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killerpancakeburger · 1 year ago

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One man's penalty is another man's prize

SUMMARY: When agreeing to lend a hand with the organisation of some military tests, you thought it would be limited to marking times and keeping scores. Statistically, there was no way that the... "creative" penalty you came up with would be selected, right?

And the chances for your boyfriend to be the one subjected to it had to be close to zero, right?

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (Soaps calls Reader Ma'am twice, that's it)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Fat!Reader, Smug!Soap x1000, a bit Possessive!Soap, Established Relationship, flirting, banter, teasing, partial nudity. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies. Suggestive content but nothing graphic.

WORDS COUNT: 2k

A/N: crackfic...? Soap does push-ups fic. Soap wears booty shorts fic. That actually no one One (1) person asked for.

If you need "visual on the target", this piece by @rusticfurnace and this one by @wombywoo have been on my mind. (Hoping its ok to tag, if not, tell me)

For @glitterypirateduck Cod Vacation Mode Challenge, prompt 27.

A drop of sweat falls from your temple and lands onto the stack of papers you were scribbling on. You wipe off your dripping wet forehead with the back of your arm.

The torrid sun is beating down hard on the ground and bodies alike.

This unforgiving heat left you no respite all day long, despite the fact that all you did was sit and take notes. Drenched in sweat, you fan yourself with your notepad. Perspiration keeps accumulating between the rolls of your stomach no matter how many times you dry it off. Today's the base annual testing day, an unofficial gathering meant to measure soldiers’ performance and entertain some friendly competition.

You would almost regret committing to helping today by playing scribes, but the sadistic satisfaction of seeing others toiling away while you twiddle your thumbs is enough to thwart that feeling. That, and Soap's little… display.

Your eyes almost bulged out of your head when you arrived this morning and stumbled upon him stretching his legs, bent over, fingers aiming for his feet, wearing the shortest, thighest shorts you've ever seen. Then he greeted you as if nothing was out of the ordinary. You glanced in interrogation at Gaz and Ghost, who were respectively wearing Bermudas and tracksuits, and were met with a shrug and an eye roll.

To make matters worse, he traded his blue shirt for a sleeveless top that did wonders for his arms and shoulders - as if his tanned biceps weren't already a work of art and a weapon of mass destruction all at once.

You don’t know which incubus possessed him to wear booty shorts, but you definitely aren't complaining.

You spend the day ogling him shamelessly, knowing he was putting on a show for you. He'd sponge down his glistening face with the bottom of his shirt, offering you a tantalizing view of his toned stomach. He'd throw dazzling smiles, teasing winks and blow kisses your way. At some point, he even emptied his water bottle on his head, resulting in his shirt turning transparent and sticking to his skin in an almost obscene way.

His myriad of attentions made you dizzy, in the best of ways. You may have made yourself look like a lovesick fool, with your blissfully happy smiles and your stupid giggles, but except for the people you were close with, no one would dare to nag you about it - lest a certain Scottish sergeant with a big mouth and no fear of confrontation gets all up in their face.

Strong, bronzed hands heavily lean on your desk. Palms are turned towards you, fingers gripping the table's edge.

“M ‘ere fer my penalty.”

The voice is raspy, accent thick, tone charming and teasing at the same time.

You slowly look up from your paper to meet Soap's cerulean eyes; along the way you can’t help but peek at his tanned arms, his bulging biceps, the beads of sweat rolling down his neck, the familiar chin scar in the middle of his dark stubble. His shirt is soaked with sweat.

He's wearing the grin he has every time he lays eyes on you; a blinding, earnest thing. However, even that beguiling smile cannot hide the spark of triumph and playfulness in his gaze.

Johnny's terribly competitive, that's an open secret. It's no surprise that today's tests would fire him up. The perpetual FNG has a title to defend, after all, and with you watching, the stakes are high despite the tests’ results bearing no influence on their file.

But that excitement wasn’t supposed to target you.

“A penalty?” you repeat, unconvinced, twirling your pen between your fingers. “You?”

Doubt infused with sarcasm seeps in your tone, very much on purpose. You raise a skeptical eyebrow, on your guard.

Your first instinct was to withdraw, prop yourself against the backrest, the distance between the two of you reduced to something too trivial to be proper, but you can’t back off from his implicit challenge. It's a well-crafted game with the two of you as its exclusive players. A dance of provocation and endearment, a mischievous yet comfortable back and forth.

The lack of privacy of it would usually discourage your bashful nature, who avoids confrontation at all costs. But the sergeant has figured out how to appeal to the competitive, driven part of you. So you stand your ground, brazenly, like you're the only two people in the world.

There is no way that Soap earned a penalty, no way that he lost. He's one of the best there is, if not the best - not that his ego needs the boost.

The SAS's youngest prodigue who beat all previous records, his name forever carved into the archives and his legend whispered among impressionable new recruits.

Not to mention that the way he said “my penalty” sounded more like “my prize” than anything else.

“‘ere. Proof.”

He hands out a piece of paper to you, a smug smirk not leaving his lips, one that is not without evoking the satisfied expression of the cat who got the cream. Your fingers brush his as you retrieve the “penalty receipt”, the contact feeling like flames licking your skin.

You take a break from defiantly holding his gaze to glance at the note. Its contents sends an ominous shiver down your spine, your eyes slightly widening in understanding.. and horror.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The odds were, what, one in hundreds? Amplified by the fact that Soap was the one to get ahold of it, out of all competitors.

You vainly stare at your own scrawl, as if that could make the ink vanish, but reality simply gazes back.

When asked to participate in making up a penalty, you wrote the silliest thing that came to mind, as a sort of inside joke only yourself would be privy to. Eight innocuous little words that would sign your downfall.

“Do fifty push-ups with me on their back”.

The fifty was an arbitrary pick between twenty that you judged too lenient, and a hundred that would take too long; however, you've thought a bit more about the “me on their back” part. You were heavier than the average soldier's rucksack - significantly so. It had to be a challenge, so you've made it this way.

Yet you never expected to actually end up on someone's back.

How Johnny managed to get his hands on your penalty out of all of them, you'd probably never find out, but you couldn’t deny that the “me” mentioned was you. Indeed, on top of your… recognizable handwriting, the note was adorned with little scribbles you had mindlessly doodled while bored. They were simple but easily identifiable: a foamy bar of soap, a deadpan skull, a jerrycan wearing a cap, and a stack of cash with a hat, or, put differently, the Task Force 141 stylized.

A version of the team that Soap was well-versed with, having witnessed you drawing it countless times.

There was no way out of the corner you were backed into - Soap put you on the spot, the brightest one possible, and that little shit knew it perfectly - did it on purpose.

You sigh exaggeratedly as you get up. You bypass your desk to stand in front of Johnny, not missing the way he looks you up and down. This is the first time he's seeing you in shorts, and despite how self-conscious you are about the girth of your chafing thighs, he makes it obvious how much he's enjoying the view. You cross your arms with an amused smile on your lips.

“You know you’re not supposed to enjoy your penalty, right? Kinda defeats the purpose.”

His smile mirrors yours as he bends over to whisper in your ear, close enough for you to feel his body heat, but not making a move to touch you.

“And ye do know I’d never let any of those eejits sweat and grunt under ye? That's my prerogative.”

Despite the shiver his gravelly voice sent down your spine,you throw your head back in laughter.

“Ooh so that's what this is! You're jealous.”

He remains unfazed by the accusation.

“Call it what ye want.”

“You do know I'm heavier than your rucksack, right? Much heavier? You’re going to hurt yourself.”

His eyes glint with hunger for challenge.

“Don't knock it til you've tried it.”

“Fine. Drop and give me twenty, pretty boy.”

His grin becomes blinding. He reaches behind to grab the back of his shirt and rips it off like it burned him.

You gape despite yourself in front of his glistening chest, all tanned skin, white scars, hard stomach and soft pecs, and he gently lifts your chin up with his index finger to close your mouth, an extremely smug smirk adorning his lips.

“Yes, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am.”

From a stranger's perspective, his reply drips with an insolence that matches the cockiness he exhibited all day. But you know better; you can hear the underlying docility in his tone, the one he expresses when you two are intimate.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he kneels, the display way too lascivious for how public it is. You bite your lips, frowning your eyebrows in warning, but say nothing as he obeys and performs the twenty push-ups asked - on one arm. It is good that the position prevents him from staring at you, because you reckon otherwise he'd be giving you the slyest grin.

More than the impressive show of strength; more than the way his skin glows with sweat; more than the flaunting of his imposing muscles; the knowledge that he's undertaking it all for you is what tightens the band of arousal in your stomach, along with multiplying the bubbles of happiness and affection in your chest.

“Gonna take a seat, bonnie?”

He's forced to heckle you since you were so caught up in your staring that you forgot that the next part of the penalty required your participation.

And of course, he chose the cheekiest way to do so. The question, innocent at first glance, sent you back into the bedroom. The last time he asked you that was right before you sat on his face. And the time before that was when you rid him.

You oblige yourself to focus on the here and now, and carefully straddle Soap's back.

“Are you sure you can- Woh.”

He interrupts you by suddenly lowering and rising his body, obliging you to grab his shoulders to keep your balance, but easily demonstrating that the added weight has very little impact on his performance.

“Alright, alright, you convinced me,” you yield. “That's only one out of fifty, though.”

“And yet ye dare doubt me again,” he grumbles under his breath, initiating a steadfast pace.

It is a shame that your current position prevents you from watching his face, but you concentrate on other things instead. Never before did you have the opportunity to revel in the glorious vision that was his powerful back.

You tease him by periodically clenching your thighs without warning, squeezing the meat of his shoulders or ruffling the back of his drenched mohawk.

You let out an impressed whistle when he reaches fifty, before scrambling to liberate him. He pretends needing your help to stand up, and you give him your hands without hesitation. Once he's up, you affectionately shove his shirt into his naked torso, an implicit command to make himself proper.

Following his dressing, you two stare into each others' eyes, hands in hands, like lovebirds until his stomach roars like thunder.

You giggle; he sighs exaggeratedly, suddenly bowed down by an invisible weight, like he wasn’t overflowing with energy a minute ago.

“M starvin’. Tae death.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed.”

He starts walking towards the canteen's building, after a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and his eyes motionning between you and the coveted reserve of food in a silent but strong proposition. You purposely let him take the lead so you can sneak behind him and grab a generous handful of his ass.

He turns his head towards you with mock outrage on his face, a hand pressed on chest, quickly replaced by appreciation.

“Been itching to do that all day,” you confess with an impish smile.

Walking side by side, you start happily humming, and just as you let your hand drop, he seizes it and puts it back on his buttock.

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darth-mortem · 27 days ago

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The 15th part of my demon!Ghost AU. Price and Ghost try to interrogate a mysterious enemy, after which General Strickland assigns the lieutenant a very important task. It seems that life at the base has returned to normal, but in the evening, Price, Ghost, and Soap are in for a big surprise.

Routine, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. 3690 words.

“So, you were just smoking, and he attacked you, threatening Lieutenant Ryan.” General Strickland said thoughtfully, looking at Price and Ghost, who were sitting opposite him. "He arrived with the last reinforcement, right after your unit, but all his documents are fake. From what we've been able to find out, he didn't interact much with anyone at the base, kept to himself, and showed no signs of insanity. This was on him."

The general took out of his desk drawer several transparent plastic bags containing heavy amulets that had been hanging around the attacker's neck yesterday. There were a crucifix encrusted with precious stones, a gold Star of David, and two more pendants engraved with symbols and inscriptions in a language similar to Hebrew or Arabic. There was also an antique pistol, covered with engravings and carvings on its wooden parts. In a separate small bag lay a bullet on which some symbols could also be discerned.

“Silver.” The general explained briefly, tapping the wrapped ammunition with his finger. “Among his belongings, we found books: a Bible and several others. They will be sent for inspection and translation today. Judging by their appearance, they are all antique, something related to magic or demonology, in a word, superstitious bullshit.”

You can keep reading here or on the Ao3

“Has he been interrogated yet?” Price asked.

“No.” Strickland shook his head. “He was given a sedative yesterday; he should come to soon. I'll be notified immediately. And now tell me about the cats.”

“I feed them and let them warm up in my room.” Ghost said. “When we went out for a smoke, I took them some food, so they gathered around us.”

“And they say animals are ungrateful.” The general shook his head again. “We don't have anyone specifically responsible for them, and I saw some kittens at the base recently. Why don't you take care of it, Lieutenant Ryan?”

“I'd be glad to, sir.” Ghost nodded.

“Excellent.” Strickland smiled. “Then find out which ones haven't been neutered yet, and estimate how much food they need per week and what else is needed. Write official requests, and I'll allocate the money from the budget. When your unit has no other tasks, take those who need it to the town for sterilization. Take one of your sergeants with you to help.”

”Yes, sir." The lieutenant replied.

Price nodded approvingly, pleased that Ghost would be involved in something other than the usual work of the 141. Then a sudden thought occurred to him: did the demon know how to write, and did he know how to compose official requests? However, he decided to find out about it later.

At that moment, the phone on the general's desk rang. He picked it up, listened for a moment, then looked at the two officers from 141.

“He's awake.” Strickland reported. “Let's go talk to him before he starts screaming and going crazy again.”

There was no full-fledged military prison at the base, but there were a few small detention cells in the guardhouse. That's where the three officers headed: the general in front, followed by the captain and the lieutenant. When they arrived, the soldiers guarding the prisoner reported that although he hadn't started acting up again, his behavior was far from normal. Having regained consciousness after the sedative, he ignored all attempts to talk to him, knelt down in the center of the cell, and began to mutter something, swaying from side to side. A few seconds later, the three officers saw this, entered the guardhouse, and stopped at the bars.

“Who are you, and why did you attack Lieutenant Ryan?” Strickland asked sternly, crossing his arms over his chest.

The prisoner didn’t respond or even open his eyes, continuing to mumble something in an incomprehensible language. Then, with the general's silent consent, Ghost stepped forward.

“Answer us.” He said in a deep, ominous voice, staring at the man behind the bars.

It worked instantly. The prisoner fell silent mid-sentence, opened his eyes, and, seeing Ghost, slowly rose to his feet.

“Demon!” He spat with hatred. “I have been defeated, but I am not alone; there are many of us! And all of you who have conspired with this creature will burn in hell!”

“I'm no expert, but I've never heard of demons serving in the army and having documents.” The general said. “Unlike you, because your papers are fake, and you know it very well.”

“Take off his mask and you'll see!” The attacker shouted.

Price tensed slightly, but his expression and voice remained completely calm.

“All members of our unit have seen Lieutenant Ryan's face more than once.” He said. “It has also been seen by medics who have the necessary clearance. Of course, Thomas is an unusual man, I would even say unique, but he is still just a human.”

“Lies! You're all in cahoots with him!” The prisoner shouted, looking at the lieutenant. “Damn you, you hellish bastard!”

“If I'm a demon, then I'm already damned.” Ghost said impassively.

“Enough, Lieutenant.” The general grimaced slightly. “It's obvious that this man is insane, and we won't learn anything from him here and now.”

The three officers left the cell, and Strickland sighed wearily, taking a cigar from his shirt pocket. Price lit it with his lighter, understanding the general's feelings about all this crazy shit and sympathizing with him. Now, in addition to his regular duties, he would have to investigate how this man had managed to get into his base, and all this was accompanied by an incredible amount of extra paperwork.

“Well, gentlemen, other people will deal with this crazy.” The general said. “If they find out anything, I'll let you know. In the meantime, be careful, especially you, Lieutenant Ryan. Suddenly, there are really a lot of them.”

With a wave of his hand, Strickland walked back to the administrative building. Price and Ghost headed for their unit’s block in silence, and only when they were inside did the captain gesture for the lieutenant to follow him into the break room. The rest of the members of 141 were not in the building at the moment, so it was a great opportunity to discuss the latest events in private.

“Tell me, Lieutenant, could the things the general showed us harm you?” Price asked, turning on the coffeemaker.

“Negative.” Ghost shook his head. “But I suppose there are some that could.”

The captain frowned and looked thoughtfully at the demon. At the beginning of his collaboration with 141, he seemed completely invulnerable, and Price believed that despite all his oddities, keeping the secret of his true nature would be easy enough. Both assumptions turned out to be wrong, and the captain didn't like it very much. Especially considering the fact that he and the other members of 141 had grown attached to the demon, and his comfort and safety had become as important to them as each other’s.

“If there really are a lot of these freaks, is there any chance that Albright knows something about them?” Price asked, pouring himself some coffee. “And if so, why the hell didn't he warn us?”

Ghost shrugged silently, and the captain didn't press him for an answer, knowing that the lieutenant didn't have one. His question was more rhetorical, but it would cease to be so when he asked Albright himself, who clearly knew more than he was saying. Price was also curious about the colonel's motives for such secrecy. Was he withholding information because he didn't think Ghost would fit into the new team, or was he actually one of those people who wanted to send the demon back to hell? Maybe Albright was just studying his weaknesses under the guise of cooperation? Or maybe he was just jealous that Ghost had chosen 141 instead of continuing to work with his unit?

“I'll get in touch with him and try to get some information out of him.” Price said wearily, taking a sip of his coffee and then changing the subject. “Lieutenant, do you need help with the task the general gave you?”

“Negative.” Ghost replied.

“And you'll write the necessary documents yourself?” The captain raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” The lieutenant nodded. “Unfortunately, even death couldn't erase the memory of how to work with the army's bureaucratic machine.”

Despite Ghost's monotonous and sinister voice, it sounded like a joke, and Price smiled, squinting his eyes. He was pleased with the progress the lieutenant had made in communication in such a short time. Whereas at first he spoke in short sentences and usually only when addressed (and even then not always), now he expressed his opinion without a lot of leading questions, joked, and even initiated conversations himself. And here, credit must be given to Soap, who worked very hard and patiently to develop Ghost's communication skills.

After mentioning Sergeant MacTavish, Price's thoughts turned in a different direction. It was obvious to him that Soap's relationship with Ghost was much deeper than just friendly, and this couldn't help but bother the captain. He didn't think it would affect the unit's work; they had proven their effectiveness time and time again, despite occasionally disobeying direct orders to save each other's lives. Price was concerned about other things, such as whether the lieutenant knew that relationships with lower-ranking comrades-in-arms had to be kept secret. And, most importantly, would emotional and, even more so, physical intimacy with a demon harm the human? They still knew very little about him; what if his hellish nature gradually poisoned their souls, especially Soap's, who spent every free minute with Ghost? What if the demon himself doesn't really know how long-term interaction with him will affect humans?

Lost in his disturbing thoughts, Price didn't immediately realize that Ghost was saying something to him and had to ask him to say it again.

“Can you give me some request forms, Captain?” The lieutenant repeated.

“Yes, of course.” Price nodded. “I think I have them right here. Let's go take a look.”

Ghost got up from the couch and obediently followed the captain to his room. He froze at the door while Price rummaged through the papers on the desk and in its drawers. He deliberately took his time, gathering his thoughts, and when he found the pre-printed forms, he took them and turned to Ghost.

“Listen, Lieutenant, I don't want to interfere in your personal life, but as your commander and friend, I have something to tell you.” The captain began, and Ghost tilted his head slightly to one side, showing interest. “First of all, I don't know how much you remember about subordination, so let me remind you that according to the statute, any relationship with subordinates is prohibited. Therefore, what is between you and Soap must remain a secret.”

“Yes, Captain.” Ghost nodded.

“Secondly...” Price paused and sighed heavily, realizing that it was impossible to phrase this correctly. “We all, and especially Soap, spend a lot of time with you. I know that you would never deliberately harm any of us, but what about some hidden influence that you may not be able to control?”

“Only pure-blooded demons have that ability.” Ghost said. “Their dark aura gradually corrodes both the souls and bodies of humans who interact with them for a long time or frequently. It's the price they charge for their services, which they don't usually talk about.”

Price nodded, then approached the lieutenant, handed him the forms, and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I had to ask.” He said apologetically.

“I understand, Captain.” Ghost nodded. “May I be dismissed?”

“You have my permission.” Price replied, and the lieutenant stepped out into the corridor, ducking his head in the doorway.

With neither an office nor a desk in his room, Ghost made himself comfortable in the break room. He already knew how many cats on the base had not been neutered, so he started with that request, mentioning that the kittens the general had seen were still too young for the procedure and would have to be taken separately in five or six months. Then, knowing the appetite of each of his furry friends, the lieutenant calculated how much food to order once a week and added vitamins and parasite remedies to the request. After checking both documents, Ghost signed them and went to the general's office, ignoring the increased attention to his person from the local soldiers. Of course, they had already heard the story about the crazy fanatic and the cat attack, so they stared at the lieutenant and whispered as he passed by, not even imagining that he could hear every word they said.

After receiving the requests, the general said that if there were no urgent missions for 141, they could fly to the town tomorrow and told him where to get cat carriers. Ghost wanted to see Captain Price but then decided that this information was not so urgent that it couldn't wait until evening. After leaving the administrative floor, the lieutenant slowly made his way back. He glanced around, looking for Soap, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, several cats ran out from somewhere and followed Ghost, attracting even more attention to him. He quickened his pace to get away from the curious glances as fast as possible, but then a private appeared in his path.

“Lieutenant Ryan, may I speak?” He exclaimed, performing a military salute.

“Proceed.” Ghost nodded, repeating his gesture.

“Do you really prefer cats to humans, sir?” The private blurted out, and several of his comrades standing nearby chuckled.

“Yes.” The lieutenant replied emotionlessly, glancing briefly at his four-legged companions. “Unlike humans, they don't ask stupid questions, and they know what subordination is. Squad, attention!”

The cats, which had been moving chaotically, regrouped into something resembling a formation. The private's mouth fell open in surprise; Ghost walked past him and continued on his way.

During dinner, the lieutenant informed the captain about the planned trip to the town the next day and said that he would like to take Johnny as his assistant. Price didn’t object and gave a stern look to Gaz and Roach, who were already ready to comment. Perhaps on another day it would not have stopped them, but today everyone except the lieutenant still had work to do, so they ate quickly and without conversation and left the residential block just as quickly when their plates were empty.

Ghost returned to his room, settled into his armchair, and waited for the time to go for his traditional late smoke with Soap. They had hardly spoken today, and the lieutenant realized with surprise that he already missed his sergeant. It was an unusual, overly human feeling that made the demon's chest ache in a familiar way, but now that he understood why it was happening, it was even pleasant. This pain reminded him that he was still partly human and therefore could choose his own path.

When Soap arrived at the smoking area, Ghost was already waiting for him there as usual. It was cold outside, and the first snowflakes of autumn were falling, so there were no cats around the lieutenant today. However, as he sat down next to him, MacTavish was sure that most of the fluffy creatures were waiting for their demonic friend in his room.

“Did that bastard say anything?” Soap asked, pressing himself against Ghost. “Was he the one who sabotaged the detonators?”

“He didn't admit it, but I'm sure it was him.” The lieutenant replied, putting his arm around his sergeant’s shoulders. “Most of what he said were fanatical ravings.”

“Most?” Soap looked at Ghost and took out a cigarette.

“He said there are others like him, but that's not necessarily true.” The demon explained.

“Fuck, if that's true, then it's some kind of bloody cult!” The sergeant spat, showing his attitude toward all these people.

Ghost shrugged silently; he didn't want to discuss it at all, because Johnny would inevitably start worrying about him, and the demon didn't want to lie to him and claim he was completely invulnerable. Luckily for him, the sergeant didn't press this issue and instead started asking about tomorrow's trip to town. When he heard that General Strickland had officially assigned the lieutenant to take care of the cats at the base, Soap was very happy. Seeing his beaming smile, Ghost told him the rest, and after listening to him, the sergeant whistled in surprise.

“How do you know all this?” He asked. “The food, sure, but the parasite medicine? Did the cats tell you?”

“Negative.” The lieutenant replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Actually, I don't know how I know. As far as I can remember, I've never had a pet.”

Soap opened his mouth to say something else but didn't have time because Price suddenly appeared in the smoking area, looking very angry. Ghost, as expected, remained motionless and indifferent, while MacTavish jumped to his feet, trying to figure out which of his antics the captain had found out about.

“So, your trip to Manchester went without incident, you muppets?!” Price asked without preamble, frowning.

Johnny glanced briefly at Ghost and lowered his eyes. It had been his idea not to tell the captain about their meeting with Joseph, and he had no doubt that this was the reason, because nothing else had really happened at the time.

“I can explain, Cap!” Soap said decisively.

“Yes, please do.” Price demanded, calmer but still irritated, and sat down next to Ghost, taking out a cigar.

“We arrived at the cemetery late at night and didn't even go through the main entrance.” Johnny began, glancing at the lieutenant. "We didn't see a single person there. But when we were standing by Ghost's mother's grave and... um... his own, Joseph suddenly appeared. He asked some questions, I got confused, and Ghost said he was Simon Riley's former comrade-in-arms. We talked for just a couple of minutes and left, that's all, I swear! I didn't think anything bad would come of it, so I didn't tell you right away. I didn't want to bother you unnecessarily."

Price sighed heavily. He took off his hat, rubbed the back of his head, and put it back on. He knew that MacTavish wouldn't lie to him, so technically the meeting with Ghost's nephew was indeed a coincidence, but he was still annoyed that these two hadn't told him everything right away. However, his anger quickly dissipated, and the warmth and comfort of sitting next to the demon who radiated warmth on this cold autumn evening played no small part in that.

“Strickland called me just a few minutes ago and said that the General Staff had received a request from Joseph and Thomas Riley for the whereabouts of Lieutenant Ryan.” Price said without waiting for questions. “Of course, no one had told them anything, so they sent a letter asking that he be handed over to the lieutenant.”

Ghost slowly turned his head toward the captain, who took an envelope out of his pocket. The lieutenant took it, looked at it for a few seconds, then carefully opened it, took out the letter, and began to read, despite the almost complete darkness around him. Price smoked his cigar, waiting patiently for him to finish, while MacTavish could hardly stand still with excitement and curiosity. Ghost remained motionless for several minutes, then stirred, put the letter back in the envelope, and hid it in his pocket.

“You're going to answer them.” Price said, and it sounded more like a statement than a question.

“They're my family.” The lieutenant said more quietly than usual. “Tommy wrote how much he loved me and how my disappearance broke his and our mother's hearts. And Joseph... he wants to know more about his Uncle Simon.”

Soap quietly approached and gently patted Ghost on the shoulder, letting him know that he was there and always ready to help and comfort him if needed. Price looked at them, knowing that this letter must remain unanswered, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. The situation the lieutenant found himself in was terrible, and it was impossible to imagine what he was feeling. These people really were his family; they mourned him and loved him so much that they were able to break through all the circles of army bureaucratic hell to send this letter. As a commander, Price could, of course, forbid the lieutenant from writing a reply, but as a human being...

“Simon.” He addressed the demon by name. “I understand how difficult this is for you, but you must remain Lieutenant Thomas Ryan to them and tell them no more than Lieutenant Thomas Ryan could have known.”

“Yes, Captain.” Ghost nodded and bowed his head. “I have no other choice. I can't tell them that I'm actually Simon, who died, made a deal with the devil, was resurrected as a demon, and that's why I've grown so much.”

“I'm so sorry.” Johnny said quietly and hugged Ghost.

“Me too.” Price said sincerely, sighed, and threw away his cigare butt. “I'll make sure that when you write to them, your letter gets to them as soon as possible. Just let me know when you're ready.”

“And I can help you write it if you want.” Soap added.

He understood that it would be hard for the demon to write a personal letter that didn't look like an official report or wasn't too short. Not to mention how difficult the whole situation was.

“Thank you both.” Ghost nodded and rose.

Price also stood up, and the three of them returned to their residential block. After wishing the lieutenant and sergeant good night, the captain went to his place to get a towel and some clean clothes, wanting to take a shower before going to bed. When he returned to the hallway, it was empty, but Price was absolutely certain that Ghost and Soap had entered the room that belonged to one of them, rather than going their separate ways. However, that was the least of his problems, and, putting it out of his mind, Price headed for the shower.

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gingerbredman1989 · 20 days ago

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Bubblewrath, a colossal, hyper-muscular soap-slick supervillain, standing atop an enormous, gleaming mound of sentient foam that has engulfed a once-thriving metropolis, now a submerged playground for his nefarious ambitions. His physique, a marvel of exaggerated anatomy, is suffused with an iridescent soap sheen that captures the light, making each bulging vein and rippling muscle dance with a rainbow spectrum. Only a shimmering bubble loincloth and a pair of translucent shoulder guards adorn his form, the latter casting subtle, ethereal reflections across the wet, gleaming cityscape. In one hand, he holds a massive, glowing bubble prison, a transparent sphere of concentrated bubble wrath that pulses with the power to encapsulate and entrap his foes. Below him, a legion of foamy henchmen surges forth from the depths of the floodwater, each one a miniature embodiment of the chaos he brings. Their eyes, small and beady, flicker with a sentient malice as they follow the will of their towering leader. The scene is bathed in dramatic, cinematic lighting that highlights the stark contrast between the dark, water-logged city and the vibrant, supernatural glow of Bubblewrath's form. The sky above is a tumultuous mix of brooding storm clouds and piercing spotlights, reflecting the turmoil of the battle about to unfold. Menacingly floating in the background is his giant hover-bathtub, an ostentatious and functional symbol of his power, equipped with an array of bubble-based weaponry and sinister technology. The extreme perspective emphasizes his overwhelming presence and the epic scale of his dominance, while the comic book style of the digital illustration infuses the scene with a vivid, dynamic energy that leaps off the page. The whole composition is a masterpiece of detail and drama, capturing the essence of a villain who has turned the simple act of cleanliness into a weapon of mass destruction.

#PerchanceAI #GingerBredMan1989 #MadeUpSupervillain #Bubblewrath

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plumbobpaparazzi · 2 years ago

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Adding one more to my never-ending list of WIPs. Making some recolors of the call box converted by @simdertalia (from the same post as the soap dispenser) Cleaned and cleared up the textures, then added transparency to the mesh so the area behind the buttons can have a fun pattern or something. Still need to fine tweak the base texture, add a normal map, and edit the specular... but it's a good start.

#projects

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sopiao · 2 years ago

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ERRRRM GHOST MEETING SINGER!READER AT THIS OLD BAR OR FANCY LIL DINER.

hear me out.

the reader does dress kinda fem, but it’s still they/them. :3 ANYWAYS

It was routine for the team to get a drink after every mission. To unwind, relax, and get everything out of their system to get back to themselves again before going back to base.

The mission took place a little far from home so they couldn’t go to their usual pub. Either way, Soap recommended— well, insisted— that they go to this new bar he wanted to check out.

Upon entering, the whole mood was so warm and fluid. It was dimmed down, almost completely dark if it wasn’t for the low lighting of the bar and the bright spotlight of the small stage up front. There were tables littered with people that just stared and listened in awe, there were some low chattering and conversations throughout.

Taking a row of seats at the side bar, they all began to talk and ramble about the mission or how much they’re looking forward to getting back home to their partners/pets. Keeping it not too loud of course to be respectful to the performers. But for some reason, Ghost couldn’t bring himself to focus on the conversation or contribute, not like he contributes much.

His attention was always drawn back to the performance. Brown eyes just stared in a relaxed daze at the singer, weightlessly sitting at the edge of the piano. The pianist staring up at them with a cig hanging from his lip.

Almost like it was his last time seeing ever, Ghost took in every little detail of you. Black satin slip dress with a slit on the left leg, transparent stockings— if you look close enough you can see the subtle shine of glitter in them— black heels, a string of pearls lining your neck.

Leaning back against the bar, shoulders open and elbows resting on the wooden surface. The lieutenant entirely discarding the conversation and gave all of his attention to you. The band’s music was so soothing and fresh, enhancing how enchanting your performance was.

Somehow, feeling himself get sleepy, more relaxed and comfortable. Listening to you cover an Eartha Kitt song. After a couple minutes, the rest of the team realized how quiet and unresponsive their lieutenant was. Staring at him then back at each other.

From then on out, Ghost started coming more by frequently. At first it was once every two weeks, or so. He insisted it was because he needed to decompress. Then it was once a week, which turned to twice, then almost every day.

He’d come in, sit at the same spot on the bar, and order the exact same drink. He’d note and notice your different dresses and outfits, how you’d style your hair, how different you’d do your makeup, what song you sang, how passionate you were when you did.

His favorite part was listening to you talk and ramble about your life on mic to the audience or band after your performances when it got late.

And you’d notice him as well. The mysterious masked man that’d watch you during your night performances. Always too nervous to look at his direction, let alone eye contact.

Ghost made the first move. Not really a first move, but a way to show his adoration for you. When the bartender delivered a drink for you given by a kind stranger, you immediately knew it was him. He was the first person you looked at, and he was looking back.

(Y’all should listen and check out Eartha Kitt CUZ OMG)

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artsbygio · 2 months ago

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Acrylic VS Oil

Here are some questions about acrylic and oil paints that I wanted to answer. One, what are the differences between oil and acrylic painting? Two, can they be mixed together? And three, can you put acrylic over oil paint or oil over acrylic?

So starting off with oil paints, you clean up/ remove the oil color with orderless solvent, also known as Gamsol ( you can not use water because it will not come off, only use soap and water to clean off the brushes). To thin oil paint out, you use medium so you can achieve more of a transparent look. Another thing is that a little goes a long way and its easily spreadable, as well as it takes a very, very, very long time to dry. However, when it comes to acrylic, you can clean up with soap and water. You can also use water and acrylic medium too thin out the paint to achieve a transparent look. Finally, with acrylic, you need to use a lot more paint but it dries much quicker in the matter of second and minutes. Tip to remember is that with acrylic, it dries a shade darker than when initially applied wet.

To answer the second question, no you can not mix acrylic and oil. This is because oil paints are oil based and acrylic are water based, meaning their chemical basis make them completely incompatible.

And lastly, you can paint oil paints on top of dried acrylic but you can not put acrylic on top of oil paints.

#oil painting #acrylic painting

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m00nxghost · 2 years ago

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Bakery love- Kyle Gaz Garrick x F!Reader; part one

My first fanfic! I'm totally excited to write this 🥧🌷

Tw: Swearing,mention of past abusive relationships,violence,rest is pure fluffiness,lovely topics

Kinds of O.O.C,She/her pronouns, use of you and y/n, enjoy! Just imagine yourself in this fic

The morning was more beautiful than yesterday, a beautiful blue sky without clouds and a radiant sun a great day to buy fresh bread but at that time the bakeries haven't opened yet except for one,a bakery with pastel lavender tones, transparent windows with lilies and lavender in clay pots,there were two tables outside with checkered tablecloths in pastel pink and white colors with little clay pots inside containing red roses with a soft scent that's what Gaz thought, a beautiful bakery, he didn't think twice before walking in the door and the bell rang The smell of fresh bread spread throughout the bakery, he took a good look inside, it was white with tables spread out like those outside. While Gaz looked at the bakery enchanted, he didn't notice that the bakery owner was approaching the counter.

Y/n: Hello welcome

gaz turned around looking at a young woman with a white apron with a lavender drawing on it

Gaz: Oh! Good morning, Gaz said, approaching the counter, taking a look at the fresh batch of bread on the bread shelf, while the counter display had pies and cakes and all types of pastries.

Gaz: Well, I'll have some fresh bread and a piece of strawberry pie.

The girl looked at him with a soft smile and said, of course, as she walked over to the bread rack behind the counter

Gaz waited calmly while she packed his order. He took another look at the bakery he felt like he was in heaven. She came back with the order in a bag, not plastic but paper, a very well decorated bag that was written "Sweet lavender bakery"

Gaz walked out of the bakery and couldn't contain a small smile and his face flushed as he walked back to base, his day was made totally happy with his discovery, he promised that whenever he could he would stop by for a coffee or buy a pie. On the way to the base. Gaz was totally feeling lighter when he entered and went straight to the break room whistling and greeting the recruits and other soldiers along the way.

Soap: Mornin' Gaz, how are you? Looks like you woke up well!

Gaz: Ah yes, it's just been a great morning, I haven't seen such good weather in a while, "he says as he puts the paper bag on the table

Soap: What good did you bring? fresh breads

Gaz: Yes, fresh bread and a strawberry pie

Soap: I thought that's when the bakeries opened or you made the bread and the pie the Scot laughed softly

Gaz: playfully rolling his eyes, a new bakery opened close to the city center not far away, as it was the only one open I went to check it out. It's well-groomed and has the owner, I never thought I'd see someone so…

someone so…

Soap: Pretty,cute,nice

Gaz: a kind and calm person

Soap: And pretty!

Soap: Dae yer found a pretty lass?

Gaz: Okay, soap stop for now

Soap: Don't be like that, Gaz. She probably likes you!

Gaz: I don't know, I just met her! That's not how it works, but I wanted it. The day passed and gaz couldn't get her out of his head, ending the day gaz looked at the pie and decided to eat a piece savoring the soft strawberry flavor remembering the girl, when he forgot to ask her name damn because it was something easy but tomorrow I'll do it he said to himself as he ate pie. When Gaz realized he fell in love with the girl but he was happy, excited and anxious about these feelings, he would dream about her as he smiled and finished the pie. The next day he woke up early and got up, thinking step by step how to approach the beautiful girl and ask her name and then her number but with a little anxiety he thought well but he is determined and nothing will stop him. Gaz left his tidy room and walked down the hallway saying good morning to whoever passed by, Price noticed how the young boy looked and raised an eyebrow, wondering why he looked like that

Price: Is everything ok with Gaz? he seems to be excited

Soap: Yes, he's fine, he's just in love

Price: In love with who? with one of the girls here at the base

Soap: No captain, he's in love with a bakery owner, a lass,yesterday he went to her bakery, and it looks like Cupid shot him with the arrow of love

Price: Smirks So Kyle is in love, I never thought that would happen despite him being a good guy, but will he be able to confess? I'm rooting for him and that he gets at least the girl's number

Soap: Same, he's a good friend I'm rooting for him too

After a while gaz arrives at the bakery and goes in but didn't expect the following scene: the girl was at the counter with her arms covering her face as she sobbed gaz's heart tightened as he approached the girl and with his soft voice speaking in a whisper Miss, are you okay? There was no response as he gently touched her arm making her lift her head.

Y/n: S-sorry I didn't see you come in she was trying to wipe her tears but with shaking hands and a scared voice I-I-can I make your order ?

Gaz: Look, I don't know you but by the look on your face, you're not feeling well, my order doesn't matter much now but you do

Y/n: Are you sure? I'm sure you're busy and I don't want to bother you with that

Gaz: Yes I'm sure, now let's take you out for some fresh air with a glass of ice water

Y/n: Thank you very much, seriously I will owe you this until the end of time

Gaz: No, you don't owe me this, but now tell me why you were crying,something happened? someone hurt you or did something for you? His voice carried a tone of concern.

Y/n: Well my ex boyfriend came here with the same bullshit that he has changed and that he is ready to restart our old relationship but I know it's a lie when I said I would never fall for his trick again...he grabbed my arm tightly. He tried to hurt me but I managed to pull my arm and throw him away I never thought I would see him again you said in a shaky voice

Gaz: I'm sorry I hope you're better now

Y/n: Yes, I'm thanks to you, seriously, you calmed me down, look, because of that you can choose anything from the bakery and you don't have to pay anything

Gaz: No need, I'm glad you're better now

Y/n: Please don't refuse, it's a thank you and a small treat for my first client You said with a soft laugh. After that gaz left there completely happy he didn't imagine this would happen. On his way he met Soap who was smiling because Soap heard everything.

End of the first part of "Bakery love" I'm still going to write the second part! I'm still going to improve it and sorry for the mistakes, I'll improve that too

A/N: I ended up being carried away by the writing that I didn't even think would be long but I'm totally happy about it <33

Tag list !! @spicyspicyliving @kkaaaagt @puff0o0

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x you #cod x female reader #114 x reader #cod writer #call of duty writer

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frillyfacefins · 2 years ago

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Fun-Filled Fizzie Fucking - Chapter 4

Fandom: Helluva Boss Rating: Explicit Pairing: Ozzie/Fizzarolli Tags: Recreational Drug Use, Drugged Sex, long elaborate smut in multiple chapters, Heavy BDSM, BondageOther Additional Tags to Be Added, Weed Brownies, no beta we‘re already in hell, Food Play, not really food kink this time though, nausea play in second chapter but it‘s completely skippable, kind of bad bdsm etiquette, ozzie tries his best but fizzy is still fizzy, Rimming, Showers, Dirty Talk, So Much Dirty Talk Additional Tags for Chapter 4: Fucking Machines, Dom/sub, Subdrop, only beginning though they catch it before it goes too far, Gags, Bratting, Sex Toys, Daddy Dom Ozzie, Bratty Sub Fizzarolli Word Count Chapter 4: 4,796

Also on AO3

Chapter 1 II Chapter 2 II Chapter 3

Summary:

Photoshoots always left Fizz feeling as if somebody had shoved a TENS-unit up his ass and followed it with an espresso enema. ~~~ Fizzarolli comes home high off adrenaline after a big day and gets lovingly brought down by Ozzie with the help of some weed brownies and a new toy Ozzie has been working on…

Well, posting the last chapter of a fic about a pairing that was still a rare-pair when you started/wrote most of it and that is now such a big thing sure is a new experience for me :')

I'm always happy to get nice comments on ao3, but also if you reblog this here I absolutely love that too!

Anyway, here's the last chapter, have fun and mind the new tags!

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He was immediately cocooned in a gigantic fluffy towel and rubbed down with the same gentle thoroughness Ozzie had used to soap him up earlier. He was already too warm, so the towel made him feel even more stifled, but he accepted the care, especially since he could feel Ozzie walk out of the bathroom and towards their bedroom while he was gently drying his head.

The towel landed on the floor by the bedroom‘s entrance, and so did the shower cap, to be cleaned up by one of the succu-housemaids later. Ozzie, still wet from the shower, nuzzled against Fizz’ forehead for a moment before he put him down on the bed and quickly heated up his own body so the moisture still in his feathers would evaporate. The gust of hot air made Fizz wiggle in a mixture of discomfort and anticipation. The satin sheets only felt pleasantly cool against his skin for a second before his own body heat leeched into them.

“Ozzieeee,” he whined, his eyes glued to his royal lover‘s back. He had walked over to a shelf and was fucking around with something that wasn’t Fizz’s ass and thus obviously completely irrelevant in Fizz’ lust-addled mind. He felt soft, pliant, hot, like a tray of brownies ten minutes out of the oven, and somebody really fucking needed to eat him or he was going to turn to fucking stone.

(The weed having kicked in fully by now didn’t help his already whirling mind come up with decent metaphors, either.)

“Don’t worry baby, daddy’s here,“ Ozzie cooed somewhere to his right as the mattress sagged with his weight. Fizz realized only now that he had closed his eyes, and he opened them just in time to see Ozzie grab his leg before he pulled him into position so he could get to his ass more comfortably. Fizzarolli immediately grabbed his own legs and pulled them open to give Ozzie plenty of access.

He hadn’t seen what Ozzie had grabbed from the shelf, but he wasn‘t surprised to feel a generously lubed finger push into him. Ozzie finger-fucked him for a few delightful moments, then he pulled out and came back with more lube. That repeated another two times, and Fizz was just about to make a stink about how he didn’t need any more lube but he really needed more than a finger, when finally something else was pushing against his entrance. He looked down to see the base of the transparent beaded butt plug with the glitter in it. He frowned as the first two beads slipped into his hyper-slippery hole with hardly even a squelch.

“Ozzie, I swear to fucking Satan, why the fuck is that not your dick?!”

Ozzie winced, but pushed one more bead into him; at least this one, Fizz actually felt. “We talked about this, Fizzlecakes, no other Sin’s names in the bedroom…”

Fizz rolled his eyes and pushed back to make the next bead push into him faster. Oh, yes, that was more like it. Still not as good as Ozzie’s cock would have felt, though.

“Yeah yeah, gonna swear to fucking Bobo the Clown next time, but seriously, Ozzie??”

Ozzie leaned forward and nuzzled against his face. Fizz wanted to stay angry with him, but both the nuzzle and the next bead – this one a little bigger than the size of his own fist – made the addition of anger to his fuzzy mind way too complicated.

“I told you earlier that I’ve got a specific kind of game in mind, right? I need you really, really lose for that, baby.”

Fizz had a fuzzy memory of Ozzie talking about “very specific fun”, but that might as well have been a month ago with how completely unrelated it felt to his current situation.

He still let out a stubborn whine, even though the next bead made him feel nearly full enough to stop the pain of the unbearable vacuum inside of him where Ozzie’s cock should be.

“I know, baby,” Ozzie soothed him as he started to work in the last and biggest bead of the plug – more a ball than a bead, really. “I’m gonna fill you up all nice, then I’m going to put a blindfold on you and get the toy I’ve been working on, alright? And then you’ll get the pounding of your life, I promise.”

“Ozziiieee, that’s gonna take way too looong,” Fizz sobbed, raising his hips hungrily to make the rest of the plug slip in faster. His arms shot out to grab at Ozzie’s fluff and pull him in to just fuck him right now, immediately (not a thought in his head about how much time it would take to pull out the beaded plug again safely).

But Ozzie just let out a few gentle clucks and untangled his robotic hands from his mane as gently as if they had actual fingers that could get hurt if they got stuck.

“Either you’re good now, or daddy’s gonna stick a vibe egg right here,” he pushed at the base of the plug and finally slipped the rest of the last, grapefruit-sized bead in. “And then you’ll lie here and think long and hard about why it would have been better to let daddy stick to his plans instead of being a greedy, impatient little brat…”

Fizz let out a desperate keen, both from the absolutely delicious stretch and the excruciating thought of having to lie here with all of that silicone not only inside of him, but a vibrator making all of those beads judder and torturing his sensitive, hungry hole while it was still not getting fucked…

“So what’s it gonna be, baby?” Ozzie asked, his long, slippery fingers rubbing through his crack up to his tail and giving the sensitive bit of skin right below a firm, nearly punishing massage.

“Gonna be good, big daddy,” Fizz mewled, desperately gasping for air, unable to keep his ass from trying to wriggle away from Ozzie’s fingers on that oversensitive spot. That wriggling of course just made him feel the plug’s tip deep in his guts, punching another overwhelmed gasp out of him.

The touch below his tail stopped.

“That‘s my good Fizzy-frog,” he rumbled, then he leaned forward to nuzzle against Fizz’ cheek. His fingers rubbed up and down his cock twice, in a nearly soothing rhythm, before he finally gave his hip a squeeze and pulled away.

Fizz had thought he had been too hot earlier, but now that Ozzie’s body heat completely retreated, he felt suddenly very, very cold.

“Don‘t leave, Ozzie…” His voice came out weaker than before, hardly more than a whimper.

Ozzie immediately looked up from where he had been taking a blindfold out of the nightstand drawer. He dropped the blindfold on the bed and leaned over Fizzy again, cupping his face gently as he looked him in the eyes.

Fizz felt the cold retreat.

“I just need to be gone for a minute at most, baby,“ Ozzie said, and immediately the dread crept back into Fizz’ chest. It must have also crept onto his face, because Ozzie kissed his cheeks and his forehead and gently ran his hand over his hat. “How about I give you the bubble sheet? You can count the bubbles, and I’ll be back in no time.”

Fizz made a face. His discomfort was pushing him into a slightly different headspace, but at least that made him feel more mopey than, well… alone.

“Okay. Also the chewy-gag,” he said.

“Whatever my Fizzy-baby wants,“ Ozzie cooed, and Fizz was very proud of himself for not just answering that what he really wanted was for Ozzie to just fuck him. He knew that he’d be really glad that he had been patient later, because when Ozzie surprised him with something in the bedroom, it usually ended with Fizz getting both his mind and his back blown out in the most intense and devious way possible. But right now he felt like a mopey baby and he wanted Ozzie to be here, not somewhere that wasn’t here.

Ozzie cooed and kissed him for another few moments, then he got up to get the bubble sheet from Fizz’ fidget toy chest and the custom-made gag with the chewy mouth-bit from the same shelf the butt plug had come from. He sat back down and kissed his face a few more times, then he trailed more kisses down his chest, making Fizz feel all happy and soft again.

Suddenly Ozzie blew a raspberry on his belly and Fizz let out a yell and nearly propelled himself off the bed – which would have been a very dumb thing to do with that gigantic butt plug still inside of him. A good thing, then, that Ozzie was holding onto his legs at the same time so he couldn’t get away.

“Ozzie!!!” Fizz groused, but when he saw the grin on all three of Ozzie’s faces, he absolutely couldn’t be mad at him.

“That’s more like it,” Ozzie said, then he held the chewy pillow-shaped mouth part of the gag against his lips. “Say ah?”

Fizz rolled his eyes and did, indeed, say “Ah!” It was silly, but he did suddenly feel way better, as if he’d been slowly sinking into quicksand and that raspberry had been a cartoon kangaroo grabbing him and pulling him out in one powerful jump. He could still feel his heart beat in his ears when he closed his mouth around the gag and started to suck on it like an oversized binky.

Ozzie led the strap of the gag around behind Fizz’ head and secured it with the quick-release buckle on Fizz’ cheek. He pressed the bubble sheet into his hand, then he laid the padded leather eye-mask they used as blindfold on his face. Fizz could feel warm, large fingertips caress his cheek.

“You good, baby?” Ozzie asked.

Fizz buried his molars in the gag and nodded.

Ozzie gently lifted his head and fastened the velcro of the eye-mask. “See, I knew you could be good.” Fizz felt a kiss on his cheek, between the strap of the gag and the mask, then the fidget toy was put in his hand. A moment later, Ozzie’s weight vanished and his warmth retreated again.

Fizz kept gnawing on the chew toy and tried to map the bubble toy with one hand. He started to push bubbles in one by one, counting them while he did his best to slowly breath through his nose. The gag was making him drool, though it was better than with most ball gags. Fizz liked having gags in his mouth, more than Ozzie liked gagging him, actually (Ozzie generally preferred to hear any noises Fizz would gift him with), but he still had mixed feelings about the drooling. It was awesome when Ozzie’s dick was in his mouth, and drooling while he was getting fucked just added to the general feeling of debauchery, but when he was just waiting with a gag in his mouth, it sometimes did feel unpleasant, unattractive, helpless…

He could have used his hands to wipe the drool away. Ozzie hadn’t tied him down. But he didn’t want to touch the gag with his hands – that wasn’t his place, that was Ozzie’s privilege, the only part of him that got to touch the gag was his mouth. It was Ozzie’s job to clean him up. If Ozzie didn’t want him clean, Fizz wasn’t going to be clean.

That thought helped. Yes, the drool that was drying on his chin still felt unpleasant, but that was okay. Ozzie liked it when he got messy in bed. Ozzie liked the way Fizz looked when he lost control. It was alright. It was just like it was supposed to be.

He kept counting bubbles.

Just when he was finished with the second row, he heard Ozzie come back into the room. There was a noise like something heavy and metal was being put down, then some squeaking and grinding sounds.

The bed dipped, and Ozzie’s hand was back, opening the quick-release of Fizz’ gag.

“See, I’m back already. No time at all, right? Come on, spit that out, baby.”

Fizz opened his mouth wide so Ozzie could get the gag out without getting it caught on his sharp teeth. The blindfold didn’t come off, but Ozzie took the opportunity to push his thumb against Fizz’ tongue and caress his spit-slick cheek with his palm. Fizz sighed through his nose as he closed his lips around Ozzie’s finger and gave it a suckle. He tasted like metal.

He felt Ozzie bend over him, the fluff of his mane tickling his shoulders. Ozzie’s breath was on his face, a strange kind of silence hanging between them that he couldn’t read because he still couldn’t see shit, but then Ozzie pulled his thumb out of Fizz’ mouth and kissed him hard and deep.

Fizz let go of the bubble sheet and wrapped all of his limbs around Ozzie, his arms and legs looping twice around his body, his tail sliding up Ozzie’s arm and clinging to it like a climbing plant. All his apprehension melted in the heat of Ozzie’s body and he gave himself up to his mouth. For a moment he felt he might be able to liquify and seep into Ozzie, fuse with him like one of those creepy deep-sea fish, or like lichen on a tree, so he never had to be anywhere but right where Ozzie was.

Ozzie stood up without breaking the kiss and carried Fizz off the bed and in the direction of the bedroom window. He stopped after just two steps, though, and went down on his knees, as far as Fizz could tell just by feeling his movement.

“Retract,” he ordered, and Fizz immediately did. He completely let go of Ozzie, whose hands were securely cradling his body, and went limp as Ozzie turned him around. “Elbows and knees.”

Fizz let Ozzie put him down on something that felt like leather, very new leather, still a little stiff, but not uncomfortable, exactly the right size for his upper body. His metal limbs, which were hanging off the leather cushion or whatever it was, clinked against something that was also metal, maybe metal rods of some sort. He could feel them move, and then there were restraints, and he felt his limbs getting strapped against the rods. He tried to create a mental image of whatever device he was getting strapped into right now. It felt a lot like a normal spanking bench, though those usually didn’t let his crotch hang as freely as this one. And he’d also usually have his arms and legs bound to the legs of the bench itself, not these rods that were very much adjustable, as he soon figured out when the rods his legs were strapped to moved farther apart, forcing him to spread his thighs. The pressure of the plug inside of him was a little unpleasant now that he was lying on his belly, but it also pushed against his prostate way more insistently now. He squirmed while Ozzie did something that resulted in a few clicking sounds. His impatience was coming back, mixing with slight confusion and burning anticipation until he couldn’t help a pained little whine coming out of him.

There was a big hand on his back now, gently rubbing up and down between his shoulder blades. “Are you alright, Fizzy? I need you to stay in this position for a while.”

“Ozzie, please,” Fizz whimpered. He tried to grab that hand with his tail to pull it farther down. “I’ve been so good, can’t you just—“

“Fizz, focus” Ozzie”s voice stopped him. He sounded serious, commanding, hot enough for Fizz’ cock to start dripping again. “I need to know if you can hold this position.”

Fizz took a deep breath and tried to check in with himself. Everything felt so loose and fluffy, more like cotton candy than flesh and bones. He tried to start at the bottom and go up. His hips were alright, bis back too, but…

“Shoulders,” he said.

“Up or down?”

“Down please.”

He could hear Ozzie’s smile in his voice. “Well done, baby.”

The adjustable rods that his arms were strapped to moved a little, pulling his arms down just an inch or so and allowing his shoulders to relax properly. Ozzie’s hand was still between his shoulder blades, feeling for the tension that had been bothering Fizz.

“Better?”

Fizz nodded. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good boy…” Ozzie’s large hand ran down his back, skimming the base of his tail. “Now that you’re all cozy and loose, let’s get this thing out of you, hm?” He gave the base of the beaded plug a little tug, but instead of just pulling it out right away, Fizz heard him squeeze some more lube onto his fingers, which he immediately started to massage into the skin of Fizz’ stretched rim. Once his skin was slippery enough for Ozzie’s taste, he slowly started to pull out the first bead.

The beaded plug wasn’t quite as bad as regular anal beads, where pulling them out one by one was half the fun of the whole exercise. But it was still intense to feel his hole stretch once again to let that largest bead slip out. The relief that washed over him when it popped out was short-lived, because Ozzie immediately slipped a wet finger into his hole to rub more lube into the tissue just inside of him. Of course he appreciated that Ozzie just really didn‘t want him to tear, but it also made something deep in his loins bubble up. Ozzie was always careful, sure, but if he was being this thorough, it usually meant that something big was coming. This was pre-fisting behavior.

His speculations were interrupted when Ozzie pulled out the next bead, added some more lube, and then went for the next two in quick succession. Fizz’ body was boiling again, his mind by now too sluggish and woozy from the brownies to really concentrate on anything but the beads slipping out of him one by one. The only thought that did make it all the way from his brain into his awareness — a recollection of that time Ozzie had stuffed him with eggs and a good half-gallon of lube and had him squeeze out every single one of them — wasn‘t exactly helpful either.

“There we go,” Ozzie said as the last few beads dropped out of Fizz’ hole without any resistance. Fizz was kind of curious just how big his gape was right now. Judging by the way Ozzie had to use three fingers for him to actually feel any stretch, it had to be massive.

“You have been so good, Froggie baby, so patient…” Ozzie rumbled as he fingered even more lube into his open, waiting hole. “Are you ready to get your reward?”

Fizz nodded frantically and pushed his ass backwards as far as he could with his thighs tied to the metal rods. “Daddy, please,” he whined, though it came out more slurry and wet this time than before. The fingers and the cool lube inside of him made him shiver, and he could feel himself sweat where his upper body was pressed against the leather cushion and drip where his stiff cock was just far enough from that cushion that he could’t hump against it. He felt trapped and hot and as if he was about to fucking explode, too strung-out on both Ozzie’s foreplay and the anticipation of what he was working towards to even continue begging. He was on the brink of something, hanging by a thread, and even though he knew Ozzie had him, would always have him, he didn‘t know how much longer he could hang on.

But Ozzie knew. Ozzie always knew.

There was the noise of more metal parts being adjusted, then something that felt like the tip of a dildo slipped into Fizz’s waiting, open hole.

Fizz was about to break down in tears because that STILL wasn’t Ozzie’s cock. How much longer was he going to do this to him? Hadn’t he said that he had been good, that he was going to get a reward, so why was he still—

But then he heard the flip of a switch and the dildo started to move deeper.

And deeper.

It moved at such a consistent, unwavering speed, not only going deeper but stretching his rim wider and wider, that Fizz nearly started to panic when it kept moving beyond the point the plug had penetrated inside of him and stretched him more than the biggest bead had before. For a second he forgot where he was and who he was and that Ozzie was right beside him and thought that this thing was going to keep moving, that it was going to rip through his guts and into his lungs and his heart and force its way through blood and gore to come out of his mouth as if he was a chicken being roasted on a stick, but then the forward movement stopped, and it started to slowly move back again.

But once again Fizz didn’t have time to feel relieved — because that dildo had some kind of soft barbs at its underside that had been flush with its length when it had pushed in, but which were now dragging against his colon walls and especially his prostate on their way out of him. Fizz’ head snapped up when he felt that, and his mouth dropped open on a silent whimper.

He heard Ozzie’s chuckle when the dildo stopped moving again, just deep enough inside of him for Fizz to still feel it. As the whole process started over, he felt Ozzie’s hand on his shoulder and then on the back of his head. He blinked into the dim light of their bedroom as Ozzie pulled off the eye mask.

Fizz wanted to say something. ‘You’re fucking killing me, Ozz’ maybe, or just a nice long string of ‘fuck’s, but the dildo came back faster this time and even though it did not actually push as far as his lungs, it still took his breath away. The only thing that came out of his mouth was a desperate keen like that of a dying animal when it pulled back again, also faster than before.

“You get why I needed you really, really relaxed, baby?” Ozzie cooed at him, cradling his jaw in one hand so he could push his chin up and see every tiny expression of his. His eyes looked like two thin slits of neon light in the deep blue of his face. The dildo started to move into him once more, again a little faster, but Fizz still had just enough of his mental capacity left to notice that Ozzie was breathing harder, too. A deep shiver ran through his body, a touch of lightning that warred with the expanding, boiling lust inside of him for just a second before the two merged. Ozzie was feeding off him, sharing his lust without any more of a touch than the finger under his chin. Fizz could see his hard cock from the corner of his eye and his mouth watered just before the dildo pulled back again and sent him into a new wave of ecstasy.

The movements of the dildo got faster and faster, and his mind was soon completely filled with the electric storm of an incredible fuck after thorough, torturous foreplay. But even as he started to moan and sob with every in- and out-movement, the scent of Ozzie’s arousal this close to him didn’t allow him to just completely let go.

“Ozzie,” he managed to push out around a low sob while the dildo’s soft barbs combed his insides, “fuck my — oh fuck!” He didn‘t manage to get all of it out, because the dildo was coming back and by now the thrusting was so fucking fast, just punching into him and pulling out, punching in, pulling out, faster and faster and faster…

There was no way he was going to be able to tell Ozzie what he wanted from him. So he just opened his mouth, let his tongue hang out and stared up at Ozzie through a veil of overwhelmed tears.

With his mouth open like this, Fizz couldn’t hold back any of the needy, wet, embarrassing noises or the dribbling of drool that the insistent, faster and faster thrusting of the fuck machine was forcing out of him. He was sobbing and grunting and squawking while he tried to hold eye-contact with Ozzie, who was still just watching him with an expression on his face as if he was looking at the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

He let out a deep, insistent whine, because words just were not an option anymore. He felt like he was about to come at any moment. The dildo was moving so fast that he could hardly tell whether it was thrusting in or pulling out at any given moment. He needed Ozzie’s cock in his mouth so badly that he felt like he was going to die if he didn’t get it right this minute — for real this time, not like earlier when he had thought he’d die if he wasn’t going to get fucked soon, because obviously he had survived that long enough.

“Alright, baby…” Ozzie pressed out. His voice sounded like he was out of breath, his hand was trembling as he grabbed Fizz’ jaw harder, and when he used his other hand to finally, finally feed his cock into Fizz waiting, open mouth, it seemed like he missed on accident when he smeared his leaking tip over Fizz’ cheek before he locked in on the target.

The fuck machine was pistoning the dildo in and out of him at such a speed that Fizz stopped being a body and just became scalding, liquid energy. Ozzie filled his head with his cock and his taste and his scent, Fizz’ face was buried in the fuzz of his big, hard body, unable to breathe but also absolutely unable to care about that.

He didn’t know when he started to come, but it had to have happened at some point between him turning into liquid and the world bursting into white and red fireworks.

It would have been too much to say that he “blacked out”, but he also wasn’t really conscious for the next however many minutes. He only realized that the fuck machine had stopped and that Ozzie had untied him when he was lifted up and cradled against Ozzie’s fluffy chest, and he had no idea when exactly they had left the bedroom, but they were definitely in the bathroom now. There was a glass being pushed against his lips, and he realised that the inside of his mouth tasted like Ozzie’s jizz, which was a taste he loved when it was fresh but which was as vile as anybody else’s fluids the morning after. He took a sip of water, but apparently his throat was still shot from swallowing Ozzie all the way down while he was pretty literally getting fucked out of his mind, and he immediately started choking.

“Careful, froggy!” Ozzie immediately put the glass down and bent Fizz forward over one of his hands while he tapped his back with the other one. Fizz coughed up a good amount of jizz and spit before he finally felt like he could breathe again, then he let Ozzie give him some more water. This time he bent his head forward immediately after taking the sip and just shook it back and forth to rinse his mouth, then he spit again.

He shook his head the next time Ozzie offered him the glass, then he let himself be scooped up again. He buried his face in Ozzie’s chest while Ozzie carried him into the shower and slipped another shower cap over his hat. The warm water made him even more sleepy, and he began to drift in and out of consciousness while big, warm hands cleaned his completely fucked-out body. There was another big, fluffy towel, and the next time he managed to push his way through the heavy blanket of exhaustion, an actual blanket was covering him, and Ozzie was in the process of joining him under that blanket. He adjusted the cover over the both of them before he pulled Fizz close to him. Cocooned in warmth and softness and Ozzie’s beloved scent, Fizz finally let himself slip down into sleep.

#it's finally done!!! this chapter is long as fuck though #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss Fizzarolli #Helluva Boss Ozzie #Helluva Boss Asmodeus #Fizzarozzie #ozzarolli #fizzmodeus #fizzozzie #asmodeus x fizzarolli #fizz x ozzie #Helluva Boss fanfiction #fanfic #God please be nice I'm so nervous about posting this tbh #fun filled fizzy fucking

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