#nae mutters

[simonbrain]

to the person who wanted a continuation of soapgaz from this, here you go <3

truthfully, you weren't that mad at johnny.

yes, it hurt, but could you fully blame him? he looked like he was getting his brain fucked out of his head, having no choice but to take the cruel thrusts his lieutenant was laying on him. you swear he slurred out a few apologies before simon stuck his fingers in the poor man's open, drooling mouth, and then you couldn't process anything other than your tears and the overwhelming urge to kick simon's head in.

but just because you weren't too pissed at johnny, that didn't mean the other two members of the team were okay with it. after all, this was his punishment just as much as simon's. what good would it be if he got away with every little thing he did?

"take good care of him, will ya?" price hums, patting kyle's back. the latter nods obediently and mutters a hoarse yessir, already eager to get his hands on the bastard and ruin him.

—

johnny doesn't know how long they've been at it; he only remembers kyle giving him a very brief, sweet kiss before he was pushed down on the bed and his pants were being tugged off, long forgotten on the floor of kyle's room.

"garrick, fuck—" he wheezes, fighting against the urge to roll his hips up. he received a slap to his cock along with a harsh hair pull when he first tried that and had no choice but to take kyle's snarled warning to heart. fuck, he's sweating so much, globs of pre-cum and lube creating a filthy, sticky mess all over his lap and the bed as kyle works his hands over his weeping cock.

"can't keep it in your pants, eh? jus' had to let this cock o'yours think for you," kyle teases, drinking in the way it twitches and spills in his hands. "and you upset the poor bird—sweet thing was all dewy-eyed. that what you were going for, tavish?"

before johnny can deny his words, the fist that holds his cock in an iron grip begins gliding up and down, and he just about chokes at the feeling of kyle's palm sliding over his sensitive tip.

"c— cannae take it, garrick, please—"

"i asked you a question."

"nae, for fucks sake!" johnny cries, letting out a pitiful little whine when the latter squeezes tight, almost too painful for him to handle. he whimpers out a soft sorry and grits his teeth when kyle clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

"behave. should be thankful 's me and not the cap, or even ghost." kyle huffs, loosening his grip just a little. "better hope he's nice to you at training tomorrow after his lil meeting with the captain."

tears clump johnny's eyelashes together as he's denied yet another orgasm, thighs shaking and chest heaving when kyle removes his hands right before he can peak, cock twitching uncontrollably on his belly. "'m sorry, kyle, jus' wanna cum," he groans, loud and unabashed. his hands itch to grab onto the other, but he's not allowed to touch, so he settles for putting on a pathetic display of rolling his hips, poor cock bouncing against him. the movement feels good, but it's not enough, and he swears he'll get himself off if kyle denies him again.

"you solid?" kyle's sweet voice melts away the heavy feelings swirling in johnny's chest, and he nods, forcing his hips to still. "need words, mactavish."

"i'm fine." johnny musters up what he hopes is an acceptable answer, not keen on being edged any longer.

kyle hums, sliding his hand over johnny's thighs, eyes trailing down appreciatively at the mess they've made. "i could let you cum, but..." he sucks in a breath—at the same time, johnny lets out a soft groan, warm hands working his cock again. "i'm a bit offended, soap. was i not good enough last time we shagged? is that why you went after ghost?"

"yer wrong, gaz, it isnae my fault—"

"shut it," kyle snaps, squeezing a fist around the head, fluids coating his hand as johnny thrashes against the bed. "i thought i was a good lay, apparently not. or are you that much of a slag?" kyle croons condescendingly, chuckling lowly at the sounds tearing through the other's throat and the desperate shakes of his head, denying it.

his poor cock's not helping his case, though. it throbs intensely at the dirty words and drips all over kyle's pretty hands, balls aching for release.

"is that it, johnny?" he purrs lowly, sliding up next to johnny on the bed, hand still wrapped tightly around his cock. he leans down to kiss him, swallowing all the sweet little sounds spilling out johnny's mouth. his hand moves a little faster, granting the smallest amount of relief, but it's just not enough.

when they break apart, johnny grits out his denial. he knew that simon had a sweet thing at home, but he was told that she was okay with it. he's not totally at fault; it's all simon.

gaz just tuts when he attempts to explain.

(johnny does feel guilty, though; he didn't stop his lieutenant from ravaging him right in front of you or shy away from your gaze. in fact, he became even more shameless, shoving his hips back and whining out barely coherent apologies. he hopes you'll let him make it up to you properly some day. preferably between your legs.)

"nah, i think you're jus' greedy. is it cause i'm not taken? that why you said yes to ghost?" kyle huffs, cruelly twisting his fist around the head of johnny's cock. the pretty smile on his face sharpens into something mean at the broken sob he gets in return.

johnny doesn't know anything anymore; he can't even decipher left from right. all he can process is kyle lifting his hand off a second too late and the unsatisfying feeling of a ruined orgasm rolling over him in ferocious waves, not nearly enough to satiate him for even a moment.

kyle shushes his heavy sobs, whispers promises that he'll let him cum next time as he slides down the bed, and picks his sensitive cock back up. this time, kyle actually puts his mouth on him, searing hot and so soft, and johnny's seeing white.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.5k / 20 / post-apocalypse au, part 1

...

You're injured but moving as fast as you can with your bow slung over your back. Soap is close behind you, giving chase, shouting your name as he does. Doesn't he learn? Doesn't he know you'll pull your bow on him again if he corners you?

He must know, but he's too stubborn to give up the chase. You don’t understand it.

He pushes on, just as graceful and twice as effective as you. You slip through the thick trees and their branches trailing whips of brambles. He shoves past them. You’re injured. He’s not. He's gaining, boots heavy in the soil.

"Watch yourself--!"

Your boot lands on leaf litter that falls out from under you--a pit trap. You’re moving barely fast enough for your momentum to save you from falling in. Your waist hits the edge of the pit. You brace yourself by your elbows, fingers digging into the dirt. The soft underside of your arms drag against something sharp underneath.

Soap grabs you by your coat and pulls you up out of the trap and to your feet before you can scramble out yourself. You're neither surprised nor mollified by his careful handling of you.

"Let me go!"

"Na. You're hurt. Stay still."

"Soap, I swear to God--"

"Shut up. I'm taking a look."

He holds your arm firmly with one large hand and, with the other, pulls your sleeve away from the bleeding gash. You grab his wrist with a pained curse. Whatever caught your arms—the rough wood and metal at the trap's edge—tore you bloody. Soap glares at the gash and then at you. He's close.

You could reach for your bow or for the dagger on your hip. But you know for a fact he's armed. With guns. A sniper rifle on his back and two sidearms at his belt. He knows how to use them, too. If you fight, he wins. But you know better than to back down quickly. The world is crueler than it used to be ever since things went to shit. People who show weakness don’t survive.

"Why are you following me?" you growl, your grip on his wrist tightening.

His grip on you loosens in turn when you speak. "You know why. I'm lookin' out for ya."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Aye, but you still needed it."

"You're not a soldier anymore, Soap," you retort, trying to pull your wrist away. "It's every person for themselves. Stop following me."

"That's no way to live. The world may be a shithole, but there are still folk around who'll lend you a hand even though they don't need to. Soldier or no'."

You can't get out of his grip when he's determined to keep you there, and he is. As much as you'd like to give him a matching wound for being so goddamn stubborn, the rational part of your brain--the part that makes sure you survive--knows better than to expend energy struggling when it's not strictly necessary.

"Nobody lends a hand unless they want something in return," you mutter, glaring down at your wound as he bandages it. "Even if they're pretending otherwise."

He knows you speak from experience. You're a woman, and that means you're nothing but a resource to the worst of whoever’s left. He can't blame you for being guarded. Then again, you wouldn't be making such heated statements to his face if you really thought he intended to hurt you. You're just... defensive. Hiding under all that anger. That's what he tells himself. So he ignores your grumbled protests.

"That's how you'd look at it," he finally replies as he finishes dressing the wound. "Seein' as you've not met the right people. But some of us don't expect anything back."

"You don't expect it because you think you're better than asking. But you still want it."

"Might be so." His voice is soft, gravelly, but you can hear the steel in it. "But am not asking, now am I? So stop your fussin'. You're safe. Nae need to worry." He releases your bandaged arm.

"You run your hand along the wrapping, checking it. "Fine. But I'm... I'm not coming back with you."

"Can't promise you'll be safe out there. Where do ye plan to go?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Aye." He rubs his jaw, examining you with flint in his blue eyes. Pressing you for an answer would be pointless. Not that you seem to be lying—but you're not telling the whole truth. The short history you share with him is just enough that he can tell. But he also knows trying to change your mind would be pointless. If you won't listen, he'd have better luck bashing his head against one of these huge, mutated oaks.

"Am nae stoppin' ya. But these woods are full of treacherous paths. If ye run into trouble—when ye run into trouble--my boys and I, we know these woods well enough to dust you off and send you in the right direction. Cannae promise to find you before somethin’ else does, though."

You're fairly sure he's not lying. His boys, as he calls them—his old squad, you think—they've made their home in these woods. It's perilous living—bears, wolves, muties, and terrain just as hazardous as the wildlife. And still those men are the most dangerous things in here.

The offer is tempting. You consider it for longer than you should, looking down at your bandaged arm again. But then you step back, shaking your head slowly. "No, thanks. I have to get going."

It tears him up inside. You're making the wrong choice. If he lets you walk away, he's letting you walk to your death.

He looks at you for a moment. You can tell he's got something more to say. But he changes his mind, stepping back as well. He pulls something from his belt and holds it out. A handgun, scuffed and black, grip held toward you. You stare at it for a second before looking back up at him. He's serious?

"I'm not gonna take that--"

"You're damn well gonna take it." His voice is low and insistent. "You think I don't know you'll run into trouble out here? Don't be a fool. I have spare. Take it."

Your one rule is don't owe anybody anything. How the fuck are you about to owe this man twice?

Fine. Whatever. It's not like you have to use it. Could just barter it. Not like you’re going to see him again. You take the gun, biting back a retort.

He nods his approval. The steely look in his eyes softens, though he still looks dismayed. "Mind where you point that. And when you pull it. Biters'll hear it for a mile and come running. Survivors, too. The curious ones." He glances at your bandaged arm one more time. Then he adjusts the bag over his shoulder and turns his back, walking away from you. Back to camp. "Am expectin' you to keep yourself alive with that," he growls. "Or else it's a lot of good time and material I wasted on ya."

"I didn't ask you to waste your breath," you retort, practically snarling at his retreating back in your irritation. You watch him go until he's disappeared into the trees. You need to make sure he doesn't plan on doubling back and following you.

Then you set off on your own. You take a winding path to throw off any trackers. Never can be too cautious. The gun in your pocket is heavy against your thigh, and you try not to think of it as a comforting security.

You came here to get Roach back, and you don’t care how long you have to wander this Godforsaken forest. You’re not leaving without him.

…

Soap feels your eyes on him until you disappear.

He wants to divorce himself from this, but he’s on edge. People who strike out on their own here come to a nasty end. But he’s not going to take away your agency by deciding what's best for you. You were right about him not being a soldier, after all. He doesn’t have the authority to herd you back to his squad’s campsite. Your life is in your own hands.

He just hopes you live to do better than he believes you will.

That night, he sleeps restlessly. Which is why, when he hears a cluster of gunshots in the distance, he wakes up instantly. It's you. In trouble.

The night watch—Gaz tonight—is already there, tossing Soap's gun to him. "You were right," Gaz says.

"Course I was," Soap says with a lopsided grin. "Owe me a ten-piece in the next poker game, aye?"

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: Johnny x fem!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Vaginal fingering. Praising kink.

| wc: 2.1k

| aurora's note: so about that dream i had... @botchedbrat

When Johnny left the house, he looked very dapper. Of course he had someone at the apartment to do his hair and his make up, and there was a designer there to help him put on his suit which he would return the following morning; But regardless of the amount of people filling up your living room, Johnny made sure to grab you by the waist in front of everyone— While you were still in your pajamas— and he pressed a passionate kiss against your lips then he muttered, “I’ll see you later,” before he and everyone else left. He looked quite good. The outfit wasn’t anything too special since it was a run of the mill black suit and tie… But Johnny was growing his hair out again for you, just like he promised, since he knew how distraught you were when he cut it short for the Walk era. He looked young again, like when you first met and he still had time to sleep.

“I left my card on the kitchen counter for you,” he texted twenty minutes after leaving. You sighed. Of course he snuck out without his credit card, because he knew that if he offered to pay for dinner while he was still there, you would’ve denied him and argued with him until he was late for the award show he and Doyoung were attending. “Love you.”

You tsked after retrieving his card from the counter so that it wouldn’t get lost. Johnny would be furious if he came home and you still hadn’t ordered food for yourself, or even if you did order it but with your own money. He trapped you. Dickhead. He knew he looked good, so he let your lingering stares at his ass distract you from his sneaky plan. So you surrendered, plopping on the couch and scrolling through food delivery services on your phone ‘til you found your favorite chicken place which also had tteokbokki and mini sausage links drenched in gochujang. You made sure to order enough so that by the time Johnny was home, the leftovers would be in the fridge for him to snack on if he wanted— Actually, he didn’t have a choice, you were going to make him eat some of it so that you felt less guilty about spending his money. Diet or not diet, you were going to stuff a sausage link down his throat if you needed to.

While eating dinner, you watched the award show on the TV in the living room. Johnny and Doyoung had to go up to accept an award on behalf of all of NCT 127, and you couldn’t help but grin at Johnny’s clumsiness. For as attractive as he was and the amount of confidence he had while performing, he really didn’t know how to act on live TV sometimes, especially when tons of members were missing from his side. He wasn’t used to being alone up there. But Doyoung came to his rescue and picked up the slack where Johnny was too dazed to remember who to thank and in what order.

“Congratulations, nae sarang,” you texted shortly after the ceremony ended and the celebrities began making their way out of the venue. You put the leftover food away as planned. “Dinner’s in the fridge when you get home.”

Johnny replied to your first text with a heart emoji followed by a formal, “Thank you,” and he replied to your second text with a thumbs down emoji. Silly old man. He thought he had a say in it, cute.

In an attempt to stay up late to welcome Johnny home, you dipped into the tub for a bath while watching idol news about the awards, rewatching clips of Johnny and Doyoung walking the red carpet together, acting cute, teasing each other, giving into the fanservice a little bit. He really did look good. You were relieved too that he was feeling better recently, that he was able to catch up on rest in the night and had something to keep him busy all day while he was at the office practicing for their upcoming concert in January. Slowly but surely life was getting back to normal for Johnny.

“What’re you still doing up?” Johnny asked as he slowly opened the bathroom door and peeked his head in. He was still wearing his suit but had removed his jacket at some point between the end of the award show and finding you pruning in the bathtub.

“I was waiting for you.”

Johnny smiled. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him to trap the warmth inside so that you wouldn’t get cold. “How did I do?” He gestured to the TV where they were replaying the entire ceremony now.

“You fumbled a bit.”

“I’ll give you your well-earned fifty dollars later.” Both of you laughed as he sat on the edge of the tub.

You ran your wet hand over his dry hand that kept himself propped upright. “You look very handsome, nae sarang.”

“And you look very pretty, nae sarang.”

The way he said it was very teasing. It left little to the imagination about what he wanted because of the way he was staring at your body that was concealed under the soapy bubbles of your warm, comfortable bath that you were relaxing in. Even as if it wasn’t obvious at that point, Johnny really hit the idea home when he sat up straight then began undoing his cufflinks, setting them to the side on the countertop, then rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. When he leaned in to kiss you, one of his hands slid over the top of your bare knees that were sticking out of the water.

“You can’t get your suit dirty,” you muttered between kisses.

“I won’t.”

Slowly, his hand slid down your thigh, pushing your legs apart to make room for him to dip his hand under the water while his fingers drifted over your skin until he made contact with your clit. Both of you moaned in unison. He must’ve been surprised that you were wet, but what he failed to recognize was that you were lazily playing with yourself to the thought of him in that very suit just before he got home. Skillfully, Johnny pried your legs open further with just his one hand between your legs since the other reached to hold the back of your head in order to keep you pressed against his kisses. Neither you nor Johnny said anything as he circled your clit slowly. Having him touch you felt leagues better than whenever you would touch yourself, so you enjoyed it by relaxing further into the tub with a grin plastered to your face.

Johnny adjusted himself so that he could flip his wrist over in order to aim two of his long fingers at your entrance while his thumb continued to toy with your clit. “What did you get for dinner?”

“You’d know if you ate the leftovers I put in the fridge for you.”

“I’ll eat later.”

You bit his plump bottom lip. “Fried chicken.”

“From your favorite place?”

You nodded— However, a gasp left you unexpectedly as he finally started pushing his two fingers into you. Johnny chuckled when you grabbed his wrist. He wasn’t going anywhere… He had no intention of pulling away, leaving you high and dry, desperate for an orgasm. After all, you deserve only the best after he’d come home to the best gift in the world, something far better than an award that would go into the company’s trophy case. He had you, naked, purposefully waiting up for him all night just so he could find you like that.

His two fingers worked cohesively to thrust in and out of you for a few minutes. The way he hit certain sensitive parts, deeper parts than you could hit, all while his thumb continued to circle and flick your clit in unexpected ways in order to keep you on your toes, it had your head spinning; however, Johnny’s hold on the back of your neck made it so that you couldn’t escape him. Water sloshed in the tub as he quickened his pace.

“So fucking pretty,” he moaned, sticking his tongue into your mouth in order to fight for dominance in your kiss. You willingly gave it up to him. “So tight, too… How haven’t I stretched you out yet, hmmm? Do I need to fuck you more often. Is that it?”

You replied by kissing him harder and pulling his wrist closer to your body to indicate that you wanted him to go deeper and faster. The bathwater was up to his sleeve now, but he didn’t care that his clothes got wet and soapy— All of his focus remained on you and the way that you were slowly falling apart the closer you got to your orgasm.

“And what if… I said… yes?” you replied, holding back a series of moans so that you sounded a little less pathetic than you actually were.

“Then I can fuck you ‘til your legs stop working.”

Both of you grinned again. Johnny’s body twisted again, though he nearly slipped into the tub in the process because he was trying to find another better angle in order to get his fingers even deeper into you, despite the fact that his elbow was dipping in and out of the water. Johnny hovered his body over yours. It was similar to if he had been on top of you in bed or fully in the tub with you. Honestly, you wished he would have fallen in. Maybe then you could’ve gotten more than just his fingers— But his fingers still felt fucking good.

“John,” you croaked, thrashing slightly.

“Close, baby?”

You nodded. “Please.”

Johnny’s lips hovered teasingly over yours. “Ask nicely.”

You pouted at him, but that only made Johnny chuckle and lean in some more so that he could bite your bottom lip. Ask nicely. Fine. He was still keeping up with his pace, so it wasn’t like you could stall any longer because you were on the brink, and every wasted moment that you didn’t give into him was a second closer to you tipping over the edge without permission.

“Please let me cum for you,” you breathed into his mouth with a smile.

Johnny moaned and kissed you again. Your free hand surfaced from the water so that you could play with the end of Johnny’s hair on the back of his neck. You held each other as close as possible. His thumb pressed against your clit harder. His fingers curled directly into your sweet spots.

“Cum on my fingers,” he whispered sensually.

So you did. While squeezing his wrist desperately and bucking against his fingers as they continued to curl into your g-spot, Johnny held your neck steady to make sure you didn’t hit your head on the tub as you rode out your high. Johnny scissored his fingers open at the same time you squeezed around him… It felt like heaven. It took all the energy out of you within an instant. All of that pent up neediness that you had since he grabbed you by the waist to kiss you goodbye before the event finally seeped out of your body as Johnny’s fingers retreated slowly.

“You okay?”

Sitting up, you nodded.

“Good.” Johnny pulled his hand out of the water and let go of the back of your head so that he could unbutton his shirt. “At least it’s just water.” His sleeves were soaked, and parts of his chest were wet from the splash-ups that happened against the walls of the tub during the peak of your orgasm. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You sank back into the water with a pout. “You need to eat dinner.”

“I will, I promise.”

Johnny threw his dress shirt to the side then reached back into the water to unclog the tub. In the time that the water drained, Johnny wiped your pout away with his thumb and a giggle before he reached to help you stand so that he could dry you off with a towel, then he offered out a hand for you to take as you carefully stepped out of the tub so that you wouldn’t slip. The suit wasn’t just for show, Johnny really was a gentleman.

“You got it?” he checked with you as you held the towel up and started walking out of the bathroom.

“Yeah. Go eat, for my sake.”

“Anything for you.”

After a quick peck on your cheek, Johnny walked towards the kitchen, and you went in the opposite direction to get dressed in your pajamas again.

taglist: @theycallmesya @tiredlittlevirgo @henderysposts @trash-number-one

[lokorum]

i swear the last panel from hell changed all of my plans for the first bg playthrough and also set me on fire

i changed the romance option bc have you ever seen halsin??? i dont need to explain anything here (bye astarion my sweet prince i'll return to you in the next playthrough);

i changed character class (this crazy game lets you be a mushroom lord oh my gosh) and now im gonna rp as a dark urge instead of sage because that cut-scene??? when your durge character mutter "blood-blood-blood-blood" to lul themself to sleep? lskdfksjflkjdflkjdslfkj its nae!!!! its just nae!!!!! my sweet murderous babe!!! so here's their ✞☠︎𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓭666☠︎✞ version and im now returning to my trash can without any plans to open it until august bc who knows what other blessings larian are going to dump on our unprepared little brains 

[lethalchiralium]

“Out out out out out- Come here, you-“

His dog took off from the front porch, Soap snapping angrily at him for snatching a some chicken bones from the basket Simon just brought in. He watched his Collie prance along the yard, jaw settled on the biggest bone he found.

“The wife’s not gonna like that.” Simon muttered as he joined his husband on the porch, holding their daughter with one hand - letting her face the farm with a cute face of delight. She cooed, little hands opening and closing as she watched her dog go nuts in the grass.

Soap frowned, knowing if he tried to retrieve the bone he’d lose a hand, but if he didn’t retrieve the bone he’d lose his head. He wasn’t keen on their wife being angry at him, she had a nice day training her horses and counting the sheep; no need to piss her off. “She’s got bone broth to make.”

“She does.” Simon confirmed, hiking the little baby up on his chest to keep her close to his face. “Babe’s getting hungry.”

“Looks it too.” Soap glanced to his side, spying his daughter beginning to chew on his husband’s finger. “Gotta get that damn bone.”

He chuckled a little. “Shadow!” The black Collie instantly turned his head towards Simon, who pulled his hand from his daughter’s mouth to point to his foot. “Here.”

Soap rolled his eyes, turning and grabbing his baby as the mutt ran and laid down at Simon’s feet. He kissed his daughter’s blonde hair, keeping her dress nice and flat as he moved back into the cabin. The fire was low in the fireplace, Simon’s knives left abandoned on the table beside the now out of reach basket of chicken bones. He’s got an awake baby in his hands, he knows she’s getting hungry by her little grunts and coos that she is going to be pissed soon. Simon walked in and to the basket, tossing the wiped clean bone into it before placing it higher on a bookshelf.

“Miss Claire,” Soap cooed to his baby, her little face looked up to him with a toothless grin. “Mum’ll be home soon. Ye'r nae gonnae starve.”

“You still goin’ with Laswell to town tomorrow?” Simon commented, hand gently patting Shadow before he opened a drawer, grabbing the silverware he had made years ago. “We need more grain for the-“

“Horses, I know.” He sighed, looking over to the blond as he set the table for three. Soap settled in his chair, letting his baby gnaw on his finger. “Ya sure ya dinnae wanna come?”

Simon chuckled a little. “Got Claire to watch. Mum’s gonna want to bathe the babe and the dog tomorrow, she needs hands.”

“More hands make less work.”

“Especially with the damn dog.” A pause, Soap didn’t even have to look to know Simon was staring down their shepherd dog. “Yes you, ya mutt. Go outside and wait for Mum.”

There was the scratching of the dog’s claws as he bounded back outside, barking happily as you walked in, hands dragging down your dirtied dress with a smile. Claire cooed in Soap’s grasp, Simon’s hand gently brushed through his husband’s hair. The dog followed you as you closed the front door, then to your dirt dusted husbands. A kiss to both their lips, then one to the blonde hair of your baby.

“Did ya want me to cook?” Simon murmured as Soap pressed kisses to your cheek, you pulled away from him and your daughter to stretch your arms above your head.

“You’d set the cabin on fire.”

“She’s right, Si-“

“Shut up.”

“Simon, baby, get my dress.” You turned your back, he instantly began to loosen your corset upon your request. “Just wanna feed the baby and go to bed.”

“Gotta eat, love.” Soap’s hand settled on your leg, big smile on his face. “At least you do.”

You nodded, gazing at your happy baby in his lap. “I’ll feed ‘er after Simon burns the house down.” Simon tugged on the strings of your corset, making you wobble on your feet. You whipped your head around to see him smirk. “Don’t be trouble, Simon, it doesn’t end well.”

“‘Course it doesn’t.” He glanced up to you before he pulled your dress down your front - you gasped, Soap suddenly stood to take your baby away. “Trouble is what made that little one, Little Bird.” You were spun around, callused hands picked you up and brought you the few feet to the massive bed in the adjacent room - Simon placed you in the middle of the bed, yanking off your dress and leaving you in your chemise and stockings. Yet, he didn’t pursue what he usually would - instead, he kissed your lips and smiled. “I’ll make dinner. Rest.”

Soap instantly appeared, bouncing around little Claire in her dress that once matched yours. He smirked, gazing at your shocked expression. “Dinna worry, we’ll ravage ya when the babe’s asleep.”

[official-cvntified-gay]

The chair, cheesecake, and the bruise (Reneé Rapp x Reader)

I watched the video of her falling on her chair. A recurring event where she fell on her birthday. Also, not me writing this on the way to univ to take tests with no sleep, no review and a few cups of coffee. Wish me luck on my exams. Gay Power!🌈💪🏻

﹒⪩⪨﹒

"Happy Birthday Nae-nae!" We greeted after we sang the Birthday song. It's exactly 12:00 and we decided to greet her first thing in hand. I giggled at her adorable wide smile. I gave her the bouquet and I completely melted as I saw her reaction, she quickly wrap her arms around my neck. I move my hand so the cheese cake wouldn't fall.

"Make a wish baby" I whisper in her ear as I gave her cheeks a kiss. She nodded and unwrapped her arms around my neck. This time her arm is wrapped around my waist. She closed her eyes for a moment to make a wish.

I admire her while she's doing that. Smiling softly as she mutter something under her breath. When she opens her eyes, she's looking directly at me. Our smiles slowly widen as we look at each other. "Stop being so adorable" we both roll our eyes at the voice of her manager.

"We're having a cheesy romantic moment. Stop being a dick" Renee stated, I snort at her comment. I shrugged my shoulders at Adam. He stopped recording the video. "Alright I'm gonna go back to sleep. Happy Birthday Renee" He gave me my phone and pat me on my shoulder. I thank him before we left.

"So~" I place the cake on the table. I stop to admire her while she's admiring the flowers. "These are so fucking cute. Thank you baby" She wrap her other arm around me, bringing me closer for a kiss. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her body even closer.

I move her shirt so I can feel her bare skin as our lips continue to kiss each other. She smile during the moment and I can't help but be affected by that smile.

"Happy Birthday baby" I lowly mutter, our lips touching as I speak those words. She looks at me with those eyes, I peck her lips lightly. My hands moving up and down her waist.

I put my hand up to caress her cheek, both of us just smiling like an idiot. I noticed her looking down at my lips. I slowly moved to bring our lips together, she lets out a soft moan as our lips dance against each other.

She wrap her arms around my neck and pulled me closer. We continued to make out till we have to pull away for oxygen.

"Come on, let's eat the cheese cake!" You said excitedly, letting go of Reneé. "You go ahead baby. I'll just charge my phone." I gave her forehead a kiss before walking inside our shared room.

I was settling my phone down when I heard a loud bang outside. My reaction time was quick, as I was already running outside the room to check on Reneé.

Who is currently on the floor.

"What happened baby!?" I didn't have time to scan the room as I'm gently helping settle her on the couch.

"You alright?" You asked when you noticed her silence. She looked up at you, her lips quivering slightly and tears brimming her eyes. You let out a soft chuckle, she looked adorable.

"Are you hurt baby?" She nodded with pouty lips, you let out a laugh because of cute she is. You gave her head a kiss before going to the fridge to grab some ice pack.

"Here, can you raise your arm a little for me Nae?" She did what I asked, she let out a small "ow" while doing so. You can't help but laugh, "fuck you" you let out a full on belly laugh as you realized what happened.

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry baby" You giggle when she looks at you. "Sorry, I'll go grab us some utensils so we can eat your cheese cake." As you were grabbing the plates, you heard her voice.

"It's my birthday, and we're about to our cheesecake for my birthday." You snorted out as she continued "how do I flip the camera? Well it's right thwere." She pointed the camera to the cheesecake.

"And then the fucking chair bwoke. And I FELL" she pointed at the now broken chair. You continue watching her as she pointed to her iced arms.

"And I'm BRUISED. I Bruise easily." You immediately went to her once she put the phone down.

"My poor baby" you cooed at her, but she just slapped your arm and hug you with one arm. You stroke her hair as you examine her bruising arm.

"Here, let me get the cheesecake" You settle the plates and cutlers down the table. Then you get the cheesecake, the rest of the night was spent with feeding Reneé and apologizing for laughing at her.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

(𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙)

[frudoo]

Bells Ring (3)

Title: Mary of Silence

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity. Angst angst angst.

MDNI

John is fuming. Two strong arms shove open the doors to his chambers, startling his wife who was cozied up in his bed with a book. He quickly strips himself of his clothing in favor of slipping on a nightshirt instead, climbing beneath the duvet and rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. The queen sets her book down and rests a gentle hand on his heaving chest, eyes wide with concern.

“Mah love, wha’ is troublin’ ye?” She questions, her other hand slowly pushing away his own so that she can see his face.

“The prince,” he responds plainly.

“Wha’ of him?” Aiyla removes her hands from him completely, wrapping her arms around her stiff body nervously, jaw tight with concern. “Is he alreit? Wha’s happened?”

A sour taste settles on John’s tongue, and for a moment, he wonders if he should let his wife live in ignorant bliss of her son’s actions. When he looks up and sees the fear in her eyes, however, he realizes that he should calm her nerves with the truth, disappointing as it may be.

“Nothin’s happened, mah dearest, he is safe. But ah’ve discovered the cause of tension ‘tween him an’ the princess,” the king sighs, brushing a stray strand of copper hair from his bride’s pale face, tucking it behind her ear and placing his free hand in hers. “It seems tha’ he has found himself a mistress. The princess is rather upset aboot it.”

Silences seem to follow John, he ponders, as Aiyla does not say a word for some time. He can practically see the information processing behind her amber eyes before her brows scrunch in amusement.

“Is tha’ all?” She asks with humor in her tone, baffling the king, who immediately withdraws his hand from her freckled cheek.

“Ah beg yer pardon?” John scoffs, scratching the stubble beneath his chin as he stares at his wife incredulously.

“Ah mean tae say, is tha’ the only cause fer strain in their marriage?” Aiyla clarifies, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “My King, tha’s hardly reason fer such foolishness. Every noble has their mistress or lover, bu’ they dinnae let tha’ affect their union—or their devotion tae rule.”

“Ah have ne’er taken a mistress, nor ye a lover,” John laughs humorlessly.

The aura of shame that passes through the queen’s softening eyes makes John’s heart still in his broad chest. He releases his other hand from her grasp, rubbing his wrist like it’s been hurt, scratched by a bloodthirsty demon eager to drag him to her depths of hell. All of these years of what he thought was a perfect marriage, and he never knew that his beloved had been betraying him?

Aiyla tries to reach for him, but he shoves her arm away, nearly in tears. What kind of respectable king cries in the face of trouble? Still, he cannot help the sob that escapes his throat, or the red flush that makes its way up his neck.

“Were ye no’ already aware, John?” She frowns, rubbing her fingertips along the glossy silk of her nightgown. “Mah love-”

“Dinnae call me tha’!” John barks, shoving the duvet off of himself and standing from the bed, absolutely furious.

“Where d’ye ken ah go when we are no’ together? When ah have nae duties tae perform or relations tae have wit’ ye?”

“Ah suggest ye leave,” the king mutters just loud enough for her to hear, one shaking finger pointing towards the chamber doors.

Wordlessly, Aiyla grabs her book and swiftly walks out of his room, her form slipping past him with a rush of cool wind. John imagines the whisper of air is about as chilly as her heart, if she ever had one to begin with. He slams the doors behind her, glaring at them as if he could still see her walking away, as if she could feel his rage seeping through her skin, into her brittle bones. He only backs away when he can no longer hear the soft thud of her descending footsteps.

In a frenzy, the heartbroken king drops to his knees and pries a loose wooden plank free from the floor, his hiding place for every sentimental item he wishes to keep away from curious eyes. Among the collection are every single letter Aiyla has ever written to him, from the time before he’d ever begun courting her, up until her most recent journey to Dublin, where she frequented. John was quick to believe his wife before every voyage, when she’d tell him she was going to visit her loved ones once again. He now recognizes the truth—she was meeting someone she loves, just not relatives as he’d thought.

It makes him sick to think about all the times he had been so ignorant, so blindsided to the truth that had been right in front of him for God knows how long. Bitter teardrops spill from his glassy cerulean eyes onto the fading ink adorning the wilted paper, muddling the words he’d once clung to but now feel as empty as his soul. One by one, he tears each letter to shreds until he can no longer make out a single sentence. Each scrap of paper gets scooped up into his trembling palms and thrown into the fireplace carelessly.

Sparks of burning ash rise from the bottom of the pit and land on his face. John doesn’t even bother to swat them away, rather revels in the fleeting pain that blossoms before the flakes of char snuff out as quickly as they had arrived. He likens them to all of the happy memories he’d made with Aiyla, indulging in them for just a moment before feeling them fade away as though they had never existed in the first place. He wonders how many of those very memories she remembers, or if they’ve been replaced with those of her lover, whomever he may be.

The fire has long since burned to nothing but a fraction of what it used to be when John finally gathers the wit to climb back into his bed. The sheets still smell of the queen’s delicate floral lotions, the imprint of her head still nestled into the satin pillow beside his own.

He wonders if her lover has ever felt so lonely in her absence.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

TF141 Meeting Soap’s Little Sister (a.k.a. You)

CoD ML

The task force didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. They already have to deal with Soap’s husky antics, which can already be too much to handle. Multiply that by two and no one, especially Simon, wants to deal with that.

But they certainly wouldn’t mind the company of the woman in the doorway.

Why on earth didn’t Soap warn them?

For John, it’s the sweater paws. For a second they make him selfishly want to dress you in one of his sweaters.

For Simon, it’s the way you shyly hide behind your brother, a habit you still have at your big age. Normally he loathes shows of fragility, but yours is endearing to him. For the first time in a very long while, it kindles something in him.

For Kyle, it’s your eyes. He simply can’t look away even though he’s aware it makes you uncomfortable.

“Lads, meet my sister, Y/N.” The adoration Soap has for you is plain to see in the gentle smile that plays out on his lips, proud to be your brother and amused you’ve barely changed from your younger days. Why else would you look at him, lowkey terrified of the strangers he’s brought into your home. “It’s awright, hen. They’re good men, even the big bawbag with the skull mask. Go oan an’ introduce yerself.”

Clutching your brother’s sleeve, relieved he’s home and glad for his protection, you introduce yourself. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

And in that moment, without so much as trying, you have your brother’s unit wrapped around your finger.

So much so that Simon removes his balaclava before he even crosses the threshold. Unbeknownst to you, it’s extremely rare to see the man without his mask and always leads to the unit members exchanging surprised glances.

“What’s this, LT?” your brother asks, badly faking disbelief.

“Proper etiquette. Plus, I can’t eat with the thing on.”

“Oh, so you do eat. I thought ghosts didn’t have ta.”

“Johnny…”

“Just messing with ye, Ghost.”

“Ghost?” you ask.

“It’s my callsign, miss. I- I mean, Y/N.” He keeps his distance, but tries to make himself as small as possible to seem less intimidating. “We ain’t on duty now, so’s just Simon.”

“I see.”

Throughout the night, your brother’s comrades try to win your favour. Kyle offers to help set the table, teaming up with John who beats him to it by lifting the stack of plates in your hands. “Can’t have the lady of the house do everything, can we?”

“But-“

“Please, Y/N, allow me.” His features soften, though there’s a strange glint in his eyes you can’t name. Nevertheless, it sharpens further into sterness as John turns around and starts speaking like you’d imagine he does out in the field. “Gaz, get over here. We have to help our hostess out.”

“You… you really don’t…”

“It’s the least we can do,” Kyle reassures you, shown up at your side at the first word of the captain. “We’ll try to do it neatly.”

“Oi, Gaz, stop being cheeky and get moving.”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle sighs. “He makes it sound like we’re on a battlefield. Fortunately, this is less severe, innit?”

“It might be if there aren’t glasses between now and ten seconds,” John mutters, circling around you two to put the last plates down and move on to cutlery.

“Ever the perfectionist. Where do you keep them?” Kyle asks.

You point at a cupboard. “Right there.”

“Okay. Y/N, we’ll do a proper job. Promise.” And with that, he’s off to help set the table.

While cooking, you observe Simon dawdling around the kitchen. Or, rather, as you discover when you lift your head to check what’s going on, he’s forced to thanks to Johnny.

“Och, just offer yer help. Ah dinnae ken, chop some veggies. Also, she’s into video games- Y/N!” Johnny slaps Simon on the shoulder, feigning ignorance. “Can this wee bawbag help ye with anything?”

“Stop calling me that,” Simon grumbles through gritted teeth.

“Do you cook?”

“He-“ Soap opens his mouth to answer for his friend yet finds himself cut short.

“Haud yer wheest, John. I was nae asking you, I was asking Simon.” Holding out your spatula as a threat to your brother, you turn to the gentle giant.

Simon looks at you through his lashes, but quickly averts his gaze when your eyes meet. “I dabble. Try to put proper grub on the table sometimes.”

“Help me do the same?”

“Uh… sure.”

“Lovely!”

“Have fun, LT.” Johnny offers you both a cheeky grin, then turns on his heel to return to the others.

And so Simon finds himself cooking alongside you. Truth be told, you partially did it to save him from his brothers in arms. Regardless of how well he knows them and the amount of time he’s spent with them, their extroverted personalities still wear him out. His silence is telling, different from the intimidating version he dropped the moment you opened the door. You’ve seen how his eyes glaze over, occupied with dreams you can only guess at. Occasionally he’ll nod and make a noise to make the others think he’s listening.

Nevertheless, it’s still surprising Simon tries to start a conversation.

A conversation that goes in all sorts of, mostly nerdy, directions. So soon you find yourself listening to elaborate explanations of the lore of various FromSoftware games, a topic Simon passionately enlightens you on.

He stops mid-sentence when you chuckle. “What?”

“You have a nice voice.”

“Oh… uh… thanks.”

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re some kind of miracle worker.” Gaz walks into the kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge. “How’d you get Ghost to talk?”

Simon glowers at his companion, but stands down when you gesture for him to remain calm. “Sometimes you simply need the right person, a genuine heart that listens. Now, boys, let’s eat.”

“Food?” Johnny calls from the couch.

“My days, what are ye? A husky?” you call, only partially truly annoyed.

Dinner is an amiable affair. The men (yes, even Soap) censor themselves, finding it inappropriate to start effin and blindin in your company. All the same, they include you in the conversation however possible and fall silent when they notice you want to chime in. Unbeknownst to you all, Johnny is especially vigilant none of the other men makes an advance towards you. Sure, you’re a grown woman. Nonetheless, to him, you’ll always be the wee bairn he held as a four-year-old boy, the barely grown girl who couldn’t stop crying when he was deployed for the first time.

You’re his little sister, the only girl he’d gift the moon if he could.

That being said, though, should you end up with any member of the unit, he dearly hopes it’s Simon. So it’s actually quite reassuring for him to see you two get along as well as you do.

“Two peas in a pod,” Soap mumbles, the words muffled by beer and the clinking of cutlery.

The lads gesture for you to remain seated while they clear the table and do the dishes.

“‘S alright, Y/N. Leave it to us,” John says when you try to get up from your chair.

“You really don’t-“

“No, no. Please.” The bear-like hand on your shoulder is gentle though strong, persuasive in its conviction for you to remain seated. “A small favour, really, to repay your kindness.”

The table cleared, John and Simon excuse themselves for a quick smoke. In the meanwhile, Johnny and Kyle wash the dishes.

For dessert, you sit the men down with coffee and tea to enjoy with a scone.

Kyle falls a little more for you when you show you’re full of contrasts. Shy on the surface yet so fierce when defying your brother. “I was doing fine, crocheting my time away without puppy antics.”

“I’m nae like a dog.” Your brother stops mid-bite to protest.

“Johnny, yer a bloody husky.”

“Well, at least I’m one that did nae get shot.”

“Oh, haud yer wheesht, like you ever will. Just enjoy yer scone and tea. Wait!” You hasten to the fridge to retrieve a jar of orange marmelade. “Here, have this.”

“Homemade?”

“‘Course. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how you dislike store bought.”

“Thanks, sis.”

“Thank you for coming back in one piece, bro.” You turn to the men, who all sit up, alert. “And thank you for bringing my brother home.”

John has to restrain himself and not give into the urge to plop you in his lap. To make sure he won’t, he tucks his hands between his legs when you brush past him to retake your seat across the table.

Simon is good at hiding his emotions, but definitely wouldn’t mind it if you leaned on him and talked some more about video gaming. He loves the way your whole expression brightens when you do and would like nothing better than for you to be his player number two.

Stories and small talk, with the occasional silence to appreciate being alive and well, fills the kitchen as the arms of the clock creep closer to midnight.

At some point you stifle a yawn. Unfortunately, not before your brother catches you doing so. Johnny looks at the clock then back at you. “Alright, lads, it’s been great. However, despite her stubborn arse refusing to admit it, Y/N’s getting tired. Now being the great big brother I am,” the harsh slap on the upper arm does little to make him pipe down, “I think it’s time I show all of you the door.”

John, Kyle, and Simon get up without so much as a word of protest. After all, it’s bad etiquette to wear your hostess out nor does it help your chances with her.

You expected only a handshake as a farewell. Nevertheless, it’s hard to refuse the open invitation for a hug John gives you. His embrace is warm and gentle, testing out the waters to see what you will and won’t allow. His chest rises and falls with a satisfied sigh when you let him rest his head on top of yours. To be honest, it’s nice and comforting, the way he rubs some heat into your arms. “Goodnight, love. Thank you for the splendid evening.”

Kyle’s hug is more casual, like you’re a dear friend he’ll see again in the short run.

“Can I get a hug from you too?” you ask the man standing by the door, who has his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. For a moment Simon seems about to step forward. Yet, for whatever reason, he remains where he stands.

“I don’t think-“

“Please?”

How can he say no now? His mind short-circuits when you wrap your arms around his waist. His hands hover in the air for a moment before he places them lightly on your shoulders. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N.”

“Had fun?”

“I did.”

“Glad to hear it. Also,” you lean back to look at him, “keep the mask off. You’re not a lieutenant here, not Ghost.”

An amused hum escapes Simon, though later in the car he’d have to keep denying Kyle’s allegations he saw him smile. “Copy.”

“Go oan, I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

You watch the men clamber into John’s car. They’re all staying the night at his place before heading off home.

“You like him, don’t ye?”

“Who?”

“Ghost.”

“I don’t know him.” Johnny gives you a quizzical look. “Simon, though, perhaps. He’s a good man.”

“He is.”

The only man who has his blessing to court you.

Who he hopes will truly be family one day.

His future brother-in-law.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 5

Prompt: Bandages

Words: 1300

TW: Mentions of Dysphoria and Unsafe Chest Binding(sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I had to do so much research on chest binding and uk laws about transitioning for this.

Apologies if I misrepresented anything as I am both Canadian and cis gender, so I've no experiences to pull from, other that I've been told by my trans friend and research.

Enjoy!

Soap rifled frantically through their medkit, barely withholding the urge to just turn it upside down and dump everything out onto the ground, “We donnae 'ave any tape, how in the pishin’ shite do we 'ave no tape,” he muttered mutinously as he dug through the kit. He picked up and put back everything again, as if the medical tape would just pop out of the bag's lining to answer his prayers. It didn't. With a sigh he admitted defeat.

Onto plan B. 

Scrambling back over, he tapped at Ghost’s leg to warn him that he was near, they didn't need to be dealing with a second stab wound because he startled his L.T.

“Hey, L.T, I have good news and I have bad news.” Soap climbed onto Ghost’s lap, smiling at the unimpressed look Ghost shot him without cracking his eyes open more than a centimeter. Soap started ripping into the packages he’d carried over with him, first wiping down his hands then opening up the medical supplies he needed, careful to not let them touch anything and become non-sterile. 

“The good news is that we’ve quick clot-”

“That’s not the bad news?” Ghost groaned, closing his eyes again.

“Nae,” A flash of a smile flitted across Soap’s face at Ghost’s teasing, “the bad news is there’s no tape.”

A louder groan rolled out of Ghost’s despairing chest, accompanied by a new wave of blood streaming out from under Ghost’s hands. Soap nudged at where Ghost was applying hard pressure to the stab wound on his side.

“You’re going to lift up for a mo, I'll pack it, then you need to reapply pressure,” Soap dictated, shooting a glance up at Ghost’s face. Ghost nodded at him, those brown eyes hazed and tight with pain, but filled with so much trust. Soap swallowed hard, looking back at the wound.

“Okay, on three. One. Two. Three!” Soap barely waited for Ghost’s hands to clear his skin before he started packing gauze into the gore soaked hole. 

Ghost grit his teeth, back bowing, feet kicking at the floor as he tried to find an outlet for the rapid increase of pain. The hurt from the stab wound had almost fallen into a manageable throb, but the quick clot had punched it back up to a fever pitch. Soap slapped another thick square of gauze over the opening then pulled back, watching Ghost obediently reclamp his hands over his wound, despite how the renewed pressure only stoked the firestorm of pain flaring under his skin. 

Soap let the other man rest for a moment, remnants of the quick clot stinging in the cuts on his hands, then pulled at Ghost’s shoulder, “Need you to sit up for me, need to reach around your back.”

Soap helped Ghost up into a slumped sit, petting over his nape when he dropped his head forward onto Soap’s shoulder. The flexing of his core to get up must have sent his injury screaming. 

Soap felt oddly gratified to see Ghost look like he was in pain. Not because Soap liked seeing him hurt, but because Soap had seen him walk off broken limbs before. Ghost letting himself show that he was hurting meant that he knew Soap wouldn’t kick him while he’s down. That he trusted Soap.

He pressed a kiss against the top of Ghost’s head, willfully ignoring how rank the man's balaclava had become, then urged him up off his shoulder so that Soap could see the wound again. Finding the end of the bandage roll, Soap tapped at Ghost’s hands to get him to lift off again then started wrapping the bandages around Ghost's chest to keep the gauze in place. 

“This brings back memories,” Ghost rumbled as Soap got to the end of the roll and fastened it in place.

“Aye? Get in a lot of scapes as a wee lad, did ye?” Soap teased, tugging a bit at his wrapping job to make sure it wouldn’t come loose. 

“No, before I learned about K.T tape, I used to bind with bandages.” Ghost answered, sagging forward to press the top of his head against Soap’s chest.

“Bu’ isnae that terrible?" Soap asked while bringing a hand up to squeeze at Ghost’s nape the way he likes, his voice steeped in concern, “ah’ve never binded a day in mah life, bu’ ah’ve heard that's nae guid,”

“Yeah,” Ghost sighed, a hidden smile pulling at his cheeks for the return of Johnny’s accent, “Most bandages are made for stabilising sprains and stuff like that, so they're designed to constrict with movement. That means that if you wrap them around your chest they tighten incrementally every time you exhale. I wore them for as long as I could, until my ribs burned and my skin was bloody with rashes.” 

Ghost’s voice was a strange monotonous plea, like he was imploring Johnny on behalf of someone he didn’t care for. He hadn’t moved, still wilted against Johnny’s chest, his hands limply resting on Johnny’s hips. 

“I used to wrap them too tight. I wanted my chest to be flat, like a boy's chest. I got pneumonia 'cause I’d restricted my breathing so much that fluid built up in my lungs. Mom took me to the doctor, they said I may have been experiencing Gender Incongruence.” Ghost’s voice took on a sardonic mocking edge, “She offered to refer us to N.H.S Children and Young People's Gender Services for psychological treatment, and assured Mom that ‘most cases of gender variant behaviour disappear when a child reaches puberty’. The N.H.S doesn’t give kids puberty blockers, apparently there's not enough clinical evidence that they’re an effective treatment. But if you jump through all their hoops and play it just right to get diagnosed with gender dysphoria, by sixteen you may be a candidate for gender-affirming hormone treatments.” 

Ghost took a deep breath, bringing his head up to burrow into the side of Johnny’s neck, pressing their chests together, needing to feel him closer.

“I don’t know how she did it-” Ghost broke off, swallowing hard, “I wasn’t getting better, my chest had started growing in when I was thirteen. I wouldn’t have made it three years, but there was no chance that my house could field the four physiatrists and the social worker that were required to green light treatment.” 

There was a long moment of quiet. Ghost’s breaths shakily puffed across Johnny’s collarbones.

“I don't know how she did it,” Simon whispered gently into the silence, “Mom just woke me up one day and pressed a bottle with the label pulled off into my hands. She said to never let Dad find it and to tell her when they ran out.” 

If Simon’s next inhale sounded wet, Johnny would never tell. 

“Ordering puberty blockers yourself isn’t illegal, only ‘highly discouraged’.” The hands on Johnny’s hips tightened and Ghost took a few deep breaths, flinching a bit when the forgotten pain in his side made itself known. “Every doctor's visit I had from then on I mentioned that I wasn’t a girl, and by sixteen I had my diagnoses and got started on T. I scrimped and saved everything I could, determined that when I turned eighteen I would get top surgery, but I didn’t have enough. Of course I didn’t have enough, it’s nine thousand pounds. Mom, she-”

The laugh that broke from Ghost was coloured by pure disbelief. Leaning back he met Johnny’s eyes and saw that he was crying. 

“She’d been saving as well. She found me crying in the kitchen at three A.M and told me she didn’t have enough just then, but promised we’d get it fixed before I turned twenty.” A cheek crinkling smile pushed the first of Ghost’s tears free, “and we did.” 

“Ah would have loved tae meet y’ur Ma, Simon,” Johnny whispered, cupping Simon’s face in his hands.

“She’d have loved you,” Simon whispered in turn.

Ghost let himself cry, breaking apart in Johnny’s arms, safe in knowing that he’d hold his pieces gently. 

Thank You For Reading!

They're on a mission and are in a safehouse for this entire scene if anyone was wondering.

Did I almost make myself cry writing this? Maybe.

I just really love my mom, okay?

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[riekiss]

🗒️ 、 NEW YEARS KISS

꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱💭 ・ 엔하이픈 x fem reader. 장르 fluff established relationship warning not-proofread kissing petnames skinship & 810 words

ru’s note ・ I WAS RUSHING TO WRITE THIS SO SORRY IF THERES ANY MISTAKES OR THAT ITS RLY SHORT FOR SOME 😭 ANYWAY HAPPY NEW YEARS !!!

Ending the year by watching your boyfriend on stage wasn’t a choice many would relish. Yet, understanding him intimately, you’d rather bask in the glow of his happiness under the spotlight.

As his performance concluded, you approached a security guard, offering your credentials and proof of connection. With a nod, they granted you access without hesitation.

The clock struck 12:30 AM, ushering in a new year. In the chilly night, you found your boyfriend cocooned in blankets, wisps of white breath dancing in the cold air.

Your heart warmed at the sight of him, a tableau of passion and dedication that made braving the late hour worthwhile.

이희승

“Hi, baby,” he called out, a radiant smile gracing his face.

“You were absolutely incredible out there,” you praised, your hands gently cupping his cheeks in an attempt to share warmth.

“Thank you, but I believe it’s time I repay your patience,” he said, draping the blanket around you.

“Hmm?”

His lips met yours, creating a timeless moment that muted the fireworks, cheers, and music. A cocoon of warmth enveloped both of you.

“Happy New Year, Yeobo,” he whispered, sealing the beginning of the year with a kiss that felt like the promise of countless beautiful moments ahead.

박종성

“Jongseong, you were incredibly cool earlier,” you praised, peppering his cheeks with kisses.

“Heh, thank you, baby,” he replied, tenderly kissing your hairline.

“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping the blanket he once wore around your shoulders.

“I’m alright. What about you? Aren’t you cold?” you inquired, concern lacing your words.

“You know what could warm me up?” he suggested, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“What?”

“This,” he declared, leaning in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

As he pulled away, your cheeks blazed with warmth. You exhaled before playfully muttering, “Happy New Year to you, dork,” as the lingering taste of his kiss filled the air with the promise of a delightful year ahead.

심재윤

“Jaeyun-ie!”

“Princess! How was my performance? It was amazing, wasn’t it?” he excitedly exclaimed, pulling you into a joyous hug, swaying your bodies in sync with his elation.

“Eung, you were so good out there!” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Oh, wait, I forgot something,” he suddenly said.

He leaned in, planting a deep, passionate kiss on your lips.

“New Year’s Kiss, hehe. Happy New Year, my princess,” he whispered, leaving the taste of celebration lingering in the air.

박성훈

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes softening at the sight of you.

“You were amazing out there, Hoon. All the ENGENEs were freaking out about you,” you laughed, recalling the cheers whenever your boyfriend graced the screen.

“I wanted to look cool in front of the person I love,” he mused.

“Oh, I know I’m a bit late, but…” he began before leaning in to kiss your lips. His movements synced with yours, unleashing a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

Breaking off the kiss, he whispered, “Happy New Year, Nae Sarang,” leaving the promise of a year filled with warmth and shared moments lingering in the air.

김선우

“There’s my beautiful girl!” Sunoo called out, opening the blanket wrapped around him to welcome you inside.

“Happy New Year, Sunoo-ah” you whispered, savoring the cocoon of warmth he provided.

“Back to you baby, now c’mere,” he said, gently guiding your chin to face him.

Closing the distance between your lips, the cold weather faded in comparison to the warmth enveloping you. What a beautiful way to commence a new year.

양정원

“Jungwon-ie! Happy New Year!” you exclaimed, pulling him into a hug that he swiftly embraced.

“Happy New Year to you too, babe,” he chuckled, holding you close. He hummed in contemplation before turning to you.

“Wanna do something cliché?” he asked, tilting his head.

“What is it?” you inquired, but instead of answering, he placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed your lips deeply.

“That,” he chuckled, enjoying the sight of your flustered expression as the beginning of the new year unfolded in a sweet, timeless moment.

西村力

“There you are, love. I was looking everywhere for you,” Riki said, a small pout forming on his lips as he pulled you close into his embrace.

“Sorry, it was so crowded, so I stayed a bit far to come to you easier,” you explained, resting your head on his chest, where his heartbeat quickened in sync with your proximity.

“Hmm, I’m about... 35 minutes late,” he said, checking the time on his phone.

“To what?” you asked, puzzled by his remark.

“To do this,” he replied, leaning in to kiss your lips. His warm hands cradled your cheek and the nape of your neck.

“Happy New Year, Ai,” he whispered, sealing the moment with a kiss that marked the start of a new year filled with warmth and affection.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week - sweet talk // missed connection

I'm so so so excited to have participated in @ghostgazweek this year! It's the first time I've done an event like this and it's brought me so much joy. To everyone who has read and commented on my work this week, thank you! I'm so excited to play with some of these concepts some more.

CW: Relationships between coworkers, mutual pining, front of house/back of house relations, Phillip Graves (derogatory), kissing, a taste of dirty talk

“Takin’ my ten,” Kyle tells his manager, pulling his phone from his pocket. Price nods, waving him off and assigning Kyle’s tables to Alex and Nova. He swings into the kitchen with an absent wave as he checks his messages and steps out back.

“’M no’ sayin’ ye have’ t’ declare yer love in front o’ the whole bloody team.”

Kyle perks up at the sound of Soap’s voice, but back-of-house gossip is going to have to wait while he tries to figure out what his off-again situationship is complaining about now. Or not - the meltdown in his messages is not worth dealing with. Just as he’s about the round the corner though, the growl of Simon’s voice freezes him.

“That’ll do, Soap.”

Kyle has to bite his lip to keep from gasping. Simon isn’t the head chef - that’s Farah - but he might as well be her right hand. He’s the glue of the weekend dinner rush. Level headed no matter what, rarely raises his voice above a raspy muttering, huge hands that Kyle has seen split an apple in half without a hint of visible effort. Whoever he dates is going to be envied by the entire front of house. Partially because he’s bloody gorgeous. But partly because he’s just the perfect man.

“Nae, yer gonna listen t’me,” Soap insists. “I promise, ‘e’s interested.”

“’E’s not,” Simon says. “Already tried flirtin’ wit’ ‘im. No dice.”

“Leavin’ a note wit’ yer phone number - in a pile of other notes with phone numbers - is no’ flirtin,” Soap says, and Kyle can imagine the despair on his face just from the tone of his voice. “Do you ken ‘ow many o’ those damn notes ‘e gets in a night?”

“Exactly. And he’s got a bird.”

“They broke up last week,” Soap hisses. “She’s shacking up with her ex.”

Kyle would snicker at how close he sounds to pulling his hair out but…

Kyle’s situationship ended last week. Because she moved in with her ex and Kyle doesn’t want to go through that roller coaster, again. And Kyle’s the flirt on shift, so he gets the most notes and phone numbers on receipts…

“’E’s got better prospects,” Simon says. Kyle hears the flick of a lighter. “Gorgeous, competent, charismatic? Kyle could have anyone.”

“And ‘e wants you, ye daft fucker,” Soap groans. “Steamin’ Jesus the two of ye. Just fuckin’ tell ‘im.”

“Tell you what,” Simon grumbles, muffled by his cigarette. “If he comes out here before my break’s done, I’ll tell ‘im.”

“Then ah’ll go in an- Oh you mother fucker! 30 seconds?”

Simon sounds amused when he says, “Tick tock.”

Kyle probably couldn’t ask for a better dramatic entrance, so he rounds the corner with a, “What’d I miss?”

Soap yelps and clutches at his chest like an old woman. Leaning against the wall, Simon looks about as surprised as he ever does, which means there’s a hunted look around his eyes, but he mostly looks tired and resigned. He settles into his thousand yard stare and takes a long drag.

“Gaz-bear!” Soap exclaims. He circles behind Kyle and shoves him forward. “Simon has something to tell you that is of a very personal nature. Do not let him distract you with talk about the kitchen! I love both of ye and ah’m tellin’ Price to fire both of ye if ye don’t talk!”

And then he’s slamming back into the kitchen, leaving Simon and Kyle alone in the alley.

He could play coy, but Kyle’s a bit giddy. “You like me, Simon?”

Simon grunts, contemplates his cigarette as he says, “Wondered ‘ow much of that you ‘eard. But don’t worry, I’ll keep professional.”

“God no.” Kyle can’t imagine anything wants less. “Tell me when you wrote me that note.”

“Dunno," Simon shrugs. "6 weeks after that shit with Graves?”

Two years ago, before Price took over, Phillip Graves had been the manager. He’d been a nightmare, harassing hostesses and firing anyone who dared to point out he was bad at his job. After the tenth straight day of a front of house person running into the kitchen to cry, pursued by Graves himself, Simon had had enough.

“I c’n make this a much more hostile working environment if tha’s what we’re aimin’ for.” The big beautiful bastard had shoved his knife a good quarter inch through a cutting board. The reverberation of the blade had rung through the painfully silent kitchen. All of the back of house looked to Farah for direction. She'd looked at Simon. Kyle, Nova, Alex, and the girl they’d been consoling by the fridges had all held their breath.

“I could fire you,” Phil spat.

“You won’t. You fuck with this kitchen, you’re losing your job,” Simon had answered. The fact that he had looked and sounded bored had scared and aroused Kyle in equal measure. “So ‘ere’s what’s going to happen - Keller and Garick are supervisors now. Pay them like it. You got a problem with front o’ house, you talk to them. Another girl comes runnin’ in here, then I‘m coming out there an’ you and I are ‘avin’ words.”

Graves had sputtered, looked around at everyone gathered, then spun on his heel and left.

Three months later, he’d gone missing. Two weeks after that, Price had arrived, greeting Farah and Simon like old friends and preparing to make the restaurant the best Kyle had ever worked at.

What did it say about Kyle that rumors that Simon had gotten rid of Graves for good only made him more attractive?

“That was more than a year ago,” Kyle says, sidling his way under Simon’s arm and leaning into him. Kyle’s not a short man, but Simon is tall and broad and warm under his work tee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Simon takes another drag, and looks down at Kyle out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not exactly dating material. And you had a bird.”

“I would have dumped her in a heartbeat,” Kyle admits, startled when Simon barks a surprised laugh. “I would have! Fuck, I could have been sneaking out here with you for seven months? I’ll break up with her again right now.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon laughs, smashing his cigarette into the wall and dropping the butt into flower pot turned butt bin. He doesn’t move his arm from around Kyle’s shoulders.

“We’re dating now,” Kyle declares. “We’re boyfriends.”

“Movin’ kinda fast,” Simon points out.

“I’ve been in love with you for more than a year. Catch up,” Kyle dismisses. “My lease is up in four months, and I’m movin’ in with you. Now kiss me.”

Simon doesn’t hesitate. His lips are just the slightest bit rough. He smells like cigarettes and spices, and he turns to bracket Kyle against the wall. One large hand finds it’s way to the small of Kyle’s back to pull him in and press their hips together.

“Fuck,” Simon growls when Kyle moans against his mouth. “Pretty, pushy thing. Gonna be this demanding all the time, Gorgeous?”

“I have a lot of time to make up for,” Kyle groans, nibbling kisses along his jaw. “You should let me blow you.”

“Oh, should I?” Simon’s rumbling laugh sends shivers down his spine. “Should let Farah and Price catch you choking on my cock?”

Well, if Kyle was half-hard before, he’s rock hard now. “God, yeah, let me.”

“Not yet,” Simon growls, and that yet sends sparks flying through Kyle’s veins. His next kisses are just this side of too rough, tongue and teeth making Kyle’s lips so sensitive. Finally, he pulls himself away to pant into Kyle’s ear, “Let me take you on a date, huh, Gorgeous? Let me take you out, wine and dine you. Wanna know all about you, wanna talk about something other than work for more than five minutes. Then I’ll take you home and lay you out. Kiss you all over, suck that gorgeous cock of yours, yeah?"

“Jesus,” Kyle hisses. He tries to rock his hips into Simon’s, but strong hands hold him back. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Kiss me again.”

Simon laughs, dips down to give Kyle another closed-mouthed kiss. “Gotta head back in.”

“No,” Kyle pants. “Kiss me again.”

Simon growls into the next kiss and shifts to press his whole front into Kyle. When he pulls back, he presses a thumb against Kyle’s lips. “Be patient, Gorgeous. Gotta get through work tonight.”

He knows he’s pushing it, but, “…kiss me again.”

Simon’s lips are achingly gentle for a moment and then they’re gone as he takes a step back. “’M goin’ inside, now.”

“Thai food after work?” Kyle pants.

Simon chuckles and adjusts himself. “Yeah.” He swoops in for another brief peck. “It’s a date.”

[fuzzyautumninmetal]

Paperwork

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x WolfHybrid!FemReader

Warning: Cockwarming possible poorly written (I'm sorry if it is)

!!MDNI!!

In the echoing confines of the training room, you and Johnny clashed, a symphony of snarls and grunts. Your agility had kept you nimbly out of his reach, effortlessly dodging Johnny's relentless strikes. He begins taunting you, "Dinna fash yersel, wee lassie. I'm just gettin' warmed up."

But Johnny's playful smirk quickly turns into a serious expression as he lunges at you, his movements as swift as a Highland gale. In a flash, he grabs your collar and yanks you harshly to the floor. Your body collides with the soft matts, and Johnny's weight pins you down. 

"That's not fair!" You whine, struggling to free yourself. Your teeth flash as you attempt to nip at his hand, but he anticipates your move and swiftly grabs your jaw.

With a firm grip, Soap holds onto your jaw, preventing you from biting or snapping back at him. His other hand still clutches tightly onto your collar, keeping you pinned firmly against the hard ground. "Aye, tis nae fair ," he says, chuckling lowly as he looks down at you. "But if ye wantae win, ye gotta learn how tae fight dirty."

His eyes, a stormy shade of blue, bore into yours. There's a glint of mischief in them, mixed with a hint of danger. He leans closer, his breath warm against your face, the scent of sweat and gunpowder surrounding you.

"Ye think ye've got this all figured out, eh?" he teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Johnny's hand tightened around your collar, pulling you roughly towards him. Your eyes narrowed, and you unleashed a torrent of curses in your native tongue. You fought against his grip, your muscles tensing and straining. But Johnny remained unyielding, his grip like iron.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in your mind. You let your body go limp, your muscles relaxing. Johnny's grip loosened momentarily, and you seized the opportunity. With a swift twist of your body, you rolled to the side, kicking your feet up to catch him off guard.

He tumbled to the ground, his surprise evident. You didn't waste a second, you scrambled to pin him down. Pinning his hands above his head, and you bared your teeth at him.

Caught off guard by your sudden manoeuvre, Johnny found himself staring up at you. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a smirk despite the situation. His eyes gleamed with a mix of admiration and amusement.

"Aye, ye sneaky wee devil," he muttered, his voice filled with both respect and a touch of exasperation. "I'll give ye that much... ye're quick oan yer feet."

Even though he was pinned beneath you, there was an air of control about him. It was as if he was enjoying this dance of power between you two. His muscles flexed under your hold, his strength palpable even while restrained.

"But dinnae think ye've won yit," he warned, his tone teasing but also carrying a note of challenge.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the thrill of the chase making your blood rush. You leaned forward, your hot breath tickling his neck as you growled softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. Your tail flicked restlessly behind you, a clear sign of your excitement.

"Don't think I won't bite you again," you hissed, your words punctuated by sharp canines. Your claws dug into his wrists, your grip tightening as you attempted to maintain dominance over him.

The corners of Johnny's mouth curled upward, a smug grin spreading across his face. Despite the pressure of your paws on his wrists and the threat of your teeth, he wasn't afraid. Instead, he met your gaze with a challenging glint in his own.

"Oh really? Ye think ye hae me cornered noo, dae ye? " he teased, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. He twisted his wrists, attempting to free them from your grasp. At the same time, he lifted his hips slightly, creating enough space to swipe one of his legs out.

His leg shot out in a swift motion, catching you off guard. You felt his foot connect with your side, a solid hit that sent pain radiating through your body.

Feeling the impact of his kick, you let out a surprised yelp, your grip loosening ever so slightly. "You twat!" You grunted, your voice laced with both anger and amusement.

At your curse, Johnny couldn't help but laugh, the sound deep and hearty. His laughter echoed through the training room, mixing with the clanging of weights and the hum of machinery.

"Ye called me names," he said mockingly, using the momentary distraction to wriggle free from your grasp. In a swift movement, he flipped their positions, pinning you underneath him once more.

"Now where were we?" he mused, leaning in close until his lips hovered mere inches away from your ear. "Ah yes, ye were aboot tae bite me..."

As you felt his body press against yours, you squirmed underneath him, your tail wagging excitedly behind you. A soft whimper escaped your lips, your breath hitching as his warm breath ghosted over your sensitive ear.

"You're such a bully..." You murmured, your voice barely audible. Your claws traced idle patterns on his chest, each stroke light and teasing.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked down at you, his expression softening just a fraction. Despite the roughhousing, there was something undeniably tender about his gaze.

"Aye, well, someone's gotta teach ye some manners," he replied, his voice a low rumble. His hands roamed your sides, tracing the curves of your body before settling on your waist.

"And besides," he added, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "Ah kinda lik' husin ye beneath me."

"I don't know why I put up with you..." you grumbled, though your words lacked any real heat. Your tail swished back and forth, brushing against his thigh in a playful manner.

But then, without warning, you bucked your hips upward, trying to dislodge him from his position. The move was unexpected, and it earned you a grunt of surprise from Johnny.

Feeling your hips rise to meet his, Johnny bit back another chuckle. He was used to your antics by now, the playful banter and the occasional wrestling match. And though they started as simple exercises to keep fit, they'd somehow evolved into something more – something that left him yearning for more than just physical contact.

"Dinnae try tae get outta this," he scolded, his voice a playful reprimand. "Ye might enjoy th' view fae doon 'ere..."

With a swift motion, he captured your hands. This time, however, instead of holding onto them tightly, he cradled them gently in his palms, careful not to hurt you in his eagerness.

"Look at ye, a' squirming 'n' cute," he murmured, his voice dripping with lustful intent.

You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge. "I'm not cute!" You huff, sticking your bottom lip out. You wiggle underneath him, trying to escape his grip. "Don't you have some paperwork to finish? Price will have your ass if it's not done."

Johnny chuckled, the rich sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. He shifted his weight, pinning you more firmly beneath him.

"Aye, ah suppose ye'r right," he said, his voice a teasing drawl. "Bit whaur wid be th' fin in that""

He lowered his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers coursing through your body.

"Ah cuid always ask Price tae wait a bit longer," he suggested, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

"John MacTavish," you scolded, your voice laced with mock exasperation as you used his full name. "If you don't do this paperwork, he'll have both of our asses."

You twisted and squirmed, desperate to escape his playful hold. Finally, with a surge of effort, you wriggled free and scrambled to your feet. Planting your paws firmly on the ground, you put a hand on your hip and raised an eyebrow at Johnny.

"And I'm not about to get done because you can't do your job," you added, your tail flicking back and forth. Knowing you weren't allowed to walk around the base by yourself, you turned on your heels and walked out of the training room knowing Johnny will have to follow you.

Watching you saunter off, Johnny couldn't help but grin. There was something incredibly sexy about your confidence, your determination to outrun him. It only spurred him on further.

"Och, ah will git it dane a'richt ," he assured you, following closely behind. "Juist as soon as a've hud mah fill o' chasing efter ye."

The chase was on, Johnny's long strides eating up the distance between them. But despite his speed, he knew he wouldn't catch up easily. You were quick on your paws, and he found himself enjoying the game.

"But ah think Price Micht juist appreciate th' mae wirk ah pat in ," he added with a wink, reaching out to grab a hold of your tail.

As he reached for your tail, you swivelled around, swatting his hand away with a sharp, "Ah ah ah. No touching." Your finger wagged playfully in front of his face. "You're supposed to be my handler, remember? Keep me in place."

Folding your arms beneath that tantalizing bust, you smirked. You knew Johnny MacTavish all too well. "Let's make a deal, shall we?" You purred.

Caught off guard by your sudden turn, Johnny stumbled slightly, his hand coming up to steady himself against the wall. He watched you with amusement, your playful demeanour only serving to heighten his arousal.

"A deal, huh?" he repeated, stepping closer until he was mere inches away from you. "'n' whit kind o' deal wid that be?"

You leaned in close, your breath hot on his ear. "I'll sit on your cock while you do the paperwork." You pulled away and smirked at him. "Deal?"

At your offer, Johnny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. A grin spread across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. The idea of having you sitting on his lap, your tight warmth wrapped around his cock...it was enough to make his heart race.

"Weel, noo," he began, his voice dropping to a low purr. "That does sound lik' a tempting proposition ."

Reaching out, he placed a hand on your hip, giving it a firm squeeze. "A'richt, bonnie. Ye git yerself a deal."

Without waiting for your response, Johnny grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up onto his shoulders, carrying you towards his office.

As you were carried over his shoulder, you let out a laugh, your body shaking with mirth. The sensation of being manhandled sent a thrill coursing through your veins, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement.

"Careful there, big guy," you teased, patting his back lightly. "Don't want to drop the merchandise."

He chuckled and carried you into his office, placing you gently on his desk. You jumped down and began to remove your trousers and panties. Watching you undress, Johnny felt his pulse quicken. Your figure, bare before him, was a sight to behold. The anticipation made his cock twitch in excitement. As you turned around, you noticed Johnny leaning back in his chair, his trousers already unzipped.

"You better get your work done," you warned playfully, straddling his lap. "Because I won't move until It's finished."

"Easy thare," he murmured, reaching up to run his hands along your thighs. "We wouldn't waant ony accidents noo, wid we?" Feeling you settle onto his lap, Johnny groaned in pleasure. Your heat seeped into him, causing his cock to harden even more.

"Right then," he said, pulling open the drawer of his desk to retrieve the paperwork. "Time tae git tae wirk." With a wicked grin, he slid his cock out from his trousers and positioned it at your entrance.

You lower yourself onto his lap, letting a little moan slip out as he stretches you deliciously. His hands move to your hips, holding you steady as you got comfy, your body begging for more even as you try to keep still. You lean in, your warm breath tickling his ear as you whisper, "Now be a good boy and get your paperwork done."

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as you rest your head on his shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, matching your own as you try to keep yourself under control. You feel him swallow hard, then his hands move from your hips to the papers on his desk, shuffling them into neat piles as he begins to work.

Feeling you settle onto his lap, Johnny bit back a groan. Your warmth enveloped him completely, making his cock throb inside your pussy.

"Workin' solid ," he managed to grunt out, his hands moving smoothly over the paperwork. "Juist lik' ah promised ."

His fingers brushed against your fur as he shuffled the documents, the contact sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his arm. Despite the intense focus required for their task, he could feel his resolve crumbling.

"A'm gaun tae fuck ye sae hard ," he whispered into your ear, his grip tightening on your hips. "'n' ye'r gonnae love every second o' it."

He gave a small thrust upwards, testing how much weight you'd allow him to take. His cock twitched inside you, eager for more.

Your back arches as you gasp, feeling his cock twitch inside you. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to escape as you fight to stay quiet. You look down at him, your eyes darkening with lust as they lock onto his.

"Only if you finish your paperwork," You purred softly, your tail twitching behind you. The tip of your tail gently teased his nose, tickling it ever so slightly. "Work with me here."

Hearing your soft plea, Johnny couldn't help but chuckle. His free hand moved to stroke your tail, the silky strands sliding between his fingers.

"Aye, bonnie," he murmured, his words thick with desire. "Ye'v git yersel' a deal."

With renewed vigour, he dove back into the paperwork, his other hand keeping a firm grip on your hips. Despite the intense concentration required, he couldn't ignore the way your pussy clenched around his cock or the soft whimpers escaping from your lips.

"Ah hae this sorted in na time," *he assured you, giving another upward thrust. "Ah promise ye tha'."

"Ah, Johnny..." You whispered, your voice muffled as your face was buried deep in the crook of his neck. "Stop moving," you pleaded, your body trembling slightly as you tried your best to stay still.

Hearing your plea, Johnny paused momentarily, taking a moment to appreciate the sweet agony of your pussy clenching around his cock. He could feel every ripple and twitch, each one sending waves of pleasure through his body.

"But," he started, a smirk playing on his lips. "how am ah s'posed tae concentrate wi' ye wrigglin' aboot like that?"

He shifted beneath you, angling his hips so that he could hit deeper spots within your cunt. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding you up and down his length in slow, torturous movements.

"I'm not moving," you murmured, your voice a sultry purr. You pulled your face away from his neck, your eyes narrowing. "And stop gaslighting me." Your words lacked their usual venom. It was foolish to think that merely warming his cock would make him do his paperwork.

Johnny chuckled, feeling a rush of arousal surge through him at your feisty response. He loved it when you fought back, adding an extra layer of spice to their encounters.

"Oh? So ye're nae movin', are ye?" he drawled, his hands tightening on your hips as he began to thrust up into you once again. "Then what's that wee twitch ye just gave me?"

He could feel your pussy fluttering around his cock, clenching and unclenching rhythmically as if it had a mind of its own. His own hips jerked upwards involuntarily, driving himself deeper into your welcoming heat.

"I swear tae God, bonnie," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Ah'm nae gonnae last lang at this rate."

In a swift and ruthless motion, he swept everything off his desk. Pens and papers flew through the air like a whirlwind, ornaments crashed to the ground, and his work laptop teetered on the edge before plummeting to the floor.

As the last paper settled, Johnny roughly pushed you back onto his desk. Your body collided with the hard surface, sending a jolt of pain through your frame. You let out a whimper as he leaned over you, his eyes glinting with a mix of arousal and dominance.

Seeing the chaos around them, Johnny couldn't help but laugh. His laughter turned into a growl as he felt your body shudder under his touch. "Well now, dinnae say Ah didnae warn ye," *he said, his voice husky and low.* "Ah'm gonnae fuck ye senseless."

Without wasting any more time, he gripped your hips tightly and began to pound into you, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure coursing through his veins. His cock slid easily within your wet folds, filling you completely.

"Gonnae scream my name, ain't ye?" he taunted, his pace increasing.

The roughness of his touch sent shivers down your spine, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. Every single one of his thrusts elicited a loud moan from you, your body quivering underneath him.

"Y-yes!" You cried out, your voice echoing throughout the room. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you held onto him tightly. "I'm going to scream... I'm going to scream your name!"

Feeling your claws digging into his flesh only spurred him on further. Each thrust became harder, faster, more desperate.

"Ah ken ye will, bonnie," he groaned, his cock throbbing inside of you. "Ah kin hear ye pantin', see yer eyes glaze o'er. Ye loue it whin ah tak' ye lik' this, dinnae ye?"

His hands moved lower, gripping your ass firmly as he lifted you slightly towards him. The angle change allowed him to hit even deeper spots within your pussy, making your cries louder and more frantic.

Your body trembled violently beneath him, your pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, threatening to pull you under.

"Yes... Fuck... Johnny..." your words came out in broken gasps, your body arching off the desk. "I..... Fuck I do..." You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. The sensation of being filled so completely by him made stars dance behind your eyelids.

Hearing his name roll off your lips like a sacred mantra, Johnny felt a surge of possessiveness wash over him. He could tell you were close, your walls tightening around his cock.

"That's it, bonnie," he encouraged, his voice thick with lust. "Let go. Let me hear ye cum."

With renewed vigour, he slammed into you, his balls slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. The sound echoed through the room, mingling with your screams and the soft thud of things hitting the floor.

Your climax hit you like a freight train, ripping through your senses and leaving nothing but pure, raw pleasure in its wake. Your pussy spasmed around his cock.

"Johnny!" you screamed his name, your voice high-pitched and desperate. "Fuck! I'm...."

But the rest of your sentence got lost amidst the tidal wave of orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulsed uncontrollably, your inner walls pulsating around his cock.

The sensation of your pussy squeezing him tight was all it took to send Johnny over the edge. With a deep growl, he buried himself deep inside you as his own release ripped through him.

"Ahh fuck," he roared, his voice booming through the room.

His seed spilled into you, hot and heavy. He kept pounding into you relentlessly until both of your orgasms subsided, leaving them both breathless and spent.

Caught in the throes of passion, you lay sprawled across Johnny's office desk, your form still trembling from the ecstasy. Johnny leaned close, his forehead resting on yours. "Urr ye okay, bonnie?" he asked gently, his hand cupping your cheek to force you to meet his gaze.

Nodding, you struggled to speak, your body still wracked by the aftershocks of your orgasm. Johnny smiled, his rugged features softening. He pulled you into a tender kiss, his rough hands caressing your skin.

[pfhwrittes]

have a tradie!141 thing that i wrote straight into my tumblr drafts to feel a rush of adrenaline.

tags/warnings: brief allusions to past transphobia (non explicit), food mention, smoking.

pairing: none

characters: kyle "gaz" garrick, john "soap" mactavish, simon "ghost" riley, john price, transmasc!reader.

summary: you're the new guy on site figuring out where you fit with your new work crew Tradie Force 141.

--

"not to be rude, but aren't you a bit old to be an apprentice?"

it's a phrase that's haunted you for the last year on every job site you've ever been on with your previous company. you're aware that you're at least 10 years older than the other apprentices on site at the best of times but there's no easy way to explain why you're such a late bloomer. not that you'll be spilling your guts to any of the blokes you work with. you'd learned that lesson early on.

you won't lie, you're a bit disappointed that even after joining Tradie Force 141 you're still getting asked that question so you flash a tight smile at the handsome plasterer - kyle - and mutter something about being a late bloomer around the mouthful of sandwich you're eating on your break.

"sorry mate, i don't mean it like that. 's just usually our apprentices are a bit younger than you. proper wet behind the ears y'know? can't find the business end of a trowel and all that." kyle explains before taking a slurp out of his mug of tea.

"aye, they're deid keen an' aw. practically jizz their wee pants when they see their first wage packet." johnny adds with a chuckle from where he's sprawled on one of the three uncomfortable chairs around the tiny table. "i know i definitely did when i was 16."

"mate, you still do!" kyle laughs "oi! mind my tea!"

you shake your head as kyle nimbly dodges johnny's poorly thrown empty bottle saving his tea from spilling on the grimy lino of the portakabin price had designated as the break room for the site.

"i'm gonna go see what price wants." you say after you swallow your last bite and chuck your rubbish in the bin next to you.

"aye, nae bother."

"see you in a bit mate."

you step out of the relative cool of the cabin and you pull your hi-vis over your shoulders so you can quite literally follow your nose to search out either price or simon where you know they'll be smoking near the site manager's office.

"reckon the lad needs a proper nickname, ye ken?" you hear johnny say before the door swings shut behind you. you try ignore the way your stomach lurches as you recall some of the more awful nicknames you'd endured before joining this crew as you cross the flattened dirt to join the pair huddled around a sand filled bucket.

"olright?"

simon's the first to greet you as price has his mobile jammed up to his ear and he's scowling at whatever the poor sod at the end of the phone is saying.

you nod in greeting and price rolls his eyes and mouths "twat" before humming briefly to show he's still listening to his phone call. simon offers you his half smoked cigarette and you shake your head to decline.

"suit y'self." simon says with a shrug before taking a last drag and flicking the still lit cigarette into the bucket of butts. "gonna take a slash." he announces before wandering around the corner of the portakabin that houses price's office.

you fiddle on your phone watching kyle's new tiktok he posted on the Tradie Force account while you wait for price to wrap up his phone call. it takes a few minutes before price's voice interrupts your endless scrolling, who knew reading all the thirsty comments would be so entertaining.

"need something?" price asks around a cigarette, his shrewd blue gaze watching as you scuff the toe of your steel toes on the ground.

"just want to know where you want me next." you shrug casually making sure to shove your phone back in the pocket of your trousers.

"is that right?" price sounds amused and you enjoy the way his eyes crinkle briefly before his phone starts ringing again and he groans. "fucks sake. go find simon while i take this, there's a good lad."

you nod at him and tamp down on a grin as you hear him answer with an exasperated "what now?! can't a man have a fucking cigarette in peace?!" as you turn away to start hunting down the resident plumber.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

10 Weeks - Gaz x Reader - Bakery AU

content warnings - fluff

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The next two months go by fast, the only time it seems to slow down is when your packages arrive for him. Initially, he was able to keep his packages mostly to himself. Obviously Price knew as his CO and if Ghost knew, he didn’t say anything. No, the person Gaz was worried for was Soap who seemed to want to stick his hand into every pie.

But two months is a good track record but even Gaz knew he was bound to slip up. You hadn’t been lying about sending him his favorite candies, sometimes baked into the cookies and sometimes still in the packaging. Despite the staleness of the cookies and brownies, they were getting noticeably better and better. He was excited for this next batch, knowing it would be the last batch he would get before he returned home.

Your packages had been a godsend, he swears. Each cookie felt like he had been kissed by the goddess of healing, his stitches didn’t even hurt that badly after eating some of your goodies. But all things must come to an end, Gaz is walking back to his tent, package in hand when Soap jumps out. “Garrick! Whatcha got there?” He asks, his eyes focused on the package in Gaz’s hands.

”It’s not for you Soap.” Gaz says but Soap of course doesn’t listen. Soap circles him like a vulture and Gaz vaguely wonders if this is what those guys felt like when dealing with Soap. Gaz narrows his eyes at Soap who’s grin just grows.

”Ye got a package, is it from a bonnie lass?” Soap wiggles his eyebrows at Gaz and Gaz scoffs.

“It’s none of your business.”

”Aye, but I can make it my business.” Soap lunges for the box and Gaz yanks it out of reach just in time. “Oh come on Gaz! At least share with yer brothers in arms!”

“I don’t think sharing is in the hand book.” Gaz retorts, keeping the package close to him. Maybe he should have waited a little while longer before getting it, he really didn’t want to share anything. Your baked goods felt like his reward, a reason to keep going, which sounded ridiculous when he thought about it. But these were your gifts to him, things to keep him going and also for him to taste test.

”Aye, well I dinnae care.” Soap laughs and yanks the package from his hands.

“Oi! Soap give that back!”

”I just wanna see what yer gettin’.” Soap says as he whips out his knife and cuts open the package. “Oooh, yer gettin’ baked goods? And ye’ve not been sharin’?”

”They’re for me.” Gaz retorts and Soap shrugs, Gaz just exhales from his nose but lunges when he pulls out the letter you wrote for him.

”Wha’s this now?” Soap turns it over in his hand and Gaz barely misses it. “Careful.” Soap tuts, “Wouldnae want it tae rip.” He looks at the letter and mutters your name. “Well, Gaz why dinnae ye say ye’ve got a hen?” Gaz clenches his jaw and Soap gasps, “Nae. Ye havenae asked ‘er out yet? And she’s sendin’ ye goodies?”

Gaz looks around when people are glancing at the two of them and groans under his breath. “Shut your mouth Soap. I’ll share my brownies.”

”She’s sendin’-“

”Hush!”

[ghcstao3]

I dont know if you take requests but?? You had an alive riley family headcanon post with teeen joeseph and man i would really like to see more of that (bonus if theres ghostsoap during it)

i can definitely do that!! (and i also encourage you to check out this drabble from @snootlestheangel that was inspired by the original post. very wholesome stuff)

-

Simon often likes to wonder if Tommy thinks he’s funny for putting his little brother on babysitting duty.

Granted, it’s not exactly babysitting anymore—Joseph’s twelve, for Christ’s sake—but Simon has to know what exactly has Tommy snickering when he dumps the kid on his uncle’s doorstep for the weekend.

Because everything at least starts normal—they set up the extra bedroom, Joseph asks about Simon’s latest missions (all questions replied to with embellished half-truths or flat-out “classified”s, as per usual), they order in for dinner because he’s supposed to be the fun uncle as opposed to the one on Beth’s side of the family.

All of it starts normal. Which has Simon on edge, even if it’s only his pre-teen nephew at the centre of his worries.

It takes a few days before Simon figures it out.

And it’s all because he somehow ends up with his sergeant unexpectedly at his front door, because of course Johnny couldn’t be bothered to call ahead and check it wasn’t one of those rare times Simon was busy while on leave.

So here he is.

Anticipating disaster as Johnny introduces himself to Joseph—both having heard of the other, but no more than in vague statements and short stories and never enough to get a real first impression.

“I’m John,” the sergeant says, friendly enough, “I work with your uncle.”

“John?” To Joseph’s credit, he does sound in some genuine awe, as far as a twelve-year-old can manage. “Woah—like the captain?”

“Uh.” It’s the first time Simon has ever seen Johnny rendered speechless. “Not quite.”

Simon ruffles Joseph’s hair. “He’s not old enough, Jo.”

Joseph narrows his eyes at Johnny. Simon recognizes the cogs turning just too late and is entirely powerless to stop it.

“Well,” Joseph starts, “you look old enough.”

Ah.

“Joseph—“

Johnny snorts, though he does bristle almost imperceptibly—stands straighter, folds his arms over his chest. “‘S’fine, LT. I can take a joke.”

"Can you?" Joseph interjects. The way he tilts his head in that sort of smug way tells Simon exactly why Tommy had been so happy to rid of the kid for a few days.

He's finally reached that age, it would seem.

Johnny frowns down at the kid—though down may be an overstatement, as even at twelve Joseph has surely gotten the Riley height gene—almost with that same sort of analytic look to his face that he wears when disarming particularly complex bombs. Simon gets it; he's just as unequipped to deal with this.

"...I think I can," Johnny says slowly.

This reply appears satisfactory enough to Joseph, being that he nods and marches away to plant himself in front of Simon’s TV until he gets bored.

Because Lord knows Simon has things to discuss with Johnny.

Namely the smart-arse nephew he apparently has to apologize for.

“Right wanker you got on your hands,” Johnny remarks as soon as Joseph is out of earshot. “I’m nae even thirty. Old, my arse.”

“He’s usually well-behaved,” Simon mutters.

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “That so? ‘Cause I ken his uncle and I cannae say the same about him.”

Simon only rolls his eyes, then. Asks Johnny if he plans to stay for dinner because Simon doesn’t have enough ingredients for three, if so.

But it just continues, after that.

When Johnny manages to pull up a team photo because Uncle Simon doesn’t take photos, Simon is lovingly told that it doesn’t make sense anyone is scared of him because his mask looks like a last minute Halloween costume bought at Poundland the night of the 31st.

Then offhandedly Joseph is commenting that Johnny’s mohawk, mildly grown out and unruly as a cause of his own time off, makes him seem like a middle-aged dad trying to reminisce on his days in a failed, mediocre secondary school rock band as a way of mitigating his mid-life crisis.

The list goes on over the next day and a half, and while it’s never anything overly mean, it just… throws the two of them for a loop when this twelve-year-old is randomly insulting the most minute things in between normal conversation. Well-behaved conversation.

Johnny is long gone by the time Tommy returns to retrieve his son, but that doesn’t stop Joseph from blabbering about Uncle Simon’s friend, less-cool John—and isn’t it just so fun for Simon to have to explain his not-just-friendship, but-also-nothing-more relationship situation to his older brother—while also picking on his father’s outfit in the same breath.

The kid’s become an absolute menace.

Simon’s afraid for what thirteen might bring.

[queermentaldisaster]

“The Hunt Is My Muse”

Holy fucking shit y'all, it's been a while since I've updated this fic. Finally managed to finish this chapter, so here you go! I don't remember if there was a tag list or not so uh...woe be upon ye ig, lol. Enjoy!

“Thank you for letting us use your interrogation room, Alejandro.” Price thanked him, as Soap kept Graves moving forward, Ghost at his side, in panther form.

Graves stayed quiet, even as Alejandro shot him a glare, before speaking to Price. “It’s no problem. You all are a part of this force as far as we are concerned,” Alejandro said, with a soft smile. “Mi casa es tu casa. It means that my home is your home.”

Price smiled. “Gracias, Alejandro.”

Soap pushed Graves into the interrogation room, Ghost following behind. Graves went to the chair without a single fuss, sitting down and letting Soap restrain him. Soap’s eyes narrowed. ‘Suspicious.’ He thought, before grabbing Graves’ chin. “Where’s all yer fight, ye bawbag?” Soap demanded. Ghost tilted his head, watching Graves closely.

Graves looked Soap in the eyes, his face expressionless. He didn’t say a word, which only raised Soap’s suspicions. Ghost let out a low growl, stepping closer, his tail lashing. Price stepped in, crossing his arms. “What’s going on, Soap?” The older man asked, and Soap looked back at Price.

“He’s doin’ nothin’. Nae dout he’s up tae somethin’.” Soap spat, his eyes narrowed further. He let go of Graves’ chin, stepping back. Graves let his head hang low, visibly refusing to do anything but sit there. Ghost snarled, just as Gaz entered the room who let out a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring.

“Alright, everyone out, I need to work.” Gaz ordered, and Soap nodded, leaving with Ghost and Price.

•✧-----------------------------------✧•

Gaz came out about an hour later, sitting on the couch in the lounge, right next to Roach, who was rambling to Ghost and Soap. Soap looked up. “Any luck?” He asked.

Gaz shook his head. “Not exactly. He told me what we already knew, but nothing more.” He grumped, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Soap hummed, idly picking at a scab on his arm.

“Hm. He's bein’ too cooperative.” He muttered, mostly to himself as he stared into the distance. “I cannae tell if he's daft or suicidal.”

Ghost chuffed and put a paw on Soap's hand, drawing him back to reality. He looked down at the panther and used his free hand to scratch behind his ears. “Och, ah dinnae ken if it matters either. He's no’ goin’ free.”

Gaz hummed, tapping his fingers on the holster of his gun. “Not sure it's either of those.” He murmured, causing the others to look at him with confusion. Gaz shrugged, looking directly at Soap. “He mentioned something in passing as I was leaving. Something about how he just wanted to keep what he'd managed to build.”

Roach arched an eyebrow. “Shepherd threatened to destroy his life?” Gaz shrugged again and Ghost's ears flicked in irritation from the repeated tapping on the holster.

Soap slipped Gaz a pen to twirl as the other man began speaking. “Maybe. But I'm not so sure that it's that simple. I'ma talk to Price, see if he and Laswell can dig up Graves’ files. We're missing a piece here.”

Ghost growled, displeased with what Gaz was implying. Gaz looked at him with a sigh. “I know, you want him six feet under, but he could have extra information we need and I need to know where to push to get that information.”

Soap scratched Ghost's head, nodding at Gaz. “Aye, we can understand that. We're nae goin’ tae be happy about it though.”