to lay in the same bed as my guy friends anymore?

norrizz girl relax, I actually love them together as friends or more I didn't mean for it to sound so negative 😭

lando4norris c'mon lads, they are not just friends anymore and I hope they get treated well by each other after the shitty partners they had before

hamilt44n please adopt me :(

landonorris my little tiger 🐯

↳ milliexoxo I'm pretty sure that's a panther pattern my guy 🐆

y/nusername time to take you both back to the zoo because that's a leopard pattern

milliexoxo we've got miss know-it-all over here you guys!

norry4 millie, leave your mother alone 😭

carlandooo what is this little family dynamic and why do I want to be a part of it?

norrislandooo why are we all ignoring lando calling zoë MY little tiger????? 😭

charlos16 lmfao my girl saw the pictures of Charles and Noelle and decided to show life is fucking amazing without them, good for her!

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y/nusername posted to their story

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y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 501,002 others

y/nusername home² 🏡

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chilisainz y'all remember that weak ass bouquet she got from Charles couple months back? 💀

↳ norry4 was thinking about that as well, my girl really had an upgrade in her men :')

yourmumsuser 😍❤️❤️

hannahh truly living the good life 😩

yukisan please let us know how how the books are if you've finished them!

yesrislando charles lurking in the likes

↳ charlesgirlies probably because that's his daughter as well 🙄

yesrislando does Charles know it's his daughter though? 🥺

milliexoxo come home, the kids (me) are missing you

↳ sharl16 damn, sugar daddy really took your sugar mommy away from you? 😭

landonorris pretty ladies 😍

↳ norrizz almost chocked on my tea oml this is everything to me 😭

norry4 I actually need them to be together!!!

➽────────────────────────❥

Desire taglist; @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @aundercover @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalicinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @softboystarkey @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightdragon @cherry-piee @namgification

Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2 @i83andrew

#lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x you #charles leclerc x you #lando norris #charles leclerc #lando norris fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #lando x reader #charles x reader

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honnelander · 7 months

Note

OK SO I HAVE THIS IDEA IN MY HEAD AND I HAVE TO TELL YOU, I can't stop laughing imagining that scenario xdxdxdxdxd

Well, then imagine go fish! Sanji takes (Y/N) to meet Zeff and Zeff being the good father he is, "accidentally" spoils the tea in front of everyone because he is so done with the drama around. 😂 😂 😂 😂

UMMM OK I LOVE THISSS!! this technically won't be go fish!Sanji BUT my interpretation of Sanji will pretty much always be like that.

here's Zeff "accidentally" spilling the beans about Sanji's affections for reader: (i can't believe this blew up to like 3k words rip)

masterlist

Zeff wasn't stupid.

He's been around the block a couple of times in his life and when Sanji's semi-regular letters to him had shifted from casual life updates and started to be more and more about details and little interactions he had with you, some girl Zeff had never met before, well, it was easy for the head chef to put two and two together: Sanji was in love.

And he was in love with you.

Now, while Sanji might not technically be his son by birthright, there was no way he didn't consider Sanji to be his own living and breathing kin, especially after everything they've been through together, 'pedigree' rules be damned.

Zeff truly loved that boy. Throughout their time together, he had raised Sanji from being a snotty-nosed brat into the respectable man that he was today and, in Zeff's mind, part of being a respectable man included knowing how to treat a woman properly.

Ever since he was a young boy, Zeff could see that Sanji took a special liking towards girls and then young women. The retired captain had lost count of the number of times he had to berate Sanji into getting back to work and to leave the wooing for after dinner service and his own personal time, but the scoldings never stuck. Sanji would always be Sanji, and that meant the lad had an endless wandering eye and a sharp silver tongue, no matter what.

To say that Zeff was sad to see Sanji go with Luffy that day was an understatement, he was devastated, but he knew, ever since he had held a knife to his throat during their first encounter, that Sanji was meant for bigger things. For things bigger than cooking up the same old dinner specials every night and breaking up drunk pirate fights on the regular. Sanji was bigger than the Baratie, so when Luffy had made his infamous offer to his pseudo-son, a part of Zeff was relieved because that meant that Sanji could finally start living the life he was always meant to live, and that was one of a pirate.

Zeff had also made peace with the very real fact that he might never see or hear from Sanji again. He (and Sanji) knew all too well how quickly something could go from bad to worse to life-threatening in an instant out on the open ocean, and if Luffy was truly determined to find the one piece and have Sanji join his crew, then Zeff knew that seeing him off that day was probably the last time he would ever see his son alive.

So, imagine his surprise when he received his first letter from him.

At first, he thought it was a joke, that one of the line cooks in the kitchen was pulling a cruel prank on him by writing him a fake letter in Sanji's unmistakable handwriting, but when he finally ripped open the envelope and found out that yes, Sanji did, in fact, write him a letter, well... it had actually brought a tear to his eye.

From that point forward, Zeff found himself eagerly awaiting Sanji's letters. He loved to hear all about the outlandish adventures that crew seemed to always find themselves in and it made Zeff nostalgic for his days at sea. There was never any return address, since the crew was constantly on the move, and Zeff expected as such, so he could never send a reply but that didn't mean he wasn't grateful for each and every letter he received.

Zeff should've realized that something was up though when Sanji had first mentioned you in one of his letters. Sanji's letters would come every couple of months and they, surprisingly, never mentioned any young lass or any other pretty girl he would meet during an island visit unless it was a woman they had ended up fighting.

So, when Sanji had first mentioned you to him, saying how you were the newest straw hat to join the crew, Zeff had thought it was just business as usual. However, what wasn't 'just business as usual' was when the rest of the letter had turned into a little biography about you; where you were from, how old you were, what your home life was like, that you had also agreed that 'oregano was for savages', etc., and the letter ended up being nearly ten pages long.

Then, after your 'introduction' in Sanji's letters to him, you were practically the subject of them all going forward, each one getting longer than the last. Gone were the letters detailing Sanji's adventures, and in came the letters describing the interactions you two had or what topics had come up in your conversations with each other.

At first, Zeff thought it was just another one of Sanji's infatuations (the boy was a huge flirt after all) but when more and more details were provided, and the letters started becoming longer, it was obvious to Zeff that Sanji was in love with you.

And why didn't Sanji just admit his feelings to you? He had no clue. Maybe it was partially his fault too, since Zeff never remembered having that 'what to do when you truly love a girl' talk with him, but he had hoped that Sanji would eventually be fed up with all the back and forth between the both of you and finally just confess already, but that declaration of "I confessed my love to her and she reciprocated" line never was brought up in any of the letters.

And Zeff was feeling himself go crazy the longer this went on. The 'drama' that was occurring between you both was driving him nuts and he vowed that if he ever saw Sanji and the rest of the straw hat crew at the Baratie again, that he would confess Sanji's feelings towards you for him. I mean... someone had to.

Then one day his lucky day came.

"Zeff!" a voice called out from the top of the stairs one afternoon before the day's first dinner service, a voice that Zeff thought he would never hear again. "There you are, you old shitbag!"

Immediately, Zeff stopped talking to the wait staff, turning his body to look up at where he heard the voice come from, his hands on his hips, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing: there was Sanji, a huge smile on his face, standing with practically the same crew that he had waved goodbye to nearly two years ago.

"Oi! Sanji!" Zeff yelled out, his own disbelieving smile lighting up his face. "I never thought I'd see your ugly mug around here again."

Sanji laughed at that as he quickly bounded down the stairs, enveloping him in a bear hug. "That makes two of us!" He pulled back, his blue eyes lighting up in pure happiness as he quickly took Zeff in, patting him on the shoulder as he said, "And look at you, you practically look exactly the same as the day I left you."

As Zeff took in Sanji's appearance, he realized that he couldn't say the same about him. Sanji looked older, not in a bad way, but in a more mature way. He looked like he was growing into the man that he was always meant to be.

And Zeff couldn't have been more proud.

"Well, I can't say the same about you little eggplant. You look like a seasoned pirate to me." Both of them dropped their arms off of each other and Zeff put his hands back on his hips. "You keepin' your feet dry?"

Sanji mirrored his pose, a small laugh escaping his lips as he looked down for a second. "Yeah," he said and looked back up at Zeff, a knowing glint in his blue eyes. "Yeah, I am."

Zeff knew right then that everything with his son was alright. "Good."

"Hey, uh, I wanted to introduce you to someone," Sanji started, looking slightly bashful as he looked back down at the floor and put his hands in his pockets. "She's the-"

"Girl from the letters?" Zeff said with a small knowing smile, finding it endearing how his normally smooth-talking son was suddenly acting about this girl. If he didn't know any better, Sanji looked nervous (and Zeff knew he was).

At his words, Sanji's gaze immediately snapped up to meet Zeff's, his eyes becoming slightly wider, a hint of panic within them, as he quickly looked back towards the rest of his crew that had just started to make their way down the stairs and towards them.

"The newest member of our crew," Sanji emphasized loudly, letting out a fake laugh as he looked back at Zeff pointedly.

"Right," Zeff relented with a small disbelieving laugh of his own. "'Newest crewmember'. Got it."

And when Zeff turned his attention towards the straw hats, he immediately knew it was you before you even introduced yourself. Sure, you were the only new face in the small group of familiar faces, but he had to give credit to Sanji, he had definitely captured your looks and essence in his letters.

Zeff's smile widened. You were cute. From just by looking at you, he could tell you were a sweet and kind soul, it was no wonder Sanji loved you. You definitely looked like the type of person who would do all those things that Sanji had spoken about in his letters and he immediately approved of you. If Sanji had stood there and introduced you as his wife instead of 'his newest crewmember', he wouldn't have had any objections to that at all.

"Zeff, this is y/n," Sanji started, gesturing a hand out to you, Zeff noticing the way his son's eyes softened just by looking at you. "And, uh, you already know everyone else."

Zeff looked away from Sanji and down at you, seeing that you already had your hand out to shake his, a nervous smile plastered on your face.

He liked you.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Zeff, sir," you said, shaking his hand. "I've heard so much about you."

Now, even though Sanji had corrected him before about you, it didn't mean Zeff wasn't going to say anything.

"Aw, come on now, the pleasure is all mine little lass," Zeff replied, shaking your smaller hand with his bigger one. "It's nice to finally meet the girl that Sanji raves on about all the time."

From his peripheral, he could see Sanji stiffen.

Your eyes widened, your hand going limp in his as you asked, "Raves on about? Who, me? T-to you?"

Zeff's smile only grew wider and more cheeky. "Oh yeah, all the time," he said casually, as you both dropped hands. He placed his hands on his hips again and nodded towards his son. "You should see just how much of his letters are about you. It's like I get a damn novel every other month about your relationship," he joked.

"Zeff-" Sanji started but Zeff wasn't done.

He was on a roll and nothing was going to stop him. The more he spoke, however, the redder your face became.

"Oh yeah," the head chef continued, "from as much as Sanji talks about the two of you, I thought you two were in a relationship and said 'I love you' to each other already."

After he said that, the room got quiet. You stood there, completely frozen with wide eyes and a flushed face, like a deer in headlights, while Sanji stood as still as a statue. The rest of the straw hats stood quietly behind you three with varying looks of shock and awe on their faces at the display before them.

"Sanji," Luffy said, breaking the awkward silence first. "You love y/n?"

"Luffy!" Nami hissed.

"I knew it!" Usopp loudly and proudly declared, pointing a finger to the sky as he turned and laughed at the rest of the crew. "See, the great captain Usopp always knows the sparks of true love whenever he sees it," he said, hooking his thumbs at the top of his overalls with a grin.

Zoro snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. You wouldn't know what true love looked like even if it smacked you in the face."

"Says the guy who doesn't have a girlfriend," Usopp smugly retorted with a laugh.

Before Zoro could say anything back, Zeff spoke up. "Hey, straw hats," he called, grabbing their attention. "Why don't you lot come into the kitchen and sit at the chef's table? I'll have Patty and the rest of 'em cook you a couple of steaks however you want, on the house. I'll even throw in a couple of beers too."

"I'm in," Zoro said without missing a beat as he started making his way towards the kitchen, not needing to be asked twice.

"Ooo, free beers? Show captain Usopp the way, please," Usopp said, following Zoro through the kitchen doors.

At the mention of meat, Luffy immediately perked up and forgot about the situation before him. "Steaks? Would it be possible to have more than one?"

"Sure," Zeff agreed easily and nodded towards the kitchen. "Eat too many though and I'll have you back on dish duty again to pay your bill."

"Deal," Luffy quickly agreed and followed after his first mate and sharpshooter.

With a shared look, Nami and Zeff started making their way towards the kitchen together, both ignoring you and Sanji.

"How do you like your steak cooked Nami?" Zeff asked conversationally before disappearing behind the kitchen's double doors.

"Medium rare, actually," Nami replied and slipped in after him, leaving you and Sanji all alone in the dining room.

It was quiet for a solid minute, neither one of you moving or making a sound.

"So," you started, clearing your throat and looking over at Sanji. "You, uh... told Zeff about me?"

But Sanji couldn't look at you. In fact, he was looking at everywhere but you. His cheeks were flushed pink and the tips of his ears were red. He looked down at the ground with his hands on his hips.

"Yeah," he said, forcing out a slight laugh that sounded more painful than anything. "I, uh, told him a bit about you. Could you tell?" he asked, a hint of painful and playful sarcasm in his tone.

You couldn't help but laugh at his attempt at a joke. You could feel your heart start to race as you slowly took a couple of steps closer to him. "Yeah, I could tell," you replied playfully. "You really love me, Sanji?" you asked him softly after a beat.

Turning his head to the side, you could see a blush crawl up his neck. It was so cute, you don't think you've ever seen Sanji be this flustered or embarrassed before. "Uh, well," he stammered, "I-I didn't want you to find out like this. I had a plan and everything. But Zeff and his big mouth had to ruin-"

"Sanji," you said simply, cutting him off. "Look at me."

Before obeying your command, Sanji took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself for the inevitable letdown and rejection he was used to receiving from women throughout his life.

When he looked down at you and met your stare, his eyes were filled with apprehension. "Yes?"

You wanted to do nothing in that moment but quelch his fears. "Oh, just come here," you said.

In one swift motion, you grabbed him by his tie and pulled him down into a kiss, capturing his lips with your own. You felt him stiffen in surprise, but once it hit him that you were, indeed, kissing him, he immediately relaxed and put his hands on either side of your face, his fingers entangling themselves into your hair, deepening the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your mouth moving in sync as you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Was this real life?

After a moment, you pulled apart, panting slightly for air. You both looked at each other, faces flushed, neither one of you expecting to share your first kiss in the middle of the empty Baratie dining room.

"I love you too."

The smile that broke out across Sanji's face was brighter than the sun. But before he could say anything, you both could hear Usopp yelling from inside the kitchen.

"Guys! They kissed! See, I told you they would!" He declared loudly before turning away from the small circular window. "Zoro and Nami, you each owe twenty berry! Come on, pay up!" he laughed like a high roller that just won big, making his way back into the kitchen.

At the sound of loud protesting and groaning coming from the kitchen, you giggled, hiding your face in his chest from embarrassment.

"Oh god," you groaned.

"Aw come now, no need to be embarrassed, Madam," Sanji teased. "If they're placing bets on us, might as well give them a show to bet on, yeah?"

When you peeked up at him, you could see a mischievous glint in his eye as he scanned over your pretty face and back down to your lips before looking back into your eyes. His look made your heart skip a beat.

"Sounds like a plan to me," you answered with a small laugh before you pulled him back down to kiss him all over again.

taglist: @smolracoon25 @shadydeanmuffin @cherrypie5 @sauceonmyshorts @hhighkey @gimmebackmyskeeball @he4vens-ang3l @selcouthaesthetics @chexmixtrys @princettecharlie @amitydoodlez @abracarabbit @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @mischiefmanaged71 @asianfrustration13 @shuujin @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @browneyedhufflepuff @stevenknightmarc @deserticwren

#sanji x reader #opla!sanji x reader #opla!sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #one piece x reader #sanji fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #one piece #one piece live action #opla #black leg sanji x reader #opla!sanji x you

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cutielando · 2 months

Text

old money ~ george russell

instagram au

synopsis: Y/N and George are everyone's favorite couple, and everyone seems to think they just scream old-money romance

my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

liked by lilymhe, landonorris and 2,194,176 others

yourinsta i love life with you 🤍 tagged: georgerussell63

view all 483,957 comments

georgerussell63 i love you

yourinsta i love you more

landonorris why

yourinsta why not

landonorris we're sick of seeing your cute couple photos 😐

yourinsta not my fault

user1 they are so old-money coded i can't- 🥲🥲

user2 Y/N is the definition of perfect, George is so lucky

user3 they're so classy 😩😩

alex_albon looking good

georgerussell63 always mate

user4 will Y/N be at the next Grand Prix?

yourinsta i will ! 🥰

user3 MOTHER IN THE PADDOCK 😩😩

francisca.cgomes i can't wait to see you !!!! 🤍🤍

yourinsta me too!! ❤️

user4 the friendship we didn't know we needed

f1gossippofficial we love seeing you guys! liked by yourinsta

user5 her style is to die for

user4 for real, she is so classy and elegant all the time

user5 and she is so sweet too. i met her at a grand prix a while back and she was so happy just talking to me and stuff. even got george to sign my hat for me, she is so kind

user3 she sounds like such a nice person to be around

user6 would she accept friendship bracelets from us?

yourinsta i do !!! i have a collection at home, bring them to me and we can exchange them !! <3

user6 omg 😭😭😭😭 you just made my day

liked by yourinsta, lewishamilton and 3,913,756 others

georgerussell63 Back to work 💪🏻

view all 832,579 comments

yourinsta ooof, who's this handsome lad? 😩

yourinsta so proud of you

yourinsta i love you ❤️

georgerussell63 i love you too, baby 🤍

user1 not Y/N being just as unhinged as us in the comments

landonorris thank you for sparing us

yourinsta i will hit you 😐

georgerussell63 i'll do it for you, babe

landonorris please don't

oscarpiastri why is Lando so scared of you all of a sudden, George?

yourinsta it's me he should be scared of

oscarpiastri got it

georgerussell63 you heard her

user2 such a good weekend for George ❤️❤️

user3 Y/N was there to be his lucky charm, he did so good 🥹🥹

user4 i want what they have, i need to know what their love feels like🥹😩😩😩

alex_albon did Y/N take these photos?

georgerussell63 she did. why?

alex_albon i was just appreciating the first good photos of yours that i have seen

yourinsta don't be mean alex

user5 Y/N to the defense, we love to see it

landonorris surprised you didn't pose shirtless

georgerussell63 y/n wouldn't let me

yourinsta damn right, those abs are for my eyes only😠

landonorris i didn't need to know that

yourinsta why did you leave a comment then?

landonorris i don't even know anymore

user6 where can i buy myself a George?

yourinsta you'll find them for free in King's Lynn

user6 she responded, i'm gonna cry😭😭😭

liked by yourinsta, yourbff and 94,286 others

f1gossippofficial Fan favorite grid couple, George Russell and Y/N Y/L/N, looking as good as always during the afterparty of the Singapore Grand Prix. tagged: yourinsta and georgerussell63

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user1 they are so old money, i swear😭😩

user2 Y/N is so stunning, George really hit the jackpot with her😩

yourbff gorgeous, my favorite old-money couple

yourinsta not you as well 🙄

user3 existing at the same time as them should be considered a blessing

user2 amen to that

user4 i wonder if the old-money aesthetic comes naturally or something

user5 probably, apparently Y/N actually comes from a very old-school rich family

user4 really? she's really down-to-earth and humble for someone who comes from a rich background

user5 she's always wanted to make a name for herself without using her family's money, apparently

user2 we love an independent queen

liked by yourbff, landonorris and 2,382,470 others

yourinsta little getaway with my love ❤️ tagged: georgerussell63

view all 938,172 comments

georgerussell63 spending time with you is my favorite thing to do🤍

yourinsta i love you🫶🏻

landonorris i thought you were going to stop this

yourinsta just get a life lando 🙄

georgerussell63 i agree with her, mate

francisca.cgomes you two are soooo cute !!!! ❤️❤️

yourinsta not cuter than you and pierre my love !!

georgerussell63 yes, we are. sorry pierregasly

pierregasly in your dreams, brit

user1 they are my roman empire

user2 WHY ARE THEY SO CUTE OMFG 😩😩😩

user3 why can't i have what they have😭😭

alex_albon you two look like you just stepped out of a novel or something

yourinsta thank you alex, that is very kind of you to say

georgerussell63 so we basically look like book characters?

alex_albon yes

yourinsta georgie, it's a good thing, don't worry

georgerussell63 ooh, got it

lilymhe alex won't do this with me :(

yourinsta UNACCEPTABLE !!!

alex_albon you haven't even mentioned anything???????

yourinsta you're supposed to read her mind, alex

alex_albon ...you are both killing me

liked by yourinsta, alex_albon and 3,284,927 others

georgerussell63 kind of seeing where the trend comes from tagged: yourinsta

view all 834,271 comments

yourinsta we're dominating pinterest right now

georgerussell63 as we should

yourinsta that's the attitude babe

alex_albon noooooo, now i can't make fun of you two with this anymore :(

georgerussell63 sucks to suck

alex_albon did y/n tell you to say that?

yourinsta no comment.

user1 they are finally embracing it

mercedesamgf1 we love you two ❤️

yourinsta we love you too, merc admin ❤️

georgerussell63 ❤️

user2 they get classier and classier every time they post ❤️❤️

user3 i want this

francisca.cgomes you two are goals ❤️

yourinsta i love you !! ❤️ liked by francisca.cgomes

yourinsta i love you, sweet boy

georgerussell63 i love you more, my sweet girl

user4 you guys are killing us

formula1wags she is the best wag on the grid, nobody can change my mind

user2 this

user3 facts

user1 she really is

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737 notes · View notes

briefalpacashark · 3 months

Text

~Darkest fear~

The boys of 141 find out your darkest fear.

Warning: Swearing and mentions of needles.

================================================

How well did you fit in with the boys of 141. Too well. From day one you and Soap instantly connected. Price called you Soap 2.0. Why? Because your sarcasm and wit had you and Soap bantering for hours on end. Everything you two would say would just feed and complement the others. And God help whoever you were making fun of that day. One time Gaz had to endure two hours of back and forth. You had worked with Price before, and you were already close. Gaz you become quick friends with. And Ghost, well although slightly intimidated by the giant you came to respect one another, and the specialist abilities you both held.

After all, you were respectful and kind. You always wore a smile and they would never admit it but to them you were like a little ball of sunshine. Or like a cute little puppy.

One day, about two days before your next mission you walked into base. Into the shared common area. To your surprise you found Gaz, Soap, and Ghost all standing around the far side of the table.

“What's going on?” you asked. Hearing the door shut behind you. You glanced back to see Price locking it and then placing his body in between you and the exit.

“You alright captain?” you asked hesitantly seeing his nervous look.

“Damn cap, you look like you're trying to shit a brick,” Soap commented with a bemused chuckle. He wore a smirk that showed he was far too happy to be there.

“She can't be that bad,” Gaz shrugged, gesturing to you.

“What am I bad at?” You asked with a confused chuckle.

“Alright love. Now I want you to be calm,” Price raised his hands like he was talking to an injured animal. Love, it was a nickname all the british lads used.

“Calm, what you on abou-” Your words trailed off as you spotted the syringe in his hand. It was a shot. A vaccination of some kind. Instantly you scooted away from him moving around the table. Your blood ran cold as adrenaline filled your every being. You were scared of needles. Scared to the point where you would do anything to keep away from them.

“The fuck is that cap?” You asked lowly.

“Wait, you're really scared of needles?” Soap chuckled at your reactions as you hide yourself behind him.

“Love, come on now,” Price was really trying his best.

“Price, I told you. I fucken told you. You drug the fuck out of me and then that's when you give me the fucking shot,” You had a plan, one Price knew about and had done before for quite a few of your shots. You would take a sedative and that's when they would stick you. Was it ethical, no in the slightest. but it was the only way of giving you a shot without anyone getting hurt.

“I know, but this one needs to be taken when you're conscious. Something bout side effects or what not,” he explained calmly.

“I told you how I get cap,” you mumbled, pointing an accusing finger at him as you shifted from side to side.

“I know, that's why I got the lads here,” he said, nodding to them. You looked at the three that surrounded you with betrayal.

“You're in on this?” You asked. “Come on lass, it's just a little needle,” Soap smirked loving the ammo he was receiving to tease you later with. "I thought you Australians were supposed to have nerves of steel?" he joked.

“I don't think you guys understand the severity of this. I turn feral ok. I once almost bit a doctor's finger off, ok,” You admitted honestly.

“Almost?” Ghost asked.

“It doesn't matter. Cap you can't do this alright. Let's just do it tomorrow yeah?” You said as you went to slip out of the little corral they had you in only for Gaz to hold up his hand to stop you.

“Grab her,” Price gave the order.

“Eat a dick Price!” You snapped. Gaz was the first to reach for you. With a cocky and bemused smirk, he went to grab you. A cocky smirk that was slammed against the table. Everyone's eyes went wide at the movement. You had ducked under his hand taking ahold of it and grabbed his neck slamming his face onto the table. It was a reaction; one you had no control over.

“Oh my god, I'm sorry,” You rushed out the words shocked at your own actions. Soap was the next one to reach for you, well more like tackle. You crouched sliding to your left through Ghost's legs.

------

A few other soldiers on the base stared in confusion at the barrack building. What sounded like a bar fight was happening inside. The sounds of breaking furniture and shattering plates filled the air.

There was a shocking amount of swearing and a few choice sentences before you slammed through the window. Shattering it upon impact and landing from the three story building in a tuck and roll.

And then you legged it. Like the devil himself was on your heels. There was another commotion before the three men stumbled out of the room, Pierce with a busted nose, Gaz holding his head, Ghost dusting the remnants of a broken glass of his shoulder and Soap still laying on the floor inside curled up in the fetal position. His hands clutching his family jewels.

“How the fucks did she do that?” Price muttered in confusion as they watched your disappearing figure.

The boys in all their wisdom beside to treat giving you the shot like a mission. On the thoroughly planned and scoped out before enacting. Little did they know it would be one of their hardest missions yet. They tried to administer the shot 29 times. Every time they would come up with a different plan. They had tried everything, bribery, outsmarting you, trapping you. None of it worked, you always managed to get away.

“Macgyver!” You bloody froze as you heard your call sign. At that very moment you sat perched up in the very high corner of an aircraft hangar. Had you scaled the walls to get there, yes, was it your greatest idea, no. But you weren't thinking logically. You knew it was stupid how frightened you got but you just weren't able to control it.

“We know you're here,” they called again. You peeked around the large beam spotting only Ghost in the entrance. Instantly you looked for the others. Were they trying to trap you again?

“Come on Sargent,” He was your Lieutenant. You should have listened to him. But you kept your mouth shut happily perched in your little hidey hole.

“It's fine. Just so you know Gaz it hurt. Idiot sprained his ankle running afta ya,” He informed. Instantly you felt guilty, and a little worried for your teammate. You wanted to get down and help, but you also knew the possibility of it being a trap. Ghost waited a few moments before cursing under his breath. He began to search the hanger. Under every trap inside every plane. Around every corner. He looked like he was about to give up. Then out of sheer luck for him, and anything but luck for you he looked up. Instantly the two of you made eye contact. He stared for a moment truly grasping the situation, trying to forget about how exactly you got up there.

“The fuck you doing up there?” his gruff voice asked as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Thought it looked like a comfortable place to sit,” you shrugged nonchalantly. Ghost took in the awkward sit/balanced crouch you had going on.

“Oh yeah, it looks real comfortable,” he said.

“Well I am,” you stated.

“Right, well come on now, fun's over,” he nodded for you to come down.

“Respectfully sir. Suck a dick” Ghost propped an eyebrow at the insult. With your apologetic expression he knew you didn't mean it, but he had to admit. It was refreshing to see someone who was willing to insult him. “Fine, well it's either you get down yourself or I come get you,” he gave you the ultimatum.

“You're right, Let my just give up now and come down. Just like you said,'' You pretended to get ready to descale the walls.

“Thankyou,” Ghost was actually genuinely thankful. He thought by some miracle you were actually going to listen to him.

“Yeah you know just let me,” Quickly snapping back to your original position you flipped him off. He stared for a few bewildered moments.

“That's just childish,” he said.

“You're a child,” you snapped back.

“Right,” Ghost huffed, walking up to the beams. You watched him as he struggled to scale the walls. After all he was a big man, he was carrying a lot of weight. As he finally reached the beam you were on he turned to look at you. Only you weren't there. He frowned looking down to see you sliding down a beam and hitting the ground.

“Fuck,” he quickly did the same. Hearing the thunderous footsteps of Ghost feet would be encouragement enough for anyone to run for their lives. To you it was a reminder that you not only insulted your lieutenant but you flipped him off and called him a child. You had just made it outside of the hanger.

Now you were fast, the fastest on the team when it came to running. You could have outrun him. Only when you stepped out into the open did you feel a sharp pain hit your left ass cheek.

“Fucking Ass!” you came to a small hopping stop as you looked for the culprit. A little red feathered dart had been plugged into the soft tissue of your ass.

“Did you just shoot a dart at my ass!” Your bewildered and angry yell was directed to the general direction of where it had come from. Price sat on the roof of a nearby building, dart gun in hand, Gaz by his side with a pair of binoculars.

“Direct hit,” GAz announced.

“She's pissed,” Soap commented as they watched your little tantrum.

Later that night you stood outside on your little makeshift patio area. You hand rubbing the still stinging spot on your ass with a permanent frown. Hearing the door open you snapped your head around to glare. Ghost silently walked out and stood beside you.

“Using Gaz was a low blow,” you grumbled. Ghost silently looked over you, your cute little frown. It reminded him of a toddler that wasn't allowed to have chocolate.

“Then what do you call kicking Johnny in the balls?” he asked.

“Tactical,” you grumbled. You were surprised to hear the softest huff of a chuckle come from Ghost. It was times like these you wish you could see his expression. But you were sure you saw the side of his mask where the edge of a smile would be, tilt upwards. The idea of Ghost smiling had you chuckling.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“All this, I'm a medic you think I'd be comfortable with needles,” you chuckled.

“That ain’t funny. Soap getting kicked in the balls. That's funny. Fucker deserved it,” Ghost said. You chuckled again. Ghost glanced over at you, he liked your laugh. It was always a true honest one.

“Well I guess I should apologize about the disrespect I've shown today,” With a deep sigh you stood at attention. “I apologize for the disrespect I showed and not listening to orders,” You said with an embarrassed smile.

“So what will be the punishment, Lieutenant?” You asked. This was the first time you had done anything wrong with the boys. While they seemed ok with it, you were used to the military hierarchy. You had insulted a higher ranking officer once. It didn't go so well. You expected Ghost to be no different.

“Not gonna punish you,” he shrugged. You let out a relieved sigh closing your eyes. “But,” when you opened them again, Ghost was standing directly in front of you. On instinct you stepped back, hitting the pole you had been leaning on. Ghost closed the distance. You swallowed as he stepped close enough for you to feel his body heat, your neck craned back to make eye contact with him.

“Don't ever call me a child again,” he stated his voice dropping into a serious tone. You quickly nodded with an awkward chuckle. It was meant to be intimidating, Ghost had used his size to intimidate before. While you were intimidated there was one thing that kept your attention. You could have sworn you could see a smirk under that mask.

“Um, yeah sure,” You muttered. Leaning down he hovered his head by your ear, his hot breath faint through the mask but you could still feel it. You felt your heart jump. skip a beat and then rattle the back of your throat. Why was he so close?

“I promise you love I'm no kid,” he whispered. You were barely able to frown at his comment when something pricked your thigh.

“The fuck was that?” you asked at the small amount of pain giving Ghost’s chest a soft shove. He stepped back holding his hand up that held an empty syringe.

“You bastard,” you whispered. Now you were sure he was smirking. You could see it in his eyes.

“Price thought it best not to tell you about the second shot,” he shrugged nonchalantly. Wow, so he basically just gave you a mini heart attack just to give you a shot.

“Next time I need to take blood from you I'm gonna miss your veins so many times,” you threatened half heartedly.

“Good thing I'm not scared of needles,” he said, his eyes shining smugly.

“You..” You glared at the tease. He simply turned towards the door.

“Fuckers,” you grumbled as you watched him walk back into the barracks.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

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#141 x reader #cod 141 #141 x you #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod ghost #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod

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boowritess · 3 months

Text

gaz is my favourite to do the whole friends to lovers trope because imagine:

ya'll were childhood best friends, somehow managed to stick side by side despite having different interests and set of friends. knowing the other had their back when needed.

but it was nothing more than friendship.

atleast that's what the both of you delulued yourselves to think...

anyways, gaz joins the military, somehow ya both still managed to stay in contact. gaz messaging or calling at any free opportunity.

shower, bathroom, on a run, cleaning, as soon as he wakes up.

and it's crazy cause the 141 are like, "so when we gonna meet your little girlfriend?"

and gaz is like !?!?!??! "what girlfriend?"

in return 141 are just !?!?!?!!?!?!? "da fuq you mean what girlfriend, gaz? the girl you've been talking to every 5 minutes!"

and gaz, just- blushes. he doesn't know why but he does. like haha, you as his girlfriend- that's weird! could you imagine!? could you imagine...

gaz starts to fucking hyperfixate on imagining you as his girlfriend than bestfriend.

and like you and gaz have always heard people say that before but for some reason being thousands of miles away from you made him really fucking start to fixtate on that scenario. the 141 boys did not help. at all. always asking how gaz's girl is- making gaz roll his eyes and hide the blush as he talks to you on the phone.

then idk he gets to go home. gets to see you. and he forgets about the whole girlfriend conversation and is just happy to be with you. his best friend. his confidenant. his ride or die. his girl.

but then he realizes that he'd have you in whichever form you'd give him. and that's why- that's why he shoves away the thoughts about you being his girlfriend- UNTIL-

he's pissed. some lad you're seeing isn't treating you right (ofc it's some guy you met while gaz was away) and you're defending the guy. but every defence you bring up, he's got a rebuttal right back.

"he's not always so mean..." "bird, i've never talked to you like he did tonight, that ain’t an excuse."

"he's just having a shit time at work." "love, seriously? i get shot at on a constant basis and have fallen out of a helicopter twice."

"okay well- it's just a bad day today for him- that's all." "doll, when i've had the shittest day, any message, call, gift from you, anything that reminds me of you, makes me feel millions and millions more better. my 'bad day' is when we haven't talked."

...so things get pretty intense, and idk, maybe your stubborn and just like sarcastically say, "well not every guy feels the same as you gaz."

"damn right they don't because how i feel for you, none of those assholes could ever comprehend how much i lo-"

and he stops himself. clenches his jaw and swallows down the 'i love you'. he looks away from you when you look at him confused.

becauae you both have said those three little words before. throughout your whole friendship. what's different now???

♡

ahhhhhhhhhh i just wowwww gaz w/ friends to lovers trope yes pleasee

#my post #cod mwii #x reader #cod #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #mwii #cod mwii imagines #kyle gaz garrick imagine #gaz imagine #friends to lovers

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 1 year

Note

Reader loves Ghost, but so shy to tell her feelings, at the same time he also has feelings for the reader but hesitates to talk. They just stare each other, all day long.

At that point Soap to Ghost: Just say that you like her!

Also to reader: Just say that you like him!

Matchmaker Soap, approved 👌🏻

Ayeee! Yes, I love this. Hope you enjoy this one🩷🙈

Soap, The Matchmaker

Simon Riley x Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of nervousness, fluff

"Lass, just tell him how you feel!” Soap pleaded with you. "You stare at the lad enough, surely you've got the confidence to tell him."

"Hell no. Johnny, he barely talks to me as is. I'd just end up embarrassing myself." You smiled sadly, waiving away your friends' attempts to have you confess.

"He doesn't talk to you, because he's nervous! Trust me, he likes you too." Soap was growing desperate.

"It's okay, Johnny. I'll settle with admiring him from afar." You gave the Scot a pat on his shoulder before making your way to the bar for another beer.

Johnny groaned audibly and let his eyes drift over to where his Lieutenant was standing. Ghost always had his eyes on you whenever you were around him. Johnny couldn't possibly understand how you couldn't tell he was interested in you. The man was your literal shadow.

He stood up abruptly, and made his way over to Simon, a cheeky grin forming on his lips. "Hey, L.T."

Simon regarded him carefully as he moved his gaze from you. "Soap."

"Don't think I don't catch you staring at her." He nudged Ghost playfully. "You should try talking to her, tell her how you feel."

"No clue what you're talking about Sargeant."

"Away and bile yer heid. You and I both know you're fond of the lass." Soap chided, narrowing his eyes at his masked friend. "She might be fond of you too, you know, just probably hasn't got the courage to tell ye because you're scary as shite."

Ghost only grunted in response but felt his cheeks heating from under his mask. It was true. He was fond of you and had been for a long time. The issue was that he wasn't used to these feelings and frankly didn't know how to act.

Truth was that you made him nervous. Anytime he was around you, he'd get butterflies in his belly, and his tongue became molasses, unable to get any words out. He felt like a damn school boy with a crush for the first time.

He looked over to Johnny, to find the mohawked man already smiling at him. "Fuck off, Johnny."

"Love you too. L.T." Soap chuckled.

By the end of the night, Soap realized his efforts were in vain. The two of you clearly showed no inclination to tell each other how you felt, and the Scot felt he'd be doomed to watch you two skirt around your feelings forever.

Little did he know, Simon was mustering up the courage to ask you if he could walk you back to base.

"Y/N." You heard your voice being called from behind you at the bar, and you turned your head.

"Lieutenant." Your cheeks turned a light pink, flustered under the masked man's heavy stare. "What can I do for you?"

"I was.. going to head back to base. Was wondering if you'd care to join me." Ghost's heart was beating rapidly, his palms sweating. He was so goddamned nervous.

Your smile from his words could've lit up the entire room, and Ghost could've sworn he felt his heart stop. "I'd love to, sir."

He gave a small nod, before offering his arm to you. You wrapped your hand around his bicep, and let him lead the way back to base.

The walk back to base was long, and was filled with a comfortable silence for the better part of it.

When you were about halfway to base, Simon had cleared his throat. "Nice night out here."

You giggled at his attempt for small talk, and nodded your head. "It is. I love when I can see the stars. Makes you feel so small."

He turned his head to you, a smile forming on his lips, unbeknownst to you. "My mum used to say that when I was younger. Said we are all like specks of dust when it comes to the size of the universe."

"Smart woman." You smiled.

"That she was." Simon nodded, coming to a stop, and turning to you. "Hey."

You stopped alongside him, turning to him with a bemused expression. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just.." Simon felt like he was going to pass out. He could feel a bead of sweat dripping from his head, and his hands started to shake. "Had something I wanted to tell you."

You gave him a soft smile, and nodded your head to encourage him to continue. "Okay."

"Y/N. I can't.. bloody hell.." He fumbled for words, his tongue becoming thick in his mouth. "I cannot get you out of my head. You're always there. And hell, it frustrates the shit out of me."

Your eyes widened, and took a step back from him. "Oh…I'm sorry." You didn't know what else to say.

Simon, seeing the alarm in your eyes, immediately continued. "Fuck, no no not like that. That came out wrong. God I'm not good at this." He rubbed the back of his head nervously.

And then it hit you. He was trying to confess that he liked you. Johnny was right all along.

Your lips upturned slightly, and you moved closer to him, placing a hand softly on his arm. "I.. I can't get you out of my head either, Simon. You seem to have a permanent spot up here." You pointed to your head with a smile.

Simon felt all the weight on his shoulders fall at your words, his eyes lighting up. He didn't know what to say next. This was beyond his area of expertise… God he wished Johnny were here to tell him-

His thoughts cut short, as he felt your fingers dance at the bottom of his balaclava. You looked up to him questioning if it was okay to continue.

He gave a short nod, and you started to slowly lift up the edge of his mask, stopping it just below his nose. You didn't want to overstep anymore than you felt you already had. You saw his lips curve upward before he slowly leaned down toward you.

You met him halfway, and pressed your lips to his. His lips were rough, and chapped, but the kiss was incredibly gentle. He sighed deeply against your lips, and his hands ghosted on your hips.

Pulling away, he gave you a cheeky smile, before pulling off the rest of his mask. You let out a small gasp, as your eyes trailed over his features.

He was prettier than you ever could have imagined. Even with the scars and marks, he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on. "You're so handsome, Simon."

You reached a hand out and placed it on his cheek. He nestled his head into your palm slightly, placing a kiss to your wrist.

He leaned down once more to capture your lips in his, this time fully resting his hands on your hips. "Think I owe Johnny a drink for this one. Mate helped me out." He chuckled as he pulled away breathless. He grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

"Think we both do. Who would've thought. Soap, the matchmaker."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Why do I want to write a smutty part two for everything😭😭😭😭😭

#cod imagine #simon riley imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader

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theirishwolfhound · 10 days

Text

I do love the idea of an unhinged reader. Not like brutally unhinged but... like the kind that is harmlessly annoying and is just a brat to Task Force 141.

Like the mother fuckers nickname is Menace and they're somehow still alive after everything so they make it everyone's problem.

They're great at what they do, amazing even— but no team wants menaces like Menace, not even the heavens nor the hells want the damn person.

This is the same Menace who wears a devilish half-mask, but only above their mouth so people can see their shit-eating grin (think similar to the ghoul mask above) as they leave small firecrackers under the lids of toilet seats, or so people notice the way their lips curl up in mock disgust when someone is talking.

Menace who only goes through with the SAS training to one up another soldier they despised, enough to have sicked a pack of squirrels on that they personally hand fed a few days after— they even bonded enough with the little fuckers that when they were finally transferred out to be someone else's problem, the squirrels would steal the remaining soldiers foods.

Laswell, whose grand idea of knocking the boys down a peg since she's tired of their shenanigans includes getting this Menace of a person to join 141 with faint threats of blackmail— to which Coporal Menace respects, leading Kate to being the only one who is not subjected to the dumpster fire that is about to happen, but is only encouraged by her wife.

Price, who in his right mind, nearly rejects the idea of this misfit joining because of their turnover rate but gives in when Laswell tells him it would be worth it— that her wife likes them and they're an excellent solider after all.

Immediately upon arrival, Menace lives up to their name— pissing on the side of the building as if to mark their new territory before deciding it would be a good idea to rile up the behemoth of a man by asking Price: "Didn't anyone tell the poor bastard that Halloween was four fuckin' months ago? Look at 'em he looks emo."

It wasn't until then that the poor Captain realized how much of an untamed brat his new corporal was— only to be further set in after the first two weeks on base.

Sure Menace got along with Soap, but they were far too alike for Menace's likings and Gaz, sweet sweet Gaz, gave them a few too man odd glances and playfully snide remarks for their liking— meanwhile Ghost had made them scrub the bathroom from top to bottom with a small sponge, and well they could already see the forming regret in Price's eyes.

So Menace did what they did best.

It started out simple: silently attaching balloons on strings to the back of their clothes without them noticing, flipping all of the furniture upside down during the middle of the night, purposefully mocking every single move of one of the operators for a full day, sugar in the salt shaker or salt in the sugar dish, you name it they did it.

Glitterbomb the captain? Oh yeah, and there's still glitter in his mustache.

Tied the two sergeants' doors together so that neither could open it? Done and done, they were locked in their rooms for a good hour until someone cut the rope.

Move the lieutenant’s furniture two inches to the right so that he would constantly stub his toe? Yeah, you can practically see him fuming after every trip to his office.

And what irked the lads the most? Menace kept getting away without being caught— managing to even out sneak Ghost, which the only reason for it is: Menace knowing they don't know what they look like without that mask. So obviously they take it off and blend in with the many other people on base.

They made a fool of their sergeants, their lieutenant, and their captain and it was time to get back at the cunning prankster— but Menace grew suspicious. Usually they would have been booted out by a normal team by then, but what Menace came to realize a bit too late was that Task Force 141 was not normal.

And reality came to a head when Menace was called to Price's office to collect something— only for that something to be a bucket of ice cold water falling onto their head and for the captain to tell their now soaking wet and cold Coporal: "Game's on, brat."

#cod mw2 #gaz cod #ghost cod #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish #soap cod #price cod #call of duty x reader #cod x male reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #honestly can turn this into smut #menace reader #task force 141 #tf141 are totally brat tamers while also being brats #tf 141 x reader #drabble

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live-love-be-unique · 2 months

Text

Crossing All The Lines

Summary: Callsign: Tink. Brought into the taskforce as a hacker/ intel specialist, you butt heads with your captain.

#47. Reader is a hacker or intel specialist for @glitterypirateduck O,Captain! challenge

Also, inspiration for a chubby reader and the death of a certain Austrian from @391780, Early I hope I did you proud.

Parings: Price x chubby f reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, female reader, smut with some plot, oral (f!receiving), vaginal sex 18+ Minors DNI

“It’s your eye in the sky, so to speak” you said, holding the small drone you had been tinkering with before he had walked into your office. You animatedly showed off the newest toy you had been tinkering with, pointing out the features you had added “it has the capability to record and store six hours of audio and video. I’m working on the signal range to extend…”

Price reached over the desk and turned off the screaming you called music that was blasting through your computer speakers “I’m not taking some flying toy into a war zone” he said with finality. Laswell’s recommendation be damned, he didn’t need some little dolly bird tottering around the base in ridiculous shoes telling him how to run his taskforce.

“Oh ok, so will you be letting Gaz know you’re planning on pitching him out the side of a helicopter again to run surveillance or am I?” you say, casting him a smirk over your shoulder as you place the drone on the shelf behind you. Price groaned and rolled his eyes away from you.

You were the newest addition to the taskforce, at Laswell’s insistence, she claimed you were the best intel operative she had encountered in years. She had pulled a few strings and called in some favours with the higher ups that Price could only fantasize about knowing to get you after you had saved their arses with some quite impressive hacking skills.

To say you weren’t what Price had been expecting was a massive understatement. The day you were introduced to the team, you were all bright colours and sparkles in a sea of soldiers. Hardly military issue, as you arrived on base, you had poured your soft, rounded curves into that dress. A wiggle-dress his mother used to call them, and ridiculously high heels. The sight of you made his mouth water and his hands itched to feel your soft skin and overflowing curves. Soap and Gaz took to you instantly, bestowing you with the callsign Tink because of your love for tinkering with random projects or Tinkerbell according to Soap, Ghost took a little longer but your preference for a proper cup of tea and non-judgmental attitude towards his unwillingness to show his face quietly won him over.

The only one you hadn’t bonded with was Price. You butted heads and frustrated each other. Trading snide comments and jabs. Price did appreciate the fact that you kept a jar of sweets on your desk that you made an effort to keep stocked with his and the lads favorite treats and he had to admit that, Laswell was correct, your hacking skills were second to none.

Price watched as you spent the first three weeks of your time on base bringing in new trinkets for your small office. Candles, figurines and a small cactus that Soap didn’t notice until he sat on one day. You admonished him for weeks until he brought you in another, non-spiky one. “I’m sorry, Tinkerbell, forgive me?” he’d pouted, holding out the small succulent towards you. Your office was an explosion of colour like you, and there was always music playing, you’d even created a playlist with Soap and Gaz.

But…on more than one occasion not that he would admit it, Price found himself in his office late at night surrounded by the cloying scent of artificial strawberries from the candles you preferred to decorate your office with that seemed to follow you around, with his hand furiously fisting his cock. Your bratiness was like catnip to him. Every cheeky little sass you threw his way made him harder than ever.

You yourself, never thought you would be one to enjoy it when a man yelled at you but with Price’s gravely, low voice and the sheer broadness of him…damn...you couldn’t count the nights you spent with the absolutely non military issue neon pink vibrator between your legs imagining it was Price instead, his booming voice echoing in your ears as you came. Your embarrassing crush on the captain had stopped you from dating, all bar a handful of dates with that very tall Austrian colonel from Kortac, you thought he had ghosted you after your dates but came to find out that he had died from ingesting strychnine poison in a Romanian brothel after sleeping with a married woman.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your voice pulled Price back to the present.

“There’s nothing to hear, we’re not taking that thing” he pointed towards the shelf.

“It’s already been cleared. You just have to control everything don’t you?”

“I’m the captain for a reason” he muttered, stubbornly.

You scoffed “god, I bet you couldn’t last one day without controlling everything”

Price leaned forward, open palms resting on the desk in front of him, staring down at you “try me”

“What?”

“You heard me…try me, doll”

You can’t tell who made the first move as your hair was wrapped tightly in Price’s hands as he pulled you against his lips in a heated kiss. He groans deeply as your teeth nip sharply at his bottom lip.

“That dress looks divine on you” he smirks, pulling away from your lips breathing heavily.

“Thank you-”

“How easy is it to take off?”

You smirked, turning your back towards Price, moving your hair over your shoulder and glancing over your shoulder at him.

Price licked his lips as his hands slid slowly from your waist up your back. His hands made quick work of the zipper as he slid the dress down over your shoulders, placing a gentle almost loving kiss between your shoulder blades.

You turned to face him as you dropped your dress to the floor. You felt exposed as Price’s eyes raked over your near naked form.

Price couldn’t take his eyes away from you. The lacy navy coloured lingerie hugged your soft, rounded curves perfectly. Your eyes locked with his as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

“Tell me you want this” his eyes bore into yours as his hands toyed with the waistband of your underwear “tell me you want me”

“Price…”

“John, call me John…please” he whimpered.

“Please, John”

“Fuck” he uttered as he dragged the lace over your hips and down your legs. You shuddered as the cool air met your soaking core.

He pushes your legs apart, pressing little kisses on your inner thighs, before nuzzling his cheek against you, breathing in your scent as he lifted one of your legs to rest on his shoulder.

He looks up at you, eyes blown out with desire. Before you had a chance to think of a witty retort, he dives in, tongue sliding through your folds. You fall back against the desk with a soft groan as your hands find his hair, gripping tight as he laps at you like a man starved. “Fuck,” he moans against you. “You taste so fucking good.” He spreads you apart, adding a finger into the mix, he thrusts it in and out of your eager hole as his tongue laps at you. You moan softly, hand still tangled in his hair as you arched your back, body chasing his tongue against your heated skin.

“Stop wriggling” he gritted out, his voice strained as his calloused hands gripped the plush of your thighs.

“Make me”

Price chuckled as he grabbed your waist and lifted you, you squealed and wrapped your legs around his hips as he sat you on your desk “just once, will you do as you're told?” His hands on either side of your hips, holding you firmly against him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You smirked, locking your ankles behind his back and pulling him closer.

Price grunts, gripping your thighs against his waist as he leans forward and leaves wet, sloppy kisses along your shoulders and up the column of your neck. His teeth nip and bite at the delicate skin, marking you, claiming you as his own.

“You have no idea how much I want you”

“Oh I think I get the idea” your smirk as his lips continued their path towards your chest. You ground against him and chuckled as you felt the rumble of a moan in his chest.

“I want to ruin you”

“Please…do it”

That was all the encouragement he needed as he hurried to undo his belt and shove his pants to his ankles.

“Your hand feels so much better than my own” he rasped as you wrapped your hands around him, lining his cock up with your pussy. You moaned against each other's lips as he sinks into you. The stretch to accommodate him is nothing short of delicious. Your grind against him as he bottoms out.

Your eyes meet as he pulls out of you before snapping his hips back against you, filling you so completely that it steals the air from your lungs.

Your hands grip anywhere you can as Price rolls his hips up into you, the way you squeeze him spurs him on as you writhe and keen underneath him. Your nails leave crescent shapes in the skin of his back as he looms over you, his arms caging you against his broad chest.

Price couldn’t stop himself, he kissed at the skin of your bare shoulder, bared his teeth and bit, hard, you yelped. Oh shit, he thought, have I gone too far?

He stopped and looked into your eyes, searching for any type of distress.

“More” you purred. You’d be the fucking death of him.

He smirks as he can feel your body tightening around him, you’re getting closer and he isn’t far behind as he slams into you with one final snap of his hips. His lips find yours as you moan into his mouth, tongue and lips clashing together as you come.

Your door swung open “about time” Ghost muttered as he closed the door again.

“So…that was…” Price stumbled out as he pulled out of you, picking up your dress that laid crumpled on the floor. He gently pulled it over your spent body. Resisting the urge to drop kisses to any sliver of skin he could see.

“Great, it was great” you smile, pausing slightly before standing up on your toes to place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head, chasing your lips as you shared a soft kiss.

“Yeah, it was great” he smiled, suddenly bashful.

#captain price cod #price smut #captain john price #john price #captain john price smut #oh captain my captain

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wood-white-writer · 7 months

Text

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels.

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside.

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him.

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did?

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched.

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?”

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known.

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours.

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours.

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own.

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't.

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon.

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't.

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same.

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles.

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life.

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed.

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag.

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal.

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest.

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off.

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe.

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest.

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious.

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?"

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him.

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard.

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen.

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people.

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?”

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be.

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked.

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder.

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt.

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —"

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you.

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him.

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is.

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence.

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy.

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-...

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight.

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now.

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either.

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter.

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes.

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs."

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself."

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share.

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse.

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls.

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row.

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses.

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks?

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words.

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not."

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs."

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories.

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable.

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this.

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining.

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time.

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back.

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either.

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro."

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun.

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter.

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense.

Assholes, the lot of them.

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious.

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island.

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that.

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it.

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side.

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once.

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy x you #one piece #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue

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stevenslittleshop · 1 year

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Listen, I love going “the people of Camelot must’ve been so oblivious” just as much as the next person

But think about it

You’re living in a time of constant crisis. People are getting accused of magic, most of those people barely even know what magic looks like. People are killed, every day, just because they were accused of something they couldn’t disprove.

And in comes this young lad. This awfully cheery little man who takes his punishments with a smile and is slowly turning the future king into an actual person instead of some little spoiled twat. And everyone loves him. It’s the most joyous Camelot has been since the queen died.

And yes, maybe his eyes glow a little sometimes, and maybe things move on their own when he’s around, but he’s a good person and hes not hurting anyone, quite the opposite in fact.

So at a time where Merlin could’ve been killed if you said the wrong thing to the wrong person, nobody was gonna say a damn word because they did not want to see this boy, practically the one who kept the place running, the light of Camelot, burned at the stake.

They weren’t oblivious. They knew. They just refused to believe it, because if they did, then the great purge would most likely restart and Camelot could fall.

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solomons-finest-rum · 1 year

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Welcome back! I have been enjoying your writing but never sent you request before. Would you write maybe Alfie and a younger reader and he likes her. He wants to marry her but she is not ready so he tells her he would wait forever and it's really sweet and patient. something like that I don't know. you can decide if you like it. Thank you!

“Libretto” — (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader)

SUMMARY — Age difference between you be damned, Alfie was quite happy to wait for you forever.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you so much for the request! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ Feedback is always much appreciated.

WORD COUNT — 1,678

Masterlist

The first time you met Alfie Solomons was purely an accident. At least, you had to lie and swear to the police that it had all been an accident, if only in order to wriggle yourself out of getting arrested.

Now, had you known the man you nearly ran over with your brother’s car was the gangster boss of Camden Town, you could have been persuaded to drive a little more carefully. Especially since the car had been “borrowed” as well.

But, of course, how could you have known? Which was precisely the reason why the first words you uttered to the man were:

“Watch where you’re fucking going!”

All due credit to Alfie Solomons, he couldn’t have been more shocked.

Now, you have to understand that a man like Alfie Solomons, a particularly dangerous man like Alfie Solomons, usually wasn’t shocked by much. It was not every day, however, that he met a girl with eyes so full of rage, driving a fancy Bentley so obviously outrageous and most likely stolen. It was more than enough to get his interest.

“Well?!” you shouted again as you got out of the car.

It wasn’t until two police officers approached you, however, that you changed your tune. Immediately spotting your confusion, it was time for Alfie to enter the game.

“Alright, Mr. Solomons?” one of the policemen asked, feigning concern, though both of them were so obviously in Alfie’s pocket that they would have arrested you on the spot—had Alfie still not been so mesmerised by your outburst. And so, to your astonishment, they simply awaited his orders.

To Alfie’s absolute delight, you tried your best not to show how scared you were at that moment, so Alfie took his sweet fucking time before saying:

“Right, gentlemen, thank God you’re here, ‘cause there I was, mindin’ me own business, yeah, an’ there she comes, driving like the Devil’s on her tail, hair a mess—!”

“I beg your pardon, my hair is not a mess!”

“Right now it is, yeah.”

“No, it is not!”

“Are ya suggestin’ I should lie about what I saw, Miss?”

“So you… want us to arrest the lady, sir?” one of the policemen interrupted that exchange, incredulous at the interaction between you and Alfie.

It served Alfie right, however, since his reputation had always been one to take care of the women in his community. As things were between him and the law, that charity probably remained the only thing between him and the noose.

“Nah, ‘course not,” Alfie waved his hand dismissively. “She’s clearly in a hurry, ain’t ya, luv?” Alfie asked you, with a smirk so devious you felt your cheeks going hot.

“Yes,” you said meekly, then saw Alfie make a face to encourage you to keep going. To spin the tale.

“I… You see, it’s my grandmother,” you said smoothly and Alfie’s smirk only grew. “That’s my brother’s car, he let me borrow it to fetch the doctor. It’s consumption, you see. Overtakin’ her as we speak.”

As the cherry on top, you stifled a fake sniff.

“Now you see, gentlemen, it’s a case of utmost emergency!” Alfie shouted, waving his cane about and obviously taking great pleasure in participating in your lie. “Thank you for your service, lads, there ya go.”

As the policemen gladly accepted a not-so-discreet bonus to their payment, you saw your chance and started to get back to the car.

But you thoroughly underestimated Alfie’s game.

“There now, I’ll drive ya, luv, you can never be too careful in these parts,” he said and quickly, quicker than you anticipated for the man, he made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat.

“Wouldn’t want any more accidents on the way, now would we, luv?” Alfie grumbled as he promptly handed you his cane and proceeded to fumble with the breaks and the accelerator as if he was trying to tame the car, not run it.

“There we go,” he announced as the engine sputtered and roared and you two sped along the street in a no less reckless manner than you had been driving before.

“Watch out!” you shrieked as Alfie almost drove straight into a flower cart on the corner.

“Don’t worry, luv, I know the way!” Alfie replied, then made a sharp turn towards London Bridge.

“You do?!”

“Right, not exactly, no, but it’s plain as day you’re not from Camden, luv.”

“What gave it away…” you sniped.

“Now, don’t get cocky, right, ya still almost ran me over an’ I have to tell ya, luv, that takes balls, right! ‘Cause as things stand, the bounty for me is as high as they go.”

You paled at the notion and when Alfie glanced at your expression in between the turns, he roared with laughter.

“Naaah, luv, don’t be like that! Just pullin’ your leg.”

“Very funny.”

“I like to think so, yeah.”

Obviously too pleased with himself to notice, Alfie missed you paying close attention to the cane you were still holding. It was definitely heavy and so well-used that you had trouble distinguishing what used to be the shape of its head.

“Right, seein’ as you almost ended me on my own bloody street, luv, you might as well give me your name,” Alfie interrupted your musings, not too pleased about your close inspection of his personal belongings (even though the contradicting bastard gave it to you for self-keeping himself).

But you gave him your name regardless and he remarked he thought it pretty. When you also gave him your address, he drove you straight home and even got out first to open the door for you. You thanked him quickly for what you supposed was straight up hijacking the car, but seeing as you had done so first to your brother, you thought the deeds even. You only prayed no one would see you with Alfie through the window. You knew your sisters would never let you forget it had they seen you two together.

You couldn’t have known that wouldn’t be the last time you saw Alfie Solomons. Somehow throughout the following weeks you seemed to have more chance encounters together than the Fates could possibly allow.

He was always pleasant about it, though, and sometimes even brought you flowers. Then he started buying you lunches and somehow it turned into a little tradition just between you two. You ate lunch together every Thursday.

You weren’t stupid of course, you knew what Alfie was after, but truth be told… You wouldn’t exactly mind giving it to him.

He never outright proposed, but he hinted at marriage enough times that it became just one more piece of the regular fun little puzzle between you.

“An’ how’s my favourite girl this mornin’?” he would ask you when he met you for a stroll.

“Very well, thank you, Alfie,” you’d reply, your tone thoroughly overdone on the casual side.

“Not too cold?”

“No.”

“Not too hungry?”

“Don’t think so.”

“So how ‘bout you marry me today, luv?”

“Oh, I can’t, Alfie!” you giggled as you looped your arm through his and let him lead you around the park. “I’m—”

“Right, let me guess,” he smirked. “Got my shirt inside out again?”

“No, the shirt is very clean today. That’s very unlike you.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Well, I told you not to fire your housekeeper, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, no harm done, I offered that old bat her bloody job back,” he grumbled and you giggled again.

“You’ll thank me later, Alfie.”

“I’m sure I won’t, luv.”

“You’re one stubborn man, d’you know that?”

“Yeah, can’t say I’ve never been told that one before.”

“So why can’t I marry you today, Alfie? You promised to guess.”

“Right, how’s about you’re too cold?”

“No, the weather’s quite nice.”

“Too hot?”

“Not really.”

“Too old?”

“Close.”

“Too young?”

You paused and so did he, because he somehow sensed this time it wasn’t just a game between you two. This time it wasn’t just banter; it was real.

“Luv, if I’m makin’ you do anythin’ you wouldn’t want to—”

“No!” you interrupted that train of thought as quickly as possible and took his hand in yours. “No. It’s just that… I don’t think I’m ready to be a wife, yet.”

“Right, in what way?”

“In… In every way, I suppose. I have no idea about running a household or ironing shirts or…”

“Right, thankfully yours truly has already been told he’s a slob.”

“Alfie, this is serious!”

“Right.”

He looked at you expectantly. You still haven’t let go of his hand, which he thought was rather promising.

“I just think I’d make a lousy wife, Alfie.”

“Yeah, that’s that then, luv, right, ‘cause look at the pair of us, I’d be a real lousy husband.”

That got him another giggle out of you, which he thought might have boosted his chances a little.

“Luv, if your parents don’t approve—”

“My parents don’t give two shits, Alfie, I’m not a princess or an heiress,” you chuckled. “I have two younger sisters and two brothers, as far as my chances stand I’d be happy if I scored a baker or some sort.”

“Right, funny you should say that…”

“A front doesn’t count, you madman!”

Even though you knew you crossed a line there by the way he looked around you two, he never did anything to chastise you or show his disapproval at the revelation you just uttered at full volume. In a way, it already told you everything there was to know about the man, had his previous behaviour not been proof enough that he cared about you a great deal.

You already knew you wanted to marry him, age difference between you be damned. So what were you so afraid of exactly?

“Luv, you already know I’m happy to wait for you forever if—”

You shook your head and got on your tiptoes to kiss him mid-speech, since you already knew that a speech was coming. The answer was, with Alfie by your side, you wouldn’t be afraid of anything.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy x reader

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octuscle · 3 days

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Hotel room: filthy chav tf

It was an imposition. An absolute imposition. Having to spend the night in a youth hostel was unbelievable. But in a triple room? Without your own bathroom? Using a communal shower room? That had to be a joke. Yes, his company had to cut costs. There was a new travel policy that banned five-star hotels and business class flights. All well and good. But a youth hostel?!?!?!?!! He called the travel agency and insulted his colleague in the worst possible way. She just replied dryly that everything else was fully booked because of the trade fair and that she had even written Alexander an e-mail asking if the booking was okay. And he had replied with a curt "yes". Unfortunately, there was nothing more she could do, he was still on the waiting list for two hotels. But if there was no answer by now…

Alexander moved into his room. It smelled like a lad's changing room in a community school on a council estate. Of course, he had no idea what it smelled like. But that's how he imagined the stench. Without greeting or acknowledging the teenager lying on the bed playing with his cell phone, Alexander went to the window and pulled it open. "Oi, did someone crap in yer head, mate? Shut that window, innit?" the chav yelled at him. "I don't understand a word you're saying," Alexander replied and began to unpack his suitcase. I don't know how the chav could live like this, he thought to himself. He needed order. He then changed into his bedding, which he saw as a further humiliation, and lay down on the bed. The chav was listening to music so loud that Alexander could clearly hear the bass. He found it more than annoying. But he tried to ignore it. He put on his headset and called his fiancée. Alexander assumed that the chav lying in the bed above him couldn't hear anything, as loud as he was listening to music. So he complained without a care in the world and blasphemed about the young man with the disturbed relationship to personal hygiene and the impossible haircut. "Honey, I have to stop, I have to get out of here and have lunch somewhere civilized." Alexander ended his phone call. He looked up. And he was looking at a dirty white sock.

"Oi, I'm Callum, but me mates call me Cal. So you call me Callum. Did ya just say my smell's botherin' ya? I thought posh gits like you love the scent of real man's feet." Alexander almost threw up. Without saying anything, he jumped up, grabbed his coat and left the room. He had a lunch date with an old school friend at a trendy steak restaurant. It was supposed to distract him and save the evening as much as possible. As he stood in the subway, he wondered what the devil had possessed him not to take a cab. It smelled almost as bad here as in his hotel room. Suddenly he realized that the smell was coming from his armpits. Damn, had he forgotten the deodorant this morning? The journey seemed like an eternity. People wrinkled their noses. My God, that was embarrassing. In the restaurant, he went to the toilet first, wet a towel, took off his shirt and jacket and wiped his armpits. In the stress, he didn't even notice that instead of a white microfiber undershirt with a V-neck, he was wearing a worn-out, yellowed fine rib undershirt. The waiter eyed him a little disparagingly as he brought him to his table. His friend was already sitting there and stood up to greet him. Alexander gave him a fist bump. His friend looked irritated and returned the greeting. "My best man, what kind of ghetto attitudes are these? At least it goes with your casual footwear." Alexander looked at the floor. He was wearing rather expensive-looking sneakers. And white socks. He stammered something about a suitcase that had gone missing and that he'd been a bit stressed. His friend grinned a little disparagingly and poured Alexander a glass of red wine.

The conversation was somehow wooden. Marcus told stories from their school days. But Alexander couldn't remember any of them. The wine was quite tasty, the steak was too rare for him, but he didn't dare complain. With lots of ketchup, it was fine. When the waiter asked if he should pour more wine, Alexander replied with his mouth full "Oi mate, gimme a big beer, yeah? And some mayo with them chips." The rest of the meal passed in silence. All you could hear was Alexander smacking his lips. And after he had finished, a loud and passionate burp. Marcus looked horrified at first. Then he laughed uproariously and burped at least as loudly. "Blimey, mate! That was a good one. Now off for a fag and a fart outside?" "You can proper bet on it, mate. Got a spare cig for us?".

Marcus and Alexander had to put their last few pounds together to pay. The waiter looked disgustedly at the stale bills. "You got a problem, mate? Our money not good enough for ya? What's it gonna take for a blowie, eh? Would ya prefer that?" Alexander could barely stop Marcus from starting a fight with the waiter. He waved for security. A few minutes later, the two chavs were thrown out the back exit.

The evening was still young. Alex called Cal to see if he would like to have a beer in the pub at the youth hostel and watch the game. Cal replied that he had just taken a punter up to the room and had to fuck him first. Blimey, Cal was always lucky. Mack suggested he stand by the mess hall exit. Maybe you could pick up a customer there too. Alex looked in his wallet. He was broke again. He could do with a few pounds. They had at least managed to scrounge two fags from a passer-by. The evening was off to a good start. And at some point it would end with a hot threesome in their room.

Pics found @maennersneakersockenfuesseskins and @belgiquecuir

#male tf #reality change #chav tf #straight to gay

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covetyou · 29 days

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low hanging fruit

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: cock and balls and assholes (Dieter's), brief mention of waxing male genitalia, the word "perineum", allusion to past relations between Dieter and PA. word count: 1.9k summary: Dieter Bravo really wants a smoothie. What you want is for Dieter Bravo to put some fucking clothes on.

A/N: you have some thots and shenanigans in @dieterbravobrainrotclub to thank for this one. I cannot remember who first mentioned the assless chaps but here it is lads. here it is. (edit: I am reliably informed it was @bitchwitch1981 I hope you're proud of me bb)

Not for the first time in your employment for Dieter Bravo, you choke on your coffee, spitting the hot liquid down your chin as you round the corner into his kitchen.

"Dee!"

But, for once, he's not actually doing anything unusual. What he's doing is perfectly normal. Dieter Bravo is hinged at the waist, bending low with his head buried in a kitchen cabinet as he reaches for some old gadget he stashed there too long ago to really care about it. Normal.

No. This time, what Dieter is wearing is the thing that has you beating at your chest as you hack and cough up the droplets of coffee you inhaled in your shock.

He's topless - no surprises there - his tan, freckled shoulders shifting as he reaches and tries to balance himself with a hand pressing all his weight into the counter top.

His legs are covered in denim - a little unusual for a man who prefers a cool breeze running through his leg hair at all times, but not in any way shocking. Except, they're not pants. Not normal pants. Why would they be, this is Dieter fucking Bravo.

They're assless chaps.

And he's wearing nothing underneath.

The sight of Dieter Bravo's bare cock and balls dangling between his legs was the very first sight you took of him, mid-morning on a fucking Tuesday, and it damn near sent you into cardiac arrest. And he's shameless about it too, bending low, squatting a little with his legs as he rummages around, showing you absolutely everything he has to offer and not batting a single eye at the fact that you're stood there, right behind him, seeing it all.

Once the burn and rasp of liquid in your esophagus has eased off, you can finally take a few clear breaths. Ignoring the stain on your shirt - scalding coffee now rapidly cooling as it seeps further and further into the fibers of the formerly white fabric - you place what's left of your coffee down on the counter, slapping the mail you had tucked under your arm next to it, and hold on with both hands. What the fuck.

"Dieter, what the fuck."

"Oh, hey sweet cheeks," he shouts back to you, dangling his head between his legs so you have to look beyond the sway of his cock and balls to make eye contact with him. "You've got something on your shirt."

If not for the assless chaps, and the persistent view of Dieter Bravo's perineum, you would be rolling your eyes and stalking off to continue your day, letting him know you'd be throwing your shirt in with his dry cleaning for him to foot the bill as you turned your back on him. But you don't. You're dumb struck and speechless, stood stock still as you stare and repeat the same few words you've already said.

"What... the fuck?"

"I did put that smoothie thing in here, didn't I?" he asks in return, sticking his head back into the cabinet, and squatting even lower. The blood in your body has gone to your face. You can feel the heat of it as it floods your cheeks and rushes through your ears. You can feel it elsewhere too, superheating your body from inside out, burning you up as something stirs between your legs and in the pit of your stomach that you'd rather ignore. You try to tell yourself you've seen it all before, because you have. You've seen every inch of Dieter Bravo in a million different situations, most of which you wish you'd never seen at all, and some you wish you could see again, and again, and again...

Still, all you can do is stare at him. The curve of his spine and the soft globes of his ass cheeks framed by dark denim that climbs up his hips. That soft smattering of hair down his crack and across his balls, hair that you know he once had waxed off because you'd found him crying on the deck afterwards and he had shown you right there out in the sun.

"Have you seen it?"

You've certainly seen some things, you think. You're looking at something right now.

"Seen what..." you mumble, mustering the strength to tear your eyes away from him just as he rises with a groan, resting his hands on the belt at his hips with a frown. The last thing you want is to get caught staring - it'd do nothing but add to the ever growing list of things he'd never let you live down.

"The fucking smoothie thing."

"You have a blender, Dee. It does the same thing."

"It does?"

Pushing your thumbs into your eyes until sparks bloom behind you lids doesn't even make the image of him go away, bent over or stood upright as he is right now, so you release with a sigh and let your vision sparkle back to life.

"Yes. Now, what the fuck, Dee?"

"Fine, I'm an idiot, a blender can do the same shit as the smoothie thing I-"

"No, I mean what the fuck are you wearing?"

He stops, brain rebooting, flapping hands stopping midair and the frown falling from his face, before his eyes positively illuminate and he grins wolfishly at you.

"Do you like them?" he says looking down at himself. His cock is still out, hanging limply between his legs, the waistband around his waist and the fabric covering his legs doing nothing to give him any kind of modesty. In fact, it's doing the opposite, functioning more as a picture frame to highlight the appendage than to cover anything. "Took them from that movie I shot back in September, you remember that western? Found them again this morning."

"That's great, Dee, but I really don't think you're meant to wear them like tha-"

Dieter pads toward you, his feet soft on the kitchen tile, his usual socks and crocs combo ignored for the day, likely with the excitement of finding his new favorite item of clothing.

"It's like I'm covered, but free, y'know?" he explains, wafting his hands around again as if it'll churn the thoughts in the air for you to latch on and understand a little easier. And you do understand. Sort of. You love nothing more than lounging around in your apartment in nothing but your underwear - there is not joy greater than taking off shoes that pinch, or pants that are too tight after a big meal, or -

"And I can just see and touch my dick whenever I want. Do you know how amazing it is to use the bathroom like this?"

There he is. There's the Dieter Bravo you know and love - though you'd never tell him that. Sometimes one to think with his dick, but most often one to think of his dick.

"Dieter, that sounds great, I'm really happy for you, but -"

"Oh, wait!" he says again, before zipping back around to the cabinet and bending into a another low crouch. "Where is it..."

"Dee," you say, deadpan and monotonous as he rifles through the cabinet again. Whether Dieter chooses not to hear you, or he can't hear you over the chaotic whirl of his thoughts, you're not quite sure, but it doesn't matter because he bounces into a crouch your mind short circuits again. And when he raises his ass back in the air, you curse his new found love of yoga and his increased flexibility.

You don't know whether to laugh or throw yourself onto the floor with the spilled coffee, but when he clears his throat, head still in the cabinet, you swear it fucking winks at you and you can't handle it any more.

"Dieter, I can see your asshole."

Still bent over, Dieter stills. Of course, his asshole, cock, and balls are still bare for you to see, but at least now he's stopped waving the fucking things around. And then he's rising, twisting to look at you with a curious look on his face as if he's picking his next words very carefully. If years in Dieter Bravo's service has taught you anything, it's that you divert and distract him in these moments before he can jump to the strangest of conclusions.

"Just tell me the housekeeper hasn't seen your asshole too, Dee."

"Which one?"

"Dieter!"

"They were gone before I even got down here -"

"Dieter, you have to promise me right now that you won't wear those around the housekeeper. Or the gardener. Any of them. And if you do, you better be wearing underwear-"

"Why would I wear underwear with these -"

"You promise me. I'm serious, Dee, you don't need an indecent exposure or sexual harassment lawsuit on your hands. I don't need that on my hands."

You try to keep eye contact with him - something neither you or he particularly liked, but focusing on his face and his fluffy head of hair was the only thing keeping your eyes from wandering down to the perfectly framed picture of his dick. It's a battle of wills now. You know this, and so does Dieter. It's the reason why you'd manage to last so long as his assistant where others had failed. Dieter Bravo was a stubborn and persistent man, but you had him beat on both fronts. You occasionally gave in, to keep him sweet, but mostly you lived with him being grumpy with you until he moved on or you did something so incredible that he didn't care any more.

"Dieter..." you say once more, and you can see the cogs in his brain slowly click through until everything slots into place.

"Fine. I promise."

Letting out the breath you didn't know you were holding, you try to hold your gaze steady, and up, anywhere but down his bare chest - his fucking bare chest - to undoubtedly linger too long between his legs. You hope he doesn't see when you swallow thickly, muttering good with a small nod just as you pick up his mail and what's left of your coffee. If you turn quick enough you can probably get away with not seeing his dick again today.

"What about you," he calls to you just as you're about to make your maneuver. "Do I need to cover up in front of you? If I do that's not fair, you're here all the time, and you've seen it all before, you've even -"

"No." Fuck.

The word is out of your mouth before you even really think. It was a compulsion; your hind brain activating in a moment of desperation and giving you what you really wanted, and you could kick yourself. This is definitely going on the list, you just know it. Along with the ripped pants incident, that time you got far too drunk and ended up leaving a party with the model Dieter had his eye on all night, and whatever was going on with you two before you decided to - well. It was all on this list, and now it was going to be joined by this.

"No?"

"No, you don't need to cover up in front of me."

"Really? Amazing."

He's grinning. You don't even need to look at him to know he's grinning. You can hear the delight in his voice, borderline laughter in his chest as he scrubs a hand across his belly. You can't look anymore. You shouldn't look any more. "I'm gonna go sort this out."

"Because I know how much you like looking at my -"

"Shut up, Dieter."

And so it begins. Dieter bbs: @secretelephanttattoo @sp00kymulderr @schnarfer @freelancearsonist @fhatbhabie @chronically-ghosted

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