#past roach x ghost

[roachs-pet-roach]

okay so i js had a thought while fighting w/ my hair to look presentable:

Roach has weird hair. It’s too straight to be considered curly but too curly to be considered straight.

He treats it as curly hair (putting the curly hair shit in it and such) b/c if he doesn’t it gets frizzy (it gets frizzy anyways but its worse)

but he HATES it. he can never get it to look good and it’s impossible to figure out what the hell to do with it most days. Bedhead is the worst for him

Ghost and Soap love it. It’s fluffy. Ghost loves to gently run his fingers through it while Soap likes to mess it up more.

Roach can’t stand when they call it cute but at the same time he likes it. He’s very conflicted on his hair.

[cherie-doll]

hear me out.. cod men with a loser male reader boyfriend.. like reader never goes outside, doesn’t do but sit and play video games for hours has poor social skills and probably smells bad but they still love him regardless.. totally nto self projecting!! hehe!!! >_<

i think you called everyone out w/ this one xd

( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

☆ Price doesn't understand what the term 'losercore' means and only describes you as a quiet man when asked about you. He may not be able to relate to you in that way a whole lot, but what he looks forward to when he comes back home is finding you there waiting for him. He knows you almost never leave the house which is sort of a comfort for him when all he wants to do is to hold you, and he's always certain you're there.

★ Ghost loves that you hate going out. He doesn't care if you believe you truly are a loser because you've just bought another video game after getting bored of all your other ones. You're his loser and that's all that matters. Honestly, between you and him, I don't think there would be a single word spoken throughout the entire day. You've been sitting in front of your pc all day and he's been switching between napping and going on his phone. Talk about spending quality time with your partner.

☆ Soap is the opposite of everything you are. He isn't quiet, at all, there is nothing subtle nor discreet about him. Yet, there was something about you that he found charming. Under that messy, unbrushed hair that covered tired eyes and dark eyebags, he was into that. Maybe it was your slow, deliberate manner of talking whenever you were forced to talk to people that had him hypnotized. Despite you being so tired from staying up all night trying to speedrun a game, your sleepy voice sounds oddly attractive to him.

★ Gaz is the pretty boy you've had your eyes on for a while. But how does a loser get their crush to notice them? You had resigned to just observing him, your heart beating softly within your chest whenever he walked by. Even though you were considered opposites in some ways, it's sort of what pulled him to you; like a magnet. It started out with small things, him gently tugging on your shirt, your eyes travelling down to where his fingers were pulling. What you weren't aware of, is that he was silently watching your reactions, his lips curling up in a smile.

☆ Roach understands the not wanting to socialize much part. He himself isn't the best with his social skills but didn't think he'd meet someone more introverted than himself until he saw you. When he noticed you, he knew right away you were someone he wanted to get close to, he just didn't know how. And with both of you being hesitant to approach others first, it took a lot of circling hoping the other would take the first bold step. Eventually, he just sent you a friend request online and that's how y'all started talking. Now, you two can just be in the same room together, not having to talk but instead slipping into a comfortable silence and enjoying one another's company.

★ Alejandro will always tease you a lot whenever you do decide to come out of your room. You always look so out of place stepping into the bright living room where he's drawn the curtains aside, opened the windows to let fresh air in and you're standing there in your pajamas, wet hair from having just taken a shower, blinking trying to get your eyes adjusted to the sudden change in lighting. You just came out of your cave because you recognized the smell of something good cooking in the kitchen.

☆ Rudy is lowkey down bad for you. Even you are confused as to how he's into someone who can't speak coherently when you really do want to respond back to him. If it weren't for him, every surface of your room would be filled to the brim with old cups and dishes with leftover food. And you don't know how to react to his affection or acts of love, you've never had anyone pining over you. Still, you have your own little ways of showing you love him even if you can't say it. Like burying your face into his neck when you feel bored, like you're sick of just sitting around, none of your comics are interesting but you're not desperate enough to go outside so you've only got your boyfriend to comfort you.

★ Phillip would LOVE someone he can provide for and do things for. So, you two are perfect for one another. He doesn't ever have to worry about keeping track of your location when you go out because you don't leave the house. Don't ever think of getting a job because he much rather prefers to find you home on his days off. The only thing he "struggles" with is when you act like your little games are a lot more interesting than him. He'll be asking you questions about your day and your answer are unintentionally dry and short, not because you're annoyed at him, you just don't have much to tell him.

☆ Makarov likes keeping you around like a cat; you do your own thing but will let him set you on his lap, pet your head while you're absorbed in gaming or watching something. If you ever try to stand up to get away from him so you can go back to your cave, he'll drag your ass back asking where you're going. He may critique the alarming number of hours you have logged on each of your games, you could have spent that time with him. Yes, he sulks over that, although he'd never admit the real reason why your pc sometimes won't run a new game you just bought knowing you're about to pull another all-nighter playing it when you could be cuddling up in bed with him.

★ Keegan can't stand to see you stay inside all the time. Sure, he's also a quiet guy but unlike you he can socialize when he needs to, it's just rare for him to do so. Sometimes, he'll forcibly take you out, there's not many places you're fond of going but he considers it a win if you sit contently through the car ride. Your only excitement is when another package you ordered arrives and you'll be inside for a minimum of two days enjoying that new thing you bought.

☆ König will listen to you go on and on all day about your hyperfixations and interests. Since you barely go out, you don't talk to many people, and the one person who listens to you has the unfortunate fate of having to sit down and just nod along even if he doesn't understand anything at all. That person is König. He's not the fondest of video games, not that he hates them, he just never got the hang of them and would much rather watch you play. He'll let you talk his ear off as you excitedly tell him about anything really.

★ Horangi likes being mean to you. He knows how much you HATE having the big light on in your room, because you only ever turn on your LED lights and it also messes you up when playing video games. The menace will walk in and stand ominously by the light switch until you notice and he flips the switch and you have to cover your eyes before you go blind. Other than that he loves spending time with you, will order delivery and sit with you to play video games or watch some series or movie you're both addicted to. He himself was a loser at some point so he still has loser tendencies.

☆ Nikto doesn't care much about what you do to occupy yourself when he's not around, but on days he is home, he prefers to pull you away from your video games and spend your day with him. You don't mind spending time with your boyfriend, but he's clingy... will watch and question everything you do when your attention isn't directed at him. Why do you keep sitting at your desk? What could be so interesting on that computer? You don't work... then why do you spend so much time on a silly video game as if it paid you? He'll sit next to you, staring at the screen as you play, not knowing what exactly he's looking at. But if it's interesting to you, then it should be to him as well.

[greeneyedsigma]

(Just Ghost being an asshole featuring fem! Roach)

“Look, I realize you hate me, but can you at least not ignore me when we’re working?” Her words were met with the same silence she’d been receiving for the last 6 hours. Really made a girl feel good.

She pulled back from her scope slightly and glanced at the hand cradling the forestock of her rifle. The ethereal red string wrapped around the ring finger of her left hand glowed faintly in the dim light, for her eyes only. She followed the winding and looping trail that it left in the air, as she had done countless times since the string had revealed itself.

The trail ended at the hand of the man currently intent on pretending she wasn’t lying prone five feet away from him.

Fate was an asshole.

The exact words she’d told Price when he’d asked her if she would be okay going on this mission.

Because Ghost hadn’t exactly hidden his disdain for Roach when the string had appeared. Impressive, really, how he managed to convey it, given that his mask seemed to be permanently fused to his face.

Fate was an asshole for tieing her to a man very much in love with someone else who was now dead.

Like, where do you even start with that scenario?

It was as if her life was being dictated by a sadistic fucking dungeon master, “Your soulmate hates you because the man he loved was just KIA’d a few months ago. Now he tries whatever he thinks may sever the bond. Roll for emotional damage.”

So yeah, Fate was an asshole.

[oaksgrove]

I wish I could share fanfiction with my mom because she doesn't drive anymore after being in a couple of terrible wrecks. And while my stepdad is great for her in so many ways, when he wants to be grumpy the only thing he can gripe about is her not driving.

I think a fic like your Passenger Princess blurbs would definitely soothe her soul a little bit.

❤️

Fear of Driving

Pairing: John Price x Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader, Gary “Roach” Sanderson x Reader, Nikolai Belinski x Reader.

Synopsis: After a traumatic car accident, driving has never been the same for you. You didn’t mean to talk about it, but they always find a way to make you feel safe enough to speak.

Warning: Themes of past trauma (car accident), anxiety/PTSD, emotional vulnerability, gentle comfort, implied romantic relationships, reader struggling with post-traumatic stress around driving, hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 2988

John Price:

The first time John noticed it, he didn’t say anything.

He just watched—subtle, careful—the way your fingers curled a little too tightly around the seatbelt buckle. How your eyes flicked to the side mirror twice in ten seconds. How your breath caught every time a car passed too close.

It was in the way your body didn’t relax into the passenger seat, like even being still was a strain. The engine was barely humming, but you sat as if it could roar out of your control at any moment.

He saw it. And he didn’t need to ask.

John had seen enough fear in his life to recognize it even when it wore silence like armor.

So he adjusted the route without a word.

No highways. No merges. No weaving between trucks or tailgaters or blinking turn signals. Just slow roads with tree-lined sidewalks and sleepy intersections. Places where the world didn’t feel like it was rushing to crush you.

You noticed it the second time he picked you up from your appointment. The soft hum of the engine, the left turn away from the on-ramp.

“No motorway?” you’d asked, voice careful.

John shook his head, eyes on the road. “Not today.”

You didn’t ask why. You just stared out the window as the city passed by slowly, rhythmically. Like it was finally okay to take a breath.

Every trip became a quiet routine. He’d unlock the door for you first, open it with that same old-school courtesy that used to make you laugh. You didn’t laugh now—but you did smile. Small. Grateful.

Before pulling out, he always turned slightly, hand resting on the steering wheel, the other finding yours.

“Alright, love?” he’d ask.

You’d nod. Every time. Sometimes with words, sometimes just a quick look that said I’m trying.

And John would squeeze your hand and drive like the world was made of porcelain. Like any sudden movement would break something sacred.

Because maybe it would.

It wasn’t until one rainy Thursday that you told him the story.

Not all of it—just enough.

The car was parked in front of the pharmacy, windshield wipers ticking quietly in the background. You were both sitting in the kind of silence that didn’t need filling, and you just… said it.

“I used to be able to drive,” you said. “Before.”

John didn’t move. Just listened. Steady. Present.

“There was an accident,” you continued, voice thin. “Not mine. But I was in the car. Someone else was driving. It… changed something. In my head. I just can’t do it anymore. Not even sit behind the wheel without… without feeling like it’s going to happen again.”

Your voice cracked. You didn’t mean for it to. But the pressure had built up in the silence between rides and road signs, and now it spilled out, hot and aching.

John didn’t reach for platitudes. He didn’t ask for more.

He just took your hand, gentle and slow.

“You’ve been through enough, love,” he said softly. “Let me take the wheel from now on, yeah?”

And just like that, it wasn’t a weakness. It wasn’t something broken.

It was a promise.

After that, things changed in small ways. He always asked before starting the car. You always nodded. You stopped flinching when another vehicle passed close. You even hummed along to the radio one day—barely audible, but there.

And at every red light, he’d reach over, hand settling on yours. A silent reminder.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, he’d shift into park, turn to you with a half-smile, and say it every time without fail:

“Thank you for trusting me.”

And sometimes, when the light hit just right and the air was soft with late evening stillness, he’d press a kiss to your temple and add quietly:

“You don’t need to be brave behind the wheel. You’re already the bravest person I know.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

It was a small thing, barely there. A flicker in your hands, an almost-step backward, the kind of pause no one else would notice.

But Simon noticed.

He always did.

You stood beside the passenger side of the car, keys already in his hand, the day cool and cloudy, the kind of afternoon that should’ve felt still and calm. But you weren’t calm.

You hadn’t driven since. Since that night. Since metal screamed and brakes failed and the world spun sideways on impact. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t your fault—it stuck in your chest all the same.

Now the memory lived in your muscles. In the sharp inhale when you reached for the door handle. In the way your feet stayed frozen on the pavement.

Simon didn’t ask.

He just stepped closer. Close enough that his presence wrapped around you like a shield. His hand, warm and steady, cupped the back of your neck.

“Don’t rush,” he murmured, voice low, calm. “You don’t have to get in, love. We can stay right here. We’ve got time.”

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until you exhaled against the collar of his jacket. The air smelled like gun oil and pine. Like him.

And just like that, the world slowed.

You got in—not because you had to, but because he was there.

Simon always drove.

He never said anything about it, never pushed the keys into your hands, never even hinted. Just adjusted the seat for you without a word and opened your door like it was routine. Like it was normal.

And when you flinched—because you always did, a little—at the quick stop at a yellow light or the sharp curve on the roundabout, he’d reach out without looking.

Just his pinky brushing yours on the center console. Barely a touch, but it worked. It always worked.

“I’ve got you,” he’d say, voice a soft rumble.

No questions. No reminders. No pressure.

Only that steady anchor of him.

At home, it was quieter.

You curled up on the couch in his hoodie—oversized, faded, soft with age and wear. The sleeves swallowed your hands. You didn’t bother fixing them.

Simon brought you tea, set it on the table beside you, and sat down with that careful heaviness that came after long days and longer years. He didn’t touch you right away—just looked.

When he did speak, it was barely louder than the ticking of the wall clock.

“You never have to explain,” he said, hand resting gently on your knee. “I just want you safe.”

That was it.

No digging into old wounds. No advice. Just him—quiet, constant, unshakable.

And maybe you never talked about the crash. Maybe you didn’t have to.

Because Simon already knew.

And he’d keep driving, forever if he had to—through rain, fog, traffic, fear.

He’d take the wheel.

So you could rest.

So you could breathe.

So you could heal.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

You didn’t think it would come up. Not really.

But something about the way Kyle drove—one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift like he wasn’t in a hurry for anything—made you feel… safe. Safe enough to talk.

It was late. The two of you had just left a movie, some indie thing he picked because he said you’d like the soundtrack (you did). The streets were quiet, empty enough to let your guard down. And when he asked—just casually, like he always did—if you were okay, the words came out before you had time to weigh them.

“I don’t like driving anymore,” you said softly, fingers curled in your lap. “Not after what happened.”

His eyes didn’t flick toward you, not right away. He gave you your space to speak, even as the silence stretched.

You told him everything. Not the dramatized version, not the one you shrink down when talking to others—just the truth.

The other car. The impact. The sound of metal crumpling and glass shattering and your own breath going missing. The way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking even hours later. The feeling of something inside you cracking.

Kyle didn’t interrupt. Not once.

By the time you’d finished, your voice had gone quiet, like the memory had drained it all out of you.

He was quiet too, a beat of stillness settling in the car as the red light bathed the dashboard in soft glow.

Then: “Damn,” he said, voice low and sincere, thumb brushing the back of your hand. “You didn’t deserve that.”

It wasn’t much. But it landed deep.

Since then, Kyle just… took over. Not like he was taking something from you. Just quietly adding comfort wherever he could.

He became the designated driver without needing a label.

He adjusted the seat heater to your perfect setting, kept a soft blanket folded neatly in the backseat—one you’d joked about stealing more than once. He even made a playlist just for nighttime drives. No lyrics, just warm instrumentals that felt like a balm for frayed nerves.

Before every trip, he glanced over, smile crooked. “Comfy?”

You’d nod.

“You sure?” he’d tease. “We can just sit here and vibe if you want.”

Sometimes you did just that. Just sat. Windows slightly cracked, cold air mixing with the low hum of music. He never pushed. Never expected anything from you.

He respected your boundaries without ever making them feel like walls.

And when he parked—every time—he’d turn to you, voice quiet but firm.

“You’re safe, alright?”

Then, with a warmth that never failed to reach right into your chest:

“With me, you always are.”

And the thing was…

You believed him.

With Kyle, you were safe.

And slowly—one drive at a time—you were learning how to feel it again.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

You hadn’t meant to tell him. Not then, not like that.

It had just slipped out, really—during a quiet evening when you were both sitting in his car outside your flat, takeout boxes on your laps, the smell of sweet and sour chicken fogging up the windows. You were watching the rain slide down the windshield in lazy streaks when your voice broke the silence.

“I don’t like driving anymore.”

Johnny didn’t laugh. Didn’t raise a brow or flash one of his usual smirks.

He blinked—once, then again. Then set his food down and turned toward you, serious in a way he rarely let show.

“Christ, bonnie,” he said, voice thick. He reached out and took your hand in both of his, thumbs warm and steady as they brushed over your knuckles. “That had to be awful. I’m so sorry.”

You told him the short version. You didn’t have to go into the details—he understood enough. The panic. The shaking. The constant hyperawareness of everything that could go wrong the moment you slid into a driver’s seat.

From that day on, Johnny made it his mission to never let you worry about it again.

He declared himself your “personal chauffeur,” complete with a dramatic Scottish accent (even thicker than usual) and an exaggerated bow every time he opened the car door for you.

“M’lady,” he’d grin, pulling the door wide with a flourish. “Your carriage awaits.”

Sometimes he even wore his aviators just to “look the part.”

And when you were in the car, he paid attention.

If he saw your shoulders creeping up toward your ears, if your hand gripped the seatbelt a little too tight, he’d flip the playlist to your favorites. He always remembered the ones that calmed you—soft acoustic melodies, the occasional ‘90s slow jam that made you snort through your nose.

He’d hum along, gently tapping the steering wheel in rhythm, voice low and reassuring.

“You alright, love?” he’d ask during longer drives. “Need a break? I saw a place with ice cream like two kilometers back.”

You never said no to ice cream.

And when the world felt too loud—horns and sudden stops, headlights too bright—he never made you feel weak for it. Never made you feel less.

“You never have to do anything that scares you,” he told you once, his hand warm against your thigh as he drove. “Not when I’m around.”

You believed him.

Because with Johnny behind the wheel, with his hand brushing yours over the console and your laughter echoing through the cab as he made another silly joke about being “the world’s most charming driver,” fear had a way of fading into the background.

With him, it didn’t feel like avoiding something anymore.

It just felt like trust.

And love, wrapped up in every turn he took.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson:

The first time you told Roach, your voice shook.

You hadn’t meant to cry, but the tears came anyway—quiet and hot, blurring your vision as you tried to explain. Tried to tell him why your fingers twitched near car doors. Why you took the long way on foot, even when it rained. Why you hesitated before getting in the passenger seat, like the ground might shift underneath you.

Roach didn’t say a word.

He just wrapped his arms around you—tight, steady, warm. The kind of hug that anchored you, made it feel like the world wasn’t tilting so violently anymore. You clung to him, shaking with the effort not to sob. He held you tighter.

After that, things changed. Gently. Quietly.

You never had to ask him for a ride.

He was just there. Always.

Groceries? His truck was already idling out front, a playlist of soft lo-fi humming through the speakers.

Coffee run? He showed up with your favorite drink in hand—extra foam, just how you liked it.

Rainy day? He brought a second jacket, even if he got soaked himself.

He didn’t make a show of it. Never tried to be your savior. He just… showed up. Over and over. Reliable as the sunrise.

When Roach drove, it was like watching the wind flow through tall grass. Every movement smooth, deliberate. Never jerky, never rushed. He kept both hands on the wheel, but his body was relaxed, eyes scanning the road with the kind of practiced ease that made you feel safer just sitting next to him.

And if you flinched—at a honk, a too-fast car, a memory you couldn’t quite stop—his hand would immediately reach across the console. Palm up, fingers slightly curled. An unspoken offering.

Sometimes, when it got too much—when your breathing hitched and your skin felt too tight—he’d pull over without a word.

No pressure.

No questions.

He’d sit there, engine off, letting the quiet fill the cab while your heartbeat slowed. He never stared. Never asked for explanations. Just offered his open hand and let you take it when you were ready.

And when the worst of it passed, and you looked at him with tear-wet eyes, whispering, “Thank you,” like it wasn’t enough

Roach would only smile, soft and sure.

“I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

And you believed him.

Because that hand was always open. Always waiting.

And with him, you never had to be brave alone.

Nikolai Belinski:

You hadn’t touched the driver’s seat since the accident.

It wasn’t just fear—it was the kind of dread that settled in your chest like lead. The thought of pressing your foot to the gas made your hands sweat. The hum of tires on pavement, once so normal, now sounded too loud. Too sharp. Like sirens.

You didn’t talk about it much. But you didn’t have to.

Nikolai noticed the way your breath caught when you walked past the car. The way your fingers trembled when you held the keys but never used them. The way your voice always got quieter when someone asked, “Why don’t you drive anymore?”

So he took the keys from your hand one day and said simply, “You don’t have to, milaya. Not anymore.”

And he meant it.

Every errand, every trip, every mundane drive across the city—he took care of it. No questions. No hesitation. He just showed up, always with a smile, sometimes with fresh pastries in a bag between the seats or your favorite song queued up.

“You want fresh air?” he’d ask. “Come. I drive. You don’t even have to wear shoes.”

When you hesitated—stood at the passenger side with that old panic flickering behind your eyes—he never rushed you. He only leaned against the car and waited, patient as always, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the roof.

“No pressure,” he’d murmur. “Only if you want, da?”

He drove slow. Not overly cautious, but steady. Calm. The kind of pace that said I see you. I’ve got you. You could relax into the seat, close your eyes if you needed to, and when you opened them again, his hand was always nearby. Resting on the console, pinky tilted just slightly toward you.

For you to reach for.

For grounding.

For comfort.

And sometimes, when the weight of it all got too heavy, he’d pull over. Park under a tree or beside a quiet road and let the silence stretch. Let you breathe. Let you fall apart if you needed.

Once, when your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, he reached over gently, cupped them in his warm, calloused palms, and kissed your knuckles.

“I know it scared you,” he said softly, in that low, rough voice of his. “But I will never let anything happen to you again. Not while I’m behind the wheel. Not while you are mine.”

You believed him. How could you not?

He treated you like something sacred. Like glass and fire all at once.

He never once made you feel weak. Never once made you feel guilty.

“You’re strong,” he said, forehead pressed to yours before one of those longer drives. “But even strong ones deserve to rest. Let me carry this, milaya. Let me carry you.”

And so you did.

Because with Nikolai, you didn’t have to be brave all the time.

You just had to say the word.

And he’d take care of the rest.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[lay-z]

I'm sorry, but this is so self-indulgent, it hurts. I've been thinking about it since it happened...So, here goes nothing. Also, this took a turn while I wrote it, because I have no control over myself and usually change plotlines mid-writing. MINORS, DNI - 18+ only !!! Pairing: f!reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish Warnings/Info: German reader 🇩🇪; trash talk; banter; cussing; Scottish slang (I feel like that should count as a warning...); German language; fuckbuddies to lovers; sexual tension; explicit smut; unprotected sex; some jealousy; dom!Soap; fluff

“Ach, ye gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, lass!" Soap scoffs loudly as soon as he sees you swagger in to the private 141 rec room inside the HQ with a smug smile on your lips and that popular pink football jersey of the German national team adorning your body. 

Soap is wearing his new cobalt blue Scotland jersey himself; fabric straining around his bulging biceps, stretching over his broad chest, and fitting snugly around his narrow waist like a second skin, because he's bought it a size too small on purpose.  

Captain Price and Gaz are both showing off their support and colours by wearing their white England jerseys, naturally, while Ghost doesn't seem to care much because 'our bloody team isn't playing tonight anyways'. Keegan is wearing a vintage looking Portugal jersey, because 'Cristiano is still the fucking goat', and Roach is just happy to be there, really. He's more into American football, but he doesn't dare to speak that thought out loud tonight. 

The atmosphere is light-hearted, riddled with boisterous laughter, crude banter and the smells of Price's cigar smoke, savoury snacks, hefty beer and hard liquor, while the group is gathered around the sofa in front of the large flat TV screen mounted on the wall, either sitting on its plush cushions or on one of the office chairs borrowed from one of the nearby meeting rooms.  

Tensions are high, especially between you and Soap as the group waits for the preliminary reporting and interviews to end and the match to finally begin. 

Germany vs. Scotland, the first opening match for this year's European Football Championship tournament. 

Soap chokes up during Scotland's national anthem, overwhelmed by the sheer pride his fellow countrymen display in the stadium in Munich, while you merely stand with your hand over your heart as the German national anthem is sung next – singing your own national anthem and showing any kind of patriotism for your country, always makes you feel weird somehow; many thanks to inherited generational shame.  

Still, you feel a tiny bit of pride as you witness your own compatriots sing the anthem just as noisily as the Scots. 

"That a rare smile I spy on yer lips, lassie?" Soap teases after the anthems are finished, nudging his elbow against your upper arm while he's holding a bottle of beer in his hand. He loves to tease you with stereotypes that don't even apply to you most times, but he does it, nonetheless.  

"Ye like how yer fellow Krauts have shown some pride in their country, eh?" He snickers, earning a sharp, scolding glare from Captain Price.  

"Careful, MacTavish," the Captain chides from his chair next to the couch, his voice muffled by the cigar he's currently chewing on, while the others chuckle and snort among each other, "Keep the bloody banter above the belt, son."  

However, you simply click your tongue and roll your eyes at him as Soap continues to grin at you. Both of you know that he doesn't mean any menace by it, and you've said way worse stuff to each other in the past anyway – all in the name of good-natured, friendly banter, of course. Besides, you live for the constant banter and bickering between you two. It's pretty much the main foundation of your friendship, and what inevitably lead to your affair.  

"Very proud of my Krauts, yeah," you retort eventually, completely unfazed by the "slur", poking his large biceps with your forefinger harshly as you shoot him a mock glare, "I'll be even prouder when our team has completely annihilated yours, Scotch." 

Soap's chest rumbles with a low grunt at your name calling, and he loves how you defy him easily, as he lets his dark blue eyes roam over your figure appreciatively. He notices how the fabric of your jersey clings to your upper body, accentuating your delicious curves and ample chest, and how the thin collar hugs your pretty neck, making him want to wrap his hand around your throat just like he did last night. 

Gaz chuckles at your comment and even Ghost snorts quietly behind his balaclava, while Soap narrows his eyes at you playfully, now towering as he takes one more step towards you; close enough for you to tilt your head back slightly to keep eye contact with him.  

Gods, you love how tall he is compared to you; how he could easily bend you to his will if he wanted to. 

Soap notices how your pupils dilate as you hold his gaze fiercely and he can already feel his blood heat up in his veins with excitement, rushing south. He clenches his jaw as you bat your eyelashes up at him with that bratty smirk of yours and his fingers tighten around the cold beer bottle in his hand, the other one stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, to keep himself from grabbing and bending you over the couch in front of everyone, including your superiors.  

The tension between you two is becoming more noticeable to everyone present now, all thick and palpable.  

"Is – is that behaviour considered normal for them?" Roach enquires in a hushed whisper as he leans in to speak to the other men, shoving another handful of salted and roasted peanuts into his mouth while his eyes flicker back and forth between you and Soap. He's more interested in whatever is going on between the two Sergeants than the goddamn soccer game on TV. 

Keegan simply nods with an affirming hum as he lifts the rim of his beer bottle to his lips, eyes glued to the TV, while Gaz answers verbally, also not taking his eyes off the screen. 

"Aye," the latter confirms, "Just ignore them, Sanderson. We don't interfere, unless they get physical. Right, Captain?" 

The older male nods firmly in return, his face a mask of seriousness as he watches the kick-off with intrigue, taking a slow sip of his glass of bourbon. 

"And even then, only if it's not sexual." Ghost adds gruffly, though one can practically hear that he's smirking beneath his mask. The Lieutenant has never said it out loud yet, but he is very much aware of the thing that has been going on between his Sergeant's for a while now.  

Soap manages to stay cocky after the first two goals for the German soccer team, despite his teammates and, especially, your teasing. The third one, a penalty goal, makes him break out in a sweat with both anger and devastation, all hope for a win now gone at once.  

The Germans don't stop there, though. 

You're tugging at Soap's arm, his jersey, jumping up and down like some excited bunny, laughing and cheering hysterically after having had a few drinks at this point, celebrating with the rest of the team, while the Scotsman looks on with a sour, stony expression.  

He doesn't even know when everyone else suddenly became a fan of the goddamn Germans, all he knows is that his team is losing, and he's currently outnumbered by impostors. Creepin' Jesus, even Roach is cheering for them! He should've known better than to watch the bloody game with you and the lads. 

"Aw, come on, Soapey!" You coo at him condescendingly, grinning widely as he crosses his arms in front of his chest with a huff, rolling his shoulders coolly as if he's not incredibly vexed, "Are you not enjoying the game, huh?" 

"Ach," he scoffs, shrugging off your hand from his shoulder like a petulant child, "Away an bile yer heid." 

"English, MacTavish!" Ghost scolds from his seat on the couch, having heard the insult despite the noise in the room, and you can see how badly Soap wants to flip the Lieutenant off.  

"Ah, ah, ah, Johnny," you butt in a with a smug tone to your voice, "Be nice now. Your boys can still win thi–" 

Your voice is cut off by loud cheering as Germany scores their fourth goal. 

"Fuckin' sore winner, hen," Soap grunts as he bullies his cock deeper into your quivering cunt; right up to the hilt, stretching your velvety walls and hitting your g-spot repeatedly while you're burying your face into the soft pillows on the mattress beneath you, muffling your desperate noises as you take his fat cock like the good little bonnie you usually are behind closed doors. 

In this position, he has the best view on your delicious curves and soft skin, now adorned with his deep blue Scotland jersey after he’d swiftly pulled the German one off you once you were in your bedroom; the fabric now rucked up to your shoulder blades, one hand of his fisting the stretchy fabric tightly to keep you exposed. 

"Teasin' me all fuckin’ night," he huffs through gritted teeth as his blunt nails dig into your skin, tightening his grip around the fat on your hips with his other hand, so you can't escape him, "Over some fuckin' football game." 

While Soap rolls and thrusts his hips in a steady, brutal rhythm, positioned between his spread knees behind you, you're grabbing fistfuls of your blanket as you moan and whimper helplessly, dampening the white sheets with your drool, taking everything he's giving you in retaliation to your bratty behaviour back at the rec room. 

Soap had immediately grabbed a tight hold of your wrist and pulled you out of the room, towards the 141 quarters, as soon as the final whistle had rung out, ending the match with a terrible loss for Scotland. He didn’t bear to stand a minute longer to listen to his and your teammates mockery, and he didn’t care about the confused looks everyone, except Ghost, were shooting you and him as you’d left together. 

He doesn’t care much anymore that Scotland lost to Germany – 5:1; it just so happens to be the perfect excuse to completely wreck you tonight, and Soap keeps telling himself that it’s not at all because he’s witnessed Keegan getting friendly with you over the past few times the team went out to the pub on base. You two might not be official, but you’re still his – and his only.

His friend, his fuckbuddy, his lover.

"You're jus'.... mad they– a-ah~" You slur, but your words are cut off by another pathetic moan that is ripped from your throat when Soap grabs you by the nape of your neck suddenly, like a dog would grab her puppies, squeezing your flesh and muscle with his calloused hand to keep you in place, then pulls his thick cock out up to its angry-red tip only to pound back into you with determined fervour to finally shut you up for good. 

No, Soap is not mad about the bloody game – he’s mad that you’d spent halftime sitting on Keegan’s lap like an obedient puppy when the latter had asked you to take a seat, because the chairs were taken and Ghost took up most space on the sofa – and Soap was too proud to tell you to sit on his lap instead.

The bed rocks and creaks under your combined weight, hitting the wall repeatedly with a very telling “thudthudthudthud–” for your surrounding neighbours, your teammates, while the warm glow of your bedside lamp casts a lewd shadow of your current activity on the white walls of your bedroom. Fuck, Soap hopes Keegan can hear you two going at it in his apartment.

“What was that, bonnie? Ye said sum’?” the Scotsman grits out mockingly, biting his lower lip, nostrils flaring with exerted breaths as he squeezes your neck tighter, forcing you to arch your back and your pretty ass up into him as he pounds into you; skin slapping skin as his balls tap against your clit with each deep and rapid thrust. 

Meanwhile, you don’t even register his teasing words anymore as you’re fully focused on the mind-blowing pleasure Soap is giving you; hard and dominating and the opposite of how the usually treats you during sex.  

Your eyes roll back, toes curling as the tension of your impending climax begins to build up, up, up then; heat blossoming in your lower abdomen as he keeps pushing you towards the edge with each delightful rock of his powerful hips and his girthy cock ramming into your sweet spot.  

However, Soap knows those sounds you’re making all too well already; the way you’re breathing pattern changes, the higher pitch of your wanton moans and sweet cries of pleasure, the way your walls begin to clench harder around his thick length, practically sucking him in deeper into your silky heat – he can read all the signs like the bloody morning paper, knows you’re about to cum on his dick... 

And despite his own pleasure licking and tingling at his lower spine, making his burly muscles tense and twitch and his balls tighten with the inevitable – he stops his movements at once, ruins both your orgasms, and pulls his throbbing cock from your soppy, warm cunt. Glancing down briefly, Soap sees his bare cock glistening with your slick, creamy arousal and his pearly pre-cum gathering at the base of his cock, and the sight makes him shudder and groan with excitement. 

He can’t have you cum like this tonight, though, fucking you doggy – Gods, no. Soap needs to watch you fall apart on his cock, needs to see your gorgeous features contort in pleasure and your reaction when he spills his thick load into you for the very first time without anything holding him back and separating him from you – knowing he’s the only one able to have you like this.

“Up,” he grunts out next, simultaneously pulling you upwards by your neck while he feels your rapidly fluttering pulse under his fingertips, until your back is flush with his sweat-slicked and bare, heaving chest while his rock hard cock rubs and pokes along your ass cheeks, “Gimme yer mouth.”  

Cranking your neck towards him obediently, Soap reaches out and cups the side of your jawline to angle your face to his liking, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss and swiftly plunging his hot tongue past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as you moan into his mouth while his other large hand snakes around your body, slipping beneath his jersey you’re wearing, cupping and groping your plump tits greedily, pinching your stiff nipples with the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Soap goes on to shift and manhandle you into a different position and you gladly let him. 

He pushes you down onto your back, smirking to himself when you spread your legs for him all too eagerly, making grabby hands with a frustrated pout to have him on top of you again – it’s adorable, really, and he appreciates the view of your pussy, all puffy and wet for him, before he nestles himself between your thighs – the place that has easily become his favourite over the past few months.

 “Yer such a brat,” Soap chuckles darkly as he grabs one of your legs by your calf to hike it up over his broad shoulder, then the other, before he spits into his palm and gives his cock a few good pumps with his fist, tapping and rubbing the swollen tip on your sensitive clit teasingly until you let out a needy whine, one hand of yours reaching up to hold on to the back of his neck, tugging at his short Mohawk.

You’re his brat, though. Emphasis on his.

“And you’re such an ass tonight, Johnny,” you mewl in return and suck in a breath when Soap aligns his thick tip with your slick hole, pushing in halfway with one languid thrust and leaving you both breathless again. 

“’m not an arse,” he objects with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watches you bite your lower lip raw to keep your lewd noises at bay, “Ye just have a way of drivin’ me doolally, hen.” He counters, and then leans in to crash your lips together once more, folding your legs up even further while his cock sinks into your cunt fully, followed by a guttural moan of his when he feels your walls clench and tighten around him, squeezing him until his muscles tremble with restraint.

He groans against your lips; the feeling of your throbbing heat and the taste of your soft tongue flicking and lapping against his is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. It’s almost like he can feel your heartbeat through your snug, perfect pussy, and it nearly drives him to the brink of madness each time you let him fuck you.

“You can’t say shit like doolally and not expect me to laugh,” you snicker softly, nipping at his lower lip as you lock eyes with him, batting your eyelashes, “Sounds fucking ridiculous.” 

Soap grins in return and continues his deep, deliberate thrusts into your delicious cunt. His heart always flutters giddily whenever you gaze into his eyes with that cheeky look of yours, especially when his cock is buried to the hilt inside you, stretching you out with every inch he has to offer.

“Say some in German then,” he croons lowly, nudging his nose below your chin to make you tilt your head up to give him better access to your neck before he begins peppering wet, hot kisses along your pulse point, sucking a purple love bite into your creamy skin to mark you up. “I wanna laugh, too,” he grumbles between nips and pecks. 

You click your tongue in mock annoyance, enjoying his ministrations and the way his beard tickles your skin too much to be mad at his teasing, and you tug on his short hair a little harder before raking your nails over his scalp until he purrs against your skin in pure bliss. Soap can feel how you swallow hard as he licks a long stripe from your collarbone up your throat, then your walls clench tightly around his cock and he grits his teeth as another pleasant shudder runs down his spine.  

“Say. Sum’. To. Me. Lass.” He demands, this time punctuating each word with a sudden deep and sharp rock of his hips that makes the bed’s headboard hit the wall again. 

Your eyes flutter shut with a breathy moan and your brain short-circuits while each of his thrusts makes a jolt of hot searing pleasure shoot right into your core, making your spine tingle and your body tense with bliss. 

“Ich liebe dich,” you blurt out unintentionally instead of an insult, your speech slurred and unintelligible as he presses his weight further into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs in this position. Your eyes widen as soon as you realize what you’ve just confessed and you pray he didn’t understand that. 

Soap doesn’t speak German, but those words do sound familiar. 

His stomach tightens, his heart skips a heavy beat while his mind begins to race, and his rhythm falters momentarily before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you fast, deep and thoroughly to drown out the sudden wave of foreign emotions on the brink of overwhelming him. 

“Again,” he demands against your ear, gripping your body tightly and keeping you in place on the mattress as he ruts into your cunt with newfound vigor and goad, his pelvis stimulating your clit with each sharp snap of his hips.

“Say –“ He gets a hold of your jaw, curling his large hand around it to make you look at him while he grits his teeth, huffing like some feral bull. “– that again.”

Reaching one hand out behind you, you brace your flat palm against the headboard while your other hand keeps holding on to the back of his neck, fingernails digging into thick muscle and skin as you cling onto him desperately.

“F-fuck, Johnny!” You cry out. “Ich liebe dich, du Vollidiot!” you repeat in between breathy, high-pitched moans, though more confident this time, before your eyes roll back in pleasure with another loud moan of his given name.

Soap can barely keep it together then. His heart nearly bursts out of his chest and his jaw clenches so hard, the veins in his neck start protruding and fluttering with his rapid pulse as he feels you come apart around his cock; your tight, soppy walls convulsing and clenching, pushing and coaxing him to his own sudden release.

And he lets go of your jaw, clutches the pillow next to your head tightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning and moaning shamelessly as his body seizes up, balls tightening almost painfully before he spends his thick cum into your perfect cunt.

You wince and exhale a hiss when Soap leans back to look at you and lowers your legs at last, letting you stretch out your sore muscles while he stays buried inside you, moving his hips almost lazily and caressing your burning leg muscles soothingly while both your bodies keep twitching and shaking with small aftershocks. You can feel his warm cum and your own wetness leaking and dripping down your ass crack, ruining your bed sheets below – and you remember that you did actually let him fuck you raw this time in a fit of frivolity.

Your blurry vision becomes clear again once you blink away the haziness and then you already feel Soap’s calloused fingers tracing your jawline, his deep blue eyes drinking in your gorgeous, flushed features almost reverently.

“What?” You ask defensively, looking up at his ruggedly handsome face, now squirming under his uncharacteristically tender gaze and the feeling of his softening cock still resting all snug inside your cunt, acting as if you haven’t just professed your love to him, after weeks of dancing around the topic.

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat after another beat of awkward silence as he can feel his cheeks begin to heat up with a burning blush,

“Ye cannae finally confess ye love me an’ not expect me ta combust, luv.”

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Evenfall

Imagine you wake up in Twilight as a random side character. (Part 5)

Nullification!reader Human reader! Fem reader! SideCharacter Bella! Isekai au! Edward Cullen X reader. Eventually Jacob Black x reader. (2 endings.) (All characters will be written less creepy and one dimensional than the ones in the books.)

Previous - Next

Edwards eyes were glinting again with the emotion that Y/N still could not place.

'What?' Y/N asked, rolling onto her stomach, head resting on her arms.

'Nothing. It's just nice to finally feel the sun again.' Edward smiled, closing his eyes and laying on his back, breathing deeply.

Was there something on her lips? Why was he touching them? Y/N lifted her hand to brush over her lips.

‘Was there something on my face?’ Y/N asked, sitting up. ‘If you say there's a bug I will scream.’

‘No, just some grass, it's gone now.’ Edward lied smoothly. He looked a mixture of frustrated and amused. Where else would he find such an oblivious girl who was adamant on not seeing how much he liked her? It was as if she couldn’t see herself at all.

He stood up, offering a hand. Y/N let herself be pulled up, grasping his marble hands. He looked rueful, dropping her hand as soon as Y/N stood up.

‘How can you not be afraid?’ He let out a growl, dashing past Y/N before her eyes could focus on his form. He was now standing ten metres away, eyes boring into her from just beyond the thicket.

Was Edward having his emo moment? 

‘You can't run from us.’ He said, suddenly In front of her again, impossibly fast.

‘You can't scream or-’

‘Look, you’re not a spider, or a roach.' She rolled her eyes, interrupting.

'The only thing scary about you is the fact that you mood swing so hard.’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, her tone final.

‘I get that you think you're the world's best predator, but so are humans.’ Y/N pointed at him, as if scolding. ‘You may be dangerous, but so is every human being, plant or animal. You may be a vampire Edward but you nor your family scare me.’ She jabbed at him with her finger.

‘Hell, not even ghosts scare me.’ She threw up her hands in frustration. ‘If you wanted me dead, I would have been the day that van skidded.’  

‘But I-’

‘Edward, you’re a good person and I’m betting you’re also a good friend.’ She shook her head emphatically. 

‘I am not scared of you more than I am scared of every other man nor do I think you’re an angel. You may be a vampire but that is you physically. Everything else about you is still human.’ Y/N rubbed her hands on temples, looking down and continuing.

‘Your emotions, your moral compass and your brain is still human Edward.’ She ended, hands on her hips looking as imposing as she could.

‘I don't think I've been scolded by anyone since….’ He trailed off. ‘I don't even think Carlisle has scolded me.’ He let out a small laugh, disbelief evident in his eyes. In the books, Y/N was pretty sure Carslie let Edward runoff during the mid 19th century so she wasn’t surprised.

‘You really are something.’ He murmured, placing a hand on her arm, willing her to drop her stance. ‘I’ll try not to be so self deprecating.’ 

Y/N looked at him and sighed. ‘Old habits die hard right?’ She relaxed her arms and shrugged, allowing him to coax her from her temper.

‘Eighty year old habits.’ Edward grinned, looking slightly self-conscious. It seemed as if time did little to expand a vampire's emotional maturity.

It made sense seeing as the immortal children were also stuck at a child’s mentality.

‘Yeah I don’t think you've aged mentally since, to be honest.’ She smirked, then added, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken. Although I would like to add that I do have two graduate degrees in Medicine.’ He crossed his arms, his face reminded her of a puppy, waiting for a treat. It was so unfair how Edward’s face was able to dazzle her so easily. Who in the world was Stephanie Meyer thinking of when she wrote this damn book?

‘Huh, you can study all day for twenty four hours. I guess it makes sense. One could say you had a slight advantage…’ Y/N cheeked, to which Edward playfully hummed. He jokingly took a step forward, his hands poised.

‘Why you cheeky little..’ He sneaked forward as Y/N stepped backwards with an impish smile.

‘Shouldn’t I get a headstart?’ 

‘I would, but if I'm being honest. I'm afraid you'll get lost or trip over something…’ With that he blurred to Y/N’s side, gently snatching her up by the waist and spinning her around.

‘So I think I'm going to just keep you right here with me.’ He flashed a grin, his teeth sparkling in the sunlight. 

‘Honestly if you glittered the same way in the moonlight, I could use you as a torch.’ Y/N blinked, she poked his forehead with a finger, awkwardly dangling from his gentle hold.

‘Wow, you are exceptional.’ Edward closed his eyes, breathing in deeply with a wistful smile.

Y/n was miffed, ‘Whadd’ya mean?’ She mumbled, as Edward set her down, kneeling on the ground.

‘Get on, we’re going home.’

‘It’s like five o'clock.’ Y/N protested, nudging Edward over with her foot to which he chuckled, playing along.

‘You need dinner. We’re going home so I can drive us.’ 

‘Can’t I have more pasta?’ Y/N mumbled, climbing back onto Edward’s back, hands around his neck, brushing her thumbs over his cool skin. Edward hummed pleasantly as Y/N mushed her warm cheek into his back. 

‘Hmm, I could have that arranged.’ He said, shifting her weight. ‘Close your eyes.’ 

The trip back lasted less than ten seconds. They reached the familiar window, landing on it as Y/N flitted her eyelids open. The sun was beginning to set, casting a breathtaking orange glow across the horizon.

‘They made pasta without us even asking.’ Edward gave a light chuckle, setting Y/N down smoothly. 

‘I love your family. Can I marry them?’ Y/N joked, skipping through the door, next to Edward as he led them to the kitchen.

‘No one but me is single in my family.’ He smirked, looking down at her, ‘You’d be marrying me.’ 

‘Hm, I’d have to think about that.’ Y/N mused, putting her chin between her thumb and index finger. ‘You do have all the qualities that matter in this day and age.’ 

‘What’s that?’

‘Money, good looks and youth.’

‘I’m glad to know you think I’m good looking.’

‘What am I? Blind?’ Y/N laughed, reaching the kitchen, smelling the same delicious scent as this morning.

‘Welcome back!’ Alice called from the table.

The Cullen's were all sitting around the dining table, behind the kitchen island. On the marble white table was a single plate of spaghetti with a set of utensils.

‘Is that for me?’ Y/N smiled gleefully, keenly looking at the plate.

‘Of course,’ Rosalie answered, pulling out a chair. ‘Come sit.’ 

‘So, has Edward told you everything?’ Carlisle smiled, both his elbows on the table, his hands clasped. Y/N picked up her fork and replied,

‘Well, mainly everything but…’ Y/N brought the food to her mouth and chewed. 

‘I told her everything she asked.’ Edward frowned

‘Well, one thing I want to know more about is why he says that he can’t stand to be near or away from me.’ Y/N said, after swallowing her mouthful of food.

‘Well, you’re what we would call, his blood singer.’ Carlisle began explaining. ‘Your blood entices him more than any other, your scent is the most appealing to him in any situation.’

‘So, what I’m like a drug to him?’ Y/N blinked, twirling her pasta with her fork.

‘Yes, you’re like my personal brand of cocaine.’ Edward answered, resting his elbow on the table, head resting on his closed fist.

‘That’s… interesting?’ Y/N looked disgruntled, continuing to eat her food.

The conversation took a lull, the Cullens deciding to discuss their plans for an upcoming hunting trip. Meaning that the sun would be out soon.

As soon as Y/N had finished her plate, she spoke up,

‘Just one last thing… If there are vampires, do werewolves exist? ’ Y/N raised her eyebrows quizzically, standing to put her plate in the sink.

‘I’m afraid that's something you’ll have to ask the people you’re thinking about.’ Carlisle said in a grim tone. His perfect statue face, carved in an ironic, stony expression. It seemed as if he already knew where she was going with that question.

‘Okay, thank you Dr Cullen.’ Y/N nodded, as Edward moved to take her plate to the sink, slipping it from her grip.

‘Carlisle is fine. We aren’t at the hospital. Besides, I think we’re past the point of titles don’t you think?’ He smiled, standing from the table. ‘I assume Edward will be driving you home?’ 

‘Yes sir!’ Y/N nodded, before correcting herself. ‘I mean, Yes Dr- I mean, yes Carlisle.’ She fumbled, wringing her hands nervously.

The Cullen family were getting too friendly. What was Y/N going to do when they met Bella? She was the main character after all. And what was she supposed to do about Jacob? He had to imprint on Bella and Edward’s daughter, that was his story line wasn’t it?

As Y/N spiraled in her head. The rest of the family chuckled, saying their goodbyes as they one by one stepped out of the room.

‘I haven’t said this in almost a century but, a penny for your thoughts?’ Edward smiled gently, leading her by the waist.

‘Just thinking about what will happen to me when you eventually get sick of me.’ Y/N word vomited, looking at Edward in a slight panic.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Edward frowned, eyebrows furrowed, looking mildly disturbed.

‘Well, won't the novelty of you not being able to read my mind wear off at some point?’ Y/N shook her head, picking at skin on her hands. 

‘I’m sorry but even if I can't hear your mind, your facial expressions speak louder than words.’ Edward’s marble hands closed over Y/N’s fidgeting ones.

‘You speak without words sometimes, I like that you're so open.’ He whispered, his golden eyes were glittering, lit up by the lamps inside the corridor.

‘So you’ll still be my friend if I'm not the only one you can't hear?’ Y/N stared at her covered hands. Edward’s skin was freezing but comforting all the same.

‘Also, do you guys need lights? Don't you guys have night vision?’ She looked up abruptly while Edward in turn, stared at her incredulously.

‘Where on earth does your mind go in between thinking I'm going to abandon you and asking me questions I’m not expecting?’ 

‘I think about getting a dog too sometimes.’

‘Hm, I’m not too fond of dogs myself.’ Edward grimaced, looking as if he knew something she didn’t. The family called out their goodbyes from their rooms as Y/N walked by.

‘Why? Puppies are cute and they love you so much! Y’know beside the fact that they kinda stink and you have to clean up their poop.’ Y/N hummed, pulling her shoes on and tying up the laces.

‘Well, we can get one someday if you’d like.’ Edward smiled, offering his hand again to lead her to the car.

‘Huh? What am I? Gonna marry you?’ Y/N teased. ‘Planning our future already? You haven’t even taken me on a date yet!’

‘I just took you to meet my family. What do you think that was?’ Edward gave a humoured laugh guiding Y/N into her seat.

‘Huh?’ Y/N blanched, eyes bug-wide and mouth open in complete confusion.

‘You couldn’t tell?’ He chuckled, gazing at the shell shocked girl with affection. Edward was leaning over Y/N, his arm bracing his form on the open car door.

Y/N shook her head, mouth snapping shut.

‘I can slow down if you’d like.’ Edward grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges warmly.

‘Huh?!’ Y/N was not processing this at all.

‘But I have no intention of stopping unless you explicitly tell me to.’ Edward gently closed the car door and blurred over to the opposite side, opening the door and sliding in perfectly.

Y/N stared at Edward, unable to comprehend the current conversation.

‘You like me?’ She asked for the third time, not believing her ears.

However, to Edwards credit. He took the questions all in stride as a true gentleman.

‘Why me?’ She asked the first new question in five minutes.

‘You’re kind, you’re emotionally mature and you’re not easily shaken. Not only that, you make it so that I don't hate myself.’ Edward shrugged, one hand on the wheel, his head resting on the other hand curled into a fist. He was doing very little to hide the smile on his face.

‘We’ve only known each other since Friday! ’

‘That is true.’ He hummed, shifting his gaze onto her with a tender smile. ‘But I can’t exactly help it. Once one of our kind forms an attachment to someone, it only snowballs from there really.’ His smile turned apologetic.

‘Does it have something to do with having a perfect memory?’ Y/N asked, suddenly interested in this new information.

‘Something like that.’ Edward looked back toward the road. ‘For example, this afternoon, i will remember for the rest of my life. From the way your voice blended perfectly with the forest birds. To the way your eyes were illuminated by the setting sun.’  

Edward gave a content sigh before turning the car to park in front of Charlie’s driveway.

‘Even if I wanted to forget, I don’t think I could forget that.’ He closed his eyes, breathing deeply for a second before opening his eyes again.

‘How are you single?’ Y/N gave him a dubious look to which he snorted.

‘I’m actively trying to change that status with you right now.’ He opened the drivers-sided car door and whisked over to Y/N in a flash.

‘Edward…’ Y/N sighed, as the boy opened her door and held out his hand.

‘I didn’t tell you to pressure you Y/N.’ Edward hummed, leading her toward the front door.

‘I did it so you know I’m not going to randomly abandon you as you so fear. I hate that you think I'm so fickle. That is something I'll have to work on.' He gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead, giving her ample time to pull away. Time that Y/N did not take. Edward’s lips were cold and smooth on her skin, like nothing she had ever felt before.

Before she could speak, the front door was flung open by a disgruntled Charlie.

‘Seven Thirty on the dot huh.’ Charlie's eyebrow lifted into a perfect arch.

‘Yes Chief Swan.’ Edward gave him a polite smile, squeezing Y/N’s hand gently before relinquishing her. ‘I’ll see you soon Y/N’ He gave her an implicit look, glancing at her room for a second.

Luckily for him, it was a gaze that Charlie had missed. Instead, he was checking Y/N for any signs of possible harm before ushering her back inside, almost not letting her wave goodbye to Edward.

‘How was it? Did the boy treat you well?’ Charlie spitfired questions as Y/N shrugged off her jacket.

‘He was a gentleman! His family was very gracious and we had pasta for dinner.’ Y/N laughed, amused by the fatherly instincts that were currently on display.

‘Enough about me, is Bella here?’ Y/N peered into the kitchen, spotting an empty table and chair.

‘She went upstairs, said she wanted to unpack after dinner. I could knock on her door?’ Charlie looked unsure of what to do. He wanted both the girls to get along but he wasn't sure how.

‘It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll say hello in the morning!’ Y/N gave Charlie a reassuring pat on the back before moving to go upstairs. 

‘I’ll see you in the morning?’ She smiled.

‘Yeah sounds like a plan, Goodnight kiddo.’

‘G’night Uncle Charlie.’ Y/N called out, trekking her way up the stairs.

Y/N glanced at the door on the far end of the hallway before shaking her head and opening her own door.

‘What is that smell?’ a voice whispered, starling Y/N.

‘What the-’

‘I did say see you soon.’ The musical voice replied cheekily.

‘Seriously though, your house smells like rotten fruit and white chocolate. I hate white chocolate.’ Edward growled, grabbing a pillow and nuzzling his face into it. Y/N took note of how he relaxed when he seemingly inhaled into the pillow.

‘Are you sniffing my pillow…’

‘I CAN’T HELP IT! YOUR HOUSE SMELLS TERRIBLE!’ He whisper-yelled in a whiny voice.

‘I think you might be smelling Charlie's daughter, Bella Swan…’

‘Seven hells she stinks.’ Edward groaned, unhanding the pillow and pulling Y/N's arm, allowing her to fall onto his lap. He nudged his cold nose into her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

‘Just for a second, please. Need to clear my nose.’ He huffed, his nose barely grazing the nape of her neck.

‘This seems normal for teenagers.’ Y/N mumbled, her cheeks feeling hot. ‘Also are you sitting on my bed with outside clothes? Her voice took on a stern tone.

‘Mm I’ll change your sheets for you.’ Edward’s eyes fluttered open, his eyelashes ticking Y/N’s skin. ‘Are they in that closet?’ He jutted out his thumb.

‘Uh huh. I’m gonna change. If you peek I will scream and Charlie will shoot you. You won’t die but it’ll hurt.’ Y/N pointed, before grabbing some clothing from the opened closet and walking into the bathroom.

‘Feisty one aren’t ya?’ Edward snickered, pulling off her covers and starting to swap out her sheets.

-

It was now nine and Y/N had settled into her sheets, allowing Edward to slide in with her. He had gone home and changed his clothing in about ten seconds.

Unbeknownst to Y/N he had literally torn off his shirt in such a hurry.

She was leaning into his side, his arm resting on her bed frame.

‘You’re not going to watch me sleep are you?’ Y/N wrinkled her nose.

‘No, I would never do that without your permission.’ Edward shook his head, his tone insistent. ‘I only came up here because I wanted to wish you goodnight before tomorrow.’ He sat up straighter, looking panicked.

‘I was joking.’ Y/N laughed quietly, nudging him with her elbow. ‘Now go home so your family doesn’t think I put out on the first date.’

‘They wouldn’t think that. They adore you, Alice and Rosalie especially. Rosalie thinks you’re cute and Alice wants to take you shopping.’ Edward sighed, slipping off her bed and straightening up his clothes.

‘Huh, I knew i should’a dressed better…’ Y/N frowned, looking back at her closet.

‘You would look great in a trash bag.’

‘Why the flying fuck would I be wearing a trash bag.’

‘Good point.’ Edward smiled.

‘Until good morrow my dear kind sir.’

‘I bid thee a fine farewell fair lady.’ Edward gave a small bow, hand over his heart, eyes lowered.

‘Close the window on your way out Edward.’ Y/N rolled her eyes, sliding back into her bed.

‘Sweet dreams Y/N/N.’ He winked, sliding smoothly out of her window and shutting it quietly. With a final wave, Edward dropped with a soft almost unnoticeable whump leaving Y/N alone in her room.

‘What a day.’ Y/N mumbled, turning off her lamp.

EDIT-

OK SO IDK I kind of want to write out Bella, I think as a character she isn't quite as developed (Stephanie Meyer kind of self inserted so.... She's pretty one dimensional making it kind of hard to write unless I make her my own character.) So lmk what you think? Sorry it took so long! I'm going to the doctors today so I thought i might as well show you guys what I have for chapter five! Follow the post if you want to see the updates! (you can unfollow after I've updated! Tag lists are beyond me-) (p.s if you comment I'll probably @ you when I've updated!)

[omegapropaganda]

🔥🍯🔥

Burnt Honey ch. 9

poly141 x M!Omega!Reader

omegaverse

"You have been a member of Shadow Company and Phillip Graves' omega for years suffering at his hand until you meet the members of Task Force 141. They help you learn to love again while you help them destroy Shadow Company from the bottom up."

John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Reader, John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson (past), Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader (toxic), Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas

be very aware of the tags and read them thoroughly. Major trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of male on male non-con/rape, manipulation, degradation (not the fun kind), and general abusive toxic sexual relations. These are not romanticized and very much harm Reader.

please take care of yourself if you are sensitive to these issues and still decide to proceed with reading this fic. I will not be held responsible for your actions after you read these warnings, okay?

[ghostmoon1]

I FORGET TO REQ THIS--

Ghost and/or Roach x Reader where the reader paints on their skin please,?

-spidey anon,

Heh welcome back!! And ofc my lovely anon <3 I did try with this one but it's not my best ngl-

Ghost x Reader - Painting their skin

The house was mostly silent except for the soft music from your room, playing over your speaker. Your soft humming that followed caused a small smile to spread over his lips, just enjoying the fact he was in the same house as you. He busied himself with fixing up the mess after dinner. You had cooked for them, but he felt obliged to clean up. It was only fair.

Once he finishes, with water over the front of his shirt and slightly soggy sleeves he steps back to join you in your room, pausing in the doorway as he watches your figure. Slightly hunched over, hair falling around your shoulders and your arm moving as you paint, focused on every brushstroke.

He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a lovely feeling to watch you like this. It was so calm and domestic compared to everything else he had witnessed throughout his life. It just felt right—like he was meant to be here.

He went further into the room, watching your eyes light up as you noticed him. You were quick to turn around, setting the paintbrush down and grabbing another chair for him. He happily took his place on the chair, his eyes trailing over your painting. The whirl of colours, all come together with intricate brushstrokes to create a beautiful scene. He admired it for a moment before you interrupted him.

“What do you think? I’ve been working on it for the past week,” you explain as you pick the paintbrush back up, adding a few more strokes.

“It’s wonderful, love. You’re so talented,” he murmurs, watching in awe as you continue to paint.

His compliment makes you grin, your eyes wrinkling at the edges. He watches for a few moments before you sigh, leaning back in the chair. “I need to paint something else. This is getting too repetitive.”

He pauses, unsure of what to say or do to help. Your brows furrow, making him curious. You were thinking, he watched in silence and curiosity as the gears in your head spun and clicked into place. When the grin appears on your face he knew he was in for trouble.

“What is it, love?”

“Can I have your arm?”

He stares at you blankly for a moment, trying to figure out what you were trying to do, and what you wanted with his arm. “Why…?” he mutters warily, trying to watch your intention. His eyes flicked from your eyes to lips.

“Just please! I have an idea,” you plead, reaching out for his arm. He jerks back but then sees the disappointment in your features.

“Fine, just nothing stupid, yeah?”

He moves his arm up onto the desk for you, watching your eyes light up. Your fingers were gentle on his skin, moving him into place for both of your comforts as your other hand reached for the paint brushes again. He shivers softly as the cool paint touches his skin, colour blooming across his skin as you start to paint, pouring all of your concentration into the act.

He watched in silence as you painted on his arm, watching the scene appear slowly. He let himself relax back in the chair, letting the soothing coolness of the paint relax him, then the slight cracking as it dried.

He didn’t admit it, but watching you paint on him made his chest fill with warmth. He felt safe, and he wanted nothing more but to always protect and look after you.

Roach x Reader - Painting their skin

“Baby!!”

Roach freezes in the kitchen as he hears you calling for him, his hand hovering above the pot with the spoon still firmly in his grasp. He knows you often called him for silly things, but his heart always lept a bit in his chest when you called, unsure if he had accidentally done something wrong. Maybe he promised to clean the bathroom but forgot.

“Yes, love?” he calls back, standing still as he waits for your response. 

“Baby, can you come here!?”

He smiles softly, calling back his reply before turning the stove off and returning to the bedroom. He peeks his head past the door, watching you on the bed. Paint tubes are scattered about; you are organising them back into their box. Once he notices your expression, he shakes his head and chuckles, knowing exactly what your ideas are.

“Gary! C’mon, I want your help with something.”

He nods, moving onto the bed with you, moving some of the paint tubes to the side so he wouldn't sit on them. Once he settles down, he turns to face you, studying your features closely. “So… what did you want me for?”

“Okay. I had an idea, and it sounds fun, and I just really want to do it,” you partly explain, still leaving a fair bit up to his imagination. You grab some paintbrushes, setting them out in order from smallest to biggest in front of you both. 

“That… doesn’t explain much, love,” he chuckles softly, leaning back.

“I’m not finished explaining yet! You see, I got the paints out to do something I’ve seen online. See, look here,” you quickly grab your phone out, type a few things, then scroll down until you find what you are looking for. “This here!”

He leans over to look at your phone, a small smile appearing on his lips as he figures out what you want to do. “You want to paint on my back?”

You nod happily, already grabbing the paint and the palette to get started. He sighs softly, knowing he won’t be able to get out of this even if he tries. So, instead of trying to fight a battle he wouldn’t win, he takes off his shirt in surrender, letting it fall to the ground. “Alright, where do you want me?”

“On the bed!” you reply happily, already putting different colours onto the palette. With an exaggerated grunt, he flops down onto the bed on his stomach, letting out a long sigh.

“Alright, love. Don’t make a mess on the sheets, you know what happened last time.”

He smiles softly as he listens to your giggling as you move to straddle his thighs, getting into the perfect position to paint on him comfortably. His body slowly relaxes until the coolness of the pain touches his back unexpectedly “Bloody hell, that’s cold,” he hisses, tensing slightly before relaxing again.

“Sorry!”

He smiles are your hurried apology, reaching back and patting your thigh, then moving slightly to get comfortable and allow you to paint. His body slowly gets used to the cool paint being dragged across his skin, it almost becomes relaxed. His heartbeat slows as he lets himself just feel and breathe. Eyes fluttering shut, slowly falling asleep.

Before he even knew it, you were giggling and moving off of him onto the bed next to him. “Wake up, sleepy! I’m done.”

He let out a soft groan, pushing himself up with tired arms. “Done, baby, are ya?” he murmured, his voice laced with sleep. As he sits up, he catches a glimpse of his back in the mirror. He chuckles softly, taking in the bright colours and how harmonised they were. He grins, his smile matching your own. 

He flexes, admiring your small giggle. “Thanks love… I love it.”

[luci4theminorannoyance]

Hi! may I request something? the residential masked fellas (Ghost, Konig, Keegan, & Roach), x therapist!reader, who's a billionaire? (shocking part, the billionaire part was not mentioned by our reader) I imagine reader spoiling their s/o with gifts & affectionate stuff they deserve, while helping them get a sense of theirselves or something like that 😭 (most of the cod characters need therapy, to be honest) BUT- they start to suspect how on earth did reader get all of the stuff? cause i'm sure reader gifted them the expensive kind- but anyways, reader just casually just says their a billionaire, like it's normal- how would they react to this?

Please take care of yourself & stay safe !! 💖

a/n: you take care too!!! Sorry to all my followers for not posting in forever 😔 I had family stuff going on, and I’m a bit burnt out so I couldn’t come up with story plots for some of the characters

konig:

-konig is a well off man to begin with, but doesn’t use much of the money he earns with his impressive title as he has little idea what to actually buy when it comes to things being worthwhile, and hence since you give him so many gifts, his house is mostly filled with gifts then actual things he bought

-always took the gifts at face value and adored the thought put into them and never really thought to think of how much money you must spend

-eventually though, one of his few off duty friends asked why he had such high class things in his house as they pointed out gifts you had simply given him and he started to get quite curious himself

-called you up one night to ask, waking you up as he asked a simple “uh- maus? You know the mixer you got me last week when I said I wanted to make cookies is 800 dollars, why??”

-you had to stop laughing out loud from his confusion since you thought you had been open with it due to the amount of things you simply gave him

Roach:

-stayed in his cramped barracks a lot of the time and very rarely replaced any of his tearing gear because he was too tired to do so, he just generally didn’t care how the public saw him and had little care on himself

-of course that changed when you practically threw him new clothes, new gear, new facial care for his tiny apartment he used when off duty. He started to actually enjoy getting to indulge in a massage or a face mask while he simply felt all clean

-of course, he thought it was all temporary, that you were just spending a particular amount on a well paying month, but as it went on and on continued, he started to get more and more confused

-one day when you took him on a shopping trip, he saw you check your checking account and THATS when he realized that you planned to pay for his every whim personally and could without damage… a very flustering experience

Ghost:

-never truly is off guard even when off duty or around people, it’s built into him from trauma and past and his job doesn’t help to much with that

-however, he does have a particularly interesting hobby that calms him down more then most things can, even you (although he adores you with all his heart). And that hobbies is photography. Of things he enjoys, that is. He never put money into a very good camera, never seeing the need in doing so until you bought him one…

-he cherishes that camera more then he cherishes his mask, which is saying quite a bit. He didn’t know how much he actually needed the upgrade till he saw the difference in his photos

-he of course, shows it off to his team. And soap points out exactly how pricey it must be for a lil old therapist to buy. he starts to get worried, did you spend money you didn’t have on him? Did he take away from your own funds? Did he just take it and not think about the damage you might have created yourself without even thinking twice???

-calls you on his burner phone in a tiny bit of a panic, but it doesn’t show too much under his gruff tone. He lets out a sigh he didn’t notice he was holding in once you told him that you in fact had the money to buy that camera 100 times over

[kagakuoniryu]

Part 2 of the alastor x reader I written when I wasn't feeling well at all

Summary : a new guest you knew from your past life arrive at the hotel, she was that one person who bullied you throigh high school, but she mooks too angelic to be guilty

Code : E/n (ennemy/name)

Tags : fem reader, etablished relationship, angst for the most part, there will maybe be a part 2, mentions of bullying, reader is TRAUMATIZED, english is not my first language, may have some inaccuracy about the show since I'm just projecting, and of course probably ooc characters

After that talk in alastor's room, you hardly left yours limiting contact with everyone...

Well, mostly everyone, nifty still passed by everyday to clean up a bit and chase the boug, you were thankful for it, she didn't treated you differently, she was the same sadistic, boys driven, bug hater lady you met, and you could talk her ears off

"Niff ? What do you think about E/n ?" You started warily, you never openly talked to her about it surprisinly until now

"Oh I hate her !"

Shocked you asked her to go on ; E/n, hated ? The E/n you knew...Well...she presented to others ?!

"Why is that ? Did something went wrong ? Did she hurt you ?!"

"She always interrupt my dead roack show ! She says it's weird and disgusting ! She even killed a roach before I could and that is an heinous crime"

You gulped, noting mentally that to stay in nifty's good side, you better let her kill the roaches herself

"But...isn't it weird how everyone like her ? And how they think she's genuinely nice ? Even alastor likes her !"

"And everyone likes alastor until they he shows his nature !" With that nifty finally stabbed that roach she was after

"You...have a good point...she's showing them what they want to gain what she wants...but...what does she wants...?"

"I don't know ! I have a lot of cleaning to do ! Goodbye !"

"Wait nifty !"

And the door was closed, you sighed, well...it was good for as long as it lasted you guessed...you needed a plan, but you couldn't think clearly in this hotel...you couldn't go to Rosie too...she ADORED E/n and they had their regular tea party...crashing to your friends place weren't use at all, one they adored her, two, it was still the hotel and three, since your words with angel you kinda ghosted them all, thinking they couldn't hurt yiu if you ghosted them before that ; your fiancee radio station maybe ? No, too obvious, and he spend all his goddamn time up there...and he isn't the exact definition of "privacy"...you thought for a second about mimzy, but that girl hated your guts for no reason...or well...maybe because alastor humiliated her last time...

Finally, a bell rang in your head ; alastor ! That's your solution ! He gave you a spare key of his actual house outside of the hotel, and he barely goes there since he is in his tower during the day and at the hotel at night !

Picking minimal stuff, just a few clothes, a notepad and a pencil, even leaving your proposal ring behind, not wznting to be distracted by alastor himself you rushed outside, surprising everyone in the lobby until you came crashing down into alastor

"My, my, my dear, someone here is in a rush"

"Uh yeah...I needed fresh air, you know, the old stuff, figured I could go camping ?"

Alastor's gaze darkened as he looked at your ring finger, well, lack of ring on your ring finger

"And does camping prevent you from wearing you ring ? Or perhaps you youngster has a different definitiln of camping that back in my day, because decades ago, men could hunt even with they wedding ring, and yet you can't sleep with it on ?"

"I just wanted some alone time, calm down al' if anything, send a shadow my way kf you don't trust me, I know you don't anyway for a few weeks now"

Without letting him finish you left the hotel, you almost feel pity to charlie, she'll have a very pissy alastor in her hands until you come back

Arriving at alastor's home you let yourself in, now you needed to brainstorm !

One hour...

Two hours...

Three hours...

Three hours and about 3 cups of tea in...you have little next to nothing for an idea...how the hell are you gonna show this pest real face ?! You needed a real confrontation with her, but she'll never gave it to you, and if she did, she would have a backup plan, just like when you were alive...alive...

That's it !

One of your imps friend that owe you one could go to the living world ! He could retrieve your phone and you could prove your point !

Getting everything ready, and after many days, the phone in your hands, you plugged it in for it to charge and once at 100 % your rushed to the hotel

"Guys ! I got my phone back I-"

Entering the hotel, they were all playing a board game together, not caring about where you went...but you've been gone for at least a good week or two now...did you mattered so little ?

"O-oh...Y/n...you're here ! We...uh...were playing monopoly ! You...wanna join us ?"

Charlie tried akwardly, chukling nervously at your empty expression

"No, I was happy to prove my point, but I guess it's no use, she is better than me anyway, charlie, I guess you can take an other sinner in...I quit the hotel..."

You missed the way her eyes showed her heartbreak at this sight of you, giving up, she really failed you this time ; as you went upstair to make your bags, the boarding game night was ruined, and alastor teleported right into your room

"Hello ma chère (my dear), may I know where you're planning on going ?"

"I don't know al, far ? You all won it, always pushing me to the side, y'all fucking won it"

"I believe such swearing isn't proper in a ladie's mout-"

"Well for once I'll fucking swear if I'll fucking please al ! Because none of you wwants to believes in me ! You knew me long her and you choose her ! Just...go and date her ! It's her speciality to just date whoever has been with me before anyway..."

"What do you mean...? Y/n...?"

No terms of endearment there, that was rare for alastor, even before you both started dating he was affectionnate and using pet names, he always does with women, just a way to make them feel appreciated

"What do you mean 'what do I mean' you didn't knew how my ex boyfriend cheated on me with her and that's why we stopped being friends ?!"

"No, actually...she told us the other way around, that she found her perfect someone...and that you tried to seduce him and flirt with him and when he exposed you you bullied her"

"Bullied her ?! She made my life hell before getting down here ! After I blocked her everywhere she used our common friend she turned against me or even her sister's social media to stalk me down !"

"Well, my dear, I do want to believes you, you know I love you, but I can't without proper proof"

Taking your phone's out of your pocket, and guiding alastor because of his obvious lack of modern technology skills, you showed him your call journal from that time, the recording, the screenshots, everything that proved you were in your right mind

"Well...my beloved, it seems I owe you an apology, with her honey words it seems I lowered my guard and lacked dicernment, could you forgive me ?"

Alastor put in hand gently on your cheek, lifting your face, you nuzzled against his hand before hugging him tight

"Apology accepted...and thank you...thank you so much for listening, even if it costed you to use modern technology"

"As long as you delete that picture I took by accident"

"I'll make it my wallpaper~"

"I'll rip this thing piece by piece"

Going downstairs with alastor was a relief, like a gentleman he offered his arms for you to hold onto as charlie jumped on you

"I'm SOOOO sorry to have neglected your feeling Y/n please !! I didn't mean to ! You were a good friend of all of us and would all feel awful if you were to really leave !!" She started, before being interrupted by alastor

"Well, my dear charlie, it seems someone is still leaving, but not our dear Y/n, someone who's suprisingly not that keen on getting redeemed it seems"

You saw E/n visibly tense as alastor grabs her rather forcefully

"Could you PLEASE tell all the others persons present here what happened between you and my lovely Y/n over here back when you were alive"

"I...I already told you didn't I...? She bullied me ! Y/n is just a mean bully and I always felt uneasy around her" E/n tried to defend herself, nervously sweating

"Really, care to explain this ? My dear best friend" you showed one of the most incriminating piece you had on your phone to the others, making their eyes go wide, and all fell into pieces, E/n wasn't trying to redeem, she was trying to ruin your life, all over again

She felt that for some reasons, many years ago, you were better than her, and that she needed what you had, by any mean and any ways, instead of finding her own hapiness she wanted to steal yours

Vaggie and alastor both kicked her out, charlie tried to say maybe she could be redeemed, but when alastor said that if he saw that girl put a foot near the hotel again he would turn her into jambalaya for everyone to eat...she was feeling rather discouraged

But that was okay, one bad sinners couldn't stray her from her dream ! Everyone in the hotel also apologized in their own way for not believing you and putting back through all your traumas all over again, and of course you forgave them

Alastor also made you a special contract this night, you could pet his ears, all night long, if the next day you didn't told the others about it

And of course you took the deal

~THE END~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, I don't know if this one was longer or shorter than the previous part, I went along with the random imp going back on earth as an easter egg of helluva boss and also because I was stuck in my story !

It's nice to have a catharsis like this to be honest, I don't know if I'll write request or just silly story in one or multiple parts for hazbin hotel you can still send some in if yoj feel like it, just know that I'd be delighted to write for alastor again, he's my all time fav of the show

I hope you enjoyed it !!!

[100mistakesandcounting]

Unspoken Desires

CW: Gentile Piercings, obscene language, unhealthy relationship with sex and women, smut, mentions of drug use, slight internalized homophobia and misogyny.

Simon "Ghost" Riley X Reader

Simon Riley is a dog—well-trained, routine-oriented, and loyal to a fault. He was also a dog when it came to women—the type to have a one-night stand and delete your number within the hour.

It came to him as second nature. In his younger years, he never found himself tied down to one bird. Instead, he had a string of them from around town who were more than willing to let him stay in their beds while he grappled with his own issues between their legs.

He never truly considered their pleasure; he preferred women who were simply along for the ride and found joy in his relentless hips.

And if he got really bored, he’d find himself wandering into the bars that flew their rainbow pride a little too high. Approach a tiny bloke at the bar who was too queer to even see past his hereditary straightness. That'd let Simon bend him over in a cramped stall and drain his load without even knowing his name. Didn't matter if he got off or not, as long as Simon did.

One day, with too much liquid courage running through his bones, Johnny mentioned something about a new breed of women, size queens, he called them. On this dating app. He rambled on about a bird who begged to see his goods before even considering meeting him in person.

After downloading the app on his previously stock phone, Simon found his outlet. These women were less concerned with looks and more focused on their own needs. This was how he realized how much he enjoyed watching a woman struggle to fit his cock inside herself without his help.

They would harp on about how it was their biggest, saw their mouths watering at the sight of the gleaming metal bars at the base—a souvenir from one of his deployments when he finally ran out of space on his arms for ink.

All he had to do was watch as she struggled until she begged him. Then he would flip ‘em over and shove it in without remorse. Those girls made it enjoyable; they were always a good time. They didn't care that he never removed the mask; in fact, some of them enjoyed its presence, cunts dripping at the sight of it. They all had some weird fetish, and he was more than willing to indulge them if it meant maintaining an air of ambiguity.

This was what he liked. At least before.

A chance meeting at a club he was reluctantly taken to when the team decided to take leave together. They had all shared a hotel room, sleeping back to back as they drank, ate, and fucked their way through multiple cities in Europe.

This evening, they were in Scotland, just a couple of days before they were scheduled to travel to Soap’s family home.

It was a type of ‘alternative’ club, filled with civilians in their prime, adorned with excessive eyeliner and spikes. According to Johnny, this was where he spent a lot of his time before his enlistment. The eyebrow piercing and metal-coated ear finally made sense as more of a subculture thing than a defiance of military guidelines.

The music vibrated through his body, his beer sweating as Roach and he sat at the sticky bar. They had been approached by multiple women and men at this point, all trying to persuade them to dance.

They both didn't actually consider what they were doing to be dancing; it was more like aggressively moving their bodies against one another.

The presence of drugs made Simon turn his nose up at the crowd. If he had been younger, he would have been more willing to indulge; however, now, on the deafening edge of 40, he knew better. Knew it would leave him with an aching back, bloodshot eyes, and a cottonmouth.

Soap and Gaz immediately immersed themselves in the crowd, both shirtless, as they fully embraced the flashing lights and swirling smoke.

Soap somehow managed to get a couple of people who coated their hands in neon paint and touched random parts of his body. Eventually, there was nothing but a large splotch running down his chest to the front of his crotch.

He wasn't sure when exactly he’d stopped watching his friends weave through the crowd. He thinks it's when he turned around to order another beer and saw her.

She had been sitting next to him, looking a bit worse for wear—almost like a lost puppy. She mentioned that she had lost her friends after turning down some pills. Not only that, but from the looks of it, she had been nursing a drink for nearly as long as he had before he finally chugged it back.

“Y/N,” a pair of pouty red lips replied when he asked for her name. She wore nothing more than a miniskirt and a laced corset, which he imagined he could easily cut her out of. A dangerous thought. The ribbons were so delicate that he could probably tear through them with just his teeth. “What’s yours?”

“Simon…”

Before he even realized it, he had followed her outside, both leaning against the stone wall of the alleyway, sharing a smoke. He rolled his mask up over his nose while lighting it for them, pretending not to notice how her eyes immediately darted to the scar on his mouth.

He felt his chest and pants grow tight as her lips wrapped around the white stick, the smoke escaping her lips and nose like that of a seasoned smoker. In the darkness and neon lights, he had thought she looked too young, but under the streetlights, he could see more of her face.

Quick eyes, soft features, and those sexy fucking lips.

He finally noticed their height difference; he had at least a foot on her. He could easily pick her up and hold her under his arms like a sack of potatoes. In fact, his work duffel bag was harder to carry than she would be.

She couldn't have been older than her mid-twenties—still young. It was morally wrong, but something about her made his fucking head spin every time she handed him back his cigarette, leaving a stain of her lipstick before he put it in his mouth.

Her friends were no longer responding to her texts, likely too high to even realize she was missing. They would regret that later.

“So why the mask, Simon? Is it a rave thing or a personal thing?” She inquired, her dainty fingers already poised for the return of the cigarette.

A deep grunt escaped his chest as he formed his words, “Personal. Never like to take it off.” There was challenge in her eyes at that statement, as if she were considering what she could do to make him take it off. Honestly, if she wanted him to, he would comply, but he would definitely ask for something of hers in return.

Her next words almost made the cigarette drop from his mouth, “Even during sex?” Cheeky thing.

“Want to find out.” The look in her eyes should not have made him abandon his friends in that club. Should not have made him let her guide him back to her tiny flat, where he barely fit through the entryway. Should not have made him so hungry that he took solace in devouring those red lips until they were barely red anymore.

Ever the soldier, it didn't take more than a couple of glances to get all the answers he needed—one bedroom, definitely lived alone by the amount of laundry on the couch and small trinkets on her wall.

What really stood out to him was the amount of books on her walls. Studious. He liked smart girls. Or at least he did when he wasn't using them for sex.

He was lightly shoved down on her bed, finally eye to eye with her after having towered over her, taking in the way her corset accentuated her waistline and the swell of her full hips under that tight miniskirt.

Nothing could have prepared him for how she would look dropped to her knees, cheek pressed into the thigh of his jeans, or for the way she stared in disbelief at his size.

“Too much?” He poked fun at the way her cheeks grew hot. All he had to do was grab her chin and tilt her head back, his thumb gently tracing her bottom lip. “Just be a good girl and open wide.”

The shift in her eyes as her mouth dropped open for him was one he’d be playing in his head for the nights he’d fuck his hands in the barracks.

She would struggle, of course, tears prickling her eyes as she eased him into her throat, fighting everything in her body to gag. Whenever she did, she would start again, slurping her way back down while keeping her eyes locked on him as if to say, “See, I'm a good girl, I can do it.”

She licked on the underside of his cock, dragging it along his vein, and lapped each time she hit a bar.

Normally, he would have been glad to forgo eye contact. Much too intimate for him, but there was something about those kohl-lined eyes, how they commanded his attention even while they were hazy with lust.

As soon as he felt the dull heat in his belly grow into a flame, he sunk his hands into her hair and pulled her off of him. “You’ve had your fun.” Her disappointment was palpable, but as much as he wanted to coat her face in his cum, he needed to get her undressed first.

She would begin to unlace the corset, struggling with the ties until she peered at him with a silent plea. Cute.

Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife, watching her eyes go big when he opened it in front of her face.

“You can't use that,” she argued at him, huffing in annoyance as she heard him chuckle. “I really like this one.”

To preserve her attachment, he undid its laces, antagonizing slowly like he was unwrapping a gift. In reality, she was salvation, a fresh bowl of water for a parched dog. When the little number was off, he let it fall to the ground. That was when he noticed the mirror hanging from the bedroom door opposite her bed.

Their eyes met, and he took in how the light coming from outside her window reflected off her skin. He reached forward and tugged down her skirt to see the full picture, drinking it in.

He pulled her back into his lap, using his knees to force her legs apart. The only thing preventing him from seeing all of her was the tiny red underwear dampened with her arousal.

Simon decided at that moment that he didn't want to wait any longer and brought his knife back around. “Hold still,” he grumbled, feeling her body tense up at the feeling of the metal grazing her skin as he cut the panties off and let them fall down her leg to the ground.

He made a noise of content as he would finally see all of her—beautiful skin, supple tits with hardened nipples moving with each breath, and a weeping cunt.

All for him to take as he pleased.

“Look at you…” His voice purred against her ear. Hands moving to explore her soft skin, running along her thighs, up her stomach until he had two handfuls of her breasts. He rolled her nipples under his fingers as he kept their eye contact. “So pretty and soft…”

The way her breath hitched, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she let his fingers do all the work.

One of the hands had migrated down, the other sliding up the smooth skin until it hovered around her neck. His fingers delicately parted her open, allowing the pooled wetness to coat his fingers just enough to allow one of them to slip in.

He chuckled at the little gasp that left her as his finger pumped into her, quickly adding a second to feel her walls flutter around the intrusion. He still pulled and pinched at her pebbled nipples while his fingers curled up against her sensitive spot.

Her head fell back onto his shoulder, soft desperate moans falling from her lips that egged him on. He felt pride swelling in his chest at the thought that he could bring her pleasure with two fingers alone.

His nose was buried deep in the wildness of her hair, smelling the remains of her perfume and shampoo. “Safe word.” He muttered, his lips pressing down into her neck.

“Ah… Huh?” She would mumble as her eyes snapped up to meet his gaze back in the mirror.

“What’s your safe word?” He growled again, growing amused at the effect he had on her.

Eyes still hazy and unfocused, she would struggle to find the words until he began to pull away at her assumed hesitation. It was his fingers withdrawing from her tight warmth that made her snap out of it.

“W-Wait! Fuck!” She stammered, struggling to claw her way out of the haze of her own desire-fueled thoughts. “I don't have one.”

Simon made a noise of annoyance before lifting her up by her waist to straddle him instead. In this position, she was facing him head-on, but also his hard cock was pressed to her heat. “That's not good, Love.” He would croon. “Can't fuck ya’ if you don't have one.”

He could admit that he was slightly disappointed that she obviously wasn't used to this, probably didn't bring back a lot of guys. She seemed like a good girl.

Probably never took strange masked men back home to fuck her. That's fine. He was fine with being a first for her.

She looked at him with confusion, obvious annoyance at his words. “Fine. I’ll choose something easy.” He could almost see the words flying through her head as she thought. As encouragement, he rolled his hips up into hers. His length gliding right between her folds.

It was amusing to see just how fast he could make her brain short-circuit and her teeth gnaw at her abused lower lip.

“Apple!” She huffed out quickly. “Apple is good. Now, please, I need you.”

Simon grabbed her hips, fingers pressed into the plush skin to flip her onto the bed. He took his hand and pressed it between her legs, digits, and palm gliding against her folds before taking it away to use her wetness to stroke his cock. Her eyes watched the movement, breath getting caught at the shameless display.

“Fuckin’ ya raw. Alright?” His tone was less of asking permission. More that he was just telling her out of courtesy. She just nodded along, spreading her legs wider for him.

God, he wanted to ruin her; she was too trusting. He hadn't grabbed a condom, didn't plan on using one tonight. It was supposed to be a little trip to the club with the team.

Maybe it was stupid of him to think his dick wouldn't have had a mind of its own tonight, safer to assume he’d end up between a pair of pretty legs than not at all.

When he sank the head of his cock into her, he knew that he'd made a mistake almost immediately. She was tight, extremely tight, tighter than a goddamn vice. He could feel the slick welcoming him in deceivingly like a drug.

His eyes darted from the sight of her cunt spread open on his tip to her face; it was a silent question that she immediately understood, nodding once again. So he pushed forward.

Her gasp was like honey, moans like nectar that he swallowed when he pressed his lips to hers. He let her have a moment to adjust, but he could feel how her body shook and clenched around him.

Every second was pure torture. He wasn't sure why he was sitting here counting out backwards to contain his incomprehensible need to move.

Through fluttery eyes and pants, he saw a moment of clarity through her eyes before he felt her hips move gingerly, a test to see if the fullness was too much for her body to handle.

It's happened in the past, but usually it was before he’d taken real estate next to her damn cervix. He saw how she’d let him fuck her mouth; this wasn't a woman with no experience. Not a strait-laced innocence who’d never been fucked before.

No. He filled her up too easy. Sure, it was a tight fit, but her cunt had swallowed him whole. He was likely her biggest, but he had no doubt that this was a girl that liked to fuck. Liked her body worshiped and coaxed to the edge.

The confirmation he needed was when he watched her eyes roll after fucking herself on his cock, hesitantly finding what she needed. One of the balls of his piercings rubbing nicely against her spongy spot was enough to have her arching and reaching for him.

“Move, Simon.”

He was gone.

Next

A/N: I'm experiemnting with something here and if yall like it i'll write more i guess? IDK.

[expominds]

simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

mdni 18+!, cw: angst, a hair mention of ptsd, simon’s trauma. hurt but comfort

<3 please like and reblog and as always, enjoy 💕

i think… the song ‘patience’ by take that suits simon almost to a t.

he’s gone through so much in his life, from losing his family, roach, to the months of his torturing. he has so much pain and suffering and turmoil going on inside of his mind. his body is scarred, his mind is destroyed.

‘i’m feeling your frustration.’

you are frustrated with him. months spent trying to break his shell, to get him to open up to you and not much has changed. but he senses this. your pain, your frustration, your discouragement. it’s not easy for a man who’s been through so much to open up so easily, but he’s trying, you’ve just got to believe him. to have patience.

working simon open is like working a coconut open. peeling the husk on a coconut closely resembles that of you peeling the painful memories away from him, one by one. that thick, hard outer layer that takes forever to crack, to even get a glimpse of what is going on inside that head of his. it’s almost like you can see it, what he’s been through. the ptsd, the navel-gazing constantly going on. but once you crack it, you’re in.

the memories come spilling out of his mouth like a symphony, allowing himself to yield to finally being able to come to terms with all that he had been through. i mean sure, he had trauma dumped in the past, but nothing to the extent of what was spewing out of his mouth like it was right now. a dam had broken, a glacier had cracked, you sat there for hours comforting him while he cried, punched, angered, and cried some more. you took it because this is what you had been working for.

all simon needed was patience and good god did it feel freeing to let you hold him, your body entangled in his as you lie there in the aftershocks of the commotion. he had found his salvation, and for that he was forever grateful. his scars ran so deep that it would be forever emblazoned on his soul, a reminder of what and who he once was, but wasn’t anymore. his once numb, cold heart, still numb, but not quite as much as before. slowly defrosting and warming up again, your souls intertwining forever.

[cherie-doll]

Hi! Good Evening/Morning! Can I request cod men x reader who is rich, but didn't keep it as a secret or anything, just didn't mention it ?Reader likes to spoil them without a second thought! Also i describe reader being a calm person!

you can delete this ask if it's a bit too much to do, thank you for your wonderful writing! 😍

First of all, I wanna thank you for being so respectful, literally I have the most respectful and patient people here and I'm so thankful for it <3

ᡴ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

COD Men Being Spoiled !!

۶ৎ Price...

he'd appreciate the occasional gift but overtime when you love throwing gifts at him because you seriously can't walk past a shop without seeing something and immediately thinking of him

and you do it so nonchalantly too that he's confused when you've gifted him the 5th most expensive watch he could only ever dream of getting, he's not a huge materialistic guy so before he would only glance at it on display and think it was a nice watch but didn't expect you to gift it to him

he lovingly thanks you and as much as he appreciates you and your gifts you don't have to drain your bank account on him, oh, but then you drop the bomb on him that you're loaded

well, he doesn't make a commotion out of it but he's sitting there thinking, now all the puzzle pieces connect, that's why you're always so decked out when you got out even if it's something simple

۶ৎ Ghost...

loves your quiet acts of love, you gift him little fragments and pieces that remind you of him, which in the end, make him up in some way

he even started getting used to your ways that now he leaves little stuff for you here and there, everyday one of you is uncovering gifts from the other

sometimes you don't even talk as you hand him something you bought for him, he also prefers gifts that have some sort of use to them, there's only so much clothes and accessories he stuffs in his drawers not really knowing what to do with them

but get him something he'll need and he's over the moon for the whole week, you can tell because at night he's been hugging you extra tightly that the next morning you wake up with him tangled up with you

۶ৎ Soap...

he's always wanted to do his best to charm you when you first started your relationship, but man was he taken aback and slightly humbled the moment he started paying attention to your things

he was the most oblivious to it despite the obvious signs, and it's not like he's dirt poor, then why can't he help but feel slightly intimidated by you like when you first met

would literally aim to spoil you so much more, with loving acts and gifts you cherish, you prefer simpler things, you couldn't have found someone better to date

he knows his way to romance you and it's worked every time since you met him, secretly you might be a little shy, so his bold acts definitely make your heart stumble

۶ৎ Gaz...

he knows that as soon as you approach with that mischievous smile like you did something and hiding something behind his back, he better sit down because you probably just bought him whatever was last in his wishlist

he thinks you ought to use some of that for yourself, really he thinks you should buy yourself a little something, but giving makes you feel so good

unknowingly to you, he somehow always manages to do something or get something that makes you forget you could buy it yourself with the money you've got

he thinks he could go on forever living like this, with you being such a calming person he can enjoy his evenings with, it makes him forget everything that you've got and just appreciate and breathe you in

۶ৎ Roach...

poor guy gets at least a little overwhelmed when you gift him something because it's surely something fancy again, it's not that he doesn't like your gifts

he just can't help but feel his heart doing flips and bouncing against the wall of his chest, his thanking you comes out softly from his lips

still he thanks his lucky starts because overtime you've learned about his interests and adjusted your gifts accordingly, now he has a collection of knick-knacks from you that he just loves organizing and admiring

you also fuel his strangle little obsessions that otherwise couldn't have been paid for, he'll also show up with somewhat unusual gifts, but you love your little weirdo :)

۶ৎ Alejandro...

he's got style he knew what you were like, but even then he wouldn't let you pay for anything, not even dinner, no matter how many times you went out

better put that card away, he'll take care of this one.... again

he also loves how confident you are, you never boast about your money, you have your quiet ways of making him feel loved and he can see himself committing to you

and what he loves most about you is that not only do you use your money to live your life how you want but you also help out whoever needs it, he could seriously learn a thing or two from you

you're such a pure soul deep down that wants to show their love in the only form they know how to give

۶ৎ Rudy...

used to shyly take but now he doesn't even feel worthy to reach his hand out until you're practically shoving it into his face, still he can't help but feel at least a little bad for easily accepting your gifts, and so he tries talking to you about that

you really don't have to go out of your way to show your affection for him, still you won't give up

the type you sit you aside that he actually wants to be the one to provide for you and you're like "i'm good tho" and proceed to shock him with what you have

still, you've never felt as loved by anyone else than him, he strives to make you feel the warmest sensations that you're constantly thinking about him, which reminds you to buy more stuff for hum...

۶ৎ Phillip Graves...

he just adores having you dote on him, in any way or form, he didn't even figure how much money you had because he was never big on luxury brands or stuff like that

anything you give to him on the pretext that it will look good on him, he's a sucker for that, feels like you're already married to him when you do stuff like that, and he awaits your gifts eagerly

likes to act all surprised when you do start gifting more often, "that's for me? you really shouldn't have bothered" as he smiles smugly and gives you a kiss on the cheek for it, but he also loves buying you things, you never bring money when you go out

and when he asks where you'd like to live, you say you already have your dream house, he thinks you're bluffing at first until you bring him over

well, you just keep surprising him don't you?

۶ৎ Makarov...

he loves spoiling you but then you also slide your card through at any store without even giving it a second thought, so watching you two exchange gifts is sort of hilarious

he'll gift you a beautiful and expensive jewelry item for your hand or neck and you show up with the latest in men's fashion that you just KNOW will look absolutely dashing on him

for the longest time he felt like it was competitive almost, he genuinely almost got upset because he was frustrated how you seemed to show up with your card everywhere, ready to pay for the extravagant meal when he planned to pay

he loves boasting about how much money he has and shows you off when he showers you in gifts yet here you are able to buy it all yourself and even do the same for him

you end up having to compromise and put your card away for certain things, at least when he's around, because he loves that feeling when you lean on him, depending on him almost completely

۶ৎ Keegan...

he just figured it out right away without you having to tell him, he read the way you carried yourself even though you never bragged about the amount of money you had

you were a hard worker and loved to lavish in your wealth, and you invited him too, but despite how much gifting was your love language he liked showing you a different perspective of things

he might've been the one to teach you to enjoy an evening out without having to spend money just to make things pleasurable

but he also never forgets to show appreciation for a gift you lovingly though of, he's lucky to have you even be interested in him, he'll let you dote on him so long as you let him impress you too

it's only fair of course that he take your breath away with a romantic date that may not be as expensive but the thought and effort is all the same

۶ৎ König...

he can't help but get all flustered when all you've done recently is dote all over him with gifts every time, he would be melting in your hands, head cradled between your thighs as you reach down and pinch his cheeks only to slip a gift in his hand

his eyes would be flickering between the box in his hand and your face, "another one?" he'll ask softly, a little hurt because he thinks you're spending too much on him

but you would have to reassure him with all the dulcet words in the world to convince him that you truly do love him, better that he get used to it because you'll be doing it a lot more often now

"you... you're-" he can't even form a sentence when you finally do take him to your place, "mhm" is all you even say before whisking him off to some other place

۶ৎ Horangi...

he's learned a thing or two from his old, bad habits, so he's surprised to see new packages constantly arriving at your doorstep, and from luxury brands too

you'll sit on the living room floor unboxing everything and you'll randomly extend your hand out, gesturing for him to take it because you saw something you thought he would like and probably didn't even bother to check the price as you added it to your cart

and he'll proudly wear all the stuff you've bought for him, like a pet wearing a collar signifying that they've got an owner who cares for them, he doesn't hold back from boasting to his buddies

"oh, this thing? yeah, my partner bought that for me"

you and him would match the lavish lifestyle very well without a doubt

۶ৎ Nikto...

he would silently accept the first few gifts, not really noticing the signs until suddenly he's "..." and you love teasing him, saying he must be speechless at whatever present you bought him but in reality he's now realizing what type of person he bagged

he loves that you're thriving and aren't completely depending on him, at least financially, with your extravagant tastes you are sure to drain his savings fast, but you never were the type to excessively spend

still, he accepts your presents without a word but the best you could really do for him and at least be soft to him, despite not looking like it, he's the type to like seeing a side you never show to anyone else, maybe be gentler, softer, warmer and more vulnerable

that's something priceless he secretly loves, feeling you mold right into him, feeling like everything's right because his larger frame shields you, making you feel safer than money ever could

[thelaisydazy]

Band!141 x Reader - Roach

“Thank you, we’ll call in a few days..”

Your stomach churned. Were they really going to call you? Or, was that just what they told the dancers they weren’t satisfied with? 

Your feet carried you down the street, pushing past the crowds of people that flood into the city every day. Your stomach growls. In your rush to get to the audition, you hadn’t eaten breakfast today and you were starving. You take out your phone to check what’s around.There was a little diner open nearby, it wasn’t exactly the fanciest place, but it was cheap enough for your budget. You turn to head towards the diner only to walk directly into someone, your phone clattering to the sidewalk. 

You stumble back to see a young man, perhaps only a few years older than yourself. He’s tall, though certainly not the tallest you’d seen today. He’s got spiky brown hair, which you imagine might be soft and fluffy without all the gel in it, and soft brown eyes. He’s wearing a tight fitting black muscle-tee that cut just slightly too short, showing off his midriff and a pair of fitted black ripped jeans. Just how many punks were you going to run into today?

“Woah, hey sorry,” he said, bending over to pick up your phone and offer it back to you. You quickly take it, frowning as you see the screen is cracked now. “Oh damn it, sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s… it’s fine,” you say dejectedly. It’s not, but it’s not his fault you walked right into him and dropped your phone. 

“Hey, I’m going to meet some friends for lunch,” he says. “Why don’t you come along? My treat, I feel bad about your phone.”

You look him over cautiously. “I don’t even know your name,” you say. 

“My friends call me Roach,” he says with a grin. “But you can call me Gary if you’d rather.” 

“It’s nice to meet you Gary,” you say, giving him your name as well. “Roach is a funny nickname.”

“Yeah, my mates and I used to mess around with fireworks,” Gary explains. “Couple times I didn’t get away fast enough, somehow I didn’t get hurt though. My mates said I was like a roach, just surviving anything.” He chuckles at the memory. “How about that lunch then?”

You think for a moment. Is it really safe to go with a perfect stranger? The band you met on the subway jumps into your mind. They’d been nice enough to stop the train for you and offer you a seat in the full car, perhaps Gary was just as nice.

“Sure, why not?” you say. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Gary grins at you and you can’t help but smile back. There’s just something friendly about him, you just hope his friends are as nice.

---

“Roach! You made it!” A familiar voice calling from a booth at the back of the bar shouts out. You turn to see the same group of men you’d met just earlier that day. It’s Kyle that spots you first out of them, that amazing smile crossing his face. “I see you met our new friend.”

You and Gary walk over and you take a seat near the middle of the table, between Kyle and Gary. You look at the latter. “You know, when you said you were meeting friends, I should have guessed this is who you meant,” you say with a giggle. Looking around the table, Johnny and Ghost were sitting at the far end from you, Ghost having just pulled his mask back up to cover his face when he saw you walk over. John was sitting on the other side of Kyle from you, he drank from his beer and smiled at you.

“How’d you get on at your audition, love?” John asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Did’ya get in?”

“Oh uh.. They said I should hear back in a couple days,” you say, fidgeting with your napkin. You still weren’t so sure the instructors had actually meant it though. 

“I see..” John said thoughtfully. 

“Bonnie thing lek ye?” Johnny chimed in from his seat next to Ghost. “They wis probably speechless or summat.” Ghost nudged him in the ribs with a sharp look.

“Audition?” Gary asked, looking at you. “Whatcha tryin’ out for?”

Before you could answer, Kyle wrapped his arm over your shoulder, though he kept his grip light enough that you could slip away if you wanted to. “Ballet, that fancy place,” he said. “Gonna be a real principal dancer one day.”

Your face feels hot at his confidence. “Oh well… I don’t know about all that,” you say nervously. “I mean.. I’d just be happy in the corps de ballet really.” You’re not really certain you’ve got what it takes for a lead role anyway. “How did that recording go anyway?” you ask, trying to change the subject. 

“Fine, if Soap would focus,” John rumbles, shooting the younger man a look. 

“Haud yer wheesht!” Johnny exclaims looking a bit flustered himself. “Aye wis jus’ think’n alood.”

“An’ not staying on beat,” Kyle teased back.

“Oh I’m sorry..” you say, feeling bad for asking now. 

“Dinna fash, leannan,” Johnny laughs. He starts to stand up. “Am gett’n ‘nother round.” He returns a few moments later and slides a bubbly red drink in front of you with one of those little paper umbrellas in it. 

“What is it?” you ask. Johnny only grins and shrugs at you. Despite your better judgment you take a sip, surprised not to taste any alcohol in the cherry flavored drink at all. “Is this a Shirley Temple?” Your surprised reaction makes the table laugh. 

“They’re not a kid Johnny,” Kyle laughs. He looks at you. “Lemme know if you want a real drink.” All you can do is nod quietly in response as you sip your Shirley Temple.

[oaksgrove]

Can you make one for Mother's Day? I love your writings!🤍

Mother’s Day

Pairing: John Price x Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader, Gary “Roach” Sanderson x Reader, Nikolai x Reader

Warnings: soft domesticity, parental exhaustion, implied past absences/deployment, pregnancy (Soap), sign language use (Roach), lots of fluff, tears (happy and aching), and unconditional love.

John Price:

The sound of tiny feet and hurried whispers woke you before the sun had fully stretched into the room. A scuffle. A thud. A muffled “Shh, you’ll wake her up!” followed by a giggle and a hissed, “You put the jam on backwards!”

You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know what day it was.

The door creaked open slightly—too slowly, like they were trying very hard to be sneaky, which only made it more obvious—and then your youngest, your daughter, was scrambling up onto the bed with a triumphant little squeal.

“Mummy!”

You opened your eyes to see her clutching a homemade card, glitter smudged along the corners and crooked hearts drawn in shaky lines. Her eyes sparkled as she shoved it into your hands, already wriggling beneath the blankets beside you. “I made it! It’s us. You and me and Daddy and the boys and the dog and the bird that lives outside the window!”

Your heart swelled, impossibly full. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, warm and already teary.

Then came the boys—your middle child balancing a tray with suspicious toast and juice (jam definitely on backwards), your eldest walking behind him, holding the backup tray with a single rose in a chipped mug and a lukewarm cup of tea.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” they chorused awkwardly, as if they hadn’t rehearsed it twenty times.

You were still blinking back tears when you looked past them—and there he was.

John stood in the doorway, leaning one shoulder on the frame, arms crossed, his beard a little more silver than last year, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. He didn’t say anything, just watched the chaos from a distance like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever witnessed.

And maybe it was.

He was home. Home for Mother’s Day. No deployments. No sudden calls. No “I’ll try, love, but no promises.”

Just John. Right there.

“Budge over,” he murmured eventually, walking in as the kids all piled around you, half on top of one another. He kissed the top of your head, fingers brushing your cheek before he disappeared again—to the kitchen this time.

And you stayed, surrounded by jam-covered toast and bent paper flowers and glitter now stuck to your pajamas, smiling so wide it ached a little.

Later, after the whirlwind of morning and mid-afternoon quieted, the house finally asleep, you found him in the kitchen.

John stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands still damp from washing up. The window was cracked open, letting in the cool night air. He didn’t hear you come in at first—but when your arms wrapped around his waist, he dropped the dish towel immediately and turned, pulling you into his chest.

You rested there for a moment, breathing him in. Soap and tea and home.

He kissed your hair and held you tighter.

“I was never any good at this,” he murmured. “The family thing. Thought I’d just mess it up. But then you—” His voice cracked, just a little. “You gave me everything. These kids. This life.”

You didn’t speak. Just held him closer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “for all the times I couldn’t be here. When it was hard. When you carried it all alone.”

You tilted your face to his, eyes glossy. “You were always with us. Even when you weren’t here.”

He kissed you then. Slow. Full of the years and the weight and the gratitude he could never quite put into words.

In the quiet hum of the kitchen, surrounded by a house built on laughter and long nights and second chances, John Price held you like a man who knew exactly what he had—and would never stop being thankful for it.

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

The house was quiet in the way only early morning could bring—soft, still, and tinted with pale light breaking through the curtains. You stirred to the sound of a faint hum, low and gravelly but warm, almost like a lullaby wrapped in gravel.

Simon.

Eyes blinking open, your gaze found him across the room—sitting in the rocking chair, the one you’d placed beside the crib for late nights and early mornings. He looked enormous in it, knees high, shoulders hunched slightly, arms wrapped around your daughter like she was something too fragile for this world.

Her little head rested against his chest, lost in the black fabric of his hoodie, her tiny hand curled into the material. And Simon… he had his cheek pressed to her crown, humming something soft and broken that you’d only ever heard him mutter in sleep. A tune from another life, maybe. A lullaby no one had ever sung for him.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

Just watched him—this man who once swore he’d never bring a child into a world like his—hold the very reason he woke up every morning a little softer than the last.

Eventually, you rose, careful not to startle them, and padded into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. The smell drifted between rooms, warm and grounding. You sat on the couch, mug in hand, legs folded beneath you—and within a few minutes, Simon appeared.

Your daughter now slept peacefully against your chest, her cheek squished against your shirt, mouth slightly open. You brushed your hand along her back in slow, soothing strokes.

Simon knelt beside you.

It startled you, honestly. Seeing him—Ghost—on his knees like that. But his eyes never left yours as he reached out and touched your hand gently, like he might break you too.

“You do the hard work,” he said, voice hushed and frayed at the edges. “Every bloody day.”

You shook your head, trying to smile. “You do too.”

“No.” He squeezed your fingers. “I… I missed her first steps. Her first word. I was gone.” His voice cracked, barely audible now. “But I notice, even when I can’t be here. Especially then.”

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. His thumb brushed them away without hesitation.

“She says ‘Dada’ now,” you whispered, and watched something in him shatter gently—grief and pride folding together into something sharp and warm.

“Yeah?” he rasped.

You nodded. “She says it when she sees your picture.”

Simon blinked hard, jaw tight. Then he leaned in and kissed your forehead—slow, lingering. One hand rested on your daughter’s back, the other still tangled in yours.

“I’m here now,” he said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere today.”

You believed him.

So you sat together on that couch—coffee cooling, baby breathing slow and steady, the world spinning outside your window.

And for once, Simon Riley allowed himself to feel the weight of home. Not as a soldier, but as a father. As yours.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

You heard the chaos before you saw it.

Whispers — or what the kids thought were whispers — filtered down the hallway in a flurry of giggles and shuffling feet. A crash, a yelp, someone hissing “Shh! You’re gonna wake her up!” followed by a thud and a very clear “Oops.”

You blinked your eyes open just in time to hear the softest tap of little fists against the bedroom door. Then it burst open — your son, covered in flour from hair to socks, and your daughter, face painted in crooked butterfly wings, proudly carrying a tray.

The tray shook dangerously with every step, burdened by what looked like very burned pancakes, a nearly-toppling glass of orange juice, and a single, half-wilted flower stuck into a mug.

Behind them came Kyle.

Hair slightly ruffled, shirt smeared with batter, expression both proud and very, very guilty.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” the kids chorused.

Your daughter scrambled up onto the bed beside you, tucking herself under your arm with glitter still stuck to her cheek. Your son followed, dropping crumbs with every bounce, clearly thrilled with the surprise.

Kyle followed more carefully, setting the tray on your lap like it was a bomb he wasn’t sure wouldn’t go off. Then, without saying a word, he knelt at your side, eyes soft, fingers brushing against your flour-dusted knuckles.

“They adore you,” he said, and his voice was low, reverent, like he was speaking the truth of the universe. “So do I.”

Your heart ached — a good ache, the kind that came with being seen and known.

He kissed your hand, lingered there.

“I know it’s not easy,” he continued, looking up at you with something broken and full of love behind his smile. “Not with me gone so much. But you hold it all together.”

He looked around at the crumbs, the glitter, the warzone of a kitchen probably waiting behind him.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

You swallowed thickly, blinking away sudden tears.

“Because I have you,” you said simply, your hand cupping his cheek. “Even when you’re not here.”

Kyle leaned into the touch.

And for just a moment, as your daughter offered you a pancake shaped like absolutely nothing and your son tried to spoon-feed you syrup, you let yourself sit in the chaos. In the love. In the life you’d built together.

The breakfast was a disaster. The kitchen was likely worse.

But your heart — your heart was full.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

You woke up already exhausted.

Your back ached. Your belly felt impossibly heavy. Your toddler — your sweet, wild little boy — had claimed your leg like a koala and refused to let go. Every step was a shuffle, every breath a bit more effort than the last. Your hands rubbed over your belly instinctively, murmuring little nothings to the baby growing inside you, half a whisper of you’re okay, Mama’s okay, even if you weren’t entirely sure you believed it this morning.

But then the bedroom door creaked open.

Soft music filtered in first — your favorite playlist, turned low, just enough to fill the silence. Then the scent of something warm and sweet: cinnamon, coffee, buttered toast.

And then Johnny. Standing in the doorway, hair still damp from an early shower, wearing that stupid apron he swore made him look “chefy,” holding a tray with wobbly pancakes shaped like hearts and a tiny vase with two daisies in it.

One flower had already started to wilt.

“Happy Mother’s Day, bonnie,” he said, smiling so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Your throat tightened immediately.

He made a show of entering the room like a server at a five-star restaurant, placing the tray beside you with a dramatic flourish and a wink at your toddler, who squealed with delight and promptly faceplanted into a pancake.

Johnny chuckled and set him back upright without missing a beat, then bent to press a kiss to your swollen belly, then your lips, and finally your nose.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you whispered, voice thick. You felt the tears coming before you could stop them. Damn hormones. Damn exhaustion. Damn how seen you felt in this moment.

You didn’t even try to fight it. The tears fell, quiet and unashamed.

Johnny’s smile didn’t falter. He just climbed up beside you, pulled you gently into his arms, and held you as you cried into his shoulder.

“No teasing,” you warned against his shirt.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

His hands rubbed slow, calming circles into your back. Your toddler babbled happily beside you, focused entirely on dunking pancake pieces into his cup of juice.

“I see how tired you are,” Johnny murmured against your hair. “How much you carry every day. You don’t have to say it — I see it, love.”

You closed your eyes. Let yourself breathe for the first time that morning.

“I’d carry it all if I could,” he whispered. “Your aches. Your worry. The weight of it. All of it. I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face.

“You’re everything to me,” he said, voice thick with conviction. “Everything, bonnie.”

And in that quiet little room, with pancakes cooling, a toddler singing his own breakfast song, and a bath already drawn just for you, you believed him. With your whole heart.

You didn’t need anything more than this.

Just Johnny. Just this love. Just this messy, beautiful, hard-earned happiness.

And maybe one more pancake.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson:

The door slammed open with the force of a small stampede.

“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAAAAY!”

Two small bodies launched themselves at you like missiles — one aiming for your stomach, the other for your head. You barely managed to shield yourself before a flurry of arms, legs, giggles, and blanket-stealing chaos swallowed you whole.

You were tired — so tired. It felt like you’d been tired for years now. Motherhood never stopped. The days blurred together sometimes, a steady rhythm of lunchboxes and laundry, bedtime stories and tear-wiping. You never resented it — not really — but some mornings hit harder than others.

Today could’ve been one of those days.

But Gary was home.

Your husband stepped in behind them, quiet as ever, a cup of coffee in one hand and that familiar warmth in his eyes. His smile was soft, crooked, sleep-lined. He placed the mug on your nightstand and mouthed, Happy Mother’s Day, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The boys were still bouncing on the mattress like caffeinated jackrabbits.

“Okay, okay,” you groaned with a laugh. “Give your mother a minute to breathe!”

Gary chuckled silently and wrangled them off the bed with practiced ease, tossing them both over his shoulders like sacks of flour. They shrieked with laughter, arms flailing, already asking for cartoons and cereal.

A while later, you emerged from your room to the sight of a full blanket fort consuming the living room.

Pillows everywhere. Fairy lights strung haphazardly between chairs. Your sons sprawled on their stomachs with markers in hand, carefully doodling smiley faces and rocket ships all over Gary’s bare arms.

You opened your mouth to protest the mess, the markers, the inevitable chaos — but stopped.

Because Gary caught your eye and signed something quick but deliberate:

Rest.

I’ve got them.

So you did. You curled up on the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket, listening to your boys laugh and your husband play along with everything — even letting them crown him “King of the Fort.” You drifted off somewhere between their giggles and the steady rhythm of quiet love filling the house.

That night, after dinner and sticky hands and two boys tucked into bed, Gary helped you beneath the covers. He kissed your shoulder, then your temple.

And then he knelt beside the bed, fingers moving slowly in the lamplight.

I know it’s hard when I’m gone.

But you’re never alone.

You’re the strongest person I know.

Your throat tightened.

You reached for his hand and held it against your chest, right where your heart ached and loved and beat just for him.

“I’m strong,” you whispered, “because I have you.”

He smiled.

You were tired. You were messy. You were real.

But you were loved — wholly, deeply, without condition.

And tonight, that was more than enough.

Nikolai Belinski:

The day began with giggles.

Soft, conspiring whispers outside the bedroom door. Tiny shushes. The clinking of porcelain. A near spill followed by a frantic “It’s okay!” in a little voice you knew too well.

You stayed still, smiling to yourself, playing along.

The door creaked open slowly. Your two daughters tiptoed inside like the floor might betray them — the oldest balancing a tray with tea and toast (and far too much jam), the youngest clutching a painting that looked like a sun with your smile and hearts all around it.

Both wore lopsided flower crowns, petals already falling off, but they glowed with pride.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” they shouted, abandoning all stealth at once.

Nikolai followed behind them, hair tousled, eyes soft and bright. He carried a single flower — a tulip from the garden — and wore a crown of his own, clearly handmade with too much tape and a generous helping of glitter.

“My angels made something for their mama,” he said, voice rough with emotion, thick with sleep and something deeper. “And I helped. Mostly by staying out of their way.”

You laughed through the lump in your throat, sitting up to welcome them. Little arms wrapped around your waist, your shoulders, your neck. Kisses on your cheeks. Tiny hands patting your face like you might vanish if they didn’t hold on.

The tray wobbled but made it safely to your lap. Toast and a slightly burnt muffin. The tea was lukewarm. The painting was already smudged.

It was perfect.

Later, Nikolai kept the girls busy outside. You heard their laughter from the garden while he patiently showed them how to water the tomatoes, letting them dig their hands into the earth. The kitchen filled with the smell of fresh bread and wild honey. Every now and then, he peeked in on you, checking if you were still resting, still warm, still smiling.

He didn’t say it outright, but you could see it in the way he touched your shoulder in passing, the way he kissed the girls’ foreheads, the way his voice softened when he said your name.

He knew how hard it was when he was away.

He knew how much of yourself you poured into keeping the house, the children, your love intact across miles and months.

And today, he gave all that care back.

That night, after bedtime stories and one more glass of water and a chorus of “just five more minutes,” the house finally settled.

You curled up beside him on the couch, warm and content.

His arm came around your shoulders, pulling you in close. He kissed your temple, slow and lingering.

“They have your heart,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the quiet hallway where your daughters now slept.

“And it’s the best gift I’ve ever had.”

You laid your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of home beneath your ear.

And for the first time in a long while — you let yourself rest, truly rest.

Loved, seen, and cherished.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[credince--writes]

I'm thinking about the Better Off Dead series right now- and the first sexual encounter of Roach & Getter.

(Poly!Soap x Ghost x Roach x Reader)

Smut Below The Cut

Sorry I wrote this on my phone. Brainworms.

This is one of those 'man I have this idea but I don't want to write the oodles of plot that would lead up to the scenario

You're pawing at eachother, anger meeting in a clash of tongue and teeth that reminds you of home.

Stumbling back, back back and into Gary's room not thinking much of it

The pounding in your ears and the sounds of rustling clothes tunnel visions in on pulling Gary's shirt off and over his head- tossing it forgotten to the side

It's a bitter ritual of begging for forgiveness- his hard body going soft and placid beneath your fingertips as you push him back- direct his body as you see fit. Pushing down- the sudden loss of contact of skin only because his feet caught on a pair of boots tucked neatly at the end of the bed.

Back colliding down onto the soft surface below- a soft gasp leaving Gary's lips before you climb on top.

Your hands, you would always recall in these moments- are so much smaller than his. But yet wrapping your fingers around his wrist he allows you to pin his arms over his head.

He knows the second he breaks the illusion of power you're gone.

You're so, so angry.

The glob of spit left your mouth without even thinking. One hand leaving his wrists to breach your thumb against Gary's lips, press down against his tongue and hold his mouth- hot and wet open.

There's no words. Nothing is spoken but the glazed, hazy look in his eyes tells you enough that all the anger, red faced bile sinks its claws into your throat- clawing up and up until-

"You fucking whore-" you grit out, ignoring the hot feeling on your cheeks, the breathy way your condescending words leave your lips.

He just groans, rolling his hips up against your own.

Yanking down his trousers and briefs, roughly taking his cock in hand and giving him a singular dry tug down the length.

He bucks up, finally- noise- retribution leaving his lips as a groan leaks out into the air. A thick, choking smog.

It's not loving.

There is no care in the actions tugging your own bottoms off before fulling seating down on his cock.

You see the strain of his biceps as he holds himself back.

Back when he was a good boy- he'd be able to wrap his hands around your soft middle. Lifting you up and down on his cock when your eyes went cross.

Pawing at your tits, pulling you close to suck on them.

No, this wasn't the past.

You want to be mean.

Hateful.

You want to hurt like you've hurt.

You played with your clit when you ride him, ignoring the desperate, airy huffs of air leaving his lips.

Your orgasm hits, much to your dismay.

You hand leaves his wrists, but he dares not to move them from over his head.

Both hands planted on his chest, fingers digging into the collarbones beneath the flesh.

The ringing in your ears subsides before lifting your hand and slapping Gary across the face as hard as you can-

Grimacing as his cock twitches inside you

It fills you with a dreadful anger- the scab peeled off. Naked in front of him- all of the emotions come rushing back.

You lift your hand again.

A large, much larger hand wraps around your wrist. Engulfing your hand in a way that makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise-

Danger, predator.

The top of the food chain.

The apex.

You twist your neck, a small breath you hope is undetected unwillingly leaving your lips as Gary's cock pushes against the spongey ceiling of your insides as you lean back

Ignoring the twitch of your toes

Only to be greeted with the skull balaclava

You thought you were mean?

Oh, you're about to meet someone much, much meaner sweetheart.