#I had a Johnny thing in mind but then this punched me out

[neodump]

I miss you, bro 😪. I need you to dump something on me rn, like rn babe 😭 been craving for that sexy writing that you carve from that sexy brain.

All I’m thinking about is him taking you on your fifth or sixth date together and he hasn’t gotten laid, and hasn’t complained or made a move on you even once.

He’s driving (wishful thinking) and you’re using a story you’re telling as an excuse to run your fingers along his forearm. You can see him breakout into literal goosebumps, hairs raising up, but he’s laughing and giving nothing away. But when you start putting your hand on his thigh, not high up or anything, he starts squirming his seat a little.

The sound you make, like an oh, makes him look down, following your gaze. ‘Cause he’s hard, not even casually, more like fully pressed to his zipper hard. He’s so embarrassed, he can barely apologize. Mark’s used to feeling near-desperate at the end of his dates with you that he hadn’t noticed he was rocked up.

Five or six dates is enough. He’s passed whatever test you thought you’d be able to put him through without failing it yourself. Good enough.

You ask him how he feels about pulling over onto the side of some dark road and pulling it out through his zipper so you two can get your first fuck in without playing the waiting game any longer. You’re sliding your hand up his thigh, over the tremble it’s doing, right over where he’s hard up and hot. You tell him he can have whatever, just keep the vest on while he does it.

Mark yanks the car over and is gentleman enough to usher you to the backseat without having to step out, but maybe not enough to not flip your dress up (or yank your pants down) and pull your panties aside to have you asap, doggy style, fuck everything else. And then again in some cramped missionary position because he’s been waiting for this and once isn’t enough.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[bunny-jpeg]

boxers

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, boxing au, boxer!simon, injury/bruises, protective!simon, size difference, unprotected sex, cowgirl position, gentle sex, simon luvs his missus,

you liked strong men. strong however was a broad definition. thought a man could be strong in a lot of ways, not just physical. strong convictions, strong emotionally, there were many examples.

but when you started seeing simon, you were enthralled by his physical strength. he wasn't some eight pack having, dehydrated mess. he was bulky, which was good for what he did.

punch the living daylights out of other boxers.

wide shoulders, a softness in his stomach, strong arms with one lined with tattoos. not to mention those thighs, he could crush a watermelon with them if you asked nicely (no, he wasn't going to crush your head). the facial scars add a scary look as did those dark eyes of his.

despite it, simon was a total sap.

at least to you, no one else. god forbid johnny or any of the others. but when it was just the two of you, he was a big puppy. you once described him as a huge german shepherd who thought he was a lap dog.

simon simply said, "just be glad i don't wanna sit on your lap, love. i'll break ya." then pulled you to him to give you a kiss on the forehead. he'd never hurt you though, he'd rather take his own life than yours.

and you loved him back, even with his loud snoring, you still adored him. you thought that he was the perfect boyfriend. which was why it hurt so much when he came home late at night with bruises on his face.

"si."

he dropped his bag and let you get in his arms. he kissed the top of your head lovingly. and welcomed your embrace. the man had enough fractures and scars. so to see another shiny bruise only left you feeling sad.

you brought him to the kitchen by his hand and sat him down at the kitchen table. he looked so large in the small space, which really highlighted your size difference.

"c'mon, pretty thing." he said as held out his arms to you.

you looked over your shoulder from the freezer, "give me a second, honey. i need to find the frozen peas."

simon groaned. he wanted to touch his woman. he cursed the universe that the frozen peas were in the back of the freezer. you managed to grab the bag before you turned to your boyfriend.

you sat in his lap and pressed the frozen vegetable to his bruised face, "poor baby." you cooed as you gave the bag to him.

he hissed a little at the feeling of it against the heat of the bruise. you rested your head on top of his and held him close to your chest

"do i need to talk to anyone?"

he chuckled, "no, love. i just need you right now. i wanna feel my woman." he nuzzled up against your chest. he even kissed the little gold chain around your neck.

eventually the peas started to melt and you put them back in the freezer. however with your back turned to your lover, you didn't notice his approach towards you.

he cornered you against the fridge with his large, scarred hands on your hips. he let out a shudder, "i need you." his voice sounded a little strained.

you swallowed as you kept your hands on the front of the fridge. you could feel his cock pressed against your ass. the rush was the fight was wearing off, but he needed another release.

"you could've just asked, riley."

he curved his back over you to lean in to kiss your neck. his hands traveled north to your breasts and groped them. the flesh filled his hands, his grip was a little rough. but, you didn't mind that.

"i know, love. but i couldn't find the words. i just needed you." his voice was like driving over gravel. it left you hot all over.

you blushed a bit at his words. you turned so you front was facing him. you took his face in your hands and brought him in to kiss his bruise. you said, "si-"

"please." he said as he curled an arm around you middle and brought you closer to him. your hands were splayed across his broad chest. he pulled you into a kiss and you had to get on your tip-toes to meet his lips.

he held you by your middle, his strong arms draped around your waist. he groaned against the kiss, "mine." his voice was as light as it could be.

you really had no choice. it was either you fucked on the bed or up against the fridge. and you knew the landlord would not want to deal with that. so you got out of your boxer boyfriend's grasp and took him by the hand. then you practically dragged him to your shared bedroom.

his eyes were on you as you walked. he felt his cock stir in his pants. you were just so good to him. you were the perfect girl for him. it made him smirk to himself even if it did hurt a little.

he watched your beautiful body on display for him as you tugged off the oversized shirt (that belonged to simon) and baggy sweatpants (that were yours, because his were two sizes too big!). he put his hands on your hips, feeling the softness under his finger tips.

he leaned in a down at you and kissed your cheek. he squeezed your hips and groaned against you, "pretty girl." you trailed your fingers through his blond hair.

your core throbbed for him, your heart leapt when he got a better grip on you and almost tossed you onto the bed. you bounced a little and laughed. "simon! no need!"

"i need ya love, you were takin' too long." he quickly got his shirt off. he hit his nose in the hustle of it all, but was too wrapped up in his deep lust for you that he didn't even wince at the pain, "c'mon, love. either you get them off, or i'm rippin' em of!"

usually he liked to slowly take off your bra and panties, but tonight was an inferno. a huge fire that burned in his core. his heart thumped as he go the buckle of his belt off and he slid the leather off from his waist. he watched you hastily get your underwear off and laid underneath him.

"i wanna see my girl on top." he said as he leaned in for a searing kiss and grabbed you to put you on top of him while he laid on the bed. you were both naked, two pieces of the same puzzle.

you moved so your pussy brushed up against him. he let out a choked groan as you didn't fully sink down him. he could feel his heart up into his throat.

it should be illegal for you to do that, and punishment for it is to get dicked down for five hours.

"like that, si?"

"if i wasn't so worry about breakin' ya, you'd already be ridin' it." he loved when you were on top. the sight of your eyes on him as you hold onto him for a leverage as you rode him.

"si." you smiled as you splayed your hands on his chest and sank down onto his cock. you could feel your heart in your throat as you sank yourself down on his impressive size. you choked out a moan and felt the pleasure pollute your head.

"that's it, baby girl." he said softly. his voice was a rumble in the back of your head like thunder. he guided your hips. he wanted to see close to his missus.

your big scary boyfriend. close to being the number one fighter in the league. the big shot. the ghost. there he laid under you, his eyes closed and his body melting into the bed. his hands your hips as he slowly guided them up and down. your cunt felt like a comfortable vice around him, he could hear the hitch in your breathing when he hit just the right spot.

what a beauty, the most loveliest woman he had ever laid his eyes on. that's why you were his woman, the only one he wanted. through hell and high water, to the moon and back. he kept his hand steady on your waist as you moved up and down on his cock.

you could hear your heart thumping in your ears from the blood rush of having sex with him. the most handsome man you ever had the privilege of loving. you held onto him for support as you raised and lowered your hips against pelvis.

you felt the curl of pleasure in your gut as his cock prodded at your most intimate parts. he felt so right. that was your man, as you leaned in and kissed him on the lips, you felt the inferno in your gut.

you felt hot and heavy all over, you felt the rush of pleasure echo through your body as you moved against him. he was your simon, the bloodied boxer, the ghost of the ring. he came home to you every night, he kissed you until you fell asleep in his arms, he brought you home flowers on tuesdays and always cooked dinner on sundays.

that was your charming bloke who punched people for a living. with his scars on his cheeks and lips, the crookedness of his nose, those piercing brown eyes and all the love he could give you. while he didn't believe it was much, it was more than you ever wanted.

"si"

"love."

you pulled him in for another hot kiss as you bounced more on his cock. the stabbing of his cock in you made you feel lightheaded, there was so much to fit in you. everything about simon felt big, from the meat on his shoulders to the width of them. his strong arms that were now wrapped around your middle, to of course his cock that was filling any gap in your pussy.

you dug your nails into his tanned skin and you let out a loud moan as simon clutched onto you and continued to push his cock up into you. it made you see stars as he moved.

"that's my woman." he huffed, "bright beauty." his voice drew as he bounced you on his cock. even if the pain in his face was still there, the sight and feeling of you around his cock managed to dull the pain. who thought pussy was a good cure for a bruise.

he pulled you closer to him, until your chest was against his. simon bent his knees and got a different angle to hit the back of your soaked cunt, "been thinkin' about my missus all evening. probably why my game got thrown off. was thinkin' about this sweet treat rather than johnny's punches." he chuckled as he managed to fuck you faster.

you whined, you didn't want to be the cause of simon getting hurt. but he quieted you down with a searing kiss. he didn't need to hear that, he wanted to hear your pussy getting fucked by him.

the angle made your head a little dizzy as you tried to keep some more of control. but it was too late, simon had already dominated your little pussy yet again. it was alright though, the feeling left shivers through your body.

he continued to make out with you, the kisses were sloppy and needy. it made your cunt ache as he rocked into you. the bed shifted under you two as you continued to make love.

simon loved you. he'd never hurt a hair on your head, even a chipped nail was a cause of concern for him. he kissed at you hot face as he felt you grow tense around him.

a few hard thrusts later and you were clamping down on him, orgasm pulled from you and you felt hot all over. the pleasure left your head swimming. you panted wildly as he continued to move against you.

he gave you filthy praise as he felt his own orgasm come over him. with a heavy thrust into you, he slammed his cock all the way into you and finished. spurts of cum hit the inside of your pussy and he left out a harsh grunt.

he dropped his arms down onto the bed and laid fully out. you clung to him and his cum clung to your pussy lips. you both laid there, basking in each other's embrace.

you leaned up and kissed him gently on his bruise, "my boxer." your fingers dragged down his chest, "you have to be careful. i hate when my man gets hurt." you kissed him on the cheek under the bruise, "i need you to come back to me in one piece."

simon's cock soon slipped out of your pussy and you softly kissed him on the lips. he said to you between kisses, "i always come home to my love. i love you so much." his words were like honey that melted to your core.

you laid in each other's hold. he had been a fighter all his life, but now he was simply yours. wrapped up in the comforts of bed, the bruises would heal but your love for him would be eternal. <3

[lushrve]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader

cause who doesn't want the image of these boys all sweaty and bloody in hockey gear (also i haven't mastered writing in a scottish or manchester accent yet so don't come for me)

you’re a figure skater, something you’ve devoted your whole life since childhood to. over the years, you’ve honed your craft, becoming one of the best in your area. you do well enough at competitions; not olympic material, but skilled enough to bring home a state title every now and again. you take pride in the way your body glides across the ice, painting pretty pictures with each scrape of the blade of your skate. it’s methodical, structured, clean. if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you’re dancing on clouds.

it’s a small town and there’s only one ice rink for miles, so of course you run into the local hockey team practicing and warming up for matches. you don’t know most of them (don’t care to, frankly), but some are more notorious than others.

the team captain and center, price, the tactical mind behind their victories. from the few games you’ve watched them play, you can tell that he calls the shots. you watch as he sits on the bench, watching his teammates rush back and forth across the ice. it’s like he sees beyond the game. sometimes, you see him close his eyes, like he’s seeing a play take shape in his head, before calling out to the others and making it happen. they always listen, his booming baritone too compelling to disregard. (that voice made you feel something too, but you didn’t want to admit it.)

then there was a defenseman, simon. you just knew him as “riley” by the last name emblazoned on the back of his jersey. but if you listened closely (and you did), his teammates called him ghost. it didn’t take you very long to find out why. ghost was a large man, all broad shoulders and hard lines. he preferred the silent approach to taking down an opponent, slamming them against the boards before they could even register the sound of his skates scraping the ice. he played dirty, your eyes often meeting his when the referee threw him in the penalty box. (he winked at you once as he cleaned some blood from his lip, fresh from a fight. you pretended not to notice.)

left wing belonged to johnny, a scottish man they called soap. he got his nickname from his assist record, always coming in to clean up what price or ghost or another teammate had fumbled to lead his team to victory. he was quick on his feet, but brutal. while ghost was the primary muscle, soap wasn’t afraid to get physical if someone was coming between him and a goal. soap was also mouthy, chirping in his thick accent across the ice to get in the other team’s head. half the things he said, you don’t understand. hell, the other team probably didn’t either. but the tone was what mattered. (he leaned over the plexiglass after a solid win, personally inviting you back to their next home game. you blushed crimson.)

right wing was kyle. by far the prettiest one on the team, you thought. he’d take his helmet off as he skated back to the bench, running a hand through his sweat-soaked curls. the sight of him was like a work of art, a canvas brutalized by the nature of an aggressive team sport. he wasn’t as quick to get physical as the others were, but the moment everyone dogpiled on the ice, he was right there in the fray, throwing punches that landed just as loud and hard as the rest of them. the way he moved on the ice almost reminds you of your routines, careful and choreographed. he knew exactly where he was going, and he always hit his marks. (you wondered if he always moved like that, wondered if he danced through life.)

ghost and soap approached you after a win, coming up into the stands after they’d stripped themselves of their gear. while soap looked a bit smaller after shedding the heavy padding, ghost didn’t. still a hulking wall of muscle. “oughta sit in the stands mo’ often, birdie,” soap chirped, a smug smile on his face as he leaned on his hockey stick. “y’r like a good luck charm fer us.” you blushed pretty, averting your eyes and missing the way the two men looked at each other. you’d do just nicely, they thought. ghost cleared his throat, your eyes snapping up to him like he’d commanded it. (he could’ve. you would’ve obeyed.) “when d’you skate again?” he asked, arms crossed over his expansive chest.

“y’ve seen us in our element. now we wanna see you in y’rs.”

[oceantornadoo]

the cabin in the highlands (johnny mactavish x f!reader)

reminder that i suck at scottish accents

--

“johnny, why did you bring me here?”

he flicked the ash off his cigarette and raised it to his mouth.

“ye said ye were gonna be lonely on the next break.”

actually, you had said you were going to be alone, which is different. you wanted to be alone because you needed a break from this. the overbearing presence of johnny, his scent cloying with your nostrils and settling in the air. every joke. every playful punch, every brush of the waist was wrapped in your mind like a twisted christmas present, with no end and no beginning. you treasured your moments together but couldn’t make sense of them at all.

of course, johnny didn't care about any of that, which was why you were smoking outside a cabin in the highlands, eyes tracking the fog rolling over the distant mountains. you could have been relaxing in your flat near base - alone, sure, but at least you'd be at ease. instead, your heart rate was perpetually elevated, shoulders bunched at every movement of johnny's. it was quiet here, no gunfire or commands in your ear. just you and johnny, in his small cabin that he liked to come to in between deployments. "air clears everythin' up 'ere." he had said, pointing to his skull, where the bullet had grazed. you couldn't deny him that - it was beautiful and peaceful and calm, your thoughts slowing to the pace of a dripping faucet when you had a moment to yourself. not now, of course.

it was early morning, the sun just cresting over the horizon. bit chilly, but not enough to see your breath. johnny had honest-to-god rocking chairs on his back porch, wooden creaky things you both sat in as you watched the sunrise in silence. you wrapped your hands tighter around your tea mug as johnny finished his cigarette, a habit he seemed to have picked up from ghost in the past few weeks. you'd thought you brought warm enough clothes, leggings and sweats packed to the brim, but clearly you underestimated the kind of cold in the highlands. even with the summer air, the early morning chill sank deep into your bones. "ye're shakin' like a leaf, lass." you shook your head, taking another sip of your tea. "still waking up, johnny. unlike you, i try to sleep in when we're not deployed. still catching up from three weeks ago." he grunted, finishing his cigarette and putting out the stub on his ashtray. you tracked his movements, eyes tracing the veins and battle worn callouses of his hands, disappearing into his thick fleece jacket.

"c'mere." you must have heard him wrong. you turned to him, furrowed eyebrows asking a silent question. "i'm sorry?" he grinned, patting his lap. "am warm. c'mon." you rolled your eyes, averting your gaze to the mountains again. "don't be dumb, johnny. i'm fine." silence. and then, a large hand appeared in your vision, plucking the mug out of your hands. he came back, tucking one arm under your knees and the other around your back, tugging you up into his arms. "johnny! i was comfy!" he laughed into the nape of your neck, mohawk cutting off your field of vision. he smelled good, like pine and the remnants of last night's fire, home mixed up into a scent.

johnny maneuvered himself back into his seat, plopping you into his lap. "better, bon?" you nodded meekly, tucking yourself into his lap. he was warm all over, your forehead coming to rest on his collarbone. he ran one hand up and down your thighs, tracing the lines of your pajama pants, while the other hand secured you against him. "thin pants." he murmured, almost to himself. you weren't sure where to put your hands, suddenly thrown by the absurdity of your position, curled up in your fellow sergeant's lap. your ass was directly against his crotch, rubbing against his sweatpants. you swore you could feel something getting harder against you, choosing to ignore it completely. "johnny, this is hardly appropriate we're-" "not at work. jus' ye an' me." you blew out a harsh breath. "i don't know what to think, johnny." what to think about his offer to go see his cabin. what to think about accepting and following through. what to think about wearing his sweatshirt, sitting in his lap. what to think about being the only two people around for miles. "don't. lemme hold you, mo chridhe." you gave up, sinking into his arms.

your focus turned from the mountains to him. his scent, wrapping you in his embrace. the softness of his fleece jacket. the safety of his arms, still petting you like something precious. out of nowhere, an idea came to your mind. you turned slowly, pulling a bit out of his embrace. he grumbled and you shushed him with a glare. gently, you took your hand out of your lap to run it through his hair. your theory was correct. this harsh military man kept his mohawk butter soft, your hand passing easily through the strands. you pressed your nails in a bit, just to experiment, and were rewarded with a low growl, reverberating in your thighs. he closed his eyes, blue gaze now hidden, leaning into your touch. you shifted your weight, pulling out of his lap to straddle him instead, thighs surrounding his own like a vice. he pulled you forward, eyes still closed, hands digging into your pajamas as he forced you as close as possible. your core rubbed against him, clothed cunt rocking in his lap, reveling in the hardness there. your hands were still exploring his hair, dragging your nails this way and that, tracking his every groan and tucking it in somewhere hidden in your heart. whenever this bubble popped, whenever he got bored and moved on from this tug of war, you'd hoard those groans like a dragon protecting her treasure. his hands had traveled to your ass, pushing you even closer as his thumbs dug into your hips, circling. he gave you a roll of his hips, cock pressing against your aching cunt through layers of fabric.

"johnny, feels good." he did it again, catching your clit at a perfect angle. you let out a moan, uninhibited and from your center, and felt him grow even harder under you. you dropped your hands from his hair, forehead resting on his shoulder. "what if- fuck. just once, johnny? won't get awkward after, i promise." he stopped suddenly, hips falling against the chair. you let out a sound of protest, moving your head from his shoulder. "shit, i'm sorry i didn't mean-" he shut you up with a kiss: harsh, bruising, possessive. his hands came up to craddle your face, one moving south to grip your jaw in an almost-chokehold. he tugged you closer by the neck, earning a moan from your lips. you felt him smile against you, all content, before he dove back in, dominating the mood. coming out of your shock, you kissed him back with a fervor, biting his bottom lip slightly. johnny pulled back, suddenly all business.

"dinnae want t' fuck ye." oh. "then what...? why am i here?" he shook his head, removing a hand from your neck to rub it through his mohawk, then down his face. "d'ye like th' cabin?" the change in subject threw you. "the- the cabin? yeah, it's nice. i'm confused, how does that relate?" his eyes found yours again, searing into your soul. "it's fer ye. us." oh. your mouth dropped and he laughed at the sight, his honeyed sound soothing your nerves. "for us? what? why?" he smirked, all cocky now that he'd recovered from whatever that was. "dinnae want ye once, chridhe. want t' wake up with ye here every mornin. watch th' sunrise with ye in ma lap. no eyes, jus' us."

wildly, some part of your brain was still functioning, recalling all those interactions that had brought you here. your first duo mission, screaming at each other over comms. when you lost your pocketknife gifted to you from your last captain and johnny gave you his own, which now traveled with you everywhere. shitty safehouses with no mattresses, sharing sleeping bags to stay warm. his hands, practically paws, always around your waist, keeping you close. movie nights in the common room, organized by yours truly, always ending with your head on his arm, using his bicep as a pillow. dancing on bar dancefloors, drunk logic making it ok to hide your face in his neck, johnny's arms always on the top of your ass. that one fight with that creepy sergeant from another team, your pleas the only thing to stop johnny from breaking his neck. and finally, the ring around your fourth finger (right hand, not left) in your favorite metal. something he had presented to you privately with pink cheeks, scratching his neck and murmuring something about found it at a flea market, even though you both knew it had to cost hundreds and just happened to be your exact size.

"johnny, you're my best friend. what if it-" you hiccupped suddenly, overwhelmed. "what if it doesn't work. what if in five years, we're screaming at each other over small stuff. god forbid, what if it's silent? i can't do it without you, johnny. fuck." the tears in your eyes were threatening to fall, the image of johnny blurry. he shook his head with a small smile, fingers gently brushing the tears out of your eyes. "aye an' if it does? five years an' yer ma wife? breakfast watchin' th' sun, christmas wi' th' lads, bairns in a few more? no doubtin' us." he slipped that ring off your hand, transferring it to your left, fourth finger. you emitted a small gasp, the metal warming under his touch. "please." his voice broke on the last syllable; your stupidly insane loveable hunk of a man had a few tears in his blue eyes. the sight nearly broke you, and you vowed he'd never have to beg you again. "yes. yes with you, johnny."

and like all best promises, you sealed it with a kiss.

[killerpancakeburger]

SILVER-TONGUED

SUMMARY: Soap drops by your office to pick you up, like every friday evening for your poker game with the Task Force. But when you turn out harder to remove from your desk than expected, he's going to resort to a different method.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Anxious!Reader, Clingy!Soap, Established Relationship, fluff, swearing, mention of chronic pain, suggestive/light smut: dirty talking, gropping, foreplay (?), semi-public (happens in your office on base but no one walks in lol), (they keep their clothes on). Idk how to tag, help

WORDS COUNT: 1.2k

A/N: Just because I wish I had a Soap to sweet-talk me from my desk at the end of the workday. *sigh wistfully* This is the filthiest thing I've ever written, so... enjoy? But also forgive my amateurism.

Plunged into your work, you’re essentiellement deaf and blind to the outside world. When you notice Soap's presence, he had the time to sneak into your office and behind your chair, arms folded over your backrest. By the way he pronounces your name, you can tell this isn’t the first time he's calling it.

“Hey,” you salute, surfacing back to reality with difficulty, focus not leaving your computer's screen, but reaching backwards blindly with one hand for contact. He grabs it right away.

“What's up?”

He chuckles a bit at that.

“Day's over is what's up. Ye coming?”

Your eyes fly to the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen. The evidence is damning: your shift has been over for ten minutes. It is far from unusual for you to stay too late, but tonight's friday and the 141's weekly poker game is summoning you in the form of an overeager Scotsman whose eyes you would damn yourself for.

On the field, the Sergeant MacTavish can remain immobile for hours on end with a sniper rifle in hand, stoically waiting for a target to get in his sights. On base however, your lover can hardly stay still more than a minute without a reason he'd deem legitimate.

His question is very much rhetorical. You tried to slip away once, not because you didn’t want to come but because you were worried the guys felt obligated to invite you out of politeness, and somehow Johnny must have read your mind because he snatched you and fireman carried you all the way there.

You wouldn’t have forgiven him if he had dared to pull those antics in front of others, but he managed to keep that spectacle just between the two of you. You still yelled at him a lot afterwards though. And punched him. And kicked him. Felt like hitting a punching bag anyway, so you didn’t feel guilt over the fact that he wasn’t defending himself at all. Once you were done huffing and puffing, you just glared at him, out of breath, fists clenched, and he stared back shamelessly, a grin on his face. The genuine joy in his expression was contagious, so you started laughing uncontrollably, and he joined you quickly. 

Coming from anyone else, this overly familiar behavior would have disturbed you. Being carried around like a helpless toy, powerless to resist someone else's will, wasn’t something you were fond of. But Soap proved himself time and time again to be safe. He could tell apart your serious reluctances from your playful protests, and if he had any doubt that you were uncomfortable, he would have stopped messing around instantly.

Deciding for you in that particular moment eased you off a burden, saving you from crippling indecisiveness and from endlessly weighing pros and cons in awkward silence. It was a favour.

You never contemplated refusing the offer again after that.

“In five minutes,” you bargain, not wanting to interrupt yourself in the middle of a task.

He loudly whines in protest at that, acting more distressed than he actually is.

“Nooo. Come ooon. Ye can finish later.”

“Be quiet,” you retort, and yet unable to curb an amused smile from stretching your lips.

He sighs exaggeratedly before admitting defeat. For exactly five minutes and not one second more.

“Bonniiiie.”

You don't relent.

“I'm almost done!”

“Ye were s'pposed to be done 20 minutes ago!”

You don't have any good argument to oppose that truth, so you remain silent. Soap does not.

He starts massaging your shoulders and dispensing cajoleries into your ear to coax you into compliance. You manage to tune him out until he curiously presses the tips of his fingers into your trapezius muscles and you wince. He lets out an impressed whistle.

“Fuck, yer tense. Yer shoulders feel like reinforced concrete.”

You sigh, having heard that one before.

“Bane of my existence,” you mumble absently.

He hums pensively, and you think that's the end of the matter, until his hand slides down your chest, all the way from your collarbone until your navel, leaving shivers in its wake, and his lips settle on the crook of your neck.

Concentrating suddenly becomes impossible.

“Johnny,” you call out in warning.

Or at least that was the goal, but you can hear in your own voice how affected you already are.

He treats his name like a demand for more, and leaves a trail of kisses along your neck and your shoulder, tugging on your collar to have more skin to work with. Meanwhile his hand caress and grope your torso, burning you through your clothes, in slow, unhurried motions that feel terribly suggestive. He knows your body so intimately well, only brushing the sore spots, like the side of your ribs, where the bone presses right beneath the skin, teasing the sensitive areas and tenderly stroking the rest.

“What do you think you're doing?” you contrive to ask, resisting the temptation to close your eyes to focus solely on his touch.

This may be afterhours, but you’re still in your work office, and anyone could barge in. While the idea may be arousing in theory, you know that the reality would mortify you.

“Just helpin’ ye relax, hen. Ye work too hard. Lemme take care o’ ye.”

Once again, you can’t find a good argument to oppose him. You do work too hard, and you desperately need to unwind before the pressure you self impose makes you explode like a time bomb. Since you've started dating, Soap had a tendency to mentor you into taking it easy, and he never steered you wrong until now.

You sigh in defeat, lift a hand to grasp his mohawk, letting your head tilt backwards, and surrender to his wandering hands and mouth.

Two fingers glide on the inside of your thigh, from knee to groin. In the meantime, his hand squeezes your breast. His lips stop from sucking and licking your flesh only to whisper filthy nothings into your ear.

“Could sneak under yer desk… make myself at home between yer legs… and let ye fuck my face while nobody knows. Would help with yer tension, ah'm sure.”

You suck in a gasp at the conjured mental image, legs spreading almost immediately. You, digging your fingernails into your palms with restraint, Johnny's cerulean eyes almost shining in the half-light of the bottom of your desk as he's staring hungrily at you, kneeling. Him raising a finger across his lips in silent command before spreading your knees further apart and nuzzling against your crotch. You fighting back against the urge to grind on his face and suffocate him between your thighs, the knowledge that he's not averse to the idea making things worse.

“Johnny,” you whimper, beguiled. “Fuck.”

He lets out an appreciative hum.

“Knew ye'd like that.”

The fingers tickling your inner thigh finally move to where you want them most. You grit your teeth to contain the moan that threatens to escape you as his middle finger runs up and down your slit.

Then the racket of your phone vibrating against the wood of your desk abruptly brings you back to reality. Your eyes open wide and you raise your head to see who's calling, only to swear in horror as Ghost's mask occupies the screen. As the contact's photo vanishes, a notification indicating seven missed calls makes your stomach twist in fear.

One does not stand up Lieutenant Riley and comes out unscathed.

[satansapostle6]

Love The Sinner | Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan, a vigilante serial killer hiding in plain sight, loses sleep for the first time in his life when he’s met with the very last thing he expected: a kindred spirit.

Warnings: Violence. Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Part One. Eyes of Darkness.

Most people, when they’re getting arrested, shit their pants with fear. Some scream, some cry. Some rage, and some try to run, and some just freeze. That’s what you usually see, when you’re in your parents’ living room, and your dad can’t wait to turn on the TV to the channel dickety-six news, of all things. But sometimes, people have other reactions when being handcuffed and shoved in the back of a squad car. Sometimes people enjoy it, for one reason or another. I smiled when Miami Metro put me in cuffs on the news. Laughed, even. You see my story is many things, but boring certainly isn’t one of them.

Let’s start simple. My name is Nicole Carvalho, and as of today, America knows me as ‘Murderous MILF’. You really can’t make these things up; I love this country. I keep reminding myself, if I ever go free, I need to clip that out of the newspapers. But see, right now, at this very moment, I’m sitting alone in an almost blindingly white interrogation room at the precinct, waiting for a cop to question me while they study me on the surveillance footage. I can’t lie, I’m sitting back right now in my chair, smirking. You see, I killed the men who violated and later took my baby girl’s life, and I’m currently very pleased with myself.

I don't think my grandfather pictured this when he left Brazil. This truly is the American dream; committing a crime and letting your own peers decide whether or not it was justified. In all honesty, a jury will be much kinder to me than ‘God’ has been. So, I figured I’d let myself have this one thing. I think I waited about a half an hour before they sent someone in; a female detective. They must’ve figured a matching vagina couldn’t hurt. The first thing I noticed about this detective was that she was strikingly young; close to my age. I’m thirty-six, so I would estimate her to be maybe a little younger.

But apart from her age, the next thing I noticed about this detective was that she was very robotic in how she interacted with me; she didn’t necessarily look like she wanted to be there. She barely looked up at me when she came in, holding my files and looking down at them like a teenager doing a presentation in high school.

“So. Nicole Carvalho. I’m Detective Morgan.”

She sits down across from me less like I’m a murder suspect and more like she’s interviewing me for a secretary job. I look at her, sitting forward as I join her in the conversation, still smug as ever. I think she was secretly hoping I’d say it, the four words that usually drove most cops insane that, for some reason, no one ever thinks to say in the movies.

“I want my lawyer.”

I smile as I say it. Detective Morgan also smiles, looking down at the table before getting up. I’ll never forget how pleased she sounded.

“Guess that means I can’t ask you anymore questions.”

She gets up and walks out, and that’s the end of it. In all honesty, I don’t think she was looking forward to questioning a woman about the murder of her daughter’s rapist. After the detective left me alone, I was allowed to call myself the lawyer that I had in mind. This, of course, was a friend of a friend, a perfectly shady guy named Johnny Bertelli, who was, in the nicest way possible, a fucking scum bag. You see, I work as a project manager at a marketing firm, so I’ve met my fair share of good lawyers, but Johnny was the fucking best.

He made Johnnie Cochran look like an idiot. He was the kind of lawyer who laughed at the prosecution in court, and I needed him. So there i was, in the Miami Metro precinct punching a number I’d gotten off Google into a wall phone. I looked around the precinct as I waited for someone to pick up, and suddenly it was like I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned around, and I saw a pretty timid, mild-mannered looking guy who seemed as if he’d been standing there trying to figure out how to get my attention.

But the strange thing was, he didn’t seem to want my attention, at all, actually. If anything, he seemed perturbed by the fact that I was looking his way. I looked over at him, not knowing what the fuck his story could’ve been. Miami’s a weird place, because in this moment, I realized the guy wandering the precinct in a Polo and khakis could very well be an employee. I looked at the guy, not knowing what he could’ve wanted with me as I struggled with the phone. Funny enough, he actually just wanted to be helpful.

“You gotta press pound,” he says quietly, “For the call to go through,” and I almost laugh.

I appreciate the odd moment, just thanking him.“Thank you.”

He just nods, and says nothing as he quietly retreats to wherever it was he came from. I took his advice, and sure enough, the phone worked and patched me through to Johnny’s office. I wasn’t quite sure at the time, seeing as I was obviously a bit preoccupied, but I felt that strange man’s eyes linger on me for a moment. Even as I turned around, I could sense his surreal sort of presence that he had. Sure, I was used to having men’s leering eyes on me out in public; it was hardly unusual. But this was different.

Like he was less looking at my body and flesh, but more so imagining what was underneath it.

*****

The next couple years of my life were eventful, to say the fucking least. Johnny of course advised me to take my case to trial instead of taking a plea, for obvious reasons; there was no way any jury was going to give me the maximum sentence, or God forbid, the death penalty. I was a single mother who stabbed her twelve year-old daughter’s rapist seventeen times. In the eyes of the public, I was practically a fucking hero. Johnny’s confident that any jury would feel sympathetic to me, despite the brutality of what I’d done. As he says, the facts are still there.

My neighbor, a weasley little creep named George Randall got me, and my Isabelle, to trust him, and took advantage of her in the worst way. Then she killed herself, because of what he did, and I had to find out through a note left on her desk for me to find. So, I went to George’s with an empty baking dish of his, and once he let me in, I whipped out the knife I’d borrowed from him, the same knife I used to use to cook for my little girl, and I made his stomach burst like a water balloon. At this point, I’d already chosen to show little remorse for the crime I’d committed, feeling perfectly at peace with the possibility of prison, or the death penalty.

But Johnny said there was probably no need to be too fearful of either. He’d even told me there was a possibility I’d just get a few years, and then parole, or something, and I wasn’t sure that wasn’t bullshit, but I also liked his confidence. The reality of it was, Johnny had made much worse people look way better. To him, my case was already closed. All I had to do was play the part of the grieving mother, which took no effort on my part. I had to wait almost a year for my case to go to trial, which I of course did outside of a cell.

This gave me enough time to get all my affairs in order, or so to speak. My job was okay for the time being, and I knew I’d probably still have it so long as I wasn’t convicted of murder, given my ‘years of dedicated service’. Things were going to be relatively fine, eventually, but for now, I was stuck being paraded around like a jester on some twisted apology tour for avenging my daughter’s death. I’m a pretty good actor, but even my patience has its limits. And maybe wearing my white So Kate’s to court wasn’t necessarily the best judgement call.

But Johnny, being more than worth the money I pay him, made it work. I walked into the courtroom with him, humble and graceful, and didn’t let my eyes linger so as not to appear guilty. But even then, I caught a glimpse of him in the room. The guy who helped me with the phone. He was watching my trial, probably just as a police department employee. Probably.

“Will the defendant please rise?”

I complied with Judge Willis’s request, with my trusty guard dog by my side. I remained dignified, my head held high, but not too high, of course, as the proceedings began.

“Miss Carvalho. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor,” I told him.

The damage was done. My fate rested entirely in the hands of twelve strangers, and for some reason, there was a thirteenth who seemed oddly invested in the outcome.

-

Part Two.

[onlykindaweird]

Did you know?

(spoilers for the musical if you want these to be a surprise)

In the outsiders musical, its stated that the day the curtis parents die is actually Darrys birthday. Ponyboy had forgotten to get the frosting after school, and when the curtis parents went to pick it up, they got stuck on the tracks.

yeah, dallas gets hit by a train in the musical! a theory i recently saw suggests the train is a metaphor for death following ponyboy. (he "swears that deaths following him" in Deaths At My Door)

In several of the songs, the church fire is foreshadowed! (instances being "I try to keep you from the fire, but its me whos getting burned" in Runs In The Family (reprise), "you wanna be James Dean? your gonna crash and burn." in Grease Got A Hold.)

Also in Grease Got A Hold, Sodapop spells "grease" as "grae". (okay, ive heard someone say the "not too selective" is S, but sodapop being dyslexic is way more funny) "G is for getting the girls every time cause youve got irresistible charm, R is for reeling them in and then keeping the prettiest one on your arm, E is for effortless swagger the kids that the ladies can never deny, A for affected b ut not too selective and E is for catching their eye."

In Justice For Tulsa, there is a pause towards the end of the song. (between "you better run for your life" and "next Saturday night") that pause is Two-bit getting burnt by Bev with a cigarette. (Bev is a soc, shes awesome. you can follow her actor Melody Rose on tiktok.)

at the start of Finale (Tulsa '67) "When i stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, i only had two things on my mind. Paul Newman, and a ride home." thats not Brody Grant (Ponyboy)! thats Brent Comer (Darry)! hes reading ponyboys essay! which is a reference to the fact darry always reads and checks ponyboys homework!

Bob, Dally, and Johnny all fight in the rumble! another metaphor for Ponyboys battle and race against death. "Ponyboy!" is shouted when ponyboy realizes he was about to punch Johnny.

Randy isnt in the musical, instead we have Paul! played by Dan Berry.

[vgilantee]

🥵 you and glossy 🥵

Sooo.. when did John finally get them into bed?

glossy @glossysoap indulges me and my worms too often <3 and always comes in with her own like !!! ty babyyyy

~✧

john gets his hands on johnny first.

stuck in a safe house with just each other, waiting on exfil but weather makes it almost impossible to covertly get them out. so they have to wait. it only takes a couple days before the tension becomes too much and they snap.

“you have fun with it?” john asks, smoking out the open window.

“fun with..?” in johnny’s defence, he’s not good with sitting still waiting when there isn’t a target. he’s excellent when there’s a goal, a mission, a mark. but just sitting, waiting in a tiny cabin in buttfuck nowhere? he’s antsy.

“m’ cock.” he says it so casually johnny chokes on his own spit.

“i, uh… yeah. bon cried so pretty. and i dinnae think i’ve ever been stretched so nice.”

“hm. want t’ have a go with the real thing?” johnny thinks his having hallucinations. no way his captain just offered to fuck him. it was one thing to gift you both a mould of his cock, it was one other thing to send a photo of himself covered in his own cum after clearly jerking off to johnny fucking you with it. it’s another entirely to offer… that. “yes or no sergeant?”

“yes.” it’s almost pathetic how johnny whines as he clamours to his feet, john’s finger crooking to summon him over.

“your cunt looked so pretty takin’ the silicone, bet it feels like heaven around my cock.”

it doesn’t take long for johnny to have his pants and boxers thrown elsewhere in the room and be bent over the arm of the dingy sofa, wet, puffy cunt presented for john while his little cock twitches.

john knows that johnny can take his cock, watched the video of you taking him apart on it god knows how many times, but he still wants to have his sergeant cum on his fingers first. wants to feel just how warm and wet johnny’s pussy can get before giving soap what he desperately wants.

when he finally, finally, sinks into johnny’s cunt, he almost collapses forward. it had been too long since he’d had a warm pussy around him, and soap’s flutters and clenches around the thick length as it verges on overstimulation.

john can’t help himself as he bottoms out over and over again, fucking into johnny at a bruising pace, punching his cervix every time. but it’s clear soap doesn’t mind at all, not with the way he keeps reaching back to scratch at the captain’s thighs while moaning out thank you’s between his swearing and whining.

they both shudder as john fills soap’s cunt, pelvis flush against his ass to keep him full for as long as possible. john clumsily reaches for his phone, taking a slightly graining video of the way johnny’s cunt stretches over john’s cunt, fluttering once he’s pulled out and forces cum to dribble out.

when you watch the way john swipes at johnny’s cunt from clit to hole before pushing the cum back in, listening to john rumble out “don’t waste it”, you can’t help the “oh fuck” you whisper out.

~✧

john goes with johnny to your little home when they finally get back, inviting himself while johnny was between his thighs, cock too far down his throat for soap to argue.

you get no warning, only expecting johnny to walk through the door while you move around in only one of his shirts and a pair of panties. despite the fact that john has already seen everything, you still squeak and pull the front of the shirt down between your legs.

“sorry for intruding without warning, love.”

“oh! it’s- it’s okay john.” you wave him off with one hand, the other trying to keep the shirt in place. “i can make some food for you both if you give me a minute to put some pants on.”

“no need, sweetheart. if it’s okay with you, i’d much prefer you take them off so i can have a proper meal.”

you’re lucky to make it to the bedroom with how desperate they both are to have you naked. soft and warm. john makes you squirt on his fingers while he and johnny alternate between eating you out and making out with each other, making a mess of spit and slick

[angelflms]

Cobra Kai has a tone-deaf problem.

Now, I am a Black woman so all of my observations are through the lenses of that. You can critique my words all you want, but don't be disrespectful because I will be equally as disrespectful in the replies.

I have this phenomenon that I've noticed for a lot of shows I have watched that I call "The Leo Dooley effect," inspired by character from the Disney XD show Lab Rats, where the main character, a POC who set the tone for the whole story, is surrounded by a white ensemble cast that slowly but surely pushes that character aside to serve their purpose.

Cobra Kai does the same thing with Miguel Diaz, as he seems to be the sole reason why any of these things on the show are happening (for better or for worse) and gets one of the worst character driven storylines throughout the series post-coma (I rewrote his story on my blog. Go find it under the Miguel or Xolo hashtags) to further make the show The Robby Show (we'll get into the tone-deaf writing of his character this past season in a minute). He becomes a shell of a character, empty, boring, and in the sidelines all up until the final season, where the writers seem to remember *snaps fingers* oh shit, Miguel's one of our protagonists, and writes an okay story for him. Better than his s5 plot, but not as good as the stuff we got in s1, 2, and the last half of 3 and 4.

Now, s6 has him in his true prime (not in the way people claimed he was in the past seasons). He's got a clear mind, he's goals-oriented, you wouldn't even be able to tell that this kid was paralyzed from the waist down a year ago (in-universe time). However, he's out-performing everyone, was single-handedly saving his team, and it wasn't even enough for Johnny. It was very interesting to watch as People of Color, especially Black and Brown people, tend to have to go above and beyond to prove that we're the shit, but it'll never amount to anything if our white associates (minus Devon in this case - more on her later) aren't doing anything. But the second they do, everyone is getting praised. Miguel knocked his opponent out in forty seconds. FORTY SECONDS. But because the team wasn't doing good overall, he got no attention. I know that feeling all too well and it sucks.

As much as I thought Johnny's "Miguel is our anchor" line was powerful, it also didn't at the same time. The Magical Negro is such an annoying stereotype, as well as the Strong Black Woman/Man, and the Brown and Asian variations that come with it.

Miguel is the Brown equivalent of the Magical Negro, trying to tell the white Johnny what's right and wrong. Teaching him what's okay to say and what's not, despite Johnny being grown enough to probably understand shit on his own. He basically is teaching Johnny in a sense despite the fact that it should be the other way around. And I know that's a typical mentor/mentee thing trope but with how the show goes out of its way to show how self aware of modern problems it is, it's hella tone-deaf.

In terms of the Strong Black Man trope (or in this case Brown), Miguel isn't always strong. He breaks down and cries pretty often but it's viewed by the fandom as annoying, weak, and pathetic, as well as not manly which pisses me all the way off because every time he gets emotional, it's with valid reason. Losing his girlfriend (both times), finding out he's paralyzed, apologizing for running away, his mom possibly dying, not getting into Stanford (tho this would've had more of a punch if Stanford actually mattered but it doesn't whatever). Also, he's a 16/17 year old Brown kid in poverty who was embarrassingly bullied MULTIPLE TIMES. You're telling me you didn't cry as a kid? But when Robby cries every once in a while (which is also equally as valid because he was also a kid in poverty who was bullied), everyone holds his hand and says "it's okay."

"He's our anchor." It just sounds so off to me. Like has to be the one to help everyone else, when you have two Captains who can do the exact same thing. We as POCs have to be the ones to hold down the fort and keep things steady on our backs while white people can settle for mediocrity and not have to do to much because "hey, the POCs got us." It's just like that "if you're in danger, find a Black woman" thing. Because we're expected to be the ones to save y'all when y'all are in trouble. But when the roles reverse, we're expected to save ourselves because we're strong. Y'all don't like it when Miguel isn't emotionally or physically tough because y'all expect him to push through since he's the main character, but it also feels like he's expected to push through because he's a Brown boy in poverty so he's been through enough.

Tory's "we have to fight to get a spot in life" speech was well performed by Peyton List but it felt strange to see a white woman explain privilege to a Brown boy who has less privilege in comparison to her. I have always had a problem with that scene and I never won't have an issue with it.

Moving on to Kenny. Kenny is the only Black character of current time to be in the ensemble. Aisha was on the show but left ofc. Kenny, like Miguel was brutally picked on, primarily by white kids, especially by white rich boy Anthony LaRusso. In the fandom Anthony tends to be the more favored overall. Kenny is primarily favored on the Black side of the fandom (much like Miguel). Similar to Miguel, there was a moment in s6 part two that may have not been intentional but in my eyes, felt very racially targeted.

Hawk and Demetri were very skeptical towards Kenny because they assumed that he was working with Silver despite the fact that Kenny didn't even want to do the Sekai Tekai to begin with after he became publicly bullied again. During a round of tag-teamed fighting, the boys refused to let Kenny in, causing them to lose the round due to Robby not being prepared to be tagged in (he thought they were gonna tag Kenny). Kenny gets mad, rightfully so but the boys didn't back down on their theory (the only reason this theory was even a thing was because they say Kenny and Silver talking and assumed the worst). It took the team's "anchor" to give Robby a pep talk to lead and the others will follow (you know, something a Captain should already know) for Kenny to get the attention he deserves. And then Hawk and Demetri finally accept Kenny. All because the white guy said "hey, we should tag him in."

That sounds so off in so many ways.

It wasn't intentional, I know. But the fact that this was something that happened and the boys didn't even apologize to Kenny after for the assumptions they made only furthers my point on how tone deaf this show can get. Amanda, Miguel, and Robby are literally the only people who see Kenny as more than just a Silver puppet and it sucks because Hawk and Demetri were in the same spot as Kenny once upon a time.

And then there's Devon, the overworking, overwhelmed Asian girlie who tries her hardest to seek validation and gets overlooked. Similar to Miguel in this new part, Devon got ignored badly in the first part. It was so bad that she cheated to get into the Sekai Tekai and got her ass handed to her. And like Miguel, it takes her to have to explain to her white sensei that she's being ignored for him for her to be taken seriously. She's not the best fighter by any means but I thought we were done with this Asian stereotype years ago. And the way Sam talked to her after literally celebrating her victory with all smiles and everything in the first part??? Like it felt so fake as hell.

Finally, Robby. Robby is written well, we all know that. But this shit that they did to him in the second part pissed me off, especially since it's not gonna get addressed apparently. So Robby gets drunk at a bar and basically follows Zara back to her hotel room. Next time we see them, he's disoriented, and she's kissing him. I'm sorry, but that's sexual assault, yes? Robby was drunk and didn't remember anything. So that's her taking advantage of him, yes? Well the creator apparently doesn't think so and is saying that Robby made a mistake and that the interaction won't be talked about next part.

Bitch, Robby is a VICTIM.

Zara sexually assaulted him. Just because he's a man doesn't change the fact that the man got taken advantage of by Zara.

Like did we watch the same scene?

This show has so many problems and I feel like since it's a show about fighting no one cares. But as a Black woman, I see this shit and in between the lines, there's so many issues that won't even get fixed because the show is over.

[twisting-echo]

It's time to talk about some things that have been on my mind since the two final episodes of Monsters at Work season 2 dropped.

Despite how much I loved seeing Randall in Monsters at Work, I couldn't help but feel that Randall was out of character and super extra, to be honest. I know that I'm not the only one who thought that Randall's change in character was due to Johnny's asshole influence.

Now this may be my personal headcanon, but going off of what we were given in Monsters University, Randall, better known as Randy at the time, was a sweet, polite, and self-conscious monster who lacked confidence. Yes, he wanted to “get in” with the “cool kids,” but who hasn't given into peer pressure or wanted to hang out with people who seemed fun and popular? What kind of guy tries to make friends through sharing cupcakes? Sweethearts, that's who!

When Randall first revealed that he joined Roar Omega Roar, Johnny ordered him to “do the thing,” and Randall obeyed his command like a trained dog and turned invisible for Johnny and friends to gawk at. At the moment, I assumed that Randall was the group punching bag.

I always thought that Randall's cruel actions were based solely on Johnny's approval and the validation from his peers because that made him feel seen. Little did Randall know that Johnny was just using him for his unique abilities.

Later at the Scare Games, Randall lost control of what I considered to be his bodily functions and accidentally camouflaged his skin into a humiliating pattern of pink with red hearts, which was criticized by Johnny, Chet, and other members of his fraternity. After that, I always assumed that Johnny saw no more use in Randall because his camouflagic abilities are what got him into ROR, and it's what got him out of ROR.

You want me to really believe that Randall actually liked being in ROR and flourished?!

My point is that what I saw in Monsters at Work doesn't line up with what I saw in Monsters University. The only thing that did line up was the fact that Johnny was using Randall, just like he did back in college.

I had always thought that Randall had lost pieces of himself in an attempt to become a member of Johnny's fraternity. To be honest, I was never fully intrigued by Randall until I saw this alternate side of him in Monsters University. However, I can't really explain away his actions in Monsters Inc., but gosh, do I love thinking about the emotional journey he went through to get to that dark place.

Sshhh, Do You Hear That? belongs to @assrtdj

I Just Wanted a Friend... belongs to PumpkinSoup on DA.

Reflection belongs to Planet-Spatulon on DA.

Randall seemed perfectly happy with his friendship with Mike. He was so secretly desperate to appease his new friend that he discarded his prescription glasses just because Mike offhandedly noted that his glasses gave away his invisible camouflage. Mike didn't tell him to get rid of his glasses. Randall did that himself because he made a self-conscious decision. It's like getting a haircut that you really didn't want, but your friend offhandedly said that they thought that you would look good with short hair or dying it another color. That's how low Randall's self-esteem was!

Mike was the perfect friend for him! They spent time together; they lounged on the grass while studying their homework together; they had playful banter, and it was adorable! Mike accepted Randall for who he was, and I'll never forget that. Mike is Randall's true bestie. 🥺

I refuse to believe that Johnny and Randall are “besties” because Johnny is just using him again. Randall literally said that because Johnny saved him from the swamp people, he “owed him one.”

I refuse to believe that Chet of all people was bullied by Randall during his college days, and that's why he's no longer Johnny's number 1. I love Chet as a character, and seeing what he was reduced to in Monsters at Work broke my heart. He was a former shell of himself, and he was literally walked all over by Randall.

It's almost like they retconned, or should I say, Chet-conned his character and his friendship with Johnny by forcing Randall into his spot. I mean, Chet was a loud and obnoxious guy, but in a lovable way. He brought a lot of funny moments and had a couple of good one-liners in Monster's University. But what stood out in his character the most was his devotion to Johnny.

He literally screamed, "Johnny, you're my hero!" during the Scare Games. Johnny is Chet's boy, damn it!

Roar OhMyGosh belongs to J-Spence on DA.

Full comic by @j-spencer15 right here.

[partycatty]

i’m cranking these out like it’s a full time job

can we get some fluff w johnny where we steal his shirt and he just finds it’s the cutest thing how we practically drown in it

love youuu 💙💙

hehe i wuv him sm

johnny cage > rain

notes: i may not be a skinny queen but swimming in one of his shirts would actually cure me of all ailments forever,.,.., WHY ISNT HE REAL!!!!!!!!! @spacepl4ant

[ masterlist ]

• you and johnny had grown attached since meeting at wu shi academy. sure, you knew about his existence because he's a celebrity, but you had gotten to know johnny as a person as well as his screen persona... not that there was much of a difference.

• regardless, tuesdays were "train til you drop" days, oftentimes fighting or practicing routines for literal hours until you couldn't feel your limbs. everyone dreaded it but knew deep down it was necessary. this particular tuesday just so happened to be raining like crazy.

• you and the boys sparred and swung attacks at each other until the sun set, everyone drenched in sweat and rainwater. you all sat underneath a dense tree. kung lao shook the water from his hair, raiden was wringing out his shirt, kenshi didn't seem to mind too much and johnny was... well, using the rainwater as some kind of strange gel as he slicked his hair back.

• "talk about training your ass off," he groans, stretching his arms. "i can't feel a single part of me." you jab his side, making him whine and swat at you.

• "you complain too much," you wring your hair out onto the grass. "that being said, i'm cold and hungry and tired and i wanna go back to the dorms so i can change."

• "i like your thinking," johnny waves off the group and the two of you skip down the gravel path to the students' sleeping quarters, where your separated but loosely divided rooms held what little items you were allowed to bring with you. it was a common practice to walk around campus together, sometimes even arm in arm as you playfully waltzed down the paths. the other boys gave you a lot of trouble for it, whining about the married couple you pretend to be. neither of you stood up to defend yourselves. if anything, johnny found it a nice idea.

• in truth, you drove him wild. he just split from his ex-wife, someone that wanted to place roots down and slow down in life. but you, you were spontaneous, fun loving, and an absolute firecracker. you set his heart going, and he couldn't help but harbor a little crush on you. he couldn't tell you that, not now anyway, with the tournament coming up he knew better than to put an extra weight on you.

• "earth to superstar—" you groan, waving your hand in his face and shaking him of his thoughts. he hadn't even noticed the two of you were already at your sleeping place, and how you're now half dressed in your undershirt and shorts. "just checked my stuff. i don't have anything clean or decent. guess i'll just be soggy for dinner."

• johnny can't seem to focus when you're in a damp tank top. "bummer."

• you frown. "this is when you offer one of yours."

• his eyes are distant. "my what?"

• "jesus, cage, what's gotten into you?" you playfully punch at his chest, which does little to affect his stance, and slide the door open to his own bed arrangement. bending over and shuffling through his obnoxiously nice luggage bags, you find one of his dress shirts. it's a fiery red with small flame patterns.

• "i didn't say you could go through my stuff," he warns you in a teasing tone, head hovering over your shoulder. "you might find something you won't like in there."

• "please," you puff as you flick the shirt of its wrinkles. "i've seen a few rose toys in my day." he chuckled, turning away for a moment.

• he gives you the decency to change by staring into the corner, shamefully dreaming of what you may look like without anything on. he shakes the thought violently as you let out a sigh of contention with the shirt.

• "i get that you're a big guy, but lord," you mutter, tugging and shifting the shirt on your body. "you're bigger than i thought."

• "that's what sh—" johnny turns around with a smirk that quickly drops to the floor. you were wiggling about trying to make the shirt look like your own, but johnny was just so pleased with how it sat on you as it was. his shoulders were broader, leaving the shirt to swim around your own and expose a good deal of your collarbone. his waist was small, giving you some grace by hugging your hips almost as if it was your own top. in that split moment, johnny ponders if the "you're so hot i got a nosebleed" trope was real, wiping the bottom of his nose.

• "suits you," he pulls himself together abruptly with his award-winning grin, patting your shoulder and careful to avoid making contact with your skin, as badly as he wanted to feel your warmth. "after all this, come by my place and i'll get your own wardrobe after my style, how's that?"

• you scoff with your hands on your hips, shifting your weight to one leg. johnny fights the physical stutter at your chest creeping out of the top. "mister playboy here giving out charities to us poor folk. you don't have to do that, really."

• his voice is deadly serious. "i want to."

• "you're an odd one," you point a finger, sitting onto his bed with crossed legs. you fall silent observing his thousand yard stare, how glassy his gaze seems to be when it falls on you. "why do you look at me like that?"

• "like what?" his mouth is dry, eyes fixated on yours.

• "like you wanna kiss me all the damn time," your answer is teasing, not entirely serious but you don't miss the twitch in his lip at your statement.

• "and if i do?" he's testing the waters, something about you in his clothes is making him more bold than he swore to be.

• his answer makes your heart flutter, not expecting a direct comment like that. it changed the air of the room, and you suddenly feel a little more suffocated and insecure under his analytical stare. "why don't you?"

• "because i'm worried i'll want more. you look great in my clothes, by the way."

[theemissuniverse]

“GAME TIME” KENSHI TAKAHASHI X COMEDIC RELIEF READER

SUMMARY : You always try to impress Kenshi (CONTEXT BECAUSE Y’ALL ARE GONNA COMMENT IT this is before Kenshi gets blind. So shut up) but he is not impressed by you

A/N : I’m lowkey bad at writing Kenshi so this is gonna be the last time I write a full fic about him for awhile

WARNINGS : none. I think

MASTERLIST 1 , MASTERLIST 2

You didn’t believe you were anything remarkable.

You admitted that you were a lazy individual. That you barely wanted to put in the work. That you didn’t care about being the best.

It was always stuck in your mind from the dawn of time that you weren’t anything special by your family. There was nothing remarkable pertaining you.

That’s why you couldn’t understand why Liu Kang chose you of all people. Even Johnny Cage was a better fit than you. Any time you questioned Liu Kang he would just say, “time will tell.”

You never had motivation for anything. Especially because no one in your life had ever told you that they were proud of you.

At the moment the only thing at this academy that mattered was the people you were surrounded by.

Kenshi wasn’t necessarily naive but he didn’t really see you having a crush on him. I mean, he just didn’t think that he was your type so the thought never occurred to him.

You were glad of it too. You would be completely embarrassed if Kenshi had found out about the crush you had on him.

At the academy, your fellow Earthrealm friends: Johnny, Kung Lao, and Raiden noticed your crush. Johnny and Kung Lao would tease you about it while Raiden told them to stop torturing you but also encouraged you to just go for it.

“There goes your boyfriend.” Johnny said to you. A little too loud for Kenshi to hear.

When Kenshi walked over to you, he raised a brow and smiled. “Boyfriend?”

You started to nervously laugh. “He meant boy…that’s also a friend. He’s a little lost.”

“Sure…” Kung Lao mumbled which caused Raiden to hit him on the shoulder. “Ow!”

Kenshi gave Kung Lao a look before taking a water bottle from the table. “You guys are strange..” He told the four of you before walking away.

You watched him walk away and the turned your attention to Johnny with a glare. “Great. Now he thinks I’m strange. Thanks, Johnny.”

Johnny shrugged slightly. “If it means anything, I’m into strange.”

“And you’re strange yourself so that doesn’t really help your case.” Kung Lao told him.

“Ugh.” You plopped yourself sitting down at the table. “What am I going to do?”

“You could just make the move yourself and ask him out.” Raiden said as if it were obvious.

You gave him a look. “Do you want me to kill myself, Raiden?”

Raiden scratches the back of his neck. “I suppose not…”

“You just gotta impress him.” Johnny said.

“Impress him?” Kung Lao asked as if he was crazy. “He was in a gang! What more could you impress him with?”

While the three bickered about solutions, an idea came to your mind.

And you were prepared to see it through.

You and Kung Lao were fighting each other for training but you (as always because you are lazy) were barely trying. Kung Lao was starting to get annoyed with you.

“(Y/N)! How are we suppose to take out bad guys if you’re just pushing and shoving them?”

“Ugh. This is too much work. I need a break.” Kung Lao rolled his eyes but let you. You were panting heavily. You felt as though you were going to pass out.

Kenshi walked by and the sparkle came to your eyes. The idea came to you again. “Hey! Kenshi!” When he heard you call out his name, he turned to look at you. “Watch this.”

Immediately, you grabbed Kung Lao by the shoulders and kneed him in the stomach. You then kicked him in the stomach, making him fall to the ground.

He groaned in pain. Kenshi chuckled but continued to watch. Kung Lao stood up from the ground, furious. “Hey! I wasn’t ready.”

You went to punch Kung Lao but he blocked it. You tried to punch him again but he blocked it too. You grabbed both of his arms and twisted them. You then with both feet, kicked him in the chest and did a backflip in the air before kicking him at his feet.

Kung Lao fell to the ground on his knees and you backhanded him. Making him fall completely down.

Raiden and Johnny stood there in shock as that had been the first time you had actually beaten one of them.

Kenshi nodded a little proud. “Impressive. But I bet you couldn’t do it again.”

He challenged you? You were willing to do anything that was going to impress him.

When you started walking over towards Johnny, he shook his head. “Oh no. I don’t want to-“

You ignored him and pulled him by the arm to bring him to the center. You kicked Johnny by the legs making him bend back.

Then you punched him in his chest with your left hand. With your right hand you grabbed his arm and twisted it. Then you head butted Johnny in the face. Johnny fell to the ground in pain.

This time, Liu Kang had watched and was pleasantly surprised. He stood next to Raiden. “Where did (Y/N) get the motivation?” He asked knowing you hated training and you were very lazy.

“To impress Kenshi, Lord Liu Kang.” Raiden replied.

“Ah. That makes more sense.”

When you had finished with Johnny, he clutched his stomach in pain. “At least you didn’t get my face.” He said in pain.

Kenshi again was impressed but he didn’t want to show it. See, unbeknownst to you, Kenshi wanted what was best for you and wanted you to take training seriously.

So in order to push you harder, he would barely give you your credit. “Interesting…but even I could’ve taken Cage. But I guess challenges aren’t your strong suit.” He said before walking away from you.

You stood there in shock. You were actually mad at him. Kenshi had never treated you like that before.

Raiden saw the look you had. You looked angry and sad at the same time. “Are you sad or angry?” He asked trying to see if he should hug you or give you your space.

Kung Lao and Johnny finally got up from the ground. “I gotta put on a Kenshi costume when I’m near you.” Johnny said while cracking his neck.

“Screw Kenshi.”

Everyone, even Liu Kang turned to look at you in surprise when you said this. “Did I hear that right?” Kung Lao questioned.

“Challenges not being my strong suit?! Oh I’ll show him. He doesn’t know who he’s messing with.” You punched your fist with your hand before walking away.

“This cannot be good.” Johnny said.

Liu Kang was the only one to pick up on what Kenshi was doing and he didn’t mind. As long as you were trying then he didn’t care where your motivation came from.

Every time you looked at Kenshi it was just filled with rage. Every time. You were not only hurt but felt humiliated. So, you were going to be the best. No matter what.

You started taking training more seriously. You worked out every day. You made sure to concentrate on your inner peace.

But your inner peace was beating Kenshi.

That wasn’t enough though. Beating him just by simple hands was not enough.

You were going to beat him without your sight.

You had been training without using your sight and using your other senses for weeks and you thought you were finally ready.

Today, Kenshi was practicing with the gang and when you had showed up, you saw that Kenshi very easily beat Johnny.

“Is that all you got, Cage?”

You had never noticed how cocky Kenshi actually was and it made you roll your eyes some. You still stepped forward. “I thought Johnny wasn’t a challenge to you.”

Kenshi turned to look at you. When he had looked at you, your attitude was different. You weren’t the girl cracking jokes like Johnny anymore. You were serious. “I just needed a warmup.”

“Glad you had it.” You pulled out a blindfold from your pocket. “Ready for another challenge?”

Kenshi looked at the blindfold in your hand curiously before looking at you. “What might that be?”

You smirked when he asked. “I bet I could beat you blind.”

Kenshi couldn’t help but laugh at the challenge. “I respect you, (Y/N) but you cannot even beat me with your sight. What makes you believe you can beat me blind?”

“Because I have something you don’t.”

“What’s that?”

You placed the blind fold over your eyes. It was now at this point you were completely blind. You then got into your fighting stance. “Skill.”

Kung Lao, Johnny, and Raiden both ‘oohed’ in unison. Kenshi looked interested. He did have faith in your fighting ability but to go as far as you could beat him blind was insane to him.

Kenshi looked over at Liu Kang who seemed interested in this challenge so he turned back to look at you. “Well let’s see.”

He got into his own fighting position. There was complete silence. Kenshi was expecting for himself to throw the first punch but you threw it.

Kenshi blocked the hit. You tried to punch him again but he also blocked it. When you tried to kick him, he grabbed your leg and pushed you off.

He was already impressed. You were actually almost hitting him. Without your sight.

Kenshi tried to hit you but you blocked it. This continued for some time until you landed a hit on him.

You backhanded Kenshi across the face. His whole body swerved around and he felt at his lip. His lip was bleeding.

“No way…” Johnny mumbled. “50 bucks says (Y/N) wins.” He says to Kung Lao.

Kung Lao scoffed. “You’re on.”

Kenshi was severely impressed but he still didn’t think you could beat him. This time he would try harder. He got back in his fighting stance.

He immediately went to hit you. You blocked it. He went to sweep at your feet but you jumped over the motion. That’s when he took the opportunity to kick you in the stomach.

You fell to the ground and groaned in pain. You huffed out of anger. There was no way you were going to let him win.

You did a front flip to land back on your feet. You wiped your nose and motioned for Kenshi to come at you.

Kenshi did. He grabbed your right arm but you flipped him around and made him fall to the ground. He quickly got back up and kicked your right leg. He tried to hit you in the chest but you blocked it.

You did a spin kick and you almost knocked him to the ground. When you went to hit him, he blocked you with his hands. He shoved you away from him.

When Kenshi tried to charge at you, you swept his feet. He fell to the ground. You tried to stomp at him but he rolled the other way. Kenshi got behind you and put you in a headlock.

You elbowed Kenshi in the gut and flipped him over to the ground. You punched him in the chest when he was already down and he hissed out in pain.

Then you placed your foot on his neck. “Give up?”

Kenshi tried to move to see if he could get away from your grip. He couldn’t. Kenshi had actually been beaten by you. Blindfolded by that.

He let out a deep breath and nodded. “I concede.”

You removed your foot from his neck. The thought didn’t occur to you in the slightest what you actually did. You had done something all of them couldn’t.

As you removed your blindfold, your fellow Earthrealm friends walked over to you and cheered you on. “Alright, (Y/N)!” Johnny cheered.

“Very impressive.” Kung Lao stated.

“You did great.” Raiden said.

You looked at all of them confused. You didn’t think you did anything remarkable and you didn’t even do this to even be remarkable to begin with. “What? I didn’t do anything special.”

Johnny gave you a look as Kenshi stood up from the ground. “(Y/N)…you kicked Kenshi’s butt blind folded. You deserve your props.”

At this point, Liu Kang started to walk over toward you. “Johnny Cage is right, (Y/N). You’ve been showing an immense amount of skill these past few weeks.”

You still felt confused. Nobody had ever congratulated you before so the weird feeling in your stomach felt uncomfortable. “I was just doing something I was suppose to do. I’m nothing special.”

That’s when Kenshi stepped in. “You did what everyone couldn’t. You beat me. You did good, (Y/N). I’m proud of you.”

The words ‘proud of you’ snagged on your heart strings. No one ever in your life told you that they were proud of you.

As much as you appreciated it, it came out of Kenshi. The man in your mind, doubted you from the very beginning. You didn’t care to hear those words from him.

You threw the blindfold on the ground and walked away from everyone. They all watched as you disappeared.

Kenshi looked at the back of you confused before turning to his fellow Earthrealmers. “What did I say?”

Raiden saw the look on Kung Lao’s face and he shook his head. “Don’t tell him, Lao.”

“I can’t help it. I’m bad at holding secrets. It makes my stomach hurt.”

Johnny placed a hand on Kung Lao’s shoulder. “I got this.” He then turned to face Kenshi. “(Y/N) has a crush on you. That’s why when you said all that rude stuff about her, she tried so hard to prove you wrong. She did all of this for you. And you…hurt her.”

It all made sense to Kenshi now and he had cursed at himself mentally for not realizing sooner. He did notice you would act a tad bit strange around him but your personality was far different than anyone’s that was there so he just thought it was that.

But he did like you. A lot. That’s why he had done all this in the first place.

“But I do like her. That’s why I said all that stuff. To push her because she was the only one that wasn’t taking it seriously. I was trying to help her.”

“Well…” Kung Lao trailed off. “Congratulations because now you got a blind assassin if you need one but was it worth hurting her like that?”

Kenshi never met to actually hurt you. To push you? Yes. But to hurt your feelings? No. He liked you. He liked everything about you. Your awkwardness, your smile, your laugh, your jokes, the way you would nervously laugh yourself out of a situation, just you in general.

“I think it is best if you speak to her, Kenshi.” Liu Kang told him.

Kenshi nodded and walked in the direction to your room. Johnny looked over at Kung Lao. “You still owe me 50 dollars.”

You sat in your room, writing in your journal. You started to feel bad for even beating Kenshi and you were confused. You were supposed to feel like you were on cloud nine but you just felt bad.

How could you erase this feeling within you?

You heard a knock at the door. You didn’t bother to get up. “Come in.”

The door opens and it’s Kenshi. You sighed some when you saw him. Kenshi closes the door behind him. “Can we talk?”

“You’re already talking to me so I guess.”

Kenshi walked over to the bed and sat at the edge. “You did great out there today. How did you train yourself to be blind folded?”

“I don’t know. It just happened…” You trailed off.

“(Y/N), I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said about you not being able to do it. Well, I mean I did but not like that. I was just trying to push you so you could reach your full potential because I believe in you. And because I have feelings for you.”

“Well so what? Because I did all that for you! And I don’t want to hear how sorry you are because it’s too late! And I don’t need any props! And my vision hurts from being blind folded! And-“ You cut yourself off when you realize what he had said.

Kenshi admitted he had feelings for you.

“I’m sorry, what was that last thing?”

Instead of saying, he showed you. Kenshi leaned over and kissed you. His right hand was at the back of your neck.

You felt stuck in the kiss. You were actually kissing Kenshi. Kenshi Takahashi. You had to be dreaming.

You kissed him back with your hand slightly on his chin. The two of you continued to kiss like you’ve been waiting for the opportunity.

His lips melted with yours. They felt just right with you. Like they were made for you.

Kenshi pulled away slightly and looked into your eyes. It was silent for a moment but then you started to giggle uncontrollably.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your giggles. “You know I’ve been waiting to do that forever right?”

“Me too.”

“Do you want to have a picnic with me today?”

You cracked your knuckles and faked yawned some. “I don’t know. I’d have to check my schedule. I’m a busy girl.”

Kenshi playfully rolled his eyes. “Well, let me know when you can fit me in.” He gave you another sweet kiss on your lips before pulling away from you and walking out your room.

You heard some knocking at your window. You raised a brow and walked over to go open it. There was Johnny, Kung Lao, and Raiden. “So?!l” Johnny asked curiously, wanting to know what happened.

You rested your hand on your hips. “My life is not your personal soap opera.” But then you smiled and gave in. “He kissed me!”

The three of your friends cheered and high fived you.

Kenshi was great but you were so glad you had your friends by your side.

[laswells-ashtray]

Feralomega!Price? Alright, lemme explain.

In this society I like to imagine that unmated omegas are seen as ‘feral’ or ‘wild’ because, without an alpha, how will they ever survive? Or if not that and the omega is doing all the things they’re not supposed to do(ex. Being in a leadership position), then they’re seen as a nuisance. And God forbid if they don’t want to have an alpha’s pups.

With Johnathan being, not only an omega, but unmated and the captain of a TaskForce, I think it’s safe to say that he already has a lot on his plate. And don’t even get me started on what happens when he goes out to bars(he’s already ripped out one throat and doesn’t mind ripping out two more).

It's gotten so bad that Ghost had once asked if he needed to start telling people that he was John's alpha due to the sheer disrespect he was facing from other teams that they were supposed to be working with. John promptly declined, he dishes it out as good as he gets it.

The reason he works so well with Laswell is that she doesn't give a singular minuscule fuck about his secondary gender or if he has a partner unlike most of the CIA. She values his work and if she has to occasionally write off a suspicious hole in throat death after an incident that involved John meeting a contact in a bar who happened to be a pushy alpha then she'll do it. No sweat off her back and John always offers her a good bourbon in thanks.

Simon does care about any of that bullshit so long as John is alive and doing his job but that won't stop him from throwing his punches when he hears that shit that gets thrown around about his captain.

Kyle honestly prefers having a captain who's a "feral" omega. He's been under the leadership of a mated omega before and their alpha had been the one leading the show from the sidelines, and not well.

Johnny has witnessed John rip out a pushy alpha's throat with his teeth and his only response was to drag the man's body behind some bins and then offer to buy the next round.

Nikolai wants. Oh, he desperately wants. He doesn't want to force John into a submissive role and destroy the man. He wants the omega that he's watched stamp jaws. But he'd never approach John because he knows what's important to him, the mission. He'd never put that in jeopardy but he'll act far more than friendly with the captain and try not to think about watching John, with his chest heaving, covered in blood that mostly isn't his with burst knuckles and a positively murderous look on his face, while he's in the shower.

[mistydeyes]

cold coffee and sloppy notes

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summary: As the 141 returns home, they're always more than happy to support their favorite student as you work towards your degree.

pairing: Task Force 141 x student!civ!Reader

warnings: none :) all fluff

a/n: i thought this was fitting as i'm now officially back in school! good luck to everyone who is also heading back and feel free to reach out if you need any help or just want to destress :)

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price - defending your thesis

"How's it going in here, love?" John asked as he entered the living room. He observed the TV that had your thesis defense presentation and the collection of papers and notecards on the table. "It's…okay?" you said, almost questionably. In fact, it was not okay. You had gone over your presentation to the fictional group of panelists thousands of times but always tripped up on your words. He could sense your distress and enveloped you in a comforting hug. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked as he rubbed your back lightly. "I don't know," you mumbled, "I just need to get this presentation down." He took a step back and made his way to the couch. "Then present it to me, and I'll give you some feedback."

“Good morning panelists,” you began nervously as you clasped your hands together. “Take a deep breath,” John corrected and you sighed before taking a seat next to him. He placed a comforting arm around your shoulder before you leaned into his side. “What if they don’t approve of my research?” you shakily spoke as your mind flooded with the possibility. You had spent 4 years researching this topic and the only thing in between you and your doctorate was your thesis defense. “Well you can’t go in like that,” he advised, “researchers can smell fear.” You lightly punched his shoulder as you both laughed. “I’m serious!” you exclaimed, “What if they tell me I wasted all these years?” You sighed again and he placed a gentle hand on your cheek. “You’re the expert on this topic, you just have to show them that,” he reassured and you smiled back to his soft gaze. You spent a few moments like this before getting up again and trying to go through your presentation.

You looked down at the coffee table of notes before John snatched them in his hand. He held them gently in his lap before looking back at you. You were about to object when he placed a finger to his mouth. “Love, if you keep a script then you’re going to sound like wet cardboard,” he explained as your face twisted in a mix of emotions, “I doubt they’d want to sit through another boring defense.” You took a moment to compose yourself before he gestured for you to start again. “Good morning panelists,” you repeated, with more vigor than the last time, “I am Y/N, a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of…” Even if tomorrow you left as a candidate, you knew that you would have John’s unwavering support through it all.

soap - mathematics work

As you lay on the loveseat with Johnny, you groaned loudly. You stomped your feet childishly on his lap which caught his attention. He looked up from his phone as you frustratingly erased at the paper. "You alright?" he asked and you shook your head. This assignment for your maths class had taken you hours and you still could not figure it out. The words on the page began to blend together and you were at a loss of where to start. "I don't understand why I took a maths class," you mumbled and put your forearms above your head. Soap patted your leg reassuringly before trying to peek a look at your notebook. "Let me take a look," he offered and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Thanks, babe but I don’t know if you can help,” you said, chewing on the end of your pencil. “Try me,” he joked as he looked at you. Deciding it didn't hurt to let him try, you threw over your notebook with impossible equations and problem sets. You took the time to check your phone and take a break from your calculations. After a few moments of him thinking out loud and throwing out various “hmmmms” and “I sees,” you sighed as if you were wasting his time. You were about to take the notebook back when he hit a eureka moment. “Pencil me,” he commanded and you passed it over to him. After a few more scribbles and mental math, he presented you with the solution. “Here ya go,” he said smiling and you couldn’t believe he found an answer. Your eyes scanned over the sloppy handwriting but you were able to see it followed the equation you had learned and the answer was reasonable.

“How-how did you do that?” you asked as you looked over his work. You hoped it was correct but we’re at a loss for his sudden stroke of genius. “‘m more than just a pretty face,” he joked and you pushed you eyed him suspiciously. “I’m serious, Johnny.” “Think ‘bout it, my job is all about maths,” he explained, “demolitions is about figuring out how much ya need, how big the building is, and where the pressure points are.” You shook your head in disbelief. He was right after all, geometry was so integral to many professions even if you didn’t enjoy it. "Thank you," you smiled and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, "might just ask for your help on all my assignments."

gaz - studying

Kyle returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea, surprised to find you had overtaken the living room floor with your textbooks, notes, and electronics. You had been at it for hours now and Kyle was more than happy to make dinner and clean your flat while you worked. The room was filled with a mix of classical music and lo-fi beats. Somewhere in there, he could've sworn he heard the Coconut Mall theme song. "Hey, you," he called and you looked up at him. He noticed the bags around your eyes as you pushed back your blue light glasses. "How's it going," you weakly asked and motioned for him to sit. You shuffled a few papers around on the couch behind you as he maneuvered through the mess.

He placed your favorite cup of tea down on the glass table before settling on the comfortable seat. You sipped it gently and savored the taste. "Decaf?" you asked, looking back at him, and he nodded. "I don't think you need more caffeine," he chided as you rolled your eyes in response. "I just have so much to do," you replied before looking back down at your organized mess. You always dreaded finals season and would procrastinate studying until the last week. Despite having copious amounts of notes, you were at a loss to remember all the material asked of you. You wished there were more hours in the day to study.

“Love, you should rest,” Kyle gently suggested as he put a hand on your shoulder. You leaned back into his touch, groaning at the eye strain and the now persistent headache. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whispered, trying to overcome your anxiety and disappointment in your lackluster study habits. Kyle massaged your shoulders as you closed your eyes. “We’ll wake up early tomorrow and I can help you study in one of those cafes you love,” he offered and you nodded with a smile on your face. As you relaxed into his soothing motions, he stopped before cupping your tired face. “Let’s go to bed and start again tomorrow, yeah?” you again nodded, this time eyes heavy with sleep, before you followed him to bed.

ghost - reading and revising

When you were nose-deep in a textbook heavier than his tac vest, Simon knew to vacate the room. You were a model student and Simon would always let you know when he returned home. While you loved seeing your boyfriend, you also enjoyed his clean flat without any flatmates. You’d often lug your materials to his and request a table to organize everything. After five minutes, Simon would walk by to see you with a stack of textbooks to your side and your iPad propped up in the center of the oak table. He also noted the sticky tabs and highlighters organized by some unknown hierarchy delicately placed in arms reach. You were your own tour-de-force and with your large headphones, it was only you and your revisions in this world.

Simon didn't mind the peaceful atmosphere. It often allowed him time to clean his flat from the accumulating dust or exercise in his bedroom. "Just tell me if I'm being too loud," he'd whisper before you put on your headphones, tuning out the world. He would leave you until you finished or you found him in another room. It was a functional routine and Simon enjoyed it. This time, you had a large exam coming up and Simon had run out of errands and chores to do. As he entered the room with some paperwork in hand, you nodded in approval before returning to your work. Every so often, he would look over at your hunched-over figure and smile to himself.

Eventually, as the sun began to set, Simon decided to return to the paperwork another day. He closed up the manila envelopes before stretching slightly and making his way to the door. He was pondering what to order for dinner when he heard you take off your headphones. “Can you stay?” you said, barely over a whisper and Simon stopped in his tracks. He looked over to you but your eyes remained trained on the minuscule font. “You want me to stay?” he questioned as he walked back over to the couch. As he reclined himself on the seat, you looked up. “If you don’t mind,” you smiled, “your presence is reassuring.” Simon let out a soft chuckle at your explanation. It wasn’t every day someone told him he was a comforting presence in the room. "I can stay for few," he replied, "but we're getting dinner in an hour and you're taking a break." He laughed as you shooed him away with your hand before returning to your productive state. Simon closed his eyes and rested, knowing you wouldn't mind. Hopefully, your headphones were loud enough to drown out his snoring.

[ghostlysoaps]

What comes a'knocking in the night

[part 1]

Ghost sleeps in rare moments. It had never come easy to him when the act of it invites vulnerability, leaves him open to being taken advantage of, and rarely offers the relief it should. But the safehouse outside of Las Almas is… fine. The core of the one-four-one is there. Mostly familiar faces outside of them. Structures mapped out and vetted. He could, without a shadow of a doubt, disappear in the rafters should the situation call for it.

And still he wakes in lung-crushing terror.

In his disoriented state he thinks, with choked-back laughter bordering on hysterics, that he might have come to awareness with a rusted hook between the ribs again. The pain is acute, sharp, all-consuming; rooted to his heart the way the scent of sunbaked dust clings to his stowed gear. He flings the covers off himself, scrambling to his feet with a wild look around the spartan room.

He’s alone. Safe. Alive against all odds.

Ghost feels over the concrete until its chill bleeds into his palms and the rough texture scrapes his skin in pink swaths.

There’s no blood on them.

There’s too much blood to wash out and it partially belongs to his team.

To Johnny.

His next breath punches out of him and he keens. Desperate to rid himself off the image of porous sand swallowing blood like a gaping maw, of laughing eyes dulled, lips stilled, a body unmoving and yet dogging his every step, he pivots from the closed curtains to the entrance of his minuscule quarters – determined to exchange one set of discomfort for another.

The judgement he’ll find reflected in the mirror, the accusatory anger and disgust, means a scalding shower is out of the question. Running isn't in the cards given the situation they’re in. Venting his frustrations out in the small corner dedicated to exercise – until there’s a valid reason for his breaths to come in ragged gasps, mask clinging to his lips with perspiration – now that’s something he can do. Push himself to the edge and beyond in an attempt to regain some sense of equilibrium. It’s not punishment, he reasons, if it’ll help him sleep through the night. Not when he’ll need every ounce of energy in the morning.

Destination in mind, Ghost flees the remnants of memories and glides down the halls the way his namesake suggests.

The door he finds himself at swings open under the loving attention of thin metal. He hesitates for less than a second before he steps inside. It’s a familiar sight. A tiny, concrete box containing a bolted shelf for unused gear and a single bed. The tangled sheets rise and fall with the motion of breaths and Ghost creeps forward to crouch by the headboard, eyes roving over the body within it.

Safe and sound. Mouth lax, drooling into the pillow he’s jammed half his face into, generating heat like a damn furnace. If Ghost had possessed less sense than he does, he’d reach out and brush the over-long strands of hair from his forehead, feel his sleep-warm skin to truly hammer home that Johnny, despite his tendency for recklessness, is alive and well.

Having him close settles the last vestige of panic hammering behind his ribcage.

He doesn’t know how long he’s there before Johnny stirs. All scrunched nose and flicking ears and fluttering lashes as he drowsily blinks his eyes open. A moment of incomprehension passes before he jerks upward. Ghost makes the split-second decision to slap a hand over his mouth, stifling his yell into a muffled thing. Claws bite into his forearm and under his palm Soap’s lips part in a rumbling growl, the bones of his face beginning to shift.

“Settle down.”

Johnny goes rigid at the sound of his voice, eyes narrow, and he spitefully digs his claws in deeper when he wrenches Ghost’s hand off his face.

“Settle doon?!” he hisses through too-large teeth. “Damn near gave me a heart attack ‘n ye want me t’ simmer. Un-fuckin’-believable, sir.”

“Your spacial awareness is shite.”

“I was sleeping!” Soap snaps his teeth in irritation, jerking forward to do so an inch from Ghost's face. But despite the rude awakening, the way he looks as if taking a pound of flesh is still in the cards, he relaxes. The show of trust, subconscious as it is, sinks in Ghost's stomach like lead. There's no time to beat himself up over it because Soap tenses again and casts a weary eye towards the exits. “Are we–?”

“No.”

“Why're ye ‘ear then?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“So ye decided I coudnae either?”

Ghost shrugs.

Soap groans, long and low, flopping down on his back. He scrubs both hands down his face, leaves them there for a moment, then lowers them to blink tiredly at the ceiling. It’s… not great. Guilt threatens to choke him when he realises just how exhausted Soap looks. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the lines slowly etching themselves onto his face, the stark bandaging around his bicep hiding a wound Ghost knows for sure isn’t all the way healed. Stupid of him, to think his needs above that of his sergeant’s.

“Ye cannae keep doing this, Lt.”

“Breaking into your room?”

Soap’s face scrunches together in a rather unattractive manner. His jaw twitches, no doubt chewing on whether or not to ask if he’s done so before, but what he ultimately ends up with is: “This hot ‘n cold act you’ve got goin’. It needs to stop. I cannae–” he breaks off with a huff. “I need to know where I stand wit’ ye before I do something stupid like deciding yer pack.” He turns to look at Ghost again, lips twisted into a bitter smile. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.” It’s all strings, tangled together into an unravelable mess, the emotions he can’t put a name to nestled amongst the ones he knows more intimately than the violence his hands are capable of. “I want to carve open your ribcage.”

Perhaps he leaves out the part of wishing to curl up in there, wrap himself around Johnny’s spine and stay until he couldn’t remember what hurting felt like. He wasn’t made for this. To want. Not unless it came alongside gallons of blood and the bite of steel into flesh. Whatever this budding thing between them is, it’s not all thorns, and that scares him to death.

“A’right,” Johnny says, drawing the word out long, sounding a lot less perturbed at the prospect than any sane man should. “What’s stopped you?”

Ghost shrugs again. “I’ve needed you up until now.”

“Nah.” Soap stretches lazily, like he hasn't a care in the world, and tucks himself right into Ghost’s personal space. “Could’ve left me in Las Almas, no questions asked. Instead ye compromised yerself to get me out o’ there in… mostly one piece.”

“Maybe I want to be the one to do it.”

“Again,” Johnny drawls, “what’s stopping ye?”

Ghost says nothing.

“See, this is what I mean.” Soap punctuates his statement with a snort, an insufferable smirk dawning in the wake of it. “You threaten to kill me, but you like me alive. Leave me to fend for myself, though no one fights alone. Shoots my look-alike without a moment's hesitation but sneaks into my room the very same night.” He taps a clawed fingertip to the hardshell of Ghost's mask after every sentence, thawing a tad when the last one causes him to flinch. “Would it be so bad, trusting someone?”

“Yes.”

“Do it anyway.”

No, would be the correct response, contrarian and truthful. Ghost swipes a thumb over Soap’s cheekbone, stares at his hopelessly earnest expression while mulling words and experiences over. Knows he's too far gone already. Tries to make himself believe that Johnny isn't, and if they're lucky, that'll be enough to save him.

“I’ll try,” he murmurs and the grin he’s awarded with nearly makes the terror worth it.