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phantomrose96 · 3 months ago

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Prometheus

content warnings: horror. body horror. ghost show can have a little existential horror, as a treat! :)

...

Tucker and Danny sat as silhouettes in the Foley attic rec-room.

The ghoulish light of the television pinned their shadows against the back wall, pulsing in and out like fireflies at each flash of the screen. It left their backs drenched in darkness, and it made monoliths of the old furniture and piled-high boxes that wrapped the perimeter of the attic. Drafty air whistled through the gaps in the insulation. Plicks and flicks of moths beat in tone against the light of the television where the seal of the attic window failed to keep them out. Danny hounded the controller in his hands, clackering with each frenetic beat of his thumb while he mashed his buttons and leaned his full bodyweight into the assault he wrought, virtually until--

“BOOM!! Headshot!” Danny yelled with a pump of his fist. From his nonexistent peripheral vision, he could not see the way Tucker would not look at him.

“Come on, man,” Tucker said.

“Get it?” Danny asked.

“Dude, come on, like… Maybe don’t.”

Danny let out a disappointed huff of air from his nostril, spirits dampened. The wayward glow of his eye settled back on the screen: Victory blazoned across his split of the screen. You Died pulsed on Tucker’s. Danny mashed the rematch option. “Maybe get good then,” Danny said, “and then you get to make the bad puns.”

“Sorry man look I’m just—tired okay?”

“Yeah I know—”

“You can be goofy about it tomorrow—”

“I know—”

“I promise it’ll be hilarious then just—”

“Okay okay, I get it. I’ll save the jokes—”

“How much longer?”

“Hmm?”

Danny looked, and Tucker was looking now too, and it was taking all concentrated will on Tucker’s face to keep looking.

“How much longer until you’re like… You know.”

4am chimed from the grandfather clock stowed in the Foley attic. The ghostly sheen of the television splashed bright and pallid across the right side of Tucker’s face, as he stared at Danny. And it splashed bright across the left side of Danny’s face, which was the only side of Danny’s face remaining.

“I don’t know like… maybe 3 more hours, I think?” A lisp whistled from the absent flesh of his jawbone.

Tucker watched his lips. And his eyes drifted to the shadow carved dark and empty in the socket that could no longer see him, a merciful concealment of where skin turned to raw exposed flesh turned to bone.

Tucker looked forward again, and he mashed his thumbs into his own controller. Danny’s character’s skull exploded into a cloud of meat-rain before Danny had the chance to notice the match resume.

“Fine. I can do 3 more hours,” Tucker said. “And start watching your head.”

…

It wasn’t until the camping trip 4 months ago that Danny knew anything was strange.

It was a yearly Fenton tradition, which Danny tolerated and Jazz dreaded, to haul the four of them and the RV out into some swampy campground 3 hours from home. They’d roll in roaring, RV stuffed to the brim with wilderness equipment and enough mechanical monstrosities to scare away all actual wildlife. All except for the fish, who had the disadvantage of not seeing the mechanical affront to God parked with questionable legality on the campgrounds.

This year, Danny had decided he was embracing it. Because for the first time, sitting grubby and wet in the mud for 3 days sounded much nicer than his typical weekend plans, which was mainly getting his ass kicked by ghosts. He’d flagged down Valerie a week ahead of time to tell her, between gunshots, that he’d be absent for those 3 days. Valerie had taken equal offence at the request that she pick up Phantom’s slack, and the implication that she wasn’t already doing that.

But it meant the ghosts were covered for the weekend, and it meant Danny was free to do nothing more exciting than sit in the mud, which was all well and good enough for Danny. Although his hopes of leaving the weekend with the same number of scars he started with were dashed by hour 5. It was his own fault too. Jack had insisted Danny gut the fish Jack caught via a blast of the Fenton Disintegrator to the lake (unconventional, not even a fishing device, a ghost weapon he and Maddie were fine-tuning. A ranger came and yelled at them about it.) And while distracted by his parents getting told off for being menaces, Danny miscalculated the slipperiness of both fish and knife.

Luckily the RV was, among many many things, a hospital on wheels, and Jazz had quit sulking long enough to take a morbid fascination in cleaning Danny’s palm out with antiseptic that burned like acid and bandaging up his palm. For dinner that night, Danny ate his open-flame grilled fish with a little more prejudice than usual.

By Saturday, his hand hadn’t healed. Nor by Sunday. And on Sunday evening while Maddie and Jack busied themselves with packing up the tent they’d both invented and yet struggled to collapse back into its box, Danny flagged Jazz with quiet urgency.

“I think there’s something wrong with my hand.”

“Wrong how?”

“Infected, maybe.”

Jazz knit her brow in concern. “It looked fine this morning,” she muttered as she pulled Danny down onto the stump beside her and flipped open the First Aid kit latch. She unraveled Danny’s bandage layer by layer, and the concerned knit to her brow loosened to confusion.

“It looks fine. It’s barely even red.”

Danny snatched his hand back. “Yeah, and it’s barely healed at all.”

“I mean, it’s healed a little bit.”

“Yeah but. Barely.”

“It looks pretty normal.”

“Jazz my day-job is getting whacked with ghost machetes,” Danny said, tone growing a little tense at Jazz’s lack of concern. “I know how quickly cuts are supposed to heal.”

“And how quickly is that?”

“I mean. It depends. But like a day.”

“A day?”

“Or maybe 25 hours, I guess.”

“Danny, you cut yourself pretty deep.”

“26 hours max, literally.”

Jazz was staring. Danny felt awkwardly judged.

“Hey um, as a question Danny, do you remember the last injury you got before your ghost powers?”

Danny hesitated. He racked his brain and some part of him felt a little embarrassed how hard he had to search, as if it were shameful to have been so delicately uninjured before this whole thing.

“…Dash, maybe. But Dash it good at the kind of quick jabby punches that hit your nerve but don’t bruise.”

“Anything else?”

Danny fell quiet. Then brightened. “I fell off my bike last year. Racing Tucker. Scraped up my shin and knee.”

“And how long did that take to heal?”

The delight faded a bit. Danny thinned his lips thinking. “…Maybe a while.”

“Probably a few weeks.”

“Jeez, really? No.” Danny said. And he so deeply wanted to be offended, because he’d become the biggest expert in the family on getting his skin used as a ghost shrapnel canvas, which should make him the authority on injury healing. And Jazz was doubting all of that. “No. That’d heal in like. A day.”

“Maybe with ghost powers,” Jazz answered. “Maybe in ghost form. Which, currently and for the last 3 days, you have not been in.”

Danny fell quiet. He considered this information that deeply annoyed him until, with grudgingness edging to acceptance, he looked at his hand, and then his sister, and then his hand.

“….Oh.”

That night, home and showered and with the clock creeping toward 1am, Danny sat on his bed. He pooled his hands in his lap, lit by the moonlight pouring through his bedroom window. He sat an inch above his bed, in fact, hair shimmery white and his right glove removed. In the wash of moonlight he watched his palm. And there was something haunting, almost, in the way he could see the edges of the cut stitch themselves back together bit by tiniest bit. He lost himself in a grainy infomercial on his television, and when it ended, his cut was gone.

…

Phantom returned to the ghost fighting scene with an unwarranted new confidence. In truth nothing had changed. But Danny operated now with the knowledge that he was a particular kind of resilient that he’d not actually realized before. And while he did not like getting fileted by Skulker’s ghost gut-hook knife, or seared by Ember’s flame guitar, or bonked in the head by Fenton Bolas (Dad why), there was a certain delight in the “This will all not be a problem by tomorrow”-ness of it all.

Even better, he now knew that just idling in ghost mode for an extra hour or two was all it took to be right as rain again. (“This is making your Gameboy addiction worse than Tucker’s,” Sam had commented. “Well how else am I supposed to pass the time?” Danny asked while mashing buttons with one less finger than usual. “You could read a book.”)

On the flipside, it did make Danny grouchier about mid-school-day attacks, which didn’t afford him the luxury of floating around to bake in ghost mode for an hour or two watching bad tv. And unless Mr. Lancer got real chill real fast with Danny Phantom taking Danny Fenton’s English tests, it meant that any school-time fight injury had to be dealt with conventional human-style, and super-healed after school.

And Danny carried this knowledge with more bitterness than usual one fall afternoon when a fight with Technus had already gouged into the first 15 minutes of his math test, and now Danny was going to have to suck it up for the last 45 minutes if he wanted to pass geometry this quarter. Which was bullshit because that last blast Technus got on him had really fucking hurt.

Danny landed, and in his math-induced funk, he missed the particular wide-eyed way Sam and Tucker stared at him. “Here,” Danny said, handing off the thermos to Tucker, and Danny let his human transformation slip through in rings around his sternum.

“Danny stop,” Sam said, and with an urgent breathlessness that froze Danny in place. “Do not turn back.”

Confusion seeped into Danny’s blood. He let the transformation rings fade away, and he felt the thermos heavy in his outstretched hand that Tucker would not take. Heavy and wet. Heavy, and very very wet.

He looked at his hand, and his white glove was unrecognizable beneath the saturation of red. The thermos dropped from his hand, and suddenly Danny wasn’t so sure which direction was up.

“Sit,” Sam maybe said, or said something like it. Her hands were on his shoulders. He was easing in a direction that was probably down. His butt hit cold pavement. And suddenly he raked in a shuddering breath which was wet as mud.

Sam was pulling away the top of his suit, which was the worst possible place for her to do that considering how much it hurt. She was pulling right where Technus had blasted him, and Danny had half a mind to tell her off until he saw what was underneath the fabric.

“That’s not good,” he bubbled out through a lot of blood in his mouth and throat.

Baseball-sized. Like someone had taken a very large hole-puncher right to his sternum. A very good hole-puncher because it had in fact punched him straight through and run off with the little cut-out it stole. Globby flesh spilled to fill in some of the empty space. But a solid chunk of sternum, and heart, and lung, and spine, were rudely elsewhere.

Danny was in a very slippery wet dream, and his fluttering eyes agreed.

“No,” Sam said with an unnecessarily aggressive pinch of his skin. “Absolutely do not fall asleep.”

“Ow,” Danny said, maybe about the pinch but also his missing organs.

This wasn’t good enough for Sam who was a little bit ghost-shaded herself while she grabbed both Danny’s ears tight and angled Danny’s eyes to hers. “If you turn human now that’s going to be very very bad. You’re fine, Danny. You’re just in shock, I think. Focus on me. Come on, count with me Danny. 1. 2.”

“Isn’t counting sheep supposed to put you to sleep?” Danny quipped, but all the blood gurgling maybe ruined his delivery a little.

…

His heart sewed itself back together in 20 minutes. His esophagus and trachea kindly followed at the 27-minute mark, the last of the tubage knitting itself together and forming the correct kind of air-seal against anything else in his chest cavity. That was a blessing, because passing the time was easier when he could talk without re-enacting the elevator from The Shining – a joke Danny had tried to deliver several times and which refused to land.

And while he still did not have his new spine vertebrae nor sternum by the 30-minute mark, Danny could see the way the last of the white fear had left Sam’s face and the way Tucker could now face him directly. And that told him that however he looked, he no longer looked like someone who was going to die.

By the 1-hour mark, Danny sat drenched in his own blood from a fatal wound that no longer existed. And he’d missed his math test.

…

Super healing was cool. Very cool. What other kind of power lets you just walk away from fatal injuries?

At the close of a ghost fight, thermos capped, swimming in the eerie silence of a street cleared of screams, Danny stood. And he shivered. He ran his hands up and down his stomach, his chest, his back his face, pressing any pain-point to discover if his fingers would sink in wet and deep. Was it safe to transform back? If he made a mistake, would he notice fast enough? Would he be able to turn back again in time?

Alone in the snow of the Amity golf course. The roof of the mall. The back archives of the library. Danny lingered. Many places were good for lingering, and so Danny would linger, wherever and whenever he could. It made that held-breath feeling of transforming back easier, to know no part of him was at risk of undoing him.

And sometimes his hand did come away sticky. And in the black of night Danny went home, mindful to step only on the kitchen tile from which blood could be wiped up cleanly. And he was tired from too many nights of this when he pulled cereal from the cupboard and splashed milk into a bowl and cleared away the nuts and bolts from the half-undressed Fenton Disintegrator (undergoing v2 upgrades) and flickered the noxious glow of the muted television to life while his liver stitched itself back together. The tremble would not quite leave his cereal spoon hand but he’d manage.

One night Walker had blasted off half of Danny’s skull. And he lay shaking hunched on the pavement willing himself to overcome the pangs of shock radiating through his body until he had enough composure to call Tucker on the phone and ask if he could come over, if they could play Man vs. Zombie maybe, and stay awake through the night while his brain matter remade itself.

One night he had to grab Valerie by the ankle before she flew off, and she probably only heeded him because the break in Phantom’s superhero bravado unnerved her so much. “Please just stay and talk to me. Something bad will happen if I fall asleep,” he said, while holding the parts that used to be his stomach. “Define ‘bad.’” “I’ll die.” “Sounds like a human.” She shouldn’t have taken pity on him. But she did. Maybe because she was a human who would die like Danny if left on the pavement with her stomach open. Valerie stayed until the sun rose.

And he was lucky, because as a human he should have died. And Danny didn’t. He just came close, more and more and more. Until the sight of a raised ghost weapon forced a very human flinch from him.

…

“…losing an edge, you’d say, Craig?” “Not exactly. As a psychiatrist who’s worked with many veterans and active-duty soldiers, it’s common to—”

“Morning,” Jack said, flipping up his welding mask just long enough to nod to Danny before re-busying himself in his soldering.

“Dad, do you think maybe you could do that in the lab?” Jazz asked over a bowl of cornflakes, with a tone one might use when asking a 10-year-old to move his basketball game outside.

“Hmm, why? The table won’t catch fire.”

“Which is what you said last time,” Jazz said, carefully plucking up a cooled bit of metal scrap from beside her cereal bowl.

“…ffered many fatal injuries on camera, who knows how many weren’t capt—”

The television drowned beneath the screech of Jack’s welding, let up to breathe for moments at a time before Jack resumed the drowning. Danny’s eyes followed. The refurbished Fenton Disintegrator had nearly reformed, bigger than its original body, with a gaping fish-mouth twice the radius of the thing which had blasted up the fish in the campground lake.

“I just think, Dad, that you and Mom have a whooooole laboratory basement to yourselves, and I have just this one dining table to eat cereal at, so—”

“But then you kids would miss out on what I’m making. See, Danny’s interested. Danny, watch this—”

Jack hoisted the monster up. He hitched it atop his shoulder, and set his eye behind its sight, and twisted at the hip to point its open maw directly at Danny.

Danny froze.

“Dad, Jesus, at least show some trigger-discipline if you’re—Danny?”

Danny could not move. He could not move or really see. The shockwave rippled through him, and he believed for the moment that surely he’d been shot until Jazz shook him. “Danny, are you okay?”

Danny’s heart was intact but still it squeezed like it had been ripped. His legs were whole but they were numb beneath him. And he was useless too. Over what? Over nothing. Over a gun pointed at him, the sort which had been pointed at him 4,000 times before.

“…Danny?” Jazz asked, more worried than before. Jack had put down the gun, and he was staring at Danny in the same way.

And it was stupid. So very stupid. Because Danny had super-healing, and a hit from something like that would heal. It could rip him apart, and he’d be completely fine.

So it was all actually incredibly incredibly stupid that he was somehow, without even meaning to, crying.

…

The fight had ended three hours ago. And three hours was longer than only the worst of his injuries took to heal. Tonight had not been bad at all, just a bit of ripping and tearing at his leg from a bear-trap Skulker had laid (despite Skulker insisting he did not know what a bear was). And that had healed up in 20 minutes flat.

Danny lingered anyway, sitting soaking cold in the snow on the golf course. He liked that it was high-up here. He liked that the lights fanned far and wide. He liked that the razed-flat golf turf allowed nothing to hide. He wiled away the hours he ought to be sleeping, because there was a security in consciousness, in his ghost form. If he slept, he could be killed. And if he sat resting in ghost form on the crest of the golf course hill, he could not.

But he could nod off. Catching his head at each dip. But his mind fizzled and faded, rubbing against the staticky edge of sleep, enough to perhaps not notice steps in the snowfall that tracked him to where he sat.

The whir of the charging gun kicked him to high alert.

All alert, all at once, so suddenly adrenaline soaked that Danny had no sense of orientation when he spun on spot and his eyes drank in the sight of the barrel-mouth breathing to life in his direction.

“Told you I fixed the calibration on this, Honey.”

“Well at least it’s not a fish.”

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he was paralyzed. He was dread. He was stone.

It screeched. And it roared. And with a connection of a car crash, it took greedily for itself a gibbous moon of Danny’s torso.

He collapsed. Eyes spinning. Ears ringing. Sensation like fire and like ice and like buzzing static and nothing, feeling, at all to connect to his legs.

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he needed a mouth for that. So the second blast connected.

…

It had been an amount of time. Jack and Maddie Fenton may have stooped in the snow and collected samples to study. Danny could not know, because he’d need eyes to know. They may have crunched with their boots and mused about the resilience of ecto-flesh, more resilient than fish-flesh. Danny could not know, because he’d need ears to know. They may have picked him up piece-meal and carried him in their pockets. Danny could not know. Not without touch.

He may have been on the golf course. He may not have been. There was no ‘where’ Danny could know. He needed his proprioception for that.

There was was. There was something Danny hoped was be. This was, Danny hoped, awake. This was the only awake he could be without a brain. And if this was awake, how long could he last? And if this was awake, was it enough to heal again?

Super healing was cool. It saved you from death. But maybe not always.

Was time passing…? Was the snow cold. Was the wind blowing. Was the hilltop white under pooling lights. Was it. And did it. And was he and did he.

Was time passing?

Surely, it had been just an eternity, by now. An eternity at least.

Or had it been only one second.

Or Danny wasn’t here.

He was, though. He had to exist to feel what he felt in the moment. He had to exist even if he was deprived of the mouth needed to scream the agony that was, in its entirety, him.

…

Sun glazed the snow on the east bank of the golf course down to a slushy sheen by 10am the next morning. Mitted, in snow boots, three trespassers combed the 18 holes of Amity Park Golf Course.

“Are you sure it’s this one?” Sam asked, voice hoarse with a question that had been repeated once an hour for the last three hours between heaving breaths of clearing snow.

“It has to be this one. They said golf course there’s only one golf course,” Jazz answered, and her hands trembled against the heel of the shovel she dug into her nearest snowbank.

“Do you see any foot prints?”

“They’re melted.”

“Well check the melted sides then!”

“We checked the melted sides.”

“Maybe we missed—”

“Guys shut up,” Tucker said, and he said it low, and he said it with lips the color of ash. He stood rooted. And his eyes shifted to the crown of the hill 30 feet to their right.

Jazz and Sam shut up. Because they heard it too.

Jazz abandoned her shovel in the snow. She ran. But Sam was faster.

And it was a noise. Long and piercing and deflating. Quiet. Then starting fresh from the top. Long and singular, like the note of a bagpipe. Sam rounded the crest of the hill. And she found the noise first.

And this close, she realized what it was. The noise was relief. Because the thing lying in the melted snow was finally enough of a mouth, and enough of a throat, and enough of a lung, to scream.

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #danny phantom fanfiction #horror #body horror #:)

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bennymaxxing · 2 years ago

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yeah I KNOW the only way ✧ shaped gunshot scars can happen is if the barrel is literally on the skin and in the fnv intro we see that Benny is at least a couple feet away when he shoots the courier but IDC IM TAKING SOME CREATIVE LIBERTIES CUZ STAR SCARS ARE COOL!!!

#fans who give their courier a ✧ scar >>>>>>>#I do like to give scars the courier would canonically have like the headshot and OWB scars #but I can give them special shapes as a treat :3c #courier six #fnv #my dumb little posts

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thatbadadvice · 10 months ago

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Help! I'm a Perfect Genius, but This Potential Employer Asked Me a Boring Interview Question!

Ask A Manager, 13 Feb 2024:

I was rejected from a role for not answering an interview question. I had all the skills they asked for, and the recruiter and hiring manager loved me. I had a final round of interviews — a peer on the hiring team, a peer from another team that I would work closely with, the director of both teams (so my would-be grandboss, which I thought was weird), and then finally a technical test with the hiring manager I had already spoken to. (I don’t know if it matters but I’m male and everyone I interviewed with was female.) The interviews went great, except the grandboss. I asked why she was interviewing me since it was a technical position and she was clearly some kind of middle manager. She told me she had a technical background (although she had been in management 10 years so it’s not like her experience was even relevant), but that she was interviewing for things like communication, ability to prioritize, and soft skills. I still thought it was weird to interview with my boss’s boss. She asked pretty standard (and boring) questions, which I aced. But then she asked me to tell her about the biggest mistake I’ve made in my career and how I handled it. I told her I’m a professional and I don’t make mistakes, and she argued with me! She said everyone makes mistakes, but what matters is how you handle them and prevent the same mistake from happening in the future. I told her maybe she made mistakes as a developer but since I actually went to school for it, I didn’t have that problem. She seemed fine with it and we moved on with the interview. A couple days later, the recruiter emailed me to say they had decided to go with someone else. I asked for feedback on why I wasn’t chosen and she said there were other candidates who were stronger. I wrote back and asked if the grandboss had been the reason I didn’t get the job, and she just told me again that the hiring panel made the decision to hire someone else. I looked the grandboss up on LinkedIn after the rejection and she was a developer at two industry leaders and then an executive at a third. She was also connected to a number of well-known C-level people in our city and industry. I’m thinking of mailing her on LinkedIn to explain why her question was wrong and asking if she’ll consider me for future positions at her company but my wife says it’s a bad idea. What do you think about me mailing her to try to explain?

Sir,

You have been wronged in the most grievous of ways by a coven of retaliatory, self-aggrandizing women who have failed in the extreme to recognize your brilliance, your talent, and above all, your general superiority.

Of course you should mail this mediocre "grandboss" on LinkedIn to inform her of the deep offense she caused you by interviewing you in the first place, let alone doing so using a boring question — indeed, you have a moral and professional obligation to do so in order to preserve your honor and the honor of scores of men like you who have never done a single solitary thing wrong in their lives, ever.

But I beg you to consider doing more. A single, private message to one incompetent bitch may not convey to the necessary parties the depth and breadth of the situation. Many, many people have important lessons to learn from your experience, and I encourage you to share it widely. Consider making a public LinkedIn post, and ensure that it is shareable across platforms. Depending on your financial resources, a billboard with your name, professional headshot, and contact information could go a long way toward ensuring that everyone in your industry who needs to know just how you handled the way these women treated you, does know about it. I hope that in your continuing job search, you are able to connect with potential employers who have a much better grasp of all you bring to the table.

#advice #bad advice #ask a manager #workplace #workplace advice #linkedin #bosses #working #developers #coding #fedoras #men #misogyny #workplace misogyny #hiring #job searching #employment

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tetzoro · 2 months ago

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☽◯☾ - THE LOVE COOK

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : Sanji has always had an affinity for cooking but nothing could ever compare to cooking for you. But his plan backfires and he realizes he’s in for more than he bargained for.

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. perv!sanji x dom!reader ; minor food play, handjob, minor cum play, lots of praise, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, usage of good boy (once), — WC : 4.6k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ Waxing Crescent ! ꒱ — kinktober masterlist

Sanji's always had an affinity for cooking. Since he was young, his love for it wove into the depths of his very being, one of the things he greatly identified with.

Under Zeff's vigorous training, the young cook fought to chase his passion, learning everything he could in what it meant to be a chef that was fit enough for the seas. And as time went on, it only strengthened. Year after year of trying new recipes, of feeding people who were hungry and above all, never wasting a drop — the bond grew along with him.

But as he got older, there was a new bonus for cooking. One that was filthy and always left him feeling like a perv, and yet — he couldn’t stop indulging himself.

Sanji really, really loved cooking for women.

It's honestly sinful how much he enjoys serving them food. How he makes sure his fingers grace their lap with a napkin — the fleeting touch of their thigh sending a thrill throughout his body, always ensuring to push in their chair a little too tightly so their chest presses against the table, and of course, feeding them a heartfelt compliment here and there while eating up their flustered state.

Every cook loves to see the reaction their food can evoke in people but Sanji takes it to a new level.

Women ooh and aww over his cooking, after that first bite he can clearly see it written all over their beautiful face’s. The direct line of pleasure he supplied them effortlessly coating their features, eyes rolling to the back of their head at the divine taste of their favorite foods.

But the real treat is when he hears their moans of approval. Quiet, loud, breathless, guttural, he’s heard it all. It's only natural that he savors the sound in the deepest banks of his memory to touch himself to those keepsakes later, pairing it with their heavenly expressions as his fist closes around his cock.

So when he finally has you as his little taste tester, sitting across from him as he serves you, the game changes. Suddenly, all of the other women he’s served pale in comparison to your reaction.

The moment the dessert coated fork touches your mouth he can see the explosion of gratification before him and he counts every blessing he has front row seats.

The small smile that graces your face, licking the extra cream off your lips as if you couldn’t get enough, an elongated yet quiet hum followed by his name and whatever praise you had for him immediately had his cock swelling in his trousers, pushing against the tightness of the fabric.

For a breath, he was just as dazed as you, watching your signs of contentment, your taste buds positively satisfied with all the flavors he lovingly poured into the dish.

But he needed more.

He needed to hear your praise once again.

“You like it?” Sanji barely managed to ask, straightening up as he tried to hide his lower half behind the counter.

“Like it?” You swallow down the food, your pretty eyes meeting his and he feels as if he was brutally shot by cupid's arrow, headshotted and left without any hope of being saved. “I love it.”

Something electric buzzed in the room that felt far too foreign to Sanji. Compliments would always effortlessly spill from his lips as easy as breathing but the way you were looking at him whisked every last drop of air from his lungs, suffocating them with the addicting allure of your praise.

The roles were suddenly reversed and now you were the one who was eyeing him.

Stalking up like a panther ready to strike, you rise from your chair and make your way over to him with a dark look in your eye he hasn’t been privy to before. Each movement was dragged out, languid yet precise. Like this was the moment you had been patiently waiting for and the thought drove Sanji close to madness.

“Mon-cheri–” Sanji started as he backed up against the counter under the intense aura you were emitting. It wasn’t a well thought out plan as you begin to corner him, effectively catching him in your little trap. He can’t lie and say the energy didn’t excite him, but it was certainly unexpected. Far too long he had been pining over you, dreaming of a moment like this but now that it’s here, he’s not so sure what to do.

“You know what would make this taste even better?” A redundant question as you don’t give him a chance to answer.

Taking your pointer finger, you gently scoop up some of the whipped cream off of the delicious pastry that Sanji had ever so graciously made for you. With a measured stroke, you glide his cherished creation down his neck, along his pulse point so you can feel how vigorously it races for you, his heart throbbing viciously against the chamber of his ribcage.

“W-what are you doing?” The question falls flat, dithery nerves striking up a cord within him that had him wanting to reach for his nearest cigarette to cope with the heart palpitations you were giving him with each move you make. “Wait, don’t waste it!”

“Waste it?” You tilt your head as you stand before him. His hands clutch onto the edge of the counter behind him in an attempt to steel himself. A soft puff of air caresses Sanji's skin moments before you lean in with your tongue peeking out of the confines of your mouth. dragging the pink muscle along his neck, you hum in approval at the sweet taste. “Just what I thought, even sweeter.”

His face burns red, the flames desperately licking at his cheeks under the sear of your compliments. Normally, he would be the one gifting them out, carried with a sweet melody of adoration. The energy he so readily gives out is now crashing back at him in full force and the poor cook can only tremble in anticipation.

Sanji's eye pinches shut in hopes of taking a moment to gather himself. But you were equipped with another dose of admiration, ready to pour it over him until he felt drowned in affection.

“You have such a pretty face, Sanji.” You push his hair back, revealing both of his closed eyes. “And beautiful eyes, I wish you’d show them more.”

Your wish is his command after all.

Slowly, Sanji's eyes begin to open — showcasing the birth of a new day as he reveals the beautiful blue that pools in his irises. The kind that reminds you of the All Blue book he’s shown you countless times when the two of you would curl up together while keeping watch for the ship. But once they lock onto yours, they abruptly morph into the stormy seas of the new world, holding the utter excitement of uncharted territory that’s waiting to be claimed.

“What are you doing?” Sanji asks the question again.

“Nothing.”Your voice carries a silken lilt that smoothes over him like a balm. “Nothing you don’t want me to do, at least.”

“Like what?” He breathes out. If it wasn’t for the close proximity due to you crowding him in the small corner of the kitchen, he doubts that you would’ve picked up on his shaky words.

“Oh Sanji,” The giggle that spills from your lips has his knees buckling, hands twitching to touch you and he swears he might fall over for a moment from the mountain of sheer desire he’s trying to hike through. “Don’t be so coy. You’re the one that’s always flirting with me ever since I joined the crew, did you not mean all the wonderful things you said?”

“O-of course I meant them!” Sanji's face becomes coated in a dark pink once again, the blush spreading throughout his cheeks as blood starts to drip from his nose. He quickly catches it with his hand, all too acutely aware of his traitorous body. “I'd never lie to you, my sweet.”

“Then don’t act so surprised.” Your hands slide up his arms, eyes intently watching him as he shudders under your touch. “And let me kiss you.”

Without another breath, lips softly collide. An explosion of shooting stars burst between the two of you as sparks caress your body. It's tender, unpracticed, and entirely wonderful. Utilizing small movements as you slowly figure out the rhythm of each other's mouths. How do his lips move? How do yours? How could they mold together so you can share the same breath?

After a few moments, you begin to gel against his – growing needier, craving more. Suddenly, the little pecks aren’t enough and your senses long to be invaded by everything that makes him up.

So, you boldly take the first step, your tongue pokes out to trace along his lip, feeling him out while your taste buds engrave the flavor to memory. His tongue follows suit, the soft muscle touches yours and after that, you blur into each other.

Like waves that grace the shoreline, you find a steady tide of give and take — back and forth as you learn what he likes, what will draw him back in, what will pull him under your current.

Following a steady motion that you two create together, your own song dedicated to your souls courting each other, dancing around feelings the other had been too scared to speak of.

Reluctantly, your lungs scream for reprieve so you pull apart, a thread of saliva connecting you as you pant heavily, breaths fanning each other's face.

Sanji’s blown out eyes are stuck on your lips and you realize that air be damned, nothing would nourish you more than the way he kisses every emotion he’s ever held for you against your lips, grabbing at you like you’re the very thing that’s keeping him tethered to this world.

Another collision and you’re back to it — more desperate than before. The few moments you went without him felt like eons and you had to make up for lost time. A reunion that proceeds past this lifetime, one that was premeditated as the connection only strengthens with each glide of your lips.

His tongue swirls around your own, hungered grunts breaking out from deep within his chest as he grows addicted to the way you taste. Hands grasping and pulling along your body as if he needed more, needing to fully melt into you.

And you’re more than ready to let him.

Leading him to the couch, he lands with a soft thud before you begin to straddle him. The anticipation drums in his ears, blood pumping at an abnormal rate as it figures out where to flow. So much has already pooled all the way to the tip of his cock, painfully pressing against the confines of his trousers. The rest threatens to gush from his nose at an alarming velocity and it’s taking everything in him to hold it back.

All of Sanji's muscles grow taut in an attempt to reign himself in, locked in place as he waits for you to make your move to do something that would hopefully help relieve him of this agonizing pressure. He was simply pretty putty that laid in your tender yet tantalizing hands, leaving you to pick him apart and shape him into whatever you wished for as long as you just kept playing with him.

“How pretty.” You coo as you get rid of his suit trousers, freeing his needy cock by sliding the fabric down his thighs a little. Through a practiced motion, you spit into your hand, wrapping it around his length to spread some more slick.

Sanji gasped, jaw hanging open once your fist closed around his leaking tip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

His face said it all — he was looking up at you with such awe and desire. The kind that made him think you strung up all the stars and moon just so the beams would cascade along your skin so beautifully — just as it is now.

Pockets of light illuminate you so he can see everything you’re doing through an ethereal filter that the heavens themselves must’ve constructed.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, jerking into your divine hand. The honey coated compliment was so sincere, genuine, uttered in a complete state of reverence. It melted your heart to see him still wanting to give so much even though your intention was to focus on him.

Sanji deserves to be worshiped. It’s something you’ve thought to yourself for quite some time. sure, he could be a bit much sometimes, going over the top with compliments and relentlessly chasing after women.

But after spending so much time at sea with him, you’ve started to peel back the layers behind the woman chasing persona he loves to wear so much. To the man who had unshakeable morals, who protected those who needed protecting, to feed every hungry person — friend or foe.

Sanji has so much to give, so generous with all the love he holds in his body. The love he so desperately wants to receive back but hides it behind cheesy pick up lines that can be dismissed with a laugh.

But enough was enough. It was Sanji's turn to be adored, to be told all the beautiful things about himself while you stroke his cock and coo at him until he spills all over your hand.

Which is exactly where you had him now.

“You’re so sweet, Sanji.” You pepper a kiss along his jaw and to his scruffy chin, wrist leisurely flicking as you hold his cock in your hands. It was pretty, which was fitting. Long with a tip so red you thought he might burst. Luckily, most of the blood stayed pumping between his thighs rather than from his nose. For now, at least.

“You’re the aah-“ His blonde locks toss as his head hangs back, heavenly bliss whirling around him as he curls his toes — trying not to cum so quickly. He was so sensitive but he wanted more, greedy for everything you were more than ready to give him. “Sweet one.”

“No, no, Sanji.” You lightly nibble on his ear and his hips stutter up with a loud groan. “You’re going to listen to me, okay? If you want me to keep going, you just have to sit there and be good for me. No complimenting me, no trying to please me, we’re focused on you right now, okay?”

Sanji didn’t know what to say. Primal instinct told him to sit there and be quiet but how could he when you were an angel sent down from heaven, just for him? The pleasure you were feeding a starving soul like him was too good to pass up.

“Okay.” He manages to choke out as his release pools deep into his gut, threatening to spill out everywhere. All he needed was that extra push.

“Good boy.” The phrase falls out of your mouth like a purr and he immediately cums into your hand with a whine, biting his lip trying to stay quiet. You don’t stop your movements as you press your lips against his, swallowing his whimpers as you start to overstimulate him.

But you’re merciful, and you don’t want to punish him. The only thing on your mind is making him feel loved, feel wanted, feel adored.

“Let me —” Sanji starts to move, adjusting himself to tuck his half-hard cock away.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The smirk that takes up your face was killer as you brought your messy hand toward your mouth. You make a small show of playing with it, feeling how sticky it was, how it ran down your finger before plopping it into your mouth. “Don’t want to waste any of it, right?”

Sanji couldn’t even speak, the words stolen right from the tip of his tongue as yours danced between your fingers, removing every trace of him. You move down to kneel in front of him, the gasp he lets out sending a shiver down your spine. Anticipation bubbling up inside of you as lust pools in your gut, starting to burn with need.

Holding his half-hard cock in the palm of your hand, you swirl your tongue around, cleaning up the residual mess he made with a few precise movements. You lick along the length, feeling him hardening under your ministrations.

It only encourages you to engulf him in your mouth, showing him how far you could take him down your throat. Sanji groaned in response, fingers digging into your hair as his thighs tensed.

Once you’re finished, you remove your own panties from under your skirt and climb into his lap to straddle him once again.

“Sanji, you really are just so sweet.” You repeat your words from earlier, gliding your now bare, drooling cunt against his stiff cock, “Makes me want to eat you up.” You pause, sucking a mark along his neck before whispering in his ear. “…devour you.”

Sanji was truly at a loss for words. Always the one so readily equipped with a line to show his undying admiration was now struggling to string together a coherent thought as your slick started to cover him.

“Like look at these wondrous hands.” To make a point, you hold them up as you continue to grind against him. “Always providing for us, making the world's most delicious food and spoiling us to your heart's content.”

Tugging his hands, you make sure they cover your chest so he can get a proper squeeze in that causes his nose to drip yet again, his cock undoubtable leaking with more pre-cum.

“I'd do anything for you.” He whispers, thumbs gently brushing over your nipple. Sanji was eerily quiet for a moment as he caressed the plush of your flesh, transfixed on the sight before him.

“Anything?” The question hangs in the air as you brush his bangs to the side. His slightly sweaty forehead helped keep some of the pieces tucked from his eyes, both of his eyebrows now on full display – just like you wanted.

“Anything.” He breathes the word out like a prayer, a promise that he’d never deny you of what you’d ask of him.

“Are you ready for me?” Your thumb trails along his parted lower lip, his darkened eyes hazy with an overwhelming lust but entirely set on you.

“Please.” He moans as you line up your soppy entrance with his cock, slick with your saliva and twitching with need.

“Anything for you, monsieur.” Slowly, you lower yourself on his cock, letting him feel every inch of himself bury into you at an agonizing rate. Your wet, welcoming walls greedily sucked him in, wrapping snuggly around him so tightly that his head grows blank.

Sanji's moans fill the room, his hands gravitating toward your waist as if it was pulled by another force, thumbing circles against your skin. It's taking everything in him not to bury his fingers into you and slam you down onto his cock, letting the most primal part of him mount you and take you in a way that directly challenges his morals.

The pace catches him off guard, fingers quickly moving to dig into the scratchy fabric of the couch. It wasn’t enough to steady him, the precipice of his release hastily rising at a rate he could barely keep up with.

The way your warm walls constrict around him, enveloping him in a way that makes him think you never want to let go. He barely has enough strength to pound up into you, opting instead to capture your nipple in his mouth, latching on while his hand caresses your other breast.

Sanji has always had a silver tongue, able to sing the sweetest praise and compliments toward any woman within a 20 foot radius. But you never thought about how well his mouth would be used in other ways. His soft tongue caresses your pert nipple, hardened by the contact and the slightly chilly air in the kitchen.

Lithe fingers gently pinch your other one, before trailing down along your sides and slipping between your thighs to roll your neglected nub between his digits. The sudden pressure gives your body an electric jolt, lurching forward and pressing your chest into Sanji's face more.

Each roll of your hips earned another tender groan from the man below you, lost in a haze as you continuously fed him the sin that he had been craving for as long as he can remember. He pulls back from between the valley of your breasts, looking up at you with hearts flitting around in his eyes, his cock twitching in tune with its beat.

“Want you to come for me, mon-cheri.” He releases his mouth from your breast, looking up at you, limbs still twisted around you as he drives into you harder.

“Yeah? Want me to come all over your pretty cock?” You mewl, pressing your body flush against his as your own thighs start to tremble.

“Yes, please! I need it, need to come with you.” Sanji’s voice almost cracks under the intensity, gripping onto your shaky thighs as he begins to meet you thrusts, fucking himself harder into you. Your body jiggled under the intensity, spiraling you to your high and threatening to unravel you to your very core if you let go.

So you did – letting the blinding white wash over your vision, course and tremble through your body as he fills you up with ropes of cum. Sanji all but whined, biting his lip in pure ecstasy as he teeters over the edge of oblivion.

The two of you try to catch your breath, a pair of lovers leaning against each other more out of necessity than comfort – but it was welcomed nonetheless. Sanji drew little circles along your back, the glide of his fingers soothing you back down from your high.

He gives you a quick kiss on the forehead, moving you so you’re sitting on the couch, your head lolling to the back of it as you stare up at the ceiling.

Sanji shakily rises to his feet, swiftly moving toward the kitchen to get a fresh cloth to clean up the mess between your legs. But his keen eye spies something else that might serve more of a purpose right now.

“May I ?” Sanji asks, kneeling down from where you are sitting on the couch, gently wedding himself between your knees. Taking the whip cream he had swiped on his finger, he drags it along your inner thigh and throbs at the way you gasp in surprise. “After all, I still haven’t gotten my own taste yet.”

“But I told you –”

“Oh sweetheart, I know what you told me,.” Sanji pries your legs open a little more, licking his lips as he takes in the way his cum is oozing out of your pulsing cunt. “Would you really deprive me of this?”

The sheer eagerness fills his eyes like wide saucers. The over enthusiastic man before you was more than ready to please you now, holding back this entire time as you had your way with him. He had been so patient that maybe he did deserve a reward.

“No.” Your voice is a little quieter yet filled with unbridled curiosity. The ghost of his tongue gliding over your nipples earlier resurfaces and you shudder in delight.

“Good, so good for me.” Sanji praises, licking up the stripe of frosting that laid defensively on your inner thigh, dragging it all the way to your cunt. The soft breathes from Sanji tickled at the sensitive flesh and had you trying to squirm away. But he had quick reflexes, gently digging in fingers into your hips and pulling them closer to his face. “Wouldn’t want to waste a drop.”

Sanji lapped at the cum dripping out from your entrance, ensuring to clean up all of the mess he left behind. The taste of your shared essence hit his taste buds and he swears he’s never tasted anything better. Groaning into your cunt, he clutches onto your plushy thighs and begins to eat you out like a starved man.

The vibrations from his guttural grunts directly attack your clit. The hot flash of pleasure coursed through your veins, spreading along to every nerve that was attached to your body, singing out in ecstasy as your thighs began to tremble and lock around his head.

For added leverage, you weave your fingers through the soft, pretty strands of his blonde hair, tugging on them like reins that will steer you right to the climax you were steadily building towards.

“‘m close.” You gasp, not giving him a chance to move his head as he’s locked in. But you don’t hear one noise of complaint – instead, it was just another groan of approval that ripped through your body and pushed you towards the edge.

Stars burst behind your eyes, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream as Sanji worked you through your orgasm, squeezing out all the pleasure before overstimulation started to bite at you. Using his hair, you pull him apart from your sensitive cunt. The blissed out smile on his face no doubt mirrored your own.

“magnifique.” Sanji breathed out, watching as your chest heaves under the fight to catch your breath, your lungs desperately gulping down air as it took everything in you to float back down from your high. He leaves a wake of gentle kisses along your inner thigh paired with the soft praises he coos at you. “The heavens orchestrated this moment for us, my own little angel coming down to save me.”

Sanji places one last kiss on your knee, tempted to go all the way down your leg and worship every inch of your skin. He rises back up, grabbing the cloth he had originally set out for and returns back before humming a tune that you hadn’t heard before.

“What’s that song?” you ask softly, body twitching in anticipation as Sanji runs the cool cloth between your legs and being very careful not to overstimulate you. Too much. His eyes flash up towards yours once you speak, his attention always set on you no matter what task he’s working on. This was no exception.

“There used to be a beautiful singer that would visit the Baratie when I was younger. She’d come in every few weeks and sing for everyone there.” He goes on to tell the story while still cleaning you up, kissing every freckle and mole he can spot as the cloth tenderly glides along your skin. “She sang many songs but this one was my favorite. It was a love song that told the story of a couple who longed to find adventure together, going as far as transcending time and space to meet each other in every life.”

“That's lovely.” You give a small smile as he finishes. Sanji reaches for your panties, sliding them back up your legs before it’s back where it belongs. His palms caress down your thighs as he rises back up, pressing a warm kiss against your forehead that made your head all fuzzy. “I've never heard you sing before.”

“Then you should come into the kitchen more often while I’m cooking, Mon-Cheri. I'm always humming a tune.” His thumb trails along your bottom lip – mesmerized at how swollen and kiss-bitten it was. You push forward, giving it the slightest amount of pressure as you return the favor.

“Maybe I will.” Sanji gives you a little wink, stepping back for a moment as he fishes through his pockets to find what he’s looking for.

“It would be my greatest honor to have the most beautiful person in all of the seas accompany me during my tedious tasks.” Sanji flashes his most charming smile before he places a cigarette in his mouth and sets it aflame with his trusty gold lighter. “Now, let’s have you finish your sweet treat so I can indulge in mine again after.”

tags : @ambiguouslady42 ᡣ𐭩

#☆ 𓂃 Kinktober !#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#sanji x reader #sanji smut #one piece smut #one piece x reader #op smut #op x reader

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bluelocksource · 26 days ago

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U-20 Japan National Team Match Just Before the Game: A Day in Daily Life at Blue Lock.

Isagi: "I styled my hair. The little sprout on top of my head looks great today! Just then, Bachira came up and said, "Harvest ♪" while grabbing it tightly. No matter how much I tried to escape, he kept holding on. I resigned myself to it and let him grip it for a while until he got bored and went off somewhere. What a free spirit!"

Gagamaru: "There’s no nature inside Blue Lock. I wanted to see trees and flowers. Anything would be fine. Just something green. While I was looking around, I found Otoya. His bangs are green, so when I stared at him, he said, "Not into guys."

Aryū: "Little by little, the Blue Lock folks are starting to get a taste of 'Osha.' But in truly 'Osha' moments, people shine. I swear here that one day I’ll show that!"

Niko: "I was caught washing my forehead by Aryū-kun. It was embarrassing. But he taught me, 'Embarrassment is an important emotion that makes us human.' I became interested in Aryū-kun. I want to know a little more about this 'Osha' thing."

Chigiri: "I fell asleep while drying my hair. There’s no one here to wake me up. My hair is long, so it takes a while. Maybe I'll cut it next summer."

Bachira: "When I was walking around n*k*d, Karasu scolded me! Otoya joined me in being n*k*d ♪ Isagi... treated me the same as always! It seems he’s gotten tired of making remarks at my n*k*dn*ss. What a strange guy."

Karasu: "I found myself in the bath with Hiori. We didn't really have a conversation, but that was perfectly fine. I think we were both comfortable with it. It was great to see him looking well. I'm glad we had the chance to meet again."

Nagi: "I ate alone. I did the laundry by myself. I’ve become able to train on my own. I'm proud of myself. Changing is fun, but it can also be a hassle and a little lonely. Still, I think it's an important thing."

Otoya: "I contacted some girls I know on my smartphone after a long time. Most of them didn’t respond. It turns out that not keeping in touch regularly really does make girls dislike you. On to the next one! Woohoo ♪"

Yukimiya: "I talked about various things with Nagi-kun. Like the things we like, and how we've managed to get this far. It seems that for Nagi-kun, the existence of Isagi is significant. It's a story that doesn't really concern me, but having a rival like that feels nice somehow."

Rin: "When I woke up in the morning, my left lower eyelash was turned inside out and it hurt my eye. It happens sometimes, right? Bedhead with lower eyelashes. Huh? Is it just me? My brother said he has it... Oh, don't remind me of that guy. What a terrible wake-up!"

Hiori: "I trained with Isagi-kun. I sent in crosses, and Isagi-kun delivered a direct shot. With each one, he practices with intention and communicates well. He’s a smart type. He’s a bit like Karasu, too. I don’t dislike Isagi Yoichi."

Reo: "I ate alone and trained alone. It’s been a while since I did anything by myself. I can live on my own, but I dream of things I can’t do alone. I have to change. It’s not over yet. Someday, I’ll do it once more."

Barou: "I touched up the "X" shave on my temple. One line represents my murderous intent towards others, and the other represents my murderous intent towards myself. What’s that? Don’t look at me, you stinky guy (Nagi). It’s not a mark saying to give me a headshot here!"

Igaguri: "My hair had gotten long, so I asked Shidou to cut it with clippers, and he ended up giving me a heart-shaped bald spot on the back of my head. Love Amida Buddha…"

Ishikari: "I suddenly felt like playing basketball, so I asked Anri-chan for a basketball. I gathered some people randomly, and it turned out Kiyora was surprisingly really good. Basketball is so much fun!"

Kurona: "Good morning, good morning. Hello, hello. Good night, good night. Greetings are important, very important. It’s a given, but it’s precious. Everyone’s everyday life, everyday life."

Kiyora: "For dinner today, should I have croquettes or minced cutlets? My heart is 50% 50%. I feel like both choices are correct, but I also think I’d regret whichever one I choose. Alright. I’ll eat both. ………………………… Damn, I ate too much and my stomach hurts. Should I lie down or go to the bathroom? The borderline starts again."

Zantetsu: "It's better to brush your teeth properly every day, I told everyone. They replied, 'You should study more.' Well, if you get a cavity, don't say I didn't warn you!"

Tokimitsu: "I was saying, 'I lack confidence. I want confidence,' when Karasu-kun teased me, saying, 'It was just lying in the bathroom earlier, right?' Ugh… come on, don’t mess with me for real… Well, I went to check the bathroom anyway… but of course, it wasn’t there! Uwaaa!"

Nanase: "I washed my headband. When I put it in the dryer, it shrank a lot... what should I do? For now, I just wore it as it was that day. My head felt 'juri juri' (itchy)... Oh, I mean it felt 'zuki zuki' (throbbing). There goes my dialect again! Hehe, sorry about that!"

Hiiragi: "I used my hobby of tarot cards to predict my future. The 'Devil' card came up… Well, it's just a fortune-telling, right? Nothing to worry about! Right?"

Raichi: "I got really into a sideburns talk with Ishikari! His sideburns are pretty good, but mine are definitely cooler! In the end, we ended up arguing about it!"

Shidou: "I woke up. My mind feels clear. Yeah, it’s a good start today. In the afternoon, my body feels energized. I can sense my cells buzzing with excitement. At night, my heart feels restless. I’m sure something will happen tomorrow. I want to experience this night, knowing I can sleep with that thought, over and over again."

Ego: "Anri-chan was drooling and sleeping at her desk. She should sleep in her own room. Well, I decided to show a little concern for her. With this, she’ll probably listen to me for a while again. Kindness has its intentions. That’s how humans are."

Anri: "I was given an assignment by Ego-san to come up with ideas to make the existence of the Blue Lock better known to the world. Since that day, I've been stressed and having strange nightmares. Damn it… I want to sleep well! I’ll do my best!"

source: Egoist Bible 2

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killerpancakeburger · 1 month ago

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Scary Dog Privilege 3

You thought your days as Ghost's handler over since he started seeing Soap, but when someone's bold enough to lay hands on what's his, you feel obligated to intervene to prevent a massacre.

Inspired by this post by @shotmrmiller /Soap pic cred goes to @yumethefrostypanda

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, light smut, GuardDog!Ghost x Handler!Reader, Ghoap x Reader, dom!Ghost, dom!Reader, sub!Soap, light degradation towards Soap. Soap gets treated like a mutt, Ghost is Smug™️, what else is new! I can't write smut so they don't go all the way sorry 😔 1.4k words.

Part 1. Part 2.

When Ghost gets progressively murderous, glaring hard, who needs to defuse the situation? You, again.

Someone is getting brutally murdered tonight, you think to yourself as you coolly take another sip from your glass.

When you joined your colleagues for a drink earlier in the evening, you were not counting on Ghost and Soap's presence. Your butt had barely grazed your seat that the scotsman was enthusiastically waving at you from across the bar, turning himself into the center of attention, while his taciturn companion was looking you up and down, dark stare as intense as ever, sizing you up like you were a potential adversary… or prey.

You had given a half smile and a reserved hand motion in return, before refocusing your attention on the people you came with.

You were still mad at Ghost, after all.

The bastard had been toying with you, letting you believe that, maybe, there could be something more between you two. Then you discovered he was fucking around with his blue-eyed Sergeant too.

Not appreciating being just another conquest, you had been keeping your distance from him.

Until now.

Until the beauty sliding her way to Johnny catches your eye. She's undeniably attractive, and with the confidence to match. Maybe a bit too confident, you gauge as your eyes follow the motion of her hand informally palpating Soap's bicep.

You glance at Ghost, curious of his reaction.

What you find sends a cold shiver down your spine. If looks could kill… the poor thing would be dead several times over. In very gruesome ways.

It's a miracle she doesn’t feel his deadly stare piercing her skull, like he was trying to headshot her unarmed.

He hasn’t budged an inch, but even from afar, you can read the tension in his muscles— the line of his jaw, the strain of his forearm, the clench of his fist. Even with the mask, you can guess the scowl twisting his features.

You swear you can hear his glass of whisky wince under the pressure of his vice-like grip.

That's when you decide to prevent a carnage.

Finishing your drink, and informing your coworkers that you’d be back soon, you make your way to the bothersome couple and their no-less-bothersome third wheel, quickly plotting a plan of attack. How to get her to give up her target without causing— too much of— a scene?

Walking by Ghost before reaching your goal, you hiss at him under your breath: “Behave.”

Sneaking behind Johnny, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, embracing him from behind with a sickly sweet smile for your mark, fingers crossed that he'll play along, or at least keep his big mouth shut.

Chest pressed against his back, and lips close to his ear, you ask out loud:

“Sweetheart, who's your friend?”

Before the forenamed can reply, the woman snaps back, all her smiles and seductive tone gone out the window.

“No, who do you think you are?”

Outch. And to think you're doing all this to preserve her life. Ungrateful much?

You tighten your grip over Soap's possessively, your cordial expression not faltering.

“You should know not to go after taken men.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't see your name anywhere on him.”

So that's how she wants to play this, uh. Time to show her you can beat her at her own game easily.

“Oh, my bad, forgot to mark him before letting him out.”

Your hand leaves Johnny's chest to grab his jaw between thumb and forefinger, with enough strength to turn his face away from you, but not enough to hurt him, and making good use of the newfound access to his throat, you bite.

A strangled little noise escapes him, but you barely pay it any mind as you look up to stare at your opponent defiantly, and the mix of shock and revulsion in the grimace twisting her features tells you you've won. She gets up and takes off with a scoff. She must certainly take you for a freak, but it's a small sacrifice you’re willing to make.

Releasing Soap, you slump by his free side at the booth with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry. Don't be mad at me, that's all I found to make her leave.”

“I don't think ‘mad’ is what he's feeling now, luv.”

You glare at Ghost, irked by how satisfied he sounds. He half-turned your way, one arm leaning on the backrest, one hand squeezing his Sergeant's thigh.

“L.T.”, hisses the latter through gritted teeth, and it sounds like a plea, while absolutely refusing to meet your eyes.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you groan in the culprit's direction.

“S’that so?”

The smugger he sounds, the hotter your blood runs. It's not until you can feel his warm breath on your skin that you realize that, in your anger, you leaned towards him so much— and he returned the favor— that your faces are inches away. You even reflected him without meaning too, seizing Johnny's other thigh to balance yourself, causing the aforenamed to gulp.

“Sure it's not an excuse to drape yourself all over Johnny?”

You've never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

“You're delirious.”

“Gonna have to take responsibility for the state you've put him in.”

“That's bullshit. Johnny, tell him it's—”

Your mouth abruptly close as you take in the Sergeant's flustered state— half-lidded eyes, flushed face and ears, imploring expression.

“Guess I'll just have to demonstrate, then…”

Turning his words into deeds, Simon grabs your hand and directs it towards Soap.

“Nonono, Simonplease—”

In other circumstances, you would have put a stop to this. Set Ghost straight, shield Soap, embody the voice of reason. But…. Your mouth is dry, your skin ablaze, lust the only thing on your mind. It's like Johnny's beseeching whine caused most of your blood to desert your brain and rush South.

And Simon's actions are not helping— quite the opposite.

He guides your hand to his Sergeant's crotch, and the hard-on you find there sweeps away all the doubts you had about him not being into this, nor into you. The contact wrests a hiss from your target, and you look up to find him biting into his fist— a desperate effort to keep quiet. Glistening blue eyes bore into you, and you forget about anyone else's existence until Ghost speaks up again.

“Believe me now?”

The trip back to the base was a blur. One second you were in the bar, engaged in a staring contest, the next the sound of the lock of Ghost's bedroom rings out in the silence.

You barely find your bearings that Soap gets shoved on his back on the bed, and a warm hand on your back makes you land on him right after.

“Oof, what the fuck,” you complain as you rise on your forearms.

Soap isn’t deterred by the manhandling at all— used to it?—, instead lifting his head to nuzzle against you with a happy sigh. That's only then that you realize you somehow fell with your chest right in his face.

You attempt to get up on all four, but Johnny's grabby hands on your ass pinning you against him make it difficult.

“Bloody hell Soap, let me get up.”

He whines in protest at the command but obeys anyway.

You crawl backwards to meet his eyes. Next thing you know, his hand slips behind your neck to notch your mouth with his.

He's panting when you split up. The view makes you chuckle good-naturedly.

“So worked up already. I barely touched you.”

When he attempts to kiss you again, lips brushing yours, you recoil and perch on his lap.

You tug at his shirt and he sits up straight without needing to be asked twice.

“Let me look at you.”

Cradling his face, you stroke his bottom lip with your thumb as you contemplate him, taking in his dilated pupils and disheveled mohawk.

Enjoying his obedience as much as his eagerness, you let him remove your top, grope your chest and suck at your nipples.

Lost in his ministrations, you would have almost forgotten about his lieutenant's presence until a gloved hand slides from your hip to cup your crotch, and a warm torso presses against your back. You turn your head to get a look at him but he objects to it.

“Don't mind me, love. Focus on Johnny, yeah? Got the poor thing all pent up.”

The above-named openly moans at that, and you make a mental note— “likes when we talk about him like he's not there.”

There's a gap between Ghost's words and actions though, and it becomes incredibly hard to concentrate on Johnny when he slips his hand inside your pants to tease you with his fingers while kissing your neck. Of course he's doing this on purpose, the smug bastard. The night promises to be long.

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azulsluver · 4 months ago

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Ur bully au is so good I could slurp it up but it got me wondering

How would all the students react to the reader just. trying to kill themselves because of the endless torment? would they keep harassing? would they say something about it? or would they tone it down? I must know because If I was in that situation i know damn well unaliving myself would be the first option

There’s more than one asking but ima just get this over with

tw. yandere, attempted suicide, suicide, cutting, bully!characters, mentioned torture, humiliation, blood, slight gore, neglection, fucked up reader (deadass).

Here are some thoughts and reactions bellow!

When asking, what role does this character do in this so called ‘bully!au’? You have to look at a deeper perspective of how each person behaves, what the intention is, and how it’s done.

So when the subject of suicide is involved it can get confusing depending on what caused it. Self worth is hinted in the reader, insecurities are brought and laughed at because it needs to hit a spot. Because YOU have feelings, watching it be stripped by people in far greater power than you, people with money, influence, and within number. Standing up to a bully is difficult, the struggles you go through should’ve been realistic.

When push comes to shove, they’re not all coming for you. If you enjoy the idea of every character ruining your life— that’s fine— but, it’s usually one or three. I think it’s childish, when I first made this AU, some sort of amusement in finding hurt but comfort when writing, they’re not trying to kill you, you know. You just catch their eye, more than they could like. Rejection is one thing, but another is a fair game of a sadistic approach. Whether they verbally or physically abuse you is up to place bets on what kills you.

For NRC years, yes, they constantly nagged and followed you around. But the times they would actively seek you out would be less than you think, the focus on bullying would be isolation. They don’t have to hurt you everyday. Some time for yourself to heal and think over your situation. What would you eat? Would they play nice and ignore you for tonight? Did your look piss off someone from afar? Let them cheat off you! Don’t be such a bore, it’ll all go back to just you and Grim.

If you picked up self harming, it’s noticeable. Hiding it is nearly impossible. They grab and bite at you already so what makes you think hiding was a good idea? It’s nasty and unplanned, miss them? Miss their touch that you havta recreate it? It’s horrible to mention, but caring really depends on who calls you out.

I can say you like it. Or you fucking hate it. You hate, hateee, how they treat you. You crawl on all fours for them to laugh and pat your head, do a dare and lick off from their hand but money is involved.

What did you do, was it simple, messy, perfect headshot if you will. If your need to die was to simply hurt them in any way— it might work. Poor them, they can’t imagine being away from you for too long. Some are more uninterested than the others. Who gives a shit you died? Whoever had the luck of finding you, dead or in the act, serves a purpose of letting you live or die. Cruel as they may be, you tug at a couple of heart strings.

Let’s say it was an attempt:

Sprang into action, either holding you down or taking whatever object you’re using to harm yourself. They’re gonna make sure this doesn’t happen again, you gave them quite the spook. Have fun being watched 24/7, and if they couldn’t, everything will be baby proofed for your safety, isn’t that nice, they care. Thrash all you want, screaming and crying won’t get you anywhere, but they’ll bite their tongue once and a while to prevent this from happening.

Trey, Riddle, Azul, Vil, Jack, Deuce, Sebek,

Oohh…he’s so sorry. Please forgive him, crying on his knees and rubbing his head against your chest. It doesn’t matter if the blood stains his clothes, you nearly died and he feels awful. He promises so many times for harm to look the other way, twisted, yet unavoidable. Trapped in a tight, monitored schedule were his scent and voice is all you’ll ever need. But at least there’s a change of heart, your health is improving and that’s all that matters to him, but speak to him, he wants to hear you.

Silver, Malleus, Kalim

Should he have stopped you, but what good will it do for him? Frozen in the moment, their bodies do the thinking, rational, to prevent you from escaping them. You’re funny, reaaal funny, got good jokes at time. But, he’s not really laughing. A little, but it’s hysterically funny and scary. Because he’s still so rough, even when he apologizes yet calls you stupid, his fingers hurt you more than whatever you had planned, gripping, as if you really died.

Jamil, Ace, Cater, Ruggie, Leona, Idia, Floyd, Epel

Does it hurt? Did you find your ulna? Was the rope too tight? It feels like he’s only here to see the end credits, the finale. The sick fuck is smiling too, gross. Giving up just leaves you with him by your side, pressing it deeper to help you get the job done…just kidding! That was quite a show you put on, this is why he likes you. Being responsible of another’s cause of death isn’t ideal, so he’ll try to watch you as of now.

Lilia, Rook, Jade

From that list alone you can guess who’s to mourn, and who savors what is left. Death is inevitable. Everyone dies one way.

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Chapter III

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

You work magic with your hands

The human body is able to withstand extreme damage.

"Medic!" Price's voice boomed across base, heavy footsteps following right after. The door slammed open before you could even get up, Gaz and Simon carrying a bloodied Soap. They set him down on the medical bed and you got up, rushing to them and examining the damage.

It's incredible, really, how the human body can withstand extreme conditions and stay resilient, such as a gunshot that had blood leaking out of Johnny's head like a faucet.

"Out. With me, Simon." You bark out orders and the men obey, Price patting your shoulder twice, the look in his eyes saying much more than words. Fix him.

"Apply pressure on the wound." Simon nods his head, quickly discarding his skull gloves as his bare hands apply pressure on Johnny's chest to limit the blood loss. You felt a weak pulse earlier, yet the sound of the EKG machine as soon as you hook him up served as reassurance. You immediately put on your gloves, not bothering to hook him up to an IV to avoid wasting time. His heartbeat is weak, but he's still here.

Your hands get to work immediately as Simon begins to treat the wound on Johnny's chest, a much simpler injury than the bullet in his head. You bring the light closer to his head, able to make out the familiar glint of the bullet encrusted in his brain.

Twelve hours. That's how long it took to complete surgery on Johnny to remove the bullet in his head and stabilize him. He's a lucky motherfucker; the base of his brain and spinal cord being completely untouched, allowing him to be part of the 10% of people who have survived a headshot.

Your knees give out right after you make sure Johnny is all covered up, exhaustion and stress along with the disappearing adrenaline finally catching up to you. Strong arms wrap around your torso to prevent you from falling— Simon, who refused to leave your office, staying awake those twelve hours in case his help was needed.

"With you, lass." He reminds you, helping you stand up and guiding you to your chair, crouching down to get a better look at you.

"Need a cuppa?" He asked gently, the back of his hand making contact with your forehead to check for your temperature.

"Fucking brits..." You grumble, tired eyes looking down at him, the way his gaze softens and the corners of his mouth tilt up into a small smile, a deep laugh escaping out of his lips for a second.

"Some coffee?" You nod your head, hands going under your glasses to gently rub your eyes as you struggle to stay awake. He gets up, hand on your shoulder squeezing softly to make you look up at him.

"I'll go tell that lot Johnny made it, think you can stay awake until they're here?" His words had hints of teasing despite the concern in his eyes, only turning away once you nodded your head. You got up from the chair, walking over to the medical bed and looking at Johnny's unconscious body. His heart beat was stable, at the very least.

"I miss you, Johnny." Your hand reaches out to hold his, squeezing softly before you bring it to your lips and plant a soft kiss on his knuckles, slowly putting his hand back on his stomach. As annoying as he can be, he feels like a younger brother, someone you'd lay down your own life for with no hesitation, though that secretly goes for the rest of the team.

You take a step back when you hear footsteps approaching, pretending to fix the new IV injected to him.

"Doc." Price greets, walking over to you and looking down at Johhny. Bruised and bloody, but alive.

"Knew I made the right choice with you." His heavy hand pats your shoulder, managing to offer you a smile despite all the stress he was in, not knowing whether or not one of his boys was going to make it.

"I'm honored, Captain." He could hear the appreciation under the layer of sarcasm.

"I don't know when he's going to wake up, but there wasn't any damage on the frontal lobe or top of the brain, so probably not gonna have brain damage either... not that it'd make much of a difference." You drift off, eyebrows furrowing slightly as you think back on the twelve hours that just passed, the deep chuckle escaping the captain turning your attention back to him.

"Good. Go rest, Gaz and I will take turns watching over him." You simply nod, turning away to leave and patting his arm gently as you walk past. A small smirk sets on your lips when you feel the muscle, quickly leaving the office and going to your quarters. You barely manage to remove the bloodstained white coat before you collapse in bed, any thoughts about what happened and the coffee Simon was making for you completely forgotten as you finally drift off to sleep.

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la-petite-lapin · 6 months ago

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Keeping Secrets | John Price x female!reader

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John Price x afab!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Content Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, mentions of injury, cannon typical violence, swearing, age gap (reader is in her twenties, John is in his forties), suggestive content, oral (F receiving), PIV (protected (stay safe, kids)), brief mention of Price JRs, no use of Y/N

The Captain and the Sergeant start keeping secrets from the rest of the taskforce

It wasn't like it was in the movies or the books. There were no longing glances across crowded rooms; no deep, personal conversations late at night. There was no warning.

The first indication that anything had changed between the two of you was in a dimly lit safehouse. A job had gone wrong - horribly, irreparably wrong - and Soap had been medevac-ed out to the nearest army hospital. The rest of you would have to wait until morning; would have to make it through the night when a countless number of enemy operatives could still be hunting you, then hike to the nearest evac point before sunrise.

Ghost was pacing the worn wooden floors, and you were sure he'd wear through them at some point. You knew better than to make a joke about it - knew better than most the deep bond that he and Johnny shared. To mock it would be to die a brutal death by Ghost's hand in the night.

Gaz was coping with it in the best way he knew how: checking in with everyone, yourself - as the newest member of the taskforce - included, mother-hening his way around the three-room cabin in the middle of rural woodlands.

It wasn't until he'd finally convinced Ghost to sit down and take a breath, that Captain Price finally approached you. Heavily, he lowered himself down to sit beside you on the shabby old sofa, not saying a word at first as you stared ahead at nothing.

Johnny had been standing right next to you when it all went to shit. Him diving in front of you like a lunatic was probably the only reason that you were there with them. The shot to his shoulder would have been a direct headshot on you.

It was hard not to feel bitter or dazed about that.

"It's not your fault, Sarge," John said, his voice markedly softer than usual. He typically made it a point to avoid babying you in any way - knew that you hated being treated differently to the boys - but you could make an exception for him just the once. "Soap chose to block that bullet. Saved your life an' all. Cheer up, yeah? He's alright and you'll see 'im soon enough."

You turned to face him, offering him a small, weak shadow of a smile. "I know. It just sucks."

John frowned, seeing through the thin veil of fake cheeriness. Quieter, he added, "It's alright to be shaken by this, too. First near-death is always scary. It stays with you in a way the ones after don't." There was a pause - a long, tentative pause - as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his parted knees, dark eyes finding yours and holding them. "If- if you don't want to be alone tonight, you don't have to be."

Laid out in the open like that, the offer seemed so damn tempting.

Your mind raced through all of the shit that could go down if you took him up on it - if you were found out. You could be removed from the taskforce, stripped of the sergeant rank that you'd fought so hard to attain. John could be reprimanded for sleeping with an officer under his orders. But, if no one knew... what was the harm?

With a soft, sweet smile - a genuine one this time - you tilted your head, leaning slightly into his space on the sofa. "Yeah. I think I'd like some company, Captain."

Hours later, after Ghost had fallen asleep on the floor of the living room and Gaz had been assigned first watch, Price led you into the smaller second room of the safehouse - the bedroom - under the guise of checking your wounds. In reality, the minor scrapes to his arm and leg had already been dressed, not requiring any further attention. If anything, the cut to Gaz's forearm was of a higher severity.

John grinned as he shut the door with a soft thud, sliding the flimsy, rusted deadbolt across to lock it. You were thankful for the added security; the increased reassurance that the boys wouldn't be able to just wander in and catch you in the act.

The bedroom was poorer lit than the main room, making it harder to see. The moon illuminated the outline of the Captain's broad, muscular frame as he removed his beanie and tactical vest before turning his attention to his belt. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, thighs clenching in an attempt to relieve some of the aching tension in your core.

He took his time stripping down to his white t-shirt and boxer briefs, the material straining with the impressive tent in the front. "Like what you see?" he grumbled cockily, noticing your attention.

You let out something akin to a whine. He looked so good - so unbelievably good after the day from Hell you'd just had. There was also something else that made it undeniably more thrilling; the risk of getting found out. The taboo of it all.

You couldn't deny that you'd found Price attractive before that deployment. You'd spent every day for the past two years around him, living, eating, and working alongside him and the boys. It had also been a fact of life that he had a following - a constant, ever-present gaggle of new, female recruits cornering him in the hallways and vying for his attention. But he never took any of them to bed, preferring to spend his nights in the barracks alone.

At first, you'd thought that he had a wife or a partner off-base, but a conversation on your last stakeout together led you to the truth; he just wasn't interested in the barrack bunnies. He wasn't interested in sleeping with someone just for the sake of it - just because they wanted to get a piece of taskforce 141's infamous Captain.

"I think I might need to see some more to decide," you purr teasingly, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to the bed.

He stepped forward slowly, hands rising to rest on his tapered hips. He was built like a bear; broad, built, and covered in a fine layer of downy body hair.

You licked your lips, eyes tracking every single minute movement.

"I think I need to see something from your first, princess," John teased. "It's only fair."

Eyes never leaving his, you made quick work of stripping out of your own tac vest and pants, chucking them over the edge of the mattress and into a heap on the floor. You even went one step further; shucking off your t-shirt. With a small smirk, you leaned back, clad only in your flimsy underwear and sports bra.

John's eyes were practically bulging out of his head.

"Like what you see, Captain?" you purred, words a light-hearted mockery of his own self-assured crowing.

"If I'd have known," John grumbled as he took another slow, measured step towards the bed, "that this is what you looked like under all that gear, Sergeant, we'd have done this a long time ago."

A grin formed on your lips, ego expanding ten sizes as John prowled across to close the rest of the distance. His irises were all but swallowed up by his pupils, blown with lust.

Shuffling back on the mattress, you eased back as John came to a stop, kneeling between your parted legs. With a lover's gentle reverence, he pressed a kiss to each of your knees in turn before turning his attention to the scrap of damp cotton protecting your modesty.

"May I?" he asked softly, fingers hovering over the waistband at the side, thumb smoothing a path along the ridge of your hipbone.

Breathily, you gave your consent. "Yes. Please, John-"

With practiced ease, he lifted your hips up and off of the bed, guiding your underwear down your bare legs then chucking them to join the rest of the clothes littering the floor. His hands skimmed back up, callouses feather-light against the skin of your calves before rising to knead your plush thighs when he reached them once again. He seemed to be mapping out your body; ghosting over the sensitive parts repeatedly, lingering where he'd deduced you liked to be touched.

The man was a fast learner. An eager one, for sure.

When he'd finished kneading at the soft skin there, he pushed your thighs apart, holding them down to the mattress and exposing the moisture glistening at their apex. Licking his lips, he bowed his head slightly, lowering his body down to the bed.

"John?" you asked, confused as to where he was going and why he still had his briefs on. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, princess?" he mumbled against your inner thigh, dark eyes lifting to meet yours. "Didn't think to bring any rubbers with me, and I don't fancy having any little Prices running around any time soon." A spark of mischief glittered within his gaze as he nuzzled his bristly moustache against a particularly sensitive spot. Your shiver seemed to only embolden him further. "Which means tonight's all about you."

You arched your back off of the bed, trying to push his face closer to where you desperately needed it. "Can you hurry up then?" you whined, getting impatient.

John chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

And, with that, he bowed his head and made good on his promise.

"John!" you yelled, thighs burning with the strain as you bounced up and down on his cock. "John- fuck!"

A whole three months had passed since the first night you'd spent together in the safehouse. The morning after, you'd fully expected him to put an immediate stop to it the moment you were all rescued. Instead, he'd held your hand in the Heli - tucked between both of your bodies, hidden from sight - and promised that you'd talk about what this is later.

Nights since had been split between your room in the barracks and his. Mornings, too, upon occasion. Every spare moment the two of you got alone was accompanied by the feeling of his large, warm hands on you. By his constant, protective presence in your life.

It was a miracle that no one had noticed the new pull between the two of you. How you seemed to orbit one another.

And then there was the sex. The constant fucking.

"Keep it down, princess," he grumbled, breathless and sweating, beneath you. He didn't look too bothered though - too blissed out to properly care or consider the consequences of someone overhearing.

Clinging to some semblance of intelligent thought, you bit down on your wrist in an attempt to muffle the sounds leaving your mouth, drawn out by the captain and his fat cock. It was quickly becoming one of your favourite parts of him, second only to his beautiful, expressive laugh. It was no secret to you that he was well-endowed. Well-endowed and skilled at utilising it.

"Stop that," he grumbled gruffly, raising a hand to gently remove your wrist from between your teeth. He quickly replaced it with his own hand, guiding the soft part of his palm between his thumb and index finger into your mouth. Anything to prevent you from accidentally injuring yourself. "Keep riding, love. I'm getting close."

A part of your brain purred at that. Love.

It was a pet name that he used sparingly. Perhaps because he saw the flash of panic in your eyes almost every previous time he'd used it.

But now...

You tipped yourself back, hands finding purchase on his tensed, thick thighs to deepen the angle. Freeing his hand from your clenched jaw, you whimpered, "I'm... John, I'm so close."

"Me too, sweetheart," he mumbled, speeding up the pace of his thrusts. He punctuated the sentence with a snap of his hips. "Me too."

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he tugged you down into his chest and rolled, rising up onto his knees as he set you on your back. Pressing a trail of soft, tender kisses to your face and neck, he picked up the pace; drilling deliciously deep.

You whined, squeezing your legs around his waist and clawing at his back with your fingernails.

With a low growl, John lost it. Turning frantic as he barrelled towards his rapidly approaching end, he pushed you towards your own orgasm - practically bullying it out of you.

You came with a sharp scream, turning your head in a fraught attempt to smother the sound in the pillow. It smelled of Price - rugged, masculine aftershave and a hint of tobacco smoke.

He himself came moments later, gasping as his release swept over him. Covering your body like the world's best weighted blanket, he slumped down on top of you.

Still buried deep inside the paradise at the apex of your thighs, he pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your throat. It was one of the best part of sex with Price; the cuddling that came after.

Giving a small jolt of his hips, he grumbled something into your salty skin.

"Hm?"

John lifted his face slightly, breath tickling the underside of your jaw. "I said, I wish I was ten years younger. Then I could go again and again without a half-hour break between each round."

You giggled. John's age was something that you didn't mind. You knew that the age gap between you probably would have put some people off, but - if anything - he made you feel safe and respected. Though that could be the fact that he was a highly-decorated war vet, and a complete Golden Retriever of a man.

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way, John."

There was a beat of silence as the two of you soaked up the moment; the feeling of just holding one another on the sweat-soaking sheets, oblivious to the world outside of the little bubble you'd created for yourselves. With a chaste kiss to your shoulder, John gave another tentative roll of his hips, drawing another whiny groan from you.

"You sure know how to make an old man feel loved, princess."

Before you could reply - to bring up to the l-word that you'd both been skirting around for weeks now - your phone chimed. The alert tone was one you'd reserved for the other members of the taskforce only.

Why would they be messaging on a Sunday night?

A wave of panic cresting inside of you, you eased John's softening cock out of you, wincing at the sudden emptiness. Your phone was on the desk, all the way over on the other side of the room. It seemed so impossibly far as you scrambled for it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" John asked, suddenly fully alert and hurrying to tug his boxer briefs back on.

Wordlessly, you read the message you'd just been sent. Your face blanched to an unhealthy pallor as you handed him the phone. A single message notification waited on the screen, glaring with accusation.

GHOST: We heard everything, you two. Think you owe us an explanation at the very least. Rec room in ten minutes.

John looked up from the phone screen, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, sheepish smile. "Well, I guess that's what we get for keeping secrets, princess."

a/n: hello, hello :) so this was the Price X 141!reader fic that won the poll! I've had so much fun writing this one - not that I don't love Double the Love (my firstborn fic) please feel free to tell me what you want to see next! - happy surprise-post thursday, lapetitelapin :)

#cod #cod fanfic #fanfic #callofduty #cod x reader #female reader #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #smut #romance

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hunterthecharmer · 3 months ago

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Unexpected - Part 2

Sorry for the delay everyone. Here's part 2! Hope you all like it :)

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

This is my inspiration for the outfit he’s wearing :)

Part 2

It’s the middle of the week, and every day has been spent coordinating with Dylan O’Brien’s team to get every piece of his schedule nailed down. He only had one assistant in the office currently which made your job a bit easier. Savannah, on the other hand was sipping her lattes with her feet kicked up in the corner of your office while you took your meetings each day as Glen’s assistant sent everything over via email or text, to not fill her day up with Zoom meetings.

“This probably means he’s a control freak.” Savannah muses, chewing on the end of her pen as she notates an email from his team. “Look, we both have our work cut out for us. Have you opened your package yet from his team?” You ask, waving your mailer in front of her with a grin. You already knew she was going to want to swap one of the items.

“Wait, what? No! What did they send?” She grins, tearing open the envelope to pull out a large autographed headshot of Glen. Some pens, a lanyard and a handwritten note from his assistant come tumbling out with it. Savannah pouts, immediately shifting her eyes to the one you’re holding. “C’mon, don’t make me beg! Let me see it!” She’s giddy as she shakes your arm, and you giggle as you dramatically remove it from its sleeve. “Trade ya?” You wink at her, before you both search the hall for some empty frames and get Jim from IT to help the two of you hang them up in your offices.

As soon as he’s finished, Savannah comes tapping on your door. “Thanks for trading. Dylan is my man! I hope he’s nice, I don’t know how I’ll feel if he’s rude..” her voice trails off, and you pat her on the shoulder. “He’ll be great. Don’t stress it! You’ll do a great job keeping him on track.” She smiles at your reassurance. “Sooo, are you going to pack your Longhorn hat?”

You gasp at her, crumpling a nearby scrap of paper and throwing it at her. “Listen, that hat is my only one that’s black, it goes with everything, and…yes, it may or may not have only been bought because of Glen. BUT, of course it’s coming. You never know what Tennessee weather will bring!” You smirk at her before flipping off the lights in your office, following Savannah down the hallway to the parking deck.

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“Wow, it really is beautiful here.” You mutter to yourself as you climb into the shuttle taking you from the airport to the event location. The sky seemed a richer hue of blue, and the large trees shaded the vehicles the entire trip. You allowed yourself to breathe as you stepped into the large auditorium building. All the months of hard work and planning had finally paid off. Seeing it with your own eyes was a real treat that you rarely got to enjoy with this job. Hundreds of staff members were busily setting up chairs, tables and last minute details together before the talent would arrive that evening. The welcome party was going to be a blast - glow sticks, a DJ, boujee appetizers and twinkling lights. It would be the perfect way to welcome the talent and allow everyone on location to get ready for the weeks ahead.

After doing your makeup and spraying some texture spray in your hair, you take one last look in the mirror of your little cabin and smile. You felt confident in your all black outfit. Black levi jeans, an off the shoulder black long sleeve with some gold jewelry and some hoops. Your hair was curled, and the leather boots were keeping your feet warm from the winter chill outside. You plop down on the edge of your bed and take in your home away from home. Everyone had their own little log cabin, it was basically a studio set up with a queen sized bed in the middle of the room, chandelier above it and of course a bathroom and lounger with a big window. It was charming and cozy, and you couldn’t imagine how much nicer the talent’s must be if this was how lovely yours was.

One last spritz of texture spray to your hair and you were out the door, jumping on your personal golf cart to ride down to the warehouse.

“Over here! Over here!” You hear a high pitched squeal from across the gravel as you put the golf cart in park. You swivel your head to the left to find Savannah fastly approaching, one hand waving you down, the other holding her skirt from dragging across the ground. “Finally, you’re here!” She wraps an arm around you in a tight hug. You giggle as you steady your balance, hugging her back. You knew she had to be so nervous to meet the talent, because you weren’t the type to get starstruck and your own heart was hammering in your chest.

“We’ve got this! We aren’t the only ones meeting them for the first time tonight. Just remember that! I’m sure Glen will be lovely. I promise I will try to nonchalantly get Dylan to meet you tonight too. Deal?” You both pinky promise before heading inside towards the loud music.

You squint your eyes at the glowing white orbs on each high top table, not a single chair in sight other than at the bar. The DJ had many of the guests up and dancing while others socialized amongst themselves. Everyone was dressed casually, probably changing minimally after their plane rides. You and the other workers were definitely dressed up a little more, which instantly put you at ease. Feeling more put together and confident, you lead Savannah to the sign in table. Glancing around as you wait in line, you watch the other girls and guys check over their packets, taking in who their responsibility will be for the next two weeks. Reading what their pick up and drop off schedule will be like, and all the other fast facts about their assigned celebrity; allergies, preferences, etc. As soon as your packet about Dylan is in your hands, you find an empty table and start reading over it. You nonchalantly do a sweep of the room, the different colored lights illuminating everyone’s faces. Some of your favorite actors are in this room, and you couldn’t believe it. After a few moments you spot Dylan at the bar, the lavender backdrop and blue lights behind the stools accentuating his all white outfit. He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, mid conversation with another actor you didn’t recognize. You quickly glance down at your paper, making notes with your pen. You get through about three pages before Savannah appears in front of you, slamming her lanyard down on the table. “Did you introduce yourself yet?” She whispers, rummaging around in her bag for her lipgloss. “No, I’m letting him finish his conversation first. How’s Glen?” You ask, smirking at her. “He’s a dream. He literally made a beeline for me through the crowd to introduce himself! I have to bring him his schedule, apparently no one had it in their rooms when they got here so that’s awkward. Strike one on us.” She bites her bottom lip. You feel your eyes widen. “What?! That was supposed to have been done days ago! The girls from scheduling said they had it under control..oh well. I guess it’s a nice ice breaker for us to approach them. Wait, did you say Glen came up to you? How’d he know you were his handler?” Savannah raises a hand to cover her mouth before moving around the table top to grasp your forearm. “Girl! You know how they sent us head shots of the talent? Apparently they received one of us too! Isn’t that wild?” She giggles, taking in your reaction. “So, that means Dylan already knows I’m here probably. Great..” You let your voice trail off before closing your folder and grabbing your lanyard to place around your neck.

“Let me go say hello, then!” You flash Savannah a nervous smile before heading to the bar, Dylan’s eyes immediately drifting from the man he’s talking to over to you. He places a hand on his shoulder and says what you assume to be a quick goodbye before turning on his heel toward you. “You’re the lucky lady who's stuck with me, yeah?” He grins, extending a hand to you. His brown eyes are friendly, twinkling beneath the lights dancing around the room. “I’m Dylan, so nice to meet you!” His handshake is firm, and you take note of how strong his cologne is. “I promise to get you everywhere on time these next few weeks. It’s great to meet you!” You return his smile, moving closer to him as a crowd of people brush past the two of you toward the buffet, the DJ announcing to everyone that dinner has been set out. Dylan leans down to your ear so you can hear him better. “I’m so stoked to be here, did you have a hand in all this?” He shouts above the music, gesturing around him to all the decor in the warehouse, fake pink and magenta flowers are strung up through the rafters, flameless candles were dispersed throughout the room, you were proud of the vibe in here for sure. It was kind of like a club but classier. “It took a village for sure, but I’m really happy with how it turned out! Oh, here’s your schedule by the way-” You continue to babble on to him about the whole event and the planning that went into it, and start going through Dylan’s schedule with him. He listens intently to you, his focus a hundred percent on what you’re showing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Savannah pointing you out to Glen, his eyes peering at you from beneath his black Texas Longhorns ballcap before he looks away. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you tear your gaze away from him. You and Dylan exchange some more info, and decide to meet out front by the golf carts in another hour or so. You meander towards the back of the space, your stomach growling at the sight of all the warm food placed ahead of you. Before you can grab a plate, you hear Savannah call your name, “Hey, wait up!” You spin around, her arm locking with yours to pull you away from the buffet line. “Where are we going?” You whine, turning your head back towards the food. “The food is that way! I’m starving.” Savannah shoots you a sympathetic smile as she continues to drag you through the crowd until she sits you down at a round table in the corner of the room. “Unfortunately, that food’s not for us.” She frowns, before leaving you to disappear behind a door and reappear moments later with two foil covered plates, two large water bottles under her arm. “Savannah…what’s on those plates.” You wearily question, grabbing it from her. You both count to three together before ripping the foil cover off, revealing a hamburger, bag of chips and the tiniest cup of fruit you’d ever seen. “Guess they had to cut corners to save money somehow.” You pout, pushing the plate away from you as you grab the bag of Lays.

“Here we chose the best menus each night for them, thinking we too would get to enjoy them, but no. We have to eat like kids.” Savannah complains as she bites into her burger. “What, lost your appetite?” She frowns at your plate. “I don’t eat burgers. Actually, I can’t eat red meat at all.” You reply, shrugging your shoulders. You slump back into your chair, disappointed that you’re missing out on the all you can eat sushi bar the talent is currently enjoying right now.

Savannah inhales her food as the two of you chat about your schedules for tomorrow, trying to find overlaps. Your conversation is cut short at the sound of a male voice in front of you. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt but, do you ladies happen to know where the restrooms are?” You both snap your gaze upward to see Glen standing in front of your table, the only celebrity in a 300 foot distance. You take in his outfit- his cap you noticed earlier, his dark black jeans, crisp white t-shirt and grey cardigan that fits him perfectly. He’s extremely handsome in person, even more so than on screen. You open your mouth to speak, but you realize nothing is coming out of your mouth. You quickly wet your lips with your tongue, eyes deferring to Savannah, since he probably came over here to ask her. She is his handler for the weekend, after all. Savannah’s mid chew on the last piece of her burger, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, uh, they’re behind the DJ’s set up, there’s a little hallway back there with the bathrooms.” You meet his gaze again, his green eyes locked onto yours before they drop to the plate in front of you. The sides of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. “Not hungry?” He points to your untouched hamburger, his watch catching the light. You take a mental note of your stomach doing backflips over this accessory, as watches have always been kind of a thing for you. A turn on, if you will. You shake your head and laugh, admitting that you can’t eat it. “I’ll be out of commission if I eat that.” Glen’s playful expression turns to one of confusion, pointing over his shoulder to the extensive spread of food behind you. “You want to trade? I didn’t see that as an option. Where’d you find that?” Savannah giggles, waving her hands in front of her as she finally speaks. “No, no, the burgers are just for us little people. You guys get to enjoy the good stuff.” She winks at him, and you nudge her beneath the table. Not exactly the best way to put it…

Glen’s eyebrows furrow slightly, head tilting to the side. “That doesn’t seem fair. Tell you what, I’ll bring you back a plate of whatever you want if I can devour that burger on your plate.” He flashes you a grin, and you’re enthusiastically nodding before you can think twice about it. “Yes, please! I’ll literally take anything you can gr-” you begin, but Savannah cuts you off. “She loves sushi, Glen.” They exchange a smile as he points to her before wading through the crowd. You turn to your coworker, mouth open in disbelief. “Umm, is Glen Powell bringing me a plate of food right now?!” You let out a tiny squeal, hitting her on the knee. She props a hand on her cheek, “I know right? Isn’t he so nice? Where the heck is Dylan?” She responds, squeezing your shoulder. “It sucks we have to act like we don’t know them. Like, at all.” She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s over by the dessert bar, why don’t you take a quick walk by? He won’t even notice! He’s quite the social butterfly tonight.” You wink at her encouragingly, and she actually stands from her chair. “You know what, you’re right. Be right back!” She’s giddy as she weaves through the crowd, and in her wake you see Glen reappear, a plate full of sushi in tow. He sticks out his tongue, clearly proud of his selection. “Here we go, I got a little bit of everything for ya.” He presents the plate to you dramatically, flicking his wrist to emulate a waiter as he drops it on the table. “You’ve outdone yourself.” You grin, placing a hand over your heart to match his energy. “And in return…” You reach for the plate, lifting the burger to his hands. He shakes his head, instantly grabbing the burger out of its sleeve and taking a huge bite out of it. “I’m Glen, by the way.” He mumbles, his mouth full. You swallow thickly, Savannah’s reminder echoing in your head as you introduce yourself, acting as casual as possible. You lift your chopsticks and dig into your food, not having realized that Glen’s attention is on you. The two of you continue to eat in silence, hunger clearly winning here. “Guess we were hungry.” You laugh, pushing your now empty plate away from you. Glen throws his head back with a chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Guess so. It was a long travel day.”

Suddenly, you remember why he approached your table in the first place - the bathroom. “Wait, did you ever find the restrooms?” Your tone has a hint of worry in it; what were you thinking, sending him off to get you a plate of food? You were sup[posed to be serving the talent, not the other way around. You suddenly felt embarrassed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Glen’s mouth turns into a soft smile, his expression playful again. “Oh, I knew where the bathrooms were.” His words hang in the air as you process his tone, taking in his facial expression. Was he..flirting with you? There was no way. You were delusional. Before you can respond, he stacks his empty plate on top of yours and slides them back toward him, leaning over the table a bit to make sure you can hear him. “Nice doin’ business with you.” He shoots you a quick wink before he tosses the plates into the trash can and disappears into the crowd. You’re aware of the cheesy grin on your face that you can’t wipe off, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you fidget with your bracelets. Savannah soon returns, waving you toward her. “C’mon, let’s get to our carts and wait for the boys! We have an early morning tomorrow.” ANd with that, you grab both of your bags and follow her to the gravel lot outside, the exchange with Glen replaying over and over in your mind.

Dylan strides up to your golf cart right on time, his eyes glazed over. “Man, that was fun! You guys killed that. I’m dead tired though.” He raises his hand for a high five, and you happily oblige before driving him to his personal cabin. Agreeing on a wakeup time, you wait for him to get inside before driving off.

You snuggle into bed that night replaying how amazing the event space looked, relieved that Dylan was kind and, so far, not a diva. You were looking forward to getting to know him a little better and look out for him the next few weeks. And then there was Glen…you had to try and downplay tonight’s interaction. He was just being nice, his parents clearly raised him right. That’s all it was. Did he seriously wink at you? Maybe you dreamed that part. Maybe he isn’t as nice as he seems, and just a charmer. He could have a girlfriend for all you know!

“I need help.” You mutter to yourself.

You shake your head and sigh; you were here to work. You needed to be professional and short with all of the guests here. End of story. You let yourself fall asleep to the sound of the wind blowing outside your cabin window.

#glen powell #glen powell fic #glen powell x reader #glen powell fanfic

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