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[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Happy Ending

✩ kento!nanami x fem!reader

✩ warnings & tags: public sex, sex in a bathhouse, soapy sex, rough sex, handjobs, anal teasing, ass job, boobjob, degrading, squirting, creampie, panty sniffing (this is new for me), etc…

when a trip to the spa ends up….surprising.

nanami handed the receptionist his id, pushing up his glasses as he took a look around the nice, clean, establishment. he hadn’t been to a spa before and when his coworker gave him a coupon for this one; he decided to make use of it.

“enjoy, mr. nanami,” the receptionist smiled brightly, handing the blonde back his id, along with a towel and what he assumed was a wrapped up kleenex. what was he going to need that for?

he made his way into the private locker room that came with his coupon, and he began to undress. he looked into the mirror in front of him and looked at the noticeable changes on his body. his muscles were tense and there was some scarring from his last mission.

he looked at the sign next to the mirror and its lists of massages he could possibly get. ‘happy ending?’ he questioned to himself, wondering what it was since there was no description; only its time. whatever it was an hour of it must’ve been enjoyable. tapping the tablet right next to the sign, he scheduled his massage and headed to the adjoined bathhouse.

he placed his towel and glasses on a nearby shelf and stepped under a shower head, its scalding her comfortable waters easing some of the tension once he turned it on. he lathered up his nude body good, suds cascading down his body as it mixed with the water.

he rinsed off and hopped in the huge pool of water, he sat underneath the running fountain and closed his eyes as the warm waters hit his skin.

while he sat there, you stepped into the bathhouse, wearing a short red robe, holding a stool in one hand and two small buckets in the other. you placed the stool in the water beside him, startling a bit. “oh shit!”

“sorry, sir. didn’t mean to startle you. im here for your massage” you smiled, hoping to calm him down a bit before you got started. he took a look at you, eyes scanning your curves that poked out through the sheer robe. you were practically naked underneath it, besides the fact that your were wearing panties. mahogany irises darting back up to your cute face, searching your own for any malice.

ever since his last mission, he had been a little jumpy. it took a toll on him, and his body paid a price for it. he nodded his head, after realizing you had no ill intentions, and sat on the stool, his muscular back facing you. you dropped your robe to the side and got to work on him.

pouring a bucket of suds on to him, you lathered his body up and you could feel how tense he was. you started with his shoulders, easing out all the kinks and soreness, working your way down his back. nanami hadn’t had a massage in years and this by far was his best. the way your hands were soft and thorough against his rugged body was enough to make him relax. he was relaxed enough to even let out a groan.

the moan was starting to become pleasurable for him, having his body worked on was enough to make his dick twitch—and he immediately put his hands over his bulge. but, as you moved to the lower side of back—right above where his ass started—he couldn’t help but to throw his head back and let out a shrew of cuss words. his dick thumped as your thumbs kneaded and pressed into his muscles, and he was seconds away from fisting his cock—that is until you pulled away.

he sighed, feeling blue balled; he was going to get one off when you left. but, this was just the beginning of the massage; and you dumped your other bucket of suds onto your nude body—pressing your boobs into his back and reaching over and replacing his hand with yours, catching the six foot male by surprise.

“what are you—“ he wanted to speak but the way you were massaging his balls and his hard on had him sucking in some air. it didn’t take him long for him to understand what a happy endings massage meant, but he couldn’t resist his urges. he let you continue working your soft hands around his cock—looking down as your smaller hands wrapped around him; working down from his pink mushroom tip, to the bottom of his nine inches.

you could see the translucent droplets of his precum leaking out and the way his balls felt in your hands, just showed you how much he was pent up. he needed to release badly and you were going to pull out all the stops to help him.

the feeling of your soft lips being planted on his skin made him let out a shaky moan, his eyes were low and lidded and he could feel his orgasm coming. you moved your lips up to his neck and sucked on it, a deep moan escaping him—following his long await release. milky white ropes pool out and onto your fist, coating your soft skin.

his hips jerked as he came, his balls trying to empty out every last drop; before you removed your hand. he sighed, body still slightly twitching from his orgasm, before opening his mouth up to speak—only to let a moan out. brown eyes dart up to your face, seeing that pretty little smile while your round—soft tits, smothered his cock. your tits were covered with his cum and you opened your mouth, letting a string of spit glide off your tongue; and in between your tits.

he sat there in pure bliss, mouth agape while he watched you give his sensitive cock another milking. the way you looked so sexy while doing it and the plushy feeling of your tits had him spurting all over them in the matter of seconds. he let out deep groan, one that made you press your legs together. he was hunching over as you continued bouncing your tits on his sensitive shaft, trying to get every last drop out.

he pulled you back by your hair, the roughness taking you by surprise—pulling you up by your strands, so he could smash his lips onto yours. your eyes widened, but you closed them—letting him dominate you. the kiss was so lewd, he made out with your tongue, a spit trail following when you pulled away—only for you to slurp it back up. from that moment on, you knew he was different than most your customers. he was the only one to make you wet, the only one who had you craving for more.

with your previous customers you stuck to handjobs, oral, titjobs and sometimes assjobs. but, with him it was different. she was going to let him fuck her stupid. he reached behind you and grabbed two handfuls of your fat ass, holding you up and carrying you to the nearby recliner beach chair. he took a nice long look at you and noticed you still had his babies on your wet skin, along with your black panties.

big rough hands pull down your panties, ‘accidentally’ rubbing against your slit when he did— with your essence sticking to the fabric. with no hesitation he brought the fabric up to his face and took a big whiff of your cream; your scent taking over his mind. you could see his dick jump as he continued to smell you, your face hot with embarrassment as you watched him.

nanami then took his free hand and began to jerk himself off, the smell of your juices aroused him so much cock leaked white ropes; hitting your body once more. his hips jerked he rode out his third orgasm, his mind so fucked with the thought of you—it was like he was in trance. “so, much sir…” your voice soft, manicured hands rubbing his milky white cum into your skin.

dropping your black panties, he remembered about the kleenex and towel the receptionist gave him and he walked over to the stand; only for him to realize that it wasn’t a kleenex—instead it was their custom made condom.

nanami chuckled and brought over the items, only for him to catch you licking up his leftover nut. it was sexy for him to see, he never had anyone be so vulgar; yet he had never showed his kink off to another person.

the blonde held up the condom to you, non verbally asking you and you shook your head—a smirk etching on his lips. he hovered over you as you laid on the blue beach chair, cunt glistening with your slick. his eyes darted up to your plump lips and couldn’t help but to reattach his to yours. just by kissing him alone had your pussy thumping, you needed him; and the way your body was covered with goose bumps—let him know how much you needed him.

“turn around,” his voice deep and demanding—you couldn’t help but to comply. breasts smushed together on the chair, your fat ass so round and beautiful for him, and your legs were so damn sexy. just looking at you had him wanting to paint your skin with nothing but his cum.

skipping the foreplay, he went right to spreading your ass apart; showing off that pretty pussy. hole clenching around nothing, your slick slid down your cheeks—towards your pretty little ass hole. the way it was shining for him, he couldn’t help but to tease it—rubbing his thumb around it before dipping his finger in and out. the sweet melodic sounds from your lips was such a turn on for him, he could listen to it daily—a huge turn on for him.

nanami leaned down and placed his hard cock between your cheeks, suckin in some air from how you smothered him with its fatness. never in a million years did he think he would be trying out his fantasies, especially in a place like this. the way your slick coated his shaft and mushroom head as he moved, and made him throw his pretty blonde head back. this was unfucking believable for him and the more he moved, the hornier you became. and soon his pretty tannish cock was glistening with your juices.

“fuck, gonna cu—“ he couldn’t even finish his sentence as you wiggled your ass against him—hard—making him cum pretty ropes of white all over your ass. you shuddered, riding off your own orgasm as you continued to move against him. this was the first time you ever came from havin your ass cheeks fucked and the first time you ever had man cum this much.

pulling back, his dick slipped out from between, and you turned your head slightly to look at him.

“sir i hope—.“

“—kento” he corrected and you smiled.

“kento, i hope you have more left over. this time i want you to do it inside~” your voice was so seductive and the way your eyes were darkened with sheer lust, fueled him. pressing his tip at your soddened entrance had you sucking in some air, arching your back up slightly; as he proceeded to stretch you out.

“so…big~” he pushed himself deeper inside of you, the feeling of your wet spongy walls clinging to him, had him pulling out prematurely; slapping his dick against your cheeks—eliciting a whine from you.

“kento….i want all of it. every last drop—hngh~” he slammed himself inside of you, filling you to brim with his cock. he let you adjust to his size for a second, lifting you up slightly by your tummy—making a deep arch for him, pumping his cock in and out of you. grunts and groans puddled out of his mouth, brown eyes fixated on your ass clapping and rippling against him—watching the white film build up.

“so. fucking. wet!” he slapped your ass, hard, the stinging sensation was painful, yet pleasurable—making you scream. “more~!” you begged, teeth sinking into your bottom lip; turning your head slightly to look at him. your face contorted with arousal was enough for him to continue to punish your cheeks with his hands. the way it wobbled with each smack and his strokes were so hypnotizing, yet it only made his desire for you grow.

he grunted and pushed your head down, pounding your pretty pussy deep into the chair, irises rolling in the back of your head—showing nothing but white. he was fucking more than just your body. he was fucking your mind as well.

nanami could feel your walls spasming, clenching frantically around him, “go ahead and cum for me baby. show me how that pretty pussy could milk daddy’s cock.”

his vulgarness and his powerful thrusts, made your orgasm come quicker. his tip hit the spongy spot repeatedly, making you gush all over him. your walls contracted around him, as you came—his own orgasm following behind. he pushed himself in deeper, cunt sloppy and wet while he fucked you, “let me breed this pretty pussy. g’na let me do that, hm?”

you were so dizzy from your orgasm, all you could do was nod your head; before he shot his load deep inside of you—milking him as he pumped.

“fuck!” he cursed, slowing his stroke down before pulling out of you; his cum pooling out of you, until he plugged his fingers up into your cunt. he caught you by surprise as he wriggled his two fingers inside of you, mixing his fluids with yours—driving you insane, only for you to push him out as you squirted. he slapped your ass as the translucent liquid flew out of you, pulling your head back to kiss you—making you snap out of your euphoric daze.

“c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up doll and end your shift, so i can take care of you for the rest of the night.”

[rcksmith]

Sun and Water - Kaz Brekker

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: A LOT OF ANGUISH. Lots of mention of post-traumatic disorder. Curse words. Mention of death. Blood. Slave market. Mention of murder. VERY EMOTIONAL. VERY SWEET.

Word count: 4k

A/N: This one was very emotional for me. I cried writing with my playlist on full blast. I hope you love it as much as I do.

💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

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Ketterdam smelled of trickery, poison, desecration and danger. It was a dark place by birth that housed even darker people. Its soil was stained with blood and despair; of both Grisha and ordinary people. Their hiding places were for tormented souls who had long lost their humanity.

If you walked the wrong streets at night with an arrogant attitude, you would definitely not return alive. But if you turned south, and had a little money in your pocket, your feet would take you close to the huge, shiny, flashy casinos run by Pekka Rollins. You would pass clubs where the smell of beer mixed with cheating, and the laughter of drunks drowned out the screams of convicts across the boat harbor. The colors of these establishments ranged between red, orange and yellow, a vibrant explosion that, in such a funereal place, became infinitely more macabre.

If you were more adventurous, and had a little more money, you would pass by pleasure houses. With pink and purple facades, provocative titles and women perched in the windows, waving at any gentleman who smelled a fair amount of kruger, their chants insinuating and seductive. The silk pieces of these places waved like a Land in Sight flag for the lost and tormented men in that sea of stone that was called Ketterdam.

To less experienced - and novice - eyes, those places were just grotesque pieces that were part of a strange scenario. Just a bad city, without many mysteries or secrets. But Kaz Brekker, whose mother's name was Ketterdam, knew that these establishments were more profane than they first appear. Its sins were part of a long list of money laundering, human and arms trafficking, drug exports, a meeting point for commissioned murders and, deep in the corrupt heart of that city, the headquarters of the black market. He knew that Ketterdam was not just a land of trickery, poison, desecration and danger. It was the place where anyone could have absolutely everything for the right price.

And that's how he found you.

Kaz didn't like to remember that day. But it was engraved on his skin like a tattoo, like a hot iron. A damned, cursed reminder that despite his Herculean efforts to be the monster everyone whispered about, Kaz was still a man of flesh and warm blood. With a heart that writhed.

Something about that day in the past wasn't right. It was like a mysterious whisper in the breeze, an omen in the unknown eyes of the wanderers, a mistake in a painting that made his nerves itch. And Kaz Brekker always hated mysteries that he didn't know how to solve.

His cane banging against the thick, crooked stone floor in that even darker part of Ketterdam, the hem of his black coat swinging from side to side in the cold wind. He had 2,000 kruger in his pocket - the Crow Club's only money to pay employees, bribes, drinks and bills. He used and abused Ketterdam to offer everything at the right price, and now he was going to pay his debts to men who provided information, to locals who spiked the beer with water and sold it for a cheaper price, and to women who seduced targets and facilitated robberies. It was the only money he had.

He didn't have to look to the left, there was nothing for him there. He didn't have to wonder why people seemed to crowd closer to the curve of the last street. But, in a way that Brekker could never explain even in confidential whispers to his own soul, he turned that corner.

With his cane tapping on the ground, money in his pocket and responsibilities to fulfill, he approached, against all odds. Step by step, the air grew thicker, the invisible ropes tightened unjustifiably on the pulse of his neck, the ghostly sensation of the icy water approaching like the waves of the dark sea.

Those sensations were getting more confusing with each pump of blood. The physical consequences of his soul being shipwrecked at sea never came lightly, and this was a warning. A warning that Kaz Brekker should have turned around and walked away. While he still could.

The men around were euphoric. The women looked sadistic. And the racket of voices was too loud for him to be able to focus on a single line of conversation. The hands of men and women were raised and clutched money notes tightly, waving in the wind as if it were a flag, their sadistic, depravity-hungry eyes staring forward like predators in hunting season.

Perhaps in a parallel reality, Kaz would have followed every sign Ketterdam gave him to turn his back and leave. There's nothing for you here, Dirty Hands. Ketterdam needed demons and monsters to stay stand, it fed on trauma and anger to perpetuate the ‘everything for the right price’ market. People's chaos and hell were what maintained the local economy. Any possibility of redemption, peace and, worst of all, love, were severely condemned.

Go away, Bastard of the Barrel. Maybe Kaz would have exerted the steely control over his veins more tightly, maybe he would have listened to the city's singing and paid more attention to the sea that swelled its tide, and then there would have been a life in which he wouldn't have widened his eyes at the scene.. Go away.

The sea roared, the waves broke, the putrefying hands of the bodies drowned in the depths of the ocean grabbed his ankles with more ferocity, preventing, restricting, screaming that his place would forever be there with them in the dirt of the sea. But it was already too late. He looked at the reason for all the commotion. The sun fell on that girl's hair and it was as if the rays had also penetrated the deepest waters of that vast oceanic darkness, exorcising all the claws that retreated with infernal screams, letting go of his ankles as if they were burning.

It was like a ship's anchor being pulled up with extreme brutality, splashing water everywhere, pushing the dying pieces into the depths of hell, scaring birds in the air, and finally, finally, bringing his soul out into the warm air.

Kaz Brekker felt his entire body shake as if he had just died and been reincarnated, it was like an explosion in the darkest depths of his chest that made his blood warm again, his heart show that it was beating and his soul breathe.

The scene in front of him shouldn't have caused any commotion in his spirit. Ketterdam was not a good place, and it was home to even less good people. That open-air slave market was nothing new. It was repulsive, disgusting and disgusting, but not new. And it wasn't something Kaz got involved in. Everyone had problems with him, and he didn't play anyone's hero. Never.

Until now.

One of the girls was sitting on that improvised wooden stage, eyes extremely scared and that damn sun shining on her hair that shone like the heat of release that made him breathe for the first time. She was young, small as a rabbit, and her fur didn't belong on those rusty chains on her wrist. You.

That was all an lapse. A powerful lapse not only in his judgment, but in his long-tormented soul. He blinded himself for the first time since Pekka.

The deprivation of air, the burning of the claws sunk to the bottom of the cruel ocean, the ice that shook his bones and the smell of dead flesh swollen with rotten water had finally given him a respite.

A truce so portentous and so overwhelming that, for two blissful, desperate seconds, Kaz fucking Bekker felt fucking normal. He was breathing, for the love of the Saints. He felt the heat of the sun, his muscles were light, his heart was swollen and the corners of the world were as colorful as when he was 8 years old.

He felt Kaz Rietveld.

All because that girl was in his sight. As if her sight was a miracle to his torment. As if she were a curse to Ketterdam. No good feelings have a place here.

But it was already too late. That lapse made Kaz approach as if he no longer controlled his feet. It made his heart beat with blood that wasn't his. It made him take out the only money in his pocket and hold it up high as the biggest proposal. None of that insanity was coming from Brekker. But from Rietveld.

“Her.’’ he said in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own.

Yes, Kaz didn't like to remember that day. Because it was confirmation that the boy he had tried so hard to keep dead and drowned in the sea was as alive as tangil. And that beating heart was his. Fucking hell. That lapse cost a lot; all the money the Crow Club made in that month. Kaz Brekker had countless dangerous people to pay and he had no idea what would do. But what irritated and infuriated Kaz the most was that, when he looked into the eyes of that girl as fragile as a rabbit, he didn't regret it.

Not at all. Not a bit. Even when he had every reason in the world to regret it.

He didn't regret taking you out of those horrible rags you wore and buying you a dress. He didn't regret bringing you to his quarters even when still had no fucking idea what he would do to you now.

What use would such a small, fragile and beautiful girl would have? You looked like a little rabbit. He made a fucking mistake, because now this little rabbit was looking at him with those big eyes full of emotions: fear, innocence, curiosity. Brekker hated it. But his soul was smiling.

''Don't worry. I won’t touch you’’ Kaz said that day. His words dripped with venom, disgust, and self-loathing. He constantly thought that his condition was a sarcastic and cruel joke from the Saints that Inej prayed so much to; doomed to never stand a touch, to always be a broken and pathetic bastard to the point of mortal weakness. This always aroused anger, hatred, and a thirst for revenge against Pekka.

But looking into your big eyes…he felt as if something very valuable had been brutally ripped from him long before Kaz understood what he wanted.

Inej was wrong. The Saints were not merciful. They were as fucking sadistic as the demons of Ketterdam.

--------

The days passed, and Kaz still had no idea what to do with you. Or how to pay his debt to so many people or how to replenish Crow Club drinks. He hid you from the rest of the dregs because he didn't want to and didn't know how to explain the situation. What would he say? Kaz Brekker never did anything without a plan. Everyone knew that. And your presence refuted ALL the certainties and theories that Kaz always had a motive.

Until one day, what he knew would happen happened; fate than those who do not pay powerful people. If he didn't have money, then he had to pay in blood. As it always would be in Ketterdam.

--------

The moon was paler than usual that autumn, sending icy golden rays across the dark city. The breeze smelled of sea air, smoke, sand and blood.

Kaz sat down in his writing chair, gasping as the thud made his broken ribs hurt. His teeth clenched tightly and dropped the broken cane to the floor, his blood on the silver raven combined with the dried blood around his face.

“Oh My God’’ the voice that Rietveld’s soul loved so much sounded, terrified and in panic.

You.

Kaz closed his eyes tightly, cursing under his breath that you had chosen to come in at that exact moment. It had been 2 weeks since you were here, with him, but your presence still made his hate the reactions and sensations he had.

Brekker couldn't have feelings. Ketterdam didn't accept that, it didn't tolerate that. And the proof of this was the bloody state he was in. Sentimentality is a weakness. He repeated to himself. But why then did his soul not regret anything when he saw you? Damn, he'd probably do it all over again.

“Get out of here’’ his voice was hoarser and lower than usual. And, when you did the opposite and took a step forward, Kaz looked at you warningly ‘’Now’’ Brekker could handle a beating, he'd had it his whole life. He could deal with broken ribs, with a bloody face, with a broken cane, with wounded pride. But he can't deal with the feeling that, when you looked at him, what hurt and tortured him more than anything else was the fact that he was robbed of your touch. He couldn't touch. And it never sparked anything but a fire of rage and revenge. Until now.

Kaz Brekker couldn't feel you. Not even if he fell to his knees on the floor and prayed to all the Saints. Not even if he sobbed asking for just one day of mercy. Just one day. Just a memory of how your skin felt beneath his hands. It had been more than a century since Brekker had touched another skin, warm skin. His was always cold, cadaverous, wet even when it was completely dry. And that was never a reason for despair. Until now.

He wanted to touch you more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to slide his fingers across your cheek more than he wanted to slide his hands across money notes. But the sensation would send him back to the waters of Ketterdam. Back to the sickening feeling of rotten flesh and death surrounding him, making his chest tighten and his vision blacken as that traumatic memory would drag him back into.

The Saints were a fucking sadist. “Please…’’ your voice was broken and completely tearful. Please…

That single word - that single word alone had the power to bring his gaze up to you. Your pleading voice, your eyes filled with pain, not for your own, but for his, the way you whispered as if you was about to crumble.  You looked more scared than the day he took you from the slave market. Kaz fought down the tightening of his chest, his throat closing in. Please. Oh. He wanted to throw caution in the wind. Just once. Only for you. He wanted to put his gloves aside, just once. Just to hold your face. The desire to beg the Saints on one knee came back with more force. ''No" Kaz looked at you, staring into your eyes, as he saw you step closer. He watched the silk green dress flow, the fabric he bought for you, and for some reason it made him ache more. Damn dress.

He kept his eyes locked on that green silk for longer than expected. His body was completely bruised, but his thoughts were just feeling envious of that dress. That dress was on your skin. Feeling something he could never feel. Lucky dress.

Kaz heard your sobs get louder. "I beg you’’ You were about to fall apart “let me help…’’ He didn't know the extensions of his own injuries, but the look in your eyes said they were serious. Perhaps there was more blood than he expected.

Yes. his soul, Rietveld, screamed. Screaming so loud his bones shook. Yes. Touch me, make the cold go away again. Take me out of this ocean one more time. Help me. Touch me! Make the hands of the corpses leave my neck. Touch me. Saints, this is the most unbearable thing in the world. Kaz had no idea how long it had been since he had heard a person sob for him, but your voice broke something in him like nothing else. Kaz could get stabbed and beaten and shot, but this—this was the one thing he couldn't bear. "No'' Yes!

But you seemed in tune with his soul. As it has always been since he first saw you. You seemed to see beyond Brekker facade. Your footsteps reached him like desperate birds, your beautiful eyes growing wider every moment you saw the details of his injuries.

He didn't move from the chair, even when he should have, even when you fell to your knees between his feet, looking at him with so much fear and panic that he felt his heart skip a beat. Damn organ.

Yes. You looked beyond Brekker, You looked at Rietveld. And no one ever looked at Rietveld. “I promise to be quick. Just let me clean up the blood. Let me sterilize the knife cuts.’’ Your voice had so much pain that Kaz thought you were the one who suffered the beating. Which was impossible. Because Kaz Brekker would never let anyone touch you. but he can't touch you either. Yes, his fucking fate.

He wondered if you were so shaken because of guilt. Did you know that the 12 men he owed money got together to beat him? Did you know that he just hadn't paid because he used all the money to buy you? That's why you were so sentimental? Because the guilt. Out of pity. But it was impossible, Kaz never said anything about it. Maybe he was just looking for reasons to justify the magnitude of your concern with something other than feelings of the heart. “Please… I can't- I can't see you like this.” Your voice took him out of his thoughts, realizing that no matter how much he screamed inside, his expression remained as hard as a stone.

“I’m scared that something irreversible could happen.’’ you were honest, exposing your heart because you knew he wouldn’t expose his “Please, the thought of you dying makes me scared.’’ Yes, you were scared…like a cute rabbit. His body was hurting too much to know which stab wound was deeper, which were more superficial and which caused you so much panic.

Kaz swallowed around the lump in his throat, his heart beating wildly in his chest, but for a reason completely different from the wounds and bruising that plagued his body. Kaz wanted to put his guard up and push you away, but the sight of you kneeling before him, your eyes pleading for his consent as you raised your palm up to his battered and bloodied skin, that pleading tone - And that dress. The fucking dress he bought for you - was making him lose.

Kaz looked down at your face. His heart was burning. What am I doing? Your eyes, gazing up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks, you were breaking because of him, for him. And saints — he couldn't…Not when you looked that way. Not when every fiber of his being wanted you. Touch me. Make me come out of the sea. Make me breathe again Kaz closed his eyes, his breath sharp as he braced himself. A moment of hesitation before he finally speaks. "Quick."

It was another lapsus. The biggest mistake he could make. Ketterdam was again screaming in the background in the form of furious winds; that city did not allow pure emotions, redemptions and love.

You were so quick to get up and run to the bathroom, returning with a damp towel and a desperate but relieved look. Your knees dropped to the floor once again between his feet, and your breathing was faster than it had ever been before.

You were going to touch him

It was a mistake. An absurd error. A sin and a profanation of the worst kind.

The tide of the icy ocean within him changed course, beginning to churn its waters and threatening to drown Kaz Brekker once again. The sensation was as if his skin was swelling from the cold waves, like a corpse that had been discarded at sea for centuries. And that wouldn't be far from the truth. Kaz Rietveld was shipwrecked in that ocean along with Jordie. Along with all the other unfortunate people in that damned city.

So why did he also feel Rietveld now more than ever? when you were about to touch him.

Kaz's soul stirred, perhaps in desperation, perhaps begging for release. Maybe for both things. The emotions were so strong that he felt like vomiting the salty sea water stuck in his lungs. Then he focused on one point: the smooth skin of your neck.

You were so nervous and desperate that he could see your vein pulsing, a few errant droplets of sweat running from behind your ear to your slender neck, making their tempting way, mocking Kaz for not being able to follow the same path with his fingers.

Would he be able to fool his demons if he made that journey with his mouth? Could it be that his tongue also carried his traumas?

The wet towel went over one of his cuts, and Kaz swore so loudly that it scared you. His fingers locked for a second in the chair, but your fear of him changing his mind was greater than your fear of his reactions. You pressed the towel again, and again, and moved from one wound to the next. Your movements were in automatic mode to want to take advantage of his permission as much as possible, to help as much as possible in a time limit that you didn't know.

The invisible clock chimed like a premonition.

With one hand, you used your trembling fingers to move a piece of his cut shirt to the side. And your and his skins brushed

Holy Mother of Saints. Kaz grunted, letting his head fall back and pressing his fingers into the wood of the chair's arms even more. He closed his eyes tightly. The avalanche of emotions raised a tisunami in his sea and crashed over him with such brutality that Kaz felt he might die again. And revive.

Your fingers brushed against his skin once again, and this time his chest exploded on a different note; as if the heat of the sun was fighting to rescue him from the bottom of the sea. Making its way through the petrifying waters like a ray of heat. Like a chance. A hope. Or as an illusion.

Kaz Brekker never cried. He came out of that ocean swearing revenge, like a ghost, a monster, the murderer of Rietveld. Vowing to be a knight of the apocalypse. But he was none of those things. Kaz was a man of flesh and blood. With a heart that bled every day, with a soul neglected and so massacred that it bordered on unrecognizability: but not total annihilation.

Kaz Brekker never cried. But Kaz Rietveld did.

Being touched, after so many years without even human contact, made Brekker want to vomit, scream, cut his hands off, drown himself with Jordie, blow Pekker's brains out. But it made Rietveld want to cry, to cry out to the saints for salvation, to beg that he could have just one good thing in life. Please. his soul tore in prayers. Please…let me have this moment…for the love of God, have mercy on me just now. Somehow, he didn't vomit, and his skin on his became more like being caressed by the sun. He squeezed his eyes closed even more and imagined himself on the roof of the Crow Club, beneath the midday sun of the height of summer.

You were the sun. Just it.

Your hands pressed bandages into his deep cuts.

You were the sun. Just it.

Your breathing was heavy and your fingers pushed the rest of his bloody shirt away.

You were the sun. Just it.

Kaz repeated that like a mantra. A prayer. A choir. An exorcism. But his midday sun at the height of summer was beginning to be clouded, the sea on the horizon was beginning to swell, and Jordie's voice was beginning to rise from the dead in the air. The second he couldn't take it anymore, you pulled his hands away. Brekker breathed a sigh of relief. Rietveld screamed in despair.

‘’You’re going to be fine’’ your voice was as shaky as his emotions.

Kaz couldn't open his eyes yet. Not now. Not at this moment and… the absence of touch gave way to the feeling of extremely warm lips touching one of his bandages for a second.

This removed him from his disabilities. Stunned and perplexed, Kaz opened his eyes immediately and tilted his head towards you the same second his your moved away.

If your touches had been the sun, that micro kiss had been the entire fire.

“My mother one day said that kissing the wound makes it heal faster.” Maybe you were holding on tooth and nail to all the things that guaranteed you that Kaz Brekker would survive that moment.

Maybe a kiss heals wounds faster... indeed. Kaz Brekker thought before a curve of a smile painted his lips.

[eiraeths]

Penpals Ghost and Soap who met through an anonymous support group system for enlisted soldiers. Ghost didn’t want to join initially but some pushing from Price and he gave in. He didn’t expect much to come from it, a few letters here and there that’d eventually taper off and him and whoever his penpal was would forget about each other soon after.

Only that didn’t happen.

Ghost didn’t expect the person who wrote the letter to be in the same boat as him, sharing the same frustrations about support groups full of people trying to keep their head above the water, only to be organized and run by people trying to keep their head above the water. He didn’t expect himself to pick up a pen and start writing a response letter after reading the most horrid pun he’d ever rested his eyes on.

He didn’t expect to enjoy it, let alone want to know more about this Soap guy. More and more letters are sent and received and somehow, they integrate into his daily routine. He looks forward to the letters arriving twice a month. He never knew he could anticipate something.

Soap likes loud things, Ghost learns. Music, cars, explosions, any and everything loud. He has gym routines and lists upon lists of everything he does. He adores math and chemistry—for reasons Ghost can’t wrap his head around—and always goes on long-winded tangents about his day.

Ghost thinks he likes Soap.

One letter comes with a photo. A printed out polaroid with the center focus being on man with a mohawk. Soap says they’ve been talking long enough, and Ghost might as well know what he looks like.

Ghost didn’t expect for himself to track down a photo printing camera and send one back—no mask present—nor did he expect for Soap to call him cute. No one knew, but he kept the photo tucked into his plate carrier on every op. And he sure as hell didn’t expect to find himself flustered over some damn words.

A few years go by without a day missed. Ghost didn’t expect for Soap to miss sending a letter. Then two.

He didn’t expect to go to the mail room and his dread turn to excitement when he saw a letter addressed to him. Only to turn to dread when opening the letter to different handwriting, and knowing what happened, knowing Soap was dead the moment he didn’t see chicken scratch capital letters or random marks on the paper from where soap would tap his pencil while thinking.

He didn’t expect to feel this much grief over someone he never met in person. Didn’t expect to feel this much grief over what could’ve been, might’ve been if they had just met up.

[moonsaver]

Yan!Alhaitham wears you to work.

It was easy. Finding your shampoo, soaps, scents.. practically any daily use items that you usually bought from the bazaar. He stalks you almost casually – nodding at you familiarly when you do spot him, as if seeing him for the 5th time in the same day wasn't creepy. You seem uncomfortable, but don't bother confronting him about it. Mainly either due to the fact you don't want a confrontation, or you simply aren't sure if he's stalking you in the first place.

In the shower, your scent fills the entire bathroom. He considers any free time now dedicated to thinking about you. The fabrics you wore yesterday seemed to have a few loose threads. According to the bottle of perfume he bought at the same time as yours, yours is running out. A visit to the old lady tucked away in the corner of the bustling street is probably on your weekly schedule, now. The scent of your soap clings to his skin comfortably, emanating gently in a still space. If he stood for long enough, your acquaintances might actually realise they're smelling you on him. Whether or not it's a good thing.. who knows. He doesn't care.

The tap stops, and he steps out. The droplets of water follow his feet as he walks. Your towel – or rather, a duplicate he bought. Your scented oils. Your hand cream. Your preferred ink, pens, even the bookmark you'd recently bought. All of them are assorted neatly into his drawer. All duplicates, of course. His diligent hand picks up the perfume bottle, the liquid ebbing on the glass surface as he tilts it in the sunlight. Your birthday's coming up soon. He's also recently caught wind of your favorite flowers – this time by accident. His prickly ears manage to pick up the particularly interesting conversation you had approximately 16 days ago, when you mentioned the recent Sumeru Rose body lotion you'd just bought. Although, he's not blind. He's observed the twitching of your hands towards the Lumidouce Bell scented bottle that was recently imported. You had to draw your hand back by force due to the price. Your birthday's coming up. He managed to get a look at the price after you left dejectedly with the one you were talking about.

His fingers press and spritz the perfume over his clothes. The fabric must have practically shaped themselves to the drops of the perfume from how often he's sprayed it in the same place, but now his closet smells like you. Perfumes last longer than lotion, he thinks. He should just get you a different perfume, instead. The merchant sold Lumidouce perfumes, too. Your birthday's coming up. The fact repeats in his mind. Should he get you a card? No, that's not enough. He saw you recently pick up a romance book. Unfortunately for you, it's a series, and the last he's heard about it – is it has deadly cliffhangers. He'll probably gift you the next volume.

He feels a slight tug of a smile on the corner of his lips, his fingers sliding over the vast collection of books, landing on the stiff spine of a book. He's already bought it in advance. Should he sneak in a small card in there? That would be better. If he remembers correctly (which he always does); you should have half the day off on your birthday, and you plan on spending it with your friends and family. He'll give it to you before you clock out. Maybe, he thinks, if his words sift through well enough, he'll manage to squeeze himself into your guest list. So, for the time being, he thinks up certain conversation topics for today, and the next day, and so on until your birthday. By rough estimates, you'll be familiar enough with him to invite him just shy of a day or two before. The door of his room clicks as he leaves.

The Akasha had not much use to Alhaitham until he realized the significant potential it had after that Cyno-prediction system those sages crafted up. He manages to tinker in his own study enough to make a special version of you. And so far, it's 100% accurate. He can already visualise you on your way to work, and the conversation he has in mind. Your responses are crafted skillfully by the device in his head, before you even think about uttering them.

[eyelambspider]

𝟎𝟓. 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 & 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐩 || 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 "𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩" 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐓𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 (𝐅𝐞𝐦. 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Day five of Kink/Creeptober! Here is a list of my prompts & event terms!

Link to the Male!reader Version!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : john "soap" mactavish x fem!reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : A mission out in the desert makes anyone thirsty, and your guide offers you and soap a drink made by the locals. The night only gets 'better' when you both wake up in each others bodies... sticking together in the same bed so neither of you does any 'unwanted' exploring. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.2 k 𝐚/𝐧 : yo! if y'all want any other versions plz request and I'll try my best! love y'all 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : body swap! smut (towards the end) grinding/dry humping, handjobs, kissing, pinning, accidentally turning each other on

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐒. The only shade came from the thin mesh that hung loosely over the trucks roof. The sun relentlessly beaming down on the tops of the TaskForce members' heads.

You, Soap, Gaz and Ghost were sitting in the bed of the truck, swaying with every bounce over the rough terrain. Everyone's gun was hanging loosely in their laps, eyes closed, trying their best not to pass out from the heat.

Price-the lucky bastard-got to sit in the front with the locals, telling them where to go and which turns to take.

You groaned softly, a sound that caught everyone's attention over the roar of the engine. It was too fucking hot out. It felt like your blood was beginning to simmer under your skin. Face flushed, the tops of your shoulders beginning to burn, and the heat making your head start to throb.

"Try not to pass out on us," Soap nudged you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder much to your dismay. He was just as sweaty as you were, and too warm against your side.

You cracked an eye open to glance at him; A thin sheen of sweat glistening off his skin, and a fine red sunburn running over the bridge of his nose. The sight made you laugh dryly, "You're gonna fucking feel that in the morning."

"Here," Gaz offered, sitting across from you and Soap, next to Ghost. He opened a canteen and drank a bit of water, handing it to Ghost first.

The water was a fucking relief to everyone. You could even feel the heat rolling off of Soap's body next to you. It was disgusting—and a miracle that he wasn't on the verge of fainting...

He still had that handsome grin on his face.

Soap pulled his arm off you and reached across for the water, until a cool hand tapped your shoulder.

"This will help better than the water."

A pair of dull green eyes peered back at you, holding out a little black bottle that couldn't have been any bigger than your palm. Before you could kindly decline the old woman, she nudged it into your hands. Her bone-thin fingers shockingly cold against yours.

"Drink," she whispered with a kind, broken smile.

You were too nice to decline... and too dehydrated to care about possible repercussions. It was a nice gesture anyway.

First, you subtly smelled the strange drink, bringing it close to your lips. It was odorless. A complete mystery before you pressed the cool rim of the glass to your cracked lips.

The liquid was cold, as if it was taken right off a glacier. You only managed a kind sip, enough to please the woman and not take the whole thing. The rose-flavored water leaving a sticky residue in your throat as you swallowed it.

A cool shudder prickled up your spine, crawling over your shoulders and leaving goosebumps.

It... It didn't feel like you were sweating anymore suddenly.

The woman cracked an even wider grin, the deep crows feet near her eyes crinkling with pride. "You," her eyes trailed over to Soap, "Drink."

Soap however tried to deny her, holding his hands up in protest before she repeated herself.

"Drink."

Soap sighed and grabbed the bottle next. He didn't hesitate and tipped the glass back. The same surprised look on his face when he swallowed it. Sitting right next to you, you could feel his muscles momentarily tense.

When the woman turned her impish grin towards Gaz and Ghost, both men shook their hands. "We're good ma'am," Ghost raised the water canteen in a silent gesture of thanks for her offer.

The rest of the ride went on much the same for the next hour. By the time the truck had arrived to the small safehouse, it was already dark out. Night had descended like a cold veil, freezing the sweat to your skin. The heat had died in a blink, rendering the dark sands of the desert into a barren tundra.

Everyone grabbed their things and hopped off, ready for a goodnights rest.

Rooms were split much like how the truck was. Price, in his own room, Ghost and Gaz bunking together... That left you with Soap again.

That night, sleep was difficult.

Nightmares swam across your vision. Faces and laughter from a place you could never quite see, and a searing heat began to consume you. As if the sun itself was trying to swallow you.

With a jolt, you were awake. Panting and sweating coldly against your blankets. Had you been... thrashing in your sleep?

When was the last time you dreamed like that? Fucking weird.

You sat up in the single bed with a groan, head throbbing so hard you could feel the pulse in your temples. Getting out of bed, you padded over to the small bathroom, flicking the light on.

Did you really get sunburnt that bad—...ly?

Your eyes trailed over to the figure in the mirror, icy terror making you momentarily freeze when you realized it wasn't your reflection staring back.

"JESUS FUCKIN—!" Before the scream could fully come out of your lips, you had stumbled back against the doorframe, knocking the air of your lungs.

The mirror! The fucking mirror!

Then, like straight out of a horror movie, your body appeared next to you. "Hey, what's..." your voice echoed back to you before stopping and going pale. As if you'd seen a ghost.

What the fuck was going on?!

John "Soap" Fucking MacTavish was in your body, and you were in his. A cold chill ran up your spine at the mere thought.

The two of you had collected yourself from the terror just enough to keep from waking everyone else up. But all you could do was stare at yourself with a sick feeling in your stomach, god you barely even wanted to touch your face. Too afraid to touch the stubble on his jaw again. The first time you had done it just made the situation all too real.

"This is..." Soap trailed off, glancing down at his feet and up his new chest curiously, "fucking weird," he whispered before you saw him try to bring his hands up to touch.

"Cut that out!" you scolded, smacking his hands away. A fiery blush begin to crawl up your neck. "Stop-Stop fucking touching!"

"What? Okay! I'm sorry!" he held his hands up defensively.

It was so strange to watch your own face blush. The smooth complexion of your skin heating up with embarrassment, the tips of your ears burning.

You sighed, turning your eyes away letting your hands rest on your legs. Trying to wring out the nerves from your fingertips.

. . .

Your hands rested on... Soap's legs? His thighs? The thought was immediately halted, and you were suddenly aware of just how fucking strong his legs felt under your hands. Soap's hands? You turned your palms towards your eyes, blushing hard when you realized just how rough and masculine they looked up close.

The same hands that you watched squeeze triggers.

"Like what you see?" Soap teased, his voice abruptly pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Shut up," you retorted quietly. God, you could only stand to look at him (in your body) for a few moments. The vision of you in your shirt and shorts a bit too... freaky. Was this just going to go away eventually? Or was this just all a weird hallucination?

"What are we going to do?" you asked quietly.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugged before he unintentionally reached for your waistband. The act natural for Soap whenever he thought, but seeing him do it while he was in your body made you panic.

"Fuck, I said stop that—!" you whispered harshly, wrenching his hands away before he could get another feel.

The moment your rough hands grabbed his wrists and pulled them up. Soap's new body reacted hastily, a surprised moan slipping from his lips. A sound that made you both freeze where you stood.

"Soap," you breathed out shakily, still pinning his hands above his head, squeezing a bit too tightly. Both of your faces flushed a deep hue under the darkness of the room.

Looking down at him like that—seeing your face all blushed and tilted slightly up to look at you. Soap's body reacted, a sharp flush of need shooting straight towards your groin. The new flood of arousal made your heart skip a beat.

Did... Soap's body get turned on when he saw you like this?

The image made you visibly jolt, letting go of his wrists in a flash and stepping back. Offering a small "sorry" in apology.

There was a moment of silence before he finally breathed out and glanced up at you again. "I won't do anymore exploring," he started.

"How the hell am I supposed to know that?"

"Well, how am I supposed to know that you don't start putting your hands all over me?" He defended, leaving you both in a dead stalemate.

It left only one option: Sharing a bed. At least until the morning came and you two could figure this out, or let it pass.

The two of you were watching each other, unsure of what to say, laying on your sides facing each other. Hands respectfully where each of you could see them.

What was there to say? With Soap staring at you through your eyes, it made your body react with another jolt of heat.

"Fuck," you murmured, finally rolling onto your back to stare up at the ceiling.

"What?" he asked skeptically, his eyes still on you.

It was embarrassing to admit, it felt like-like a violation of some kind. "You're..." you swallowed, a bit unsure of how to say it. "Every time I look at you- You're body gets..." you trailed off, heat searing into the tips of your ears.

Soap's body was rock hard. Acutely aware of the heat of him laying next to you, the way he breathed softly. Itching to just reach out. And god, all those thoughts made blood rush straight to his-

You heard his breath hitch, and he stayed quiet for a moment. A secret that seemed to have fucking slipped right out of his control. "Well-It's a natural thing," he defended, shuffling uncomfortably next to you.

You glanced over, his hands next to him, trying not to feel your body like you'd hoped.

And he was still gauging your reactions, gritting his teeth lightly in the comfort of the dark room.

"I..." he sighed long and hard before he rolled over and pressed against your side boldly. "I can't help it," he admitted, grabbing onto your arm, gently coaxing you to look at him.

"You're really fucking sexy," he murmured, "its, not just about your body either," he added.

"And I think you feel the same."

The statement caught you equally off guard.

What did he mean? Was he-?

"You're wet. I can feel it."

You're breath caught in your throat as you peered down at him through the darkness. Your bodies so close that you could feel the heat beginning to build between the sheets.

Soaps eyes flickered down to your lips, before his hand reached out to touch the broad expanse of your new chest. His nerves melting away into a playful grin that you'd know anywhere. Even if he was in your body. "Feels good." he teased, easing the tension between both of you.

You shifted onto your side, hesitantly hovering your hand over his hip, pulling him closer.

Slowly, his lips pressed to yours. Each of your bodies reacting to the new sensation that they had been craving. Your hand flexed and squeezed his hip more firmly, slowly beginning to drown in desire.

Soap's hand slithered down between the two of you, his fingers skimming over the sweats he had worn to bed, a small smirk playing on his lips as he felt just how hard his cock was.

It wasn't unusual for him to go to bed 'thinking' of you. And now here you both were: sharing a room, in each other's bodies, kissing each other tentatively, as if neither could believe this was real.

His leg lifted slowly, allowing your hips to jut forward and press your bodies together. The new friction making you both break away from the kiss in a pant.

"Fuck, that feels good," Soap admitted, his face stained with lust.

It only spurred you on more, precum beginning to leak as you grinded forward into him. The tip of your cock brushing against his core. The feeling could only be described as a searing heaven.

"Soap," you whispered, almost needily, the low gravelly sound of his own voice made him shiver beside you.

The reaction made you roll on top of him with a quickness that surprised both of you. Hovering over him, his body silhouetted in the soft moonlight. Your hearts raced, seeing each of your bodies from a new light that was both thrilling, and a little terrifying.

But one look at each other, and it was clear neither of you really wanted to stop.

[ghostmoon1]

Day Four - Bed Rest

Ghost x Soap

Master List

I struggled to get this one out, I wasn't sure on how to write it! But I hope you all like it, I sorta like how it turned out!

CW: Mentions of being shot, poor Simon is wounded

Words: 1,057

Johnny’s hands tapped against the railings, letting the small sound echo to his ears with a sigh. Looking over the land, the rolling hills glistening in golden grass, the white specks of wildflowers waving along with the grass in the breeze.

He was silently thankful for Price, letting them stay here while Ghost had to recover after a hard mission. He knew being shot hurt, but being shot in the shoulder blade, where you couldn't move your arm at all was horrible when you're so used to always moving. Simon was a whole other story.

He was so used to always doing something, if that were fixing something at home, training or even doing paperwork, he’d find something to keep himself busy. Johnny didn’t quite understand why he couldn’t just stop and take a break, relax for a bit. But he couldn’t stop the man when he had his heart set on doing something. He was grateful he had to be on bedrest, maybe he could finally just sit and relax, not worrying about always having to do something. Maybe he can finally rest, after having spent so long not having a day of rest since joining the military. That’s what he thought anyway.

Deciding to retreat back inside, grabbing himself a mug to make his coffee for the morning. He almost spills the water as he suddenly hears a crash from another room, with multiple curses coming after. He quickly sets everything down, carefully making his way to the noise. His steps were quiet and careful, avoiding each floorboard that creaked with trained military precision. He quickly reached over, grabbing the first thing he could reach for, which so happened to be the clock. He didn;t think that’d do much to an intruder, but it’d give him some time to stun him before putting him in a headlock, or knocking him out. Being a trained military personnel gives you a lot of options.

He silently turned the corner, peeking his head out first before his body followed. The clock was raised in front of him, ready to hit anyone over the head. He wouldn’t let anyone disturb Simon’s rest, he needs this. He wanted to give him this-

“Simon?”

As he steps around the corner, he’s met with Simon, his duffle bag on the ground with its contents splayed over the ground. Every movement he makes causes him to grunt in pain. He’s hunched over, mumbling stuff to himself as he uses his better arm to move stuff to the side. He doesn’t even notice Johnny saying his name nor him being in the doorway.

“Simon?” he calls again, taking a few steps closer to get a better look at the mess that he was making over the carpet. He recognises the bag, the one they pack when staying back at the base, full of army-issued clothing, a notebook and comfort items that he brings along with him to base, even if he doesn’t have many of those. 

Finally Simon grunts in response, but not moving his focus away from the bag. “SImon, what are yer doing out here yer idiot. Your ass is supposed to be in bed rest!”

“Don’t want to stay in the good for nothin bed…” Simon mutters, throwing more clothes on the floor behind him.

Johnny just sighs and moves to sit next to him on the ground, watching him with furrowed brows as every movement causes him more pain than he was already in. “Your shoulder won’t heal properly if you're up and about doing shit like this you twat.”

Simon grunts in response, obviously annoyed that he was being ordered by his Sargent to get back into bed and just by the fact he was already in pain. 

Johnny shakes his hand, placing his hand on his knee and squeezing gently, urging him to relax. Once he finally starts to feel his muscles relax under his touch, he smiles softly and runs his thumb over his knee, watching his face soften slightly. Being out of work and out of public, this was one of the few times he gets to see Ghost without the mask, it was Simon. Not Ghost.

“What are you even looking for?” he mutters, eyes shifting back down to the duffle bag on the ground. He furrowed his brows as he studied the mess he had made, his hands still rummaging through the bag desperately.

He groans and throws the bag forward, grunting in pain and clutching his shoulder as pain sparks through his shoulder again at the movement. Johnny sighs, moving to wrap his arm around his waist hoping to bring him back to his bed.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed,” he murmurs, helping him stand up. Even if he could walk by himself, it scared him too much to have him walking around alone like this.

Simon groans softly, but lets him help him up. “I can’t find it…” 

“Find what, Si?”

“The bracelet you gave me.”

Johnny pauses for a moment as he studies his face. It’s not a lot that he will see his Lieutenant in even the slightest distress, but this felt so different, more personal. He frowns once it hits him that he can’t find it. But that would have to be a problem for another day, right now he needed to get back to his bed rest.

“It’s ‘right, we’ll find it later. Right now you need more bed rest,” he says as he helps him lay back down into the bed, trying not to even brush against his shoulder.

Simon groans but lets him help him lay back down, rolling onto his good shoulder with a huff in annoyance. Johnny tries to pull away after, but finds Simon gripping his hand tightly, tugging on it softly. He chuckles and understands what he wants, carefully settling down behind him in the bed. He tangles his legs with his, carefully threading his arm underneath Simon’s, trying his hardest not to bump his shoulder.

“Get some rest.”

“Only cause you won’t stop nagging me till I do,” Simon mutters, mostly under his breath. But as he faces away from Johnny, savouring the warmth of his body close to his, pressing against his back, a small smile spreads across his lips. He felt safe.

He felt at home.

[autisticempathydaemon]

Redactober 2024 Day Twenty-Three

Prompt: Morgan & Money

Pairing: Morgan/Morgan’s Listener

cw: second person POV, Morgan is inspired by Nick Young from Crazy Rich Asians

“Morgan, the bread costs more money than I make in two hours.”

Available on AO3 here!

<- Prev Day | Next Day ->

“When you said let’s get dinner somewhere near the department office, I imagined something more… casual, lowkey.”

“Yeah? There is this Michelin ramen place from Japan that just opened a California location that I was considering, but that seemed like it’d be busy. I picked here because it’d be more quiet.” You look around at the fine furnishings of the French bistro, the housemade butter on the table, and the semi-private table away from the main dining room with a maître d’ just around the corner if you call, and you agree it’s quiet… quiet luxury perhaps. As Morgan flips through the wine list, tapping his fingers in thought against the table, you really look at him and notice the sleek watch on his wrist, the immaculate tailoring of his suit, the lush youth of his skin that glows of the best korean skin care.

“Morgan Kyne, are you loaded?” you ask, staring incredulously at him over your menu so you don’t have to look at the highbrow items ominously labeled “MP” for “Market Price”.

“Hardly,” he says with a small laugh and dismissive wave of the hand. “I’d consider myself… comfortable.”

“Morgan, the bread costs more money than I make in two hours. I don’t think I can be here; I can’t afford this.”

“You can and should be here, because you’re my guest,” the other seer insists, leaning closer to lightly touch your wrist and meet your eyes. “You don’t need to afford it, because I invited you to dinner; thus it’s my treat.” His gaze is intense and solid, his touch fleeting and electric, and you giggle nervously between his attention and unfamiliar, understated grandeur of the place.

“Are you sure it’s not the Sodality’s treat? Feels like you’re trying to show off how much they pay their Seer Obscuras,” you joke, sipping the water you have an uncomfortable suspicion was served to you in bonafide crystal.

“It’s not nothing, I’ll give you that. Though, if I thought that was all it took, I would have taken you somewhere really fancy,” he jokes back with a grin, revealing a rarely spotted dimple in his right cheek that is more tempting than any three star dinner.

[the-comorbidity]

Pay Girl

summary: sex was a commodity in the QZ, and Joel Miller would do (and pay) damn near anything to have you

warnings: MDNI!! prostitution, consensual sex, mean!joel, prostitute!reader, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v, mentions of subspace, overstimulation, use of "baby brain", "dollface", "pretty girl", face tapping? not like slapping, just light taps, biting, possessive!joel

wordcount: 1942

a/n: welcome to my first ever post/work on this account!! i hope you enjoy, please be sure to provide feedback if possible xx

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Joel Miller was not above paying for sex. Here, in the QZ, everyone was on the verge of murder for any sexual release, and men would crumble just for the sweet feeling of sliding in.

Joel Miller was not above paying for sex.

He’d learned of your little business when he was snooping for more passages to the outside. It was… quiet, he’d admit. Didn’t look like what it was from the outside with nothing demarcating the door other than a ratty sock just outside the door. He stepped in trying to scour the place for supplies, and came out with a list of services and prices instead.

He’d tried a few different women, but you were his favorite.

You, with the soft skin and the sweet voice. You, with the fruit scented hair and the vanilla scented lotion. You, who was much younger than Joel.

You, who was the stuff wet dreams were made of.

He could always tell it was you who came to his door. You knocked thrice every time, raps on the door so soft that if Joel had the radio any louder, he would’ve missed it. But even if it were, he scheduled a time and you were nothing if not purely obedient.

He opened the door and you were there, ratty sneakers and a shirt that exposed your midriff. He’d guessed you got your hands on a tube of lipstick, because your cheeks had a light dusting of pink, and your lips looked the perfect shade of kissable.

Joel didn’t say anything, just moved over to let you in, but he was already growing hard at the thought of seeing tears roll down your pretty face.

“Where do you want me?” You say, and he nods towards the bed.

“Sit up on the side, I want your mouth on me first.” You hum so goddamn innocently, and Joel was sure he’d cum in his pants if he had to spend another minute without his hands on you.

He unbuttons the bottom three buttons of his flannel and unzips his jeans while you strip bare and take a seat, and you can feel your mouth water at the trail of hair that goes from his stomach to his cock, which slaps up against the golden skin of his belly. He steps up to you, cupping your small face in his much larger hands, and tilts your chin so he can stare down at you.

“You want me?” He asks and you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes and fuck, he needs you.

“Beg.” His voice is pitched higher just a little, like the words he’s saying don’t have a filthy meaning behind them. But it’s the way your voice wavers when his cock twitches at your pleads and his hands in your hair that keep your head tugged back and the tears on your bottom lid, it’s that which makes him shut you up.

“Kiss it. No hands.” You do as he says, keeping your thumbs held behind your back as you bend down and kiss the tip, the salty taste of his precum floating over your tongue to coat your senses in everything him. His hands gather up your hair in a rudimentary ponytail, urging you to take more.

Joel tosses his head back, a deep groan etching and carving its way from the bottom of his throat as he feels your constrict around him. Sweet, darling you, he can feel you gagging when the tip of your nose brushes the wiry hair that sits at the base.

He’s so thick, you think, and your lips are tiring from stretching around him. There’s a particular moment in which he tugs you down by the hair but thrusts up at the same time, and you gag so hard your hands come flying forward to push him away on instinct. He practically pushes you off of him, a disgruntled noise coming from him.

“Didn’t I say no fuckin’ hands? The fuck am I payin’ you for?” Your lips tremble, and his hand surprisingly comes up to hold your chin tenderly before winding back and tapping your face a few times as if you were stupid and he were trying to explain the simplest thing to you.

“Do you think you can lay back on the bed? Can you follow those orders, or is it too fuckin’ hard for your little baby brain to comprehend?”

“I c-can do it.” You lay back, just as he says, your back propped up with pillows that smell so distinctly like Joel and as his hand sneaks up your inner thighs to the place that’s dripping for him, you feel yourself start to get a little floaty.

His fingers brush the insides of your thighs, barely inches away from where you need him the most. He hears your breath hitch when he swipes a finger, collecting your juices before bringing it up to his mouth. He hums around his finger, cleaning it off and getting it wet before bringing it back down and pushing it in. He feels you squirm away almost immediately, caught off-guard by the sudden intrusion, but he throws an arm over your hips and leans down, effectively pinning you where you lay.

“Nuh uh, pretty girl, you take what I give you, you understand? No squirmin’ away.”

God, he’s so mean. But as he adds another finger and begins to circle your clit with his thumb, skin rough and calloused, the only thing you pray for is that he doesn’t stop. Your legs shake from the onslaught of pleasure, and he looks like he finds joy in your struggle to speak.

You can’t even tell him you’re on the precipice of release. The noises spilling from you aren’t close to words and he needs you to ask permission before you do, but you can’t escape his pleasure because of the heavy arm over your waist. His eyes are trained on you, lips twisted up in a sick smirk that tells you exactly what you need to know; he knows you’re about to cum.

“Remember to ask, dollface.” He’s so unbearable. Your hands unfurl themselves from his sheets and instead claw at the arm that lays heavy over your waist.

“Joel, ‘m close.” You manage to get out, and he chuckles.

“Yeah?” He says, readjusting himself so his mouth is level with your ear without halting his motions, “hold it.”

“Can’t, Joel, please.” You beg, yet he remains silent, curling his fingers slightly to add to your pleasure. He sighs, as if you couldn’t complete the simplest of tasks.

“If you cum now, you’re not stopping. No breaks.” His voice goes dark, and you try everything possible to stave your orgasm off, but the nips of pleasure become too much and your toes curl as your pussy clenches around his fingers, your thighs tightening over his wrist.

He clicks his tongue at you as he grabs a condom out of the nightstand and rolls it over himself. He makes you feel worthless, with the way he pulls his fingers out of you and replaces them with his cock, stretching you out beyond belief. He quiets your whimpers of overstimulation by shoving his fingers in your mouth, and he gives you no moment of reprieve, fucking you almost immediately after you cum.

You’re sobbing around his fingers. The pace he’s set is unbearable and you want nothing more than him to fully shed his flannel and run your fingers over his skin, pulling him close. You need to feel his weight on you, something, anything. He’s dangling you in this fragile headspace and you need him. Finally, he pulls his fingers away, using his hands to push your thighs up and fuck you deeper somehow, pushing you over the edge again, the orgasm sharp, all pain and pinpricks. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and he laughs at you, all dark and growly.

“Joel.” He looks up at you from where his glance was, watching you take him almost effortlessly. You reach your arms out, not trusting your voice for anything more than his name.

“You wanna feel me? You want me close?” You tug at the buttons of his shirt, and he unbuttons them quickly and throws his flannel away before allowing you to tug him by the shoulders onto you. He tilts your head up, exposing your neck to him before swooping in and marking you up.

“Mine,” he whispers against your skin, “all fuckin’ mine.” Your nails sink into his skin, dragging down to leave raised red tracks in their wake. He groans into your neck, the pain making him fuck you even harder. The noises the both of you are making are obscene, coupled with the sound of him sliding in and out and the rickety headboard slamming against the wall, it’s all too much and you can feel your third orgasm growing just out of reach.

The sting of overstimulation has faded once again, and you can tell that Joel nears his end, with the way his hips meet yours with no set pace, and the way his hands curl tighter into the meat of your thighs, definitely leaving bruises for the next few days.

“You close?” He asks, just a peak of the softness that lay behind the rough and tumble exterior.

“I need-” You grumble out the rest of your sentence, curling your hand around his wrist and placing his fingers on your clit, the barely-there pressure already causing your body to twist. He gets the hint, circling your clit with more and more pressure until you choke on your words and look up at him with tears in your eyes.

“Awh, you’re gettin’ there, ain’t ya? Almost there for me?” You nod, eyes rolling back once again when the pleasure gets overwhelming.

“‘M there, pretty girl, you gonna cum with me? You gotta cum with me, wanna feel this gorgeous cunt milkin’ my cock.” His words are making you clench around him, and suddenly you’re getting closer and closer to bliss. It’s not razor sharp, not like your first or second ones. No, this seems more gentle, as if you’re running up and then subsequently rolling down a grassy knoll. It’s soft and warm and welcoming, welcoming to the ache in your joints. He cums with a mighty groan, emptying into the condom. He thrusts a few more times, toying with his own prickly feeling of overstimulation before pulling out, ridding himself of the prophylactic and tying it off. Joel groans as he rolls over, pulling you with him until you rest on his chest.

“How was that?” You ask, a chuckle pouring out of the Texan.

“Glad I asked for ya.” He says simply.

From the first time meeting Joel to now, you realized he was a man of very few words, rather showing his affection in ways of service or physical attention. But then again, you’re a pay girl. Aftercare isn’t in the “contract”, so to say. With Joel, you could get about five minutes of his soft, molten interior before he built his walls back up, inevitably getting out of bed to clean you with a towel that had all of the fibers burnt together, like he was wiping you with sandpaper. He’d help you get your clothes on, maybe offer you a drink.

But at the end of the day? You were here for payment. And he’d shell out ration cards and cigarettes to you and call it a day, but the both of you knew that you’d end up in his bed again.

[roachsideblog]

Goretober Day 16: Crying

Thanks @nonsenseafterdark for the list!

TWs: None, surprisingly.

Ghost finds Roach in a compromised emotional state. He empathizes.

Words: 681

Pairing: GhostRoach

~~~

Ocean wind blew in from the rocky coast, thick with the stench of brine and seaweed, carrying sand that abraded everything in sight. It eroded the little town west of Manchester Ghost and Roach mistakenly chose to spend their leave visiting. Not a surface in sight was free from its weathering touch: statues found their details eaten by time, cement walls and walkways chewed up into crumbling aggregate, even Roach’s cheeks wore red from its force. And Ghost knew it wasn’t sunburn. No, not lick of sunshine came all week. Judging by the anvil cloud looming over the Irish Sea, the second week wouldn’t be any better.

Ghost sat up in his king bed of their hotel room. Indulging in a little voyeurism he watched his Sergeant outside drape over the balcony. Roach’s bed, furthest from the sliding glass door, lay messy after he’d been tossing and turning all night. Some selfish part of Ghost wondered if he’d sleep better if they shared the bed. If Ghost could hold him. Cuddle and coddle him.

Weary, the Lieutenant rubbed his face, stubble catching his calloused hands. He needed a glass of water to wash the taste of sleep from his mouth. Roach might appreciate one, too. With two paper cups now full of lukewarm tap water, since their overpriced room had no mini-fridge and the ice machine was broken, he stepped outside to join his sulking friend.

Roach jumped but said nothing.

Ghost set a cup on the rail beside him, fingers hovering to ensure it wouldn’t blow over, and sipped his own. He waited to be addressed, gut instinct whispering that some situations don’t require words to resolve.

Roach hugged himself. He shuttered in the dropping autumn temperatures—scratch that; his shoulders shook and his chest heaved breaths that smoked out into the abyss. They rose and dissipated as if they never existed. Meanwhile, very real tears dripped from his scruffy chin towards the streetlights below.

Ghost thought it started raining at first. He’d never known Roach to cry.

“Fuck,” his Sergeant whispered. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Wasn’t sleeping well, anyway. Too quiet.”

Roach let out a single half-hearted laugh. He sniffed viscous snot back up his nose as he said, “That’s the whole reason you suggested we get out here.”

“I can’t think of the right expression. Only thing coming to mind is ‘don’t meet your heroes,’ if that makes any sense.”

He hummed. “You’re tired. Go back to bed.”

“Seems like you need some company.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Ghost sighed, waffling his arm before deciding to rest a hand on Roach’s shoulder. “Drink some water then come back to bed with me. We’ll turn off the lamp and I won’t be able to.”

“I can’t. I’ve been having nightmares,” Roach confided. He made no effort to shrug off the comfort. “What if Shepherd actually killed us? What if Price hadn’t warned us in time? We were about to march right into his bloody trap. What if I watched him put a bullet through your head? Simon, I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Ghost was no stranger to nightmares. To preemptive grief brought on by what-ifs. He had no advice because if he knew how to fix it they wouldn’t be waking him up on vacation, only to find his Sergeant up and dealing with the same issue.

He slid his hand flat across Roach’s back until his arm stretched around the man, pulling him close. “I’ve got you. I’m here. It didn’t happen.”

“It was so close! Who knows what would’ve happened, I mean—!”

Ghost cut him off with a kiss. When Roach reciprocated, turning to rest a hand on Ghost’s peck, the Lieutenant moved his hand to the back of Roach’s neck. It was sweet. All lips and no tongue. Spurred on by love rather than lust.

“I said I’ve got you,” Ghost repeated. “I’m here with you, right now, and we’re both alive. Let’s make the most of it, yeah? Come in to bed and let me hold you.”

[iridescentprose]

quest—xenk yendar x fem!reader

summary; being frenemies with xenk

author's note/ warning(s); just fluff; i'm not well versed in dungeons and dragons lore. most of my knowledge comes from the recent movie adaptation. please enjoy!

*header pictures do not belong to me*

The boisterous chatter within the tavern ceased the moment your boots hit the floorboards. Patrons - drunk on ale and joy, or full of whatever obscure meat was on their plates - turned to look up at you. For once you understood their stares. After all, you were clad in blood, guts, and what you hoped wasn't vomit while standing next to an infamous paladin who had not a scratch on his armor.

Despite slaying the same beast together, your partner - who followed you around like a fly to a corpse - survived the battle unscathed. Even his blade was stain-free thanks to some unexplainable magic you didn't bother to figure out.

"Just a water, thank you," you said to the waiter behind the counter as you settled into one of the wobbly stools. You didn't bother to wait for Xenk as he maneuvered his way through the crowd that formed along the walk way. Behind you, everyone was hovering around him, thanking him for slaying the beast that could've threatened a slew of homes.

"Thanks," you muttered to the waiter as you picked up the cup he slid towards you. You took numerous gulps from your drink as the crowd began to dissipate to give Xenk some space. You turned your back to them and found yourself face to face with the waiter and his finger tapping on a slip of paper in front of you.

"Tab's getting full," the waiter tapped the slip of paper etched with numerous food and drink items. Next to them, were accumulating prices, expenses you had yet to pay.

You read the list, some charges dating back from months ago when you were low on funds. You slowly shook your head, unable to find the words to come up with an excuse. As of now, money hadn't been your number one priority.

"Then put it on mine," a voice said from behind you. You could see his noble smile he was bearing even though you didn't turn to look at him. Gingerly, he took the seat next to you as the waiter nodded and sheepishly tucked the slip of paper away before you could protest.

"Thanks, but...you didn't have to do that," you said once the waiter was gone and Xenk had settled at the bar. He looked around, taking in your surroundings as if he were a newborn who was just seeing the world for the first time. You rolled your eyes playfully. "I'm not going to be able to pay you back."

"Consider it a gift," he said, his eyes finding your face after he seemed satisfied with what he saw around the tavern. You look down at your cup, avoiding his gaze.

"You can't keep giving me gifts."

He frowned and rose an eyebrow. "Why not?"

You turned to face him, a look of slight annoyance settling on your features. "Because—"

Because you had no means of paying him back. Because you weren't friends, but rather partners completing the same quest. Because once the quest was complete, you wanted no reminders of what could have been.

But every excuse that you had on your tongue vanished as his hand settled upon on your chin. Lightly his fingers guided your face towards his, as if he was trying to get a better look at you.

"Because, why?" he asked, eyes pleading to know. His thumb swept across the skin of your cheek, swiping away whatever grime had been left over from the creature you split in two.

Your annoyance, now gone, had been replaced with bashfulness. It was as if he had caught you doing some wrong and you were in for another lesson on nobility and righteousness.

But as the noise around you faded and his face drew closer, you were convinced otherwise.

"Y/n?" he whispered, shaking you out of your trance.

"Yeah?"

"You might want to take a breath. I'm not sure how much longer you can hold it."

Not realizing you had been holding your breath, you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Xenk, who found your flustered nature amusing, smirked mischeviously before a hearty chuckle fell from his mouth. Playfully, you swiped his hand away from your chin and lightly shoved him in the shoulder.

"Forget it," you said before gulping the last of your drink. You rose to your feet and made your way towards the exit with the heat still rising to cheeks and a smile teasing your lips.

And like always, he followed after you.

[cyberwhumper]

     Imran’s fingers feel numb and clumsy on the flimsy plastic prints. The pictures are grainy, but the features, the angle of the animal’s ears and spine, are unmistakable. The PI was worth the price after all.

        Horus is alive.

        His serial number tracked quite the tangled web across the underbelly of the city, the PI explains. Despite his pedigree, once PolyPaws felt he was past his prime—or once they couldn’t afford the worker’s compensation, Imran thinks darkly—they had auctioned him off at a loss, sending him pinballing between backyard breeders and low-rent defense contractors until he ended up chained in a 4x4 kennel in the dockyard district.

        “Some real crazy shit,” the PI says conversationally, lighting a cigarette. His ears twitch, not quite pinned, but threatening to. It’s painfully familiar. Imran’s stomach clenches.

He neatly stacks the photos with trembling hands and lays them facedown on the table. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” It’s perfunctory; he doesn’t wait for the PI’s grunt of acknowledgement before he’s out of the booth and locking the bathroom door behind him.

He turns the cold tap on full blast and stands there, gripping the chipped porcelain of the sink, staring hollowly into the mirror. The pictures feel burned into Imran’s retinas as much as the film. Horus, filthy, brutally emaciated, skin so pale it looks gray wherever it’s not striped with bruises and lesions, fur patchy and nails overgrown.

Imran shudders. What have I done?

The thought rings in his head, deafening, and his grip tightens on the sink until his knuckles go white. No, he thinks, a weak protest. He didn’t do this. He tried. He tried so hard to make Horus good—but then the devil on his shoulder creeps in, reminding him exactly how it was that he decided to train the animal to “goodness,” exactly what it was that he did when he installed the autoinjector at the base of Horus’s skull and handed Henrik the control. NO! He unbuttons his shirt cuffs and shoves his wrists under the cold water, frantic. He had to. He had to do that to Horus; God knows what someone else would’ve done to the poor thing, someone less patient and kind than Imran, someone who would’ve simply beaten and brutalized him rather than trying to help.

He only ever wanted to help. He had no choice.

The devil in him laughs. You had plenty of choices. And you chose the easy way.

Same choices now, Imran, he thinks desolately. He turns off the tap, dries his hands with a paper towel, and straightens his tie. The PI is waiting. There’s money on the line.

What have I done?

And what the hell do I do now?

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

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[gomzwrites]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

a/n: all aboard the h0rny choo choo train

Pairing: Professor John Price x fem!reader x Mr Simon Riley

contain smut(18+), minors bACK OFF, AGELESS & UNTITLED ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED!!

Notes:

✎…Banner taken from Pinterest ✎…Reader's texts are in purple ✎…Want to be added into a tag list? click here ✎…Part 1 is introduction, just me setting the scene for our reader and displaying the vibes from Price and Riley in this AU ✎…Part 2 (you're here!) is smut :) ✎…Chocolate is just my thoughts, process, notes, recommendations and future planning for the series, I welcome discussions over there if you're interested :D

Tags: ungodly amount of praises(self indulgent fr), power dynamic(dom!Price), sub!fem reader, sub!Simon(*winks* -whimpering and stuff yk), oral(f!receiving - Price giving), p in v sex(Simon fucking ya), very small dash/hint of exhibitionism, implication of Price x Ghost (they kissed and Price dom both u and Ghost), aftercare - let me know if I missed anything else

➵ Part 1 | ➵ Part 2

ogeh for those who didn't read part 1, in short you're now in Price's office with Simon and the spicy is about to happen after you consent wheeze-

Yes…yes please…

You managed to speak as their faces leaned closer, staring at your lips as they fought to kiss you, foreheads brushing each other harshly as Prof. Price let out a frustrated sigh.

Let her choose then.

Once again, they stare back at you, Prof. Price giving you a smirk as he traced his hand around your neck while Mr. Riley tilted your chin, giving you a desperate stare as you gulped. You let out a soft chuckle as you darted your eyes between them.

Will this affect my grades?

That made them stop dead in their tracks, before Prof Price laughed hard. You felt the rumble and vibration of his chest on your back as Mr. Riley scoffs. 

Only one way to find out.

You blushed slightly as you contemplated, your eyes flicking over to Prof Price’s lips and then to Riley’s, but ultimately you reached out your hands and leaned forward towards him.

M-Mr. Riley sir...

Call me Simon, love.

A smug look is evident on his face as Prof Price only hums and lets go of you. Simon held your hands and brushed your wrists slightly as he stared into your eyes before closing in the distance, ghosting his lips slightly on yours as he asked once again.

Are you sure you want this?

You nodded again before a few taps on your neck reminded you.

Yes….Simon….

With the way his name rolled off your tongue, he let out another breath as he finally connected his lips to you. It was soft and sweet, slow and gentle, as if he were testing the water, one eye opening to see you in the midst of the kiss to observe you. You were in complete bliss, with your eyes closed as you melted under him, memorising every feeling and taste of his hot lips on yours. As you pulled apart slightly, he only gave you half a second to breathe before he latched onto you again; this time the kiss was much more aggressive and desperate.

God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this.

He breathes between kisses, hands holding onto your cheek as you moan softly, feeling ticklish when Prof Price also indulges himself on you, trailing wet kisses around your neck while he holds onto your waist, trailing downwards slowly before giving your thigh a squeeze through your skirt.

P-professor…?

Let me feel you, sweetheart, can I?

He rasped against your ears as you gave a nod, muttering a small “yes” to which Prof Price immediately turned you to face him, so now your back is leaning against Simon. You watched with anticipation as Prof Price let his hand roam around your thighs through the fabric, teasingly squeezing sometimes, before he grabbed the end of your skirt, pushing it upwards to your hips until your legs were in full display.

Christ, so this is what you’ve been hiding from us...

He licked his lips before holding your ankle, putting featherlight kisses from there as he trailed up towards your hips, deliberately not giving your inner thighs the attention as he hummed. You let out a shaky exhale as he stopped just shy of where your underwear is, which is still hidden under your skirt.

Be a good girl, and show us, would you?

Simon whispered into your ears, hands moving down from your hips down to your thighs, slowly pulling them apart and holding them up with his rough hands. You were beyond flushed at this rate as you realised how wet you were, an obvious damp forming in your high-rise brief that was baby blue with floral patterns of white camellia and tiny roses. You could hear Simon let out a small chuckle as he looked down.

Cute.

Prof Price tuts as he runs his hands along the lace at the waist opening, tugging it slightly and watching it snap, making your skin jolt slightly as you let out a quiet whine.

Professor…please…

Please, what hm?

You bit your lips as you turned away, burying your neck in Simon’s chest while your hands were twisting on his shirt. Simon kissed your head, his voice deep and low, as he urged you again by squeezing your thighs.

You've got to tell him what you want, that’s what good girls do yes?...

You take in another sharp inhale before finally muttering as you flutter your eyelashes and glance at Prof Price with doe eyes.

Can you touch me more? D-down there… please sir?

Attagirl…

He gives you a kiss on your forehead before finally tracing his finger around your brief and pressing his thumb on your aching clit, giving you the attention you desperately needed. He starts trailing a circle around it before using his fingers and swiping along your folds with an up and down motion, hissing at how incredibly wet you are.

Shit… all this for me? Mmm fuck…

You swallowed your moans, cranking your neck deeper into Simon’s chest and arching your back slightly every time his knuckles barely touched your clit. Prof Price seized this opportunity by kissing your exposed neck and gently nibbling it, careful not to leave any marks as he groans.

You needed more.

You grab his arm, fingers digging slightly into his biceps as you stare back at him with half-lidded eyes, your mind already foggy when they barely did anything.

Prof Price seemed to get your wordless pleas and smirk against your neck, giving it one more bite on your neck before he retracted his fingers as well. You looked back at him with a confused expression, watching as he gave Simon a look before kneeling before you as he rested his hands on your inner thigh.

Almost like on cue, Simon then takes off your brief, stuffing it into his pocket as he leans back, pulling you with him as he wraps his arm around your waist, expertly pulling the skirt and tossing it away. You gulped hard as you took in the situation, shaky hands covering your mouth as you stared down nervously.

You felt Prof Price’s hot breath against your now soaking sex; you heard him mumble something before he kissed your clit, then slowly on your entire folds, groaning against it and sending electric waves of pleasure straight to your spine. He licks up a stripe of your slit, making you whimper as you let out a muffled moan.

Want to hear you, pretty girl.

The vibration of his voice on your core makes you dizzy. You comply as you let go of your hand, unsure where to place it before deciding to rest it on Prof Price’s hair.

That’s it...use whatever you can grab and hang on to it.

He whispers before sucking your clit, another moan escapes as you try to close your legs, but Prof Price’s hands were firm, pressing and pinning your leg as he continued lapping at your pussy, taking in every sweet juice that was leaking out of your hole. You mewled, hands gripping onto his hair, legs already trembling as you felt the familiar coiling feeling around your tummy. As you slowly let more noises out, choking out a sob moan when you felt Prof Price’s tongue drawing letters on your bundle of nerves, you felt a pair of hands sneaking under your white button shirt, slowly raising up until it rested on your bra, fingers clasping around it with ease as Simon whispered into your ears.

Feels good, hm?

You let out a whine as he pulled down your bra, rosy pink nipples so hard that they were poking out from your shirt. He gave a low curse as he groped around your meaty flesh, trailing circles around your nipples as he kissed your ears, pinching them and smirking as he was satisfied that he had pulled a few high-pitched moans from you with that action. 

With the combination of Professor Price’s brutal pace of eating you out like it was his last meal and Simon’s teasing touches on your breast, you were quick to turn into a whiny, moaning mess. Pleas and names fall from your mouth as your body shutters from the pleasure you were receiving.

f-fuck…mmm…please please please-

Fuckk… taste so good love, god if I would’ve known-

Good girl, shhhhh shh shh....doing so well for us, hmmm?

Simon hushed and swallowed every sound you made when you got a bit too loud by kissing you deep, groaning, and letting out a small "mmhmm" himself as Prof Price thrust his tongue into your drenched pussy. He could feel you twitching as he dived deeper into you, his nose nudging your sensitive clit in the best way as he angled himself.

F-fuck…mmm s-sir!! No wait- haaaah - mmmm gonna cum-

Come for me darling, come on my tongue...I know you can do it

P-Price!!

With a silent yell and head thrown back, you arch your back as you come into his mouth, his deep groan sending your head spiralling as he remains still, lapping away the remaining juices until you push yourself away, whimpering when the oversensitivity starts to hurt.

Goddamn, you taste so fucking good, sweet girl.

He whispered as he stood up; you watched as your spend was covering his beard, glistening under the light; he licked on his lip as he gave you a devilish smirk; then leaning in as you felt you get pushed up, then you hear another groan and a soft moan.

Simon was kissing Price, licking around his lips and panting as he tried to take up all the juices. The scene made you blush at how hot that looked. Simon pulled away as a string of saliva connects between his and Price’s lips, staring back at you as he wiped it away with the back of his palm. 

He removed his shirt and trousers, revealing his toned body adorned with an intricate tattoo that covers his sleeves. You gasped slightly as you ran your fingers over them before getting lifted up by Price as he once again pulled you in to lean on his back.

You watch as Simon now stands before you, essentially getting caged in the middle between them as he kisses you. You can almost taste your own through his lips as the heated make-out continues. He pulled away, grinding himself on your thigh as you let out a moan, feeling just how hard and how big he was. You gave a gulp as you looked down and saw the obvious tent in his boxers, which…had skull patterns.

A small breath left your chest in a wheeze as Simon frowned slightly, biting your neck as he whispered huskily.

What’s so funny, hm?

You giggled slightly before whispering back as you tugged his boxers slightly.

Nothing.

He hums back a reply and watches as you slowly pull down his boxers, bit by bit, until his cock sprung free from the confines. You let out a gasp when you realised just how thick and veiny he is, and god you can already tell you’re gonna feel him for days. 

Oh…

You mumble with a blushing face as you slide your hand and circle the tip with your thumb. Simon groans as he leans forward with both arms resting on the table beside Price, his head digging into your neck as he kisses sloppily.

You can take him, can you?

You bite your lips as you stroke Simon further, anxiously nodding as Price nibbles on your ears, then he lifts one of your legs up with his hand as Simon lines himself up to your entrance. Anticipation pooling in your eyes as you hold your breath, feeling the tip of his cock slip up and down your folds, collecting the juices you had and mixing them with his precum. With a whispered warning, Simon then pushes the tip in as both of you groan in unison.

You grabbed onto his shoulder as he slowly eased in his length, shushing and cooing you the entire process before finally nestling deep inside of you. You felt him twitch as he let out a shaky exhale.

Fuck you’re so goddamn tight….shhhh shh I know I know, doing so well for me sweet girl…a-ah fuck…this pussy…

You whimpered and sobbed slightly when his hard cock bumped your cervix, claws digging into his back as pain and pleasure mixed together. He laid still for a few moments before breathless whisper into your ears. 

Can I move now…please? God you feel so good…

As you moan in reply and move your hips, he takes that as a yes as he slowly pulls out before completely plunging back into you in one motion. Your grip on him gets tighter as you dig your nails into his back, the action only spurring him further as he picks up his pace, biting down on your neck as he leaves the first of many purple spots on your soft skin.

F-fuck…s-so big… God, you feel so good. Si….hah-p-please…

Your pleas and moans got much louder, which was immediately handled as Price covered your mouth, his fingers digging into your thighs with a harsher force as he shushed you.

Shh shh…yeah feels good on his dick isnt it? But you need to be quiet darling…hush now…anyone can walk in on us…

That made your insides clench, and Simon groaned with a hiss as your gummy wall contracted around him, practically milking him at this rate. The fact that you could be caught at any moment, the risk of it all turned you on.

You nearly wailed when Simon hit you just right on the soft, spongy spot of yours. You felt him smiling against your neck as he readjusted himself, getting closer to you as he continued to strike at your weakest, most sensitive spot. You felt your orgasm quickly arriving as tears pricked at the edge of your eyes.

Mmmm-mmclose-!

You whimpered in a muffled tone as Price kissed the nape of your neck and Simon began to thrust faster.

Fuck….thats it…come on, this cock...be a good girl and come for me-

You were about to have the best orgasm of your life before a knock on the door made everything stop. It was as if time was frozen as you held your breath, horror and panic seeping into your eyes as you trembled. You could even feel Simon’s change in demeanour as he bit his lips.

Professor? This is Dr Gaz, ye free mate?

You glanced back up at Price with glossy eyes as you shook your head. Who knew what he said earlier was actually going to happen? And speaking of what he said, were the doors even locked?

However, it seems Price was unbothered, only giving you a calm look, but something about his eyes made you rethink that. You were right in your guts as Price slightly pushed you forward, making you jolt as it meant pushing yourself further into Simon’s dick, and that made Simon fucking whimpers as he choked on his breath. Price tsked softly as he yanked Simon’s hair, forcing him to look at him.

Quiet, you don’t want to get caught again, do you?

Simon hissed before nodding slightly, a frown and desperate look evident on his face.

Good boy.

You swear that you felt his already hard cock grow, stretching you out further as you bite on your lips, drawing blood at this rate as you try to hide your sounds, but it is incredibly difficult, especially when you are seconds away from achieving your high.

Price? Huh, it looks like he’s out.

You waited with shaky breaths, hearing until the sound of footsteps faded out, before relaxing again, sighing in relief, then hitching your breath again when Simon started moving suddenly at a relentless pace.

W-wait!! waitwaitwait-aH!

You slurred your words as Simon pounded you, feeling his ragged breathing and whines as he himself chased his high.

Fuckkk im not gonna last… shit-

S-Simon!!

You choked out as you clung onto him, your walls spasming around him as you felt his hips stuttering as he dug himself impossibly deep inside you.

Where do you want it, pretty girl?

Price rasped into your eyes as your mind grew hazy, pressing his hand onto your tummy, which made you almost scream out as you tried to answer back, drooling slightly as you barely got the words out.

o-outside… aHhh shit- mmmm g-gonna c-comeee!

G-good girl….hngn…go on... I want to feel you come. Come for me, my good girl-

You succumbed to the overwhelming feeling as you arched your back and threw your head backwards, clenching around Simon’s cock like a vice as he lay still, moaning into your ears as he waited till you came down from your high. He hissed as he took out his drenched dick, furiously pumping it as you slumped onto Price.

S-Simon…

You urged him on as you shakily caressed his neck; he rested his forehead on yours as he finally came, uttering strings of "yes" and your name as he let out ropes of white onto your tummy.

Good job, you did so well for us...such a good, good girl...and you did well too Simon...

Price purred as he gave Simon’s hair a ruffle before kissing your head as well. You breathed out with a satisfying smile as you picked up some of Simon’s spend and watched it trail around your finger, utterly in bliss as Simon watched you lick it and moan around your own digits.

God damn minx...

All three of you took a moment to calm down, basking in the afterglow, before you felt Price holding you up and carrying you to the sofa nearby, carefully placing you down on the soft fabric as he motioned to Simon with a tilt of his head. You heard shuffling sounds; presumably Simon was picking up his and your stuff as Price left, only to return later with a damped hanky as he wiped your tummy and thighs, being attentive as he avoided your sensitive area.

You blushed at the softness of their actions as Simon helped you wear back your skirt. You tried to sit up to leave only to be pushed back down by Price.

Rest for a bit, I’ll drive you back later.

You know where I live?

I don’t, as a matter of fact, but you can tell me later, alright, sweetheart?

You nodded and lay back down as Simon sat down beside you, with Price looming over you as he sat on the couch armrest.

A few silent moments passed before you cleared your throat as you spoke.

So do you guys do this often?...

Simon snapped his head back to you with widened eyes as you smiled, gesturing to yourself as you laughed.

Fucking your students, I mean...

No. We’ll admit, you’re the first.

Price said confidently as he poked your forehead, shaking his head in disapproval before he thought for a moment, locking his eyes with Simon, seeing his neck burning up as he turned away.

But we do have fun with each other sometimes.

John.

Oh, come on, it’s obvious now, isn’t it?

You hummed back as you stared at Simon, then back at Price, giggling slightly when Price flashed you a grin as Simon's face grew redder by the second.

Is that true, Simon?

He doesn’t answer you, only grunting as he glares at you from the corner of his eyes. You gave a laugh as you patted his back gently, grinning as you took in his bashful look, one that you wished to commit to your memory forever.

You wonder how the next encounter with them will be like as you let the situation sink in. Oh my god, you were quite literally fucked by your lecturers.

Next time, we should probably do this somewhere else. We can’t have others bother us again.

Simon nods at that as he rests his head on the couch beside you. 

wait….there’s a next time???

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

a/n: okay look, Idk if anyone knows what im talking about when I was describing the undies, its these ones from Uniqlo- they're literally the most comfy undies ever and the lace doesn't itch at all XD I swear they're cute, anyways- come say hi in chocolate if you want to hear more of my thoughts with the fic

comments and reblogs are always appreciated :D

➵ chocolate

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @thesingularityseries thank you <3

so I've started working on the British Gangster AU for Rory and TF141, very much in the vein of Guy Ritchie/Quentin Tarantino - told in a weird timeline format, lots of hopping between character POVs, etc.

snippet gets kind of long (sorry) and is still VERY rough. Also, the MI5 officers are absolutely written to basically be Statham and Vinnie Jones... so yeah...

warning for mentions of violence and criminal activities

Thames House, MI5 Headquarters, London, UK

It's not the first time Rory Sinclair has found herself inside an interrogation room, it's certainly the first time she's been the one to be questioned however…

Hazel eyes roam around the room. It’s the same sterile grey they always are, a mirror on the wall she knows the camera is set up on the other side of recording her, cheap mic on the table picking up audio, the uncomfortable metal chairs the authorities will keep a person chained to as if they lost all rights the moment they walked through the door. 

And before her are two carbon copied hardboiled officers: matching ill-fitting suits, close-cropped shaved heads, five o’clock shadows, and appearing as though they’ve both broken and have had their noses broken several times over. 

Manicured nails tap against the table top, french tips clicking against fake wood laminate. One leg crossed over the other as her foot bounces in time to a tune on replay in her head to keep herself occupied. One way or another... Fixing the way her coat sits to keep out the cool air from the AC they've clearly turned up to make her less comfortable and therefore more willing to talk. Focus lazily swinging from one officer to the other like a pendulum. 

Uninterested. 

Apathetic. 

She yawns as a set of files is tossed in front of her, skidding across the table, covers falling open, and before her sits the faces of four men.

The two officers sitting across from her put on their best good cop, bad cop performance as they give her the stare down - except one of them forgot to play soft.  Arms crossed, sullen faces, tight jaws. 

Real hardasses. 

“Miss Sinclair, it's in your best interest to realize that your choice of career puts you in direct contact with some less than savoury individuals,” the first officer husks. “These four especially, been keeping tabs on them for some time now. Drugs, weapons, illegal gambling, murder – all in a day's work for the 141, eh?”

She offers no reaction at all, there wasn’t a rap sheet in the world that could surprise her anymore. Her career was built on representing individuals with longer lists of crimes than that. Her stoneface response clearly isn’t the reaction the authorities were hoping for with the way they lean in towards her, cutting into her personal space, black tea on their breath permeating the air.  

“Ever heard of ‘em, love?”

Rory leans back in her seat, hands sliding into her lap as her heel continues its monotonous motion. “Can't say that I have, no.” 

“Then permit us to inform you, miss.” 

The larger brute of an officer thrusts his finger towards the first picture, a ragged, roughly bitten nail pointing to a stocky man with a steely gaze, mutton chops, and a neck tattoo. “This ‘ere's the leader. Goes by ‘The Captain’ – Jonathan Price.” 

Price

“Been at this since the age of sixteen…” 

The warehouse sits quiet, still, and dark. Water-stained windows, milky and clouded, creak and rattle with the ocean air from the nearby harbour. The giant factory doors open with a squeal, and the silhouetted forms of four inky figures stand there in the night as a body hung from the rafters by chains swings to and fro, murmuring from behind a strip of duct tape. The night is foggy, and the wisps of vapour crawl into the abandoned building. Shafts of light that beam in through the holes in the corrugated metal roofing cut shadows across the faces of the visitors in tailored suits, long overcoats, and leather shoes. 

Silent surroundings are broken by the tapping of soles on concrete and the rasp of a match being lit as it’s held up to the recently snipped end of a Villa Clara cigar, sparking it to life with a burning orange glow. A heavy plume of smoke is blown out, swirling and thick as it trails up towards the worn openings above – the only thing allowed to escape the oppressive stare of sharp blue eyes. 

Tape is ripped from the mouth of the man swinging idly from the chains that bind him, mouth left raw and red as adhesive is torn away from skin and stubble.  

“Where did you think you were, York?” he whispers hoarsely around the stub of his cigar as he stands before the hanged man, arms crossed over his chest. There’s no need to raise his voice – his figure, his name, is intimidating enough. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, Price.” The hanged man huffs out a nervous laugh, pleading with someone who he knows off reputation alone is merciless. “Don’t know how the bastards in London handle things, but Liverpool – this is my city, yeah?” “Course it is, innit.” 

If York had hands available to hold up in surrender he would. Waving the white flag in the presence of the head of England’s most powerful gang in a heartbeat. It was rare for a person to be given the opportunity to meet with Price in person and it usually wasn’t for good reason. He had people to handle these sorts of things, and more important matters to attend to. But, sometimes, a person needed reminding of just who sat at the top and how much power he wields. Power that he ruthlessly holds onto. Whether it's the Irish, the Russians, or the cartels who try to step into his territory, he offers no leeway, never an inch spared. This is his territory, a hunting ground he worked his way up to the top to attain and he won’t let that slip through his fingers for love nor money.

He says nothing more on the matter as cold, unreadable eyes look up at his prey from under a heavy brow. John doesn’t see the point in wasting his words or his breath when it's no longer necessary. His point has been made well known, and the body – when it’s found – will take care of the rest.

With another puff of smoke released, he slinks back into the shadows, Gaz at his right hand, leaving his two guard dogs to handle the rest. He can trust them to handle matters properly with little oversight. His Lieutenant, Riley, has no trouble keeping MacTavish on a leash.

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[chaosbarelycontained]

You Know I Think I Recognise Your Face

North Country Boy Chapter 2

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: swearing, angst, awkward teenagers (yeah, I know)

Words: 2.1k

Synopsis: Jules meets some of her new team mates and lets the Lt know where her boundaries lie.

Captain Price awkwardly cleared his throat, shaking Jules from her frozen state. With a pointed look at his Lieutenant, Price then addressed his new Sergeant.

“Drop your kit in your room and join us for tea, eh? Don’t let it get cold.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied.

Moving to follow him out of the briefing room she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.

“Ju…” Riley began, his voice quiet and low.

Her eyes glanced down to where his hand rested on her and then they were back on his face. She stared him down coldly without even a hint of expression until he released his grip and then she made her way out of the briefing room without a single backward glance, stooping to grab her kit bag as she passed.

Standing before the door to Room 3B, Jules stared at the handle and the card scanner above it. Price hadn’t given her the key-card. In the absence of any other option, she slid the card for her old room from the pocket of her pants and tapped it against the scanner, which chirped and flashed green. Jules smirked a little at the Captain’s deviousness and pushed down the handle.

The room was as nondescript as any other billet she’d bunked in over the years. She lay her kit bag down on the foot of the perfectly-straight covers and made a perfunctory scan around the space. There was a small window above the head of the bed, the sky beyond already beginning to take on the dusky hue of twilight, and a closed door to the left. Opening it, Jules was relieved to find a sink, toilet, and shower. The usual single wardrobe, chest of drawers, and bedside table completed the ensemble and she gave a small hum of satisfaction before making her way back downstairs to the mess.

Following the clamour of voices and the clatter of cutlery against china, Jules quickly located the mess again after Price’s rapid tour earlier. She pushed open the door and was hit by a wall of noise and smells of food from the kitchens. Casting her eye about she did a recce of the room and quickly surmised the order of things. Grabbing a tray from the stack by the wall she joined the queue at the hatch and then had her plate filled with a hearty beef stew and dumplings. Nodding her thanks to the server she found an empty seat at the end of one of the tables, filled a glass with water from the jug in the middle, and then settled in to eat her tea.

She’d barely managed two mouthfuls before her elbow was jostled by someone taking the seat to her left whilst another sat in front of her. She acknowledged both of them with a small nod and then went back to eating her food. When the expected conversation openers didn’t arrive she looked up to see both soldiers staring at her, broad grins on their faces. Swallowing awkwardly Jules offered them a strained smile in return but they said nothing and just carried on staring.

“Hi?” she said in bemusement.

“Hey,” one responded, whilst the other gave a “hullo”.

“Can I…help you?”

“Just comin’ ta gi’ ye a welcome,” the guy to her left said, his words thick with a Scottish accent.

“Thanks,” she replied, forking up another mouthful of stew.

“So you’re the spook from The Duke’s?” the other asked in reference to her affiliations with the Lancs and the SRR.

“That’s me.”

“Proper chatterbox aren’t ye?” the first teased, leaning his cheek on his hand.

Jules remembered him from the briefing now, one of the guys who’d heckled the Captain. MacTavish, he’d called him.

“MacTavish, right?” she asked.

“Aye!” He grinned, his eyes lighting up when she recalled his name. “That’s me. This is Gaz,” he added nodding at the fella opposite, who saluted goodnaturedly.

“Jules,” she offered, taking a gulp of her water as she mentally tried to match the names she’d been given to the list of 141 members that had been on Price’s data drive.

“Get an offer ye couldn’t refuse?” MacTavish pushed.

“I’m sorry?”

“The Captain there, gave ye an offer? Dug ye oot of a hole?”

Jules eyed him suspiciously and he held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Don’ worry yeself, I’m no prying. Ye don’ have te say.”

“Let’s just say I had a problem with some orders, yeah?” Jules smirked, raising her glass again.

“Amen to that,” Gaz agreed, holding out his fist which Jules bumped with her own.

“Gaz…that’s Garrick, right?” she asked, which he confirmed with a nod. “You’re from the Duke’s too, yeah?”

Gaz opened his mouth to respond but his words stalled as he glanced over Jules’ shoulder towards the door. Raising his chin in greeting at whoever had entered, he then turned his attention back to her.

“Yeah, I did my time at Kimberley, so did the Lt, actually. Hey Ghost!” he called across the room. “The newbie’s one of ours.”

Jules stiffened in her chair at the mention of the Lieutenant’s name. She saw MacTavish beckoning him over and held her breath, trying to focus on getting another forkful of stew into her mouth in an attempt to disguise the rising tide of her anger. To her utter relief she saw him shake his head and leave the room with his plate of stew.

“Thought we had him there for a minute, Soap,” Gaz sighed, shaking his head.

“Soap?” Jules asked, a little confused.

“Aye, tha’s me,” MacTavish said.

“Why Soap?”

“‘Cause he’s good at cleaning house,” Gaz offered, whilst MacTavish beamed at her.

Jules couldn’t suppress the snicker that bubbled up from her throat, grateful for the distraction. It was short-lived, however, when Soap began his “not prying” line of questions once more.

“So ye ken oor Ghostie then?” he asked, not missing Jules awkwardness.

“Like I said before, I used to. Not seen him in ten years,” she shrugged off the question.

“Ooooh, so you know the man behind the mask…” Gaz speculated, his eyes widening with the anticipation of gossip.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jules replied, swallowing the last of her water. “A lot can change in that amount of time.”

“But what’s he look like though?” he pressed, eager for any speck of gossip about their Lt.

“What d’ya mean?” Jules asked, becoming more perplexed by the minute.

“Never takes his mask off,” Soap offered with a shrug.

“You mean never as in…never? At all?” Jules’ voice was thick with incredulity.

“Nope, never.”

“Crazy-arse bastard,” she muttered, filing away that piece of information for later.

The two soldiers still stared at her expectantly, as if she were about to divulge some key piece of intel but she left them disappointed. She stood, scraping her chair backwards as she gathered her plate and cutlery.

“Sorry gents, it’s been a long and very weird day. I’m gonna turn in for some early shut eye ‘cause I’m sure tomorrow’s goin’ t’be just as crazy.”

“Too right,” Gaz agreed, but Jules had already left the table.

She deposited her tea things by the wash-up station and left the mess. The list of duties for the next day had already been pinned to the noticeboard opposite so she took a second to check it and groaned internally. For all intents and purposes it looked like she’d been let off lightly. There was an equipment audit scheduled for the afternoon and she wondered what that might entail but it was the morning’s activity that concerned her the most. It was a skills assessment which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have phased her but this one wasn’t led by the Captain, it was led by Lieutenant Riley. Shit.

Jules’ plans for an early kip were scuppered. Her brain just wouldn’t switch off and, after a couple of hours of tossing and turning she gave up. Leaving her bed with a frustrated huff she stuffed her feet into her trainers and made her way down to the mess for a glass of milk to try and reset her racing thoughts. Voices filtered into the corridor from the mess and she slowed her pace, automatically making her steps lighter and almost soundless.

“Ach, come on Lt, gi’ us a bit o’ somethin’ eh?” Soap’s voice carried loudly.

“Leave it alone, Johnny,” came the low and slightly muffled rumble from behind Ghost’s mask.

“Not even the tiniest bit of back story?” Gaz probed.

“I told you, I’m not gonna talk about it. We knew each other a long time ago, that’s it. You old hags are gonna have t’get your gossip somewhere else.”

It was then that Jules stepped into the room, which fell silent as the three guys turned their eyes in her direction.

“Don’t mind me,” she muttered, keeping her head down as she searched for the milk in the fridge.

“You joining us for a brew?” Gaz asked, shaking his mug of tea in her direction.

“No, ta,” she replied as she located the milk and filled herself a glass.

“Cannae sleep?” Soap queried sympathetically.

“Summat like that,” Jules said, downing her drink and then rinsing her glass. “Night, fellas.”

With a nod of acknowledgement to Gaz and Soap’s chorus of “g’night”, she left the room. Ghost had remained silent, simply folding his arms over his chest, but she could feel his stare boring between her shoulder blades long after she’d left his line of sight.

* * * * *

Juliette looked up from her desk, startled by the cough from her bedroom door. Her cheeks flamed red as she saw Simon lounging in the doorway, a lop-sided grin on his face.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked, nodding with his chin towards her book.

“Wuthering Heights,” she groaned, dying internally at the thought of her messy hair and the giant spot that had erupted on her forehead the night before. “I gotta annotate three chapters for homework.”

“Homework?” he scoffed. “You’re such a swot, Jules.”

“I am not,” she protested, shifting a stack of notes underneath the latest issue of Just 17 magazine. “I can’t understand the bloody thing anyway.”

“You got Mr Benedict for English?” Simon asked and when she nodded he stepped further into her room.

Juliette’s heart skipped a beat and she almost forgot how to breathe when Simon leaned over her desk and took her pen from her hand.

“I had him too, he loves Wuthering Heights. You need to be highlighting bits like this…and this…” he drew circles around phrases in the book. ‘And make sure you talk about pathetic fallacy. He’ll go mental for that.”

“Cheers, Simon,” she beamed and he smiled back at her.

“Not a fan of English then?” he asked as he straightened up and looked around at her room a bit more.

She prayed that she’d remembered to put all her dirty washing in the basket and that he wouldn’t notice the poster of Damon Albarn that she’d ripped out of Just 17 and pinned to the wall next to her bed.

“Nah, I like I.T. and Maths,” Juliette admitted, and she really did.

She loved computers and how they worked. Miss Talbot had promised to give her extra classes on coding if she passed her end of topic test next week.

‘Told you, you’re a total swot. Maybe even a geek.”

“Am not!”

“Yeah you are,” he teased, laughing as she smacked him on the arm. “I gotta go. If you need any more help just tap me up.”

“Yeah?” Juliette blushed again, relishing the thought of maybe spending more time with him without Rob being his usual twatty self.

“Course.”

“Mint,” she exclaimed, “Thanks Simon.”

“Laters, Jules,” he said as he left her room, throwing her a cheeky wink.

Juliette groaned and let her head thunk onto her desk. Her heart pounded a rapid tattoo but at least she remembered how to breathe again. Lifting her head she gazed at the pages of the novel where Simon had made notes for her in his distinctive boxy script. She pulled the book closer to her, vowing to keep it forever, but then nearly vomited in embarrassment as she caught sight of the piece of paper that had lain just under it, the writing clearly visible. Down the centre of the paper was written the words TRUE LOVE with numbers next to each letter but it was the names at the top of the page that made Juliette want to crawl into a hole and never return.

Juliette Kelsall and Simon Riley.

She’d never be able to look him in the face again.

Taglist: @aykxz98

[mistydeyes]

Angel with soap please :)?

thank you sm for submitting! hope you have a great day!

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: angel - this time you're their knight in shining armor as you save them

pairing: John "Soap" Mactavish x fem!reader (codename: Iris)

warnings: swearing, violence, mention of weapons and injury

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It had been three days since you lost contact with Soap. 72 hours of absolute hell as you all spent sleepless nights trying to find where he was following his recon mission with Ghost. "Fuck Johnny, where the hell are you?" Ghost mumbled and you yawned as Gaz filled everyone's mugs with another round of black coffee. "Have we tried the tunnel system?" you mused, picking up another map of the city. "We can look tomorrow, Laswell is sending a few Marines as backup," Price commented and you hoped he would finally offer you some reprieve. "Everyone gets some rest, we'll head out at 0500 tomorrow," he said after a moment and everyone raced out of the safe house's dining room to the bedrooms. As you attempted to get some sleep, you could see Ghost staring at the ceiling. "We'll find him tomorrow, I can feel it," you whispered and he turned to you. "I hope so Iris."

The next morning your geared up and split yourself with the 12 US Marines. You led your group through the darkened tunnel system, shining a light at anything that moved. "Any sign of him," you heard Gaz's voice crackle through the comms. You all updated your current status as you could feel the tension mounting. "Keep looking then, he has to be somewhere," Price commanded and you headed further East on the dimly lit concrete. Your boots sloshed around the mud and water as you continued. Eventually, you heard a subtle tapping on the walls. At first, you wrote it off as water droplets in a distant corridor but as they became more uniform, you thought otherwise.

"You hear that?" you asked your group and you silenced their chatter with a single hand movement. As you all listened intently, you realized it was Morse Code and spelled out the familiar S-O-S. Your heart filled with a glimmer of hope as you continued to track the source. No water droplets sounded like that and you hoped at the end of the tunnel you would find your missing Sergeant. Eventually, the sound's volume increased and you found it sounded like someone stomping a boot on the ground. "It's this way," one of the Marines said and you turned to regain the lead. As you flashed your lights down the hall, you could see a growing blood trail at your feet. "I think I have something," you crackled through the comms, "might need a medevac." "Keep us updated, Iris," Ghost demanded and you swear he sounded hopeful.

Before you rounded the corner, you stopped the group. "If he thinks we're one of them, he's going to shoot, let me go first and I'll send a signal," they nodded in response and you grabbed a flashlight from your vest before continuing. "Soap, it's Iris, we heard your SOS," you yelled and your voice echoed along the damp corridor. You waited another moment before continuing. "Johnny it's Y/N, we're here!" as you stopped, you could hear hoarse coughing to your left. You sprinted down the corridor and found a bloodied and bruised Mactavish leaning against the wall. He had two bullet wounds to his leg and arm as well as various cuts that would require antibiotics. "Iris?" he choked out and you ran to hold him. "He's here!" you shouted and you soon heard the boots of your group head in your direction. You wiped some of the dirt out of his face as he gripped you. "I'm here, Johnny, I found you," you reassured and your worry lifted as you saw a smile appear on his face. "Glad you're here, Iris."