#but there WILL be a crash i can promise you that

[k1mbe3rly]

Could you do something with sub namgyu maybe? Like he gets forced into submission

yess🥵🥵 LMFAOO sorry i was crashing out for hours but im back in mind 🙄 out of sight out of mind 😈

Desperate

warnings: smut, sub!namgyu x fem!dom reader, begging, slight leg humping (out of squid games)

Nam-gyu just came home from his job as a club promoter, he sighed as he looked over seeing you on the couch on your phone, he’s guessing you also just came home from work which you did, despising your wrinkled white button up t shirt untucked from your knee above skirt

He went up from behind the couch and looking over your shoulder, “Hey i’m home” he said whispering in your ear, you weren’t really in the mood since you had a bad day at work so you kinda brushed him off and just nodded, he looked over at you in confusion

He hummed as he moved your hair the other side of your side and nuzzled his face in your neck inhaling your scent, he smirked softly as he begin kissing your neck, “Can you stop? i’m not really in the mood..” you said as you sighed, “Than i’ll turn your frown..upside down” he said chuckling at his own joke and kept kissing your neck slightly sucking on it

“I’m serious Nam-gyu.. not today okay? maybe tomorrow” you said trying to move away but he placed his hands on your shoulder, “Come on..it’ll be fun. I promise baby” he said licking your neck a bit, you groaned and shoved his face away as he whined out and went around the couch and sitting next to you, “What? what’s wrong huh? your usually so needy” he said looking at you, you crossed your arms and looked at him

“Okay well not today, i had a bad day at work.” you said lazily. He hummed a simple understanding, “I can.. change that” he said quietly a bit, you raised your eyebrow and smirked softly “and how are you gonna do that huh?” you said sitting up a bit, “Let me do my job, you’ll be satisfied..” he said slowly getting on his knees infront of you.

He slowly opened your legs and traveled his hands to the edge of your skirt, you quickly gripped on his wrist with a serious expression, “You really don’t know when to stop huh. i told you i wasn’t in the mood didn’t i?” you said still gripping his wrist, he winced slightly “Baby- chill! i’m sorry.” he said scrunching his eyebrows a bit, “Show me your sorry.” you said releasing his wrist as he got up, he smirked a bit

He unbuckled his pants getting rid of his belt and unbuttoning his pants, before pulling them down he grabbed both your legs spreading them and again putting his hands in your skirt, you quickly stopped him again “No. your not gonna fuck me, find another way.. or beg for it.” you said closing your legs, he looked at you with a confused face “Seriously? but that’s not even my place!” he said, “excuse me? either that or you get nothing” you said back, he scoffed “I’m not begging! you know how.. dumb I’ll look!?” he said, “fine by me, i’m not the one trying to have sex” you said shrugging and going back to your phone. He sighed and sat down.

It didn’t take long for him to give in or whatever, so that’s how he ended up on the floor, whining for you, and humping your leg without any pants on, he moved his hips against your leg, his clothed cock rubbing against you. “Please..? i’m sorry okay? can i please just fuck you?” he said still keeping his movements against you, you faked a yawned “boring..babe i don’t know..im getting kinda sleepy..” you said, he whined out again a almost cry and choked out whine “Baby please! i need you! please!! i’ll do all the work i swear! i just need to be inside you!” he said clinging on to your leg, he quickly moved off your leg, picking up one leg and kissing down to your heels.

He slowly took off your heel, kissing your foot a bit (bare with me 😢🙏), and he kissed back up, he went your other leg doing the exact same and placing your heels somewhere else, he than looked up at you “Please? its the most you can do..” he said, “The most i can do?” you questioned. “not like that! baby please! please im begging like you said!” he said whining, “fine..you can only eat me out, than i’ll see how i feel after.” you said ruffling his hair that became a bit messy, he quickly lifted your skirt high enough and slid your panties off

he smiled up at you “Thank you..” he whispered as he spread your legs and quickly put his head between giving your clit a kiss, and slowly sucked on it, you let out a moan as he kept sucking on your clit, he said licked on it, be moved his tongue around and inside, you moaned out shutting your eyes putting your legs on his shoulders, he held onto your thighs as he continued eating you out, you kept moaning and gasping as your hands went to his hair, gripping and tugging on his hair, he let out a low growl and kept e shoving his tongue and managed suck a bit on your clit, he than rubbed your clit with his thumb, soft slurping sounds and moans filled the room as you finally cummed inside his mouth as he swallowed, he cleaned your cunt with his tongue and finally backed up gasping. “Holy fuck baby.. you taste so good” he said looking up and wiping his mouth a bit, you were a bit dumb founded.

“mm-…” you mumbled out, not long after you were riding him on the couch, your hands on his shoulders moaning as nam-gyu moaned, honestly first time hearing him moan was magical, so adorable and it turned you on even more, he gripped on your hips letting out choked gasps and moans, “a-agh~ fuckk baby..s-so tight!!” he moaned out, you moaned out as you begin bouncing on him your tits bouncing inside your button up shirt, he slowly traveled his hands to the buttons and begin unbuttoning them and pulled down your bra and gripped on your tits, he kept moaning out and leaned in whining and moaning into your neck, “Mm! m’gonna cum baby! can i? can i cum inside you baby please!” he panted out as he played with your tits a bit, i felt his cock twitch inside me “Yea- fuck~ cum with me baby! cum inside me” you said as you bounced a tad bit faster, “augh~!! mm- m’cummingggfhh~!” he basically yelled out as he cummed inside you and quickly after you did as well, you slowed down panting as his cum and yours mixed together.

after you both calmed down you slowly lifted your self and went to the side panting as juices and cum leaked out a bit..”are you okay..?” he said to you as you nodded, yall eventually cleaned up and cuddled to sleep.

[kazhanko-art]

(sorry in advance if this was already answered)

so in overall, there are people across Canada of every political sway which all have their own reasons against trudeau. Some of those reasons are legit, some are not, and then there’s the complicated ones where it’s not always 100% trudeau or his parties fault but they also didn’t help things.

but some things to know

Trudeau’s father, Pierre Trudeau, left a legacy for Trudeau to follow; both in the sense that Pierre had accomplished a lot as a leader and shaped a lot of what Canada is today politically, but he was and continues to be a divisive figure, particularly in Quebec and the Prairies (that legacy also affects the liberal party overall, at least out here in Alberta, but that whole convo can wait for another time)

So trudeau had some big shoes to fill, and many would say he failed and some would say he only got the leadership position because of his name (I don’t personally agree with this entirely but his name is not irrelevant and probably played a part in it)

Additionally, Trudeau was first elected not long before Trump, and with the US being our closest ally (though the republicans seem eager to undermine that rn) navigating the relationship with trump was going to be a major part of his job, as well as upholding Canada’s foreign diplomacy and relations in general

finally, there have been multiple major economic and political events that occurred around and during Trudeau’s time as prime minister. One of these was a global oil crash in around 2014-15, which hit my home province and other prairie provinces hard, and has had lasting consequences to this day

So for the first point: unlike his father, Trudeau isn’t seen as much of a builder. While he and his party did accomplish some things, they have often been seen as ineffective in many ways. Trudeau was partially elected on the promise of electoral reform, something that could have addressed many of the issues with regionalism and political representation in Canada, but he ultimately declared he wouldn’t, a move which many saw as a self preserving one for him and his party. He also made many promises to Indigenous people, however how that turned out has been mixed, with many Indigenous Canadians feeling let down a betrayed (I believe he intitially had some of the highest Indigenous votes, which is important as if I remember right, Indigenous canadians otherwise tend to have lower rates of voter turn out for a variety of reasons)

That last point gets into the oil crash. You see Trudeau and the liberal party were already by default viewed with skepticism in the prairies, due to a feeling of courting central Canadian concerns over other (and specifically western) concerns. Alberta in particular has a bit of a bone to pick, partially due to a narrative of persecution some albertans have about about equalization payments and the environmental policies like the carbon tax, and some more legitimate reasons. One of the things that happened was that Alberta was struggling to get it’s oil out to the market, and oil was the main thing that kept the Albertan economy alive. With the massive drop in oil prices (I think it went down to like $50 a barrel) Alberta was struggling, with major layoffs across multiple sectors, many businesses leaving or closing, and both the downtown of Calgary and Edmonton being very miserable, often described as full of empty buildings at the time. Prior to that Alberta was providing a lot economically to the other the country and often felt like it was paying for the east (again, complex issue but we don’t have time for Canada’s petty regionalism) Trudeau was seen as unconcerned and unhelpful in this situation, even forgetting to mention alberta when listing off every other province as great, which many took as intentional.

So Alberta pushed for multiple pipelines to get the oil out, however there was opposition from other provinces (I think BC and Quebec specifically) and the pipelines ran through Indigenous territory. That whole debacle was a pretty large political thing but the main thing is that the Indigenous territory was unceded land and that the hereditary chiefs opposed the pipeline, but the RCMP tried to force out the chiefs and protestors. Trudeau was sort of wishy washy the whole time this was going on, but in the end the federal government bought the pipeline, and basically managed to piss all sides of the issue off, as Alberta still lost money and was struggling economically, and the Indigenous people and environmentalists felt betrayed

another thing that happened was the SNC Lavelin scandal. SNC Lavelin is a quebec based engineering firm that provided a lot of jobs; however they also had been charged with corruption for helping (I think it was Gaddafi’s son) escape Libya. The charges would prevented then from taking on some contracts and effected employment. Trudeau basically tried to stop the charges in order to save jobs in central Canada. This involved him trying to give the executive branch over the judicial branch, which undermined the separation of powers in our democratic institution. It also eventually led to Jody Wilson Raybound, who was acting as attorney general and is an Indigenous woman, to resign and then later be expelled by trudeau. That whole period of time was a mess and it’s again, a long and complicated thing, but for people it pissed off:

Prairie Canadians and Albertans specifically once again felt shafted. While it felt like the federal government couldn’t care less about the economies or well being of these provinces, Trudeau actively tried to save a company from legal consequences to save the jobs in other provinces (this was after also helping other job markets in central canada)

Indigenous people were mad because JWR was fucked over along with some disillusionment with the truth and reconciliation the government had promised

there were feminists who side eyed trudeau as he is a self declared feminist and promised a lot in the way of supporting women and having women in his caucus, yet here he was forcing a woman out, making him come across as a closet misogynist who was using the presence of these women in his party for his own gain while not really recognizing their competencies as politicians and leaders

Trudeau also came across as very meek in the presence of Trump. While his team successfully navigated Trump’s first round of tariffs, that was more on Christina Freeland then him. He also had gaffs on his trip to India, who he failed to improve Canada’s relationship with, and arguably worsened by posing in a photo with a terrorist (Canada already had a complicated relationship with India btw)

Trudeau’s government also had a very high rate of immigration. Now that in of itself isn’t bad; Canada has always had immigration and anyone who has moved here can tell you, even under Trudeau it is a long and hard process to become a PR. However many Canadian housing markets were already pricing out residents (Vancouver and Toronto have been bad for a while) and do to a combination of fuck ups between federal, provincial, and municipal governments, along with many Canadians being resistant to high density housing and land being given to firms that would develop luxury instead of affordable housing (and so many other factors) meant that with the rate of immigration, there were a lot of people coming in faster than there were homes being made available. This was one of many contributing factors to Canada’s current housing crisis. Additionally Trudeau’s government repeatedly ran on deficits and added a lot to national debt, and often came across as tone deaf to Canadians struggling with the rising cost of living.

That then bled into the pandemic, which of course had massive political ramifications everywhere, and the freedom convoy which both bolstered growing polarization in Canada (as is an issue across the western world) and was again, an issue where Trudeau came across as an ineffective leader and managed to anger multiple sides.

Eventually we got to now where Trudeau’s own party asked him to step down. He is seen as someone who cannot properly navigate or stand up to trump, was accused by former party members of using gimmicks to win over Canadians while mismanaging the cost of living crisis and economy, and is seen by many as incompetent, self serving, and detached from many parts of Canadian society

There is also way more I could add, but basically, for many what it comes down to is

-he failed on many of his promises that people voted him in for, whether that be electoral reform, truth and reconciliation, or other progressive policie

-he came across as out of touch, dismissive, and even spiteful to some towards many parts of Canada, both regionally and demographically

-he came across as dishonest and two faced, often failing groups and causes he claimed to support

-simultaneously, people who already didn’t like him were given more reasons to dislike him, leading to him feeling like a fence sitter who repeatedly screwed up when he was needed

-he came across as spineless and incompetent as Canadians desired a leader who felt more secure

-he is seen as mismanaging the economy, diplomacy, immigration, and housing and being responsible for Canada’s current issues (although many of those topics are very complicated and are not purely his fault)

-fundamentally, Trudeau has struggled in many ways for the same reason other incumbent liberal leaders globally. While Canada is not as bad as in the US and some European nations in this regard, we have seen a rise globally in extremism and populism, as many have grown disillusioned with more established politicians and parties. But for Canadians, he fundamentally failed to navigate our regionalism, shifting politics, crisis of living, and growing political divide

There’s probably other things. For the record, while I personally don’t like Trudeau (my main reason stemming from SNC Lavelin) I don’t agree with all the reasons I’ve listed, but those are some of the reasons across the political spectrum I’ve seen. This is also more focused on Alberta and the west because that’s where I’m from and lived through, I’m sure other people from across the country could give many of their own insights

[brattyspence]

nothing matters | s.reid

summary: when reader catches her boyfriend cheating, she’s quick to run right back to spencer, even if she once swore she’d never do it again. he just has a way of making her forget about her troubles.( loosely based on lyrics of ‘Nothing Matters’ by The Last Dinner Party)

tags/warnings: pure fucking filth (at least for me), fem!reader, afab!reader, soft dom!spencer, lowkey asshole spencer, reader makes bad decisions and is aware of it, situationship, reader gets cheated on, minimal foreplay bc reader is horny af. 

a/n: um. so. about that.

word count: 1.7k

playlist i made just for this!

masterlist

"And you can hold me like he held her,

And I will fuck you like nothing matters."

-

Getting involved with Spencer was more complicated than you’d hoped. 

It had started as mindless sex. It was no secret that your job was stressful, and you both lacked the time and emotional availability to truly maintain a relationship. Still, after spending days running around and chipping away at a case, it seemed that the only real way you could unwind was by getting in his bed. 

There were logical explanations for why the sex was so, so good. You both understood what the other had gone through each day, and the way that each case would sit heavy on your minds. Spencer was keenly aware that you were not in the mood to talk when you got home. What you really wanted was to turn off any part of your brain that could think, and let him rearrange your guts until you were too tired to remember any of the details of the day. 

The arrangement worked until it didn’t.  

You’d met someone else; someone you believed could give you everything you wanted in a relationship, and quickly called things off with Spencer. The friendship you’d once shared had crashed and burned in an instant. Spencer couldn’t understand why you thought you would suddenly be capable of a relationship with someone else, and this only fueled the growing frustration you’d had with him.

Recently, you were seated across from one another on the jet, your feet tucked up under you on the seat, boots kicked off and strewn somewhere under you. You were engrossed in something, reading texts on your phone with narrowed eyes. 

“You okay?” he asked. He flipped a page of his book, looking up for a moment. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, eyes lingering on the device for a moment longer than he’d have liked. “Boyfriend. It’s nothing.”

“Is everything…alright?”

You nodded, chewing the inside of your lip. “Yeah.” 

Spencer couldn’t figure out why you stayed with him. Even if he didn’t know the extent of the situation, it was clear you were unhappy. It wasn’t something you’d ever been too careful to disguise. He couldn’t seem to figure out why you’d never pull the trigger and admit you were wrong. Part of him was convinced you were holding on out of spite.

“You always avoid that question,” he noted.

“I said ‘yeah’. I answered.”

“Hm.” He seemed to hold your gaze for a moment before picking up his own book again. 

“Spencer,” you replied, your tone biting. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He didn’t look up when he spoke this time.

“Judging.” 

“Not judging,” he replies. “Just waiting for you to admit you were wrong.”

Now, here you were, standing in the doorway to your own apartment, keys in hand, watching the reality of your impulsive decision unfold right in front of you. Another woman in your apartment, in your bed, with the same man who had promised to treat you better. 

All rational thought seemed to escape you in an instant. Before you had time to process, you were flying through the stairwell and out into the night, your feet carrying you quickly to the one place you swore you’d never be again. 

The cold night air didn’t bother you as you hastily made your way through the streets. You weren’t aware of the tingling cold that bit your nose and cheeks, but instead you were so caught up in the rising heat and mix of emotions that were threatening to spill through your tear ducts and onto your face. 

Within the next ten minutes, you were standing outside his door, rocking on the balls of your feet. You only had to knock once before the door opened. Suddenly, the intense quiet of the street behind you seemed to be all too loud. 

Spencer looked you over once, that same smug look on his face. 

“So?” he asked. “Tell me I was right.” 

“Oh, would you please-”

“I know. I know. Sorry. Come in.” 

You crossed the barrier of his doorway with less hesitation than you'd expected. 

You watched as he shut the door behind you, the solid clunk of the lock a reminder of the decision you were about to make.

“So… what happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I don't want to talk about it.”

He took a step closer, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. 

“You don’t want to talk at all, do you?”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. 

“So tell me what you do want.”

He took another step closer, the gap between your bodies becoming increasingly smaller. He knew exactly what you wanted, and he was determined to make you spit it out. You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyed that he had to make everything so difficult for you. 

“Drop the attitude,” he said, his voice low. “And use your words.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself for what was to come. You took another breath before finding the right words. 

“Spencer,” you breathed. “Will you please just fuck me?”

“Mm,” he hummed.  He was already tugging your coat off by the sleeves. “So polite. That's not like you.” 

You thought better than to quip another remark back his way this time, instead letting him pull you further into the apartment. You offered no resistance as he guided you through the doorway of his bedroom, spinning you around to catch the foot of the bed against the back of your knees. You let yourself fall against the mattress with an exhale. 

You quickly kicked your shoes away, letting them fall to the floor with a thump. Spencer had already climbed over you by the time you settled against the bed. He carefully slipped one hand just below the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely skimming your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“You ready for these to come off?” He asked, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, quickly tugging the button undone.

“Eager,” he chuckled, pushing your hand away. “I got it. Relax.”

You watched as he undid the button with practiced ease, then quickly tugging away your jeans entirely to discard somewhere on the floor. With one hand holding his weight over you, the other continued its path up your side, pushing your shirt further up your stomach.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked. 

You knew the implications. Nothing had changed, of course. You'd do this, and things would still be the same. Spencer was adamant about refusing to settle down. 

It would hurt tomorrow.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Really sure.”

“You're not gonna regret this?”

You huffed. “Yeah, I’ll regret this. It doesn't matter. I just need you to fuck me..”

 “I know,” he replied, settling his hand against your side. “Like nothing matters.”

You nodded again, impatience creeping back into your body. “Now.”

You heard him chuckle softly, and he quickly disappeared from your line of sight. You stared at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily above you, and listened to the soft sound of rustling fabric, anticipation gnawing at your bones. You were quick to lift your hips when he queued you, letting him remove your underwear in one swift movement. 

 You let him pull you closer to the edge of the bed, his hands sitting firmly over your hipbones. 

“Look at you, honey,” he breathed, running a thumb slowly over your core. “Missed me that bad?”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned. “Just-”

“Is that how we ask for things that we want?” He asked, leaning in. 

You sighed. “Please?”

You watched with half lidded eyes as he carefully lined himself up, pushing himself slowly inside of you. He continued rubbing circles against your clit with one thumb, easing the growing ache of need between your legs.

“That's okay?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Please move.”

You weren't quite prepared for how good he would feel after so long apart. The sensation caught you off guard, leaving you unable to control the desperate pleas for “more more more” that spilled from your lips. 

“There’s my girl,” he cooed. “So good. I knew you were still in there.”

Spencer moved one hand from its spot gripping your hips, instead tucking it against the back of your neck, anging your head up just enough to force your gaze on him. 

“Can you- more, please?”

“More? You sure?”

You nodded, bringing one hand to hold onto his arm. “Mhm. More. Please.”

If the goal was to fuck you until you forgot why you came, he certainly succeeded in that. You squeezed your hand against his arm, holding on for dear life as each thrust pressed you against the mattress a little further.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he breathed. “So, so good, baby.”

Spencer knew exactly where he had you. Your nails were just beginning to dig into his skin with the familiar sting you always left him with. He watched the flush of color in your cheeks slowly darken as the seconds ticked by. 

“That’s… please don't stop, Spencer. Please, please, please,” you whined.

“I know,” he replied. “I've got you, baby. You can let go.”

Sure, he'd made you come dozens of times before, but there was something about the circumstance that made today more intense than before. You were only half aware of your body, seemingly lost somewhere between your brain and outer space. By the time you were just beginning to drift back into your body, he was still pressed into you, breath heavy with the aftermath of his own orgasm.

As you lay against the mattress in the minutes following, nothing seemed to be going through your head. This was exactly what you came crawling back to him for. 

You felt the soft touch of his hands again as he quickly cleaned you up. 

“You feel okay?” He asked, carefully climbing back over you. He pressed one final kiss against your stomach before settling down on the comforter next to you. 

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “So good.”

Spencer chuckled, turning his head towards you. “I can't believe you waited for that guy to cheat on you before coming back to me.”

You could have given him a hard time about it, or gotten upset all over again about his lack of willingness to commit. The point was though, you wanted him to fuck you like nothing mattered. That was exactly what you got.

[zweiginator]

During his rich kid years, I bet Patrick liked prissy girls that call their fathers “daddy” cause it kinda turns him on and it’s easy to coo them into saying it during sex

And yes, patrick is filthy rich but he’s off-putting to rich girls because he doesn’t care about his reputation. he’s messy and he crashes cars and keeps his hair a little too long for their liking. He curses like a sailor and he gets in fights.

So patrick sees it as a little challenge to get with the rich, prissy girls. Wants to see how much he can break them down. Telling them they’ll come around eventually with a snide little wink. And they get livid, rolling their eyes and huffing and crossing their arms over their chests. Patrick unabashedly stares at their chests. it only makes it worse.

“You’ll never, ever fuck me.” they’ll say it like a promise to themselves, freshly manicured finger pushed into his chest.

“Alright.” Patrick shrugs. “If you say so.”

But they’ll show up to Patrick’s tennis matches in designer sunglasses and little sundresses, acting like they didn’t come to see him. He’ll play along with it, but lets himself grunt a little harder than usual as he serves, pulls his shirt over his head earlier on in the match.

And patrick will come up to them after the match.

“Look who showed up.” he pours water into his mouth.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

But patrick sees the remnants of a smirk on their lips. An unspoken understanding of what will happen next.

Patrick opening the door to his blacked out SUV and pushing them inside. Licking a fat stripe up their neck and yanking their hair back to attach his lips to their throat. Rutting his cock into their soaked pussy; they’ll never admit it was watching him that got them that way.

“You like when daddy fucks you like this, huh?”

Patrick forcing them to stare him in the eyes and gasp a “yes, daddy—“ into his mouth.

[woozinhos]

raw sex with Woozi for the first time

You and Jihoon have been together for a while, and your sex life has been amazing. But tonight, you feel a thrill of anticipation as you know that you're about to take things to the next level. Jihoon has been talking about trying out some new things, and tonight is the night. You're nervous but excited, and you can tell that Jihoon is too.

As you lie in bed together, Jihoon's eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you. "Are you ready for this?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, your heart racing in your chest. "I'm ready," you say, meeting his gaze. "I want this with you."

Jihoon smiles at your words, and you can see the relief and excitement in his eyes. He leans in to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle at first, but quickly growing more urgent. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and contours of your skin as he kisses you deeply. You can feel the heat building between you, and you know that tonight is going to be intense.

Jihoon breaks the kiss and looks at you with a heated gaze. "I'm going to take good care of you," he murmurs, his fingers tracing a path down your stomach. "I promise."

Jihoon's touch is gentle but firm as he continues to explore your body. His lips follow the path of his fingers, trailing kisses and nibbles down your neck and chest. You arch into his touch, your body responding to his every move. You can feel the tension building inside you, and you know that you're both ready for this.

Jihoon moves to position himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours. "Are you sure you're ready?" he asks again, his voice rough with desire.

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. "I'm ready," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want this, Jihoon. I want you."

Jihoon smiles at your words, his eyes burning with passion. He leans down to kiss you once more, his lips claiming yours in a heated, possessive kiss. As he kisses you, he slowly guides himself inside you, his movements gentle and careful. You gasp at the feeling, the sensation of being filled by him overwhelming your senses.

Jihoon breaks the kiss, his breath ragged as he looks down at you. "You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "So tight and perfect."

Jihoon groans as he slowly begins to move, his eyes never leaving your face. "I can't believe we're doing this," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It feels incredible."

You can only nod in agreement, lost in the sensations that are coursing through your body. The feeling of him inside you, without any barriers, is like nothing you've ever experienced before. Jihoon sets a slow, steady pace, his hips moving in a deep, powerful rhythm. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"I love you," he whispers, his forehead pressed against yours. "I love you so much."

Jihoon watches you with a look of awe and desire, his eyes drinking in every expression on your face. He picks up the pace, his thrusts growing faster and harder as he senses your growing pleasure.

"That's it," he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Let me hear you. I want to hear every sound you make."

You can't hold back your moans any longer, the pleasure building inside you to an almost unbearable level. You arch your back, your body moving in time with Jihoon's as you both chase your release. Jihoon's breath is coming in ragged gasps now, his body straining with the effort of holding back his own release. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hot and demanding against yours.

"I'm close," he whispers, his voice strained. "I'm so close, baby."

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling with the intensity of your pleasure. You cling to Jihoon, your nails digging into his back as you whisper his name over and over again.

"Come for me," he growls, his hips snapping against yours. "Let go, baby. I want to feel you come apart around me."

Jihoon notices your surprise and chuckles breathlessly. "What, did you think I'd last longer?" he teases, his voice rough with desire.

He leans down to nibble at your ear, his movements becoming more frantic as he chases his own release. "You feel too good," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I can't hold back any longer."

You can feel his body tensing, his muscles tightening as he nears the edge. He thrusts into you harder, his movements almost desperate now. Jihoon can tell that you're close too, and he redoubles his efforts to bring you both to climax. He kisses and bites at your neck, his hands roaming over your body in a frenzy of desire.

"Come for me, baby," he groans, his voice hoarse with need. "I want to feel you come undone."

You can feel the pleasure building to a crescendo, your body trembling with the intensity of it. With a cry, you finally let go, your orgasm washing over you in a wave of pleasure so intense that it takes your breath away.

As you come, your body clenches around Jihoon, and he lets out a strangled cry as he finally reaches his own climax. He buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release. For a moment, the two of you lie there, panting and trembling in the aftermath of your shared orgasm. Jihoon holds you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses gentle kisses to your skin.

Jihoon pulls back to look at you, his eyes filled with adoration and a hint of mischief. "So, how was it?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips. "Be honest."

You smile at him, your heart still racing in your chest. "It was amazing," you say, your voice a little hoarse. "Better than I ever imagined."

Jihoon grins, looking pleased with himself. "Good," he says, pulling you close again. "I'm glad I could live up to your expectations."

He nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin in a soft, tender kiss. "We should do that more often," he murmurs, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Life is Changin' Tides 🌊

There's a tsunami going on. Tommy is at work and thinks his daughter is safe and away from it. She's not, but there's a guardian angel watching over her.

(okay y'all, here's the first chapter of tsunami fic, now put together, edited and finished! Originally it's only meant to be 3 chapters, but who knows? Certainly not me hehe. I hope you like it! 💙💙)

There is water everywhere, and Tommy has never seen anything like it. The Saint Monica pier is completely submerged and, from the chopper, he can barely see the tip of the Ferris wheel. There are red boats from the LAFD scattered around, and the air ops have been ordered to hover around and await for further instructions.

“Wow” His co-pilot, a probie named Monroe, exclaims. He's looking down at the wreckage, and Tommy imagines it's the first time he comes across something like this. “I was at the pier with my girlfriend just last week, can you believe that?”

“I know what you mean”, Tommy says distractedly, bringing the chopper closer to the chore with an eye out for light beacons or other signs of someone looking for help. “I brought my daughter here three days ago”

“Aw, man, you have a daughter? I didn't know that!” Monroe says, and Tommy can't help but smile a little as the face of his five-year-old comes to mind.

“Yeah, Genevieve. She's five” He says, fidgeting with the controls to gain some attitude on the bird to make sure they’re not missing anything “We were supposed to come back to the pier next Saturday, she saw this unicorn plushie and I promised to try to win it for her next time”

“Guess you’ll just have to buy it somewhere else” He says, and Tommy chuckles, already imagining how Vivie would react to that.

“Nah, Vivie would say it’s not the same because we didn’t win it. She’s too smart for her own good; well, actually for my own good”

Tommy realizes this is the most he’s talked to the probie ever since they started working together a few weeks ago. Trust him to turn into a chatterbox when the best thing in his life is involved.

“Yeah, I get you, I have a seven-year old son who’s already smarter than me” He says, and a fond smile takes over his face; Tommy is pretty sure he looks besotted just like that whenever he talks about his daughter. “It’s good to know they’re safe when we’re out there like this, isn’t it?”

“Yeah” Tommy easily agrees, his eyes scanning the water for people moving; unfortunately, there isn’t much they can do for those who stopped moving, at least not until the water goes down.

Vivie is with her uncle Sal today, and Tommy’s pretty sure she’s having the time of her life. Sal lives far away from the shore, so he knows he has nothing to worry about, which lets him focus on the task at hand.

If he had to worry about Genevieve in the middle of all this, he’s pretty sure he would have crashed his helicopter already.

–

It's nearing sunset when Captain Williams sends orders for Tommy and Monroe to go down. Between hazard recognition and air rescues, they've been on and off for ten hours, and now they're mandated to take a break. Tommy's shift is over by now, and he'd probably offer to stay if necessary, but he can't; Sal's probably itching to go to his own station and help out, and Tommy's itching to see Vivie. He's rescued his fair share of children, and it's making him want to have his own safe in his arms and under her llama blanket.

Tommy changes into his civies, and for the first time in the day, has time to check his phone. When he sees seventeen missed calls from an unknown number, the last one less than ten minutes ago, a chill runs down his spine. In any day, this could mean something bad, but today? Monumentally bad.

As he's gathering the courage to return the call, his phone rings again, and it's the same number. With trembling hands, Tommy picks up.

“H-hello, this is Kinard” He says weakly.

“Mr. Kinard? I am calling from a field hospital that's been raised for the tsunami victims. Are you familiar with a Mr. Salvatore de Luca? We found your number as the last called on his cellphone”

Tommy recalls the phone call they had this morning before he dropped Vivie off at Sal's house, and his heart skips a beat, a rising sense of panic taking over his chest.

“Y-yes, I'm familiar. What's his situation? And Genevieve's?” Tommy cuts to the chase, his hand gripping the phone like a lifeline.

“Mr. Salvatore was brought to us unconscious and with a head injury, Mr. Kinard. We have patched up the wound, but he hasn't woken up yet. We think he might feel more comfortable if you are here when he does”

Tommy's panic doesn't subside, not even a little bit. Sal is hurt enough to be unconscious, and Tommy desperately wants to rush to his side, but first he needs to know…

“Right, I'm on my way, but how is Genevieve?” He asks, his car keys in his hand already. Monroe, who's in the locker room as well, frowns at him when he notices Tommy's rush. “My daughter who was with Sal. Is she okay?”

The woman takes time to answer. Too long. Long enough that Tommy assumes the worst, his breath becoming quick paced and erratic.

“Mr. Kinard, I am so sorry, but Mr. De Luca was found alone. There was no child with him”

Tommy is not aware of how he ended the call. Next thing he knows, he's sitting on the locker room bench, with Monroe giving light taps to his face.

“Kinard, are you with me?! Kinard!” He exclaims, his voice panicked, and Tommy blinks up at him, still in shock.

“I'm fine. I'm fine” Tommy tells him, his voice hoarse and sounding like it's coming from miles away.

“You scared me for a minute there, man” He says, his eyes widened. “What happened?”

What happened is that Tommy's world has just crumbled from one minute to the next. Sal must be severely hurt. And Vivie is missing.

Genevieve, his little girl, the love of his life, was caught in a tsunami, and the best case scenario is that she's lost in the LA streets all alone, scared and maybe hurt. And the worst case scenario… no. Tommy can't even think of it. Just the thought of it is enough to make his heart fill with despair.

“I… I gotta go” He tells Monroe, getting up once he's sure his legs won't give out from under him, moving towards the door.

“Woah, woah, Kinard” Monroe puts a hand on his shoulder. “I'm not letting you leave like this, man, you look like you've seen a ghost”

Tommy takes his hand off his shoulder, urgency creeping up on his chest.

“I have to go” He says again, more forcefully this time, a slight tremble on his voice. “It's my daughter”

“What about your daughter?!” Monroe asks urgently, but Tommy doesn't have time to explain. “Kinard, you're not telling me… you said she was safe!”

Tommy closes his eyes at those words, willing the tears of fear and regret away. She was supposed to be safe; he doesn't know how or why Vivie and Sal ended up getting caught in the tsunami, but he needs to find them.

“I thought she was” He admits. “But I will find her”

Monroe looks at him, and an understanding passes between them. The man nods at him, squeezing Tommy's shoulder.

“I… I'd offer to go with you, but you know I might be needed here”

“I know. Thank you anyway”

“Good luck out there, Kinard. I… I hope she'll be okay”

“She will be” Tommy says, more to himself than to Monroe, and then he's gone, rushing to his car in a heartbeat.

And Tommy is not a man of faith, but at this point he can only hope some kind of guardian angel finds his daughter and keeps her safe.

—

Buck is exhausted.

His leg hurts, his mouth tastes like sea water, he has no idea if what’s running down his face is water, sweat or blood, and he needs to sleep. Good God, he needs to sleep.

But he can’t. He has to find Chris. He’s his responsibility, and he has to find him. He has no idea how long he’s been looking, but he won’t stop for anything until he finds him, not unless he’s dead.

“Help! Help!” Buck hears a small voice that makes him stop in his tracks. It sounds like a child; a young child at that, definitely younger than Chris, probably a girl.

“Hello?!” He calls back, his ears trained to listen to the voice again and locate where it’s coming from. In this region where he is now the water has gone down to ankle level, but there is a lot of rubble around.

“Hello?! Help me, please!” The child calls again, and Buck looks around until he spots her, stranded on top of a ruined pick-up truck, a few feet away from him. Buck rushes to her; she’s not too above him, he will probably be able to catch her no problem, even with his arms stinging from exhaustion as they are.

It’s indeed a little girl, she can’t be older than six; her light yellow summer dress is wet and covered in grime and leaves, and so is her hair which is styled in two well done pigtails; her arms are wrapped around a bright unicorn plushie. She’s looking down at him, her deep blue eyes filled with fear, a few tears running down her red cheeks. It breaks Buck’s heart.

“Hey!” Buck says; he doesn’t see any injuries, but he won’t move her until he’s sure. “I’m gonna help you, ok? Are you hurt?”

“N-no…” She tells him with a sniffle. “But Uncle Sal is, and the water took him, and I didn’t see him anymore! And…. And I wanted to go after him, but Daddy always says I should wait for rescue if bad things happen!...”

She’s starting to cry again, and Buck thanks the universe for whoever is the sensible parent of this child, because even if she isn’t hurt now, she would be if she had tried to get down on her own.

“Okay, kiddo, first of all let’s get you down here safely. Then you can tell me about your uncle Sal, alright? What’s your name?” He asks her.

“Genevieve Kinard” She recites dutifully. “But you can call me Vivie”

Buck has the faintest impression there's something familiar about that name, but he shakes it off, not having time to think about it right now. He nods at her with what he hopes is a kind smile even though exhaustion is starting to creep its way into him once again. He’s losing precious time in his search for Chris, but he can’t just abandon a little child; he knows that, if someone found Chris in the middle of all of this, he’d want them to keep him safe.

“Okay, Vivie. I'm Evan, but you can call me Buck” He tells her, and then raises his arms toward her. “Alright, Vivie, you’re gonna have to be super brave, because I'm gonna ask you to jump, and then I'll catch you. Do you think you can do that?”

It wouldn't be unreasonable for her to be scared; the situation is stressful, and the top of a pick-up must feel quite high for a little girl. But she nods without hesitation, scooching closer to the edge of the pick-up and looking down at him.

“Kinda like playing toss?” She asks, and Buck can only assume that’s a game someone plays with her, and he hopes to God it’s similar to what he’s planning to do.

“Yeah, kiddo, kinda like playing toss. Are you ready?” He asks, and Genevieve nods at him. However, when she prepares for jumping, she whimpers and scooches back, her plushie still firmly in her arms.

“It… It’s scary, mr. Evan” She says, her voice trembling.

“I know, Vivie, I know it’s scary, honey” He says, frantically thinking of a way to help her feel more comfortable. “Here, let’s do it like this: why don’t you throw me your unicorn friend first? Then you’ll see it’s safe. How’s that?”

She looks at the plushie and back at him, a small whimper escaping her lips, and she hugs it close, shaking her head.

“I… I want uncle Sal” She says with a small sob. “I want my Daddy!”

Buck is on the verge of despair. They can’t be wasting time; there hasn’t been another wave for hours, but the way things have been, he doesn’t entirely discard it, and he wants to find Christopher before it happens, or before anything else happens to his best friend’s son. But at the same time, how can he be mad at her? He is scared and exhausted, and he’s freaking twenty-eight; how worse must it feel for a little girl?

“Genevieve” Buck says, as gently as he can, coming closer to her, his hands raised as if he’s talking to a scaredy little cat. “I… I know it’s super scary, ok? Everything that happened today was scary. I… I want to help you find your uncle Sal. I want to help you find your Daddy. But we have to get out of here. I’m gonna need you to be brave”

Genevieve sniffles a little, her nose still buried in the bright fur of the unicorn. It must be wet and smelling like sea water, but she’s holding to it like a life line.

“D-daddy always says that I’m his brave g-girl…” She says with a small hiccup, and Buck once again has to thank the universe for the good parenting this girl’s dad seems to practice.

“I am sure he does; I just met you and I can see you’re a super brave girl. What’s your plushie’s name?”

“D-doesn’t have one yet… Uncle Sal called it Marsh… Cause it looks like a marshmallow” She says, and Buck nods.

“Alright, baby. So let’s get Marsh down here and then you, ok? C’mon, you can be brave for me. I know you can”

This time, when she scooches closer to the edge again, Genevieve doesn’t whimper. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and then she’s dropping her unicorn plushie. Buck promptly catches it with both his hands, and the plushie which is supposedly brand new is grimy and heavy from water, like everything else in a fifteen mile ratio. He puts it beside his throbbing leg, trying to ignore the dull ache that’s creeping up. He doesn’t have time for a clot right now.

“That’s a good girl. Now you. Do you want me to count to three?”

“Yes, please…” She says, and Buck can see she’s afraid, but determined.

“Alright, Vivie, here we go: one, two, three!”

By the time Buck reaches three, she closes her eyes and jumps, falling straight into his arms. She's light and fits perfectly against his chest, and Buck holds her close, sighing in relief.

“There you go, you're safe” He tells her, a tentative smile on his face as he puts her down.

“Can we go find uncle Sal now?” She asks, her dark blue eyes filled with worry. “I think he's really hurt, mr. Evan, ‘cause he promised to come back for me and he didn't! And uncle Sal never breaks promises! Please help me find him, mr. Evan, please!” She pleads, and she hugs his legs, pressing her face against his thighs, sobs wrecking her small body.

Buck's heart squeezes when he hears that. He also broke a promise; he promised to keep Christopher safe, and he didn't. He wonders if Genevieve's dad will hate Sal as much as Eddie will hate him, and then decides he'll do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

He picks Genevieve up, rubbing her back, trying to soothe her, feeling completely out of his depth. She rests her head against her shoulders, sniffling a little.

“Hey, hey, everything's alright, Vivie” He says, though he's not sure anything is alright with the world at the moment. “We'll find your uncle Sal, ok? I am sure he's trying his best to come back to you”

“H-how do you know?” Genevieve asks in a small voice as Buck puts her down; usually he'd be able to carry a girl this little for hours on end, but not today. As soon as she's down, she's picking her unicorn up, hugging it tightly against her chest.

“Because I know, baby” He reassures her, and when she still looks doubtful, he sighs. “I… I'm also looking for someone. A little boy who's super brave, just like you. His name is Christopher. I… I promised him to come back, just like your uncle Sal promised you. And that's what I'm doing”

“So… so we find uncle Sal and Christopher together?” She asks hesitantly, and Buck offers his hand to her.

“That's right, Vivie. Together”

Genevieve trembles slightly, looking at his hand, but then she looks at his face and puts her own small one inside it. Buck squeezes it, trying to gather a little bit of her courage, and the two of them walk away from the wreckage. Buck has no idea where they're going, but he knows for a fact he won't let go of Genevieve until she's safe with her uncle, or her dad, or someone she trusts.

He won't fail one more kid today.

Tag list (I'm using my tag list from Little Blobs! If you'd like to stay on the list only for Blobs, lemme know and I'll remove you from this one! If you want to be removed altogether or added, also lemme know!):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21

@dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld @buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie

@agentpeggycartering @chaoticdisasterbi

[zeyris-daydreams]

Not a request, but how do you think poly yandere Boothil and Robin would work together

Yandere! Boothill x reader x Yandere!Robin

Omg!! I absolutely love the idea of a Robinhill poly!! The mutual worry goes insane, and I’ll make sure to marinate their experiences in a seasoning of their experiences!

Boothill is a man who knows what loss is. After all, loss sent him on his journey, and bore a seed of vengeance in him. For Robin, loss was immaterial. It was what she felt to be loss of freedom, and loss of close ties. In that Robin and Boothill understood each other, and their experiences, albeit similar on the surface, shaped them differently.

Boothill is protective from his past experiences; scared that if he doesn’t hold his close ones, they’ll slip to never be seen again. The fear of further loss, embraced by his single-mindedness as a Galaxy Ranger, is quite the shake to deal with. It’s worsened by a sense of posessiveness, creating a similarly determined approach with you.

Robin however knows how it feels to be left with limited options, and so despite her ever-growing affection to you, she is rather reasonable. She can’t stop her feelings, but she can judge things from another perspective as well; Boothill never doubted her abilities or expertise when they combated the monkey-virus, after all. And, despite his possessiveness and jealousy, he knows she can take care of himself. She truly is an angel, in all the meanings of this word.

Then again there’s you, too, fortunate or unfortunate enough to have their gazes on you. Perhaps it is Robin to initiate, and perhaps it is Boothill. Both work out in the end; one way or another, their relationship based on trust and understanding starts to encase you too. Maybe not in the same understanding or trustful way, but still, it is based upon care for your being.

I believe Robin and Boothill may initially find their ideals to crash, it doesn’t lead to an argument. With your person, Boothill believes that the best course of action was to protect what he likes most; you, and Robin. Robin however understands it, and given she likes Boothill too, there is no fuss around the topic. Therefore no extreme measures need to be taken.

In your case… compliance isn’t promised, that’s what Boothill had told “singing queen” when discussing you over lunch. Because in case of you rejecting them, how can they ensure your safety? Robin does not wish to cage you. Boothill believes the only way to ensure safety would be to keep an eye on you, supervised.

And, given your acceptance isn’t promised, Robin is fairly easy to convince. While she doesn’t plan to hold you hostage - goodness, no. She’d never do that to someone else - she can try other ways of conviction. If you understand their care, then you’ll surely choose to stay; that is something that Boothill can get behind.

And, if you choose to stay, then it’s not keeping a bird in a cage.

Their mutual care for each other extends equally to you, really! I mean, Boothill can take care of himself! And, Robin is intelligent, she did well all this time too, dealing with so many things. . .

You have to understand why it’s just different with you. You have to.

Maybe she will have to.. tune you slightly. Slightly, promise, it’s not even going to hurt! Boothill and Robin mutually don’t want anyone’s feelings hurt. And so it’s unacceptable if you offend either of them as well - same as if you were being treated badly.

Obsessive care and being protective of you isn’t bad treatment, however. You simply have different needs from them. That’s it.

[sylvesterelle]

Meditations in an Emergency Part 2

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 2 of 3, 14.2k words, explicit

Read part one I Read on AO3

Author's note: Hi hello somehow the supposed-to-be-5k part 2 of this accidentally turned into a 15k-and-going-strong porn extravaganza, so I've split it up and will post the last bit in a few days. Please enjoy!!

Also if you've left a sweet comment here or on AO3 please know I have shrines to you in my heart (even if I don't often respond) (because I am very easily overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers) (but I am kissing you all on the mouth)

Your blood’s running so hot you’re surprised you’re not steaming as you hurry through the freezing streets. It’s a proper blizzard now, flurries glittering in scattered streetlamps and the air shining with that strange, magical half-light of winter nights (a result, you cheerily inform Soap and Ghost, of snow being the number one most reflective surface on earth). The streets are quiet and still and it feels like you’re the only people left in the whole world; a small pocket of time and space for you to get utterly lost within. 

Ghost spends most of the short journey craned over so he can press his nose into your neck, nipping at your throat as he drinks in the scent of you, while Soap’s got his big hands glued to your ass, groping away like he’s gagging for a public indecency charge. You’re all near panting by the time you make it to your building, the pair of them urging you on as you fumble with the main door and drag them up too many flights of stairs—a cosmic insult to your sheer levels of desperation.

“Could just fuck on the staircase,” Ghost mumbles on the second-to-last landing, gnawing at your jaw, cheek, throat. “Just a little. To vent the pressure, like.”

“Just one more floor,” you promise breathlessly, pausing just a moment to lean into the delicious, blunt edge of his teeth. Soap growls his impatience on your other side, hands greedy at your waist, teasing at the button of your trousers.

“Catch me if you can,” you say with a grin, breaking away and darting up the stairs as the men sputter and charge after you. Your laugh bursts out of you as you run, high and free like a kid and that’s exactly how you feel, fucking giddy with joy as you tear down the hallways, uncaring that you’re probably waking your neighbors. You’ll be moving on soon anyway, and tonight you don’t feel like stifling a single, blessed sound. 

Their footsteps are swift behind you, but you weren’t lying about how very fast you could move when you want. Enough to pause and blow them a taunting kiss before rounding the last corner, grinning like anything at their outraged expressions. Every part of you is alight as you crash against the front door, sending the doormat skittering as you shove your key in the lock and the men swear colorfully behind you, promising all sorts of delicious retribution. 

You make it through the entry and halfway to the bedroom before a body crashes into you, lifting you clear off the ground and pinning you with enough force that the wall art rattles and threatens to fall. Ghost, you realize as your fingers scrabble clumsily at his masked face. 

“Off, off, off, fucking kiss me,” you demand, and he holds you aloft with a single hand under your ass as he yanks up the mask, exposing his scarred jaw for you to mouth over. You’d marvel at how very much you’re turned on by that show of strength, but you can’t seem to think of much at all when he puts those plush lips against yours, licking into you like he’s memorizing the taste. 

You don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes until you feel a touch on your chin, fingertips still cold from the outside. You whine a little as you’re tugged from Ghost’s kiss, and Soap shushes you with a laugh. “Oh, none of that, bonnie,” he says, “Just wanted t’get a taste of ya.”

He leans down to pick up Ghost’s good work, licking against your lower lip, nipping at the corner of your mouth, sucking a little at the tip of your tongue—all playful provocation to Ghost’s possessive devouring. The combination is making you weak in the fucking knees as they pass you between them, and you find you’re unutterably grateful those muscles aren’t just for show, taking all your weight like it’s nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing, given the way Ghost is rutting against your hip and Soap is making feral little noises as they kiss you into oblivion and you’re suddenly not quite sure you’re going to survive this. Vaguely wonder about the possibility of spontaneously combustion, given how hot you’re burning for them.

"Bed—bedroom?” you break away long enough to ask, cocking your head in that direction and giving Soap the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck.  

“I dunno, I seem to remember something about promising you a screw against the wall, bonnie,” Soap says cheekily. You feel his smile when he brushes against the ticklish spot where your throat curves into your collarbone and you don’t stifle your giggle fast enough. He presses his advantage, rubbing his scruff against the spot until you’re wheezing with laughter, stomach literally aching with it as you smack your head against the wall, trying to wriggle away in a desperate frenzy.

“Fucking ow, you bastard,” you laugh-wheeze as Soap finally breaks off from your neck, cupping your head gently and murmuring an apology. 

“Don’t break the bird before we even get a chance to play with her, Johnny,” Ghost admonishes as he squeezes your ass, rolls his hips against you filthy-sweet. You shoot him a dirty look and he captures your lips, kisses the thoughts right out of your head until you’re scrabbling at their shoulders, needing them both infinitely closer to you.

“Fuck, how should we, how do we—fucking wall logistics I don’t know. Too horny to think,” you say, letting your legs fall open with an impatient groan. You jolt, swearing roughly when you feel Ghost shift just right, his trapped cock moving to kiss directly against your core. He grinds languidly and you shiver at the feel of him, thick and throbbing even through his jeans, enough to make your cunt clench in anticipation. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and give us your first one here. Just like this,” Ghost says, mouthing at your throat. “You can do that for us, can’t you, bird?” 

“’Course she can,” Soap coos, “lookit her—nearly there already. Look so lovely like this, bonnie, rubbing up against Ghost all desperate and sweet,” he praises, tucking a messy strand of hair back behind your ear and leaning in to kiss you soundly. 

You can’t help but gasp against Soap’s mouth at the pleasure that crashes through you; their kisses, their hands, the delicious grind of Ghost’s cock and the feel of their bodies cradling you in their arms. You can barely breathe with it, all this sensation, and you squeeze your eyes shut briefly to stem the wetness you feel gathering at the corners. 

You feel Soap’s thumb run gently under your eye and open to see him bring it to his lips, flicking out his tongue to taste the salt of your tears. “Why are you crying, sweet?” he asks, voice gentle despite the hungry edge to his gaze. “Is it too much? You want us to stop?”

You don’t even think as you grab at his arm, dig your nails in just shy of painful. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you gasp as Ghost thrusts sloppily against you, the sound of his low, animal grunts driving you up the wall literally and figuratively. “Just too horny,” you sob, unable to stop the fat tears as they spill over your cheeks. 

While you crying during sex is not an unheard of occurrence, it usually only happens when you're fucked out and sex-stupid, at the tail-end of being railed six-ways-to-Sunday. If you’re this wrecked from a few kisses and a little heavy petting, you shudder to think what you’ll be by the time they’re finished with you. 

The thought is enough to have you grabbing them a bit desperately, requesting their full attention even as your body trembles with want—so close to the edge a stray breeze could blow you over. “Aftercare,” you impress upon them, gripping tightly so they know you’re not fucking around. You’d been left shaking and alone in a cooling bed before and you refused to do it ever again, even if this was a just a one-time thing. “You can fuck me nice or fuck me mean, I like it both, but if you don’t stick around long enough to make sure I’m okay after I will end you,” you threaten. “Kat will totally lend me the shotgun behind the bar.” Honestly, she probably wouldn’t–but she’d shoot them for you, which is tantamount to the same thing.

“Aw bonnie, you don’t gotta beg for a thing like that,” Soap cups his broad palm around the back of your neck, thumb rubbing slow circles and calming the thread of anxiety that threatened to unspool your pleasure. “I promised we’d give you what you need, didn’t I? All you gotta do is feel good and let us take care of the rest, yeah?” he asks, nipping at the curve of your ear like he just can’t help himself. 

“Though I do like it when you threaten, little rabbit,” Ghost adds, chuckling as he leans in to gnaw a little at your cheek, greedy for the taste of your tears. 

“Previous experience would tell me otherwise,” you mutter darkly even as you press up into their starving mouths; feel their hands tighten gratifyingly on you in response.

“Just point me in their direction. I’ll let ‘em breathe long enough to apologize,” Ghost rumbles before a particularly wicked thrust like he’s aiming for your clit, hang the clothes in-between. “Maybe let ‘em watch us fuck you right before putting ‘em out of their misery.” And oh, you like the violent promise in those words; the dark and unfamiliar thrill of someone so casually offering their anger on your behalf. Their retribution. 

It makes you ache with a wanting so vast it takes you the rest of the way there and you sob as Ghost rocks up into you and Soap paws at your tits, groping over your shirt as you fall apart entirely in their arms. You feel their foreheads come against yours, grounding you even as you give yourself over to the delicious waves of sensation. Don’t even mind the hot breath that fans against your cheek, feeling too fucking good, too fucking grateful to think about anything else.

“Beautiful, birdie,” Ghost praises, sucking love bites into your throat and grinding more languidly now, easing you through it. “Came so pretty, so easy for us.”

“Didn’t even hafta get a hand on your pussy,” Soap crows. 

“Yeah, m’fucking easy. Have you seen yourselves?” you huff out a laugh, gripping a bit desperately at the back of Soap’s neck and threading your fingers through his mohawk just to give yourself something to hold on to. 

Your first orgasm is usually enough to take the edge off; sometimes a good fucking while before you could even get going again. But this time it feels like a watering can on a wildfire, like you’ve been burning for days. You wonder, a little deliriously, if somehow they rewired your body while you weren’t looking, reoriented you to them like true fucking north. 

At least the haze has cleared enough now that you can take a second; maybe turn on a damn light. 

“Down, boy,” you instruct Ghost, snorting at the displeased growl that follows—though you’re not sure if it’s at the command, the wording of it, or both. You sweeten the deal with a kiss that he quickly takes over, leaving you breathless and dizzy when your feet touch ground. Maybe it’s a strange word for such a man, but Ghost looks adorable in that moment; wide mouth all pink and lush, mask rucked up messily against his nose, dark eyes blown with want. 

Soap clearly agrees because he makes a soft, fond noise at the sight, reaching out to cup Ghost’s cheek with a tenderness that near breaks your heart. He trails his thumb across Ghost’s jaw and full bottom lip before tugging him close, taking his mouth with his own. And oh, you were right to stop yourself from imagining this before—brain shorting out at the sight of them falling together with something more than want, knuckles gripping white with how fiercely they’re holding on to each other.

You prop your chin on Ghost’s chest to better observe, greedy for the chance to just watch; bask in the sights and sounds. The delicious noises Soap makes as he presses against Ghost like he wants to crawl inside his skin. You know the feeling, surrounded entirely in the circle of their arms and still desperate for more. 

“Bird’s drooling on my sweatshirt,” Ghost mumbles against Soap’s mouth, and Soap breaks the kiss with a laugh.

“Aww, fucked out already, bonnie?” he teases, thumbing at your chin. “Haven’t even gotten to bounce you on my cock yet; let you come cryin’ on it.”

You stick your tongue out at him and step back, determined to make use of the natural lull while you’ve a brief moment of clarity.

“Not tapping out, but I am calling a strategic timeout. For optimum enjoyment, you understand. I’ll get the lights. Ghost, you’re on sex playlist. Alexa’s over there,” you point to the bookshelf near the balcony door. “Soap you can…wait, did you leave the fucking door open?” They did indeed leave the fucking door open, which means you’re not going to be able to look your neighbors in the eye ever again. On the bright side, Ghost stopped long enough to hang your bag on the hook before he tackled you into the wall, so, small mercies. “Soap, you’re on door, Christ. Alright, break.” You clap your hands together in the universal signal for let’s move so you can fuck me into oblivion, please and thank you.

Though bemused, they comply.

You avoid the big light like the plague it is, though you’re not interested in a fumble in the dark. No, you want to see everything; spoil yourself with looking. Already dizzy as a Victorian at the mere exposed wrist and neck you’ve been allowed thus far, half-tripping over your feet as you flick on the lamps and fairy lights dotting your apartment, the space filling with a warm, soft glow. 

You pause for a moment to push your hair out of your face and catch your breath, revel a little in the anticipatory tingle in your belly. Can’t help but grin at the sheer unexpectedness of it all. The sweetness of it. 

Something melodic and soft starts up through the speaker, snagging your attention. You know those chimes, that opening, you swear and—

“Is that The fucking Cure?” you yell, utterly delighted. “You’re so fucking weird, please come and kiss me.”

Ghost snorts but ambles over obediently with his hands in his pockets, lets you take his face in your hands with only the tiniest, indulgent eye roll. “It is extremely attractive to me that your first thought when you hear ‘sex playlist’ is Robert fucking Smith,” you tell him very seriously. 

“Shoulda warned ya he’s got shit taste in music,” Soap snarks from the open kitchen, pulling the Brita from the fridge and just making himself right at home. 

“You shut your whore mouth,” you call back, not taking your eyes from Ghost. You go on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his mouth, short and chaste and meaning it. “You are absurd. A pastiche. I think I’m a little in love with you.”

“I’ll only break your heart, birdie,” Ghost says, his little satisfied smirk doing little to help your predicament. That fucking dimple.

“S’what hearts are for though, isn’t it?” you thumb at the divot before letting him go with a grin. “Seems a little silly to complain about a feature.” 

He lets you tug him to the kitchen and that’s a high in itself, isn’t it? Him letting you be in charge. Just a little, just for now. 

Soap passes you a mug of water with a mischievous smile, one of the novelty ones the apartment came stocked with and the only bit of personality in the place. Providentially, it’s one of your favorites: a little silver spaceship mid-abduction over a farm, a cow floating in the air with a bored expression, as if to say “What, this again?” Not for nothing was Fox Mulder your first crush. 

“You’ll need to stay hydrated, bonnie,” Soap tells you altogether too smugly. “You’re in for a long night.” 

“Oh, and you think you lads will get off easy, do you?” you say as you slurp indignantly—because water’s actually not the worst idea right now. Little touched that he’s thought of it, if you’re being honest. 

Ghost leans against the island, tugging you against him as Soap snorts. “I seem to remember you saying exactly those words a moment ago, yes,” he says, raising an eyebrow. You can’t help but reach up, trace your thumb curiously over the small, pale scar that bisects it, Soap’s eyes softening as you do. You make a mental note to ask later, but first– 

“Objection, I said that I’m easy. Not that I was going to go easy on you.” you say, dropping your hand. “Crucial semantic difference, and if you play the tapes back you’ll see I did not perjure myself.” 

“Tapes?” Soap asks, clearly amused.

“Metaphorical,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “The cassettes of memory, if you will.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“You’re an odd bird,” Ghost remarks, not displeased. 

“Glad you’ve noticed. Now I think there should be something snackish around here,” you say, digging around the drawers you can reach from Ghost’s hold, the man seeming unwilling to let you go at present.

“Et voila!” you say triumphantly, holding aloft a packet of mixed nuts. “Protein. Very important for marathon orgies.” 

“Thought you needed more than three to qualify as an orgy,” Soap points out, like a damn pedant. 

“Do we not each contain multitudes?” you say with faux solemnity, bestowing a handful of nuts upon him.

Ghost shorts, the sound muffled where his face is buried in your hair. You lift the mug up over your head in offering and he raises his head long enough to take a sip, nipping playfully at your fingers when you offer up a few nuts. The last of your buzz from the bar had mostly dissipated between the cold walk and the excellent orgasm, but you feel better knowing you’ve all had at least a bit to eat and drink, for now. For later, Luigi’s around the corner stayed open 24/7, and there was nothing quite like an after-sex calzone, in your experience. 

But that was getting ahead of yourself.  

“Ok, rapid fire. Likes, dislikes, hard lines, what’s the play?” you ask, emptying the last of packet into your mouth before tossing it over your shoulder. To their credit, neither hesitate. 

“Mask and gloves stay on unless I decide otherwise,” Ghost says immediately, and you nod your understanding. “Other than that, just wanna fuck you, bird. Don’t much care how.” He comes up to thumb consideringly at your mouth. “Though if you want to put those pretty lips around my cock I wouldn’t complain.” 

“Done,” you agree easily, leaning back to nip a little at his jaw, his large hands tightening pleasantly on you.

Soap’s eyes rake over your body like he’s planning the fastest way to take you apart, lingering hungrily where Ghost’s skeleton-gloved hands splay across your waist. “Wanna get my mouth on you first. Your tits, your pussy, both if you’ll let me. Make sure you’re all good and messy before we take you,” he says with a shark-like smile that promises the best kind of trouble. “Liked seeing you ride Ghost like that, too. All mad for a bit of friction. Could you give us another like that, ya reckon?” he asks.

“On board. Very much on board,” you say, his words sending a little flutter of heat through your belly. “Bites, hickeys, bruises, et cetera?” 

“There you go threatening us with a good time again,” Ghost chuckles low. You feel his smile as he nips at your ear, just a touch too sharp. “Go on then, rabbit; we can take it a little rough.” 

“Excellent, let the record show we’re all agreed on some light mauling,” you adopt a businesslike tone.

“Condoms?” Soap asks very responsibly. And you know what your answer should be, know what you would counsel literally anyone else in your situation. And yet…

“I have an IUD,” you blurt. “And I’m clean—I mean, I get tested regularly. I have the results on my phone if you want. I mean, assuming you’re also clean and even want to come in me. Or on me. Which. I mean. Do you? Because I want you to. So much. So, so much.” you say, mouth doing that thing where it just goes off on its own again.

“Fuck yes, bonnie,” Soap sounds wrecked, eyes intense as he crowds you against Ghost. Shoving your legs apart and making himself right at home between your thighs. “Wanna see it on your pussy, your tits, that pretty little face. Want you fucking dripping with us. Yeah, L.T.?” 

You actually feel Ghost’s cock twitch at your back. “Gonna fill you up good, birdie. Get you all sweet and sloppy for us,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering wicked in your ear, “maybe I’ll even let Soap lick you a little after, as a treat. Clean you up nice, like.”

“Hnngh,” you say coherently. Nod a little frantically, just in case. “Mhm yes that, that’s. Good. Two thumbs up from me.”

“Glad you’re on board, sweetheart,” Ghost’s voice is low and satisfied and you have the (not entirely unpleasant) sense that the gravity of the room is shifting suddenly and inexplicably in their favor. “Anything you wanna tell us before go back to lookin’ after this pretty pussy?” Ghost asks, and you quake when he fits his hand over your clothed cunt. Just rests it there, all casual possession in a way that makes you feel a bit faint. To so sweetly be claimed by somebody. To be kept.

“Talk,” you blurt, quickly squashing that dangerous line of thought. “To me, about me, I don’t care. Just keep talking. Christ,” you swear as Soap presses forward, trapping Ghost’s hand and adding just the tiniest bit of pressure—not enough to actually do anything, just tease you with the delicious weight of him.

“Anything else, bonnie?” Soap encourages. “Want t’ make it good for you.” He noses against the sweat that’s already beginning to bead at your hairline and it occurs to you, a little deliriously, that you’re still wearing your winter coat.

“The rest you can work out for yourself. I’ll let you know if you do something I don’t like, but I already told you—I’ve no interest in going easy on you,” you tease, leaning up to bite a little at Soap’s jaw. You run your fingers across his waistband and dip just a hair below the edge to brush against bare skin, delighting in the way his muscles jump beneath your touch. You can’t help but hook a finger through his beltloop and tug him closer, wanting more of that delicious pressure. Hum happily when he gets with the program and leans down to kiss you silly. 

You’re endlessly pleased you’re all on the same page on the importance of foreplay as the two of them make a meal out of kissing you, passing you back and forth until your lips are swollen and flushed and you’re whining high in your throat, desperate for more touch. Only then does Soap push your coat off your shoulders, run his hands greedily down your arms and circle them around your wrists. He lifts your arms in the air so Ghost can tug your shirt off over your head, tossing it away as Soap reaches around to unclasp your bra in one single, smooth movement–an impressive display of silent coordination that has no business being as hot as it is.

“Jesus, Mary, and fuckface Joseph,” Soap swears when he gets an eyeful of your tits, bra dropping forgotten to the floor. 

“Whassit, Johnny?” Ghost asks, occupied with marking up all that newly exposed skin, biting sharp before licking over the hurt, soothing the sting in a way that makes you melt. You grab Ghost’s hands, guide them to the piercings that made Soap’s jaw go all cute and slack, silver barbells angled in a pretty vee. 

“You like ‘em?” you ask Soap a bit breathlessly.

“Oh bonnie, like isn’t the half of it.” Soap’s drinking you in like he can’t decide if he wants to get his mouth or his hands on you first, an excited glint in his eye like a child with a new toy.

“Got ‘em with my best friend the night before graduation,” you tell them as Ghost hooks his chin over your shoulder to stare at your tits appreciatively. “Don’t tell my mo—om,” your voice hitches as he starts rubbing dizzying circles over your nipples, tugging occasionally in a way that makes you pant.

“Christ, that’s a pretty picture,” Soap says fervently, thumbing your chin and pressing a desperate kiss to your lips. “Lemme get my mouth on your tits, bonnie. Make you feel so good, I swear; just wanna suck on ‘em a little,” he begs. He kisses your cheek when you nod, then fucking face plants into your chest. 

It’s sloppy and uncoordinated and perfect as he mashes his face between your tits, licking and sucking and biting around Ghost’s groping hands until you’re a babbling mess between them. After a while Ghost spins you around, letting Soap have a go at your throat while he pets appreciatively over your spit-slick breasts, weighing them in his gloved hands, kneading just shy of too hard. “Don’t go quiet on us now, sweetheart,” he chuckles when your eyes slip closed, losing yourself in the sensation. They fly open when he slaps at your tits a little, gasping as you cant your hips in a desperate movement that precedes thought. 

“Need something to press your pussy against, doll?” Ghost says with pretend sympathy, the ass. You forgive him utterly when he shifts a moment later, slotting a massive thigh between your legs and pressing right up against your aching cunt. Your hands scrabble for purchase at his arms, the big bastard so tall that you’re off-balance when he tugs you forward, feet almost coming off the damn ground.

Soap’s hands come around your waist, steadying you. Petting over the sensitive skin there, reaching up to play with your tits just a little, like he can’t quite help himself. “Go on, then, darlin’, give us a show,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

It’s not like you to forgo a comeback, but you’re too fucking grateful that that there’s finally something for you to grind against to care. You sink down with a sweet shudder of relief, bracing against Ghost for leverage as you roll your hips experimentally. You gasp when you find a good angle and just get lost in it for a few minutes, barely aware of the desperate little noises spilling from your throat. 

“Look fucking gorgeous like this,” Ghost praises as he thumbs wickedly at your nipples, tugging sharp as you hump sweetly against him, chasing your pleasure. “You gonna give us another so soon?”

“More, need more please,” you shake your head. You hook your fingers in the collar of his hoodie and tug him down, mouth a little desperately at his jaw. “Wanna feel you bare.” 

“Johnny?” Ghost commands over your shoulder.

“On it, L.T.” Then Soap’s making swift work of your zipper, chuckling at the displeased noise you make when Ghost lifts you off his leg long enough for Soap to tug off your trousers and discard them along with your shoes and socks. 

“Oh darlin’, is all that for us?” Soap says adoringly, looking at the wetness between your thighs, all sticky and slick where you’ve soaked through your underwear. 

“Given that I’ve had to do all the work myself,” you pant, rolling your hips pointedly, “I would say it’s for me, actually.”

“Oh, well we can’t have that now, can we,” Ghost tuts, turning you to face Soap as he trails his fingers maddeningly down along your sides. Hooks them in the band of your underwear and drags down in a long, smooth glide. He crouches to slide them off, tapping at your ankle until you obediently lift one, then the other, bracing yourself on Soap’s broad shoulders and shivering as the cool air hits your overheated core. 

Ghost smirks as he tucks your soaked panties into his back pocket, running his hands up your thighs as he stands and leaving goosebumps in his wake. “You hungry, Johnny?” he asks, voice casual as anything as he fits his hands to your ass, squeezing appreciatively. 

“Aye, L.T,” Soap answers, eyes glued to the thatch of soft curls between your legs. “Fucking starving.”

“Oh, get fuck–ed,” you yelp as Ghost suddenly lifts you into the air, fitting his forearms under your thighs and spreading you open for Soap’s hungry gaze. Soap drops to his knees with a punched out noise, running his hands reverently along your knees, thighs, the crease of your hip; nipping and caressing and stubbornly refusing to touch you where you need it most. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to play with your food?” you grouse, the effect somewhat lessened by the way your cunt clenches. What can you say–the realization they’ve got you naked and dripping while they’ve not removed so much as their coats is really, really doing something for you. 

Ghost chuckles at your words, mischievous and low. “Hey Johnny, how’s a bird like a Happy Meal?” 

Soap groans, knocking his head against your thigh in exasperation. “Spare us, L.T. I’m begging you.”

“Tasty meal and a toy to play with, too,” Ghost chuffs, much too pleased with himself as he shifts you in his hold, ripping one glove off with his teeth and finally, finally getting a hand on your pussy. It’s too fast and too rough and you don’t fucking care because it’s good, Ghost rubbing tight circles over your clit as you grind against his palm and Soap bites maddeningly at the soft skin your thighs, marks that will flower pretty and purple in the morning. 

You can’t work up a lick of embarrassment over the desperate, wanton noises that spill from your mouth, head thrown back against Ghost’s chest as you come right up to the edge–as much from the stimulation as the unexpected gift of his bare skin. You keen when he suddenly moves his hand away, hips chasing forward futilely as you try to follow. 

“Why,” you whine, utterly betrayed.

“Aw hush yerself,” Soap soothes, petting at your thigh, “We’re not as mean as all that.” Then Ghost’s got both hands on your thighs, spreading you impossibly wider as Soap gets his mouth on your pussy, licking into you like he’s been waiting an eternity for a taste. It’s sloppy and eager and when he grazes your clit with his teeth that’s it, you’re coming, you’re coming, pressing desperately against his wet mouth as he swirls his tongue around that sensitive bundle of nerves, stretching your orgasm into a dizzying eternity. Soap pulls back to watch your pussy drip and twitch as you ride it out, the barest ring of blue visible around blown pupils, pretty mouth slack and glistening. Unwilling to even blink lest he miss a moment of it. “Fucking beautiful,” he whispers fervently, diving back in as you wail. 

“Shoulda warned ya, Johnny’s a messy eater,” Ghost says, indulgent and fond as Soap eats you out with his entire fucking face, stubble rubbing sensitive and raw as he slobbers over your clit and slips his tongue into your hole. Before you know it you’re tumbling headfirst into another peak, writhing in Ghost’s arms as every part of you trembles with the force of it. You’re panting and weak-limbed as a kitten when the aftershocks finally peter out, hands scrabbling anywhere you can find purchase. 

“Can you—kiss, kiss me, please, I need—” 

You can’t get the words out but Ghost’s there, cupping your face, kissing you soundly and narrowing your world to just the feel of his mouth against yours. Grounding you with deep, languid kisses until your rabbit heart slows and you get your feet back under you—figurative and literal, Soap making soothing noises as he eases you down from Ghost’s arms. 

“That was a big one, huh, bonnie?” he says, running his hands over your shoulders and back, gentling you.

“Get fucked,” you mutter, rubbing your cheek against Ghost’s chest, the surprisingly soft fabric of his hoodie. 

“That’s rather the idea, love,” Soap chuckles, draping himself across your back like a large, Scottish sloth. 

“They will never find your body,” you hiss even as you soften beneath his warmth. You’re close enough to feel both their cocks jump at your words and can’t help but laugh. “Violence doing it for you again?” 

“Oh sweetheart, you have no idea,” Ghost chuckles, looking wryly at Soap.

“S’it a military thing, then?” You feel them stiffen at that, pull back a little and no, no thank you, none of that please. “I’m sorry, was that supposed to be some kind of big secret? You mentioned a captain earlier,” you point out to Ghost. “And you keep calling him L.T., which I can only imagine is short for lieutenant,” you say to Soap, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not the riddle of the fucking sphinx. Though what British soldiers are doing in America is another question; seem to remember we settled that fight a couple centuries back,” you say dryly, more than a little irritated they’re wasting valuable time on this. Is there no respect for a person’s afterglow? 

“And even if ‘Soap’ and ‘Ghost’ weren’t obviously fake names,” you carry on, “Ghost keeps calling you Johnny. Which, by the by, is an adorable name and suits you very well,” you tell Soap, his eyes softening on you. “So with all of that in mind, it’s not a leap to think the names you gave me are military nicknames or—fucking, what do they call ‘em in Top Gun? Call signs. Also, I repeat: have you seen you? Normal people don’t look like that. Kat assumed gym rats, bodybuilders or some shit but I had a feeling…”

“Gym rats?” Soap recoils, sounding wildly offended. “The cheek of it. I’ll have ye know I worked for these muscles, lassie. Could a gym rat clear a compound in sub-3 minutes? I think the fuck not.” 

Ghost lets out an amused huff at Soap’s little rant, but you’re not quite able to read his eyes when they land on yours. He’s quiet as he considers you, and you let him look; take the time he needs. Although you can’t help but feel just a little like you want to point out you’re as open and vulnerable as you can possibly be here, given you’re conducting this conversation in the nude. 

“Simon,” he says finally and oh, that’s—yeah. That fits. 

“Simon,” you try it out, rolling it around your mouth, considering the taste of it. “I like it,” you tell him, and mean it. 

He smiles a little at that, just the slightest, crooked thing that makes something in your heart sing. “I’ll even tell you what we’re doing here, at least a bit of it anyway. We’re on leave as of—oh, what’d you reckon, Johnny?” 

“Eh, six hours, give or take,” Soap says, fitting his hands delightedly to your waist, coming back around you like he never left.

“…leave as of six hours ago,” Ghost finishes, tugging you both against his broad chest as he relaxes back against the counter. 

“Well-deserved leave, if you ask me. After the shitshow of a mission we had,” Soap groans, cracking his neck and shaking his head a bit like he’s clearing the memory. Ghost reaches out to press at Soap’s shoulder, digging his thumbs into the tightness there. 

“No fun?” you ask. You’re pleased to have them properly back around you now, let yourself bask in it a little, burrow into the warmth of their bodies. Maybe you should make them grovel a bit more for thinking you wouldn’t pick up on basic fucking context clues, but in your defense you’re still buck ass naked and the kitchen is cold. 

“Oh, plenty of fun. ‘Specially near the end, there,” Ghost smiles wickedly, his dimple on full show. You reach out to touch because you simply cannot help yourself and he nips at your finger playfully, chasing it with his teeth as you smile. 

“The lass don’t want to hear about things like that, it’s not polite,” Soap says, smacking Ghost in the arm.

“D’ya think she cares about polite, you muppet? Or haven’t you been listening?” Ghost says with a snort and oh, you’re touched by that; the swiftness of his understanding of you. 

“Strictly speaking, I like the idea of it. I’m just not very good at knowing what constitutes polite most of the time,” you offer generously.

“Because it’s fucking bullshit,” Ghost says evenly. 

“Because it’s fucking bullshit!” you smack him in the chest, unreasonably pleased that he got the unspoken part. 

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Soap admits. “Still, there’s better bedroom talk.” 

“For you maybe,” you tell him skeptically, raising your eyebrows as you jut your chin toward Ghost. “I think this one’s got his wires all crossed.” 

“Oh, aye,” Soap chuckles, squeezing you soundly. “More than a little.” 

“Glass houses, MacTavish,” Ghost drawls. 

“Oh, we doing last names then Riley?” Soap challenges, leaning over you so he can nip sharp at Ghost’s mouth. You’ve a sense this is some odd bit of foreplay for them—part of some larger dance you’re glimpsing just a small part of. 

Still, it’s a good fucking view, and you snuggle happily between them to watch as Ghost takes Soap’s mouth, kissing him into an oblivion you’ve now had first-hand experience of on both sides. 

Soap looks appropriately wrecked when Ghost finally pulls away, petting a little at Soap’s mouth before he checks in with you, tucked up all warm and safe and momentarily sated. “How you feelin’, birdie? Want to play or keep watching?” he asks without judgement. 

It’s not even a question; as much as you like watching them, you like touching more. Plus, you’re sick of being the only one with skin in the game. Literally. “Want to touch you. Properly, this time. Clothes off,” you specify, tugging at the pocket of Ghost’s hoodie. You tilt your head as you look up at them, mind running away with all sorts of delicious possibilities. They’ve been patient about their own pleasure, and you’re feeling generous coming off three stellar orgasms of your own—more than ready to give some pleasure of your own. “Ghost, would you want to fuck my mouth, maybe? Gimmie something to suck on while Soap gets me ready, puts me on his cock?” you offer, pressing your hips back against Soap and smiling when he predictably drops a hand down for a squeeze. Ghost hums his own approval into your throat, hands tightening almost painfully on your waist. You’re pleased to find that, once again, you’re all on the same page.

“Should we—couch?” Soap says a little desperately, pawing at your ass.

Or maybe not. 

“I have a perfectly good bed, you know,” you point out. “Throw pillows and everything.”

“I dunno, birdie,” Ghost says, “I rather like the idea of defiling every room of your very beige apartment.” 

You snort at the unfortunate accuracy. "It came furnished," you explain with a shrug. "Hideous, but does mean you can take me as hard as you want against the furniture and I won’t care if it breaks,” you offer.

“Brilliant. We’ll start with your fuck-ugly couch,” Soap declares and, well, who are you to argue with that?

...

Disintegration is still going strong over the speaker, Robert Smith crooning his little goth heart out as they pull you into the living room, discarding coats and shoes and pulling their shirts over their heads as they go. Ghost falls onto the couch, pulling you on top of him as Soap crowds behind, short-circuiting your thoughts a little with how good it feels, all that skin-to-skin contact. 

“Go on then, bird,” Ghost says indulgently. “Said you wanted to touch us.”

You take the invitation for what it is, getting your hot little hands all over their skin. Eager to map out the shape of them, trace your fingers over the constellations of freckles and moles on Soap’s back, the swirling lines of Ghost’s tattooed sleeve. Can’t help but frown a little when you register the sheer number of scars on each of them, brutal topographies of jagged, raised lines and rough patches from injuries both healed and fresh. It’s not unexpected, given the conversation you just had, but there’s the abstract knowledge of what it means to be a soldier and then there’s seeing it live and up-close, and you don’t like the thought of their pain. 

What you do like is the way they press up eagerly into your hands, pleased little noises and murmured praise spilling from their lips as they let you take your fill—as if such a thing could exist. You can’t imagine an end to this hunger for their skin against yours; think you could spend hours just getting used to the size of them, marveling as you splay a hand over Ghost’s thick waist or Soap’s broad shoulders. Reveling in all the plushness of relaxed muscle, healthy layers of fat you want to bite. The thought’s intoxicating enough for you to take a cue from Soap, face plant right into Ghost’s chest with a contented sigh. 

Soap barks out a laugh. “Simon’s got fantastic tits, aye?” he says, bringing up a hand to tweak one of Ghost’s nipples affectionately. “Always tellin’ him so, but he disnae believe me.”

“They’re perfect,” you moan, muffled as you rub your cheek against Ghost’s pecs, loving the plumpness, the way he hisses when you sink your teeth into them. You’re determined to pull out more of those intoxicating noises as you leave a trail of bruised hickeys and little bites down his belly, nosing against the thatch of blonde hair that leads in a promising line beyond his waistband. 

You shoot up when you hear the sound of Soap undoing his buckle behind you, unwilling to miss even a second. Ghost has to steady you as you twist around too fast and off-balance, but you’re immediately rewarded with an eyeful of black boxer briefs and luscious thighs covered in whorls of dark hair. Your mouth fair fucking waters when you notice the growing wet patch on his underwear, damp fabric clinging Soap’s leaking tip. 

“Pretty,” you breathe out, hands twitching with the urge to reach out, to touch, to lean forward and get your mouth all over the delicious length of him.

Soap laughs a little at your dazed expression, kissing you sweetly before turning your head back to face Ghost. “You’ll get plenty of me later, sweetheart,” he promises. “Right now, you focus on gettin’ Simon feeling good for me, yeah?” he asks, running warm hands over your arms and tucking his chin against your neck to watch.

You’re more than happy to comply, reaching down to pet over the line of Ghost’s cock, squeeze where he’s thick and straining in his jeans. You roll your hips slow, smirking when you see the muscles in his arms jumping, feel his hands tighten around your waist. Loving the way his eyes shut briefly at the feel of you, hips jerking up with a punched-out noise. 

“You feel good too,” you whisper against his mouth, licking into him as you undo his belt and ease down the zipper, enjoying the tease. He helpfully raises his hips so you can tug his trousers off, leaving his underwear for now—black boxer briefs, just like Soap, and you feel something tender and silly at the thought of them doing their shopping together. Their laundry. Domestic. 

You slip to the carpet in front of the couch, smiling your thanks when Soap slips you a throw pillow for your knees. He tucks your hair behind your ear—what you’re realizing is a thing for him—and kisses the tip of your nose with aching sweetness before molding himself to your back to watch, greedy for the sight of you worshipping Ghost’s cock. 

Ghost’s already got his eyes on you when you turn back, eyes wicked and dark as he watches you curve your hands covetously around his knees. You wink at him before shoving his thighs apart, making yourself at home in the spread of them. “Turnabout’s fair play,” you sing-song, Soap laughing delightedly.

Ghost shoots Soap a dirty look over your shoulder and Soap leans over to kiss the frown from his face. “Aw, haud yer wheesht,” Soap says, tugging at Ghost’s mask playfully. “The lass is right and you know it.”

“You’d best remember that, too,” you mutter, running your hands over the fat spread of Ghost’s thighs, shivering at how good it feels to be tucked between them. You tease along the cuff of his boxer briefs, lingering over the illustrations inked into his skin—larger and more lush than those he bears on his arms, old school sailor designs lined thick with black. 

“You’ve been around Cape Horn?” you ask, tracing the tall sails of a fully-rigged ship on one thigh. One of your earliest writing jobs had been a historical piece about the founding of the Merchant Marine and you’d been very taken with all those hidden meanings, delighted with the maps and personal histories encoded into each sailor's tattoos. If you’re reading Ghost’s right, he’s crisscrossed the globe more than a few times over.

Soap makes a little surprised sound at your words. “Is that what that one’s for, then?” he asks Ghost, leaning in to take a closer look. He runs his fingers over the shape of it, brushing his fingers over the pale blonde hair of Ghost’s thigh, lingering on the delicate blackwork of the mast and the billowing negative space of the sails. 

“Antarctica mission,” Soap whispers in your ear, tapping the ship. “Very cold, very classified. But the penguins, lass.” Ghost growls a warning, apparently knowing what’s next. "Little black-and-white fellas thought Ghost was one of their own,” Soap crows. “Followed him around the whole damn time like he was the little ones’ mommy. Cutest damn thing I ever saw.”

“Please tell me you got pictures,” you beg, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Just one, but it’s a doozy. I’ll show you later if you’re good,” Soap promises. “So go on then, bonnie," he says, chucking your chin because he is, you are beginning to understand, a bastard. "Show Simon how good you can be.”

You stick your tongue out at him but obediently tug Ghost’s underwear down, his cock slapping wetly against his stomach. It leaves a little train of precum you chase with your mouth, his abs tensing under your tongue and his hips jerking up on instinct. “Fucking hell, bird.” 

You smile at him, pulling back so you can get a good look at what you’re working with and doesn’t your jaw just ache at the sight. He’s as long as you expected but eye-wateringly thick, too—red and swollen and leaking at the tip, all pent up for ages. 

“Christ. I’m gonna fucking cry on that thing,” you blurt, feeling a wild burst of heat when his cock twitches at your words. 

“Promises, promises,” Ghost chuckles, trailing down your neck and cupping around your nape. He looks at you with a question in his eyes and you nod, then he’s tugging you forward till you’re mouthing at the tip, dipping your tongue into the slit to taste him as he groans beautifully.

God, you love this. The weight of him in your mouth and the closeness of his thighs around you. Getting to focus all your attention on someone; get lost in the desperate noises they make, the unconscious reactions that will tell you exactly how they like it, if you take the time to notice. And you do notice; watching and listening to Ghost carefully as you snuggle between his legs. Lick at the underside of his cock and nose at his heavy balls, find all those sensitive little spots that make his breath catch and his grip tighten on the back of your neck.

“Jesus, birdie,” he swears when you return to the head, drag the flat of your tongue over the purpling tip. He’s so hard it must be painful, the vein that runs up his length swollen and throbbing when you soothe over it with your tongue. “You like suckin' my cock?” he asks, and you’re not ashamed to nod eagerly. Because you do, you really do. Like that he’s wet, leaking like a tap, and you hum happily as you take him into your mouth. 

You hear Soap laugh as Ghost jackknifes at the wet heat of it, swearing low as his hand moves to cup your cheek. “Look so fucking pretty like this,” he croons, thumbing a little desperately at the corner of your mouth, all stretched open wide for him. “Stuffed full of cock, starin’ up at me with those gorgeous eyes.”

He thrusts shallowly a few times, letting you get used to his size, teasing your gag reflex. When the tears begin to gather, he pulls back and traces over your lips with the tip of his cock, wetting them before leaning down and kissing you messy. Soap groans brokenly at the sight, reaching around to play your tits as Ghost sucks the taste of himself from your tongue, his spit-slick cock bobbing obscenely as it drips neglected onto the floor. 

You whine high in your throat, displeased at the sight of it all cold and alone. You push Ghost back against the couch, sucking him back down and zeroing in on the sensitive frenulum, laving over it. His moan is a rumbling thing in his chest, petting at your cheek and pressing a thumb in until he can feel himself thick inside you. “Alright then, sweetheart,” he says rolling his hips like a hussy. “Give you what you want.”

He watches your eyes closely as he pushes in deeper; an inexorable slide until your nose meets the thick, blonde curls at the base of him and the back of his cock pushes at your throat. Your eyes flutter shut as you’re surrounded by his warmth, his scent—masculine and intoxicating and yours, if only for this one, perfect moment. You can only take a few seconds before you gag, have to pull off for air, but god you want more. Dive back in immediately and do your best to breathe through your nose as he fills your mouth, fucks a little at your throat.

“Good fucking girl,” Soap swears behind you, hands everywhere—over Ghost’s thighs, your shoulders–your tits, frequently. “Taking Ghost’s cock so well, bonnie, making him feel so good. So proud of you,” he murmurs, and your blood sings with the praise, redoubling your efforts. 

The next time you come up for air Soap grabs your face and takes your mouth, all spit-slick and swollen. He moans when he tastes Ghost on your tongue, trailing greedy fingers down your back until he’s brushing against your cunt. “Can I start openin’ you up, sweet, get you ready for me? I’ll go mad if I don’t get my cock in you soon, bonnie, I swear it,” Soap begs, pressing in just the tiniest bit, just enough to have you wriggling back against him.

“Please,” you whine against his mouth, liquid with want.

“So polite, sweetheart,” he says, kissing you thoroughly in reward. “All fours for me then, pup,” he commands with a light smack to your ass, Ghost chuckling when you shoot Soap a dirty look. You shift forward, deliberately arching your back and wiggling your hips a little in retaliation. You hear Soap choke on his spit and grin, winking at Ghost when he gives you a knowing look. 

Soap takes his sweet time groping your ass, pulling apart the globes and tilting up your hips so he can get a look at where you’re dripping for him. You clench at the thought of what he must be seeing, thighs all shiny with the slick of three orgasms and pussy rubbed swollen and red from his scruff.

“Aw, look at ‘er saying hello,” Soap crows at the sight. “You miss me, love? I know it’s only been a little while but I missed you too, sweet,” he coos against your pussy, an adoring finger tracing over your folds. “Can’t wait to taste ya again, feed you my cock if you’re good.”

“Wonderful, we’re anthropomorphizing my vagina. You gonna name her then, too?” you ask dryly, raising a brow as you look over your shoulder.  

Soap lightly slaps your cunt and you keen, rocking forward and shivering in pleasure as goosebumps erupt on your skin. That’s definitely new for you, but you’re into it. So, so into it.

“I’m fine with just callin’ her ours,” Soap says pleasantly, rubbing gentle over your pussy as if he didn’t just short-circuit your entire cerebellum. “Now as much as I like hearing you talk—and I’m not just staying that, bonnie, really, I do—I believe there are better things you could be doing with that mouth.”And look, when he gives you an opening like that—

“Yeah, like calling in a hit,” you can’t help but snark. He smacks your pussy again and you make an embarrassing, wanton noise, any other smart remarks lost to the pulse of blinding heat that goes through you. He does it again, then once more as you cry out in desperate pleasure. God that’s good, like lightning in your fucking veins; speedrunning you to the kind of full-body shaking, wailing, libidinous mess you haven’t enjoyed in far too long.

Pussy slapping, who knew? 

Soap laughs only a little meanly when you whine and press back against his hand for more. “Brat,” he says fondly, petting over your swollen cunt. 

“What was I just sayin’ about glass houses, Johnny?” Ghost chides, pumping his big cock in his hand while he watches the two of you play, an indulgent smirk twisting his scarred lips.  

“Awa’ an bile yer heid,” Soap says smartly before ducking down, lapping at your cunt.

“Christ,” you yelp, pressing your forehead against Ghost’s thigh as Soap fucks into you with his tongue, takes you apart through sheer force of will. As worked up as you’ve been, his first two fingers slide in easy as breathing, and Soap wastes no time seeking out all the spots that make you squirm. He works at you with an intensity that borders on rabid, a fucking artist with it—doing things with his tongue that you’re reasonably sure are illegal in several states, licking around his fingers and swirling around your clit before pressing open mouthed kisses to the crease of your hip, laving at the skin there. The hand not stretching you open is anchored to your hip, five points of contact to ground you within the onslaught of sensation.

It’s not enough, and you mouth at Ghost’s thigh until he gets the message, taps his cock on the side of your cheek until you open for him with a happy sigh. 

“Wish you could see her from here, Johnny,” Ghost says, eyes not leaving your face as he fucks back into your mouth. He reaches down, thumbing again at your spit-shiny bottom lip with an expression you can’t quite read but looks shockingly close to wonder. “Fucking beautiful.” 

By the time Soap gets a third, then a fourth finger into play, you’re near drooling on Ghost’s cock, eyes hazy and half-lidded, pussy so wet that the sounds Soap elicits are bordering on the obscene. “Gonna tease her all night, Johnny?” Ghost hums after an eternity of Soap dangling you over the edge. “Or do you plan on actually fucking her anytime soon?” And oh, you could kiss him for asking—so you do, pulling off and whining high in your throat till Ghost’s bending that big body in half, kissing you so, so sweetly, tugging your lip between his teeth when he pulls away.

Soap’s grumbling as he pulls reluctantly away from your pussy, and you take the opportunity to arch a little more, spread your legs wide as you look over your shoulder. “C’mon, wanna feel you,” you cajole, waggling your hips at him. “Faster you fuck me the faster you can get your mouth on me again.” 

That seems to do the trick because you catch Soap shoving down his briefs with a growl before Ghost’s turning you back to him, kissing you so thoroughly that you jerk in surprise when you feel the hard length of Soap’s cock press against your cunt. 

“Get me all nice and wet, that’s a girl,” Soap says as he grinds lewdly against your core, just barely teasing your hole with the tip. “Gotta make sure I don’t hurt you, bonnie,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on your back with a sweetness that makes you ache. You do consider pointing out he’s prepped you so well you could probably take a fucking Titan missile at this point, but then he’s bumping the head right up against your clit as he humps into you and suddenly find you can’t think of anything at all. 

A gentle tap at your cheek has you opening your eyes, turning to Ghost in question. “You’re alright, bird,” he assures, hooking his fingers under your chin as he thumbs over your wet mouth. “Just wanted to see that pretty face.” You smile at him, soft and sweet, and he slips a thumb between your lips; presses down, just a bit. You obediently open, tilt your face up like a plant to the sun. He pets at your tongue a little as he stares, eyes endless with hunger in a way that should frighten any creature with half a brain. Luckily, you’re working with a cell or two at most right now. 

“Wanna take my spit, birdie?” Ghost asks devastatingly. “Keep it nice and safe in that little mouth?” 

You nod as much as you can with the grip he’s got on you, eyes crossing a little at the thought. Soap’s no better, moaning brokenly and hips giving a violent jerk at Ghost’s words. Soap gets a hand on his cock, slapping it against your wet pussy and rucking the head in desperate, messy circles against your clit until you’re whining as you rock back against him, too lost in the feeling of it to do more than pant and twitch and beg Ghost with your eyes to give you what you need. 

“Go on then, Johnny,” Ghost says like a fucking saint, leaning down to spit messy in your mouth at the same time Soap notches the head of his cock in your hole. “Give it to her good,” he smirks.

And oh, there’s nothing, nothing in your head but the heat of Soap’s cock as he presses inside you and the feel of Ghost’s saliva cupped protectively on your tongue. You’ve given yourself over to them entirely and are reaping the rewards in wildfire burning through your lungs, a desperate pleasure so intense and all-consuming you’re already crying by the time Soap bottoms out, breath hitching as his balls come to rest against your ass.

“Mary mother of god,” Soap gasps, dropping his forehead on your sweat-slicked back, panting against your skin. “The fucking cunt on her, Simon.” Then he’s laying into you, long, deep strokes that let you feel the entire, dizzying length of him from root to tip, just barely kissing your cervix as he fucks back in, grinding his hips maddeningly at the deepest part of you.

Ghost greedily drinks the gasps and whines from your mouth, holding you steady as Soap’s hips pound into you and you can’t do more than take it, let it ferry you over into some realm of pleasure you hadn’t even known to dream of. You’d naively thought he wouldn’t last too long, as long as he’d had to wait, but you’re proven wrong as Soap just keeps going; a fucking machine as he pistons into you, praise spilling from his lips and bubbling sweet in your veins.

“So fucking sweet f’me, bonnie,” he babbles in your ear, “so warm, so fucking wet. Just taking me so beautifully, sweet girl. Best pussy I ever fucking had,” he moans and oh, doesn’t that go right to your head, so stupid and pleased as you pant on his cock. Soap reaches around to get a hand on your clit, rubbing furiously as he increases his pace and you cry out as you tumble into another perfect, beautiful, fucking sublime spiral of pleasure.

“Jesus, bonnie, can feel you milking my cock. Fuck that’s good,” Soap grunts, hand not leaving your clit for one single second. He fucks you through your orgasm with a force that has you scrabbling up, wrapping your arms around Ghost’s waist—not tapping out, but needing something strong to fucking hold on to. 

Soap follows with an almost feral noise, jackhammering into you as he chases his own pleasure. Ghost leans down and pets over your hair, presses his lips against the crown of your head and murmurs praise as you sob, waves of aftershocks tumbling together until you might just be fucking coming again, who the hell knows.

All you do know is you have to, have to reach back one hand back, feel where Soap’s splitting you open as you moan and shake for him, fingers tangling together as he paws at your messy clit and your brain whites the fuck out. When you come to you’re shaking, cunt gushing obscenely all over Soap’s cock and onto the carpet when he pulls out to watch.

“Gorgeous, bonnie, oh so fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful, Jesus,” he babbles, sounding as fuck-drunk as you feel, the slick noises of his hand as he works his cock sending you into orbit. “God, didn’t know you could squirt like that, baby. Gimmie another, please, sweetheart, you gotta, I need—,” he cuts himself off as he fucks back in you, groaning at the feel of your walls clenching around him, kissing his cock. 

“Can you?” Ghost’s touch is gentle against your face, voice low as he checks in.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you stutter blindly, “s’never happened before.” Soap moans at that, thrusting directly into your g-spot and oh, no, yeah—maybe you can do this again.

“Should’na said that, birdie,” Ghost sighs, shaking his head. “he’s going to be insufferable now.” 

“That’s because no one’s ever treated you right, huh, poor thing?” Soap coos to your pussy, giving your overstimulated clit time to breathe even as keeps fucking into your hole.

“Can we take a moment to think about the—fuck—the fucking carpet,” you manage as Soap picks up the pace. “My security deposit. I said we could break the furniture, not the floor,” you point out very reasonably.

“I’ll pay your fucking security deposit, darlin',” Soap says like you’re the one being difficult here. “Now will you please, please be quiet and come on my cock?” He drops a sweet kiss on your back and then he’s rabbit-fucking into you like there’s a score to settle, aiming unerringly at your g-spot and refusing to let up until you’re wailing, face bumping against Ghost’s stomach with the force of his thrusts.

You can barely cry a warning before you feel it, you feel it, muscles tensing up almost painfully as pleasure rockets through you, white-hot and unbearably intense as you soak Soap’s cock. Fat tears are falling down your cheeks as your orgasm is wrung from you, body trembling from the force of it and ears fucking ringing,muffled and strange like you’ve gone underwater. Ghost’s warm hands are all over your face, pressing kisses and making comforting noises as you come back to earth, feeling a little bit like you’d been taken apart and remade like some licentious jigsaw puzzle. 

Soap’s got one big hand splayed over your ass, grunting as he strips his cock wildly until he finally, finally coming in hot, thick spurts over your puffy pussy. He half-collapses on your back, fucking through his mess with little, half-conscious jerks of his hips as you mumble inanely against Ghost’s thigh and his broad hand just keeps petting over your hair. There’s nothing, nothing in your head. Just…good. Quiet and safe and good. 

“C’mere pup.” 

You’re already looking up when you feel Soap lift his head, and Ghost’s joy is legion. He chuckles, a low and deadly-pleased sound that has you blinking slow with a sudden, feverish wave of want. How you’re even fucking capable of that at the moment, you’re not even sure. Is there an Olympics for the insatiably horny? 

“Just Soap for now, sweet. Don’t pout, we’ll play in a moment,” he chides as he pets over your cheek, soft. He extends his other hand to Soap, twitching his fingers. “C’mere, wanna feel my lad,” he says with a soft, crooked smile. Soap moves a little drunkenly onto the couch, grinning dopily as he melts against Ghost’s side, pressing happily against him.

Ghost scruffs fondly over Soap’s messy mohawk before cradling his head, taking his mouth long and lush and sweet. Like they’ve got all the time in the world to just kiss, right there on your shitty couch. In front of your naked heart, yearning so desperately you’re sure they can see it shining through your chest. 

But oh, then Ghost’s reaching down like he needs you, too; like you can do something for him and you would, would do anything he asked right now. “Johnny fucked you good, didn’t he, baby? Why don’t you go on and clean him up, gentle like. Say thank you, yeah?” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, petting your hair, being so nice. And of course you can do it, are happy to, can’t think of very much else in the world you’d rather be doing, really. 

Ghost maneuvers a warm and pliant Soap onto his lap, pulling him firmly against his chest and spreading Soap’s thighs wide over his own. He presses open-mouthed kisses down Soap’s neck, licking at the sweat-slicked skin there. Holding him open for you in an almost perfect mirror of earlier in the night and you feel something soft and fond kick up in your chest at the realization. Such a thing for reciprocity, these two. They take, yes. But oh, how they give.

You take your time about it, let yourself look properly before you ever get to touching. It's the first time you’ve gotten to see Soap’s cock up close and you’re tickled to find it’s as pretty as he is. Flushed pink and glistening, perfect mushroom head and an adorable little curve that explains the way it felt like he was hammering into your g-spot. Ah, well. One of nature’s little favorites. 

You smile when you realize he has a few freckles even down here; fond at the thought of him wandering around buck naked in the sun. Probably torments his teammates with his bare ass in unexpected places, you’re suddenly sure of it. 

Maybe it’s a bit early to be making assumptions, given you know very little about these men apart from their real names, fake names, and tremendous cocks. But you feel you can take some liberties, especially in the realm of asses—of which Soap’s is utterly champion. Beautiful. So fucking firm and bouncy and holy fucking shit—“Is that an ass tattoo?” you yelp delightedly, bypassing Soap’s cock entirely as you grope at his cheeks, lifting up and tilting your head, squinting a little until…

“No, no, absolutely get fucked. There’s no way. Oh my god, you fucking sap. Oh, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Inked on his left butt cheek is a Pacman-style ghost, all pixelated blackwork with a white patch on its face in the shape of a skull. You melt at the sight, full Grinch grew-three-sizes action happening in your heart as you feel a rush of affection for these fucking weirdos on your couch.

“Lost a bet to Gaz,” Soap groans, passing a hand over his face. “One of our team,” he clarifies at your questioning look. “Ghost got to pick.”

Ghost is looking appropriately smug, big hands splayed possessively over Soap’s thighs. 

“Excellent choice, I approve entirely,” you say, pressing a kiss to the tattoo with an exaggerated smooch and cackling as Soap swats at you.

He pivots to petting over your hair when you duck and take him in your mouth, a slow, savoring slide of your lips–not about teasing, not even about getting off, just about making him feel as warm and safe and sweet as you have in his arms tonight. Grounding you both with the action, gentling your comedown from the dizzying heights you’d climbed.

You press a soft kiss to the tip when you’re done, squeezing at his knees, and they pull you up for a proper cuddle. Ghost’s cock is still hard and leaking against your ass, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to do anything about it; patient as he holds you both in the circle of his arms and you feel a swell of some unnamable emotion for the pair of them, raw and strong and sincere.

Because the universe has perfect timing and an mean sense of humor, the familiar guitar lick that opens “Friday I’m in Love” suddenly fills the room and you glance at the speaker in disbelief. It’s well past midnight, technically Saturday but—"Alright, I hear you,” you call out with a helpless laugh, not sure if you’re addressing god or the universe or just whoever might be listening. You shake your head, smiling. “Cheeky fuckers.”

“Don’t tell me your apartment is haunted as well as ugly?” Ghost asks with a put-upon sigh.

You purse your lips, consider that for a second. “You know, I have often felt the sensation of eyes on me. But I’m pretty sure that’s just the perv across the street. Gotta get better about closing my windows.” They frown at that, shifting a little like they might want to do something with that information, and you roll your eyes fondly, change the subject.

“Hey, did you know John Hughes once wrote a screenplay based on a song by The Cure? Swear to god. It was ‘The Lovecats.’ I know nothing about it but based on title alone, I’m thinking an unauthorized Cats sequel. Anthropomorphic trad goth cats, can you see it?”

“I’m trying very hard not to,” Soap says, and you smack him in the stomach.

Ghost does not bother to entertain the question, so you settle into a comfortable silence, close your eyes as you listen to the familiar songs and just rest.

You shiver after a short while, cooling skin sticky where you’re pressed against them.  Ghost takes it as his cue to stand up, dumping you both on the couch. He eyes the pair of you, not bothering to shift from where you’d fallen into each other, then looks up like he’s calculating the distance to your bed.

He suddenly crouches, slinging each of you over a shoulder, and fuck if that doesn’t near set you off again, Ghost’s back muscles flexing in the obscene display of strength. Soap’s got to be at least 200 pounds of muscle and you’re no small thing yourself, yet Ghost easily carries you through the hall and to the bedroom like it’s not the scariest, hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

The throw pillows scatter as he tosses you both onto the bed and you bounce with the rebound, eyes wide and quite possibly more turned on than you’ve been in your entire life—though, to be fair, that record’s been broken about half-a-dozen times tonight.

Soap’s laughing at the slack look on your face, pulling you toward him for a messy kiss, more just a happy press of faces together than any real coordination. When you come up for air, Ghost’s passing you both mugs of water and watching to make sure you drink it all as if his cock isn’t right there, angry and throbbing and sticking right the fuck out. But, well, if it’s not a problem for him then it’s not a problem for you—clearly those military men were trained for endurance.

“C’mere,” you call with a small yawn, opening up your arms. Not tapping out by any means, but more than willing to have a little cuddle before he no doubt destroys you on his monster of a cock. Ghost bullies his way between you and Soap, lying on his back as you curve around him like parentheses. Soap’s eyes sparkle at you when he sinks his teeth into one gorgeous, plump pec, a pleased hiss escaping Ghost’s mouth. His sweet sounds only increase when you drag your nails over his stomach, scratching at the blonde hair of his treasure trail and tracing over the delicious vee of his hips. 

You prop your chin on Ghost’s stomach, bright with sudden remembrance. “Hey, I was good, right?” you ask Soap. “Gimmie my treat. Penguin photo, please and thank you.” 

His initial confusion transforms into cheeky delight and he nudges Ghost, widening those baby blues in an obvious ploy. “Be a sweet and grab my phone for me? Think it’s in my trouser pocket. Left cheek.” 

“What, you broken? Can’t get it yourself?” Ghost gruffs without heat.  

“C’mon Si,” Soap whines, “Please? Those floors were hard, m’knee’s all fucked.”

That has both you and Ghost sitting up to frown at him, and you follow Ghost’s hand to caress over Soap’s left knee, the jagged line of a scar curving wickedly around the joint. 

“You should have said,” you chide, squeezing gently and working in tandem with Ghost to knead out a little of the tension.

“I’d do it a thousand times more to see you come apart on my cock like that, bonnie,” Soap says without remorse, grinning as he lets his head fall back and moaninga little when Ghost digs his thumb into a particularly sore spot. “We really will have to take care of that security deposit—you gushed like a fucking storm, darlin’.”

You narrow your eyes at him, lean down to blow a raspberry on his bare stomach in retaliation. Soap jerks as he bursts into a helpless laugh and oh, oh turnabout is fair play as you near tackle him, tickling mercilessly along his sides as peals of laughter fall from his mouth. Soap rolls right off the goddamn bed to get away from you, splayed out on the floor as the last of the desperate gasps shake through him. “Alright, alright, Jesus,” he says, rolling over to his back. “You are a sexual terrorist,” he tells you sternly as you lean back against Ghost, make yourself comfortable.

“Pot, kettle,” you point out, and Soap just winks, stretching that long, beautiful body up and smirking when your eyes go wide, feasting on all that tan skin and thick muscle. He ambles out of the room, swinging his hips a little with the knowledge of your eyes glued to his (perfect, beautiful, biteable) ass.

“Hate to see him leave…” you begin with a sigh.

“…love to watch him go,” Ghost finishes for you and you grin, pressing your smile against his skin.

Soap returns with his phone and a few ice pops he must have scavenged from your freezer, launching himself at the bed and landing half on top of you and Ghost. You let out an audible oof as Soap’s elbow digs into your stomach but quickly forgive him when he holds up the treats, letting you have first pick. “Purple, please,” you say, and he passes it over, Ghost picking blue and Soap seeming quite pleased with pink. There’s a quiet, comfortable silence as you rip open the plastic with your teeth, crunching happily into the flavored ice.

“Half thought I shoulda brought another for your pussy,” Soap tells you, looking down significantly. You follow his gaze to where you’re puffy and red and swollen as all hell, looking as thoroughly fucked as you feel.

He’s…not wrong.

“Later,” you agree, rolling back over to prop up on elbow, lean your head against Ghost’s side as you finish your treat. “Think I’ve got a bag of peas that’ll do the trick nicely. Now, picture please,” you say as sweetly as possible, possibly missing the mark because Ghost snorts and Soap grumbles about impatient lasses, flicking his thumb over the screen.

He passes it over and it’s so much better than you even thought, grinning as you zoom in to examine it closely. Ghost is mostly in profile, white camouflage blending in against miles of snow and ice. He’s got what looks like a black mask and armored skull plate in place of his balaclava, a tactical pair of binoculars in one hand and his arm raised to point at something outside of the frame. And there, just a little bit behind and to the left, out of his line of sight, a handful of small chinstrap penguins are mimicking his movement, each holding one single, tiny flapper aloft.

You cackle at the sight, muffling your laughter against Ghost’s side and setting yourself off again when you see the blush that’s adorably coloring his neck and chest. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” you tell him as seriously as you can, grinning like anything. “I want it on my wall. My phone background. In a fucking locket around my neck.” He seems intrigued by that last one, reaching out to brush at the little hollow of your collarbone, eyes considering.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Soap snorts, giving Ghost an amused, knowing look, like he can read the direction of his thoughts.

You’re not sure how seriously to take it; you’d initially gone into this with no more expectation than a pleasant romp in the sheets and maybe an extra round after breakfast, if you were lucky. But that was many hours and five—six?—orgasms ago, and now you feel something within you quietly ache at Soap’s words; a strange, unfamiliar part of you that wants to hold on. Not sure if you're allowed.

You look back at the photo to distract yourself from the thought, zoom out to see the whole thing—including the two men standing closer to the camera, caught in mid-laughter. One is bent fully in half, hand pressed to his stomach like he’s laughing so hard it hurts, face obscured by his camouflaged helmet. The other is—Jesus, he’s gorgeous, eyes crinkled up in well-worn smile lines as he tilts his head back in laughter, hands tucked in the straps of his armored vest.   

You zoom in a little, trace over the incredibly odd facial hair. You’re utterly charmed by it, suddenly sure that this is the captain they spoke of. Half-wishing he’d come with them to the bar tonight—you and Kat would have had a field day with a Franz Joseph.

“Who’s the DILF and is he adopting?” you joke and Soap snorts as you pass the phone back.

“Not you too,” Ghost groans, covering his eyes.

“Ghost likes to pretend he’s above such plebeian things as daddy issues,” Soap tells you, tweaking Ghost’s nipple until he smacks his hand away. “But I’m right there with ya, bonnie.” He leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And so is Price,” he says, voice weighted with significance.

You hum, narrowing your eyes in thought as you take the bait. “And where might your captain be right now?”

Soap gives you that dangerous, shark-like grin again—the one that promises only the best kind of trouble. “Our transport home doesn’t leave until Monday and Gaz already left for North Carolina—wanted to see some old SEAL buddies of his at Camp Lejeune—so Price all cold and alone at the crash pad, probably tucked up in bed. Old man,” he says fondly, and you smack him in the chest, outraged on his captain’s behalf.

“He’s what, mid-to-late 30’s? That is a man in his prime,” you counter. “Probably fucks like he’s in his prime, too,” you mutter and Soap laughs warmly.

“He does,” he whispers in your ear, and your brain is suddenly very occupied with the images he just put in your head. “Whatcha think, Ghost? You gonna be a good little lieutenant, share your toys?” Soap teases, and Ghost rolls right over on top of him, squishing him under his weight until he can’t speak anymore. You helpfully snag their empty ice pop tubes and toss them on the bedside table before joining the fray, wriggling until Ghost’s stretched out over the both of you, delightful warm and much nicer than a weighted blanket.

“Haven’t even gotten to fuck her yet myself,” he grumbles into your neck, readjusting a little when Soap smacks him in the side, gasping for air. Ghost’s stomach grumbles audibly as he moves, presenting you all with yet another problem.

You crane to look at the clock, the storm that’s still raging outside with no sign of stopping, then finally at Ghost’s poor, neglected cock, all angry red at the tip and throbbing from hours, literal hours of teasing. Do some quick mental math.

“Proposal,” you say, and their eyes are on you with gratifying speed, giving you their full attention. “Two, actually. One short term, one slightly longer term. Maybe a third one longest term, but I’m still undecided on that one.”

“Get to it, bird,” Ghost says impatiently and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Keep talking to me like that, see if I let you fuck me,” you threaten, grin when he takes the bait and presses down against you with a possessive growl. “Only joking,” you pat him on the chest, “very much looking forward to it. Now, short term, there’s a very good all-night Italian joint that does delivery, and, with the snow I’d estimate we’ve got—oh, 30, 40 minutes if we call it in now? If we time it right, you can fuck me silly and still have time for a quick shower before the food gets here. Sound fair?”

Soap shifts around under Ghost’s weight until he can get his hands on your face and look at you head on, blue eyes sparkling with joy. “You are a bloody genius,” he says, plopping an exaggerated kiss to your forehead. You laugh as you press forward, nuzzling obnoxiously against him as Ghost looks on fondly.

“What’s the longer-term plan?” he asks, drawing your attention back.

“Oh, that’s easy. You said your transport leaves Monday, yeah?” They nod. “Well, by the look of this storm it’ll be coming down gangbusters for a while, maybe even the whole weekend. Whole city’s gonna shut down. Might be hard to get back to your crash pad,” you wrinkle your nose at the images the term conjures though, to be fair, you’re not sure you’re working with much better. “Which means,” you say, pushing the thought aside, “the only sensible course of action is for you to tell your captain to get his fine ass over here and spend the rest of the weekend with me—eating takeout, watching movies, and having many, many orgasms.”

Soap and Ghost exchange a brief, silent look, before turning to you, nodding in tandem. You smile, pleased as punch and a little high off their easy acquiescence. You may have been called bossy a time or two before, but you just had so many ideas; could so easily imagine the different ways a scenario might play out. It’s the reason you became a writer, really, and probably also why you’ve enjoyed tonight so very, very much: it’s been the perfect balance of exerting and surrendering control, a playful give-and-take that’s worked so seamlessly it feels like it was always supposed to be this way.

You shove a hand under Soap’s bulk, groping around the sheets until you grab his phone and wiggle it out. A few taps, a brief debate about the merits of calzones versus pizza, and a short phone call later you’re tossing the phone over your shoulder and looking up at Ghost.

“Alright big boy,” you say, grinning up at him. “Show me what you’ve got.”

[geneviveleocardius]

I dont know if you have any rules for requesting but if you do and this goes against any im sorry in advance 😞 but can you please make a Simon X fem reader based on the song “House of Cards” by BTS? That song is taking over my life

Thank you in advance 🫶

i’ve never listened to BTS before, but i tried my best

the world seemed to tilt as you leaned against the doorway, watching simon through the veil of low light and cigarette smoke. his mask was off, a rare sight. his sharp features were set in a storm of emotion, and the way his hand clutched the whiskey glass felt like he was holding onto it just to keep from falling apart.

“you’re still here,” he said, voice low and rough, not bothering to turn around.

“i could say the same about you,” you murmured, stepping into the room, the worn wood creaking beneath your feet.

his lips twisted, something between a smirk and a grimace. “shouldn’t be, should we? you and me, it’s all built on sand.”

you paused, your arms crossed loosely over your chest. you hated when he got like this—tired and distant, as though the weight of the world had crushed the part of him that still believed in anything good.

“simon,” you started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head, the ice in his glass clinking against the crystal.

“we’re fooling ourselves, love,” he said, his accent heavier when he was like this. “this? us? it’s all a bloody house of cards. one wrong move, and it all comes crashing down.”

you hated how he could voice your fears so easily, how he could strip away the fragile hope you clung to when you were with him. but more than that, you hated how you couldn’t deny it.

“then let it crash,” you said quietly, stepping closer. “i don’t care. if it falls apart, at least we had it.”

his eyes snapped up to meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you was electric. his hand stilled on the glass, the whiskey forgotten.

“you say that now,” he said, softer this time. “but when it does, you’ll hate me for it.”

“i could never hate you,” you whispered, reaching for him. your fingers brushed against his, and he flinched, as if your touch burned him. but he didn’t pull away.

“you’re mad,” he said, a trace of something like affection in his voice. “you know that?”

“takes one to know one,” you shot back, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

he exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding forever, and when he finally let your hand slip into his, it felt like the world had righted itself, if only for a moment.

“if it all comes down,” he said, voice so quiet it was almost a sigh, “promise me you won’t regret it.”

“i won’t,” you said, and you meant it. even if the house of cards crumbled beneath you, even if everything broke, you’d never regret him.

and in that moment, as he pulled you closer and let his forehead rest against yours, it didn’t matter if the walls were made of sand or stone. all that mattered was that, for now, they were still standing.

[organisedbirds]

One of the things that I never stop thinking about is the lack of any “happy” endings in Black Sails (putting aside Schrodinger’s Flint and Silver’s role in that. It’s been done). Madi is the most obvious one to me: time and time again she demonstrates how willing she is to sacrifice everything for the cause and the war including her own life - a decision that is taken from her by Silver’s actions instead replaced of the treaty which she explicitly rejects multiple times and is in complete opposition to what she’s tried to achieve. She’s also entirely alone in her opposition to the treaty, putting her in a position where she either becomes Silver’s wife in Treasure Island, leaving her entire life behind to run an inn or (if you make Max Silver’s wife in TI) being the sole person still trying to achieve the same goal that previously had money and ships and fighters backing it. 

Anne and Jack are slightly less obvious. Jack’s obsession with being remembered and having an important legacy is brought crashing back to reality in the Gurthrie’s parlour with the realisation that people are far more interested in lies that paint his friends as monsters than any resemblance of the truth - Flint’s vision of the future coming true before he even speaks it. The flag that everyone associates with piracy - his main legacy - is “fine” and the future of piracy in Nassau essentially has to remain a secret (when I can only imagine he wants to yell from the rooftops that he fucking won). Anne!! The amount of times she expresses the desire to leave piracy behind with Jack and have something away from that life and the amount of times Jack promises her that once he accepts the pardon so he can keep his name and then once they defeat the governor, then that’s it. And instead - they carry on. Because if Jack does of course she will follow! And because Black Sails is a show that follows the vague contours of history, pretty soon Jack is hung, Mary has died and Anne is imprisoned for thirteen years (depending on how you view the historical debate around her fate, that’s just my personal view).

And of course, this leaves Max (with her ending being the best on the surface) with the people closer to her having disappeared. Her existence is still very much built on sand and looking to history England returns to Nassau, and all she’s built will be gone. Ultimately, Vane is right, the empire survives on the idea of trading submission for comfort - but even that isn’t true! That traded comfort doesn't last for a meaningful amount of time and she's back to the same place she started.

[mothersdarling]

She's had a hard day. You can tell by the sag of her shoulders and the way her eyes look heavy.

You sit besides her and open your arms for her. Without hesitation, she crashes into them, her once stiff body relaxing under your touch. She presses her face into your chest and lets the day melt off her frame, fully allowing herself to be eneveloped by your embrace.

You nuzzle the top of her head before kissing it, arms secured around her, a silent promise to keep her safe. To make yourself her personal sanctuary.

"I love you so much," you breathe out, fingers gripping onto her, letting her know you'll never let go.

Women Centric Post Tag List:

@kp-studios

@rowenasdarling

@fo-plushie

@helgethas

@phdinselfshipping

@astral-express-family

Let me know if you wanna be added to this list. Mutual or not ^-^

[luvst4rc0r3]

Sevika x Agegap!Reader PT.2

WARNINGS:Little suggestive at the end

WC:976

You’re the type of person who wakes up at full speed. Like, as soon as your eyes open, you’re bouncing around the apartment, making breakfast, humming random songs, and generally being a menace to Sevika’s peace.

Sevika, meanwhile, is not a morning person. She’s a “grumble into her coffee while glaring at the world” type of woman.

“Good morning, sunshine!” you chirp one morning, plopping onto the couch beside her.

She squints at you over her mug. “How are you like this at seven in the morning?”

“It’s called being happy to be alive, Sev! You should try it sometime!”

She takes a long sip of her coffee, pretending she didn’t hear you.

You also have a habit of waking her up in the most chaotic ways possible. Once, you tried to wake her by playing a trumpet sound on your phone at full volume. She didn’t even flinch—just pulled you into bed and trapped you there until you promised to let her sleep.

You’re always saying or doing something that leaves Sevika pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Sevika, do you think if I ran fast enough, I could jump across that rooftop?”

“No.”

“But what if—”

“No.”

One time, you got bored and decided to teach yourself how to juggle. You didn’t tell Sevika, so she walked into the apartment to find you throwing knives in the air like it was no big deal.

“WHAT are you doing?” she barked, immediately snatching the knives out of the air.

“Juggling!” you said, as if it were obvious.

“You’re going to kill yourself.”

“But it looks cool, right?”

She sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You love to tease Sevika about being older than you, especially when she does something remotely “old lady”-ish.

“Why do you always order the same thing at the bar, Sev? Is it a comfort thing? Are you stuck in your ways?”

“It’s called knowing what I like,” she replies, glaring at you.

“Next thing I know, you’ll be complaining about kids these days,” you tease, dodging the pillow she throws at you.

You also have a habit of calling her “grandma” just to see how far you can push her.

“Hey, Sev, want me to knit you a blanket? I bet your joints get cold in the winter.”

She gives you the iciest glare imaginable, but you swear you’ve seen her hide a smile.

The age gap means Sevika’s protective instincts are in overdrive. She feels like it’s her job to keep you safe, and she takes it very seriously.

“You’re not invincible,” she says after patching up a scrape you got from one of your harebrained ideas.

“No, but I have you,” you reply, grinning.

She mutters something about how you’re going to give her a heart attack one day.

If you ever get hurt, even if it’s something minor, Sevika goes full mom mode. She’s lecturing you while cleaning the wound, even though her touch is gentle and she’s clearly worried.

“This is why I tell you to think before you do something stupid,” she grumbles.

“But where’s the fun in that?” you joke, and she just sighs.

Sevika pretends like she doesn’t care about your antics, but she absolutely indulges you when no one else is around.

You want to go stargazing on the roof in the middle of the night? She grumbles but helps you climb up there.

You want to bake cookies at 2 a.m. because you “had a craving”? She’s half-asleep but still helps you find the flour.

You want to dress her up in ridiculous clothes “for fun”? She lets you. But only once. And only because you promised not to tell anyone.

You once dragged her to a carnival, and though she claimed she was “too old for this crap,” you caught her smiling while watching you try to win a stuffed animal at a ring toss game. (Spoiler: she stepped in and won it for you with ease. You still call her your hero for it.)

For all your energy, you have moments when you crash, and that’s when Sevika shines. She’s surprisingly good at taking care of you when you’ve worn yourself out.

She’ll scoop you up, carry you to bed, and rub your back until you fall asleep.

If you’re overwhelmed, she knows exactly how to calm you down—usually by sitting you in her lap and letting you ramble while she strokes your hair.

One night, you were feeling particularly insecure about the age gap. “What if I’m too much for you, Sev? Like, what if you get tired of me?”

Sevika immediately shut that down. “You’re a pain in my ass, but you’re my pain in the ass,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “I’m not going anywhere, so stop overthinking.”

She didn’t let you go until you fell asleep, and even then, she stayed awake to make sure you were okay.

Sure, Sevika grumbles about your energy, and you tease her about being old, but at the end of the day, you balance each other out.

You remind her not to take life too seriously.

She keeps you grounded when your chaotic energy gets the better of you.

And even though she claims to not understand your jokes, you’ve caught her smiling at them more than once. She may not laugh, but the fact that you can make her smile? That’s enough for you.

At the end of the day, Sevika’s your grumpy, overprotective girlfriend, and you’re her chaotic little sunshine. She acts like you drive her insane (and you probably do), but she wouldn’t trade you for anything.

“Sevika, I’m pretty sure you secretly love my energy.”

“I tolerate it,” she replies, smirking.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you tease, and she groans.

“One day, I’m going to muzzle you.”

“Good luck, gramps!”

Idk if I’ll write more fics abt this

I want food

[rafegetinmybed]

Can you do a smut on how we’re Rafe’s girlfriend but we’re also a pogue. It’s enduro day and we go with the pogues because we are gonna race in it as well and rage would never allow us to do it, and when it gets close to the end we end up in the crash with Rafe and JJ and we get hurt a little. So Rafe drags us back to his and smut of whatever

i love this idea!!

cw: p in v, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), soft rafe, fluff, smut, lmk if I missed anything

You and Rage had always bonded over your bikes, mainly because he was the one who got you so into them. He let you drive his bike one time and you were obsessed so a couple weeks later he got you a custom bike in your favorite color with your initials on the side. You loved it and you rode it everywhere, sometimes just for fun, and Rafe loved how happy it made you but he was always a little nervous of you getting hurt. Even though he bought you a matching helmet that was the extent of your safety gear and sometimes you didn't even want to wear that.

You had always watched the enduro race, and you had always wanted to ride in it but you knew Rafe would never let you. So you went to the pogues, your bestfriends, because you knew they would support you. You asked them if they knew anyone who would let you borrow their bike because Rafe would obviously know it was you if you rode on your bike. JJ of course knew somebody and he set you up with the bikes, when the day of the race came you told Rafe that your parents were making you help them with something and you couldn't get out of it.

You went with the pogues and they helped you get everything ready for the race, far away from Rafe so that you didn't get caught. You felt bad for lying to your boyfriend because you knew he just wanted you safe but you really wanted to ride in the race. You hugged Sarah and Kie as they wished you good luck and then climbed onto your bike and put your helmet on before riding up to the starting line.

You were right behind Rafe and everything was going well in the race until you got to the end and JJ decided to jump the inlet to get ahead. Thankfully he didn't get hurt and he made over but now he was in first and you knew Rafe wasn't gonna let it stay that way. You were in third when Rafe hit the back of JJ's tires and they both went flying. You tried to keep going but JJ was in your way and you had to swerve to not hit him, this caused you to also crash your bike but thankfully the bike you borrowed was fine. You had some cuts and bruises and your shoulder hurt really bad but nothing broken, you looked over to see Rafe trying to get up and immediately ran over to see if he was okay.

"Rafe, baby are you alright?" you questioned, worredly.

"Y/n?," Rafe asked "I thought you were helping your parents what are you doing here?" he finished looking you up and down. Before you had the chance to answer he was talking again, "wait why are you in biker clothes, y/n did you race?" he said a mixture of worry and anger flooding into his voice and onto his face.

"y-yes?" You said nervously, wiping the blood that you could feel start to drip off of your lip.

"princess are you okay? What happened? Why would you race, you know I don't want you getting hurt?"

"I'm fine rafey, I promise. What about you though? That was a bad crash babe, are you alright?" you asked not worried about your own minor fall.

"I'm alright baby, promise. I've had worse happen." He chuckled lightly, hands moving to your waist as he pulled you closer to him. His face changed from worry to sadness and anger. "You lied to me y/n and you got hurt"

"I'm not hurt Rafe, I'm fine. But I am sorry I lied to you, I just really wanted to do this but I knew you wouldn't like it.

"Yeah princess, I don't like it because stuff like this happens" he says, thumb swiping over the cut on your lip.

"I know rafey, I'm really sorry but it was so much fun" you mumble, kissing him softly.

"You did do pretty good" he admits, smiling down at you and kissing the top of your head. "Lets get out of here k?"

"Okay" you say smiling because you know exactly what he means.

Back in Rafes room at Tannyhill

"Fuck Rafe" you moan as his flat tongue licks a stripe up your folds landing on your clit with a kiss. "taste so good baby" he mumbles into you, the vibrations making the sensation even better. His mouth sucks, licks and nibbles on your sensitive bud and he thrusts 2 fingers in and out of you quickly. "Rafe, rafe, shit I'm so close" you manage to get out as your hips buck into rafes face. Small gasps and moans escape your lips as you reach your climax and Rafe adds a third finger to ride you through your high.

He comes up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips. The kiss brief before he pulls away and starts kissing your neck and chest, leaving new marks to replace the old faded ones. You know he loves to make sure everyone knows your his and your fine with it, you wouldn't have it any other way. He lifts his head up, spits on his hand and pumps his cock twice, lining the tip up with your still slick entrance before slowly sliding into you killings moans from both your lips.

"Shit, rafe you feel so good" you gasp as he bottoms out inside of you you. He slowly pulls out a few inches before quickly thrusting back into you, keeping a quick, steady pace as his head falls between your shoulder and jaw. "Damn baby, you're still so tight" he whispers into your ear, his hot breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine and his words making your walls clench around him. "Fuck y/n" he hisses and sucks in a breath at the feeling. You moan his name loudly as he picks up his pace thrusting harder and faster into you and his lips meet yours in a sloppy, sensual kiss. "Shit shit shit rafe" you gasp as your orgasm approaches.

"I know princess, I know. Me too" he groans and you can feel his dick twitching inside of you. Your head falls back and his lips meet your neck once again as his thrusts get sloppy and unrhythmic. You cum around his thick cock and he continues to thrust into you as he spills his hot seed into you. He rides out both of your highs together and you enjoy the feeling of his hot cum inside of you. He stills and lays on top of you, still not pulling out. "I love you y/n" he says breathlessly.

"I love you too rafe cameron" you almost whisper, pulling his face up to bring him into a kiss. You stay like that for a while before he pulls out, a whimper falling from your lips as he does so. He stands up and walks over to your bathroom, getting a warm cloth to clean you up and throwing you his shirt to put on. As you do, he gets on his boxers and climbs back into bed next to you. Rafe pulls you into him, arm wrapped around your waist and places a kiss on your cheek. You melt into his touch, enjoying his warmth and listening to the beating of his heart.

You fall asleep in his arms and he hopes it will be like this forever. "Goodnight princess" he whispers placing a kiss on your neck before closing his eyes and drifting off.

[shrimptacodaniels]

all i know is you make sense

AN: pibe squad…this is my debut 😅😅 been trying to find the courage to write for this fandom for so long!! please please lmk what you think. this is (ideally) part one of a series! enjoy

—————

“Don’t call me again. No, I’m not making any damn promises, Jan. Blackmail doesn’t mean shit to me-you can’t-ugh.” 

Her ragged breaths echo into the space behind the door. A space he can’t see. Jan? Promises? There’s so much he’s itching to know. No. He should be getting back before- 

The door swings open. Josh is frozen. 

He knows this look on her face immediately. He’s seen it countless times before, studied it after a plan gone wrong. Searched for an answer behind her calculating eyes. 

Katrina thinks she’s been caught. 

“How long have you been-“

“Kat...” He. Is. Stunned. From the look on her face, she is too. They stand there for a minute. He doesn’t know what to say and yet he has a million questions. 

But they’re adults. She doesn’t have to share everything with him. That’s how adult friendships work, right? And that’s okay with him. You’re close and you’re honest but not overly so-

And then she yanks him into the room by his wrist. And shuts the door. 

“How much did you hear?” 

Josh thinks on how to answer that. Truly not much, but Kat will spiral if he’s not specific enough. And she’s already pacing. He slides to sit, back against the wall. 

“Well, you weren’t on speaker, so only your side of the conversation,” he starts.

“We were worried about you after five minutes and I really was gonna go after I knocked because I respect your privacy but then you sounded so upset and there was something about blackmail and- and, well…the call ended. And here we are.” 

She presses her palms against her eyes for a moment. Hard. “You’re the only person who knows.” 

“I think you’re really overselling my perception skills, K.” She’s started pacing again. He’s smiling now, but in that way he smiles because there’s nothing else to do. Because he’s worried. “Actually? I’m a little bit surprised with how much I don’t know.” 

Yeesh. No reaction. 

When she slows her pacing enough to meet his gaze, his smile falters. Kat is controlled chaos, the master of spontaneity, a quick wit and a steady hand. Even now, with the pacing and the level voice and the measured steps. But her eyes-

She looks like she’s drowning. A wave ready to crash. A boat about to capsize. 

She needs an anchor. 

“Hey,” he calls softly, “C’mere.” 

Josh pats the space on the floor beside him. He’s careful to indicate the side closest to the door. She should be able to leave if she needs to. It’s something they have in common - they hate feeling cornered. There has to be an escape. 

Slumped next to him, before he can react, is Kat. She’s curled in on herself entirely. Defenses up. 

“Ah-“ he warns, nudging her knee with his “Come on. Look at me.” 

“No.” 

“Katrina,” he tries again, “I have no clue what the hell this is, but you’ve got me. ‘M not going anywhere. Thief’s honor.” 

That gets her. He can just barely see her eyes peeking over her folded arms. 

“You gonna un-ball yourself?”

“If you stop prying,” comes the reply. It’s sharp - sharper than he expected. He winces a bit. 

“No, hey-“ she must have felt him tense. She’s unwound herself now, eyes searching his frantically. “I’m kidding! Swear.” 

Phew. He falls back against the wall with a slight thump. 

“Yeesh man, you got me.” 

“Sorry! Sorry. That was mean. Not mad at you.” 

“‘S okay.” It’s fine. They’re fine. She’s here and he’s here and maybe they can fix whatever’s wrong. They’re always able to. 

He bites his next question back, though, just in case. 

“Can you-“ she starts. He knows what she’s asking. He threads their fingers together and squeezes twice.

You, me. 

One, two. 

A pair. 

“Yeah,” she manages, “thanks.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She shudders. “So. That was my ex-girlfriend. Who…is a felon.” 

Oh. Woah. “Uh-huh…” 

“She’s calling for bail. Got arrested again. I blocked her number the first time. And the second. But she somehow keeps getting a hold of me. And-“ 

She falters. Kat stares brokenly at her shoes; her hand is limp in his. He pulls away from her gently, moving his arm around her shoulders. Pulling her in so their sides touch. 

“Kat?” he prompts. 

She lowers her voice. “She’s threatening me. Telling me if I don’t help her out, she’ll make it so I have to join her there. She’s got contacts. Experience. It’d be easy to do.” She laughs. There’s no humor to it. 

“She’s who I went home to after the faire. I broke things off with her that night. You know how insane that was for me? I’d been living with Janessa for 3 years at that point. And you,” she knocks her head lightly against his, “you rocked my world. You gave me the courage to embrace my secret me and kick her out.” She chuckles. 

“I’m the one who called the cops on her the first time. She threatened me with a kitchen knife when I was packing up her things. Nearly cut my finger in two waving it around.” She holds up her pointer finger to him to inspect. There’s a raised line, stark and pale, that traces from the pad of her finger to her knuckle. 

Josh wants to throw up. 

“What evidence does she have against you?” He whispers. His eyes are still fixed on the scar. 

“Josh.” She turns to look at him. Drops her hand. “She knows I’m a thief. She knows about the faire. And she was running crimes while we lived together. Out of my house. Her and her new boyfriend.” She spits the word boyfriend with an almost frightening venom. 

“But you didn’t know that was happening.” 

“The cards aren’t really in my favor either way.” There’s something shaky about her smile. “I can’t go to jail. But if she gets out-“ she shudders again, “-that’s…bad too. It’s a lose-lose.” 

“Hell no it’s not.” Josh decides, then and there, that this is bullshit. He pulls Katrina back into him so their temples are touching. Huddled together. Because he has a game plan.

“Alright. This ex of yours doesn’t know what she’s up against. You’re not giving her bail. Rachel’s gonna figure out how to make you untraceable so she can’t get your number anymore. Any if she tries to pull anything, even still?” He pauses to grin at her. 

“Your best friend is the best damn paralegal in Mountport. I’m no attorney, but I know the law and how to break it. And you, my friend, have not done anything that incriminates you. All charges of theft are under the monetary limit for jail time, and they can’t be proven because we covered our tracks. AND we returned most of ‘em anyway. And you didn’t know about the crimes Janessa committed until after the fact. You reported her, too, which should work against any charge of aiding a-“ 

“Alright, I get it.” She drops her head to his shoulder. There’s a little less tension in her face. Good. 

“You think we’ll be okay?” She asks.

Two squeezes. 

You, me. 

One, two. 

A pair. 

“You kidding?” He squeezes twice again. “Of course we will. Unless Janice burns the lasagna again.” 

She’s up in a flash. “You’re so right.” 

“Onwards, my liege,” he declares, “to defend your oven!” 

They leave the room laughing, and the heaviness stays behind to melt and be forgotten. 

[devouredlamb]

gabe sighed softly, he didn't like that the numbers were creeping up and he suddenly felt bad for the things he'd said before marisa and brian got here. he stopped in front of her and looked her over, " you gonna be okay? " he asked, softer now, marisa still looked a little worse for wear. " would ya rather go home? can take you, if you want, " he lead her up the back stairway up to the second floor, checking each window on the way up, " you're safe here, I promise, but if you'd rather go... "

brian nodded, opting to close the curtains to help with the slow budding paranoia. " probably, my dad doesn't believe in guns... or really anything other than a locked door and a prayer. " he deflated against the table and sighed, " sorry for crashing your night, " he glanced back at jo, his gaze drifting down to her bare legs and back up again where he gave a small, awkward smile, " although I'm sure nothing puts you two off. "

" well, " gabe sighed as he pushed himself up, " they can certainly try. " he moved to the front door, locking the door and checking it to be sure, he then moved to each window in the room before heading out into the kitchen, making sure each entry and each window was locked securely. he flipped on the flood light for the back yard and stared out into the fields. the workers had long since left for the evening and he had to wonder if there was any weight to brian's words. the killer would have to be really stupid to try again tonight, cops would be on high alert. either that, or smart enough to know that while they may be on high alert, they weren't expecting anybody to strike twice in one night. " how many people is that dead now? two or three? " he asked as he made his way back into the living room.

brian watched as gabriel began to move around the room, he looked over at marisa then to jo, " if either of you wanna leave, I can drive you home. " he didn't really love that idea but he wasn't going to leave them with no option. he stood while he waited for an answer, making his way into the dining room to check each window in there.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

What’s with everyone thinking of Zhongli looking tired so frequently someone give him another hug pls

Very VERY heavy foreshadowing??? Is the crash-but-not-exactly going to happen soon????? Also Qiqi is still so adorable istg (Picking up my pen again as we speak)

heheh