#the common pub

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by FIONA MCLOUGHLIN

Pro-Palestine protesters interrupted a holiday party for a Democratic congressional district Dec. 16 in Detroit, Michigan, according to multiple reports.

The party was hosted at the Common Pub for the 13th Congressional District Democratic Party, according to WXYZ News. Protesters began chanting for a ceasefire in Gaza after Shri Thanedar, a U.S. representative, addressed the crowd.

“Shri you can’t hide, we charge you with genocide,” protestors chanted in the video.

Videos on Twitter appears to show the commotion between guests of the party and protesters. People appeared to gather outside the bar, playing the drums and chanting. Footage from Bridge Michigan appears to show protesters banging on the windows.

Protesters continued to disrupt the party despite Jonathan Kinloch, the Chairman of the district, and the owner of the bar demanding they leave, WXYZ reported. (RELATED: Democrat Leadership Refuses To Condemn Violent Pro-Palestinian Protest Right Outside Their Own Headquarters).

“They were being disruptive,” Kinloch said, The Messenger reported, citing local reports. “The owner asked them to leave. I asked them to leave. They refused to leave, so they were removed from a place that they had no business and no legal right to be in.”

Bobbie Johnson, a local Democrat activist, was reportedly punched in the face as she and other party attendees attempted to remove protesters out of the pub, according to Bridge Michigan. She was hospitalized and suffered from two black eyes.

“This is not going to give you support for your cause,” Thanedar said in a press conference Monday, WYXZ reported. “I welcome them to come to my office. I welcome them to invite me to town halls where I could come and we can have a dialogue.”

No arrests were made, according to WXYZ. Police reportedly said the incident was under investigation.

[heavenbarnes]

At this rate you might as well release a how to on getting a blue collar bf ghgfjvhvcvbvnv because I too can be bougie and high maintenance and love to be very feminine

(i truly was in the right place at the right time! he was at a pub watching the rugby and i was sober-driving my friends! i sat at the table with him and chatted his ear off until we had to leave for a party and i invited him! we spent the whole party together at the kitchen table and he asked if he could come round the next night to cook me tea and he’s been the loml ever since! 🫶🏼🥰😭🤪)

i’d recommend not being afraid to approach him first and it also might mean you have to go to pubs (or dive bars if folks are american idk the difference) to find them but i don’t think being girly of feminine is going to work against you

[emeryleewho]

The number one thing I'm learning from my "would you buy direct from authors" poll is that next to no one understands what actually happens behind the scenes in publishing, but almost everyone thinks they do.

[ssmokyquartz]

I think my coworker who I used to have a crush on just asked me out but I don't think I want the complication right now (and to make it even more awkward I'm just an intern and he's a manager on another department) but we do work together and probably will for some time. what do u do???????

[joysmercer]

men are trash :)))

[spilt-ash]

in other news for the first time since turning 18 I actually feel like an adult (at nearly 21) but the past 5 years I've felt like I havent grown past 16 years old

I should be in the club tbh

[miyanagateru]

alright everything is ready to go lets go see if this actually works

hmm.

[pad-wubbo]

"Pub Food"

Infinite Painter.

A simple sketch of a metal bowl of skin-on chips, like you might get in a pub.

CC-BY-SA 4.0

[cassiopeialake]

i can’t even begin to conceive of what an abbott/sunny crossover would look like

[celestial-kestrel]

It's that time of year again where Mari Lwyd starts to be talked about and shared around and an INCREDIBLY misleading post gets shared a lot. As someone who grew up with Mari Lwyd I wanted to clear some things up.

Also hello, if you are unaware who Mari Lwyd is. This is about the Welsh tradition of the horse skull who visits houses during the Christmas to New Years period in Wales asking for alcohol.

First off and probably the most important one:

Mari Lwyd is not a cryptid!

I can not emphasise this enough. She. Is. Not. A. Cryptid. There is no story or mystery about a ghost or zombie horse roaming the Welsh valleys. She's not even supposed to be a ghost or a zombie. It's just a horse skull on a stick with a guy under a sheet. She's a hobbyhorse and a folk character used to tell Welsh stories and keep songs alive. When people spread the misinformation that she's a cryptid, it's the equivalent of saying Kermit the Frog is a cryptid.

She is actually only one character in a wider cast of characters who go door to door or, in more modern times, pub to pub. The cast of characters can change town to town and village to village but there are some common ones I see time and time again. The Leader, the Merryman, The Jester and The Lady are just some I see regularly. Punch and Judy used to be more popular a few years ago but I haven't seen them in a while as their tradition has mostly fallen out of popularity. In most cases, almost the whole cast will be played by men. Even the characters are considered and referred to as female. Though this again depends and varies by which group is partaking in the Mari Lwyd tradition.

This point also goes onto my second point,

Mari Lwyd does not rap.

I think this comes from a very common misunderstanding of what rap is vs spoken word. Rap is a very specific style of music originating from the African American communities of the USA and has it's own structure and motifs unique to it. It's a lot more complex than people give it credit for as a style of music and just flippantly assign anything similar to it as being rap. If someone is talking fast or reciting poetry, it is not rap. Or anything that is an exchange of words between two people is not a rap battle. Mari Lwyd does not do rap, actually something that gets left out of these posts is the fact Mari Lwyd does not even speak. It's actually the Leader, who does all the speaking and song based banter between the house/pub owner for entry. Mari Lwyd just clicks her mouth, bites people and bobs her head around.

I think Mari Lwyd is a really beautiful and unique part of Welsh culture. She's not actually as wildly celebrated as a lot of the posts make her out to be. Actually, I think most Welsh people themselves learn about Mari Lwyd through the internet as well. Her popularity is increasing thanks to the drive of local groups wanting to keep the traditions alive and a renewed desire to document Welsh traditions before they're gone. Which is why it's such a shame that she's turned into something she's not to earn horror points on the internet. I think this is why it bothers me so much to see the misunderstandings of the culture and the folk tradition. Mari Lwyd's origin is very hot debated as well as how long it's been going on for. But I think it's thanks to a lot of traditions like this that the Welsh language and our stories weren't lost forever. Welsh culture is recovering as is the language. But it's still in a very fragile place. I think it's why it's important to document and correct information when it's spread.

Anyway, if you want to see the tradition in action, here's a lovely video from the Cwmafan RFC going to one of the pubs for charity. It includes the song exchange with the pub owner for entry and the whole pub singing and joining in once Mari Lwyd and the rest are inside.

As well with another video from St Fagan's showcasing the more traditional and door to door form with the larger cast.

[cavalry-cap-kaeya]

"So, what did you get yourself?"

-Silver

Lychee martini.

[sunni-stuff]

Thinkin' about stalker!Ghost who helps you in little ways.

He became infatuated with you the moment you started your shift at the pub. He subtly kept tabs on you from that day forward, showing up whenever you were on the clock, watching as you tended to unruly patrons each night.

How pretty you were, rolling your eyes as drunken regular asked for your number, a common occurrence on your work days. It irks him, seeing some bastard constantly pester you as if you hadn't shut him down countless times now.

The very next night, the regular doesn't show up, giving you a load off the usual flirtatious annoyance. You were quite caught up in your own life, work, and everything else taking precedence. You didn't have time to notice how that one day turned into countless weeks of uninterrupted work, simply serving drinks and going home.

Ghost watches you on your off days as well, keeping a safe distance while you get your nails done, sitting lovely on a cushion, hands outstretched while the nail tech paints them your favorite color.

He's seen it practically all over your apartment.

Once the tech is finished, you disappeared into the bathroom, giving Ghost the opening he needed. He stepped inside, the intensity of his gaze and build, drawing attention from the patrons. Without much said, he pays for your nails, having no problem swiping that card of his, asking to remain anonymous. He leaves just before you return, smirking to himself at your surprise face as you return, the owner telling you that your nails were paid off.

Wow, must be your lucky day!

After getting your nails done, you took a quick trip to the store, browsing for clothes when a stunning black dress connected to a hefty price catches your attention. It's gorgeous, could be worn on a date or a girls night with your friends but you weren't made out of money.

Huffing a disappointed sigh, you leave without buying it, sparing the alluring dress one last glance before going home. Hours later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, the sound of knocking at your door caught your attention.

In your nightgown, you opened the door and were greeted by a black box sitting out on your welcome mat. For a moment, you looked around, hoping to catch whoever left the mysterious package only to be met with silence and the sound of crickets chirping. Bending down, you picked up the box and flipped open the top, eyes widening at the sight of the dress from the store and with it a note.

"Anything else you want?"

[notquitecanon]

some clever sleep pun title // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon's been spoiled and didn't even realize it. Now his bed isn't as warm as it used to be.

Tw: freak obsessive loser Simon, mentions of sex/boners, sleepy reader, Simon's lowkey manipulative but nothing too insidious.

Two weeks. Simon Riley had been spoiled into two weeks of sharing a bed with you. Sure it hadn't been under the best of circumstances- ratty safe houses with little to no central heating, sleeping bags in camps that weren't safe enough to light fires, catching an hour or so of shut-eye on cargo flights between hot zones. It was a convenience thing, if not a necessity in some cases.

After all, the cold weather gear you'd been issued just simply wasn't up to snuff. And the safe house was cold and damp. The campsites were windy. The flights were drafty and turbulent. And- you were soft and warm and fit right under his chin like you were made to be there. Two weeks of less-than-ideal conditions, and it was the best sleep Simon Riley had in years.

Initially, he hadn't made the connection between you and good sleep. He had assumed it was just the intensity of the mission that had worn him out so much he had no choice but to get good sleep. So, he'd been all too excited to get back home to his own bed, all by himself. Pub dinner, a scalding shower, a proper cuppa, good wank, and his own bed.

For the first hour at least, until no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the sheets to warm up just right. He used to enjoy sprawling out when he laid down, but it seemed like he had too much space now- which was not a common feeling for someone as large as Simon. The detergent scent on his sheets wasn't comforting, wasn't warm enough. His blankets weren't heavy enough.

It took him another hour to answer the question- how had damp mattresses and sleeping bags on forest floors been more comfortable than his own bed in his own flat? He could feel the weariness in his bones, he could feel the comfort he craved... but it just wasn't enough.

So the common denominator had to be you.

"Fuckin' Hell." Simon groaned in the darkness of his bedroom, rubbing a calloused hand up and down his face before rolling himself to the side of the bed and swinging his feet over. Sweats were pulled over his boxers, socks and trainers on his feet, a hoodie over his bare chest, and a clean neck gaiter to pull over the bottom half of his face. Then it was a short 2 AM train ride and a three-block walk into base housing.

Of course, you lived in base housing. That meant a small bed, and a shitty mattress, less than fifteen minutes of hot water at a time..., He spent almost a month away from his flat and now he's crawling to base housing in the middle of the night like a fucking barracks bunny in need of a good fuck. Well, he might not turn that down either...

He shook the thought out of his head, remembering how wide-eyed and flushed you'd been the first three nights you'd shared the safehouse mattress with the lieutenant. Keep ignoring how that look on your face sent blood straight south How still and tense you were at first, shivering and locked up until you tucked into his chest, relaxing as sleep took you. The awkward tense period had waned quicker every night until it became the end-of-day habit for you to curl directly into his chest, falling asleep almost instantly no matter if it was on a damp mattress, forest floor, or sat up against cargo crates.

His mind flitted back to base housing as he raised his fist to beat on your door. Base housing. If you were what it took to get a good night's sleep when off duty, well, his mind was already strategizing the best ways to get you out of base housing and into off-base housing. (Preferably his off-base housing- in his bed.)

A minute passed. No answer. With another grumbled stream of curses, Simon shuffled tiredly on his feet, rubbing his eyes and contemplating just scaling up to the window, but decided against it. He didn't need to deal with base MPs getting called for what would look like an attempted burglary. So instead, his fist rapped even harder on your door, casting trained looks over his shoulder as he did.

Another minute, no answer. His fist raised again, but before he could rain holy (sleepy) hell on your door, it flew open.

Fuck. He was gone. He'd never sleep well alone again.

Just the sight of you and he could feel his brain finally producing sleep chemicals. The door blew a breeze of soft smells at him- detergent, your shampoo, some candle he might have to steal on his way out... and revealed you, only one eye open, hair sleep-mussed and jutting out in every direction, fuzzy socks, one pulled up your calf and the other slouched around your ankle, fluffy house shoes....

"LT?" You questioned with clear confusion, clearly exhausted, maybe not even all the way awake, voice thick and slow with sleep. Unfair you'd been able to sleep just fine on your own while he was pacing the city like an addict, "What are you- what time is it?"

"2:45 in th' morning." He answered gruffly, as usual, already shouldering, albeit gently, into your home. Your home was annnoyingly the perfect temperature, and everything smelled, looked, and felt like you. His nose wrinkled under his mask, frustrated at how much it put him at ease, and made him just want to curl up and hibernate through this cold snap they'd come home to. He'd take anything at this point- your bed, your couch, the floor at the foot of your bed.

"Right." You nodded, letting him past you without much of a fight, closing and locking your door with a sleepy kind of clumsiness, taking a few times to latch the chain before turning back to him. Simon absently wondered how much he could talk to you while keeping you in a sleepy stupor. He also wondered why the thought was so endearing to him as you mumbled, "Wha's going on? Don' tell me we're getting shipped off again already.."

"No' yet." Simon's chest clenched almost worryingly when you bumped into the corner of your couch, rocked on your heels, and then continued on like you hadn't noticed the collision, "Couldn't sleep."

"So now we both suffer?" You mused, the eye you had closed opening halfway as you chuckled at your lame joke, interrupted by a yawn.

"Prefer not to." Simon shrugged and before you could register it, he was already herding you up the stairs with a gentle efficiency that put any working breed to shame, enjoying the upwards view of the little sleep shorts that differed so much from what you'd worn in the field. He wondered if he'd sleep even better with the feeling of your bare thighs wrapped around his, "Lemme sleep here tonight, lovie? Just tonight?"

The just tonight part was probably a lie. But he'd use it as many nights as you'd let him get away with it. The pet name had honestly just slipped in his exhaustion, waking you up just enough that both of your eyes opened and widened, heat creeping up your cheeks. You paused on the steps, bumping directly into Simon's chest as he kept inching you closer to the bedroom. No, he wanted you back in that sleepy agreeable place, so his warm hand splayed across the soft fabric of your sleep shirt, gently rubbing at the small of your back to keep you moving.

"Please, love, go' used ta sleeping with you." He hummed as he guided you into your bedroom, finding the pile of blankets you no doubt had crawled out of to answer his knocking. So many blankets, had you been cold without him? Was the pillow lying longways beside your spot a limp substitute for his chest? He wouldn't ask, he'd just let his assumptions feed his ego. You were back to your lazy shuffling, chest shuddering with another yawn, "C'mon, sweetness, let's get y' ta bed, you're exhausted."

It was easy to gently manhandle you back into bed, your eyes already fluttering as his hands smoothed over your side and legs, brushing some hair out of your face. So maybe it was unfair, to kneel right by your bedside and ask in that low, deep accent, "So- can I stay?"

"Mmmhm, stay." You breathed. Simon smirked under his mask- so eager, not even an 'I guess'. Still, he wasn't going to ask twice, slipping himself into your bed and curling around you just as he had for the past two weeks. The relief was instant, his own eyes already getting too heavy to keep open for long.

The sheets were already warmed by your dozing, and with his added body heat, he could shove some of those extra blankets off. He'd keep you plenty warm. When he pulled you into him, he still had enough room to stretch his long legs out but didn't feel like he was swimming in space. Your pillowcases smelled soft, he didn't know things could smell soft but they did, tinged with your shampoo and perfume and whatever detergent you used. And the weight of your head in the crook of his arm, your arm over his chest, was just right.

He was out in seconds. Good luck ever having your bed to yourself ever again.

___

You've heard of give a dog a bone, now get ready for 'give a soldier a good nights sleep'. Simon is Goldilocks, and your bed is just right. Or maybe the 'give a mouse a cookie' book but this time its just your boss bullying his way into your life (bed) because he's sleepy and touch starved.

[nerdygirlramblings]

baby trapping(?) the 141

inspired by this post from @beloveds-embrace

It was an open secret on base that the 141 were together together. You'd occasionally see one of them - usually Gaz, sometimes Price, often Soap, never Ghost - taking someone to their barracks after a night out. You'd watch them pick up men and women, soldiers and civvies, fit and plush, but never the same person twice.

Whoever was lucky enough to join one of the 141 for a night always looked well-fucked the next day. And every one of them was tight-lipped about what happened. They'd never even confirm if sex was had, despite how obvious it was.

You're out at the pub when the 141 come crashing through the door. You heard they'd gotten in this afternoon, back from a semi-succesful mission: no one injured, intel collected, bad guys still at large. You didn't expect them to be out tonight, had figured they'd be tired or stuck in debriefs for a while.

It's clear right away they're on the hunt. Soap sidles up to two women at the bar sipping something pink in a martini glass, arms draping quickly over their shoulders. Gaz laughs as he joins a few guys playing darts, smile a little too calculated.

You're surprised when Price and Ghost are sat on either side of you.

Price nods to the bartender, who puts down a pint of something dark in front of him and Ghost, gestures to you, and says, "Amaretto sour for her." You have no idea how he knows your favorite drink. You didn't think he even knew who you were. He glances at you from the corner of his eye and asks, "'avin a good time, doll?"

You really have no idea how to respond to that. You try, and fail, to make small talk without making a fool of yourself, but it's hard when Ghost keeps chuckling - at you, not with you. He's slipped his mask up only enough to sip his stout and you try not to stare at the small glimpses you get of his face.

A few drinks later, Price puts his large hand on your knee, and you feel the warmth penetrate your slacks. "Seen you on base, doll. Glad to find you here tonight." To say you're shocked is an understatement. "What say we head out, yeah?" He drops a few notes on the bar and gently steers you up and off your barstool. You feel Ghost stand up on your other side.

As Price herds you to the door, you notice Soap and Gaz have abandoned the people they were with and have fallen into step with your little group. They get you into their vehicle, snug in the backseat between Soap and Kyle while Price drives.

Soap leans his shoulder against yours and puts his mouth to your ear. "Lass, 'm sure glad we saw you. Been hopin' fur it fur weeks." You feel the blood rush to your cheeks. Gaz drapes his arm across the seatback, heat radiating across your neck, but he doesn't touch you. Instead, you see him run his fingers through Soap's mohawk, and you squeeze your thighs together a little. You never thought something like, well, whatever this looks like, would be something you would be part of.

You're back at their barracks faster than you thought possible. Getting past the door and through the common areas is a blur. Instead your brain stutters on the feel of Price's mouth on yours, his beard scraping against your cheek and neck as he kisses down your throat.

There are hands at your waist, unbuttoning your trousers and sliding them and your underwear down your legs. Another set of hands is tugging your shirt up over your head. Once you're naked you feel multiple sets of lips kiss and nip: teeth tug on your ear, a tongue laves against a nipple, stubble rubs along your inner thigh. Big hands, fingers rough with callouses and bluntly bitten nails, roam your body. And through it all the praises whispered "good girl" and "so sweet" and "made fer us" carry you into oblivion.

It never occurred to you the 141 were the Three Musketeers: anyone they brought back was one for all and all for one. You understand why those before you believed in "don't kiss and tell." You leave their barracks feeling shell-shocked. It carries you home and into work the next day, where you fully expect things to go back to normal.

And they do. Mostly. Until a vase shows up on your desk two days later with nothing but a bar of soap on the card. The blooms are your birth month flower. Two more days pass before you hear Price's voice in the hallway. You peek your head out as he turns your way, and his smile beams. "There you are, doll. Brought your favorite," he says, holding take away. And not only is it your favorite dish from your favorite cuisine, its from the little shop you like best in town.

You really know something's different when Friday rolls around. Gaz corners you as you leave medical, and before you realize what you've agreed to, you're following him into the 141's barracks.

This is unheard of. They never bring the same person back twice. You don't plan to question it, though, just ride it out as long as they're interested. Six weeks of wooing - you couldn't think of another word for the presents and flowers and meals and conversations and the sex, god the sex - fly past before Price breaks the news of their impending deployment.

They ask you to wait for them, to be part of them, when they get back. It's on the tip of your tongue to say yes. You want this, you want them, but you hesitate. They've always been the 141, and you're an outsider. You leave your response vague and hope they hear the desire in your tone.

A month into their deployment and you're struggling to sleep. You can't keep food down. You regret how open you left things. But it's more than that. An itch in the back of your brain drives you to ask a nurse friend on base to discretely check your hCG levels. The response is what you hoped feared.

You don't know how you'll face them if they ever return. You were worried about getting between them before, but this is ten times worse. You can't imagine how this will change how they are with each other. You're carrying someone's baby. It never occurs to you to do anything other than raise it yourself.

You make it on base another two months, and there's no word about the 141. But as you begin to show, rumors start dogging your steps. People knew you'd been involved with various members of the 141 before they'd deployed. Now they're whispering about whether you even know who the father is.

As a civilian employee, you're a contractor on base, so you simply ask your employer to find you a job in town. You want to leave entirely, but your heart won't let you take their baby far, at least not until you can determine whose it is and at least let them know.

You don't expect them to be part of the baby's life, but it isn't fair to disappear when you know word will make it around base and they have the means to find you anyway. You figure this will allow for a clean break before any fallout.

Months go by, and you hear from friends still on base that the 141 came back but haunted. They'd had a few close calls on this last mission: injuries that could have been prevented, stealth ops where they were the ones being ambushed. Things that shouldn't have happened. Things that made them think long and hard about what the future held for them.

Now that they're back, you expect someone to track you down, find your location in town, but no one comes. You vaguely notice the large home on the edge of town, the run-down one with a massive garden, slowly starts looking better.

Two weeks after your little girl is born, the knock you never thought would come finally does. You carry your bundle to the door and clutch her tighter when you see the 141 through the peep hole. You open the door and wordlessly let them in.

The expressions on their faces range from awe to fear. You're sure your face displays the same. Finally, it's Price who speaks. "We should-a been 'ere, doll. Can ya forgive us?"

You know you're gaping and can barely bring yourself to nod.

"We meant it," Ghost tells you. "We want you. And now we want you both." It's more words than you've heard him speak at once, and without prompting.

Soap looks at you with such unbridled longing, reaching out his hands not for you but for your - their - baby that you don't even think before passing her over. As he cradles her carefully, Price chimes back in. "We bought a place, big, on the edge 'o town. We're not retiring, but we want to do more than look one day ahead. And in all those days, there's you, you and this miracle."

Finally, Gaz pins you with a look. "Come be ours, dove. You've been what we were missin' before we even knew we were missin' anything."

This time your answer is anything but vague.

[beloveds-embrace]

I dunno if I've harassed you yet buuuut,

I just read the newest take on the text and they'll be there guard dogish 141, and just. What if an anxious little bird just walks up to one it the group and just squeezes into the crowd and just.

"ignore me I'm about to lose my shit" or just stands there and gives a small hi cause they're overstimmed or need a break or someone's been creepy and they see that people keep a wide berth from said person or group.

Hi I'm excited I hope anything here made a bit of sense. Also possible reverse 'guard dog' distribution system, the small bird doesn't find a dog. The dog finds a bird.

You aren’t harassing me at all! Please don’t ever feel like that 😭💕 i love, love both scenarios, so I’ll do the second one later as well. Thank you for this wonderful ask!

The dim hum of the pub was comforting- warm light glowing against worn wood, the steady murmur of conversations buzzing around you. It had been your usual spot for a quiet drink after a hard week, but tonight was different, and not in a good way.

Someone had been watching you, and not in the harmless, fleeting way most people did. His gaze lingered too long, his smirk too wide, his attempts to approach you far too persistent even when you refused the drink he’d sent towards you. When you’d brushed him off the third time like that, you could see clearly on his face that he didn’t like that.

Men like him were common, but that just made them all the more dangerous.

The weight of his presence was suffocating, so you’d bolted toward the one corner of the room where you felt the most secure. Them.

You’d seen them here before- an unassuming group at first glance, but the way they carried themselves screamed “don’t mess with us.” Four men with their thighs each bigger than your head at the very least, and tonight, they were your only hope.

Standing up and doing your best to ignore the angry gaze practically boring into you, you approached their table cautiously, feeling several pairs of sharp eyes land on you. Mutton chops tilted his head, pretty boy stood from his seat slightly, brow furrowed. Mohawk’s wide grin faltered, replaced with curiosity, while the last one’s gaze, though obscured by his balaclava, was cold and assessing.

You should probably ask for their names. If they let you sit you with them, that is.

“Uh- so sorry to bother,” you started, voice shaking slightly. “But…there’s this guy…” You didn’t need to finish. Balaclava’s attention shifted subtly, big shoulders tightening as his eyes flicked past you. Mohawk’s grin returned, but this time, even in the dim light, you could tell it was dangerous.

“Where?” Mutton chop asked, his voice steady but just as sharp as his eyes

You subtly nodded toward the man at the bar, who was now visibly trying to act like he wasn’t watching your every move. The second he noticed who you were speaking to, his face drained of color. He turned away, gripping his drink like it might shield him.

Pretty boy snorted. “Well, ain’t that something? Big man suddenly doesn’t have the guts, eh?”

“Stay here.” Balaclava said firmly, standing up with the kind of slow, deliberate movement that made your stomach flip. The other three followed suit, each moving with the kind of quiet unity that could only come from working together for years. Maybe they were a team? You knew there was a military base somewhere nearby, could they be from there?

Still, you obeyed and stayed behind, heart thundering in your chest as they approached the man- not from fear, but from excitement. Ghost leaned in, his imposing frame towering over the guy. Whatever was said was too low for you to hear, but the way your harasser paled, hands shaking as he grabbed his coat and bolted from the pub, told you enough.

When they returned and introduced themselves, Soap clapped you lightly on the back with a bold grin. “Dinnae think he’ll be botherin’ you again, lass.”

Price pulled a chair out for you, right with their table. “Sit. You’re safe here. Anyone who’s got a problem with you’s got a problem with us now.”

You sank into the chair, warmth spreading through your chest. You didn’t know them, not really, but in that moment, you felt like you’d just gained four overprotective, no-nonsense bodyguards. Is this what celebrities felt like? It was amazing.

“Thank you, really,” you repeated, giving them such a grateful, blinding smile. “Again, I’m so sorry for bothering you like that. It was just-“

Gaz shook his head, not letting you finish. “No need to, love. We don’t mind at all. Just enjoy your night now, yeah? No more of pricks like him bothering you.”

And judging by the way Soap was already offering to buy you a drink and Ghost’s subtle but watchful eye, you were honestly more than okay with that.

[hoshigray]

hey love can i request brothers bff cho and how he's just down bad for you 🤍🤍🤍

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg wait, i fucks with this baddd

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m!) - oral (m! receiving) - tit/breast fucking (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - implied that reader is big chested - Choso crushing on you hard, lmao - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

Choso knew better than to be attracted to you, the sibling of his best friend ever. 

Your brother and Choso have been buddies for a while, meeting during his part-time job at a burger joint as servers and finding out they have so much in common. Being older siblings, lovers of rock music, and relating to so much together, the two often hung out after work and became pretty good friends. Just two people vibing out in each others’ company, and there was nothing to make this relationship complicated!

“Hey, Choso, I’ve told you about my sister before, right?”

You greeted him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Choso!”

Well, that is until you came and absolutely rocked Choso’s world. 

You were the younger sibling of two; a college senior comes home biweekly to take care of laundry and then drives back up for your education. By your gorgeous face and alluring figure, Choso was struck by your image from the first time his eyes ever laid on you. You were such a kind spirit, always so sweet to him and others surrounding you — you’d want to hang with the boys whenever you had the chance while you were visiting, which was hellish for the brown-haired man. 

You’d laugh along with the jokes, making Choso’s heart skip uncontrollably, and the way you’d lean to him when you’re sleepy watching a movie with them pushed the guy on the verge of shutting down. He could never get tired of how you’d say his name; it came out so dear from your lips as if he could be under your spell at any second. And it didn’t help that you’d walk around the house with shorts on, the lower fringes constantly threatening Choso on whether they’d creep up to see the mere crevice of your ass.

As said before, he knew better than siblings of best friends were off limits. However, you were becoming too much for him. It’s been half a year of seeing you, and there has never been a day or night where you haven’t popped up in his head one way or another, particularly when his mind would think of you in the most…lustful ways.

He throws his head back, reminiscing about you and your outfit from the pub. The way your breasts were tucked in nicely by the window of your bodycon dress, yet the cleavage was too tempting for his eyes not to notice. The dress sculpted your curves dangerously, Choso fighting the urge to put his hand on your hip to feel your clothed skin. And your lipgloss made your lips shine; every time you spoke to him was a test for him not to kiss you right there in front of your brother. It was so cruel how you looked so good for him!

He was spending the night at yours after a night out drinking with you and your brother, using the basement bedroom to sleep. Sleep evades him; however, he uses this space to deal with the erection he’s been dying to indulge in this entire night instead. His teeth pull the bottom of his shirt, dark jeans discarded to the floor, and his hand pumps his shaft that’s freed from his boxer briefs.

He grunts at the memory, teeth grinding while he strokes his long cock. Precum exuding from the urethra slides down to the base and wets his fingers. “Fuuck, Y/n,” your name is said in choked moans, the horny man fisting himself in a faster motion. Brown eyebrows are trenched, and his abdomen begins to flex. Shit, I’m so close, so cl—

“Choso?”

He never in his life froze still in an instant, and his heart goes to a complete stop, too. No way.

“Ca–…May I come in?”

No words are said from either side, so Choso’s heat immediately shifts to icy cold when he hears the door open, and your frame is all he sees. You’re still wearing the beautiful dress, yet your face is molded into an expression of utter anxiousness. Sweat goes down Choso’s forehead, oh fucking shit!

“I came down to see if you were okay and needed anything,” your eyes were downcast to the floor, chewing on your lips during this awkward situation. “But…I heard you say my name and…”

Oh, it was so over for him. All Choso could do was stare at you in dread, entirely shocked that you saw him masturbate at the thought of you! You were fidgeting with your dress, perplexed about how to handle this predicament, too. He was so done for; not only was he thinking of you, the sibling of his best friend, and using said thoughts of you, but now you are aware of how he pictures you in his fucked up head! Yup, he can never walk into this house again. “S–Sorry, Y/n! I’ll just go and—“

“Can I help?”

Again, his body goes rigid mid-stride of getting off the bed after pulling his underwear up. ….What?

“I mean, can I…help you with that?” You meekly walk into the room and close the door behind you. “I am the one who made you like this, so…I’m okay with it if you are…..”

Choso blinks, too alarmed to make any movements. “But, your brother…” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you spook him by taking steps in his direction. He gulps thickly when your figure crawls on the bed, too close for his brain to comprehend. You take his hand with your soft ones and bring his fingers to your lips to kiss, and his breath hitches when you suck and lick his digits. The boner stuffed in his briefs twitches at the sensation of your tongue running against the underside of his middle finger and sucking on it. 

You peer at him, “What about him?” That is what you say before lifting your dress to remove your panties. And just when Choso thought his life was about to be thrown in the gutter, you flipped the script on him again.

In his head, Choso knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Mmm…Mmahh! Oh, Choso, you taste so good…”

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but give in to this situation.

You were situated between his legs, ripped him off his briefs for you to suck on his glans freely. Your tinge dances around his cockhead to prompt more come to ooze out of his urethra, and your hand slides up and down to stroke his member. Choso whimpers under your touch, and shivers crawl up his spine as you lick from the base to the tip before sucking hard.

“Fuuck, Y/n,” he grips the sheets, barely containing his hips to buck to your lips. “Your mouth, it’s—Hssshh…!”

“Mmm?” You blink before releasing the tip with a sound. “What about my mouth, Choso baby?” Fuck, the nickname made the pink of his ears creep down to his nape. “You feel good?” He nods at your question, and you giggle before sucking one of his balls, resulting in a sharp gasp from the brown-haired man. “I’m so happy you are…”

Hallow cheeks take in his cock, busying your throat with his length that has you humming blissfully. You massage his waist as you bob your face up and down, and shaky breaths leave his lips while his legs jolt with every swish of your tongue.

“—Shhiiit, oh shit, hnnn,” he can’t do it, you were driving him crazy. “Y/n, you’re gonna make me…Mmmm”

You pick up on his cue, withdrawing your lips from him to maneuver and pull down the top of your dress. Caramel eyes widen at the sight of your breast spilling out, forgetting how to breathe when you bring them to wrap around his long dick. You move them around to please him, taking the tip back into your mouth to slurp his leaking essence that trickles down to your chest. 

“Mmaahh, go ahead, darling,” you place kisses on the tip, Choso looking at nothing but your mounds swallow him with every stroke. It takes mere seconds for his orgasm to sneak up on him, his jizz coming out to fall and trickle down in between the rifts of your tits. “There you go, let it out for me…” the way you looked at him with half-lidded eyes took his breath away, especially with the spit that connects your gloss-shining lips to his spit-and-come coated shaft. 

And when he’s finally inside you? He’s too far gone to even think of being away from you.

“Ohhh, hoooh!! Chosooo, y’u feel soo good!”

Your dress was cast-off entirely, your nude body bouching up and down on Choso, his cock bullying the inside of your cunt. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes shared between the two of you exploring each other’s bodies, and sweaty skin exchanges heat from the constant motions. And come from rounds prior spill from your chasm as you ride on Choso’s dick with a rhythm.

He has his hands on your hips now, using you to keep him steady before he gets too lost in the feeling. Not that it hasn’t happened already; the man moans with every clamp of your walls around him, tightening around him with every graze of your g-spot. You wail for him up top, and your aroused sounds have to be the cutest things he’s ever heard. And the way your tits jump every time you plummet down to the base of him, it’s an image that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Tahhh, ughh, Jesus Christ…” He’s too sensitive right now; he just came not too long ago and is now being chased down for another one. “Y/n, sweetie, too fast, slow d—Ahh…!”

You hear him and titter, “Yeah? Want me to slow down, huh…” You bring your hips up excruciatingly slow, listening intently to the shaky sobs from the brunette as you get to the very top. And then you smack yourself down with haste, sharing a yelp at the rushed sensation. You do it again, “Think you’re about to cum again, huh, honey?”

His hands now come to your ass to grope with the flesh, and you twitch around his girth at the hunger. “Yeahhh…”

“You gonna be good and cum for me again, right?” Another snap of your ass crashing down on him. 

“Yess, baby,” he throws his head back to the pillows, his head pounding so hard it could kill him. You can feel him pulsating within your slit. “Almost there…Ohh–ooo..!”

You bite your lip, relishing at the sight of him being desperate for release. You lean forward to him, your breasts meshing with his chest as you snake a hand around the back of his head. You place your lips on his, and he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

The kiss gets hotter when you dial up the speed, tongues swirling and exchanging spit as the friction becomes a lot more pleasurable than before. Choso’s ears ring the deeper you bring him in to kiss, humming on his tongue as you suck on it with harsh rocks on his length from scraping places you couldn’t reach. He’s so fucking addicted to you; his composure long deteriorated the moment he first put his cock inside you.

Choso bucks himself to you in sync, his climax coming in just a few ruts. He howls into you, and you wail along as your hips don’t rest until you’re hit with a crescendo of your own. Contracting your vaginal walls milks him, exerting his load into you again to spill and flow down your sticky frames. 

You two heave and pant in each other’s mouth before the kiss is broken, and the string of saliva is evidence of you being one with the other. Although the both of you are dazed, you smile at him before kissing his nose. “Glad I helped you out, huh?” He chuckles weakly as you lay kisses on his chin.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

And just like that, the two of you are frozen yet again. Wait…

Too late, the bedroom door busts open with a bang, and in comes your brother!

“Yooo, Choso, my guy—hic,” your brother stumbles inside the room, still a bit loopy and drunk. “Wanna go up and hit a quick blunt with— ah…”

The heat shared between you and the man below you switched to silent torture, awkwardness suffocating the three figures staring at each other. And this is the exact reason why Choso should’ve known better than to mingle around with you…

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.