#soap and reader are lightweights

[hopelesslonelyghost]

okay but smoking weed with gaz and soapppp

they’re the only ones who were actually down for it. john said he was too old for it and simon well, he just glared at you when you suggested it. that didn’t stop them from hanging out with you guys, claiming “well someone has to take care of you lot.”

so now here you three were, on the couch in your flat, staring at the ceiling.

“i think i got too high.”

soap grumbled from his position on the floor next to the couch, laying prone, his face stuffed in your fuzzy pink carpet. you think he got too high, too.

gaz was in the kitchen eating a sandwich simon made for him. john was sitting on the couch with you, your legs on his lap watching tv. he was massaging your calves, sending goosebumps up your legs and spine.

soap suddenly got up, stumbling a bit as he regained his balance and walked into the kitchen, “ay l.t.! can i get one too?”

you could tell he was giving simon the puppy eyes and you giggled. john let out a low chuckle.

admittedly, you were hungry too but the way you felt yourself melting into the couch was way too good for you to ruin it by getting up.

“john you’re making me fall asleep.”

the older man hummed, digging his fingers a little deeper, pulling a little moan from you. you’re sure he would’ve jumped your bones if you weren’t under the influence.

“okay i’m ready for another joint honestly.” gaz said as he came back into the living room, sandwich in hand.

you scoffed in disbelief, wobbling a little as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, turning to stare at your boyfriend, “kyle how the hell! we just finished one!”

your mouth is gaped open. how the hell is he already ready to smoke again? you plopped down onto your back once more, “gimme a bite and you might just be able to convince me.”

kyle scrambled to you, holding out his bitten sandwich. you took a big bite, nodding in bliss, “this is a fucking good sandwich si.”

“you’re just high as fuck, love. everything is fucking good right now.”

[lxke02]

AFTERCARE

—soshiro hoshina x fem! reader

➤Implications of sex, mentions of bondage, established relationship, mentions of nudity. ➤No, I won't be writing the smut for this. This came to me at two in the morning lmao, I just suddenly thought "I know this man would give the best damn aftercare."

━[NAME] WHINES SOFTLY as she lies on her shared bed with Soshiro, her body—exhausted, bruised, and bound by red ropes finally felt lightweight as Soshiro began to untie the knots, letting the ropes fall into the floor.

“Was I too rough on ya?” He asked, worry was present in his voice as he held her hands and kissed her bruised wrists. The softness and gentleness of his kiss against her skin sent tingles down her spine as she was reminded that this boy in front of her is hers.

[Name] shakes her head, Soshiro was rough but it was not enough to hurt her, in fact, Soshiro made sure to pay attention to her responses during the whole time they had sex. They both agreed that they don't like hurting the other during intimacy, they already experienced enough violence as soldiers.

“I didn't hurt ya, didn't I?” He asked, unconsciously clenching the girl's hand a little.

“No, if you did. I would've said the safe word, Soshi.” She says softly with a smile on her face.

Soshiro smiles as soft chuckles escape his lips, closing his eyes as he brings her hands to his lips and kisses both of her knuckles, “I'm glad.” He whispered, his eyes opened to look at her, fondness and adoration present in those wine-red eyes of his.

“Come on, princess. I'll wash ya.” He grins as he gets out of bed, [Name] attempted to sit up but was gently nudged back down, “Nuh, uh. I'll spoil my lady tonight.” He smirks and [Name] can only sigh with a soft smile on her face as Soshiro begins to gently carry her bridal style in his arms—effortlessly, carrying her towards the bathroom.

“But you always spoil me, Soshi?”

“As what you deserved, mon ange.” He says with a grin as he places her on the bathroom counter while he prepares the bath.

Soon enough, the bathroom began to smell like lavender.

“Hope ya didn't fall asleep waiting.” Soshiro grins as he walks back to [Name] who just gave him a lazy smile, “I almost did.” She says with a small chuckle.

She was once more carried into his arms bridal style then he lowered her into the warm bath, the scent of milk and lavender intensifying now that she's in the water itself—but she doesn't mind, it smelled nice.

She felt the water ripples as she felt Soshiro also get in the tub—sitting behind her.

She sighs softly, her eyes closed as she feels Soshiro's hands gently massage her shoulders and back.

“Hey now, you're starting to doze off.” Soshiro muttered softly with a slight chuckle, [Name] hummed in response.

“Can you blame me? Your hands are magic, Soshi.”

Soshiro snorted at her words, shaking his head as his hands continued to squeeze [Name]'s aching muscles, “Alright, let's just get this quick so I can put you to bed.” He mutters softly and [Name] nodded, half asleep.

Eventually, both of them rinsed off the soap from their body and Soshiro wrapped a towel around his waist before wrapping [Name] with a towel too and carried her in his arms back to their room.

“Look at ya, ya look like a burrito.” Soshiro laughs, looking down at the girl who's currently in his arms wrapped tightly with a towel.

[Name] just groans underneath the towel, poking her head out of the fabric as she realizes that she has been placed down on to the bed, the soft mattress pressing against her back.

Her cheeks flushed as she remembers Soshiro's aftercare ritual, she decided to lower the lower half of her face to hide her growing blush.

Soshiro chuckles at her, adoration in those purple eyes of his.

“Is my angel embarrassed? Yer so cute hiding like that, mon ange.” She chuckles softly as he walks away from their bed and to their shared closet, opening the wooden door of the cabinet and rummaged through their clothes before pulling out a comfortable nightwear for the both of them.

He got dressed first, slipping on the satin purple pajamas on his body, grinning to himself as he can feel [Name] pouting at him, her stare burning on to his back.

Can you blame her though? [Name] admired how the muscles on Soshiro's back flexed as he moved to slip on the fabric into his body.

Soshiro slightly tilted his head to left to look at his woman through his shoulder with a grin on his cheeky face, “Admiring the view?” He asked playfully and [Name] snorted behind him, “Very much so.” She replied.

It was Soshiro's turn to chuckle, clearly amused by the woman's antics, “Then why is my beloved pouting at me?” He asked, turning around to face the girl as he finally finished getting dressed for the night.

[Name] pouted at him, “Why are you always the one getting dressed first?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

He grins as he walks back to the bed, setting down the nightwear he picked for her on to the bed—a matching satin purple pajama that fits her perfectly.

“Because I'm not done yet taking care of ya, mon ange.” He says with a grin before smirking at her, flashing his iconic canines at her, “Or, do I take that you don't like the aftercare I give ya?” He asked with a fake pout and [Name]'s eyes widened, tilting her head to the side in embarrassment.

“I do like it but ugh, it makes me shy and flustered, Soshi.” She says as she covers her face with her hands and Soshiro can only smile at her, gently holding [Name]'s hands and pulling them away before gently placing a hand underneath her chin and slowly turns her head to look at him.

[E/c] eyes to purple ones.

“How about I make it shorter this time? Hmm?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and [Name] nodded slowly, still flustered, “Please do.” She says softly and Soshiro closes his eyes as he grins at her.

“As what my queen commands.”

Soshiro Hoshina is a gentle lover, during his rare off days, he would spend it with his girlfriend. Going on dates, cuddling, kissing, and even being intimate with her.

He likes to take time with her despite the possibility of being called back to duty in case of a Kaiju attack. He believes that his girl deserves to be worshipped.

Especially after being so rough on her during their steamy moments.

Soshiro gently held [Name]'s hand, bringing it to his face, pressing his lips against the palm of her hand—kissing it gently before placing individual kisses to each of her fingers.

[Name] just closes her eyes, a hue of pink dusting her cheeks as she feels Soshiro's lips on her skin, his gentle kisses a contrast to the passionate and intense kisses they shared moments ago.

Soshiro's kisses slowly went up to her arms and towards her neck, pressing a light kiss on her throat before moving upwards to pepper her face with a multitude of kisses, pressing the second to the last kiss to her lips.

A long and yet, gentle kiss to her lips.

One arm supporting his weight while his other hand held her waist.

A kiss that the two don't seem to want to end.

They eventually pulled apart, eyes half-lidded as they stared at each other.

[Name] looks away shyly as Soshiro grins at her, “And for the last kiss...” He whispered, leaning down to press a kiss in between her breasts—where her heart was beating rapidly.

A kiss that signifies that Soshiro promised to take care of her heart for the rest of his life.

[Name] blushed deeply, looking down to see Soshiro looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, lips pressed against her skin.

Soshiro gently pulls away and grins at her, “Look at ya, yer so cute when ya blush.” He teases and [Name] pouts, “Can you blame me?”

Soshiro chuckles, “No, I can't blame ya.” He says playfully before getting off her and grabbing the pajamas from the end side of the bed.

“Alright, let's get ya dressed up and we can sleep.”

[Name] eventually finished dressing up with Soshiro's help and the two fell asleep holding each other in each other's arms.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

• I am a firm believer of multilingual Soshiro Hoshina.

• This man came from old money, don't tell me he didn't learn other languages.

• “Mon Ange” means my angel in french.

[bettyfrommars]

perv!eddie x fem!reader

thank you to my darlings @onegirlmanytales and @mrsjellymunson for requesting some perv Eddie from me, since I was begging for it. Decided to go with biker!eddie. I wrote this really fast, it is so silly. Just to clarify, I do not consider "perv" to be a negative thing, especially not in this instance. I think it's very adorable behavior.

18+only, masturbation, smut fantasies, dirty talk, ejaculation, armpit kink, reader owns a cardigan

wc: 784

The first time you met Eddie and rode in his tow truck, you left something behind, and it wasn't until a week later that you realized it was missing.  It was a lightweight cardigan that seemed to go with every outfit, but after a while, you gave up looking, and figured you must’ve left it at the library, or at the park, perhaps.

Eddie noticed it that same night on his way home; it was slumped down between the passenger seat and the door.

The material was dark and soft, and the first thing he did was smell it.  A tentative, quick sniff at first, but then he closed his eyes and pushed a handful of the material against his mouth and nose as if it were a breathing apparatus, sucking in deep.

He remembered the way the swing of the door shutting you in the cab earlier that day sent a shockwave of your smell over to him, catching in his throat, making his mouth water.  

That sweater was his excuse to see you again, and he clutched it close, making his way up to his apartment above Munson’s Garage.  

The next night, he took a shower, sat down in the comfy chair adjacent to the TV to have a beer, and your cardigan just so happened to be on the arm rest---so he decided to smell it again.

There were subtle notes of whatever perfume or lotion you wore embedded in the fabric, as well has hints of laundry soap, but then, there was something else.  The natural pheromones released from the pores in your skin, but also…

He lifted up the sleeve of the garment to follow the shoulder seam down to the curve of the spot he wanted, and then he breathed in a few greedy pulls.

Oh, fuck, right there. 

That bit of sweat, and twinge of body odor after a long day at work and being stranded by the side of the road in the sun.  The way he imagined the crease of your inner thigh might taste after a long night of fucking.

Shirtless, with wet hair hanging down his shoulders, he took hold of his growing length inside his boxers, pumping himself a few times.  

One-handed, he flipped your cardigan inside out to get closer to the scent, to get closer to you.

He imagined licking the sweat from between your breasts after you rode him good and hard, and then letting his tongue work deep inside your pussy, spreading your legs further.

“Just like that, baby? You want to cum on my tongue? You’re so good for me,” his voice was muffled as he spoke into the material, imagining his face buried in your sweetness. 

Fist moving faster on his uncircumcised foreskin, his hips bucked up, precum dribbled out, and he groaned your name.

“I want to be inside you too, baby, fuck, so bad,” he said aloud, answering your imaginary plead, giving his hard shaft a few long strokes.  “But not until you cum for me.  I want to taste you.”

In his mind, he imagined feeling that tight bud at the top of your slit getting taunt under his sucks, and then you are pleading with him that you were close.  You’d be clutching onto his hair, saying his name over and over, until you eventually lost control, arching up of the bed, heels kicking on the mattress.

His hips shot up off the chair and they vibrated there, frozen, his hand jerking at the tip, imagining working you through your orgasm.

He dropped the sweater from his face and then, breathlessly, he imagined plunging his cock inside of you, diving down into your eager arms as you kissed him, burying himself in your still fluttering walls.

“OH fuckkk you feel so good,” he hissed, throwing his head back as his warm release leaked over his hand and onto his belly. “That’s my girl, that’s my fucking girl.  Take every last drop.” He huffed, stroking the wetness as long as he could before it got too sticky, squirming in his seat, pretending to linger inside you.

In the aftershock of it all, he pulled his boxers up and felt almost embarrassed.  What would you think of him if you knew? 

Regardless, he had every intention of returning the sweater to you, but time went on and he forgot.

No, that’s a lie.  He consciously decided to keep it.

About a year later, while helping him pack up his place, you’d find it tucked in the far corner of his closet.

“Baby,” you ask, holding it up by the shoulders so that it unfolds slowly in its crinkled state.  “Why do you have this?”

[thegnomelord]

Ripping the sheets at the thought of prompt #25 with Draconic Price with Mage!reader who can't handle alcohol that well ❤️‍🩹

Sure thing anon, sorry it took so long getting to your prompt 😅 Play the game HERE

Prompt: Drunken confessions

CW: SFW, GN reader, Monster AU, Gn Reader, Dragon Price drinking, drunk confessions, fluff.

To say you're a lightweight is to say the sky's blue. It's an endless source of amusement to the lads; all they have to do is sit back after a stressful mission, give you booze, and watch the fireworks — literally, when your magic sparks across the bar, little sparks crackling along the ceiling, growing wilder with each shot you take down.

Price smirks behind the rim of his beer as he watches you and Soap knock back shots of liquor in a drinking game, not even trying to understand the slurred tangent you're on; mages are nerds at heart, and the booze has melted your tough guy act and leaving you rambling on about the intricacies of magic. It's one of the things he likes about you, how passionate you are; a good treasure to keep in his hoard.

But Price figures it's time for you to go when you nearly set a trashcan on fire in the corner, your vision long since doubling, the alcohol burning in your mind so strongly a bit of your original eye color peeks out beneath the unnatural glow of mana in your eyes.

"Come on you muppet," He signs, tugging you up by the back of your clothing like you're a wet kitten. You whine and attempt to struggle, but his draconic strength far surpasses yours. "It's far past your bed time." He adds, a little rumble in the back of his throat making liquid heat pool in your belly.

"But captain-" You grumble, the world spinning like a kaleidoscope as Price pulls you out of the bar, enough sense in your brain to throw a middle finger at the rest of your team when they wolf whistle and holler.

"Not a pipe out of you." Price sighs, wing stretching out like a shroud around your back, trying not to pay attention to the way his draconic blood sings when you lean in close; trying not to think how well you fit against him, like a treasure he can hoard. "C'mon, I'll drive you home."

You mumble a few curses under your breath as he helps you into the passenger seat of his car, your inhibitions so lowered so that when he leans over to buckle your seatbelt you tilt your head, burying your nose into his neck and taking in his scent, the smell of musk and cigar smoke filling your senses. Price does his best to reign in his draconic blood, a flash flood of desire burning in his head.

"Easy there mage," He huffs and shakes his head, pushes you back into a seat with an amused snort, settling into the car. The drive back to base is like a blur to you, spent rambling about something even you can't remember as Price just hums in acknowledgement, occasionally having to swat away your wandering hands trying to grope his thigh.

Price has to carry you to your room as you're so drunk you can't stand straight, head nodding as you slowly fall asleep in the car before you even reach the gates. Price tries not to think of how well you fit in his arms as he hoists you up, holding you close to his chest. You head ends up laying on his chest, face buried in his neck.

"Hey cap?" You mumble against his skin, squirming a bit as he carries you.

"Yes?" He asks, heart beating just a little faster as you clumsily wrap your arms around his neck. You mumble something into skin, so soft and low even his advanced hearing can't pick it up, making his ears strain to hear you as he enters your room. "You need to speak up there, mage."

"I love you cap." You slur, so honest and loving, and Price nearly topples over, feet catching on a random piece of junk you've got strewn around your room. But you choose that exact moment to squirm and he ends up tossing you onto your bed, your hangs clutching him tight and pulling him down too.

"Fuck-you bloody muppet!" Price grows, shifting to put the tension off his wing from how awkwardly he'd landed. He attempts to get up, but you're stronger than you look when you want to be, clinging to him like a little koala with your arms and legs wrapped around him.

"Nooo-" You whine, burying your head into his chest, squeezing your arms when you feel his skin is as warm as yours, your mana and dragon fire so similar it's like there's no barrier between your chests. "Mhm, love you John," You say again, making his head short circuit for a few moments, draconic instincts sparking up, wing and tail wrapping around you.

"You-" He sighs as he catches himself, embarrassment blooming in his chest at how he's acting like a young welp. By the time he's calmed down, you've already fallen asleep and using his pecs like a pillow, snoring lightly as you drool over his chest.

"You. . ." Price hums, a small smile tugging on his lips. He shuffles in an attempt to get comfortable, your bed isn't made to house two people but you're cuddled up to him so closely it's like you two are one person. "Bloody mage." He huffs under his breath, his clawed hands carding through your hair, sharp fingers scratching your scalp.

A happy little rumble leaves his chest when you nuzzle closer, your body so warm thanks to the mana in your system. It feels. . . nice, more than nice, his draconic ancestry purrs in his ears and he pulls you closer so your head rests buried in his neck, your and his scents mixing together.

Chances are you won't remember any of this. Chances are you'll deny your words, say it was just belligerent nonsense. But for now you love him, and he leans in to nuzzle his cheek against your hair, big burly arms wrapping around your middle, whispering lowly in your ear— a statement. "Love you too, you muppet."

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 06

<< Chapter 05　|　Chapter 07 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

-

Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

-

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

You arrive early to the briefing room where Ghost is already waiting along with Soap and Gaz, leaning back in his chair comfortably, looking as unreadable as ever. He’s busying himself with some papers, seeming completely oblivious to your presence, so you just stare as long as you can.

“You plannin’ to burn a hole through my head, or you got something useful to say?” His tone is flat, all irritation and none of the warmth you thought you’d seen last night.

You huff and sit across from him. “Just making sure you haven’t completely lost it yet, old man. Thought I might be doing you a favor.”

He raises an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth pulls in a faint smirk. “Nice of you, but I’ll manage. Maybe worry about yourself first, yeah?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the familiar sarcasm you've grown accustomed to. “Right. Sorry for checking in on the team’s resident grump.”

He scoffs, shifting in his chair as he returns his attention to the paperwork. “Better me being a ‘grump’ than someone who can’t hold her liquor. Didn’t take you for the lightweight type.”

The comment hits, bringing a slight heat to your face, but you brush it off with a shrug. "That's how you know I had a good time."

He glances at you briefly, almost like he’s weighing something, but his expression stays as neutral as ever. “That's how one causes trouble.”

The banter feels… normal, comfortable even. No strange glances, no hidden softness, and certainly no hints that he intends to bring last night up. You feel almost relieved. Whatever happened, it doesn’t seem to have shifted anything between you.

Nothing’s changed. And for now, you’re perfectly fine with that.

As he continues busying himself, you sit in silence, your eyes flicking over to Ghost as he moves around the room. He’s completely absorbed in whatever task he’s working on, never glancing your way, but you can’t help but watch him.

The way he stands, shoulders squared and back stiff, like he’s ready for anything, always alert. His mask is still firmly in place as always, but there’s something about the way he moves, how precise and controlled everything he does is, that makes you think he’s not just playing the role of the soldier. Perhaps all this time, it's truly just who he is.

Your gaze drifts to the way his hands move, brushing over the papers on the table, his fingers rough, yet graceful in a way that feels… deliberate. He’s not careless, never in a rush. Everything about him is measured. Even the way he breathes. Like he’s never not prepared for what’s coming next.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand against your face, the delicate pressure, how he lingered there for moments longer than necessary. His eyes on you, not cold, but something else—something that makes your chest tighten just remembering it. The way he brushed his thumb over your lips last night comes back to you, unbidden. The way he seemed to want to burn that moment into his memory, or maybe it was just you imagining things because you’d had a few too many drinks. You know how that goes.

But then you see it again—how his jaw tightens when he’s working, the faint furrow between his brows when he’s concentrating. You remember his eyes, the way they looked at you last night—not like you were just some mistake or a distraction, but like you mattered.

You bite your lip, eyes narrowing slightly. And just like that, it clicks.

You like Ghost. Not like some sudden revelation, more like a fact you’ve known for a while now but only just admitted to yourself. It’s not hard to see why, really. You’re not blind. The guy’s impossible to ignore.

He is intense, guarded, sure, but there’s something underneath it all that draws you in—his quiet authority, the way he handles situations, the way he holds his ground even when things get messy. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice how his voice, even when he’s pissed off, somehow still manages to send a shiver down your spine. Or the way he stands, like the weight of the world could rest on his shoulders, and he’d still carry it with no complaints.

You’ve seen men acting like him before, the type who carry themselves like they’re always in control, always ready for the next mission. But Ghost is different, very distinct. You know he's someone who’s had the kind of life that leaves scars, both physical and mental. You never needed confirmation to realize that. And there’s something about the way he hides behind his mask that makes you want to get past it, see who he really is.

But you’re not some love-struck fool, and this isn’t some sappy revelation. No, it’s more of an acknowledgment. A recognition of something you’ve known but never let yourself bother with until now. Because, truthfully speaking, you don’t have time for distractions. You’ve got bigger things to focus on.

And yet, here you are, watching him like a hawk, silently hoping he’ll look up at you the same way. But he doesn’t.

So, you keep your head down, keeping your distance like always, but in the back of your mind, the fact remains.

You like Ghost.

And that's not so bad.

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“Right, listen up,” Price starts, his voice steady and authoritative. “HQ managed to pull something useful from that drive we retrieved in Istanbul. Turns out, we’ve got a lead on one of Aegis’s high-ranking operators, someone who could lead us to the top brass.”

He pauses, his eyes sweeping across the room. “There’s always one, isn’t there? One high lackey in these secretive organizations who gets too lax. Thinks they’re untouchable, starts cutting corners, leaving traces. It’s a pattern as old as time—and lucky for us, they’ve made themselves our best chance to tear this operation wide open.”

Price leans on the table, his tone sharpening. “This is our window, but it’s not wide. We get in, we hit fast, and we make sure this bastard talks. Whatever they know, we need it. Aegis has been untouchable for too long, and I don’t plan on letting this opportunity slip through our fingers.”

You glance around, seeing the same looks of anticipation from the rest of the team. A lead—finally, something concrete.

“The problem is, this operation’s gotta go through channels. We’ll need clearance, assets… the works,” Price continues, his tone a little grimmer. “That means we’re waiting until HQ gives us the green light. Could take weeks. But sitting around isn’t an option.”

He pauses, scanning each of you. “So, until then, we’ll keep busy with some local missions. Nothing too complex, but I don’t want anyone getting rusty while we’re on standby.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table, but you feel a pang in your chest. You’d been focused on the Aegis mission from the start, never really thinking about anything outside of that. Now that they’re talking about ‘local missions,’ you can’t help but feel… separate, like the outsider you originally were. No one mentioned your role beyond helping with the Aegis case. After all, you’re still just a hired hand—a merc brought in for a single purpose.

Ghost is focused on Price, his posture tense as ever, while Gaz and Soap exchange a knowing glance. You’re about to quietly excuse yourself, assuming you’ll sit this out when Price’s gaze settles on you.

“Oi, where do you think you’re going?” Price’s tone is sharp, but there’s something almost amused in his expression.

“I just… thought I’d step back,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “I’m not a soldier. I’m just here for the Aegis lead, remember?”

Soap rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Rubbish. You’re with us now, aye? Doesn’t matter if it’s Aegis or not.”

“Didn’t realize we were so quick to get rid of you,” Gaz chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips.

Ghost, too, narrows his eyes at you, though his expression is unreadable.

You blink, glancing between them, your stomach flipping in a strange mix of relief and disbelief. You’d prepared yourself to step back, to be the outsider again, but now… it feels like they’re giving you something more.

“Alright,” you finally say, unable to hide the slight smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Guess I’ll stick around, then.”

The murmur of approval that follows feels oddly comforting. You might still be a mercenary, not fully one of them, but in this moment, it feels like you’re finally part of something more.

“Here’s what we’ve got,” Price begins, laying a folder on the table. “A series of thefts from a military supply depot in Manchester. The MoD’s breathing down our necks to sort it out.”

“Thieves?” Soap grins, leaning back in his chair. “Aye, Captain, do we bring tea and biscuits too? Sounds like a right thrilling job.”

Price’s glare silences him. “Could be a gang. Could be a test run for something bigger. Either way, we’re not taking chances. Ghost, you and her go in first for recon. Soap and Gaz, you’ll back them up if things heat up.”

“Bring them in quiet, then?” Ghost asks, arms crossed.

“Quiet’s the goal. Fireworks if they bring the match,” Price replies.

You raise an eyebrow, unable to resist. “So, am I here to fill a quota, or are we pretending I have a role in this?”

Soap chuckles, but Ghost’s gaze cuts to you, sharp as a blade. “Your role is to follow orders. Don’t muck it up.”

Before you can retort, Price ends the briefing. “Gear up. We move in ten.”

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The depot is dark and quiet, rows of warehouses illuminated by dim, flickering streetlights. A faint breeze carries the metallic scent of the train tracks nearby. Ghost moves ahead of you, a shadow among shadows, his movements deliberate and controlled.

“Nothing yet,” you whisper into comms, your voice low but steady.

“Keep your eyes open,” Ghost replies, scanning the area with unnerving precision.

As the minutes drag on with no signs of life, your patience thins. “Riveting stuff,” you mutter, sarcasm lacing your tone.

“Keep quiet.”

“Afraid I’ll spook the crates?”

His silence is almost worse than a retort, but you catch the faintest exhale, like he’s suppressing a smirk.

Then movement catches your eye—a shadow slipping between crates near the far end of the depot. Your instincts kick in, adrenaline spiking.

“Got something,” you whisper, pointing toward the figure.

Ghost’s voice stiffens. “Stay there,” he orders, already moving.

You scoff, your pulse pounding in your ears. Stay? That's not what you are trained to do. Flanking around the opposite side, you keep low, your steps silent on the gravel.

The shadows ahead resolve into two figures: one with a crowbar prying open a crate, the other keeping watch.

The crowbar wielder spots you first. “Oi!” he shouts, raising the tool to strike.

You duck, the swing whistling past your head, and drive your shoulder into his chest, sending him sprawling. Before he can recover, your knife is at his throat, and you shove him hard against the crate.

The shout has drawn others. Lights flicker on, illuminating more figures emerging from the shadows.

“Shit,” you mutter, already ducking for cover as gunfire erupts.

“What the fuck did you do?” Ghost’s voice growls through comms, furious.

“I improvised!” you shout back, squeezing off shots to keep the advancing figures at bay.

“By fuckin’ everything up?” His tone is venomous, but there’s no time to argue.

Soap and Gaz burst onto the scene, their arrival a storm of gunfire and shouted orders. The quiet op spirals into chaos: bullets ricochet off steel crates, shouts echo through the depot, and the thieves scatter like rats.

One lunges at you with a knife. You sidestep, twist his arm, and drive him to the ground with a sharp knee to his stomach. Ghost appears out of nowhere, finishing the job with a brutal kick that leaves the man unconscious.

The firefight ends as abruptly as it began. The depot is secure, the thieves restrained and lined up like wayward schoolboys under Price’s watchful eye. But the air is thick with tension, and Ghost storms toward you, his fury palpable.

“What the fuck was that?” he snaps, his voice low but deadly.

You open your mouth to explain, but his eyes—dark with frustration—stop you before you can speak.

“You disobeyed a direct order, endangered the op, and nearly got yourself killed. That’s your idea of handling it?”

You open your mouth again, but this time, the words don’t come. The truth hits you like a freight train. It’s not about the mission. It’s not about the team. It’s about you. You’ve always operated alone. For ten years, it’s been nothing but you—no backup, no team, no one to rely on but yourself. You’ve learned to trust no one, to act quickly, decisively, because there’s no one else who’s going to cover your back. You’re a mercenary by trade, a lone wolf.

But this—this isn’t that. This is a team. And you’re still learning how to fit into it. You’ve tried, god, you’ve tried. You’ve been making an effort to follow orders, to listen, to work alongside them, but it’s never been your way. Never has been, and it’s not as easy as just switching off your instincts. You’re still holding on to that lone mentality, still thinking like you’re the only one in control, like you’re the only one who matters.

Ghost’s words hit harder than they should. “You’re reckless. Dangerous. You don’t belong here.” His voice dips lower, sharper. “Having you with us is a mistake.”

The sting of those words reverberates deep within you. You know he’s right. You are reckless. You broke the plan, you jumped in too fast, and now the mission’s been compromised because you couldn’t hold back. Because you couldn’t trust them. Trust anyone.

"Ghost, that's enough." Price steps in, his voice firm, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Ghost’s anger is there, thick and bitter, and you can’t shake the weight of his words. The worst part is that they’re true.

You didn’t belong to this team. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You stand there, your chest tight, trying to process his words. Part of you wants to explain, to defend yourself, but the other part—the part that’s tired of being on the outside—wonders if he’s right.

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The ride back to HQ is suffocating. The armored van rumbles along the quiet roads, but the silence inside is deafening. No one speaks. Soap sits with his arms crossed, his mouth set in an uncharacteristic frown. Gaz glances between you and Ghost occasionally, his expression unreadable. And Ghost—he doesn’t even look your way, his body stiff as he stares at some indeterminate spot on the wall.

You keep your gaze fixed on your lap, your knuckles pale from gripping your knees. The tension coils around you like a vice, tighter with every passing minute. Price’s rare silence makes it worse, his disappointment palpable even without words.

When the van finally pulls into HQ, you are the first to move. No one stops you.

You barely register walking through the base, your boots heavy against the tile floors. The whispers from the other soldiers, the curious glances—they barely scratch the surface of your awareness. You reach your quarters in a haze, shutting the door behind you with a loud click.

The shower is the first thing you need. Stripping off your gear and bloodstained clothes, you step under the scalding water, letting it cascade over your skin. The grime and sweat of the mission melt away, but it does nothing for the knot in your chest.

You scrub harder, like you can wash away the words Ghost spat at you.

“You don’t belong here.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, and before you can stop it, the tears come. Silent at first, slipping down your face and mingling with the water. But then the weight of it all crashes over you—his anger, the guilt, the humiliation. The sobs wrack your chest, harsh and unrelenting.

You press your hands to your face, muffling the sound.

The mission went wrong. You know that. You broke formation, ignored orders—again. But the way Ghost spoke to you, the venom in his voice, made it so much worse. Like you are a liability, something to be discarded.

You sink to the floor of the shower, the water pounding against your back as you bury your face in your hands.

You hate this. Hate how his words linger in your head, hate how they make you doubt yourself.

You aren’t a rookie. You’ve been a mercenary for over a decade. But this is different. Being part of their team—fitting into their system—it isn’t something you’ve ever had to do before. And tonight proves you don’t know how.

By the time the tears stop, your skin is red from the heat of the water, and the room is filled with thick steam. You turn off the shower and sit there for a moment, staring at the tiles.

Eventually, you force yourself to move. Drying off, you slip into comfortable clothes and sit on the edge of your bed. The exhaustion is bone-deep, but sleep feels impossible.

The words replay in your mind. “You don’t belong here.”

And the worst part is, you aren’t sure if he’s wrong.

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Getting off base for the night isn’t as straightforward as walking out the gates. It never is. You spend the better part of the night navigating the layers of protocol required for someone in your position. Hired hands aren’t exactly afforded the same privileges as the soldiers stationed here.

First comes the request—a formal nod to the chain of command. You keep it simple: a few hours in town to unwind, a brief break from the monotony. It isn’t a lie, but you know better than to overshare. They don’t need your life story, just a reason they can’t argue with.

Next is the approval process. Someone with a clipboard, a sharp eye, and just enough authority to make you wait longer than necessary finally hands over a clearance slip. It’s flimsy, just a card with your name, a stamp of approval, and the time you need to be back, but it’s freedom—conditional as it may be.

At the gate, the guards barely look at you as they check the slip, scan your ID, and wave you through. Their disinterest is palpable, an unspoken understanding that you’re no longer their responsibility once you step outside.

The heavy gate creaks open, and the air beyond feels different. Lighter, less stifling, with the faint promise of anonymity in the night ahead. You climb into the waiting cab, settling into the seat as the base lights fade behind you. For the first time in weeks, you feel untethered, even if only for a few hours.

The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror. “Heading out for a quiet drink?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, your voice even.

The cab rocks gently as it takes the turns, the faint hum of the radio filling the silence. You keep your eyes on the window, watching the rolling countryside give way to the first signs of town life—rows of small buildings glowing under streetlights, signs of a world that doesn’t feel burdened by the weight of missions gone wrong or words that cut deep.

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The club comes into view, its neon lights flickering in an erratic but inviting rhythm. The bass thumps faintly in the night air, reverberating through the pavement as you step out of the cab. The loose sweater hangs over your frame, the sleeves just slightly too long, and the worn sneakers you slipped on feel out of place among the sharp heels and sleek outfits of the gathering crowd. But you don’t care. Tonight isn’t about fitting in—it’s about forgetting.

The bouncer eyes you up and down, his expression unreadable as he takes in your attire—clothes that scream out of place in the sea of glittering dresses and sharp suits around you. For a moment, you brace yourself for the inevitable shake of his head, but instead, he jerks a thumb toward the door, a flicker of something like amusement crossing his face. Maybe it’s the weariness in your eyes or the way you hold yourself, like you’ve seen enough to not care what anyone thinks. Whatever it is, he doesn’t stop you. “Go on,” he mutters, barely sparing you a second glance. The cacophony of music and voices hits you in a rush. The heavy beats, the swirl of lights, the haze of motion—it’s everything you need to drown out the thoughts still clawing at the back of your mind.

At the bar, you order something strong and down it quickly, the burn trailing down your throat a welcome distraction. The familiar motions of drinking, of sitting at a bar surrounded by strangers, almost make you feel normal. Almost.

The crowd shifts and sways to the music, bodies moving in chaotic synchrony, a rhythm dictated by the pulsing bass. You stay at the edges, nursing your second drink, your loose sweater brushing against your arms like a phantom reminder of the gear you shed.

You feel anonymous here, and maybe that’s the point. No missions, no formations, no Ghost’s livid words playing on repeat. Just the music, the heat of the room, and the simple, fleeting luxury of being nobody in a sea of strangers.

For a moment, you wonder if this will work—if the noise and chaos can smother everything else. You don’t feel like a mercenary tonight. You don’t feel like someone trained to kill. You feel like a woman who needs to disappear for a few hours, to let the beat carry her someplace else.

The glass is cool in your hand, condensation dripping onto the bar as you swirl the remnants of your drink, lost in the haze of the pulsing music. You don’t notice the stranger until he’s right beside you, leaning casually on the bar.

“Rough night?” His voice cuts through the noise, smooth and self-assured.

You glance up, taking in the sharp jawline, the easy smile, and the confidence that radiates from him. He looks like he belongs here—perfectly at ease in the swirl of lights and music, his shirt just tight enough to hint at a well-built frame.

“Something like that,” you reply, your tone light but guarded.

His grin widens, and he motions to the bartender. “Another for her, on me. Whatever she’s having.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Generous of you.”

“Let’s call it an investment,” he says, leaning in just slightly. His cologne is subtle, a faint mix of something woodsy and clean. “Trying to see if I can make you smile.”

You can’t help the small twitch of your lips, though you mask it with a sip of your freshly placed drink. “I don’t think I’m your type.”

He tilts his head, his gaze warm and teasing. “Maybe you’re exactly my type.” The words should sound cheap, but something about his delivery makes them feel playful instead.

The glass feels heavier in your hand as his words sink in, and you glance down at yourself—oversized sweater swallowing your frame, hair thrown haphazardly, and sneakers peeking out from beneath your jeans. You’re a far cry from the sleek, confident crowd that moves around the club, their sequins and sharp tailoring catching the strobe lights like polished glass.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. “I doubt that,” you say, the edge in your voice barely concealed. “Look at me. I don’t exactly scream ‘fun night out.’”

He doesn’t miss a beat, his expression softening but still holding that spark of charm. “You think I care about what you’re wearing? Trust me, I’ve seen enough people dressed to the nines with nothing going on behind the eyes. You? I don’t think you realize how much you stand out.”

The comment makes your stomach twist—not with discomfort, but something lighter, warmer. You take another sip of your drink to hide your reaction, but his gaze stays on you, steady and sure, like he’s waiting for you to actually believe him.

You clear your throat, trying to brush it off. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or a really polite way to say I don’t fit in here.”

“It’s a compliment,” he says firmly, leaning closer. “And for the record, you’re a breath of fresh air in a place like this.”

For the first time in the evening, you feel the tension in your shoulders ease just slightly, his words carving a sliver of space in the wall you’ve built around yourself. Still, a small voice in the back of your head whispers disbelief, but you shove it aside—just for tonight.

“Alright,” you say finally, setting your drink down. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He extends a hand, palm up, an invitation that makes you hesitate for just a second. Then you slip your hand into his, letting him guide you to the dance floor.

The music envelops you, a bass-heavy track with a rhythm impossible to ignore. The crowd presses in around you, a blur of bodies and heat, but he keeps a respectful distance at first, moving in time with you. He’s good at this—confident without being overbearing, his movements fluid and easy.

“You’ve done this before,” you note, raising your voice over the music.

“Once or twice,” he admits, flashing a grin. “You’re not bad yourself.”

You snort lightly. “Don’t get used to it. I don’t dance often.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He spins you suddenly, his hand firm but gentle on your waist as he pulls you back.

The motion catches you off guard, but you go with it, the tension of the last few days starting to dissolve in the rhythm and the sheer absurdity of the moment. Here, under the lights, surrounded by strangers, you feel a little less weighed down, a little more like someone who can laugh at a flirtatious stranger and just enjoy the moment.

The bass thumps through your body, drowning out your thoughts. The weight in your chest hasn’t fully lifted—it lingers there, a reminder of the earlier mess—but the alcohol in your veins, the stranger’s hands gently brushing your waist as he dances behind you, and the sheer energy of the crowd help blur the edges of the pain. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it.

His movements mirror yours, easy and fluid, and when you glance over your shoulder, his attention is locked solely on you. There’s no pretense, no guessing; he’s fully engrossed, his smile wide and genuine. It’s almost disarming, that kind of focus, but it also makes you feel… present.

You raise the drink in your hand to your lips, taking a slow sip, and catch his amused glance. He leans down just enough for you to hear him over the music. “Not bad, huh?”

You smirk. “I’ve seen better.”

He laughs, the sound melting into the rhythm of the song. “Liar,” he teases, his hands brushing your hips in time with the beat, keeping just the right amount of distance to make it playful.

The song shifts to something slower but heavier, the lights dimming, and the crowd around you sways together like a single entity. You hesitate, your instinct to step away clashing with the alcohol-fueled buzz in your head. Instead, you turn to face him, your drink now just a forgotten weight in your hand.

His eyes scan your face, a flicker of curiosity and something warmer behind his easy smile. He steps closer, his movements deliberate but not invasive, giving you space to pull away if you want. You don’t.

“You know,” he says, his voice low enough to cut through the music, “I don’t usually get this lucky.”

“Lucky how?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, though you’re already sure of the answer.

“Meeting someone like you,” he says simply, his tone sincere.

It’s a line—probably one he’s used before—but in the haze of the club, it feels… nice. You tilt your head, studying him. The lights strobe, casting his features in flashes of blue and red, and for a second, you let yourself relax into the idea that this is all there is. Just a night, just a moment.

He leans in slightly, and you can feel the shift in the air between you. His hand brushes your arm, and his voice drops even lower. “Can I…?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind catching up with what’s happening. Then, slowly, he leans closer, his lips brushing yours with tentative softness.

It’s fleeting—a kiss that doesn’t demand anything, just a gentle question. And for a heartbeat, you let yourself lean into it, letting the world outside the club disappear completely.

The kiss deepens for just a moment, the stranger’s hands resting lightly on your hips, when suddenly, a sharp tug yanks you backward. You stumble, breaking away from the man, and find yourself face-to-face with Ghost.

He stands rigid, his imposing figure towering over both you and the stranger, his eyes blazing behind the mask. Even in the dim lighting of the club, the tension rolling off him is palpable.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demand, your heart racing—not from the kiss, but from the sheer intensity of Ghost’s presence.

“Saving you from making a mistake,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. He turns his attention to the stranger, who looks bewildered and more than a little intimidated. “Back off.”

The guy raises his hands in mock surrender, his earlier charm replaced by wariness. “Hey, I didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

“I’m not—” you start, but Ghost steps forward, his stance shifting like he’s ready for a fight.

The guy takes a step back, looking between the two of you. “Look, man, she’s all yours. I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“Ghost!” you snap, grabbing his arm to stop him. “He’s a civilian. You can’t just—”

Ghost’s gaze snaps to you, the fire in his eyes still smoldering. “A civilian,” he repeats, his tone sharp with disbelief.

“What is wrong with you?” you shoot back, your own anger flaring now.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenching beneath the mask. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, but he doesn’t step away. “You don’t know what kind of people come to places like this,” he mutters, his tone quieter but no less heated.

“I can handle myself,” you say firmly, pulling your arm free from his grasp.

“Clearly,” he bites out, his eyes flicking to the stranger, who wisely starts edging away.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Ghost, let it go. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ghost’s shoulders stiffen briefly, but after a moment, he exhales sharply, the tension in his body easing just slightly. He steps closer, his voice low and firm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you snap, but he doesn’t give you a choice. His hand closes around your wrist—not painfully, but with enough strength to make it clear he isn’t backing down.

“Ghost, I mean it—”

“Don’t make me carry you out,” he warns, his voice calm but laced with steel. His grip tightens just enough to guide you firmly toward the exit.

Fuming, you let yourself be dragged outside, too aware of the growing number of eyes on you in the club. Once outside, the cool night air hits your flushed skin, but it does little to cool your temper.

“Get in the car,” Ghost orders, nodding toward a black vehicle parked by the curb.

“You can’t just—”

“Get. In. The car,” he repeats, his tone brooking no argument.

Angrily, you yank your arm out of his grip and climb in, slamming the door behind you. Ghost rounds the car and gets into the driver’s seat, the air inside thick with unspoken tension.

As he pulls away from the curb, you whirl on him. “Why the hell were you following me? I got clearance. I’m not under your leash anymore.”

“I wasn’t following you,” he retorts, his tone sharp. “I was making sure you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“Bullshit,” you snap. “I’ve been on my own plenty of times before, and you never pulled this crap.”

“This isn’t the same,” he growls, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “You’re reckless, and you don’t think about what’s waiting around the corner. A place like that? You’re asking for trouble.”

“I’m asking for a night off,” you counter, your voice rising. “You don’t get to decide where I go or who I talk to anymore.”

His jaw tightens beneath the mask, but he says nothing.

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The drive is silent, tension filling the car like a thick fog. Ghost grips the wheel tightly, his knuckles white under his gloves. You sit stiffly in the passenger seat, your thoughts swirling with confusion and lingering frustration. The alcohol in your system is dulling your ability to piece things together, but one thing is clear—he's angry.

The car finally slows as he pulls into an empty park, dimly lit by streetlights and eerily quiet. He cuts the engine and sits there for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel, before turning to you with a sharp look.

“Get out,” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You blink at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said, get out of the car.”

His tone sends a shiver through you, and for a moment, you hesitate. But the look in his eyes is unyielding, so you push open the door and step out into the crisp night air. Ghost follows, his boots crunching against the gravel as he comes around to face you.

“Why do you always cause trouble?” he demands, his voice low but biting.

The question hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. “Trouble?” you repeat, your voice shaking. “You dragged me out here just to call me trouble?”

“You don’t think!” he snaps, his frustration boiling over. “You act on impulse, you break formation, and you put yourself—and everyone else—at risk. What the hell is wrong with you?”

His words are like a punch to the gut, and before you can stop yourself, the dam inside you bursts. “Have you already forgotten what you said to me?” Your voice trembles, rising with each word. “That having me around is a mistake? That the idea of me is a mistake?”

His mouth opens slightly as if to respond, but you don’t give him the chance.

“You don’t think I’m trying?” you cry out, the alcohol making your emotions impossible to suppress. “I’ve been a merc for ten years, Ghost. Ten years of flying solo, doing things my way. You think I can just switch that off and magically fit into your team overnight?”

He doesn’t say anything, but the flicker of guilt in his eyes is undeniable.

“I’ve been trying,” you continue, your voice breaking now. “I really have, but it’s hard. And you—you make it even harder. You’re so quick to throw me away, like I’m nothing. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

Your voice cracks, and before you know it, tears spill over, your shoulders trembling as you struggle to hold yourself together. You hate this—hate how vulnerable you are right now, hate how much his words got to you.

Ghost takes a step closer, his towering frame softening as he reaches out. His gloved hands cup your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streak your cheeks.

“Stop,” he says quietly, his voice stripped of its usual edge. “Just… stop.”

You meet his gaze, your breath hitching at the look in his eyes—raw, conflicted, and entirely unguarded.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry, and I... I was scared.”

“Scared?” you repeat, your voice shaking.

He nods, his hands still cradling your face. “You don’t get it, do you? Watching you throw yourself into danger like that, without a second thought—it messes with me. The thought of you getting hurt…” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “It fucks me up inside.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, the raw honesty in them cutting through the haze of your emotions.

“I don’t know how to deal with it,” he admits, his thumbs brushing over your tears in a gesture so tender it makes your heart ache. “But I know I’ve been taking it out on you, and I’m sorry for that. You didn’t deserve it.”

For a moment, the two of you stand there, the weight of his words settling between you. The anger, the hurt, the confusion—it all feels distant now, overshadowed by the quiet sincerity in his voice and the steady warmth of his hands.

You stand there, the weight of everything crashing down on you, and the question rises in your chest, burning with a quiet intensity. The words spill out before you can stop them. “If you care so much about me, then why would you say things that hurt me like that? Why throw all that shit at me, if you actually care?”

Ghost’s gaze drops to the ground, his jaw tightening. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, as though he’s struggling with the weight of his own words. His hands remain on your face, cupping your cheeks firmly, as though grounding himself in you. He doesn’t pull away, and neither do you, despite the tension building between you.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence, low and rough. “You think I want to hurt you?”

“No,” you reply quickly, “but you sure know how to do it.”

His eyes flicker to yours before he looks away again, the frustration evident in his every movement. “I don’t know how to show I care, alright? I’ve never been good at it.”

You blink at him, the confusion deepening. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, his thumb brushing over the skin of your cheek, almost absentmindedly, as though he’s not aware of how intimate the gesture is.

“You’re right. I don't know how to treat people the right way. And that’s been a problem for years.” He pauses, his eyes briefly meeting yours before they drop to the ground again. “I’m not good at expressing myself either. It’s been like that for a long time. I don’t know how to show I care about certain people. Especially you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, the weight of his words crashing into you. “So, all this time… it’s been about you not knowing how to… show you care?”

He nods, meeting your eyes once more, soft but unyielding. “Yeah. I’m puzzled, okay? I’ve never met anyone like you. Someone who makes me care this much and still frustrates the hell out of me. It messes with my head. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tight, processing everything. “So it’s not just about the team, then? It’s about me?”

His eyes meet yours again, more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. “Yeah. You get under my skin, and I don’t know how to handle it. I hate it, but I can’t stop it. And that’s what fucks me up.”

You try to process his words, still feeling the sting of the anger, but you can see the regret and vulnerability in his eyes. You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I hate how it messes with me, how you’re different from the others. And that pisses me off, because I can’t fucking fix it.” His hands tense slightly on your face, as if trying to hold onto the moment. “I don’t know what to do, but I’m trying. I am.”

Your heart beats faster, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you look at him. “You don’t have to fix anything, Ghost. Just… don’t hurt me.”

His grip softens, and for a moment, you see him at a loss for words. He moves his thumb over your cheek again, almost as though he’s apologizing without saying it. Then, he looks at you, his gaze steady. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, the words carrying weight. “I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—bloody hell, I'm lost when it comes to you.”

You nod, the emotions still swirling inside you. “I don’t need you to have it figured out right now. Just don’t…”

“I won’t,” he promises, his voice barely a whisper, but firm. “I won’t hurt you again.”

The air between you thickens, the silence heavy with everything that’s been left unsaid. You’re still reeling from the intensity of the moment, the weight of Ghost’s presence and everything unspoken between you. His gloved hands are still holding your face, steady and grounding, but his gaze shifts, dark and unreadable, as though he’s making a decision in real time.

You feel it before he moves, the tension crackling like a live wire, and then, with deliberate slowness, he lifts his own mask. It’s only to his nose, just high enough to expose his lips. The action feels monumental, the vulnerability of it making your breath hitch.

The sight of him—the strong curve of his mouth, the way his breath brushes against your skin—is startling, disarming. And before you can say anything, before you can even think, he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is hard, unrelenting, full of frustration and desire that’s been simmering under the surface for too long. It’s not careful or measured—it’s raw, messy, and unapologetic. Like he’s trying to erase the memory of the stranger’s hands on you, of that kiss you shared, and replace it with this. With him.

His lips move against yours with a desperation that makes your knees weak, his hands tightening slightly against your face as though he can’t bear the thought of letting go. You gasp into the kiss, your hands instinctively clutching at the fabric of his shirt, and that’s all it takes for him to deepen it, pulling you closer, his body pressing firmly against yours.

There’s no hesitation in him, no second-guessing, only the overwhelming need to claim you, to make it clear that this is where you belong. It’s intense, searing, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—his lips, his touch, the sheer force of his presence.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only just enough to catch his breath, his lips hovering over yours. Both of you are gasping for air, the space between you charged with the kind of energy that leaves you dizzy.

The sight of him like this—vulnerable and exposed—is almost too much to process.

“I followed you back there,” he admits, his voice rough but steady, “to apologize. For what I said. I thought maybe—maybe if I just said I was sorry, you’d—” His words falter for a moment before he pushes forward. “But then I saw him. That bastard at the bar, leaning too close, looking at you like—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tight as he fights for control.

“I hated it,” he whispers, voice rough and barely audible over the pounding of your heart. His forehead presses lightly against yours, and you can feel the tremor in his breath. “Seeing him with you. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to destroy everything.”

His words hit you like a punch, raw and unfiltered, leaving no room for doubt. Your chest tightens as you try to make sense of it, of him, of everything that’s just happened.

“I wanted it to be me,” Ghost mutters, his lips brushing yours again as he speaks. His voice is quieter now, but no less intense, each word laced with meaning. “It should’ve been me.”

You’re left breathless, stunned into silence, your heart pounding as his words settle into your bones. The weight of what he’s said, what he’s done, lingers between you, unshakable and impossible to ignore.

The world around you feels like it’s stopped moving, as if everything has frozen, leaving only you and Ghost, this moment, hanging in suspended time. His lips are still gently hovering over yours, but the kiss he just gave you lingers like fire across your skin, burning away any remnants of the confusion that was there before. His touch, his presence—it's so different from that stranger’s brief, fleeting kiss at the club. This? This feels real. This feels right.

Your head is spinning, heart hammering, trying to make sense of what’s happening. It’s like the fog is lifting and you can finally see the clarity you’ve been ignoring. The space between you and Ghost feels like it’s always been meant to be filled, like there’s no question about it.

With a breathless laugh, you close the small distance between you two and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring him to you as you finally let yourself feel the rush of everything you’ve been holding back. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, as if trying to show him what’s been building inside you.

When you pull back just enough to speak, your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s laced with certainty. “It’ll be you,” you say, your hands resting against his chest, your eyes locking with his. “From now on, it’ll be you.”

Ghost's eyes ignite with relief, his grip on you tightening as if he's been starved of your consent. Crushing his mouth to yours, he kisses you fiercely, devouring every inch of your lips. His tongue claims your mouth, tangling with yours in a wild dance of passion that mirrors the unspoken hunger you both share. His touch becomes more demanding, yet gentle, sending waves of heat crashing through your body. This raw, carnal connection eclipses everything else—the world, the mission, the tangled past—reducing it all to insignificance compared to the burning fire consuming you both.

You pull back slowly, your lips still tingling, the world around you sharpening back into focus. His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling beneath your fingers as his gaze locks onto yours, raw and intense. The silence stretches, but it’s no longer uncomfortable—it’s charged, full of implicit understanding.

“I’m scared,” you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “Everything’s different now.”

He doesn’t look away, his thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that’s almost too much. “I’m scared too,” he admits, his voice a low growl. “Hell, I’m terrified.”

But the fear isn’t something to avoid. It makes everything feel real, exhilarating, like a dare. You both know that whatever this is, it’s a risk worth taking. No safety nets, no guarantees. Just the thrill of diving in, together.

And as his lips find yours again, the fear becomes fuel—the kind of fear that pushes you forward, deeper into the unknown, but this time, you know you’ll face it side by side.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ -

Author's Note: definitely a rushed chapter (sorry about that, work’s been killing me), but things are about to get steamy after this. :^)

[lucysgraybird]

.𖥔 ๋.•⋆ such a wonderful, wild party ⋆•. ๋𖥔.

modern!racing au in partnership with @phantomamor for their countdown to the abu dhabi grand prix! check out their incredible fic here

william h bonney x reader

warnings: drinking, grinding, etc.

The time since the race had been a whirlwind of press and congratulations and stolen kisses in the in-betweens, but finally Billy had been returned to you, sweat cooled sticky on his skin and eyes bright with lingering adrenaline. The second-place win and double podium for Ferrari had left him giddy and giggly, planting kisses on your nose-cheeks-forehead before you catch his face in a fit of laughter.

"My beautiful, talented boy," you murmur, smoothing your thumbs over his flushed cheeks. His curls are plastered to his forehead at the front and sticking up from pulling off his balaclava after the race. He turns his head to kiss your palm, then noses at the skin there.

"Thank you for being here." His voice buzzes against the heart line in your hand. "I'm better when you're watching."

It's so easy when he's on the track, tearing around corners and boxing out competitors, to forget the sweet boy who curls around you like a comma every night he can; who will burst out with phrases so genuine that it makes your heart feel like it's going to fizz up and out of your throat.

But that's hard to put into words, here where the air is heavy and hot and still thick with the smell of engine fuel and burning rubber. Instead, you squeeze his face gently.

"Sap."

"You love it."

"I love you."

Billy beams, nose crinkling. "I love you too."

Back at the hotel, the first thing he does is shower, scrubbing off the scent of car and sweat and chemical-coated clothing. It's rare that you join him in these showers unless the race was particularly difficult; his focus is strictly on stripping his skin of the day and he takes the time to let the adrenaline wane.

When he emerges, he's in clean shorts and no shirt, his skin still slightly damp from his shower. You're stretched out in bed reading, which Billy takes as invitation to nudge under your book to lay between your legs with his head pillowed on your chest.

"Hey," you laugh. "You smell good."

"They have really nice soap," he mumbles, his voice already half-asleep. "Going out tonight?"

"Do you want to? We don't have to."

He shifts to balance his chin on your sternum, his lips squished into a pout. "I want to. I'll be less sleepy once we're out."

You push your hands through his hair at the temples, twisting the curls around your fingers to cradle his head.

"Then I have to get ready, lemme up."

"You look perfect like this," Billy replies, snaking his arms around your ribs and under your body, hands squished under you and splayed against your back. Still dressed from the race, you do look nice, you know that much, but you're far from dressed for a nightclub.

With one final firm squeeze, though, he does let you up. You dig through your suitcase for your makeup and something to wear out, disappearing into the bathroom to get ready. You leave the door open intentionally, watching as Billy putters around the hotel room in a haze to find an outfit. He slips in behind you just as you're finishing up, threading his arms around your waist.

"You ready?" He asks.

You turn in his arms to look at him, a hand braced against his chest. He's dressed in dark jeans and a patterned button-down that's so lightweight that it's slightly translucent, and he's neglected the top three or so buttons. He plays with the hem of your top when he notices you staring.

"My eyes are up here, darlin'," he quips.

"Who says I was trying to look at your eyes?" You shoot back, but your gaze drifts upwards to look at the way the corners of his eyebrows draw down when he smiles.

With a kiss to his cheek and a subsequent reapplication of your lipstick (he denies your offer to smudge off the rouge print you've left on his face), you're out the door into the sticky night air. Billy keeps a hand in yours as you walk to the nightclub - occasionally, past a group of particularly rowdy tourists or the like, he'll curl you into his side under a protective arm. Once in the nightclub, you're free to stare at the way the neon lights dye his hair with the rainbow shine of the oil in water on the tracks, his light eyes reflecting the multi-colored glow.

"We should dance!"

You have to shout to be heard over the heavy thrum of the bass. Even with your volume, he has to dip his ear to your mouth to hear you.

"I'm going to get a drink first," he shouts back. "You go, I'll be right there!"

Billy is possessive, though not in a weird way - just, you're his girl, but he's not going to restrict you in any capacity. Even so, you stay in his sightline when you head to the dance floor - it makes you feel safer, regardless of if he cares. You can feel his gaze weighty on you as you sway to the beat of the music. The press of bodies is dizzying but in a good way. It's a strange unity, not a single person worried about what the person next to them is doing. There's the swipe of a hand on your waist, but it's not Billy.

"Hey, baby," the man says, his voice humid against your ear. You can smell the alcohol on his breath. "Dance with me, huh?"

You take a stumbling step as far from him as you can, which isn't far at all. "Oh, I'm okay, thank...thank you."

"Nah, hey, c'mon! A girl like you, looking like that shouldn't be dancing alone. Just one song."

"No, really, I'm waiting on-"

"Hey, man," Billy cuts in, looping his arm around your shoulders. "I'm gonna steal my girlfriend from you, if you don't mind."

The guy raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Shit, dude, I didn't know. My bad."

"All good." His expression says it's not particularly good, but he's not going to start something for no reason.

The intruder disappears back into the crush of clubgoers and Billy swings you around to face him, one hand on your waist while you hook yours around the back of his neck.

"Sorry about that, baby," Billy says, dropping a kiss to your hair. "You okay?"

You nod. "You cut in pretty quickly, he didn't do anything."

Leaning forward, you muffle your next comment into his shirt. "You were hot."

Billy reaches up with a free hand, draws you out of his shoulder. "What'd you say, pretty? Can't hear for shit in here."

You stand on your tiptoes to speak into his ear. "I said it was hot, what you did."

Over the last minute or so, he's drawn you closer to himself so that you're more dancing on him than with him, every angle of his body pressed against every curve of yours.

"Kinda the bare minimum, pretty, but I'll take it," he murmurs, just loud enough to be audible. Your hips are right against his and you take a change in song as opportunity to turn so your back is to his chest. His hand drops to your hip as you start to move with the music, burying a groan in the crook of your neck.

"Baby, honey, fuck," he bites out after a while, his hands twisted in your skirt so tightly that it rucks up a little. "You gotta slow up, or we're going to have to leave."

"Two more songs," you bargain, still moving in time with the music. "Then we can go back to the hotel and you can do whatever you want."

[curtsycream]

Frat! Headcanons

Frat!Ghost, Soap, and Gaz x Soro!Reader

This is so short and I just I don’t know, as someone who was really into greek life I felt a need to. Not proofread, talks about their sex life briefly, and mostly includes partying. Not the complete soro/frat life but I thought this would be more interesting.

Being in a relationship with Frat! Simon, Kyle, and Johnny. You belong to the sister sorority on campus. Your sorority and their fraternity have lots of events together from toga nights to casino nights.

No matter what the party is Simon always sticks close to you. Call it your scary dog privileges as no one dares to approach you either him one step behind you.

At parties you can be a bit of a lightweight and tend to put your drink down a lot. Well you used to but whenever you feel the need to put your drink down you hand it to Simon, “hold please.” Simon will literally guard it with his life even if you only handed it to him to hold hands with Johnny.

Johnny normally doesn’t hold your drinks as he has a tendency to drink it. He gets curious about the mix you have in your cup and drinks it or assumes you made it for him. “How was I supposed to know you just handed me a cup, baby.”

Kyle was also a good option to hold your cup as he would hold it close. If anyone walked up to him he would assume it was for the drink. “No you can’t hold this, so you can spike it? I’ve seen movies I know how this goes down.” Truthfully he means well, when you walk back over to him it would be like a puppy seeing its owner. He would hand you back your cup smiling when you say thank you.

I’d like to think that Johnny and Kyle would rope you into beer pong games as much as they can. They like to watch you play even if you’re not the best at it. But anytime someone gets a pong ball into a cup during your turn one of them would drink it. Their only excuse is, “I was thirsty.” But deep down the reason was because they didn’t want you to get completely wasted.

The aftermath of parties would always be the best. Since the parties usually took place in the fraternity you would sleep there. It was convenient that Kyle and Johnny share a room.

If you were drunk they would take care of you. Well take care of you and Kyle, he’s not the greatest at pacing himself and tends to go beyond his limits. You all would push Johnny and Kyle’s beds together and cuddle.

But on the nights you didn’t drink or barely drank let’s say things would go differently. It would usually start the second Johnny’s lips were on yours. Pretty soon you’d have Simon’s hands on your hand as he thrusts into your mouth. With Kyle and Johnny sharing your cunt as they kiss. Even when you weren’t drunk it was always an intoxicating experience.

I’m an avid believer that these guys are the kind to be into public sex, face fucking, double penetration, degradation, and boob jobs. They’re always willing to try something new which is usually brought up by Soap, “so I saw this thing on like tv or something and wanted to try it.” “You mean pornhub?”

Prepare for jealous girls to show up to the frat parties hoping they have a chance with them. You never have to worry they’re too loyal to do that to you. Kyle is usually says something loudly to deter them from him, “I have a wife, she knows how to fight!” Whether you know how to fight or not that’s always his go to statement.

Johnny chooses a different approach he tends to call over one of his frat brothers and introduces him to her. “Hey Gary, this is…what’s your name again? Oh, yeah Olivia, yeah this is Olivia. Enjoy.”

Simon wouldn’t even let a girl speak a word before he was walking away like he didn’t hear a thing. Actions speak louder than words sometimes.

Your sorority sisters rarely see you during weekends as you’re always with your boyfriends. It becomes a tradition for the four of you to lock yourselves away in Johnny and Kyle’s room for the weekend and hangout. Most times it involves old horror movies and your own versions of drinking games. It can’t be helped you’re all hormonal university students.

[captianprices40thson]

Plz write a mw2 story with all 141 members going to a bar after m/n had a successful mission. M/n got drunk and starts flirting with a LOT of guys and ghost and soap got jealous and starts acting all pissed. It ends up with ghost and soap forcing M/n to sit and shut up after him asks a guy to give him a bj.

I’m a sorry sucker and this happens all the time.

Requested: Yes

Warnings: None

Ghost and Soap are dating, both have a thing for Reader. Reader has a thing for both of them, but he doesn’t act on it.

Word count: 1.7k

Notes: Once again, class means nothing when you have fanfiction to write. I apologise for this being shorter than all the other ones, but I am not as good at writing fluff y’all. I appreciate every reblog, like and comment that I get, thank you so much for leaving a note! My requests are open and I am currently working on one. Check out what I do and don’t on my profile. Also, sorry that this took longer than expected to write. It was my birthday and I’ve been busy with everything surrounding that. If you want me to rewrite this at ALL, PLEASE TELL ME.

(Also I have no idea how flirting works. The three (3) people I’ve ever dated just sort of intimidated me and they were attracted to my sad cat personality…and probably my dedication to THE GRIND. And not to flex, but imagine Alejandro, Rudy and Valeria and take them and their personalities, they’re basically the people I dated. So obviously, I have no idea what’s going on in the dating world.)

“Cheers to another successful mission, gentleman.” Price smiled, raising his glass to the rest of the table, all of which raised their own in return. Ghost was not only not drinking due to his mask, but he was also in charge of driving everyone back, meaning he raised an empty water glass.

“Still don’t know how you managed to locate me, Y/N. I swore I was a deadman the moment my radio broke.” Gaz smiled, looking over at you, who had already begun downing your drink of choice, paid for by your captain as always.

“Yep, eyes of a bat that one.” Ghost smiled, placing an arm around you since you clearly weren’t going to respond. For some reason, Soap scoffed and spoke up.

“Ghost, come on. Everyone knows bats have terrible eyesight. Ever heard of the phrase ‘blind as a bat?’” Soap smirked, acting like he had gotten Ghost trapped in a corner when in actual fact he was highlighting his own stupidity.

“No…bats have great eyesight. ‘Blind as a bat’ is wrong and a misconception.” Ghost spoke back, taking his arm back from you and placing it on the table so he could explain to Soap more. Meanwhile, your eyes had caught sight of a guy over at the bar.

“Jesus christ. That's some eye candy right there.” You unknowingly whispered to yourself, catching the ear of Gaz who was also looking over in that direction. He smiled, understanding the appeal that the tall stranger had.

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” “I think he’s with friends. Do you really wanna bother him?” Gaz asked, looking over to you. You smiled, taking a sip of your respective drink and placing the empty glass down on the table. You pushed yourself up off the table, placing a hand down on the wood as you exited the booth.

“I have two holes, Garrick.” You informed him. He seemed to accept that answer and only after you had walked away he called out a very confused ‘what!?’

You turned back to him, motioning to your mouth and then making a circle around your ass. He looked very confused and shocked, deciding that clearly you were a lightweight right then and there and also, you were way too drunk already.

Meanwhile, Price had finally finished breaking up the ‘fight’ between Ghost and Soap about bats, which had somehow turned into them trying to figure out Obama’s last name. Ghost was insistent that Obama was his first name as a joke and Soap wasn’t picking up that Ghost was joking.

“His last name is Obama.” Soap whispered as he crossed his arms, but Ghost was already distracted with the absence of you. He looked around the booth, it felt empty without you.

“Anyone seen Y/N?” “I quite like that one, don’t lose him.” Price nodded, taking a swig of his own drink. Ghost looked over to Gaz, who put his own glass down and spoke up.

“I uhm…he just went off to go talk to some guy. He’d be over by the bar.” Gaz explained, pointing a thumb over to the bar. There were people standing in front of where Ghost assumed you would be so he couldn’t confirm you were there, but he trusted the word of Gaz over his own judgement anyday.

“Come on.” The taller man huffed, grabbing Soap’s wrist and hauling him up so that they could exit the booth, both of them having to shuffle over Gaz and Price’s laps to get out. Soap groaned, asking why he had to go with him.

“Because, you’re an asshole and you know your way around these bars better than me. Also, I don’t want to talk to anyone and we’re gonna have to go grab our man back.” Ghost responded, not letting go of Soap’s arm as they walked around the bar. There were many bright colours and people walking around, making it hard for either man to concentrate.

“I see him.” Soap spoke up, pointing over to a corner where you were sat, clearly sipping someone else's drink while you chatted to the man. They both made their way over to you and Ghost placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, Come on. We’re celebrating a win, you can’t flirt with every man you see.” Soap smiled, ushering a quick apologies to the man sitting opposite you. To no one’s surprise, he didn’t mind the fact you were talking to him. He seemed sad to see you go.

“Go celebrate with your…friends, man. I’ll see you later.” He smiled, giving you a wink as you stood up, a small blush appearing on your face. (Yeah that’s right, baby. I’m giving you charisma because you deserve it.)

“Jesus, Y/N. We don’t give you attention for three seconds and you’re already trying to get into someone’s pants?” Ghost asked as he walked you back to the bar, noticing how sad you were that you were no longer flirting with a stranger at a bar. When a small ping went off and you checked your phone to a text message from the man you were just chatting with. A picture of you being dragged back to your booth.

“How did you already get his number?” Soap whisper-shouted as he watched you smile at the message. You merely shrugged your shoulders, giving them a cat-like smirk as you walked back.

—--

“Where the fuck did that little bitch go.” Soap asked exactly two minutes after they had sat back down, looking over at the empty spot at the booth where your ass was meant to be sat. You know in cartoons where something was meant to be somewhere and the little broken white lines appear around where it should be? That's sort of what was going on in his mind.

“Bar.” Gaz simply replied. Soap’s head shot over to where Gaz had said and sure enough, you were talking to a guy who looked like he could kill you in three seconds, next to him a guy that looked as if he couldn’t harm a fly. 

“Jesus Christ, come on. Let’s get him before he gets himself into trouble.” Ghost groaned, knowing that once you were drunk you basically had no filter.

“We’ve got to strap him down next time. This is meant to be a celebration between teammates, not…not Y/N leaving the table every time he can.” Soap mumbled and Ghost stopped for a minute, looking down at his shorter companion.

“Hey…does it really bother you that much that he keeps leaving?” Ghost asked and Soap nodded, crossing his arms.

“It’s just…we’re meant to be a team, a group. We’ve just been through hell together and all Y/N can think about is hopping on the next dick he sees. I just thought we could all spend some time…together, as the fucked up family we are.” Soap admitted, making eye contact with Ghost. There was sympathy in Ghost’s tone when he spoke next.

“Well…we’re gonna get him back, place him in between us and I'm gonna take his phone so he won’t receive any messages from any other guys other than the ones he’s supposed to be with. Alright?” Ghost told him and Soap smiled, nodding as they walked up to where your horny ass was sitting.

“-And it’s like, holyyyy shit. I was nearly shot!” As both men came into earshot, they could hear you clearly describing the mission you were just on to the two men, both of them looking interested as hell. Soap looked over to Ghost, knowing they should stop you seeing as all that stuff was classified and shouldn’t be told to random’s in this bar. When Ghost was about to place his hand on your shoulder and drag you back, you decided to say something the Scot nor the Brit would expect.

“Hey, can you get me a Sidecar with a side of a BJ?” You asked the main guy you were talking to. Both military men exchanged a glance before Soap decided to step in.

“WOAH THERE, Y/N. LETS NOT.” He awkwardly spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder and making you get off the stool. You groaned something about them ruining your chance at getting lucky before immediately tripping over and falling face first on the floor.

“I apologise for him, guys.” Ghost apologised to the men before helping Soap get you off the floor. Despite being in the military causing you to go through intense physical and mental training, you really weren’t heavy to them at all, which made it easier to drag you back to the table.

____

“Yeah, this is better than being at the bar. No offence to any of those guys, but you four are my type of people.” You admitted, now only being fed water in order to attempt to not make you die.

Soap shot a smile at Ghost, who gave him a wink since his smile couldn’t be seen under the mask. Price looked over his three men sitting opposite him and Gaz, both of them moving so that you could be boxed in.

“Once again, while we have all of you here, cheers to another successful mission, gentlemen.” Price smiled, raising his glass. The rest of the task force respectfully doing the same.

[gemmahale]

Masterlist last updated November 13, 2024

AO3 Profile

All fiction is 18+. Minors, please see yourselves out.

The Price of Pegging | AO3 - Capt. John Price x AFAB, GN Reader One-Shot, Complete

One comment made post-coitus spurs you on to try something new with John. One lime-green dildo later along with a few guiding comments unlocks something you never knew you needed.

Tacked Up | AO3 - Simon Riley x John Price, Simon Riley x Unnamed OFC, Kate Laswell x Unnamed OFC One-Shot, Complete, Companion Piece to @dragonnarrative-writes's 2024 Kinktober Pony Play Piece (Tumblr | AO3)

Pony space was liberating for her - all she had to do was listen to Kate’s gentle instruction. Some days she’s useful, pulling a lightweight cart across the estate. Other days she’s gussied up, tack gleaming as she shows off what Kate’s trained her to do. But today? Today she’s Kate’s breeding mare - and she’s excited.

Righteous Fury | AO3 - Sgt John 'Soap' MacTavish Multi-Chapter, In Progress, WIP Posts Here Part of the Museum Muse Universe

When one man finds himself in the same position he was in four years ago, he has a choice to make. When the beast hungry for retribution and protection roars, Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish answers. That choice leads him into a life he never expected as part of Task Force 141 and SpecGru: one of subterfuge, counter-terrorism, and intelligence operations. He knows how to defuse a bomb and shoot a gun, but can he handle the increased pressure of the work?

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The House - Jack Daniels x OFC Andrea Sanford Multi-Chapter, Incomplete, On Hiatus, Not on AO3

When Andrea inherits her grandfather's property, can the childhood friendship between her and Jack be salvaged after years of neglect?

Works in Progress

Untitled See #None Title Left Beef WIP for posts

Science is able to explain just about any phenomenon in the natural world. Go ahead and traipse through that ring of mushrooms - nothing bad will happen. Right? Wrong. Nothing we know is truly as it seems and there's so much that science has denied as impossible. Really, don't worry about that shadow - science says it's just a trick of the light.

Take the Reins See #Take The Reins WIP for posts

TBD. Set in Lindbow Kink Club Universe.

Sherds of Kindness Multi Chapter, Incomplete, On Hiatus

Four people find comfort in the mundane relationships they form.

[lvlyghost]

Remember

Pairings: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You and the team go out for a drink. At the end of the night is just you and Simon.

Word Count: 800

Tw: fluff, kyle and soap get drunk, dad!price, that’s all I think(?🥴✨

A/N: idk what this is, i was bored and finished it almost at 1:00 a.m, maybe this is my poor attempt to make a story with ghost bc god i love that man, consider this a second part of i see you although it can be read as an independent one-shot. Please remember english isn’t my first language, corrections are appreciated ✨🤍🌟💕

Part 1✨

You smiled at the camera, closing your eyes and tongue sticking out, Kyle feigned seriousness and snapped the picture. The two of you bursting into laughter as he uploaded the story to his social media. On the other side of the booth Ghost remained stoic.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He muttered to himself, rolling his eyes at the sight of the two of you. You and Gaz were the youngest ones of the team and that meant hearing you talking about things he couldn’t quite understand or watching you do things on your phones that made no sense whatsoever.

Why did he even agree to come to the pub in the first place?

“I’ll go grab another round!” Kyle announced, not waiting for an answer.

“You should’ve stopped him Lt.” you spoke. “He’s had way too many of those.”

Simon didn’t even turn to look at the sargeant.

“He’s not my bloody problem.”

But deep down you knew he’d look after any of you even off-duty.

“Hmm. Last time I checked you stopped me from grabbing us those shots of tequila back in Mexico, remember?”

He does. But apparently you didn’t remember what happened that night.

And he’d keep it that way.

“You would’ve ended up choking on your own vomit, lightweight.”

You bring and hand to your chest, mouth hanging open. You can’t help it, you laugh. He’s just…

“Wow, thank you Simon. Anyway, Kyle could be the one choking on his own vomit if we don’t stop him n… where’s Johnny?”

Simon nods his head to the other side of the pub, Price is trying to get him out of the pub, completely drunk. Kyle comes back empty handed and offended.

“Apparently, the barman says I’ve had too much. Why don’t you grab some for us Lt.? You look just fine…”

“Alright that’s it muppet, you too.” Price is now grabbing Kyle by the arm and leading him to the exit before he can even say anything. It’s getting late and you know the Captain wouldn’t come back to get you nor Simon.

“And then there were two.” You smile. “Wanna get out of here?”

He inhales deeply and nods, standing up and offering you a big calloused hand to help you out of the booth.

You had always wondered why he was so kind to you. Ghost was known as this tall, broody and mysterious man that no one wanted to cross paths with. Dangerous and feared. He was easily a good foot taller than you and could break you in an instant if he ever wanted to. Yet here he was.

Offering his hand to you, looking down straight to your big doe eyes. You always thought he had a staring problem. When he was looking at you –especially now– like that, you couldn’t help but wonder if he at least felt the way you did, just a little part of him…

You absolutely adored how safe he made you feel. Recalling that day when he had followed you all the way to the armory after your failed attempt to dating this one guy.

“You alright there kid?” He asks, leading both of you out in the hot summer air.

“Mhm.” That’s all you offer, you wish you could say more. Wish you could say all the things you wanted to him. You felt silly. A silly girl with a crush with her superior. You had convinced yourself it’ll go away. Simon Riley wasn’t one to have romantic feelings he had told you before.

“That’s just not for me.” He had stated, firmly after a rather hard mission. Things had gone sideways too soon.

“How long have we known each other, sir?” You suddenly ask, walking down the street and to the barracks.

“Over a year. I don’t know, why are you asking?”

He knew exactly how long you’ve known each other he just had to act like he didn’t.

Shrugging you stare right ahead.

“I know I’ve asked before but uh, you ever think of settling down? Like finding a partner and having someone to go home to?”

“No.” His answer is blunt, and for some reason it makes your chest tighten. “Things like that don’t work for people like us.”

“Why?” You inquire so fast, turning your head to see him. “How do you know that? You’ve never…”

“I just do.” He grunts in response.

Maybe you’re imagining things now but you could’ve sworn he took a quick glance at your lips before looking elsewhere.

Still you playfully nudge his side after a few seconds of silence. If it were someone else Simon would’ve been furious.

“Never say never, sir.”

Somehow you find yourself smiling and Ghost knew, he knew that would be a problem.

If only you could remember what happened that night in Las Almas…

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Wanting: Nero x G/N Reader

Smut/adult stuff MINORS GO AWAY LEAVE THIS PLACE AND GO READ SOMETHING ELSE >:[ Thanks! :))

SUMMARY: While you are gone, Nero gets well acquainted with your new room.

BEGINNING NOTES: 🛏️Perverse/Horny Nero x G/N Reader 🧸Un-established relationship 🛏️Nero (pillow) masturbation 🧸Mentioned reader masturbation; implied bottom--or at least likes to have things “inside” (that sounds horrible lmao, you’ll see what I mean) 🛏️Nero’s scent kink is really strong here 🧸Nero and the reader just moved into a house together; as “roommates”. 

==

     Nero bit his lip in excitement as he stared into the room. He knew that this was obscenely perverted; that this would undoubtedly get him in trouble but he couldn’t resist. With a slow lean back out of the doorway, he looked to his left then his right, surveying the hallway. You weren’t home--you weren't going to be for another few hours, but he couldn’t be too cautious. What if you came home and saw what he was doing? You’d most definitely move out and, probably, beat the living hell out of him for this. 

     But the unyielding flame inside him was overwhelming and he couldn’t help-- no, he needed to satiate this lewd hunger building inside him.

     The young hunter walked into your partially unpacked room. It had only been six days since the two of you had begun to move in and you had been rather busy with contracts lately; leaving Nero to do most of the sprucing up of the cozy abode. As he stood over your bed his teeth pierced through his lower lip and his own blood began to fill his mouth and dribble down his chin. Slowly he began to palm his growing excitement. His eyes fluttered shut as he took a deep breath, replaying last night’s events in his mind. 

     The quiet mewls of your erotic delight were followed by the soft squishing wet sounds of whatever toy or fingers you had been using. On the other side of the wall was the living space, the place Nero was currently painting. He couldn’t help but listen in, placing his ear flush against the unpainted surface. His cock was hard as ever and he touched himself in rhythm with your own playtime, listening to the bed creak from your rapid movements. 

     The sounds of your unintelligible gibberish when you encroached on your orgasm. Your muffled whimpering cry as you reached your peak pushed Nero over the edge causing him to make a mess all over his hand and jeans. As he stared at the fluid that decorated his own skin he couldn’t help but yearn for it to be your skin instead or, better yet, to be inside you. As quick as possible, he scrambled to the bathroom to clean his hand and then scurried off to his room to get new pants. When you asked why he changed clothes, he simply claimed to have “spilled paint” on himself; unable to even look you in the eye without risking getting hard.

     Admittedly this wasn’t the first time Nero had done something like this; something so unspeakably immoral and filthy. The young man has stolen your clothes so many times that he’s forgotten how much he’s soiled with his lust. 

     At first, it was an accident. You'd come over to his previous home--a small one-bedroom apartment--and you’d left your lightweight hoodie on the couch. Nero picked it up and was going to place it by the door, so he could take it back in the morning but he stopped. Without thinking he put the fabric up to his nose and took a slow deep inhale, a dangerous smell of your soap and a light smell of sweat lingered on the coat. Your scent drives him up the wall usually but within the privacy of his own home, it did so much more. For a brief moment, he realized what he was doing was weird but that quickly passed. Nero didn't even leave the living room before he had his dick out and was beating it, your hoodie still held up to his face. 

     Right before he finished, laid it on the couch, and came on it, fantasizing that it was you. The young man had never cum so hard in his life; which was then surprisingly followed by a few more rounds all of which were layered upon the soiled jacket. After a much-needed wash, he returned it to you. He remembers the guilty arousal he got when he watched you put it on, knowing he'd splattered it senseless.

     Nero opened his eyes and took a deep breath, calming himself. When he remembers that first time, he ends up getting overly excited and cumming way too fast. Taking a short break from groping himself, he unhurriedly walked over to a shirt you'd discarded on the floor and picked it up.

     The teal devil held the fabric to his nose and moaned lowly, this only added more fuel to the out-of-control lust within him. He wants you. He needs you. 

     A growl of frustration came from his throat as he returned to your bed. Quickly, he grabbed your body pillow and slid your shirt over it. Then he mounted your bed, hips straddling the plush-filled fabric. All the while he was imagining it was you instead. 

     He put the hemline of his shirt into his mouth and unbuttoned his jeans. A small shake appeared in his hands as he closed his eyes and slowly palmed his cock tent. In his mind, he was imagining all the perverse things he’d do to you if only given the chance to. As he pulled down his boxers, he finally let go of his lower lip and let out a low groan. 

     Bit by bit, he leaned down onto the pillow and wrapped his arms around it. Sluggish languid motions pushed his throbbing cock into the fabric. His eyes fluttered shut again as he took a deep inhale making his arms tighten further around the object. Although he had only just started, he already had pre-cum dribbling from his cock and was smearing it against your inanimate sleeping companion. The idea that this very pillow he’s grinding against is one that bore witness and was right beside you during your playtime only made him want to slam against it harder. 

     Nero attempted to pick up the pace but found his jeans blocked said movement. Irritated, he got up off the bed and slid them off, and decided he might as well take everything off. Once repositioned on the bed, he leaned down and kissed the fabric. Nuzzling his head into his he began to thrust into it again. 

     He laid on his side and wrapped his arms and legs around the pillow, grinding harder and quicker. Nero’s nails dug into the shirt’s fabric, unknowingly tearing it. Loud unfiltered moans and grunts came from the teal devil as he buried himself deeper into the fabric. 

     Carefully he bit into the fabric and began to chew on it slightly. His legs tightened even further, wrapping as tightly as they could. As his thrusts began to speed up, he found himself moaning your name; calling out for you. He turned over and pinned the pillow beneath him, sliding in a flat kneel--his inner thighs hitting the mattress and object of his lust. 

     He laid his head against the side of it, acting as if it were your head, as his pace became brutal. Another pathetically desperate round of moans came from him, grasping at the cotton-filled fabric that he wished were you instead. As he felt himself coming to his peak, he moved his head and placed his forehead where he envisioned yours to be. 

     A very finite amount of sweat decorated his body and brow, making his hair flatten a bit and stick to his skin. He felt as if his body were on fire and felt something much more feral fill his limbs as he fucked into the captive fabric. Nero had a strong urge to Trigger--to really let himself go and to ruin the plush; but he fought it, knowing that you’d find out if he did. 

     He let out a few sputtering heavy breaths and grunts as he shot his load against both the pillow and your shirt. His breath hitched as he felt his cock twitch in sinful released delight. Several ropes of thick cum spurted onto the pillow and shirt as he gently played with his tip to ride his high just a little longer. A small content sigh left his lips as he placed a gentle kiss against the pillow and smiled. As he leaned upwards, his breathing was heavy and he realized he was still rock hard, standing at attention. 

     “N-Nero?!”

     A sudden hot mortified feeling encompassed his face. Nero should've covered himself up-- should've apologized-- should've done something-- but he just sat there, frozen, staring at the wrinkled and tainted pillow beneath him. Completely petrified. 

     You swallowed hard as an odd lust began to creep into your mind. Nero and you were both frozen at the situation. Admittedly, you wanted to be mad; to be upset that you leave for an hour and come home to find Nero cumming on your bed. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to--at least, not right now. Right now all you could think about was joining the still-aroused devil. 

     A small smirk pulled at your lips as you strode towards him, a small sway in your hips, and a certain heavy-lidded look in your eyes. Nero’s eyes slowly panned up to meet yours. Your smirk widened as you watched his cock twitch from your approach. 

     Once at your bedside, you placed a hand on the far side of his face and turned him towards you. Nero’s lips were slightly parted and he went to speak but was quickly cut off by you placing your lips on top of his. The kiss was slow and passionate, you made sure that your intention was crystal clear as he moved his body to face yours. As you split apart from the kiss, you placed your hand around his burning dick, earning a surprised half-grunt half-moan from the red-faced young man. 

     Still touching foreheads, you whispered against his lips, "You're quite the pervert; aren't you?"

     He swallowed hard and began to panic, "I'm sorry, I---"

     "Shh shh shh," your hand began to move in slow languid motions, earning another one of the sweet noises from the devil, "Don't apologize," you kissed him longingly, biting his lower blood-stained lip as you pulled your lips away again, "Next time just ask before you go and fuck my pillows," you leaned back and ran you hand slowly up his torso, resting it on the back of his neck, "Now, be a good boy," you leaned back in and placed a kiss on the side of his neck, feeling him tremble beneath you, "and show me what you have been wanting to do."

     Nero let out a shuddering breath and a very quiet "oh", feeling a chill run up his spine. It took a moment for him to recompose himself as he felt you place very soft kisses against his neck. 

     When he was grounded back in reality, he flipped you over and pinned you underneath him. He returned the favor and began to run soft sweet kisses along your body. At the base of the side of your neck, mimicking the spot you’d been on him, Nero bit down hard. You arched into him and let out a low sharp gasping moan at the unexpectedly harsh move, feeling his teeth gently work a dark mark into your skin. 

     After he was satisfied with the severity of the mark, Nero whispered to you in a husky sultry low voice, tickling the tender skin with his heavy hot breaths, "I hope you’re up for a long night…” He placed a long kiss against the side of your jaw, nipping at it slightly, “You won't remember your name when I'm done with you."

==

ENDING NOTES: I am probably going to do the same type of situation using Dante; he also seems like the type to do this kind of thing. It might be using a teddy bear or something though, idk. Regardless, this won’t be for some time. Currently, as of posting this and not counting this fic, I have 13 WIPs + 11 Requests (If you are wondering why the requests are still not open this is why lmao).  🛏️🧸🛏️

==

Want to see more like this? Want to read my work quicker and several stories that are not on Tumblr? Check this out on my AO3 (Linked here)

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[investmentassistant]

How to travel without luggage: a guide to minimalist adventure

Traveling without luggage might sound daunting at first, but it offers a liberating experience that can enhance your adventures. Imagine breezing through airports without waiting at baggage claim or seamlessly hopping on and off public transport without struggling with bulky bags. Traveling light is not only more convenient but can also save you money and reduce travel stress. Here’s a guide to mastering the art of traveling without luggage.

Embrace the minimalist mindset

The first step to traveling without luggage is adopting a minimalist mindset. This means being intentional about what you bring and focusing on necessities. Start by asking yourself what you truly need for this trip. Consider the weather, activities, and duration of your stay. For a weekend city break, you might only need a few clothing items, toiletries, a smartphone, and a wallet. Many travelers find that they can fit everything into a small backpack, making the journey hassle-free and mobile.

Choose the right bag

When traveling without traditional luggage, selecting the right bag is crucial. Opt for a versatile, durable backpack or a crossbody bag with multiple compartments. Ensure the bag is comfortable for extended periods and has secure closures. A small, 20-liter backpack can be ideal for short trips, offering enough space for essentials while being compact enough to carry comfortably throughout your journey.

Pack multi-functional clothing

The key to packing light is choosing versatile clothing that can be mixed and matched to create multiple outfits. Opt for lightweight, wrinkle-resistant fabrics that dry quickly and can be worn in different settings. Choose a reversible jacket or a pair of pants that convert into shorts, allowing you to adapt to various climates and situations with minimal clothing. Consider items that serve dual purposes, such as a scarf that can also be used as a blanket or a sarong that doubles as a beach towel.

Use packing aids

Packing aids like compression bags and packing cubes can help you organize your belongings efficiently and maximize space. These tools allow you to fit more into a smaller bag while keeping items accessible and neat. Using a compression bag for clothing and a small packing cube for toiletries can significantly reduce the volume of your packed items, making it easier to manage on the go.

Simplify your toiletries

When it comes to toiletries, less is more. Opt for travel-sized products or multi-use items to save space and weight. Consider solid toiletries like bar soap, shampoo bars, and toothpaste tablets, which are not only compact but also help you bypass liquid restrictions at airports. A single solid soap bar can replace body wash, shampoo, and even laundry detergent in a pinch. This minimizes the need for multiple bottles and simplifies your packing list.

Leverage technology

Take advantage of technology to reduce physical baggage. Instead of carrying books or maps, use e-readers and digital maps on your smartphone or tablet. Store important documents, itineraries, and tickets in digital form to keep your paperwork minimal. Download travel apps that offer offline access to maps, translation services, and local recommendations, ensuring you have everything you need at your fingertips without the bulk.

Plan for laundry

If you’re traveling for more than a few days, plan to do laundry during your trip. Many accommodations offer laundry services, or you can pack a small, portable clothesline and some detergent to wash clothes in your hotel room. A quick hand wash and air-drying can keep your limited wardrobe fresh and clean, allowing you to travel light without sacrificing cleanliness or comfort.

[scarrbatt]

Friendly Banter⋆

Pairing!: gn!reader & Kyle ''Gaz'' Garrick

Rating!: It's pure fluff sooo

Warnings/tags!: Mentions of drinking!, tipsy reader, and tipsy Gaz, if you squint slightly jealous lieutenant ghost, Gaz flirts with the reader but they are oblivious to it, Gaz is also a gentleman bc yes, Gaz calls reader hun, love, and some other pet names, reader is a lightweight and has no filter when drunk Summary!: After a successful mission 141 has the whole weekend free, and reader decides to head into the city to check out a nice fancy restaurant that opened recently, Gaz coming with them. (oOoOo it's a date) Word count!: 996 words!

A/N!: First time writing in a looong time so beware! I know nothing about the military, so it might be wrong! don't be afraid to correct anything it's all appreciated!! (っ＾▿＾)

Long missions always ended with everyone sitting around in the living room talking about how it went, with a couple bottles of whiskey it often became some sort of therapy session for some but tonight was a bit different, the whiskey was definitely present but everyone was calm mostly chatting about anything.

Did you guys hear that a new restaurant opened downtown? heard its fancy and all. you said, nails tapping the almost empty glass in your hands, most of the team was completely unaware of most things that went down downtown never mind what new restaurants were opening up but one person did speak up The one near the fountains? yeah, heard it even has a dress code, we should go this weekend, it's not always we have a whole weekend free. The person was Gaz, he was the closest to you in age which meant you two were pretty close, you always thought he was pretty attractive but you never acted upon that thought, never wanting to make your nice little friendship into something nonexistent with such words, that didn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat at his offer. Too fancy for me, I'll stay. Soap said followed by a couple agreeing nods from the rest of the squad sitting nearby. Heh, what about we go Gaz? you and I? you said, expecting him to say no or something along those lines Oh yeah, that'd be nice! You felt your cheeks heat up, you were just friends but it still made you blush.

Some time passed after you two decided that you would go out to that fancy place, after some playful teasing from the team and some death stares from you Gaz had decided to make the reservation.

Done, tonight at 7:25 sounds alright? Gaz said, a small smile adorning his lips, you nodded excitedly Yeah sounds great. the rest of the afternoon was spent hanging out with everyone, except for Ghost who was probably hidden in his office finishing paperwork or just plain hiding from everyone else.

6:35 PM Most of the squad had already excused themselves heading to their personal quarters to sleep or just left to who knows where, but you and Gaz were still talking, not even about the date but just about anything, he was one the only people here who you could talk with for hours and not get bored. It's already six? we should get ready y/n don't wanna be late do we? Gaz said followed by a playful wink making you blush, you nodded. Y-you're right I'll go get ready see you here in a bit ya? After you both said you're goodbyes you headed to your room to shower and change. 7:00 PM

Once you had finished getting ready and had blow-dried you're hair you headed to the living room to wait for Gaz, walking into the living room you saw Ghost sitting on a chair reading a book. Oh hey L.T! You said with a small smile, the scary man looked up from his book at you. You are going out? It's late no? He said followed by a small stare as he examined your appearance. Oh yeah um, Gaz and I are going to check out a fancy restaurant that just opened up near downtown. You said fidgeting with your fingers. Hmmmm a date? before Ghost could finish his question you quickly interrupted him A-as Friends! Gaz is cute but I’m sure I'm not his type, he just invited me because he saw I wanted to go... that's all. The smile that had been on your face became a more serious one, you were one of the prettiest people gaz and for that matter, ghost had ever seen, your self-esteem or your lack thereof always made ghost confused but before Ghost could say anything else gaz walked in. Ready y/n? Gaz walked in doing that guy thing where they place their hands on your waist before they move past you he then noticed ghost, and after they exchanged a couple words you and gaz walked out, getting in gaz´s car but not before bickering over who would drive, gaz convincing you to let him drive because ''You where wearing heels it's not safe'' you rolled your eyes playfully agreeing to sit copilot for now. 7:20 PM Once you guys arrived at the restaurant, he quickly ran to open the door of your side of the car, making you chuckle. Such a gentleman huh? You said with a small playful smile I mean what can I say? it's the minimum I can do for someone so stunning as yourself Gaz said followed by a wink, your cheeks burning red. Once the two of you had walked inside and sat at your table you two had ordered some food accompanied by some wine which you gladly drank, maybe a bit too glad because soon enough you were dizzy and talking a bit too much for your own good. D'you remember that time soap was sleepwalking and fell on top of Ghost? You were talking and talking, gaz didn’t mind necessarily he loved the sound of your voice and how it sounded so cheerful even when intoxicated. Honey, what about we stop drinking...don’t want you getting hurt, do we? Gaz was joking, partially, he really didn’t want you getting hurt and less when you were out with him he would feel terrible for weeks if that happened. I’m a-alright…not even that drunk! You mumble shouted catching Gaz off guard and making him chuckle Shhhh love don’t be so loud. He said watching you pout like a little kid, he found it adorable, he found everything you did adorable, well except when you guys are on the field then he thinks you are and look badass, a bit scary but mostly badass he was quickly pulled out from his thoughts by the small whisper of words that fell from your lips. Make me Kyle.

AAAAAND THATS A WRAP

Should I make a second part!? lmk!;)

Hope you enjoyed reading!

[writeforfandoms]

retyping this... im in misery

ok so harpy eagle!reader medic who's perfectly suited to fly past enemy lines w/o being spotted under cover of night to get aid to her teammates!! even tho harpy eagles hunt during the day they can be super versatile!! harpy eagle reader who can crush a man's skull to mush with her claws cuz harpy eagle grip strength is insane!! (did you know harpy eagles are crazy strong!! females weigh like 19 pounds max but they can carry up to 40 pounds!!! thats fucking insane!! their claws are the size if grizzly bear claws!!!!)

harpy eagle reader who does the head tilt thing even in human form!! who coos and chirps without thinking!! doing paperwork and soap rubs her shoulder? happy bird noise!! who melts when someone runs a hand through her hair!! who preens price's coat!! who combs through gaz's fur with soft affectionate touches!! who gives soap scritches!!! who sits on ghost's back talons digging carefully to not hurt him so she can pick at his scruff :(

AAAAAAAAAH I FUCKING LOVE HARPY EAGLES THEY'RE SO FUCKING COOL AND GORGEOUS THEY'RE AMAZING BIRDS

Okay okay okay but I love this so much??? She would be perfectly suited to flying into hot zones to deliver aid. She's got a specially made pack that she can carry that has the medical equipment in it, the pack itself is lightweight but braced so that she can land on it if she needs to. Her eyesight is good enough that she can spot her boys, especially if she knows where to start looking. She's an expert at flying to them to deliver aid.

And the cuddles! She would be so careful of her claws and her beak, but she'd be so into grooming. Even if she's shifted and the boys are not, she's carefully grooming through their hair or playfully picking at their clothes. The fastest way to get her to relax and settle is to pet her hair and groom her in return. Instant happy bird. She would definitely chirp and coo and do the bird vocalizations, as much as a human throat can.

Price has a perch set up in his office for those times she needs to just be somewhere quieter. There's probably a perch in the pack room too.

I wasn't gonna write a bird shifter but damn you're really getting me with this harpy eagle...

[hellcatinnc]

Piofiore Men On Spoiling You For Valentine's Day

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Warning This includes: SFW (Read Tags Before Continuing)

Tags: sfw, fluff, x Fem! Reader, gifts, valentine's day, valentines, vday, chocolates, romance, bubble baths, rose petals, roses, stuffed animals, plushies, truffles, wine, jewelry, making love, dinner, dresses, romantic night, romantic

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What these men would do for you to show you that you are loved and cared for. They will show you what its like to be cherished on Valentine's Day.

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Dante

Box of mixed truffles and chocolates in a velvet heart box

A dozen roses & calla lilies laying across the in a box with a cute note

Candle lit dinner over a glass of wine outside in a gazebo

Wine, wine, and more wine. Yes he is trying to get you drunk however he is a lightweight so soon you will see how cute he can be with his slurs until you shut him up with your lips

Cute kitty stuffy since you both love cats it seemed to fit

Purrrfect together greeting card to tell you he loves you

He got you a book of love poems and marked his favorite ones so you could always have that closeness, and its a 1st edition book

Gives you a little music box that plays the melody when opened its also fully customized to have yours and Dante's name on it

The card that came with the music box just for you:

My Soulmate

Our LOVE is such a precious gift That joins us two together; With laughter, trust, hope, loyalty, and care, We'll share this joy forever. A wonderful reflection of two hearts, forever true, forever yours, Today, tomorrow and always. I will be with you and love you for eternity.

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Nicola

Pours you a hot bubble bath with scented bubble soap - bath big enough for you both

Glass of champagne, strawberries, and glasses

Will kiss you from head to toe including all your ticklish spots

Pretty box of chocolates and roses

Making love by the fireplace soft lighting and a shag rug

Cute I love you teddy bear

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Orlok

He bought you a beautiful cross angel necklace to show you your really is saving grace his angel, the love of his life

One single preserved rose in a glass dome so you can look at it anytime you want.

A cute box or preserved roses and chocolate covered strawberries

Sweet card to let you know he cares

He dedicates a song to you he heard on the radio, you have to look it up to listen to it but the gesture is still very sweet

He buys you a shawl to wear to keep you warm when he isn't snuggling you and since pda isn't something you do then it will keep you somewhat warm til you get home.

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Gilbert

He got you a lovely dress, in a beautiful heart box, so he could show you off tonight as you hit some of the nicest elegant restaurants. You will be on his arms every where you go, dancing the night away and then he will help remove that dress later in the night

Box full of gold dipped roses and red roses all fermented so you can keep them forever and they will never die

Gourmet breakfast waiting for you at the dining table when you get up and go down stairs

Dinner romantic setting in the evening on the beach

Wine tasting together

Violins playing while you eat on the beach

He got a beautiful necklace and earring set ruby's, to wear tonight

Your night will end in a beautiful hotel room in a 5 star hotel

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Yang

Buys you beautiful dress somewhat revealing so he can have his hands on you any time

He buys you a lingerie to wear under the dress until later in the night he gets to take it all off with his teeth

Cute valentine's day panda and he will be expecting alot of kisses since its what the panda requested

a bottle of red wine he got imported from a client

A box of candy chocolates. They are imported from China and even come in a cute little wooden box this way when the candy is gone you can reuse it for other things.

Lots of sex

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[jolalibrary]

I need to share how sweet my fucking husband was last night. So, I wear glasses, and I’m pretty blind without them 😂. This man took my glasses off, took the pins out my hair, helped me out of my dress, and once I’d popped some pjs on, then proceeded to take my makeup off, and help me brush my teeth because I was so drunk I wasn’t sure how to do it. (I am such a lightweight, I rarely drink, and I cannot literally remember the last time I drank THAT much).

and now all I think about is soap doing that for the reader from i’d fight for you. like he’d be all like “stop wiggling, lass. need to get it off f’ya.” him bringing her a bottle of water, even taking the lid of to make it easier for her. her all confused about where to stick her head in his big baggy T-shirt until he helps her into it, smiling to himself at her hair all wild and free from clips and grips.