#soap: sure if you can answer this one question of mine

[ghostlysoaps]

John MacTavish used to spend parts of his summers in England visiting extended family and this is where he ends up meeting a boy a couple years older than him named Simon. Surprisingly enough, they hit it off. His bombastic, extroverted personality somehow manages to compliment Simon’s rather timid, introverted one. Joined at the hip, the two of them quickly call themselves best friends, and, as children tend to do, develop a bit of an innocent crush on each other – going so far as to promise to marry one another if they haven’t found anyone else by the time they’re both twenty-five.

But then autumn arrives and goodbyes are made and their promises to meet up again never come to fruition.

He doesn’t forget him though. Their friendship remains a fond memory, even a decade later, though much of the details are blurred with time. Perhaps it’s because they’d been each other’s first kiss – if the chaste peck of lips-on-lips can be called as such – or it’s the ring of twined straw, brittle as tinder, he has tucked away in his box of mementos that make that particular summer an unforgettable thing.

That and his steadfast insistence no one else is allowed to use a certain nickname for him.

In any case… those faded months are far from his mind when John Price is showing him around their base of operations, introducing him to people as they go along. The one-four-one consists of near enough two dozen operatives though he’s told it’s not uncommon to be mostly paired off with a select few of his fellow soldiers if they play to each other’s strengths. He nods along and pushes for the use of his callsign when folks wish to be friendly. Until, eventually, he finds himself face-to-face with a man who needs no introduction. A living legend as it were; who’s records Soap had worked hard to beat.

“Well then, last but not least. MacTavish, this is Lieutenant Simon Riley. Also known as–”

“–my future husband,” John finishes for him, based on a name, twelve percent of a full thought and the manc accent he’d spied when hearing him dismiss a batch of recruits.

Youngest to ever make the SAS and about to be the quickest one ousted, he thinks miserably when the eyes assessing him narrow at his declaration.

“Johnny?”

Oh.

“So ye do remember me!” Pivoting from mortification to delight, and heedless to any gawking voyeurs, John slings an arm around Simon’s shoulders to draw him into a loose side-hug. “No’ long now ‘fore we need t’ get hitched, aye?”

“Courthouse is a twenty minute ride,” Simon says drily.

Soap laughs, brighter than he can remember doing for a long time, before he immediately starts teasing Ghost about not proposing properly.

(He does, of course, do so years down the line.)

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[katsukistofu]

it took me by soap-rise

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 4k words — fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ of course your public nuisance no. 1 has to hog your favorite shower stall the day you forget your body wash in it.

Katsuki was honestly starting to suspect he wasn’t your type. 

Which one, was something he’d never even bother to consider. He’s ripped up more confession letters than he can count after three years. Graduation was just around the corner and he still hates social media, but even he knows how popular he is on it because of his classmates whining about it all the damn time. He knows he’s well-liked, and it’s not just his ego talking.

Genuinely it's a thought that would never occur to him, if only Eyebags wasn’t lounging around you all the time, casting annoyingly cocky glances at him as he taps your shoulder and leans in to whisper whatever the fuck it is in your ear whenever he passes by the two of you.

Not that he cared. 

Two, when Dunce Face dared you to say who you thought was the most attractive guy during a game of truth or dare in the common room last year, while he pretended to be disinterested when he very much in fact was not, you had offhandedly answered with that half-n’-half bastard’s name, who could not be more polar opposite to him.

Again, he really couldn’t give less of a fuck. 

Not like he’s been thinking about it since then. Totally. Not.

Katsuki also hasn’t been thinking about how it should be him whispering in your ear instead of that purple haired extra, the endless list of things he could say to make you squirm and blush in your seat. 

Of course, that doesn’t happen because you’re too busy arguing with him, like usual, about the new group project Aizawa just assigned. Something about reconnecting with their roots before graduating. With you two as partners, much to the amusement of your classmates.

“We should work on the script first!” You insist while he leans back in his chair, observing you get more and more worked up.

It should be irritating as hell, your hand gestures, your matter of fact tone, but what’s really bothering him is that it’s not. He’s not sure when that started happening.

“It’s better to prepare the interview questions we’re going to ask our parents when we visit each other's homes.”

He snorts. “What are we, some ditzy news report crew? We’re not gonna waste time doing that, we should just visit your place first, then mine and get it over with.”

You spin away from him before he can open his mouth again, and raise your hand. 

Aizawa slowly turns to you with a sigh, already knowing what you’re about to ask.

“No.”

“But Mr. Aizawa!” 

Eyebags casts an amused glance in both of your directions, and Katsuki scoffs. 

No way in hell was he letting you switch and downgrade to an extra like him. 

“What, you’re chickening out?”

You ignore him. “Can I please switch partners?”

“No,” Aizawa deadpans.

“But—“

“No. One more word from either of you and you’re getting zeroes.”

The both of your mouths snap shut, and you glare at each other.

“When you’re a pro, you don’t always get to choose who you team up with.” 

Aizawa rubs his temples. 

“And you’re supposed to be my top ranking students. You’re not first years anymore, so act like it.”

You hang your head. Like a scolded puppy, Katsuki notes. 

“Yes Mr. Aizawa.”

From the corner of his eye, you flip him off under your desk and his lips can’t help but twitch. Does he really still piss you off that much after all this time? 

Without hesitation, Katsuki flips you off back.

‘Fucking teacher’s pet.’ He mouths with a smirk.

‘Asshole.’ You mouth back.

Aizawa sighs again, throwing a pointed look at Sero and Denki who are struggling, and failing, to hold back their giggles behind you. 

This was going to be a long week.

It’s the day after the group project was assigned, and you’re still reeling from the fact that out of everybody you had to get paired up with, of course it had to be your crush. 

Hey Siri, does it make you a masochist if for the past three years you've been in love with a guy that’s laser-focused on his personal development and has zero interest in dating anyone other than his career, ever? 

Are you a masochist if you kind of find that kind of hot?

Just when you were starting to make a pros and cons list with Mina the night before to try and ick yourself out, too. But even that was getting increasingly hard to do.

His growth was undeniable, and you curse at him for being almost as mature as he was attractive now.  

Well, towards everybody except you. 

Three steps away from the door to your room, you freeze in place as your brain stops your usual ramblings of the blond boy to register two alarming facts.

One, the bottle of body wash you usually use was not in your hand like you thought it was.

Two, it was in fact, still in the shower stall you left it in.

Pink house slippers slap against the floor’s carpeting as you race back to the showers with a death-like grip on your towel.

You’re slightly out of breath as you clutch the doorway of the showers, and just as quickly as you enter you find yourself exiting lightning fast at double the speed, nearly launching yourself against the wall of the hall outside. 

With your heart racing uncontrollably, tips of too familiar blond hair disappear into the stall you were in moments ago.

Too familiar, for your liking. 

But that strong jawline you caught a glimpse of was unmistakable.

Your irritating classmate slash crush you were trying to get rid of was taking up your shower stall.

Okay technically it wasn’t yours but it was the one you used everyday, each morning and night. You’d claimed it when you first stepped foot in it at the beginning of your first year. 

So basically, it was yours. 

And you definitely don’t remember that bastard ever using it until today.

A screech jolts you from your thoughts. He must have turned the water on, which you can hear, but strangely there was no steam wafting out at all. 

The realization creeps up on you like the sound of running water that trickles down and echoes throughout the room.

Hold on.

What was this idiot doing taking a cold shower at four in the morning?

The all too familiar soothing scent of cherry blossom fills the chilly air, and your eyebrows furrow even more in confusion. 

And was that your fucking body wash he’s using?

You take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. He’s bigger than you, probably stronger too, that stupid gym freak, not to mention taller than you. 

But your fingers were still itching to whip out your quirk and shoot a moonbeam at his crotch.

Because why the fuck was he using your L’Occitane Cherry Blossom Bath and Shower Gel?

Trying to sneak a glance to confirm your suspicions, the obvious shadow of Bakugo is visible through the glass, and you duck back into the hallway. 

Oh my god, it is him. 

Taking a cold shower in the morning like a crazy person. Although you hate to admit it, that would explain his perfect skin. Everyday you wake up and see his flawless face, you go to bed praying that he gets a blemish.

The shower turns off, and you let out the breath you were holding. Confrontation wasn’t your strong suit, but when it came to your possessions, you weren’t about to be a doormat. 

You cross your fingers and pray that he’s wearing clothes.

“Bakugo! Come out here, we need to talk.”

He snorts, already recognizing the chiding voice about to round the corner, and turns. “Picking a fight with me outside of class? Thought you had more self-respect than tha–”

Bakugo is then sharply cut off.

By you hurling into his very naked, very bare chest.

He forces his eyes to not linger on the dip of your collarbone, and as he looks down on you he sees you struggling to do the same in his direction.

You accidentally make contact with his eyes.

The rare, amused look on his face sends something strange and hot down your spine, and you force yourself to turn away so sharply you think you dislocated your neck.

Bakugo smirks. “Wasn’t nearly this focused when we were working on our project.” 

An embarrassing noise escapes from your mouth, and his lips curve ever so slightly on his handsome face at the sound. 

He’s never seen you this flustered before.

It’s kind of cute, he admits this time.

Despite your clearly humiliated state, you point an impressively steady finger at the object in his hands. 

“That’s um, that’s mine.” You awkwardly clutch your towel tighter, suddenly feeling very naked in his presence. Seriously, why didn’t you put a shirt on before coming back?

His eyebrow raises and he lifts the bottle slightly. “This?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” he says disbelievingly. “Don’t see your name on it.”

You sigh in exasperation, did he always have to be so uncooperative with you? “It’s mine, okay? Just give it back.”

Bakugo's eyes narrow as he studies you. Like you’re a puzzle piece he’s trying to make sense of.

And as much as you hate to admit it, the focused look on his face was annoyingly attractive. 

“That’s funny.” 

You open your mouth, your patience is on the last straw and you’re about to yell back ‘what is?’ and snatch the bottle out of his hands when he smirks, holding it high out of your reach above his head with his bicep, still gleaming with water from his shower. 

“Because this is mine.”

You blink at the water falls from his raised arm onto your nose, not registering what you’re hearing. Looking away from the pink translucent bottle above your head, your eyes meet his again.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.”

You can’t help but stare at him incredulously.

“I don’t think I did.” Confusion could not be clearer than glass in your voice. 

“You—You use L’Occitane?”

He averts his eyes from the droplet that falls from your still wet hair and rolls down what skin you have exposed, disappearing into your thankfully tightly wrapped towel.

“Dude. You are so not cherry blossom bath and shower gel material.”

He snorts. “Fuck is that supposed to mean.”

“I don’t know! I thought you’d use like, Dove MenCare or five in one.”

“Five in one? Are you stupid?”

“Apparently! But—Oh my god can you stop flexing your biceps for one fucking second.” You groan. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Why were you looking?” 

“I can’t help it! They’re distracting me and—“ You clap your hands over your mouth, glancing at his slightly amused expression with horrified eyes.

“Distracting you?” His voice is low, and you curse at the way your stomach flip-flops. 

“Um.” Fuck. Where did that even come from? “I meant, uh.”

“Trying to take it back now?” He smirks. “Coward.”

“I am not a coward!” You glare at him. “And I’m not feeding into your ego.”

“You just admitted you were staring at my biceps and thinking about what body wash I would use.”

Okay, so you’re just digging yourself a deeper grave. Your cheeks are warmer than the shower you took earlier, and you can’t even deny it.

“Creep.”

You huff. “Okay fine, I’m a creep. Just give me my body wash back.”

“Told you,” he starts walking away, towel still wrapped around his waist. You pointedly look away towards the wall. “It’s mine, dipshit.”

“Wha–” You whip your head around just as he disappears behind the corner, too tired and irritated to even chase after him, and with a sigh you walk into the shower room, heading for the stall you used earlier. 

Your eyes widen as you stare at it in embarrassment. 

There your bottle of cherry blossom body wash sits, untouched in the shower caddy. 

As you head back to your dorm room, the body wash safely clutched in your hand, you wonder.

Was it too late to call in sick for today?

Aizawa did not in fact let you call in sick, and you're painfully reminded of everything that happened in the morning as you complain to Hitoshi about it. Your best friend snickers as students file into the cafeteria behind his seat.  

“You’re so stupid.”

You take the opportunity to shove a sweet roll into his open mouth. “Shut up! I’m going to pretend like it never happened.”

Hitoshi snorts, taking the bread out of his mouth. “Good luck with that. But hey,” He leans in with a mischievous grin, and you glare daggers at him. “Isn’t this the most progress you’ve made since you started liking him since, what, first year entrance exams?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He takes his sweet time eating the roll in his hand instead of elaborating, like the petty asshole he's always been. Your fingers tap impatiently on the table of the cafeteria as you wait while he chews.

After what seems like an eternity, Hitoshi finally swallows. 

“I mean, you’ve never really made a move on him this whole time. Kind of just been a spectator, like a creep.”

Warmth rushes up your neck as you’re reminded of what Bakugo called you yesterday. Creep.

“I can’t help it! The only time we ever speak is during class projects, and even then we’re always arguing. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“I know.” Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. “Woop woop. 3A’s own live little romcom.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Okay, but after I finish this soup.” He blows on his steaming spoon, and pauses as a thought occurs to him. 

”If he didn’t like it though, he would’ve told you by now.” 

You can’t help but perk up at that. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” He spoons the soup into his mouth. “Oh. This is good, why didn’t you get any when we were in line?”

“...The red color reminded me of his eyes too much.”

Hitoshi sighs. 

“For your birthday, I’m going to admit you to a mental hospital.”

“It’s not that bad!” You insist and he snorts derisively. 

The both of you know you’re lying.

The ride to Katsuki’s house after class is awkwardly silent.

Your folks conveniently went out of town to visit some relatives you’ve never even heard of yesterday, so the both of you were left with no choice but to interview his parents only.

The train is almost full, and every seat in the car is taken except one.

“I’m standing.” 

Katsuki grabs onto the handle above his head, a silent signal for you to take the only seat left and watches with barely concealed amusement in his eyes as you hurry to sit in front of him without a word other than a small ‘thanks.’ So skittish today.

He’s not sure if he likes it though. You being quiet around him. 

You’ve said less than two sentences to him since this morning, and he almost misses your snappy quips.

Almost.

He hides a sly grin. It’s all his fault you’re acting like this, and he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

You’re putting your earbuds on, and just before you put the left one in, he snatches it out of your hands and puts it in his ear.

Your eyes widen cutely, too stunned to speak.

"Just don't play anything shitty." He turns his attention back to his phone, ignoring all the smoochy faces the group chat's sent him about you as he sends his mom a quick text to tell her you two are on the way.

With a shy nod, which he can't help but note is so unlike you, you scroll down on your own phone and click on a playlist.

Katsuki's eyes widen in surprise not even five seconds in.

The instrumentals, those vocals. He knows this song.

He loves this song.

"You listen to Pierce the Veil?"

You blink up at him. "Yeah. I do."

He can't help it. The edge of his lips twitch as he recalls what you said to him yesterday, and he mimics your exact tone.

"Dude. You are so not post-hardcore alt rock material."

The expression on your face is priceless.

Katsuki never uses his damn phone camera but he almost wants to snap a picture right there and then.

Except of course, you do the unexpected.

You giggle at him.

He can't help but feel a little proud. Take that, stupid fucking Eyebags.

"I guess you're right," you laugh behind your hand. "Jirou recommended me some songs last year and I've been a fan ever since."

"Then what's your favorite lyric by them?"

"Oh my god." The grin on your lips spreads a warm, sweet feeling across his chest, like strawberry jam on hot toast. "You're one of those people that see someone wearing a band shirt and go 'Oh you like them? Name five of their songs.'"

He scoffs. "I do not."

"You totally do."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "You trying to distract me from the fact you're a fake fan?"

You fake a little gasp. "Me? Never." There's a thoughtful hum that comes from your lips, and he observes you as you take a moment to think.

"My favorite lyric has to be 'been counting the stars and scars, how I’m becoming a work of art.'"

The Divine Zero. Fuck, he loved that song too.

"Huh. Guess you know your shit."

You huff proudly, so similar to a dog happily wagging its tail that he resists the urge to pat your head. "Of course! What's your favorite lyric?"

He smirks, staring directly into your eyes.

"I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin till your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention."

Your lips fall into a flustered 'o' shape and you turn away when he finishes, nodding. "That's, uh, that's a good one too."

He bites back a laugh as you hurriedly switch playlists, and a familiar R&B tune starts singing in his ear instead.

Mitsuki’s face greets the two of you as she opens the door.

“Katsuki! You're here early—oh!"

She spots you. 

“You’re one of those cute maid girls from last year’s cultural festival!" 

Your cheeks flush as you remember. That stupid day when Denki’s suggestion finally won the class vote. She was visiting for Bakugo’s role as an oni in the haunted house, and happened to stop by the maid cafe in the class where you and the rest of the girls were working. “Yes ma’am.”

“I didn’t know you were Katsuki’s girlfriend.”

“What?” Your mouth drops. “Oh, I’m not—“

“You brat! You never told me you were going out with a sweet, pretty girl like this.” Mitsuki scolds in her son’s direction. Your cheeks grow warm as your curious eyes can’t resist trailing over to see his reaction.

"She's not my girlfriend, Ma."

Oh my god, was he blushing?

Mitsuki sighs in disappointment. His crimson eyes meet your widened ones for a split second, then he's brushing past the both of you and heading inside the house.

His mother smiles at you apologetically. "Sorry about him, his puberty came late."

You can't help but snort. "It's okay Mrs. Bakugo, I'm used to it."

"I heard that!" A yell comes from down the stairs.

Mitsuki and you share a mischievous glance, and she ushers you inside. You take off your shoes and look around.

So this is where Bakugo grew up.

There's the smell of green tea in the air, and was that a vanilla candle burning somewhere? Framed photos of Bakugo with his parents are on the wall as you walk into the living room, and you can't help but coo at the one where his chubby baby cheeks are smeared in frosting while he blows out a candle shaped like the number three.

The interview flies by in a breeze. You do most of the asking.

Okay, you’re the one asking all of the interview questions. A warm mug of steaming green tea is placed next to you on the coffee table from your cross-legged position on a cushion.

Bakugo sits next to you, unnervingly silent ever since his mom's outburst from before, as he types up his mother’s and occasionally his father’s responses on his laptop.

It’s funny, the way you think he doesn’t notice your shivers.

"Ma." He glances up from the keyboard. "Do you need to turn the AC up so damn high all the time?"

Mitsuki rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. "It's warm in here!"

He sighs, eyes flicking over to you, and starts getting up from his spot on the floor.

You stare at the hand he holds out to you. And with great interest, so do Masaru and Mitsuki, who mutters something to him that you better be her daughter-in-law within the next three years.

"Come on," Bakugo says gruffly, tugging you to stand.

You stumble a bit as you walk through the hallway with him and up the first few stairs. "Where are we going...?"

"My room. To get you a fucking jacket."

“No, I don’t need it—!” You're cut off with a sneeze.

He groans, and shrugs off the black fleece-lined one he's wearing and bringing you into him by tightly wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” He grumbles. He's so close you can see how unfairly long his lashes are, and you're not sure if it's the sheer nervous adrenaline from him being so near or the scowl in his voice but you giggle, feeling bold.

“It’s sexy to see you prove me wrong.”

His eyes widen, and he quickly recovers.

“You’re so fucking weird.” There’s an unmistakable fondness you catch in his voice as he says that, and you shiver this time for a different reason. 

"Your jacket's too big on me." You flop your newly acquired sweater paws in his face.

“Shut up.” Bakugo snorts as he zips it up for you in one smooth motion. “Fucking baby.” 

“You're the baby!" You retort. "I saw your pictures on the wall."

There's a groan from him. "No you didn’t.”

"What, they're cute! I'm gonna send one to the class group chat."

Bakugo shoots a glare at you, and you teasingly wiggle your phone screen in his face. "Don't you dare."

"Hmm, okay I won't. Only if you do something for me first."

He smirks. "Fine, what do you want?" Bakugo leans closer to you, and your cheeks burn hot. "A kiss?"

You were not expecting that.

The way your eyes linger hopefully on his mouth looks like he's right. "Um."

"Um?" He huffs a laugh with his face hovering in front of yours. Bakugo's hot breath teases your lips, and you can't think.

Fuck it, you don't even care if he's just joking anymore. If this is your only chance, you're going to take it.

"Yes."

Bakugo cocks his head to the side, irritating to the very end even when you're on the brink of giving in. "Yes what?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as you blurt out, and you can almost hear Hitoshi cheering in the distance.

"YesIwantyoutokissme!"

"Fucking finally." Your eyes flutter open at his murmur, what did he mean by that? But you don't get to spend another second thinking about it because suddenly his soft lips are on yours and your heart skips a beat as you realize Bakugo is kissing you.

It's feels almost scarily natural to lean into his touch, like a gravitational pull getting stronger and stronger the longer you're near him, and you wonder why you didn't sooner. You numbly acknowledge the growing sweatiness of your palms as your nose bumps against his gently.

His comforting hands cup the back of your head, tangling his calloused fingers in your hair as he guides your mouth against his. A delicious little sound escapes from you the moment you break away from him and it only makes him want to close the gap between you again with more hunger, and he nips at your bottom lip like a starved man.

"Knew you always liked me, by the way." Bakugo gives you a wolfish grin, as the both of you pull back for air, leaving a trail of saliva still connected to your lips in your wake. He slyly glances at your dazed self sideways, flashing you a rare sight of his canines.

"Was just waiting for you to stop being such a damn pussy about it."

[vagabond-umlaut]

affaire de cœur

Plucking one's heart from their chest and devouring it is all 'affairs of the heart' meant to the King of Curses— until his Queen walked onto the stage of his life, that is.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone'; gallons of domestic fluff between sukuna and reader; hints of spicy times; no warnings except sukuna is very much sukuna here but you too are there, so he's sort of a better sukuna... [not loads better, though]

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"Repeat those words after me, my lord."

"No."

The pouty face you vault his way from the other end of the bathhouse makes Sukuna huff an annoyed sigh. Few monsoons back, you would never even see him in the eye, gaze trained on his feet – until he lifted your chin up; even then you would shyly avert your gaze — yet, now?

Now, you show the boldness to wear such a pathetic expression while making such an imbecilic request– nay, demand of him– locking your gaze with his the entirety of the time, no less.

Another sigh finds its route past his lips. Watching the way those sin-filled lips of yours twitch in a tiny smile before dipping into a pout, he groans.

"Alright. Fine," Sukuna grumbles, resting his two arms on the edge of the tub while the other two move to card through his damp hair, "Will you ever leave me for another, woman?"

Your eyebrows rise for a beat, the second the question you chomped his ears off earlier for, leaves his mouth. Your lover rolls his eyes, loud scoffs erupting from him at the utter inanity of the whole situation at hand — you, not beside by him, but beside those damned towels and bath soaps; him, not soaking in the warmth of your flesh but of these bath waters; the humid bathhouse not resonating with the sounds of your whines but with the remnants of a query, whose answer he does not care the least for, for no matter what you say or do, he will not—

"Yes, I will."

Your clear voice scatters his thoughts away, akin a strong wind and a handful of chaff. Sukuna freezes, every crimson eye of his fixed upon your approaching figure– your soft footfalls, your yellow yukata, your simple hairdo, your angelic smile...

Your husband takes a while too long before discovering his lost voice, eyes narrowed, throat tight and chest heavy as he asks you, "You will leave me, pet?"

"Uh-huh, I sure will," you hum in response, sitting on the stool next to the tub and moistening a towel. Sukuna moves to grasp your wrist in his palm but pauses when he catches you switch your attention from the towel to him, a terrifying emotion brimming in your tender gaze.

You draw in a tiny breath before speaking, voice now a mere whisper.

"Show me someone who is the most feared creature to ever exist, yet is a sulking mess if he isn't being cuddled in bed till noon every single day; someone who detests humans like I detest carrots, yet visits the monthly market in secret, to get gifts for his close one; someone who everyone's told me is the worst, yet goes on to prove, again and again and again, how he's the absolute best in this world—"

You stop suddenly.

Chest growing heavy from an entirely different reason now, your lover drinks in the manner your smile widens, your fragile fingers letting go of the cloth to trace those markings on his skin instead – you resume.

"Show me someone whose embraces feel the safest place in all the three realms, and I swear, my king, I'll leave you and run to his arms without thinking twice."

For the first time in his millennium of existence, the two-faced curse feels the same distress of being paralysed, as his mere mien induces in the muscles of his miserable victims— except, it isn't the fear of an end to his life which is causing this abhorrent weakness to him unlike those worthless mortals— no.

It is the fear of the unknown, of the uncharted, which is rendering his powerful self so, so powerless before your blinding brilliance. Sukuna thinks death might be an easier journey to undertake than these odd realisations your voice and touch elicit in him always.

These days, more so.

This moment, very much so.

The addicting timbre of your voice rouses him from his musings, the second time that night.

"Is every–"

"Is that supposed to be a love confession?" Your husband cuts you off before you can finish your question. You slowly blink at him once then twice, before leaning backwards and picking up the forgotten cloth, a visibly coy giggle bubbling out you as you return to washing his skin.

"Yes," you agree after a beat, gaze darting to his face before skittering away again, "That is supposed to be a love confession for my beloved king; though I wonder what my lord thinks of it. Was it heart-touching as I intended to make it? Or did it sound too tedious to him?"

The addressed being deliberately makes a big show of rolling each of his four eyes at your query. "Neither," he says, curling his lip in a show of vexation before they lift a little at the lower lip you jut out, "And you should count yourself to be lucky that you're my wife, not a worthless mortal, pet. For if you were not my wife–"

"– you would've sliced me into halves without a moment's hesitation," you finish the rest of the sentences for him with a fond shake of your head. "Trust me, my king, I know you. I do, I rea– Sukuna!!!"

The startled shriek of his name— not my lord or my king but Sukuna —parts the curse's lips in a smirk, which widens on noticing the warm water slowly seeping into your clothes, making them translucent; and you staring up at him with a disbelieving look etched onto your pretty face.

Sukuna allows his smirk to melt away into a genuine smile, for once.

Nestling your drenched form closer to himself, he closes his eyes to rest his forehead on your shoulder, palms holding you as if you were not a member of the race he lives for the sake of tormenting, but an invaluable blessing, beings he has never believed in, sent earthward for his damned self.

Which is true, the curse reckons. You indeed are a blessing he knows he doesn't deserve – yet will keep for and with himself for an eternity and some more.

Pressing you closer to himself, your husband lifts his head to plant a kiss to your forehead, followed by your warm cheeks — hoping you'll understand the meaning behind every reverent contact he's marking your form with now.

After all, you know him really well, don't you?

[You do— which is only why you reciprocate every brush of his sharp canine over your skin, with a brush of your soft palm over the wicked, handsome, wickedly handsome visage of the love of your life.]

▸ masterlist

[flowerfreya]

Normalcy

The office AU - Part 16

Reader just wants to get back to normal , but the boys just want to take care of you

Poly!141 x reader

Crazy , ex girlfriend was banned from the premises, if spotted the people in the building were told to contact the 141. She would be violating her restraining order ( you did not know about this) and trespassing.

In the hospital, you did decide to press charges but you made it known you didn’t want to go to court and all that mess. You just wanted it to be over.

The boys felt like they owed you one. But also they just wanted to be there for you.

You wanted to go back to work once the doctor cleared you to go home from the hospital, showing up to the building the next day , sore but ready to work. The boys did not like that. At all.

“What are you doing here?” , John snaps at you.

It has you looking up from the computer, confused murmur, “working”, you answer back.

“Don’t you have a concussion”, Gaz says as he strolls in from the annex. His forehead is creased and he’s straining his eyes trying to see if you are in pain.

“No, only some bruising and messed up ankle”, you answer, starting to get annoyed. They were at the hospital with you almost the whole time. Asked more questions than you did. You know they are just making up shit to coddle you, and you don’t appreciate it (yes you do but you don’t want to admit that yet).

“Maybe yer should on the typing, hen. Might hurt your wrist” , Soap says from his seat, twirling his pen but looking as intense as the other men.

You just wanted to feel normal again. And you don’t have that much saving and definitely not enough PTO to have all this time off.

“I just need normalcy, please”, and money , you say to John.

He is still staring at you. Trying to figure you. Maybe trying to read your mind you don’t know but you look down at your keyboard hoping for him to leave you alone.

~

In the break room, your warming up a very sad microwavable meal when Simon comes in.

You give a tight lipped smile, “sorry no leftovers today”. He touches your arm causing you to jump, “alright”, he ask.

Shrugging your shoulders, “not really”, you say truthfully. You don’t know but being honest with Simon is easy. Maybe because he doesn’t give you solutions but offers a listening ear.

“I used up all my PTO and I’m for sure in the negative and I can’t afford it”, you say starting at the microwave. Embarrassed. A little ashamed that you everytime something good happens to you another thing ruins it.

“I can donate some of mine to you”, he say.

Your turn to him , shocked, not wanting to get your hopes up. “Are you allowed to do that”, you ask.

(Well first of all , Price was going to pay your regardless, wasn’t going to use your PTO at all, it’s his company, his money. But Simon knows that you wouldn’t want that, he knows that you want to be independent at least for a little bit).

“Already asked the boss”, Simon replies.

You let a sequel, jumping up and down (as much as you could do in a boot). Wrapping your arms around his neck, “thank you , thank you , thank you”, you feel all the stress just about to leave your body.

He huffs, “calm down”, grabbing you by the hips , he holds you in place.

He holds you closer, your chest to chest. Unconsciously matching your breath with his as he leans forward and buries his head where your neck meets your shoulder and inhales.

“Everything okay”, you ask. Holding your arms in the air unsure what to do with them. You know for a fact this inappropriate for work.

“Missed you”, he mumbles.

You didn’t really get a lot of time with him before getting hit by a car and everything.

You close your arms around him, leaving a little kiss on his head, “missed you too”.

[blingblong55]

Worth it- 141 & Laswell

pic credits: @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot (left)and @ave661 (middle)

Based on a request: Wait, wait, first of all hope you're doing well and make sure to drink a glass of water if you haven't already. Cozy? Yeah? Okay, Can I request something (you can choose whether it's a HCor not,etc etc) on how TF141 would react to meeting a teen boy around 15-16, who's like a genius in engineering, mathematics, and physics? Like the boy could legitimately build a rocket if he had the time, help and materials. Maybe the meet him because he got in trouble with the government for unknowingly making a weapon? Maybe he made it for a class assignment and it was stolen without his knowledge? Whatever you think makes sense here. Leaving space for you to enter your own creative thoughts, just the general idea of it. The boy is based on a character of mine from a book I'm writing, his name his Michael, but ofc you can switch that up however you wish. Have fun with this one Ignore if it doesn't sound fun to ya <3 ---- M!Reader, genius!reader, platonic!relationship? ----

A/N: drank enough water, thanks for the reminder <3

Y/N, the name of the unknown internet user that had been chased by many governments and caught by the one and only Task Force 1-4-1.

You created something so dangerous that no one believed Laswell when she told her bosses the age you had when you started all this. You created the one thing most geniuses working for the government didn't know existed outside of the numbers and graphs they had done for it. At first, the FBI had named you un-sub A. Now, they can finally put a name to the unknown face.

How were you caught? Well, it wasn't easy, let's start there. When all this mess began, you were no older than fifteen. You are practically a ticking bomb to the government so when they heard that someone was asking the right questions to chemists around your city, they began to search for you. Laswell at the time was on a small break from work but the journals you had left in your parent's home when you ran away one rainy day.

In the journals, Laswell found all she needed to have a task force assigned to find you. She called it Operation Mikey, the name was just to fill in the void of the one thing she couldn't find, you.

Your parents weren't much help in giving your name, hence why Mikey became a temporary replacement. With them high off any drug and you on the run with the rest of your journals, Price was tasked with finding you and making sure you were secured in their care.

For three months, you ran away. Moving to different cities and continuing your research of the chemical weapon you fabricated in your bedroom, the same one Laswell had locked in a laboratory somewhere in the capital of the country.

In month four, you found an abandoned building in the middle of the desert. That's where your laboratory, if you can call it that, began.

For months after that, you collected data and it wasn't until nine months later that Soap found you trading chemicals with some scientist that you were caught.

Once you were brought in, they had realised so much about you. You were way younger than what their profile had thought of, much more intelligent than they'd think a person your age was and so skilled in engineering, mathematics, and physics.

"Why didn't we find his information sooner," Laswell questions her bosses. "Kid was never even registered by his parents." The man on the phone answers. "How the hell did he even get this kind of education then?" She asks again but you had that answer.

"My parents just bought me books and hired a weird guy from the street to teach me anything," you respond and Price chuckles. "Bullshit, kid. Now tell us, how the hell did you get all of these journals?" He points to the evidence bags. Your research of months now being read by other scientists.

"I am the creator of them, not let me go," you protest against Ghost's grip on you. "No chance," Price barks. "What's your real name?" Laswell asks you. "Y/N," you answer knowing it was either this or get thrown in some federal prison.

"And you created this weapon? do you have any idea how dangerous it is to create something like this? How many people it would take to create a mathematical concept and then make it into a physical form?"

"It's not that hard, lady," you answer with an attitude. Were people this dumb?

It took hours, lots of bribing and one request from Soap and Gaz to give you food for you to open up. What? you are a teenager who needs enough food for growth, of course, you'll talk once they give you food. Talking and having to dumb it down took hours though. After all, how can you explain to hardheaded soldiers about probability theory, and why it mattered so much to your project that it took ten trials and two journals worth of failed work to get?

Laswell was more than impressed, no seriously, she was like a proud mother listening to you explain every page and even give notes in only a way that a teenage boy would to idiotic adults like them. She thought it was so adorable how a boy your age would throw nerdy jokes into the explanations and how she watched you be the only one to laugh at them.

Ghost would often smile when you'd give a snarky comment to Price. Don't get him started on the chuckles he let out when you threw a few old man jokes at Price or made comments on Soap's weird hairstyle. The comments towards Gaz were funny but also adorable how you tried to find more reasons to get him annoyed.

Price thought of his son who was about your age when you'd get excited over your most recent discovery for the weapon you had created. It was nice to know that behind all that matter in your head, you were still a kid. It was even nicer when you'd make the jokes no one understood but secretly, Price's nerdy self understood some jokes.

Gaz saw his younger brother in you, which is why even when you made jokes at his expense, he would let them pass. The way you looked at him when having to explain things was nice in some way but it was way funnier when you called Soap the smart one of all four for being able to understand the way bombs work better than anyone and then have Ghost shake his head and tell you, "that man is just a muppet, don't believe what we tell you about his work."

Soap was fascinated by you for sure. Just like Price, he understood some of the jokes, even the cheesy puns you made about certain elements. He liked you, it was something fresh from the people he usually deals with.

The team, for the past few days, grew to adore the nerdy man you are. Yeah, you teased and even called them out on wrong facts but it was new. It's good to have someone so intelligent and be so honest with them this time. What was funny is that you know so much about many topics few understand but you don't know much about real life outside of the nerdy realm you live in. It's a nice feeling when passing by Laswells office you find a framed picture of the day Ghost and the other men of the team taught you about hunting and even how to play baseball, something you sucked at in the beginning but have gotten better over time.

It's like having four funny, serious, and cool dads and an amazing mum whilst being taken care of at the base the team called home.

A/N: I hope this was somewhat okay and good luck on your book!

Tags: @liyanahelena @mangowafflesss @froggy-anon @jinxxangel13 @enarien @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @avidreadee123 @ikohniik @konigssultwithghost @luvecarson @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @marshiely @sleepyycatt

[jawritter]

Dean’s Birthday Surprise

Summary: Y/N get’s Dean a kinky surprise for his 44th Birthday!

Warnings: 18 + Only!! HERE THERE BE SMUT!!!! NO ONE UNDER 18 SHOULD READ THIS FIC!!!  Crotchless panties, girl on top, fingering, language, nudity. P & V smut. 

Written For: @spnkinkevents

Prompt: Crotchless Panties

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2k 

A/N: A little something I through together for our best boy’s birthday! This fic is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Feedback is golden! Enjoy!

Main Masterlist

Dean’s POV:

Dean felt old, and he hated every minute of it. 

Honestly, he never expected to live to see 44 years of age. He figured he was gonna die bloody as a young man. When he was 43 he came damn close to it.

Still, here he stands. Alive, well, and more than a little depressed. 

He couldn't understand it really, how he got old. One minute he was a young man, hunting, and had the ladies eating out of the palm of his hand. Next, he was being told her had "dad bod", whatever the fuck that was. 

Logically, Dean knew he wasn't old, he just didn't expect to live this long. He didn't know what to do with his life from here. Sure, he had Y\N, but how long could he expect that to last really? She was young, beautiful, smart, hell, he was surprised every day he woke up and she was still laying with her head on his chest. Fuck if he'd ever understand why she loved him, but she said she did.

"Happy birthday handsome," her voice sounded from behind him as her arms wrapped around his middle, and her head rested on his back. Good he didn't deserve her. She was far too perfect for him. Still, he was selfish, and he loved her, so he did everything he could to make her stay.

"Thanks," he managed to croak out after clearing his throat. He stopped the sponge in his hand into the soap filled bucket at his feet so that he could rest his hand on top of hers.

"You gonna take her for a spin now that you got her all clean?" She questioned, sliding herself around to stand in front of him moving her hands to rest on his shoulders. 

Dean hummed before pressing his lips to her own in a brief kiss. To brief for his liking, normally he was much more thorough. He was just so trapped in his head. Maybe a drive would do him some good. Being alone in Baby always helped clear his head. 

"Yeah, I think I will…"

"Good," she quipped quickly. "Cause when you get home I got a surprise for my favorite birthday boy." 

"Aw baby," Dean said with an exhausted sigh. " I told you that you didn't have to make a fuss over me."

"No argument Mr.! "She fussed, shoving his shoulders playfully and earning a genuine smirk from him. "Now, you go take a ride, clear your head so you can get out of whatever headspace you're trapped in there, and we're gonna have some time alone with the bunker all to ourselves."

Dean sighed heavily before leaning forward to peck her lips again. 

"Where's Sammy gonna be?" Dean questioned, turning to stare at his girl, who was leaning against her bright red, classic Mustang. Admiring him like he was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. God he really, really didn't deserve her.  

"He and Eileen have a date tonight, and he said he's already planning to stay there at her house," Y/N answered. "Now GO! I got to get ready for your present."

"Fine, fine," Dean waved her off and opened the car door, shaking his head in disbelief at this woman and how she could possibly love him. 

Y/N POV:

Three hours later, Y/N found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup with nothing on but a short, black silk robe, and a pair of lace, crotchless panties. 

Normally, Dean wasn't much for theatrics. 'They're just gonna end up on the floor anyway', he says, but Y/N knew that he enjoyed these kinda things more than he wanted to admit. He just didn't want her to feel like she HAD to do this kinda thing for him. Like he didn't deserve the extra attention. Y/N disagree, honestly she wished he'd let her do more. She would just have to settle for birthdays and special occasions, today just happened to be Dean's birthday. 

Besides, when he saw her in this, she was pretty sure that he wasn’t gonna have enough blood left in his brain to argue about it with her anyway. 

She quickly brushed her hand through her hair to give herself some volume, and smiled victorious at the image of the woman she’d created staring back at her. She was quite proud of this look if she did say so herself. 

As if on cue, Y/N heard the distinct sound of the bunker garage door closing, and she knew she had just a few minutes before Dean came wandering into their shared room. He was very much a creature of habit, or else this surprise would have been a lot harder to pull off. 

Still, knowing Dean the way she did, she hurried to position herself on the bed, first trying laying in her side, but that didn’t really work for, then she tried laying her back, but that really didn’t do it, so she tried a fail safe, something she knew Dean enjoyed, even if he didn’t want to admit that he enjoyed it, and that was her on her knees, in the middle of the bed, waiting for him like the good girl he loved so much. 

She had no more loosened the ties on her kaminio, revealing the perfect swells of her supple breast, than the bedroom door cracked open, and Dean stepped in, still looking at his phone. 

“Hey baby, I’m hungry, I’m think about ordering a piz—”

Dean’s words died somewhere in his throat when he looked up to find Y/N kneeling in the center of the bed, legs spread just enough to not reveal too much, but enough to be inviting, and nothing but a thin, black slick gathering of fabric covering his prize. His phone slipped from his fingers, and landed on the floor along with his jaw, and she couldn’t help but smirk in victory. 

“Happy birthday De,” she voiced as he started to robotically kick off his shoes, as well as shed his jacket, attempting to shed all of the layers he had on as fast as he possibly could. “Why don’t you come on over here and open up your present?”

She didn’t have to tell him twice, as he ripped his shirt off his head, leaving a cute, hedgehog hairstyle behind. He was already working his belt and jeans loose before he started to move towards the bed, hungry green eyes taking in all that they could devour.

“Goddamit baby girl, you’re gonna give a man a heart attack,” Dean mumbled as he climbed onto the bed knees first. His hands already reached for her hips to pull her as flush to him as she could before their lips collided with one another in a deep, need filled kiss.

“So I take it that you like it then,” she questioned as she pulled away from him, leaving him chasing her kiss with the most adorable disgruntled face. Almost as if he was confused and offended at her for taking her lips away from his too soon. 

“Fuck yeah I do,” he said, his thick, capable fingers already pulling the thin black tigh loose, causing her covering to fall apart, and reveal his real resent underneath.

“Are those crotchless,” his graveled voice trimmed down from his perfect, pink, kiss swollen lips in almost a whisper. 

Y/N shrugged, smirking. “Well Dean, you said that these kinda things are pointless because they always ended up on the floor anyway, so I decided I’d save you the trouble and just get a pair of easy access ones that can stay on.”

As she spoke, Dean’s mouth attacked her throat, laying the pair of them back onto the bed behind her carefully. His cock already hard and straining against his black boxers, begging to be released, so she obliged, and slid them down his hips so that he could kick them off, leaving himself bare before her. 

“How did I get so damn lucky?” Dean questioned just as his perfect mouth sealed over her already erect nipple from the cool temperature of the room contrasting with the fire that Dean was already stoking inside of her. His fingers slipped between her folds, teasing her already sensitive clit as he worked her over, making it harder and harder for her to concentrate. “So fucking beautiful Y/N.”

“Pretty sure I’m the lucky one De,” she managed to say between desperate pants as Dean moved over to the other breast, determined to not leave anyone out, and slipped his thick fingers into her slick heat with ease, curing them in all the right places as he slowly pumped them in and out of her dripping cunt, causing the cord in her stomach to wind tighter and tighter until she was cumming undone underneath him, screaming his name like a prayer. 

“So fucking beautiful Y/N/N,” he repeated as he kissed his way back up to her face, leaving as many little wet, opened mouthed kisses as he could muster as he did while she slowly decended from the high he’d driven her too. 

“Your turn handsome, it is your birthday after all,” she tried to sit up, but he stopped her, his wide palm resting softly against her shoulder to hold her back down as he pumped his pink, fully erect, leaking cock in his hand. 

“No, no princess, it’s my present, and I”ll play with it however I want too, and baby I wanna watch,” he growled  as he carefully slid his swollen length through her slick, gathering as much of her juices as he could before sliding into welcoming center, moaning audibly as he watched her body close in around him, covered in black lace. 

He pumped slowly there, watching his body disappear into her own, mesmerized by sight that lay underneath him, and she shivered as each slow drag of his manhood through her quivering cunt drover her too damn near insanity, stretching her and filling her, but never quite giving her what she needed.

Without warning, Dean flipped the pair of them over, settling her on top of him so that he could watch her more easily, totally and completely captivated, like a man starved, or a blind man seeing for the first time. She would never understand why he always looked at her like that. Not when she felt like the lucky one. 

Dean was a man of few words, but he didn’t have to say anything as she slowly rose and lowered herself on his dick, causing him to toss his head back and his eyes to roll momentarily as his hips rose and feel to meet her pace until neither of them could take it anymore and she began to ride him in earnest. Leaving the room filled with sounds of heavy breath and skin against skin. 

Dean’s thick fingers sank deep into her thighs as he rolled his hips up to meet her, he was so close, she could see it in the way he strained to hold on as long as he could, drag it out as long as possible, until his body was shaking underneath her own, and his dick twitched heavily as he came deep inside of her, triggering her own release as well. 

“Sammy’s gone all night you said?” Dean panted as helped her off of his softening cock to lay down on his heaving chest, 

“Yep, all night,” she chuckled. 

“Good,” he replied, “cause in fifteen minutes we’re going again.”

Forever:

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

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@ladysparks78

[ryuzakemo128]

CW: Depressive thoughts, suicide ideation, self-esteem problems, reader has a strongwoman physique and at least 6'4 or taller, reader has a deep voice, Reader is referred to as Boomer, existentialism, nihilism, strongwoman! reader, australian! female reader.

How does one interact with a community if they get ignored?

Am I not worth talking to?

What does it mean to be alive when no one wants to even talk to you?

Am I really that intimidating?

Am I really that scary?

What have I done to scare them away from me?

Am I broken?

What have I done to deserve this?

I doubt they knew I even existed before.

That’s how it goes right?

Unless you fit the mould of what they find attractive.

I will most likely get overlooked in comparison to the other women I see them talk to.

What’s the point of even trying?

Does it even matter?

Do I even matter?

Am I born to die alone?

I wish I was soft.

I wish I was delicate.

I wish I was feminine enough.

I wish I was dead.

Parts of me wants to just die.

They tell me ‘You’ll find someone someday’ but that day will never come.

Born to suffer in isolation.

Born to perish alone in the dark.

I look in the mirror and all I see back at me is the reason people don’t or probably don’t find me attractive.

You were used to being overlooked now. Not that it didn’t hurt. Not that you didn’t hurt from it.

Depression is hard to tackle when all you have is you, yourself and the demon in the back of your skull feeding into your doubt.

You felt like a burden. A giant one at that.

You had the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it was all too much.

You had tried reaching out to people, but they always had an excuse not to hang out, not to talk. It was like you were invisible.

You were a ghost in your own life, haunting the places you once felt alive in, but now you were just a shadow of the person you used to be.

“Boomer, you’re overthinking things again.” A deep voice came from the shadows. As you sat in the bar alone, contemplating leaving to eat alone at the diner.

You paid for the drinks you had, getting your Pokémon themed backpack. Which had your essentials like your wallet, car keys, etc. Tucked deep inside it.

Childish, much like the rest of me.

Pathetic.

Gross.

Disgusting.

Who am I to think anyone would like me in that way?

I want to go home.

I want to be ten years old.

I desire to be a child once more, consequently, subsequently, accordingly.

We’re All Gonna Die.

I don’t want to have to mull over on the subject of this useless shit piling up inside my head.

We’re All Gonna Die.

Questions of pity, the ‘are you ok?’  

It would be better if they just told me to die.

Who are you?

What are you?

Price's gaze locks onto yours for a brief moment as you hover by the door, and there's something in his eyes that makes you freeze.

It's not just the recognition, but a flicker of something else.

Maybe curiosity? Pity? You can't tell.

Before you can retreat into the comforting void of inky black, Soap's arm shoots out, grabbing you by the wrist, and pulls you back to the bar.

Says, “Hey, lass,” he says with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes, “you don't mind if we take your spot, do ya?”

Well you do enough talk, My little hawk, why do you cry?

We’re All Gonna Die.

“It wasn't mine to begin with.” You answered.

Ownership.

Possession.

What does it mean to own something all to yourself?

You've never truly owned anything in your life.

Everything you had was borrowed or given to you out of pity.

Even your life felt like it didn't belong to you.

The grip on your wrist is firm, but not painful. Soap's eyes search yours, as if looking for something you're not quite sure you want him to find.

“You alright?” he asks, his Scottish accent thick and comforting.

You nod, not trusting your voice to be steady.

Ghost, ever the stoic, simply nods in your direction, his mask hiding his expression, but you can feel his gaze on you.

Gaz, on the other hand, seems to be in his own world, tinkering with something in his pocket, probably a piece of gear.

“Peachy.” you answered, tired of the same question of 'Are you ok?' and the 'It's ok, everyone feels like that sometimes'.

As if feeling completely numb is normal.

As if being depressed isn't a mental illness.

You haven't been able to talk about without the comments of 'You're just sad' or 'You're just feeling down'.

They're right, you are feeling down. But you're not sad. You're just tired.

Tired of trying.

Tired of hoping.

Tired of living.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of the lies.

Tired of the façade.

You felt like a chameleon in a room full of zebras.

Their presence was like a beacon in the stormy sea of your solitude.

Did you get enough love, my little dove, why do you cry?

Was your heart not enough for them?

Why do I bother trying?

We’re All Gonna Die.

The words echo in your mind as you stand there, unsure of what to do next. The weight of your own thoughts is almost too much to bear.

You decided to leave them to the women in pastel and good looks. You weren't wanted now.

Shall we look at the moon, my little loon, why do you cry?

Price's gaze lingers for a moment longer before he nods. The three men seem to sense the tension, and an awkward silence fills the surrounding space.

It's as if they're waiting for you to leave, to go back to the shadows where they found you.

You left silently crying.

Why was the point of living now?

To serve a purpose that you had been assigned.

To be something more than the invisible monolith you perceived yourself to be.

The burning in your throat of your crying and silent heaving breaths.

As you headed to the safe house instead after seeing the diner you hoped to go to was now closed for the evening.

Soap decided in a huff of anger, frustration and concern he's had enough of this. He spotted you looking disappointed that the diner wasn't open now.

He knew that look.

That sad, defeated look.

It was the same one you had when you were told that your pet had passed away.

The same look you had when you were told you're not good enough.

The same look when you were told you're a waste of space.

The same look when you were told you're not worth the air you breathe.

Soap's voice cut through the night air, “Where are you headed, lass?”

“I don't know.” you answered.

You were lost.

Lost in the sea of darkness.

Lost in the abyss of your thoughts.

You wipe at the tears that had escaped down your cheeks, smearing your makeup.

Soap remembered seeing you in the safe house, like a giant phantom towering over others with ease.

He knew you were strong, resilient even. He also knew that everyone had their breaking point.

And it seemed like you were dangerously close to yours.

[212-apricity]

1999, part four - final part!

oh my gosh. final part and what a surprise, she's a long one again💀💀ive loved writing this silly little series so so much and i love all of you very very much🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽please give me requests on what to write next bc my mind is completely blank rn, all i can think of is the cold war and bolsheviks from my history revison and i dont think they would make v good fics🤡🤡

lmk what you think of this part and your fav moments, enjoy!!

warnings: tiny angst, mostly fluff, swearing

conrad fisher masterlist

masterlist

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

conrad’s pov

Since Y/n is unable to hold a phone herself, I'm tasked with a lot, but I didn't fully realize the worry of her family until she had me working through each task with her.

No wonder she’s overwhelmed. The number of texts from Laurel, Mom, Belly, Jere and Steven she has to sift through in a given hour would drive anyone insane.

Or maybe I'm just going crazy by sitting this close to her. The smell of her coconut soap is permanently ingrained into my memory as she sits flush against me, pointing at different texts with her uninjured hand.

I can tell her nerves grow stronger as the Uber near the hospital.

Her knees bounce up and down as she dictates message after message I need to send, confusing me more and more with every word.

The work doesn't stop there. After we check in, a nurse hands us a clipboard filled with pages of information that need to be filled out. Y/n stares at it like it might catch on fire at any moment.

"Here." I pass it to her.

Her eyes shift toward the exit. "Will you help me please? I can't write like this." Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper.

"Okay. Tell me your answers and I'll write them down."

Her throat bobs as she scans the first line. It takes her far longer than necessary to read the first question.

"Do you mind reading the questions aloud for me? I'm too stressed to concentrate right now." Her overcompensating smile irritates me.

"Are you sure? Some of the questions are probably personal."

Don't be a dick. Just do what she says.

"I don't care.”

The rigid way she sits in her chair says the complete opposite.

She seems to be one minute away from breaking down, so I concede. I sigh as I grab the pen and get started on the first question. The paperwork doesn't take us as long as I anticipated, so Y/n and I sit together in silence. She stares at the exit longingly.

The way her eyes dart around the room as she gnaws on her bottom lip makes me feel merciful enough to save her from the anxiety eating her up inside.

“If it's any consolation, I hate hospitals too."

Her head swings toward the direction of my voice.

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Haven't been to one since…"

"I know." she says as she sees my chest heaves as I remember the millions of times we’ve been here before.

I keep my eyes focused on the soundless television playing in one corner.

Her good hand clasps onto mine and gives it a squeeze. I'm grateful she understands me enough not to ask any other questions. The idea of offering another raw part of myself feels like a betrayal of the years I've spent carefully developing a certain kind of persona.

"I hate them too." Her voice cracks.

"Why?"

She stares down at her swollen hand. “My dad…” She pauses, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze like she gave me. "Let's just say mom ended up in the ER a couple of times for being clumsy."

I take a deep breath to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "And did you have issues with being clumsy?" If she says yes, I swear to God two men will end up floating in the Chicago River tonight.

She shakes her head rather aggressively. "No. No." My rapid heart rate can be heard through my ears. "If you were, you can tell me." While I can't promise I won't do anything about it, I can promise to make him hurt. A lot. With sulfuric acid or something, those pre-med studies are starting to come in handy now.

The overwhelming sense of protectiveness hits me hard, and I don't shy away from it. There is nothing I hate more than men who use their fists against innocent women and children.

"It never got to that point. Suze made sure of it." she says with a small smile.

"How?"

"She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa's life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life." A tear slips down her face, and I can't stand the sight of it.

I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers. A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. "Did her plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?"

She forces out a laugh. "I think concrete shoes were more in style back then."

I fake shudder. "Remind me to never make mom angry again."

"Forget her, you'd have to deal with me." She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.

"I'm absolutely terrified."

"Miss Y/n?" a nurse calls out.

Y/n doesn't move at the sound of her name.

"That's you." I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.

She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand.

Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. "I'm here!"

The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay.

Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.

The empty bed meant for Y/n is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.

"I'd like my…my friend, to be taken care of in a private suite," I speak up. I know I sound snotty right now but honestly, I’ll be damned if I let her already horrible hospital experience get any worse.

The nurse grimaces as her gaze licks across my body. "This is a hospital. Not the Ritz. Take a seat and wait for the doctor like everyone else."

Y/n hops on the bed without any complaint, and I'm tempted to grab her and go elsewhere. The nurse doesn't seem the least bit bothered by all the noise happening around us as she checks Y/n’s vitals and asks some routine questions.

Y/n answers each one while chewing her bottom lip raw. This atmosphere couldn't put anyone at ease, least of all her.

The nurse hangs the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and I decide to try again.

"I'll pay whatever it takes to have her seen somewhere quieter. Money is no object."

The nurse only replies by shutting the paper curtain in my face.

Y/n laughs while I stare at the curtain, dumbfounded to be treated like this.

"You find this funny?"

She nods, her eyes alight for the first time all night. "Did you see her face when you said money is no object? I think if she didn't put the clipboard away, she would have slapped your face with it."

"It's not my fault she isn't accustomed to how things are done in the real world."

"Wake up baby. You're living in the real world." She waves around our room.

"It's terrifying." I say, looking away so she couldn’t see the blush that appeared on my face at the nickname.

"Come here. I'II make it better." Y/n pats the bed.

Doubtful, but I'm a glutton for giving her what she wants lately. Paper crinkles as I sit next to her. I take up most of the bed, giving her little room to get away from me. My thigh brushes against hers. She tries to scoot away, but there isn't enough space.

“Isn’t this cozy?" she quips.

I give her a small smile before she asks, “Hey! Let me see your tattoo.”

God I’d forgotten all about them. I move the collar of my shirt to show the two small ivy leaves we’d gotten. She gasps and gently touches my skin, “Oh my gosh it’s so pretty Connie.” she stares at it for a moment before I ask to see hers.

She lifts up her shirt on the side, exposing her ribcage and the two matching leaves.

“I can’t believe you agreed to get a Taylor Swift referenced tattoo with me Con.” she says as I admire the tattoo for a bit.

I smile until saying, “Hey I might be quiet and mopey but at least I have good taste in music.”

She softly smiles at me before eyeing the IV bag with horror before checking out the exit.

"What’s wrong?”

She leans closer to me and whispers, "Is now a bad time to admit I pass out whenever someone tries to stick a needle in me?"

My lips lift at the corners. I don't know why I find the idea hilarious, given her ability to watch eight consecutive hours of true crime documentaries without so much as flinching.

"You're afraid of needles?"

She sputters. "No. I'm not afraid. It just happens to be a bodily reaction I can't control."

“That's good then because the nurse needs to set you up with that IV when she comes back."

“No! Don't tell me that! I thought she was one of the good ones.”

I nod, pressing my lips together to prevent myself from laughing.

"She lied to me!" She bolts from the seat and would have tripped over her own heels if I didn't reach out and catch her.

*Careful." I place her back on the bed and decide to stand guard in case she gets any ideas to flee the scene.

Her eyes fit from me to the gap between two curtains, as if she is thinking how she can get past me.

"I'm joking.”

She scans my face for the truth before she slaps my shoulder with her good hand. "Asshole! I believed you!"

Laughter explodes out of me like a bomb, stunning her.

“Did you just laugh?”

"No."

“Yes." Someone calls out from the other side of the curtain.

“Now, do you mind shutting up? Some of us are trying to get some sleep over here after having our stomach pumped."

Fuck this place and the people in here. "We're leaving."

"Not so fast. You can't leave before I check you out." The doctor strolls in and points at the bed with his clipboard.

Y/n remains tight-lipped as the doctor checks her chart. He asks her some questions about how she got hurt, all while staring me up and down like I'm the person she was trying to injure. She is taken away for a few scans, and my breathing doesn't return to normal until the nurse brings her back.

That should be my first sign that things are getting out of hand on my end. I'm inching closer to an emotional minefield without any kind of map, only one wrong step away from exploding.

The doctor checks the scans. "It looks like you have a boxer's fracture."

Her face brightens. "That sounds badass."

I glare at her. "Calm down, Muhammad Ali. I wouldn't count today as a victory by any means."

The doctor's eyes lighten. "Next time, avoid any initial contact on the fourth and fifth knuckles."

"Please don't encourage her."

The doctor shakes his head with a laugh before giving Y/n a detailed set of instructions regarding the healing time. I'm skeptical about the whole visit and, given the setting, doubtful about the level of care. I'll be damned if Y/n sustains permanent injuries because of Dean. My chest tightens at the idea.

“Great Thanks, Doc!" She hops off the bed, but I hold my arm out, stopping her

"I’d like a second opinion." The command bursts out of me without any rhyme or reason. Deep down, I know a boxer's fracture isn't the worst thing that could have happened. But things aren't right in my head where Y/n is concerned. At least not anymore.

Both of the doctor's eyebrows arch. "For a small fracture?"

"Don't mind him. He tends to be a bit overbearing." She shoots me a look as if I'm the crazy one out of the two of us.

"Okay..." the doctor says.

Maybe I am losing it because why else would I care?

You hate it when she cries.

You wouldn't mind murdering someone who hurt her.

You took her to the hospital even though you despise them with every fibre of your being.

The signs all point to one thing: our situation is quickly crumbling, and I'm the only one to blame.

Y/n interrupts my thoughts. "I'll be sure to wear the brace for a few weeks and avoid any kind of activities that could aggravate the injury."

"Perfect. And don't forget to schedule a follow-up visit with your physician. "The doctor gives me one last look before handing Y/n the discharge paperwork. "Nice meeting you."

"Will you help me with this?" She holds out the clipboard with her left hand as the doctor leaves.

I grab it from her and fill it out.

She checks the time on her phone. "Well, at least that didn't take as long as I thought it would. I'm sure you're dying to get back home."

That's the scary thing. I didn't think about anything or anyone once during our entire time here because making sure she was taken care of was my only concern. I've spent the past seventeen years of my life thinking solely about my future, and all it took was one girl to make me completely forget about my responsibilities for a few hours.

As if that doesn't scare me enough, it only takes one glance at her makeshift brace to make my blood burn hot under my skin. I know exactly why her injury angers me more than anything else.

It's the same reason I feel the urge to push Jere away from her whenever he gets too close or the way I unexplainably need to see her whenever she is out of my sight for longer than a few hours.

You’re in love with her.

Fuck.

                ༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

y/n’s pov

We’re in an Uber on the way home, sitting in comfortable silence until Conrad breaks it.

“Why’d you get with Dean anyway?” My stomach doubles over.

Comfortable silence is so overrated.

I sigh. I’ve been dreading this question for ages now.

“I don’t know.” I answer vaguely.

Conrad gives me a puzzled look, “What do you mean you don't know? You must’ve had a reason.”

His restlessness gets me more agitated.

“I don’t know Conrad. I don’t know why I got with him, I don’t know why I was waiting on you for so long either.” I look out the window as the car stops in front of the house.

“What? What do you mean?” he says as I get out the car and speed up to the front door, taking the keys out of my pocket and refusing to carry on with this conversation anymore.

Conrad keeps yelling after me as he follows me upstairs to my room, both of us trying to ignore everyone else who joined Conrad and are trying to ask their own questions.

I slam my door shut and collapse on my bed hearing Conrad trying to calm everyone down and telling them everything that's happened until he asks them all to give me some space for now.

I cry in the silence as I hear everyone leaving from outside the door until it opens.

“Hey.”

Steven. Thank God.

“Steve…” I say sniffling.

He looks at me with a sad smile before sitting on the bed with me and taking me in his arms.

“Con told us everything,” he says after a few minutes of holding me, “did you really get a boxer's fracture?”

I laugh in tears before showing him my hand and saying, “You should see the other guy.”

Steven and I laugh together before going back to the silence as he hugs me.

“He really cares about you, you know.”

“No he doesn’t. He hates me. I yelled at him and now I’m crying here on my bed like an idiot.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Steven looks down at me.

I shake my head before saying, “He asked why I got with Dean.”

“Oh. That’s not too bad.”

“No it’s not.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“Because I’ve been waiting for Conrad for so long and I’m just sick and tired of always being there to help him get over his breakups when he’d be so much better off with me. I know I sound selfish and none of my reasons are justified but I just thought that after everything we’ve been through together, he’d maybe like me just a little bit.”

Steven hugs me again and softly says, “He does.”

After that almost everyone but Conrad came in to check up on me and make sure I was okay, making me feel even more guilty about being all emotional like this. It’s not until Susannah’s holding me and whispering sweet nothings that my eyes start to feel heavy.

I think I fell asleep after that, I don’t remember much except waking up to the sun shining its very unwelcome face in my eyes.

I step out of my room after freshening up and I’m about to make my way to the kitchen for food until I’m stopped by something in the hallway.

Or should I say someone.

“Conrad,” I bend down and stroke his hair out of his face, “Conrad wake up.” I say gently.

He stirs for a minute before sitting up and taking my hands in his.

“Have you been out here all night?” I ask.

“Yes.” he says in a raspy voice.

God that voice would make my knees give out if I wasn’t already on the floor with him.

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you.”

I sigh before he interrupts me, “Listen, I heard everything you said to Steven last night and I know I shouldn’t have and I was eavesdropping but I’m sorry it was by accident. And I know I don’t deserve any more of your time…I’ve already wasted a lot of it but just hear me out for ten minutes.”

“No.” I try to get out of his grasp.

“Stop fighting and give me ten minutes.”

“No way.”

“Nine then.”

“Five.”

“Eight and a half.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

I pause, knowing that he won’t let me go anywhere before I hear him out.

“You don’t deserve seven seconds, let alone seven minutes of my time.”

“How about seven words then?”

I laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I am falling in love with you.”

I blink up at him. Either I am still sleeping or I must have not heard him correctly because there is no way Conrad Fisher just admitted that he is falling in love with me.

Absolutely no fucking way.

Right?

I squeeze my eyes shut as if that can erase the words from my memory.

"You're joking.

"I'm not."

"This is just another part of your game." I try to push him away, but he doesn't budge.

"It stopped being a game for me a long time ago."

"You're lying."

His brows pull together. "Ask me why I hate when people touch my bookshelf."

"Are you serious right now? What does that have to do with any of this?" I think back to his bookshelf he won’t let any of the others go near but loves to let me organise and re-organise each year.

"Because I did it for you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I read somewhere online that organising objects like books and things is good for people with anxiety, because then they can feel in control of something and know exactly what to expect especially if things are the same as they've predicted all the time. You love reading too, so I changed it. Bought all the books you like to read so that you’d stay and read with me more often. I forced everyone else out of my room and especially away from that bookshelf. All because I wanted to help you."

Emotions clog my throat, preventing my ability to reply.

What can I possibly say that could compare to that?

Conrad doesn't give me an option as he continues. "Want to know why I kept this plant you got me?" he says pointing to the small green cactus with “Don’t be a prick” written on the pot that we could see looking into his room from the hallway.

I nod.

"Because it was the first time someone got me a present that made me laugh."

If hearts could melt into puddles, mine would be liquified right about now.

I take a deep breath.

Remember what he did.

“Con that doesn't change anything you still ignored me for a whole year. Every time I tried to call you or text you, you’d just leave me on read or decline, and now you’re telling me you love me? Who does that?"

"Someone who doesn't understand the first thing about loving someone, but is willing to try if you give me a chance."

"You want me to give you a chance after everything? Do you think I'm stupid?"

He winces, and a bit of my anger fades away at his vulnerability.

"Intelligence has nothing to do with this."

"Easy for you to say when you're not the one who feels like a fool."

"Really? Because based on your reaction today, I'm feeling pretty damn foolish for ever admitting that I'm falling in love with you." He gets up off the floor, leaving me feeling chilled to the bone.

"Con..." I reach out, but he takes a step back.

My eyes sting from his rejection. It hurts.

“I’m not asking you to love me back. I don't expect that and I'm not sure if I ever will because I'm the furthest thing for lovable. I'm selfish, and rude, and don't know the first thing about being in a proper relationship with someone. But that doesn't mean I’m not willing to try for you if you let me."

How am I supposed to be angry at him when he thinks he is unlovable?

A pain rips through my chest at the thought of him talking about himself this way.

I get up off the floor and walk straight into his chest. His arms quickly wrap themselves around my waist, holding me even tighter.

"Just because you make selfish choices doesn't mean you're a selfish person. At least not completely."

This boy had been there for Belly, Steven, me and Jere for years without any kind of payback, especially when Susannah was going through her cancer and despite feeling an immense amount of pain himself, he shoved all his emotions aside so that he could be there for us. For me. If that isn't a selfless sacrifice, I don't know what is.

"Your logic is half-baked at best."

"So is yours, seeing as you called yourself unlovable."

His body tenses. "I'm stating facts."

"I don't know what bullshit your father told you over the years, but it's not true. Your brother loves you."

"He’s obligated to."

"No one is obligated to love someone else. Blood or not."

He takes a deep breath. "You're right."

I smile up at him. "I could get used to hearing those words."

He reaches up and cups my cheek. "Give me a chance and I'll tell you them every single day."

I sigh and look away. "I don't know.”

"Tell me what's stopping you."

"You don't do relationships."

“Good thing our feelings lead us here rather than our minds, and mine are willing to try then."

I avoid his penetrating gaze. "What if my feelings are telling me to run?”

“It's cute you think you can outrun me, but I'll give you a head start just to make things interesting." he smiles down at me.

"Do you always have an answer for everything?"

"Not for the one that matters most." The way he looks at me stirs up something deep inside of me.

Longing. I want to give him a chance, regardless of the potential fallout.

You might get hurt.

I might, but I might miss out on something special because I’m too afraid of the what ifs. I'm done being that person. Even if it means getting hurt, I'd rather try and fail than never try at all.

I stand on the tips of my toes and press my lips against his.

He holds me tight against his chest, as if he is afraid of letting me go.

I pull away, only to clasp onto his chin. "This could be a disaster, but I'm willing to try."

He shuts me up by pushing his lips against mine, sealing our new deal. The way he kisses me is different than any time before. He cups my face with the palms of his hands as his lips mold against mine, teasing me until I feel dizzy. His thumb brushes across my cheek back and forth, and heat rushes down my spine straight to my belly. He makes me feel cherished. Protected.

Loved in a way that makes me never want to come back down to reality.

I could spend forever being kissed like this and still feel like it isn't enough. While Conrad might not be the best with words, his kiss says it all.

He is falling in love with me. And I’m falling in love with him. No translation necessary.

                ༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

ahh i cant believe its finished omg😔💔...

anyways, onto the next one😍🙏

again please lmk what you think of this and please give me requests on what to do next!!

[denziezwhattfuck]

Possessive Soap X M!Reader

Soap pinning M!Reader on the wall angrily questions him about things..

-

You and Soap have been together for months now, he had feelings for you because of how caring and kind you were also being really handsome and pretty, the past few days he has been suspicious to you, either you've ignored him sometimes or that you've been smiling through your phone, whatever the reason was It made him quite jealous, he had a soft spot for you he didnt wanna hurt your feelings or anything, but that jealousy was built with anger, It wasnt really something to be mad about but he needed to interrogate you about It, Soap who sat on a couch as you walked up towards him, "Hey love!" You said as you smiled at him, he didnt respond his mind was thinking of something else, "Soap??" You said concerned waving your hands repeatedly infront of his eyes, he then clenched his knuckles forming a fist, he then looks at you with an intimidating expression, you were startled backing away a bit, "Soap! The hell are you up t-" you were interrupted when Soap roughly pushes you using his forearms towards the wall, you coughed out a little having his hands pinned to the wall beside you, "why have you been ignoring me..?" His voice was quite deep when he spoke showing how furious he was, "Ignore? What do you mean?" You asked, "Who have you been talking to?" He looked at you anger filled him you shivered, "M-My friends?" You answered as your whole body shook, "Friends? Have they tried to do something other than being "friendly?" He said as he tilted his head looking at your lips, "N-No? You could have told me to stop!" You screamed at him covering your mouth after, he didnt have a reaction as he just stood still infront of you his hand still on the wall, "I might have to teach you a lesson for that.." In a deep and feral tone you then felt shivers again but this time a different reason, he moved his face close to yours, he then kissed you roughly, you were shocked but submitted to the kiss feeling his lips, the kiss went on for minutes you tapped on his back to stop, he couldnt stop he felt really dominant towards you, he then pulled back from the kiss leaving strings of saliva in between both of your lips, he smirked groping your ass using both his hands, he squeezed It then pulls you close to him, you gasped feeling his well built body, his biceps displayed perfectly from the side, your hips close to yours, your chin was on his shoulders, "You're mine and no one can take me away from you." He said in a deep tone still groping both of your ass cheeks, days passed and he would come close to you to either spend time to you or to do more than that, sometimes he would force you to talk to him by giving you rough kisses, he did It alot and you didnt mind as It felt nice seeing him like that, all possessive and obsessed towards you.

-

Will be sure to make smut sometime 🤗

(Also sorry If this didnt make sense Ill make something better next time.)

[strawb3rri2shortcake]

𝓑𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮

Arthur Morgan x Reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: Smut! Semi-public, riding, and creampie

Word count: 2645

No Uses of Y/N

Our usual customer came in, his name being Arthur Morgan. He always comes in after a long day. Somehow with him coming in daily, he was always covered with dirt and sweat on himself. I mean I don’t know what he does for a living, but I mean this is the middle-west. It’s always dusty and hot in this place so I understand a little bit. Sadly, during this time of the year, we would be normally busy, the weather was getting colder, and people would be wanting hot baths in this cooler weather. However, that time would mean less staff as the air got colder, they would start to head up north to visit any family or friends they have for the winter. I, myself, was going to start making my way up there too. Not for family just so I wouldn’t be alone this holiday. I planned on visiting an old friend of mine. Staff was getting lower by the day instead of me being just the counter person, now I was made to be the servant, getting rooms prepared before each customer and cleaning up whatever i can after. I still get paid the same which pisses me off, but money is money. Can’t find another job during this time either. Hannah tapped me on my shoulder, waking me up from my thoughts.

“Sweetheart, can you start getting this nice man his towel and everything ready for him?” She asked, looking behind her at the rather tall man. Around six feet if I was guessing. The man was in a very much need of a bath. I’m going to take a guess here and say that it had started to snow outside. He had snow on his boots and clothes. His hair had started to get wet itself too. The snow wasn’t able to hide his real smell under all of it though. He smelled of smoke, ashes, and sweat. Must have had a long day just to be here.

“Yes I can. I will be right on it. Your room is going to be number three, it’s down the hall on your right. I will be there with all your stuff.” I answered to her, before heading to the back to grab his soap, shampoo, body wash, and anything else he would need. The sounds of a bath running, along with light chuckling and talking was heard though some doors here and there. Each maid trying to sweet talk their way into making more money. Which I don’t blame them for trying. I would too if it was my job. Making my way to room three and making my way in. Only to be faced with Arthur getting undressed in front of the newly made bath. He was only in his boxers lucky for me. I stood there for a second which felt too long for me. I quickly placed the towels and everything in their right places, “I am so sorry, I should have knocked first sir.” I apologized to him, trying to make it seem unnoticed to him that I was very much looking at him in places I shouldn’t be in my workplace. He had a nice body, well-toned, very tan in some places more than others. Scars placed here and there around his arms, chest, and legs; He was a decently well-kept man. Only hair he had was a little on his chest along with a little down was a happy trail. Sure, was making me happy.

“It’s okay sweetheart, mistakes happen.” He nodded his head. He had his clothes placed along a chair that was next to the bath for the maid to sit at. “I rather you make the mistake with me rather than someone else.” He chuckled. I nodded back to him and turned away to take my leave. Hoping that when I walk out no one would see the huge red on my face. “Why are you leaving sunshine, I know you’re liking the show.” He asked, with a sound of mischief in his voice. I was heavily caught off guard by his question. A small smile was placed on his face.

“What do you mean? I am no maid, so I am not the one helping you wash up.” I questioned him. Turning my head around my hand still on the door handle.

“I know darling, but I want you to today. Don’t worry about your other workers. I said I wanted to be alone today.” He said, shaking his head. My hand left the door turning my whole body to face him. He walked closer to me. So close I could feel his breath down my neck. He leaned down far to whisper in my ear. “You want to know why I wanted to be alone today?” He asked, a tone of excitement in his voice.

I took a step back, “Why?” My voice lowers no more than a whisper.

“Well, I am so glad you asked. I wanted to get some privacy; you know the kind where I need to get less tense from a long day.” He said, smiling wider. “So, why don’t your beautiful self help me from a long day of work instead?” he chuckled, placing his hands around my waist. I could feel my body heating up. No words being able to escape my lips, so instead I just nodded. “Very good then just join me for the bath first then nothing more yet.” He commanded me to take my hand and pulled me closer to the bathtub. “It’s okay sweetheart you don’t have to be nervous around me. I haven’t seen someone as stunning as you,” he complained, letting go of my hand. Testing the water, he lowered his hand in waving it around before taking it out.

I watched him slowly take off his boxers next, then sliding himself into the water. He was a decent size average but a little wider than other people. He didn’t say anything more, just throwing back his head and began relaxing in the hot water. I followed along after him. Taking off my uniform and any under garments. I slowly placed myself on his lap but not on to him yet. I took a moment to just enjoy the water, letting my whole body warm up. Before I knew it, I felt a pair of hands around my waist. Then a pair of soft but at the same time rough lips kissing up and down my neck. His hands slowly made their way down to my thighs gripping ever so slightly. If I am going to be in here I may as well clean each other. I was going to reach out for the soap only to be stopped midway.

“We will do that after sweetheart,” he said, going back to attacking my neck. “Along with that like I said before you need to relax more. I would say you’re more tense than me,” he laughed, his hands returning back to my thighs. Building me along his base. Not putting it in only letting me get a feel of him. I just have to let go tonight, a little break from work if I may say. I looked down watching myself slide along him. Without his help this time. Small moans escaped from my mouth. I know damn well that if I was any louder someone would be able to hear me.

“The walls are thin, I can’t be loud, I would lose my job, please understand that.” I told him, his head laid in the corner of my neck. He just nodded his head, feeling around my body with his hands. I placed my hands along his chest. Soon after I was actually starting to relax myself and taking in what was happening in front of me. I lowered one of my hands under the water and placed it along his cock. That caught his attention, his head shooting up.

“What are you doing darling? I think you have something that grabs your attention,” he said, no more than a whisper.

“I think it’s something you like. Just relax, like you said ‘you want my help’” I said, kissing his lips before I started stroking him. His hands tighten around me. I kept it at a slow pace. Letting it draw him out. He pulled away trying to catch up with his breath.

“Baby, don’t do this to me.” He begged, before he started abusing my neck. I wouldn’t be surprised if at the end of this there was a crazy number of marks on my neck and chest. I picked up the pace only a little so that it would start driving him crazy. This lent him to start actually biting my neck. “Darling you can’t be doing this to me,” he warned, moving his hand on my hand that was around him. Stopping me from continuing. I smiled. Showing him that I know exactly what I was doing to him. Instead of saying anything, I started kissing down his neck. He threw back his head giving me more room, soon he let go of my hand letting me go back to what I was doing beforehand. He had been waiting long enough. Along with myself too. I need some pleasure for myself too, it can’t just be for him. I laughed to myself. I stopped and began lining him with my hole. This time he didn’t say anything, just watching the show I was putting on for him. His hands moved from my thighs to my hips, gilding me along with him. I teased him a little more by making circles around the hole, never putting it in yet. He threw back his head as soon as the tip went in for a second. I would be lying to myself if I said it didn’t feel good.

I took my time pushing it in, trying to take my time adjusting to his size. Little bit at a time already felt like too much. Sounds of low mumble and groans were heard from him. I could feel his hands gripping harder around me whenever I stopped like he wanted me to go faster but knew we both couldn’t do that just yet. Finally, when it was all the way in, I took my time. Waiting for my body to get used to it.

“There you go baby, just get used to me. Move yourself when you’re ready.” He said, before kissing down my neck and jaw. I can feel the bruises starting to form from before around my neck. I wanted to move myself too, however I knew that if I did that, I would be even more bruised up to match my neck. I could tell that he was getting impatient from the way he is starting to move his hands around and gripping my sides. Just to play and mess around with him by rolling my hips around a bit. “Sweetheart don’t do this to me, it’s been a long day for me, and you know that.” He groaned, very low, soon biting my neck making a whimper come out of me. I, myself, was getting a little impatient. Taking it slow I raised myself up all the way then lowered myself a little quicker. “Fuck… there you go. Ride me” He commanded, smiling little crazy before going back to whatever mess he was doing to my chest.

He was hitting all the right places. I know well that he is loving this shit too. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were red hand marks on my hips from him. I began picking up the pace, wanting more for myself but also, I didn’t want to make so much noise. To lower the amount of noise coming out of our mouth, I decided that the best way was to just make out. A gasp came out from him before he started kissing back. The way his tongue swiped into my mouth, taking care of every inch it was feeling. He was getting too impatient to the point where he began taking my hips into his hands and thrusting his hips into me. I moaned into his lips while he moaned lightly into my mouth. We each had to pull away trying to catch our breath up. Only thing being heard was the sounds of our moans and groans along with the splashes of the water. Light talking was heard in other rooms, moving around near us too. I am going to get fired if anyone hears or walks into here. They will only see me as a slut. It’s not like I have enough money to lose a job right now.

“Arthur… I can’t lose this job; I don’t get money for doing that and getting fired.” I said, moaning through the sentence. My arms were around his neck, holding on to him nicely. He mumbled things I couldn’t hear or understand. I could only hear something here and there. Saying things like ‘fuck, there,’ things like that.

“Sweetheart if you stop now, I am going to go crazy,” he said, he didn’t stop, only getting faster and harder. Trying my best to be quiet but I know damn well that I couldn’t be for too long. I know what I had to do. I don’t know what he will say. This is his fault anyways. I bitten hard onto his neck. He loudly went and then started pushing us to our limits. “You know how tight you’re. Fuck… I am about to cum sweetheart. You better take it all, do you understand me?” He asked, before taking his one hand off my hip and moving down to my hole. I took another bit on his neck as he pushed his finger in too.

“Yes, I understand.” I spoke. I was close as well and I could tell by the way he was getting slipper in his thrusting that he was too. “I want you to cum with me. You can take me, baby. I know you can. You understand?” He asked. I nodded my head. The sounds of light moans were coming out of the both of us. Still biting him all over because as soon as I let go then I become loud which can’t happen.

“Darling please come for me.” I want to feel more of you.” He asked before I began coming with him and letting go. Letting the feeling overran me. I could feel him come undone too. I feel his come flowing inside me too. I loved the way he felt. Riding out our high there was nothing left to do but to clean ourselves off. He pulled out before reaching out for the soap, shampoo, and body wash for each other. I laughed softly, taking it out of his hands and began cleaning him up. Then he took it back from mine and started washing me up next. He was soft and slow with it making sure to clean me up nicely.

“You did so well… thank you love. I like this. I haven’t been with someone in a long time.” He awkwardly chuckled. That surprised me with the way he went with this too. He acted so confident. “I haven’t either.” I said, as he began watching my hair. “I am surprised, you’re stunning, wouldn't people want to be with you?” He was shocked for some reason. We finished cleaning up each other. He was about to make his way to the door before, “Wait, until your hair is dry and also, I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I will be back. Maybe we can do something other than this” He confessed leaving the room. Guess my plans are canceled for him. We will just have to see.

This Was By Cake!

[midnight-moth-musings]

Rocket Queen

Captain John Price x mechanic reader, slight enemies to lovers

Part 2

---

If I say I don't need anyone, I can say these things to you

'Cause I can turn on anyone just like I've turned on you

I've got a tongue like a razor, a sweet switchblade knife

And I can do you favors but then you'll do whatever I like

John Price knows almost everything about everyone on base--part of his job as Captain is to always be informed. So when he walks into the cafeteria one morning and finds someone new sitting next to Soap and Gaz, he is utterly perplexed. He steals glances at the boisterous young woman engrossed in conversation with the two young men as he makes his coffee. Long, choppy hair frames her face wildly almost as if the tendrils have a life of their own. John searches for any clue as to her rank but finds nothing--the woman is dressed in black overalls with a grey long sleeve beneath them. Quite unprofessional, John tells himself. The edges of her shirt lift as she reaches over the table for pepper to reveal the swirling black ink adorning her wrists. She tilts her head back to laugh loudly--hair becoming messier by the second. What could possibly be so funny?

Here I am, and you're a Rocket Queen

I might be a little young, but, honey, I ain't naive

Here I am, and you're a Rocket Queen, oh yeah

I might be too much, but, honey, you're a bit obscene

The woman leaves the table seconds before John arrives--seconds before he is able to learn who she is. Soap and Gaz seem to notice the faraway look in their Captain's eyes and answer the question before he even has to ask it--

"You've never met the base mechanic, hm, Captain?" Gaz grins up at him in between mouthfuls of his food.

"Aye, she's proper fun." Soap winks, nudging Gaz with a laugh. John sits down next to the two and simply grunts in acknowledgment. He mentally takes note of this small bit of information--curious to learn more about this mysterious woman.

---

I've seen everything imaginable pass before these eyes

I've had everything that's tangible, honey, you'd be surprised

I'm a sexual innuendo in this burned out paradise

If you turn me on to anything, you better turn me on tonight

The sweet sound of Guns N' Roses blaring from an old speaker on my desk fills the garage as I work on the repairs of a Humvee that has seen far too much action in the field. Nonetheless--Gaz and Soap insist that its their favorite one, so of course I'll make sure the old beast is running until it falls apart. Dust and grease coat my arms in heavy strokes as if given by Van Gogh as I fiddle with the underbelly of the great beast above my head. I am jolted from my focus as a pair of boots walks into view from my place below the Humvee. I kick my heels to roll out on my creeper and wipe at the sweaty locks of hair sticking to my forehead.

"Music is a bit loud." I look up from my seat to see the unamused face of Captain John Price staring down at me.

I stand up with a grunt, wiping my hands on my overalls. The man standing before me crosses his arms as he still looks down on me. Damnit, why's he so tall? Makes him even more intimidating. I choke out a nervous laugh, ruffling a hand through my bangs. "Yeah, well, no one ever comes down here. Figured I could play my music as loud as I wanted."

Anxiety bubbles in my stomach as the man looks over me. "Right. Well, I wanted to come down here and introduce myself. Seeing as we haven't met before and you must be new. I'm Captain John Price." He holds out an arm and I take his hand, shaking it. His hand practically envelopes mine--squeezing tightly in greeting, before disconnecting.

"I've actually been here for five months." His eyes widen in disbelief at the revelation and I have to hold back a laugh. "Sergeant Y/N L/N, base mechanic, sir." We stand in an awkward state of silence for a moment--save for the blaring of my speaker. The captain glances pointedly at the speaker and I walk over to my laptop to pause the music. "Right, sorry sir."

He places his hands on his vest, gripping the straps tightly before stepping closer to me. "Interesting taste in music." He leans forward to glance at the screen of my laptop showing my playlist. I watch as his eyes flicker down the screen--before he nods in approval.

"Interesting? Is that good or bad, sir?" My words come out more defensively than I had meant for, but the captain's mouth quirks up as if trying to hide a smile.

Clear blue eyes meet mine when he turns to look at me and I find my heart skipping a beat. "Good." My cheeks heat up and I have to remind myself--this is your captain, pull yourself together. "I'll let you get back to your work then." He takes a few steps away before looking back over at me hesitantly. I watch as his eyes trail down my form and I suddenly feel self conscious of my ripped, greasy overalls. "I'd like for you to find a more...standard uniform."

My eyes immediately narrow and I cross my arms to stare back at him. "Standard uniform? I never realized mechanics were required to wear standard issue. Not many soldiers even follow that rule." The air between us thins as we lock into a stare.

Immediately, the captain's demeanor changes. I hold my breath as he grips the straps of his vest tighter--voice lowering an octave as he replies. "Are you questioning an order, solider?"

I bite back a snarky reply. "No, sir." The edge of his mouth twitches and I imagine I am about to receive a verbal warning--certainly not the first of my career. Instead, he simply nods. The captain turns on his heels and walks away--leaving my head spinning as to if I'm more irritated or intrigued by him.

---

Part 2 will be coming tomorrow. I wanted it to be one part, but I have a bit of a headache at the moment so I decided to post part of it :)

-P

[karlachismylife]

hi! I must say, i really love your queen of the clan series! I been reading a lot of COD related stuff and I just found it by chance, i have two questions, are you perhaps planning to write something similar in the future? Like the poly and hibrid stuff, and if none had asked, what was ghost's reaction the next morning after remembering that reader caught him and called him a pervert?

~🐰❄️

Okay tonight is oficially hyena procrastinating time (poor poor abandoned other four oneshots...)!

HIIII THANK YOU PRECIOUS I am so, so honoured that among all the BEAUTIFUL works on this site (god knows I have like 40+ tabs open with stuff yet to read and even more already read with nothing but excitement, fuck people are so talented on this site) you liked mine!! Grateful for the savannah breeze that brought it to you hehe <3

Oh you're hitting what I've been thinking around for the last few days huh... the answer is yes, absolutely. First of all, there is already a spinoff/au of an au brewing in my mind for the hyena au where reader (another, not the Queen) gets to be with Valeria for I am WEAK for that woman. I am also thinking more classic jaguar!Valeria as a separate thing. But if you're loyal to 141 boys, fear not, polyamory is like the sole reason for my existence so I will have more poly fics. In fact, I already have one more idea (no shapeshifter stuff there tho) + I'm sure as hell I will get more. Also, I have accepted my furry fate so yeah, why the hell not have more shapeshifter/hybrid aus? The only real "problem" with them would be that I don't really want to be repetitive, especially since I'm seeing (and absolutely enjoying them all lol) several dog shapeshifter!au's here and some other "classic" animal choices, but there's like a whole animal kingdom to choose from. Also monster!au's are hella fun and can be somewhat in the same au family. If you have some less common animal/monster ideas for anyone in COD, really, and would like to see me do them - send them in!

Now that I'm done yapping about what isn't done yet, the second question. Well, as you've seen in the part 3,5 Ghost had definitely quite a distraction in the morning, and I believe they did have duties to attend after Price was done with him (and the other two muppets who exhausted their poor Lieutenant through the night), but I think he got over the embarassement quickly and was actually trotting around like an unapologetically smug bastard. Earning so much huffing and whining from Soap, oh my god, Johnny cannot believe Simon would just go behind his back and score such a jackpot of their (future) Queen's scent on his hide! Ghost is just too damn self-confident to actually be flustered about being called a pervert. Like yeah, he is, what are you gonna do about it? You're his queen, he's allowed (and expected) to be freaky around you. And he didn't even steal a single peek at you actually watering local plants, that's some self-restraint, mind you.

He's a total menace, but only because there isn't a strong female hand to tame him yet :)

P.S. Honestly I started thinking about what other animal shapeshifters/hybrids I could write about but somehow ended up thinking about plant spirits, like driads and shit. Price as a good ol' broad oak spirit, Soap as Scots pine cuz duh, Ghost as an yew tree with the way life and death are intertwined in his destiny a little too tightly, and Gaz as a walnut tree (among many other things symbolizes intelligence, also walnut people can kinda be nasty and we all know how hard Kyle's words can burn).

Sedate me pls or something idk

[gunilslaugh]

bubble bath with jooyeon? like jooyeon had a long day so reader helps him relax with a nice bubble bath

Here you go bubble bath with Jooyeon!

Lee Jooyeon

Summary: Jooyeon had a long stressful day, so give him a bubble bath.

WC:633

Warning:grammar

photo not mine credits to owner.

Jooyeon arrived back home during the evening whilst you were cooking dinner. He trudged his way over to you, draping himself over your frame. Jooyeon rested his head against yours, arms holding around your middle. 

“Long day?” You asked, bringing a hand up to hold his arms. You felt Jooyeon nod his head. “Come on, let’s eat,” you told him. You dished up the food and waddled over to the table to eat since Jooyeon was still attached to your backside. While you ate Jooyeon ranted about his long day.

“You know what you need?” You questioned him.

“What?” Jooyeon replied. 

“A bubble bath,” you say. Jooyeon laughs.

“A bubble bath?” He repeats your words, still laughing. 

“Yes, a bubble bath. They’re very relaxing. You’ll feel so much better afterwards,” you said. 

“I just haven’t heard the words bubble bath since I was a kid,” he explained. 

“Don’t worry you can still play with the bubbles,” you joked. “I’ll go draw the bath,” you excused yourself and headed to the bathroom. You prepared the bubble bath, making sure the water was just the right temperature. Once it was ready you called for Jooyeon. He joined you in the bathroom and you helped him into the warm tub. The warm water soothes his aching muscles and Jooyeon let out a relaxed sigh. “See it’s nice,” you stated, taking a seat on the edge of the tub. 

“Yeah it is, thank you,” Jooyeon tells you, lifting one hand from the water to hold yours. “Can you wash my hair?” He asks you with the sweetest eyes that you couldn’t say no to. 

“Of course,” you answered. You reached up to grab the detachable faucet. You used it to thoroughly wet his hair before grabbing the shampoo. You squeezed the product onto your hands, proceeding to massage it into Jooyeon’s scalp. Subsequently rinsing the soap from his hair, being careful to not get any in his eyes. Once all the soap was rinsed from his hair you playfully squirted some water at Joooyeon’s face 

“Aye!” He shouts at you, shaking the water from his face. He used one hand to wipe the remaining water from his face and the other hand to splash some water back at you. You flinched as the water made contact with you.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist,” you laughed. 

“Hehe look at my beard,” Jooyeon shows you the bubble he stuck to his chin. You laugh at him and his silly antics. 

“Give me one too,” you stuck out your chin. Jooyeon picks up a handful of bubbles and places them on your chin. Jooyeon laughs at your new appearance. “What? I don’t look good with a bubble beard?” You fake being offended.

“You look silly,” he states. 

“So do you,” you rebuttal. You then reached for your phone and the two of you took a photo together with your matching bubble beards. 

After the bath you dried Jooyeon’s hair with a towel. Later you both changed into pajamas and got ready for bed. While laying in bed Jooyeon placed his head to rest on your chest and listen to your heartbeat. It always made him feel safe and calm. You had one arm resting over his side. Using your free hand to gently caress his hair. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled out.  

“You’re welcome,” you smiled.

“I should take bubble baths more often. I’ve been missing out man,” Jooyeon speaks causing you to laugh.

“Let me know when you want one I’ll draw one for you,” you told him. Jooyeon nodded his head against your chest. His eyes fell closed. 

“Goodnight y/n,” he wishes you, before drifting off to the sound of your heartbeat.

“Goodnight Jooyeon,” you wished him back, closing your eyes to find sleep yourself.

[callipraxia]

The Interview: A Running 'Live' Commentary

Well, you asked, kinda, @the-orion-scribe...

Disclaimer: One of my…things is that where there is a transcript, I'm gonna read the transcript first and then may or may not tackle the audio version later. As such, I'm inevitably going to get some of the subtler bits indicated by gesture and tone of voice wrong. I hope it won't be anything that significantly changes the meaning, but we shall see. I'm doing this live, (redact) it! And partially on my work breaks at that, so apologies if anything gets repetitive or disjointed as a result of different bits being read several hours apart. Full transcript is available here from, I believe, @fordtato, who seems like awesome cool folks.

That all said, let's begin.

[On the SAG-AFTRA strikes]

Alex's grandmother was an actress? Interesting. Also, generally approve of the sentiments stated there, very good, no actual notes.

[On the pilot and the 'Next On' reel]

When I was a much, much younger Callipraxia, I also had an interest in TV work - we had this class at my middle school call Careers, and we had to do a research project on, well, a career every year, and one year I did mine on being a soap opera writer (early nineties soap operas were my first literary influences, and I suspect it still shows). I therefore find this glimpse into the industry fascinating, even though I don't have much to say about it beyond giggling at the image of executives having such reptilian, limited-intelligence brains that they could be tricked into thinking something already exists and therefore just approving it so they don't have to think about why they're being asked to approve something that already exists because it would make their heads hurt.

"I was working...on a cartoon called 'Flapjack.'"

I'm 99% sure I've never seen a single frame of this show, but also 99% sure I've heard of it somehow. Not sure why. No idea what 'Fish Hooks' is, though.

"Then, when we did the Cipher Hunt, I was running out of rewards and treasures to give the audience because I'd already bled Gravity Falls dry of every drop of content that was inside it..."

See, this is what I find fascinating about Proper Creators, and this one in particular. Their creations can seem so much fuller to us than they do to them. This baffles me, because even when I don't do things on purpose, I generally do realize that I did them sometime, you know? (Edit: ha, Hirsch actually talks a bit about this at the end)

"I remember asking him, 'Hey, Mike, you read the bible, right? What do you think about this Jesús character? Do you think it's working? Do you think people will get it?'"

Even though I clearly read the words 'series bible' right above this, my first thought was that Alex was asking Mike if he'd read The Bible - y'know, the religious one. And I was so confused. And then I stopped being confused and I facepalmed in real life.

"Instead of embracing that this is part of lore that fans love...in his mind, he, as a serious videogame programmer, made a mistake, and is ashamed of the mistake, and doesn't want to acknowledge it, doesn't want to encourage other people to corrupt their own game, and so he said 'there's no such thing as MissingNo.'"

This is another "I just don't get Proper Creators" moment. I'd have embraced it so thoroughly I'd have written a sequel just about it and only revealed that it was actually serendipitous (not 'a mistake' - word choice, people!) years later!

Sometimes no answer is better than a boring answer.

This is why I love that thing Robert Jordan used to say - "read and find out!" and the fandom shortened it to "RAFO," and now that's a one-word response to questions you don't want to answer, at least if everyone in the room is familiar with The Wheel of Time books and fandom history...so many times I've wanted to just reply "RAFO!" in a review, but then realized the odds were excellent that the other person would have no clue what I was talking about.

"I know that we did cut like 12 pages from the journal, just due to length."

I've been told that I can make people feel cussed out without ever uttering a single swearword, when I'm annoyed enough with them. I would like to try to do that to whoever it was who decided on this length restriction. Give me lore! All the lore! More! More lore!

[On the walls of genre cards and character beat cards and how this led to rejected episode ideas]

I'm gonna try this writing method out, it sounds interesting. Thanks, Alex! And also thanks to everyone involved who's mentioned any of these rejected ideas over the years, as this allows us to play with them instead! (one day, y'all will know the tale of Wendy as a weather witch. I've got a whole arc planned for her with that one).

"When [Rob Renzetti] and I are together, we're very much like Grunkle Stan and Ford, and he is Ford and I am Stan."

I wish so much that someone had asked if there were ever any RL fistfights during the production of the book. It's barely even funny and would have wasted time, but I wish they had anyway.

"I still recall when Ford had a long beard and was a hippie."

...No.

"We were thinking it'd be kind of more like a zen kind of guy"

I mean, technically I suppose he still is. Apparently quite big on meditation back in the day, and the Journal strongly implies he's a firm believer in divination now. He could have been a sort of hippie lite, had he gone for drugs other than brain demons and/or Truck Stop Coffee I Initially Assumed Was A Euphemism For Significantly Stronger Stimulants.

"I remember talking about, maybe, J.K. Simmons and then thinking, 'Gosh, you know, he's got a very familiar voice, is he gonna feel too overexposed.'"

Ford was actually the first character I ever heard Simmons voice, because I have acquired what passes for my pop culture literacy mostly completely backward. My mother was watching reruns of whatever that cop drama he was on was (was it The Closer?) one day, though, and I did a double take at the TV because why is Ford here on one of Mama’s shows? Did he get arrested again or something? Why are they acting like he's one of the...ohhhh.

Which yes, means I found my way to Portal 2 via Gravity Falls instead of the other way around. That isn't so surprising, though, because video games are another of my...things. I absolutely love a lot of the stories and will happily read about them and watch cutscenes and video essays about them and player-keeps-quiet playthroughs all day, but I've never actually played video games because I have poor hand-eye coordination and rather low frustration tolerance when it comes to entertainment. The puzzles would drive me mad. I adore complex things, but I hate having to figure them out before I can move on with the story if I don't want to stop. Let me figure stuff out at my own pace, dangit -

Er, that got off-topic, sorry. The point was, I've watched a ton of clips of Portal 2 now, and it's kind of fascinating to me that it possibly wasn't a conscious influence, because Cave Johnson is...not really that dissimilar to a thing that Ford could have become, in a lot of ways. Or what he and/or Fiddleford might have actually become in the "Better World," for all we know. He's probably closer to what Fiddleford did become in canon, though, at least for a while/in my possibly somewhat weird interpretation of Fiddleford.

"So we're putting this character together, we're putting blocks together, we're moving blocks and putting them up, and it's only at the last second that a Ford is revealed that we're like 'I guess we did it?'"

This is how I construct plots basically, more than characters, but - oh, gosh, I wanna do a lore dump so bad but this isn't the time or place. Never mind, I'll ramble about character development another time.

Also, I am amused by the visual of, like, Stan or someone performing a dramatic flourish and being like "Behold: A Ford!"

"What to you comes across as 'oh, Rob understands Ford's ridiculous recklessness' to me comes across as 'Rob IS Ford and Ford does rationalize.' That's what he does. One of Ford's greatest powers is rationalizing. So you're seeing Rob as Ford rationalizing Ford's bad decisions. In that moment, I think what's being revealed is less Ford's recklessness, and more Ford's ability to justify anything."

Why not both? But yeah, fair, I've observed this about the character myself. He censors himself when he doubts. It's a defensive mechanism I think - it keeps him alive and functional to a degree, because, well...we've seen what happens when Ford admits he was wrong, twice. In the Journal, he nearly lost his mind, and in the finale, he basically went from thinking of himself as He Who Shall Save The World to He Who Is About To, However Reluctantly, Become Death, The Destroyer of Worlds in an alarmingly short period of time. Extreme black and white thinking with him a lot of the time. Not a psychologist, just a nerd, but the longer I think about the character, the more probable a personality disorder seems. Which is one reason I worry about him and Stan both after the series ends. They're both going to be confused as all get-out when it dawns on them that "...wait, we're not suddenly better after all? We're both still really, really screwed up?"

"When you do a clone story, the point of a clone story, in my mind, is a character seeing themselves in a different light, right?"

Depends on which side you're looking at it from, really ;)

"They're all wonderful, wonderful dumbasses, all of them."

Accurate.

"They know that I am a detail-oriented bastard."

...Less accurate, in a way. I've spun whole worlds out of details that the writers have admitted were unintentional or screwups, not to mention the later discourse on Alex as the "emotional" story one while Rob was the "make it a story" guy, or the specific detail that was actually under discussion here. As for that one....

"When you're editing, when you're writing, and then you reread your writing and you edit it, and then you reread your writing and you edit it, there's a very subconscious process of streamlining, literally making paragraphs look nice - it's entirely possible that me or Rob made that change out of one in a million changes specifically because we knew that psychologically Ford is not traveling this path alone, he's traveling it with his muse who he has a very complex and fucked-up relationship with, and even in Ford's private thoughts, he would not say 'I'm alone,' he would say, 'Oh, I have a very important relationship in my life with Bill, but I don't have a friend, that is a difference!'"

...except he canonically referred to Bill as his friend, too, so, uh...yeah, there's that.*

Interesting to hear someone else's perspective on rewriting and editing; I'm pretty sure that there's very little sub-conscious going on with me when I'm editing. If anything, I'm double and triple checking to excise anything that even hints of subconsciousness out of the manuscript, and I am very, very conscious of times when I go out of my way to make paragraphs physically neat and pretty, because I always feel really stupid about doing it. So I suppose I'm glad to hear other people do that, too.

I also found it interesting to see the description of the relationship with Bill as "very complex and fucked-up." Ford, at least, wrote and spoke as though he was under the impression that his relationship with Bill was very straightforward pre-betrayal, but here's the Guy, on the record saying it was in fact "very complex." This doesn't confirm that Ford was on some level aware of this, but it does make me feel more confident about my theory that Ford invited Fiddleford up not so much because he really needed the technical expertise as because his subconscious was throwing up enough red flags to cover every square inch of land in the U.S.S.R. and he just couldn't admit it to himself consciously because admitting that he is not in control of a situation tends to render him non-functional.

*Full disclosure since nobody's read this far anyway, but hi if you have, have a full disclosure: I would not say I ship it, because in context - Fiddleford married, Ford on the brink of sanity, Ford as Fiddleford's employer, Fiddleford mind-wiping both himself and Ford behind Ford's back after a certain point, and that's all before we consider that on occasion, it's entirely possible Fiddleford was interacting with someone who mostly looked like Ford but, uh, wasn't - it would be incredibly dark and messed up and suitable for nothing but a full-blown adult psychological horror story, but I do consider "Ford was in love with Fiddleford, regardless of whether it was reciprocated or not" as a perfectly valid reading of the Journal. I also consider it perfectly valid to read it as Ford just being prone to really intense attachments, regardless of what kind they are - he either adores you or he hates you, whether you're his brother, his muse, his friend, his romantic or sexual interest, or what-have-you, which is kind of what I was saying earlier about the potential for personality disorders there. Ford writes in a style more like he's from the mid-nineteenth century than from the mid-twentieth, or at least like he's trying to imitate that style, so that could make things sound gay that aren't gay, but by the same token, much of Ford's rhetorical style seems to exist to allow him to not-quite-lie to himself while using his superpower of Justify Anything, so ultimately that means nothing, too. I went through the Journal line by line once and determined that you could make roughly equally strong cases for Ford being some form of straight, some form of gay, some form of bi, and some form of ace, and that it also wouldn't be unreasonable to come away with the view that he's not into humans so much but might very well be into one or more types of alien. I don't know and so will potentially read any variant of these things, as long as it's a decent story.

"You know the thing about working with a big company, it's like working with a friend who swaps their head with a different head every couple of years."

Huh, Alex has met Olm, has he?

[Hana] "By the way, I know there's a lot of fake blood on this page, that's for one of my YouTube videos, ignore that."

Why is this the moment I laughed out loud?

"That's the trouble of a puzzle box, is it's like, there's two flavors of it, there's a question with a satisfying answer, and then there's a question that is sort of an open-ended invitation to a kind of, uh, you know, group improvisational session. We've created a prompt for fans to 'yes and' their own story out of it, and the sense that there might be something in there creates a sense of excitement along with it."

Pretty sure this is sums up my general thoughts on the Interview/is the part of it I regard as Important so far. Also, I wish I could write something like that. If I leave a loose end hanging, it's very blatantly a loose end. I can improvise a 10,000-word essay about Ford's anger issues on the fly, doing that out of someone else's work is incredibly easy and natural for me, but I can't do the same in my own work. It's a frustrating thing.

"The Mystery Shack is a bucket full of misshapen, lost, odd oddities, and these character are a bucket of full of misshapen lost odd oddities, and like the idea of them all having a place where they fit in, and - and loving each other as a family, was very important to me."

...Ok, this is another Important bit, but for completely different reasons. Basically sums up why I'm here, really.

"That means that Dipper and Mabel's parents may have had children at a concerningly young age, and is this show's intent to say that it's okay for those relationships to exist?"

Here's a thing that I think is just...me not quite getting how a lot of people work, I guess? To me, there's a world of difference between "that could be what happened" and "and that means I approve of it." The Pineses are a really screwed up family. They should have called that pawn shop Dysfunction Junction, that’s how messed up they are. Apparently it was Filbrick who knocked someone up at a drive-in movie once (one of my 4.5 Shermies is actually a much older half-brother who only gets to know Stan at all after they meet at Filbrick's funeral, though I never decided if his mom was the shotgun wedding or if that was with Caryn. Either way, though, he was vaguely aware that "yeah, Dad and his second wife had those twins" but he'd had very limited contact with them and bought that he'd mixed up which one was supposed to be weird and have six fingers without too much trouble), and Mabel's level of proto-sexual aggressiveness is...occasionally disconcerting, to me at least. One or more generations of teenage parenthood seems perfectly in character for them to me, without it meaning anyone approves or disapproves of that. It's fairly realistic, however depressing, that a much younger son in a family as dysfunctional as theirs might well have started acting out, resulting in Indiscretions - my second fic was based on the premise that the "you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart..." was Stan talking about Shermie's lot in life rather than his own, as I hadn't yet heard the remark about it being a Filbrick quote (the whole events of that story were constructed with the idea of keeping Stan's line about how he lied to everyone, including "my family" and "your parents", literally true, so every event was created to explain how Stan got away with it for a little longer without anyone noticing, basically). Mabel also seems impractical enough, even post-character development, to get waaaaaay too into a high school relationship with unfortunate results. That's not approval of such relationships, that's just...reality? Goodness, people don't think I morally approve of everything (or even very much at all) in my stories, do they? That's an unsettling thought.

"I think we say 'damn.' I think we say 'hell' maybe, um, yeah."

Ford specifically says "I'll be damned" in the Journal (though, in context, it seems less like swearing than like he possibly means it some form of literally; there's several hints in the Journal that suggest Ford believes in...Something, though he's almost certainly not a member of any organized religion and almost definitely not a member of any organized religion we'd recognize). Stan, for his part, says "hell" in "Lost Legends," referring to a part of the carnival that he thinks would be a good hiding place.

Since Disney allowed people to refer to going to literal, capital-H Hell in at least two properties long preceding Gravity Falls, though (specifically, David Xanatos infamously says "pay a man enough and he'll walk barefoot into Hell" in the pilot of the animated show Gargoyles, and Claude Frollo sings a whole song where he repeatedly yells the words "Hell" and "Hellfire" without a care in the world in The Hunchback of Notre Dame), I am still more shocked that they let Ford say the word "suicide" on the show proper, on Disney channel. And...okay, Frollo is significantly less child-friendly than Bill, even given the torture scene. Frollo does things that are just as violent as that scene, plus Frollo is quite blatantly driven by a perverse sexual obsession with a woman, so that he attempts to coerce her into sex with everything but the word 'sex' on screen before setting her on fire. There's distinctly perverse undertones in Bill's every interaction with Ford in the Weirdmageddon Trilogy, but Bill's been an energy being without physical form since before the birth of the Milky Way, which takes the edge off...a bit, anyway. Bill in the Journal flings down and dances upon the line between "this is a metaphor" and "...okay, so, the way this is being written about is so on the nose that I'm not sure this counts as a metaphor for any practical purposes anymore," but Bill having "extract information" as a motive in the most blatantly unsettling scenes of the show proper means he's still less overt about it on screen than Frollo.

...What was I talking about, again? Oh, right. Disney Channel: A lot less squeaky-clean in general than it wants you to think, Parents! They've been letting animated people say "Hell" occasionally since I was four!

"We talked about 'is there a way for this government agent who knows about Trembley to be connected to the government agents who picked up this disturbance?' We weren't really able to find a way to make them connect in a satisfying way, so, I wish we had done more with it."

Welp, there's another one for the "Projects to Eventually Do" List. Y'know, I'd never even thought of associating Powers and Co with the guy in "National Treasure"? It's one of those episodes I kinda mostly forget about tbh, the S1 filler episodes - I remember facts from it because they're useful when constructing my "Nathaniel Northwest was a warlock who made deals with Bill and here's how that could play out" theories, but I never think about the plot. Kind of like how I forget that Dipper's infatuation with Wendy is why the Paper Twins exist, even though they're now major characters in a lot of what I've written and are even bigger players in the vast majority of what I plan to write in future....I can tell you way, way too much about "Double Dipper," but I'm always slightly surprised that "oh, the Wendy obsession is why all this other stuff even happened!"

[On a very long section of text about McGucket and the memory gun]

OMG OMG OMG I WAS RIGHT! I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE ALCOHOLISM METAPHOR, IT'S CANON, I FEEL SO SMART RIGHT NOW, WHEEE!

Ahem...sorry about that. Got a bit carried away there. So, Alex also compared McGucket's relationship with the memory gun to alcoholism. And to taking anxiety pills, but...well, there is a reason you don't mix those, I suppose. I want to dig into this so much more, and I'm probably gonna end up printing this section and tacking it to the wall next to my writing table, but right now I have gotta do my mother's taxes, she refused to admit they hadn't been done yet until a few hours ago, arrgh, I don't have time - yeah, that bit's probably gonna get its own analysis post eventually.

"It's like he has to always have a mission in front of him, because if he doesn't have a mission in front of him, he's thinking 'how have I treated the people in my life?'"

Hey, I think I said that...like...three times in this insanely long post, and I know I've said it before. My character interpretations are being validated. It makes me faintly grumpy that I'm as pleased by this as I am. I have a...complicated relationship with validation, let's leave it at that.

"The same way you know a black hole is there by the light warped around it, it's like, you know the damage someone's family has done to them by all of their weird tics and behaviors. So who is the character who would result in Stan being this hurt and needy and mad and also longing?"

I'd argue that it was the whole family dynamic, really - Stan clearly had a ton of daddy issues on the boil even before he got disowned, and while Caryn seems to have been more openly affectionate toward him, I can't imagine it did his psychology any good to grow up with a mother he calls a "pathological liar" without missing a beat. There'd always be that uncertainty (much like there later is with Stan himself) about what was real and what was a lie, what was a performance, because Caryn, like Stan, was an entertainer - it's the thing they were good at. Meanwhile, Filbrick is a fifties and sixties father of the most rigid sort, someone who is clearly uncomfortable expressing any positive emotion of any kind, or really anything except anger. He's either indifferent or he's shouting, and he apparently calls his sons by the same name to the point that they can say "he means you" when he's bellowing for "Stan Pines," because Stan's unimportance in life has been so thoroughly underlined for him by his parents, long before Ford personally was in any position to inflict much childhood trauma, that he struggles to have any form of identity separate from "Ford's twin" by a very young age, and never really grows past this until maybe the final moments of the show - I really wish we'd had a moment of Stan claiming his own name properly, but at least it made the news. Until that point, he'd literally failed at everything he ever did as Stanley, as himself, because he had no direction without Ford - even the Mystery Shack, as built around his specific talents as it is, was created because the mission in front of him had Ford as a focus point. That's a crucial thing, too, about his bond with Dipper and Mabel, and Soos, and even kinda Wendy - he's built a life for himself outside of just being Ford's brother. It's implied none of them even knew he was a twin, that the Other had ever existed. He still defines himself in relation to other people to a large extent, but that's still less restrictive than defining himself (and being defined by others) solely in terms of one other person. Fairer to Ford, too. But I digress.

"And it's like 'oh! I think he's also aloof and distant from himself.' I think he is, uh, deeply, deeply hiding from his real feelings about things, because at some point early on, he decided that he could run from hurt by achievement and by creation, and has dug that hole so deep that he has no relationships."

Accurate, at least at times.

"The shows I was watching growing up were, like, Doug and Rugrats, and there were no holy wars about whether Chucky Finster, uh, should be interpreted this way or that way. We had no idea the world that was coming into consciousness as we were making this thing."

I found this kinda interesting, because I remember those shows, too - but by the time I was old enough to be aware of very much, Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer had already created the core of modern fandom culture as we know it, so I at the same time have the concepts of "there is no Rugrats fandom" and "that did not make fandom a surprise to me, because it was falling into place right about the point where my memory starts/I became dimly aware of the world outside of [Microscopically small town I'm from]." I don't know if this is something where he maybe remembers early childhood more than I do, since I have very, very few distinct memories from before I was 10-11 - a few, but they're like isolated snapshots with limited context, except what I know happened because people have told me it happened. I know Hirsch is older than me, but also not *that* much older than me, so I wonder if it's down to those few years (like he said about how gay marriage had just been legalized as the show was wrapping, and it's disconcerting now to think how different so many things were back then) or if it's a difference in personalities or what.

Well! That was more enjoyable than I expected! Thanks for prodding me to finally read this thing, @the-orion-scribe. It's eaten much of my day and seems set to eat a fair bit of it tomorrow, too, since I had to cut myself short at a couple of interesting points, but it was fun.

[thunderousavery]

Make You Mine (Ghost x Soap) Pt. 3

CW: Blood, Curse words

A/N: Take this as a little plot rewriting of MWIII. It's like a what-if, and you'll see what I mean by that. Description: Johnny and Simon meets the one that put them in the corner. Main Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish Side Pairing: König x Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin Word Count: 2.2k

Chapter 3 - In the night, we’ll take a walk

“Did I sound good, mein Schatz? Was I fantastisch with striking fear into our enemies’ hearts?” König switched his frequency back to his teammate, his voice sounding too eager and excited for praise.

“They are British, König. They are not Americans.” Horangi mentally facepalmed as he steadied his sniper rifle at the building, particularly on the first floor now. As annoying as his Colonel was, he can’t exactly stay mad with him. He doesn’t have the will to be angry at such a naïve souled soldier like König despite posing a high rank.

“Ah, es ist genau dasselbe.” The German Colonel groans behind his mask before radioing back to their now supposed hostages for what they wanted.

They need the intel as much as the other. And if they had to kill them, they’ll do whatever it takes.

For sustenance.

For their lives.

For KorTac.

----------

“KorTac? Who the bloody hell are these guys?” Simon growled under his breath through the tingling pain on his shoulder and irritation as Johnny told him the conditions their enemy wanted them to comply with. They didn’t anticipate this. Laswell nor Price ever informed them about another group wanting Makarov’s whereabouts. The intel holds everything: bombs, potential missile locations, possible Russian secret cell sites, and most especially, Makarov’s last known locations.

And now, they’re forced into a deep corner. Still in the staircase room, but their enemies had already secured the first floor. There’s nowhere else to go. They may be out of sight just now, but there’s no telling when they’ll be raided by these KorTac guys.

Are they mercenaries hired to gather intel about Makarov as well? Or are they following another selfish leader?

Johnny couldn’t quite answer his questions just yet. He’s still negotiating with a so-called Colonel behind the radio, and it’s not looking good for them.

“Simple conditions, ja? The intel in exchange for your safety. We’d even get your partner fixed up.”

“Away n’ bile yer heid!” Johnny scoffed, and Simon felt an unknown pride swell in his chest for that. His aggressive Scottish accent was showing, and for once, he felt really damn proud of his insult.

They knew better than to trust that kind of offer.

There was an annoyed sigh behind the line. “Amerikanisch, you’re not making this easy.”

“Ah’m fuckin’ Scottish, ya fuckin’ dumbass!”

“Let me… talk to the shithead,” Simon said as he tried to get back on his feet but failed to do so as he stumbled back, the sharp pain on his injury still lingered like chaos. He groaned as his back hit the wall, making Johnny turn to him and immediately move beside him once more.

“No, no. L.T., ah can handle this, alright? No need to get ya so worked up.” The Scot gently helped him sit down on the floor once more.

“I will…! Argh…”

“Oh, how sweet. Is he dying? Advance condolences, Soldat.” The mocking tone of the Colonel sent a maddening shudder to Simon’s body.

“Shut… the fucking hell up!” Simon managed to wretch a scream as he panted from the pain, sweat soaking his mask profusely.

“Ghost. Ghost, breathe. Steady breaths, L.T.,” Johnny spoke in comfort as he placed a hand on his heaving chest after he turned off the radio for a moment. But Simon couldn’t comprehend his words through the pain. So, he reached to lift the mask, at least just up to his nose, but the Brit immediately grabbed his hand tightly like an alert soldier that he was.

Simon realized what he was about to do and wanted to say no. No one has ever touched his mask before. Sure, Johnny and the others already saw his face in Las Almas, but he’d never let anyone lay a finger on the only thing that protected the visage of his traumas and past.

He could never… No one could ever break the walls that he built. No one could get past the Ghost and live to see the day.

“Ah won’t take the mask off, L.T. Just let me help ya breathe. Just up yer nose, aye?”

But Johnny’s voice. His voice worried for his own sake. It was soothing and comforting at this moment. Maybe it’s because of the agonizing pain, maybe because there was not enough oxygen getting in his brain to think clearly. But Simon knew he wasn’t trying to break in; he was knocking for his heart, to the door of his trust.

For the days, weeks, and months they’ve partnered up as Lieutenant and Sergeant, only one thought came to Simon like a flash before his eyes. Johnny never left him without looking back and had always been there for him.

His brown eyes, rimmed with red, closed briefly before he nodded. Permission was given to let him in his heart, even just for this time.

“Thank you, Simon. Yer gonna be okay, ya hear?”

And in return, Johnny gave him that smile again. A smile brighter than his own dark life, a beacon of his salvation. And it’s the only thing Simon wants to hold onto for now, giving him hope for humanity for a second time.

Calloused yet gentle hands lifted the damp hem of the balaclava mask, lifting it slowly up to Simon’s scar-tipped nose. The Brit shivered slightly at his touch, and Johnny was careful not to glide his fingers against the Glasgow smile curled from the corner of his lips or the other scars.

Simon thanked him in his mind for not commenting on what Johnny was seeing at the moment. For not feeling the fear that everyone else felt when they saw his true face.

So many scars were inflicted on a single man just to be turned into a weapon of war.

“J-Johnny…” That was never the first time Johnny heard his name spoken in a tone broken and filled with longing. But it was the first time he heard it from Simon, his Lieutenant with a cold heart and merciless soul.

“Breathe fer me. In and out, Simon.” Johnny’s voice was really soothing.

And breathe he does. His chest slowed down from heaving, only rising and falling steadily and slowly.

“Good. Good. Yer doing good, mo ghràdh.” Simon hated his Scottish accent or even his Gaelic, but not for this moment. He’s starting to like it, even. But he doesn’t know Gaelic, though. He knew many languages for the sake of his dangerous job, but not that one.

Maybe he’d ask Johnny about that later. Never did he hear that one before, but he’d kick his ass if he knew that was an insult.

“Let’s get ya up. Ah know it hurts, but we need to get outta here.”

“And what do you think we should do? Give the intel up?” Simon looked at him in a mix of surprise and concern. Even he doesn’t know what to think about their situation anymore.

“… They’re not giving us a choice,” Johnny sighed as he helped put back the vest on him. “But we’ll walk outta here alive. Ah also regret destroyin’ the computer to shit. Shoulda knew they’d corner us like this.”

“Actions have consequences, I guess,” Simon grumbled before he reached his uninjured arm for Johnny’s shoulder as he tried to get up. Still, the pain lingered, but with the Scot’s help, he could finally get back on his feet. “Thanks, Sergeant.” He leaned against his smaller frame a bit, hating the fact that he’s a fucking liability now.

“No prob, L.T. Always got yer six.” The Sergeant chuckled before picking up their guns as they walked down the stairs toward the first floor.

And Simon knew that Johnny would never make him feel less of himself.

“Have you contacted Price yet?”

Johnny shook his head and sighed. “They’re jamming the signal. Cannae say how they do it.”

Simon could only hope they can get out here alive. Maybe he’d honor Johnny’s request for a drink later.

----------

They were greeted with the loud car alarms from outside once more. And as expected, Johnny spots the green laser tag of the sniper again, this time pointed at his chest. The bastard wasn’t taking any chances, he thought.

The main hall was how they could remember it looked when they initially infiltrated it: wide and littered with the dead bodies of Russian guards on the cold floor. This building, hidden away near the main country borders, wasn’t supposed to be a haven for Ultranationalists, and yet Johnny and Simon did good work turning the place into their graveyard.

But aside from Russian terrorists led by Makarov, there seems to be another underlying group that they don’t know of.

KorTac.

“Ah, I see euer Freund here has returned from the dead.”

The car alarms went silent in an instant before the familiar voice spoke.

A tall figure then appeared from the shadows. Taller than Simon, perhaps, maybe more than 6 feet, and bulkier too. A hood-like mask covered his face with red streaks below the eye holes. He also wears body armor, seemingly matching that of Simon’s that hugged his bulky figure.

If Johnny could tell, he’d think KorTac is a mercenary group like Grave’s Shadow Company. But this guy… This guy seemed far more dangerous, and it almost sent shivers to know he was the Colonel he talked with on the radio.

“Why do ya want the intel?” Johnny sneered as he clutched his weapon, but the German Colonel tsked as he held his gloved hand up like a sign, instantly making the laser tag move to the Scot’s forehead.

“I suggest you drop your weapon, Soldat. No need to have some brain matter splat on the floor.”

A growl emanated from Simon’s throat.

 The Colonel laughed darkly as he crossed his arms to my chest. “Aww… Did I make your ugly mutt mad? He looks like he needs a tighter leash.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you…” The Lieutenant sent him a deadly glare outmatching his Sergeant’s, his words laced with venomous promise.

“Better keep your word, Hund.” Simon could feel the bastard grinning behind the mask. “The intel, Jungen. It’s better off in our hands than yours. And as I promised, we’ll get you the medical care you need.”

“And why would we believe ya?” Johnny retorted. “Ah could just shoot ya dead, and we get the hell outta here.”

The Colonel raised his gloved hands, indicating something for the duo to see. He had no weapons, nor did he have a sidearm on either side of his hips. He could only use either his raw strength, which clearly could match Simon and Johnny, or signal his sniper teammate from outside to shoot their heads off.

They still have nowhere to run. Johnny could tell that.

“There’s no need for more violence, meine Freunde. Imagine if we could just let go of the hate, ja?” His voice sounded sickeningly try-hard persuasive; it made Johnny’s blood boil.

Let go of the hate? After shooting his Lieutenant and making him bleed to the brink of death? He’d rather go to hell with all the hate in the world.

“We don’t make deals with devils like ya,” Johnny responded, his glare never faltering as he prepared to pull the trigger of his gun.

“… So be it.” One gloved hand formed a fist. It was the signal. To shoot.

Simon gasped as he realized this. “Johnny…!” Every fiber of his being was alerted, and he used all his will and strength to move his bulky body to cover Johnny, shielding him from the bullet that was aimed at his head.

He braced for it. He waited for another pain to shoot through his body, for blood to splatter once more as he stumbled down to the floor.

…

…

…

“… S-Simon?” Johnny was too stunned to even process what Simon did. In mere seconds, he instantly panicked as he tried to ask if the Brit was okay. Because if not, he would never forgive himself if he got hurt again.

… But nothing happened. Simon’s eyes were shut tightly, and his arms encased Johnny to protect him from the world.

But there was nothing. No pain, no bullet, no more blood other than his recent injury.

And then, they could hear the KorTac Colonel talk in a tone that could be described as shocked.

“… WAS?! Was meinen Sie damit, dass wir sie nicht töten sollten?!”

The duo breathed a somewhat relieved sigh before they turned to look at the Colonel. He was frantic with his radio as he kept looking outside as if he was communicating with the sniper.

“I mean, why shouldn’t we kill them, meine Schatz?! They have the intel about—”

He was occupied. Now’s their chance to—

“You!” The Colonel pointed a gloved finger at them and snarled before they could even make a move. “Are you two from 141?! Answer me truthfully!”

Simon was the one to answer, clutching his injured shoulder carefully while Johnny held him in place. “Why the fuck do you want to know?”

“Verdammte Schwachköpfe, we don’t want to be enemies with Captain Price!”

… Things just got more confusing now.

You're in Part 3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4