#this came to me when i was half awake don’t make fun of me!!!
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kissingrhi · 1 year ago
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oh my god last night i fell asleep thinking about if you were to go to roman, obviously upset, he’d look at you with a sarcastic, yet barely sympathetic stare. furrowed brows and a slight bite at his cheek. he’d speak so obviously jokingly, so that neither of you could sense the actual worry littered in his voice. “oh, baby, what’s wrong?” he said the pet name in the most comical manner, so you couldn’t catch the care that he so desperately tried to push back as if it were bile in his throat. he made sure to draw out every word, impishly, catching the slight cringe in your face at his tone. did he let you know he cared? no, not really. did he let you rest your pretty little head on his shoulders and chest as long as you needed? absolutely.
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charliemwrites · 4 months ago
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Squeeze Me, I Squeak!
While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)
Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)
Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy
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It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.
You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.
Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.
Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.
Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.
Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.
Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.
His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.
Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.
The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.
“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.
The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.
On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.
“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.
And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.
But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.
“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.
“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.
“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”
“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.
You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.
“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.
“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.
The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.
You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.
And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.
He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.
It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.
Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.
You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.
On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.
His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.
You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.
But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.
“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”
His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.
He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.
Then you turn to the bleeding.
“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.
You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.
The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.
As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.
You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.
Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.
“All good, sir?” you ask.
“Affirmative.”
“The burn now.”
You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.
“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”
“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.
You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”
There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.
“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”
“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”
When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.
“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”
You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”
“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”
You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.
More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.
He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.
When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.
“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.
“Need one more thing from you.”
You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.
And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.
Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.
“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.
He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.
“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”
Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.
“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”
Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.
“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”
“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”
You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.
Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.
“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.
“Want me to stop?” he asks.
… No.
“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.
Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.
“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.
The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.
“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”
“’M scarier than your auntie.”
You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.
“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.
Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.
“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.
“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.
That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.
“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”
He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.
“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.
“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”
Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)
He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.
When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.
“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.
He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.
Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.
His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.
You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.
“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.
“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”
“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”
“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.
Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?
You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.
“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”
He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.
You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.
Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.
After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.
“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.
“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”
“Yessir.”
You can feel Soap squinting.
“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.
“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.
With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”
“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”
You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.
It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.
It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.
By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.
Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.
“Solid, Sergeant?”
“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.
“As you were, then.”
And that was that.
Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.
Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.
Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.
You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.
When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.
“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”
“I know.”
But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.
And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.
“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.
He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.
You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.
Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.
It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip. 
It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.
He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.
At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.
“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.
“Hm?”
“Cat making biscuits.”
There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.
“’S nice,” you whisper.
He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.
You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.
“Mine or yours?” you mumble.
“Mine.”
You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.
“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.
It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.
“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”
“Did not.”
“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”
You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”
“You’re a freak.”
“Stones in glass houses, sir.”
You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.
There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.
“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”
“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.
“You’re fucking disgusting.”
 He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.
“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”
“Gonna squish it?” you ask.
“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.
You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.
“How copy, sergeant?”
“Solid, sir.”
“Fifteen.”
“Yessir.”
You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.
Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.
You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.
Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.
Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.
Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.
Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.
There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.
When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.
“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.
You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.
Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.
“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.
“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.
News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.
You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?
“Hey, LT?”
“Mm.”
You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.
“You ever seen Halloween?”
“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”
“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”
He goes still behind you. “What.”
“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”
You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.
“Squeaks…”
“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”
His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”
“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”
“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”
“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”
“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”
You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.
“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”
“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”
And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.
You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.
He’s biting you.
“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”
He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.
Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.
“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.
You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”
“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.
“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”
He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.
You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.
You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.
You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.
In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.
Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.
If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.
You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.
That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.
You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.
Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…
You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.
You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.
There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.
“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.
“I’ll make you sorry!”
You believe him.
You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.
You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.
“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”
“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.
You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.
“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.
When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.
“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”
The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.
“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”
You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.
“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”
Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.
“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.
“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”
“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.
“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.
“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.
You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.
You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.
“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.
You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.
“Taking this one to bed, sir.”
“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.
“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.
You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.
The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.
“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.
“Seen it before.”
“Gaz is going to be cross.”
“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”
“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”
You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.
Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.
“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.
It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.
“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.
“Lack of imagination on your part.”
He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.
“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”
“Yessir…” you groan.
Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.
Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.
You might be after this though.
One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.
Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.
But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.
Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.
Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.
And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.
You consider taking it out but… well.
You kinda missed having it.
And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.
You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.
By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.
They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.
“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.
He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.
“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”
Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.
“Do the thing,” he gruffs.
You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.
“That captain is—”
“That’s an order, sergeant.”
You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.
“That’s the stuff,” he says.
“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.
Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.
“Debrief now?”
“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”
They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.
As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.
At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.
“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”
“The intel isn’t confidential.”
Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”
You get the fuck in.
As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.
Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.
When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.
He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.
You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.
He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.
“So how was it actually?” you ask.
“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”
You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.
 “There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.
“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”
You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”
He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.
“Mask,” he mutters.
It takes you a second to realize what he wants.
“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.
“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.
“Oh for the love of…”
You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?
You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.
“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.
Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.
“What?” you ask.
You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.
“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”
“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.
He snorts. “My problem?”
You consider, humming. “Probably not.”
“Probably?”
You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”
He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”
You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.
“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.
“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”
You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.
“That fast?” you ask.
���Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.
“It’s clear!”
“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”
You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.
“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.
“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.
“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.
“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”
He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.
“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”
And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.
Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.
“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.
But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.
“…Want me to take it out?” you try.
His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”
Oh?
Oh.
“Want… to see it?”
He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.
Then he shifts.
His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.
“Squeaks.”
You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.
Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.
Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.
“Taste good,” he rumbles.
“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.
He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”
You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.
It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?
Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”
You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.
“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.
“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”
You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.
“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”
You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.
“Go on,” he urges.
You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.
“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”
You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.
When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.
“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”
You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”
He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.
“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”
“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”
A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.
“You have experience,” he asserts.
“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”
He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.
“And my hands,” you add, gasping.
“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.
You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”
His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.
“Strip, sergeant. Now.”
You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.
“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”
“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.
The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.
If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.
He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.
“Trying to kill me,” you pant.
He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.
“Is that…?”
“Come find out.”
You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.
“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”
“It will if you can be patient for me.”
“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.
His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”
You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”
His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”
“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”
That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.
“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”
“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”
You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.
“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”
“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.
“That’s my girl.”
He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.
You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.
“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”
He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.
“How copy?” he hushes.
“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”
“Tactical retreat?”
“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”
His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”
You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.
He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.
“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”
“N-no,” you lie.
He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.
It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.
You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.
He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.
“Close,” you pant.
He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.
Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.
“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”
“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.
“Yeah?”
You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”
He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”
“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”
“Fuck.”
He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.
You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.
And he doesn’t stop.
“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.
But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.
Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.
“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.
He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.
Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.
Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.
He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”
His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.
A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.
“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.
“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.
“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”
You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.
“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”
You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.
You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.
His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”
You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.
You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.
“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.
You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”
“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.
“Have to fix that, then.”
You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.
You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.
“Yes,” you agree.
That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.
“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”
And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.
You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.
He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.
And your eyes.
The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.
“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.
“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.
“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”
Just the head. Christ.
The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)
He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.
Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.
“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.
You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.
By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.
“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”
“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.
“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.
You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.
“Stressed?” you ask, confused.
He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”
You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.
“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”
You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.
“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”
And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.
He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.
“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”
He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.
“What about you?”
He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.
“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”
You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.
“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”
“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.
He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”
You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.
“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”
And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.
When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.
“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.
“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.
“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”
You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.
“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”
His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.
“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.
You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.
“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”
You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.
“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”
“That so, sergeant?” he asks.
“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”
He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”
You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.
“Show me how nice you can ask then.”
And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.
You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.
“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”
“Need what, lovely?” he husks.
“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”
Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.
There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.
Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.
There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.
He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.
It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.
“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”
You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.
“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”
You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…
“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”
There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.
You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.
“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”
He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.
The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.
“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”
His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.
“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”
His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”
It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.
You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.
“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.
You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.
“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”
You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.
And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.
“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.
“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”
“Fucking fantastic.”
That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.
“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”
Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.
“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”
You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.
“Shut up, Simon.”
“Insubordinate.”
“Fraternizer.”
“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”
“Only if you report me.”
“Mutually assured destruction then.”
Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”
He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”
You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.
“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”
He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”
“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”
“Guess so.”
He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.
“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”
You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.
When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.
“Nap?” you ask hopefully.
“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”
Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.
“You’re my hero.”
He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”
“Yessir.”
2K notes · View notes
osarina · 9 months ago
Text
ᡣ𐭩 SNEAKIN' A PIC (ATTEMPT: FAILED)!
FEATURING: fyodor dostoevsky
SUMMARY: you never get to see him like this. is it really so awful that you want to capture the moment eternally? evidently to him, it is. (wordcount: 1.4k; sfw; fem!reader)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: i'll never not make fun of that one panel of him sitting at his computers with his greasy ass hair even if he does look like a pretty princess in every other panel he has. my obsession with naps is being translated into my fics, i already posted a nikolai one posted and also have a dazai one in the drafts HAHA
When you wake up, you feel a weight on your bicep. Your brows furrow a bit in confusion, glancing to your right to where your arm is extended across the bed, but then your eyes fall upon Fyodor, fast asleep and using your arm as a pillow, and you can barely stop the small smile that rises to your lips.
Your arm is numb, but you don’t dare move in fear of waking him up—the clock on your nightstand reads nearly eight am, and you wonder when he finally came to bed last night. You know that he’s been pushing himself day and night to finalize the last parts of his plans, denying himself both sleep and food as he sits at his computers dealing with meetings and preparations 24/7. 
He hadn’t even changed into a pair of pajamas before falling into bed with you, nor had he bothered to get beneath the covers. a part of you wonders if he even meant to sleep, or if he’d just pushed his body too far and only barely made it to the bed before it gave out on him. 
It wouldn’t be the first time. 
You bite back a sigh as your gaze traces over the stubborn man—he always looks delicate in his sleep, in a way that he never does when he’s awake with his eyes shut and his long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. His expression is the picture of serenity rather than the cold and unapproachable face he wears when he’s awake. 
You think that he’s pretty all the time, but there’s something special about being able to witness Fyodor Dostoevsky in his most vulnerable moments, knowing that you’re the only one he allows to be with him in them. 
You’re half-tempted to reach over to your nightstand with your free hand to try to grab your phone and snap a picture of him. You look over, wondering if you can reach it without jostling your other arm around, but before you can even consider your chances, you hear: “Do not.”
Fyodor’s voice is still thick with sleep. you glance over at him, surprised, but his eyes are still shut, and he hasn’t budged an inch. You wonder if you imagined it, but then his eyes crack open, thin slivers of purple glaring at you.
“Just one for me?” you ask quietly. “No one else will see.”
“No.”
You pout softly but roll back to look at him. He still looks exhausted, the bags beneath his eyes are dark and heavy, and he can barely even hold his eyes open. You reach out, cupping his cheek gently and watching as his eyes slide back shut, a soft exhale spilling from his lips as he lets the side of his face sink back into your arm, dozing back off.
You smile lightly, shifting forward a bit to press your lips to his forehead, stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb.
“I need to get up,” he murmurs, but his eyes are still shut and his voice is thick with sleep. “I need to finish-“
“You will not finish anything adequately in this state,” you chide gently. “If you get proper sleep, you’ll be much more efficient and effective.”
Fyodor looks as if he wants to argue, brows furrowing at your words even with his eyes shut. You only jostle him a bit closer, watching as he shoots you an irate look, but then settles down when he realizes you’re only dragging him closer so that he can rest his head on your chest—a place far more comfortable than your arm.
“Wake me up in an hour,” he finally orders, and you agree absently, knowing that you absolutely will not.
You think, as Fyodor lets himself doze off on your chest, that it’s hard to remember he’s quite literally one of the most dangerous men on this planet. That if he so pleased, he could activate his ability and kill you without a moment’s warning. That he’s a man who is so terrifyingly intelligent that it sometimes comes across as prophetic, and you can’t help but wonder if he speaks the truth when he claims to be led by the Hand of God. 
Your hand smoothes across his back in steady circles, tilting your face down to press your lips to the top of his head. His hair is a bit oily, as he usually lets it get when he deprives himself of basic necessities while he works. You’ll have to convince him to take a bath with you when he wakes up, but you figure it’ll be a battle because you already convinced him to sleep in a little longer, he’ll not want to waste any more time. 
You almost want to pinch him, wondering why everything with him has to be a war when it comes to taking proper care of himself. He rarely even remembers to take his iron supplements on the daily without your prompting, and he knows if he doesn’t take them, he’ll be prone to dizziness and fatigue. For all of his intelligence, you feel like sometimes that you’re a mother dealing with a stubborn child, not your lover. 
“Stop that,” Fyodor sighs, shifting a bit to get comfortable. “Dim your thoughts, dusha moya. I can feel you getting yourself wound up.”
You scowl. “You know, Fedya, maybe you should just drop the whole terrorist plot and become one of those preachers on the radio who pretend to be prophets. Build yourself a cult, make some money. You already seem to know everything, wouldn't be too hard."
Fyodor tilts his head up to look at you, expression so deadpan and unamused that it nearly makes you snort, but you only dip your head down to kiss between his eyes.
"Sleep,” you say, voice softer. “You need it.”
Fyodor doesn’t respond, and when you tilt your head to the side to look at him again, you find that he already dozed back off again, shoulders rising and falling steadily underneath the arm you have wrapped around him. 
You smile lightly and you tighten your arms a bit as Fyodor lets out a puff of air in his sleep, turning his head to lay the side of his face on your chest. In this position, you can see the way his eyes flit beneath his eyelids rapidly, his brain still running rampant even in sleep.
You bring your fingers to his hair to card them through the dark locks, slow and soothing in the way you know he likes, watching as his eye movements slow and his body relaxes into yours. 
Your smile widens a bit before it abruptly falls, laying your head back against the pillow as you finally begin your next challenge: drawing out a battle plan for convincing Fyodor to take a bath with you when he wakes up. 
You sigh to yourself heavily, knowing well that you're about to be facing the most difficult argument of your life with the most stubborn man alive. You can already feel the headache, and you think that you deserve a new picture for your lock screen from how much trouble Fyodor gives you on the daily, but as you side eye your nightstand again and try to calculate whether or not you can reach your phone without waking him up, you feel fingers wrap around your free hand.
You gape in disbelief as you look down to see Fyodor grab your hand in his sleep, as if he knew what you were planning even when not conscious.
Unbelievable, you think bitterly, plan entirely thwarted, but your gaze softens at the sight of him fast asleep on your chest, clutching your hand with one of his.
Maybe you don't need a picture, you realize, because you think there's no way you'd ever allow this image to fade away from your mind.
Still, you think he should severely reconsider his line of work.
Even more so now, in fact, because there is something entirely abnormal about his seemingly perfect foresight, evidently flawless even in his sleep too.
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xsleepinggoodx · 6 months ago
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morning sex <3
WARNINGS: somnophilia, horny Mikey, Mikey being lovedrunk on you, foreplay, oral (fem receiving) fingering. (Fem receiving) sub! Reader, service dom Mikey, softdom Mikey, tender love💕
Mikey with long black hair is extremely underrated.
This song has literally nothing to do with the story the instrumentals just give me black long hair Mikey vibes I don’t know how to explain it😭
Enjoy💕
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Waking up hard wasn’t foreign to Mikey. But it was difficult to take care of. Especially when his lovely wife is sleeping so soundly next to him.
The soft early morning sunlight on your body on just the right places made him admire you for minutes. Almost drooling on how the golden lights cascaded on your body like a professional painting. You were sleeping so soundly though, a happy and relaxed expression on your face. Fabric marks on your arms. You were probably having a fun dream.
He felt guilty for even considering to bother you, but a memory flashed in his mind to where you and him were discussing your secret kinks.
You’re blushing face, hiding away from Mikey’s shocked eyes.
“Since when were you that kinda freaky,baby? That came outta nowhere!” Mikey’s jaw dropped.
“Stop acting like your don’t have worse ideas…I’m just saying it’d probably feel good and I wouldn’t be opposed to you d..d-doing it to me..” you cursed yourself for stuttering. His laughing echoing loud.
He chuckled from the memory and how you were too bashful to even make eye contact with him. Poor, sweet baby. He thought.
He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears. A love-sick smile on his face from how delicious you look right now. He carefully got on top of you, kissing you cheek, moving to your jawline. Leaving hickies here and there, softly moving to your neck. Enjoying how even in your sleep, your whimpering subtly.
Sucking on your sensitive skin, You smelled of vanilla and flowers. Warm from the long bath you and him had from last night. His hand in yours, squeezing it softy and oh so tender. He seemed to be wrapped around your finger.
His kisses moved down to your collarbone, sucking more. Hickies appeared more and more as he moved down. He lifted you blouse up to reveal your stomach, kissing it softly. His hands clasping around your pants, pulling it down with ease.
Once you were finally only in your panties. He had to stop himself to devour you whole. Your thighs squeezed together, making them look plushier than they already are. His calloused hands gently smoothing them apart. He kisses on your inner thighs, a soft sigh leaves you as he kisses so softly on your thighs. You repositioned yourself, your lower half getting closer to his head. He smirks at this as he’s midway to your center.
He licks your center, right on your panties making you softly moan. Your thighs lightly twitch and he chuckles. Vibrations right in your core. You whine in your sleep, your dream slowly combining with reality.
Painfully slow, he slides down your panties, revealing your wet pussy. He groans. His cock hardening more at the sight. You’re asleep and you’re still wet. So naughty.
He kisses your inner thighs moving closer to your center. Black onyx eyes on your face like a hawk. He licks a long lick from your entrance to your clit. A jolt on your body as you whimper. He smiles as he kisses your sensitive clit, circling figure 8s on it. Your other hand, unoccupied by Mikey’s hand, unconsciously gripping the sheets below you. Soft, needy moans escaping your mouth.
“A-ah! m-Mikey…mmmh” you moan loudly as you throw your head back.
He hums as he speeds up his tongue on your clit, from side to side to up and down slowly, enough to have you awake. Your eyebrows furrowed, a bratty whine escaping your lips as you wrap your legs around Mikey’s head, chasing your orgasm. Your hips arched as he sucked on your clit, your wetness dripping down and he happily licks it all up.
“M-Mikey! I’m- oh!.. I’m g-gonna cum.—“
Speeding his tongue once more as you orgasm with a breathy moan. He has never heard anything more beautiful. You whimper when he continues to suck your clit, coming down from your high. You get up on your elbows as he finishes cleaning you off with his tongue. Getting up and immediately attaching his lips on yours. Tongue in your mouth, tasting yourself as your moan in kiss. He pulls back, saliva connecting your lips.
“You taste so good, love~” he says, a teasing smile on his lips. You only look away bashfully.
Your positions changed to you on your side with Mikey making out with you. His hand wandered as he groped your breasts, deepening the kiss. His hand slides down to rub tight circles on your clit. Going faster and faster as you moan, too tired to keeping making out with him as you catch your breath in his neck.
“M-Mikey!” You try to grip his arm but he only sighs, his mouth in an ‘o’ shape. Groaning on your cunt pulsing.
he kisses your earlobe, increasing your stimulation. A loud gasp escapes you as he stuffs two fingers in you, not hesitating to thrust them in and out. Curling his fingers on your g-spot, earning whines and whimpers from you. He speeds up as you squirt on his fingers. Earning a loud groan from him as you twitch under him, moaning loudly. As you come down from your high. He kissed your cheek and kissed your lips again. Mikey loved kissing.
Moments passed and he already had you cleaned up, in your soft pjs again.
“Was that a good morning?🥰” he said as he teasingly looked at you, you only flushed deep red.
“I could do better~” you finally said back.
“Oh really?~” he said, grabbing ng your face to kiss you again.
You got too lucky with him.
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 26 days ago
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Death Wish 4
Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: mob!Bucky Barnes
Part of the mob drabbles au
Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Photo Inspo
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You close the cupboard and nearly jump out of your skin as Adrienne stands on the other side of it. She stares at you soberly before she cracks a sheepish smile. You show your fright with a hand on your chest. 
“Ade,” you huff. 
She laughs, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.” 
“No problem,” you assure her. “What’s up?” 
Her nostrils flare and her smile dulls, “it’s been a week.” 
One week. Your father’s been away for a whole week. He’s rarely been gone that long. His jobs are never more than a couple days. And you haven’t heard from him, but that’s not unusual or disappointing. 
“Hopefully it will be another,” Kitty says as she walks into the kitchen with a half-finished glass of water. “It’s calm around her. Isn’t it?” 
You nod. A silence rises around the three of you. You think back to the one memory you have of a peaceful house. When it was the three of you and your mother. 
“He got that kidney stone,” Kitty says. “Had him in the hospital for days. Ma said it was barely the size of a bead.” 
“Best days of my life,” you agree. 
“I don’t remember,” Adrienne says. 
As the youngest, she doesn’t remember everything and you sometimes think that’s better for her sanity. Even your memory is splotchy. There are fractures of noise and vision. Sometimes you only see, other times it replays like a record on a player and crawls through your ears. 
“So, Ade, why are you so concerned?” Kitty inquires. 
Adrienne hesitates. She shrugs and looks away guiltily. She’s a bad liar. You all are despite the typical consequences. 
“Mitzi wanted to see a movie. They’re screening Breakfast at Tiffany’s at the Golden Reel.” 
“Audrey?” Kitty preens. “My favourite.” 
“You can come. I was going to ask both of you but I thought if daddy came back--” 
“And we’re all gone...” you add. “You two go. I can deal with him.” 
“That’s not fair,” Kitty says. 
“Really, go. I can’t focus on a movie right now.” You insist. “Have some popcorn for me, alright?” 
“He probably won’t be back,” Kitty argues. 
You wave her off, “really, it’s fine. You know I hate crowds. That theatre is tiny and it’ll probably be packed on a Friday night.” 
“Okay, but I’m bringing you back raisinettes. I know you love them.” Kitty insists. 
“Have fun. Tell Mitzi I said hello,” you turn back to the cupboards and run your hands over the laminate.  
You’ve been restless. You clean just to keep yourself busy. To keep from thinking. And when you lay down at night, you’re not kept awake by your usual dread. It isn’t your father standing on your chest, it’s Barnes. In your dreams, he doesn’t strut into the bakery, but into your house. And he sits at the table where your father would usually be and sits silently, waiting. 
That’s why this calm unsettles you. There’s always a storm to come after the quiet. It will unfurl soon enough. 
“Hey, you okay?” Kitty’s gentle touch makes you wince. 
“I’m good,” you assure her and nearly gag on your tongue. For a moment, it wasn’t your voice, it was your mother’s. That same lie she told for so long. You both hesitate at the echo of your lifetimes. “Really,” you face her, “you know I’m dying to have this place to myself. When does that ever happen?” 
She stares at you then smiles. “Yeah, enjoy it while it lasts.” 
She falters again. It’s what you’re all thinking. You want to milk every bit of joy out of your father’s absence.
Kitty turns and grabs Adrienne’s hand, quickly redirecting from the threat of inevitability, “Ade, what are you gonna wear?” 
You take out the flour and all the other ingredients you need. For once, you can afford to spare a bit extra. When you were really young, your mother made her own bread. That stopped shortly after she had Adrienne. She changed after that. She was exhausted with all three of you. 
You measure out every part before you begin. Your precision has always tied you in knots. You find it hard to get anything done unless it’s entirely orderly. In a house full of chaos, that means often you don’t get much done at all. 
As you knead the dough, Kitty and Adrienne’s voices garble on the stairs. They stomp down to the first floor and call a goodbye to you through the doorway. You holler back but keep your hands working. 
You get the loaf in the oven and clean up the mess. The empty house is eerie. You can’t remember the last time you were all alone. Really alone. Ever, if at all. 
You wash the bowls and the whisk and the roller. You put it all away, step-by-step, running through every single detail. The timer counts down, the small windable egg-shaped device your mother always had going for one way or another. Tick, tick, tick. 
It goes off and you jump. For a moment, you’re back in your memories. You’re a little girl at the table, watching your mother rush around the kitchen. Kitty’s beside you with a colouring book and Adrienne’s in her high chair. 
Your mother limps from the fridge to stove. She doesn’t let it deter her. She bends to take out the pan of food as the timer buzzes. Adrienne wails at the noise as you cover your ears. The smell of cigarette smoke singes in your nostrils. 
You twist the timer so it goes silent as you return to the present. The scent of tobacco fades as the fresh baked bread wafts through the kitchen. You open the creaky oven door and use the stained oven mitts to take the pan out. Your mother always wanted a new stove. You assume she wanted a lot of things that she never got. 
You put the pan down and shut off the oven. The doorbell pierces the air and you spin, your back hitting the counter. It wouldn’t be your father; he wouldn’t ring the door. He always comes in screaming, even in the middle of the night. 
You put the oven mitts on the table as you pass and step out into the hall. You near the door, a shadow on the other side of the marbled glass. It’s a man. Your heartbeat spikes. Your father is a criminal and a strange man knocking at your door could be dangerous. 
Is death so bad when living is terrifying? 
You open the door. A wash of deja vu flows over you. It isn’t a strange man, it’s Steve Rogers. Again. That doesn’t ease your worries. 
“You. Come.” He orders you. 
You hold your breath. That is unusual. Your father’s associates come and go, most times they barely acknowledge you, they’re just there to talk shit with him or drag him off on some caper. This is different. Different is dangerous. 
“Yeah, you,” he snaps his fingers. “Look, I don’t got all day. Let’s go.” 
You look down. “My shoes...” 
“Get ‘em,” he sighs and crosses his arms. 
You step back and leave the door open. You step into a pair of scuffed flats and turn back to him. You don’t even grab your keys as you step outside. You’re shaking. 
“Is it my father?” You ask. 
“No questions.” He snarls as he turns and marches down the narrow walkway. 
You follow him at a bouncing pace, struggling to keep up with him. He leads you to the car and opens the back door. It’s then that you notice the woman in his front seat. Her eyes are skittish as she peers back out at you. 
“Get in,” he opens the door. “And be quiet.” 
You put your head down and obey. The look on that woman’s face is enough to keep you in line. Besides, your father prepared you well. There’s an order to things and you’re at the very bottom. So keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told. 
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bunji-enthusiast · 10 months ago
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Closer And Closer
Note || as requested by many, here is the sequel! This was a ton of fun to write 🤲
WC || 2,535
<(Previous Part)> <(You are here)>
Sypnosis || With your new friend in hand, you begin earning some unexpected honesty—and new understandings.
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Once, there was a dream. Sometimes it would recur, coming back to you in the encroaching depths of your mind no matter how much you wanted to stop dreaming this very same dream. It was always on and off, how it can always come back–like a nightmare–just how can one describe it?
People can forget their own dreams long after they wake up, lest they be lucky to want to write down the dream. So you were one and the same, the trepidation always sneaking upon you, like an approaching danger that will never fail to make your nerves stand on end. 
“Mommy,” You tugged at the hem of the woman’s dress, a baby trapped within a limited consciousness; yearning for love, curiosity and just always wanting to be around your parents. It’s natural and in nature for a young child to always want their parents. “Why are you gonna be gone for so long?”
Oh, that sweet, sweet voice. How adorable could you be? The woman just looked down upon your small form with a smile, so very reminiscent of motherly love. Only a mother could bring a kind of peace like that to their child, the woman thought. She crouched down to your level, patting the crown of your head with a gentle hand, so very gentle as you remember her even gentler heartbeat. A voice came from her mouth, words carried with a saccharine tone. “My little sweet apple pie, it is only a work trip!” She giggled, then wrapped her arms around you and held you close. Causing you to giggle as well, laughter so joyous even the woman holding you now couldn’t help but feel such joy because of you alone. “I’ll be back before you can say Poppies!”
You look up at her, strangely the woman’s face was misty, enshrouded by black shadows. As if reality didn’t want you to see her, your own mother. Still, a smile remained upon your face as you nodded at the woman. “Hehe! Okay, mom.”
Slowly you blinked, the world suddenly began disappearing from sight, the environment twisting upon your peripherals. 
“What?”
You groan audibly, cursing to yourself under your breath. “Of-fucking-course.” 
Slowly, You remember where you are now. A hand comes into your view and holds you steady, a very familiar one. 
“Don’t get up too quickly, you will get weary Angel.” His voice warns, it still seemed so strained and worn worse for wear. Just what kind of things had Catnap done to DogDay? Perhaps you shouldn’t worry about it, something like that is a very personal thing to ask about, no doubt. 
You coughed, pounding on your chest as you slowly rose awake. Your companion had been waiting calmly for you to collect yourself, but that had made him a little worried as he winced when you coughed. Slowly enough, you ease yourself into standing with DogDay’s help, all that jumping and landing seriously hurt your body a great deal. No wonder you were exhausted as hell right now.
Right, no time to worry about that now. It was time to be more worried about what to do next, “DogDay, you think you can handle being carried around by me in that state?” You asked with an airy tone, you didn’t want to be too loud and accidentally attract any nearby toys who are under Catnap’s influence. DogDay slumped for a moment, most likely still very worn out from probably the way he had been hanged. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling everything coursing through him, he was very much here and alive.
He always had been continually reminded of this very thing.
Reminded of Catnap.
“No need to worry about me, Angel.” Your companion spoke, his fur ruffling about in his movements. You probably were gonna have to do something about that later, DogDay sorely needed some cleaning up. “I am tougher than you think.” 
It seemed his words carried a half-hearted weight, carrying no affirmed meaning to them. You looked at DogDay incredulously, clear as night and day that you knew this well; worn out, tired and cramping for a plan to end the Prototype. You’ve never gotten a good look at the Prototype, only a few times you have gotten a good look at the Prototype’s hand–there must be a whole body from beyond the shadow’s.
Awaiting, no doubt terrifying too. But, you dealt with adrenaline rushes and terrifying monsters from the moment you stepped foot into the abandoned Playtime Co. 
“Ah, well, just tell me if anything is bothering you.” You nodded at him, patting down your clothing, the dust falling in your wake. DogDay was quiet for a moment, taking a hand-step back as he looked around at the environment once more. He was considering something, considering how to go about the next phase of the way. 
“No safe places here, nothing good.” For a moment, you swore that you had seen his mouth contorting into a frown–though in every Smiling Critter, they always are smiling–So this was completely new, different somehow. “My apologies Angel, safe places are rare to find.” DogDay sighed, he in a sense was habitually instinctive to keep his loved ones safe; going so far as to make sure they have a good sleep. Even if it meant at the cost of his own health. 
He cared deeply for his friends, but they were gone now. Catnap was someone he could not recognize anymore, that wasn’t his friend.
DogDay’s only focus was making sure you are alive and safe.
Something of which is admittedly difficult to do, knowing all the horrors that had occurred in Playtime Co. but it wasn’t too troubling for someone like you. DogDay was glad for you about that, impressed even that you had managed to survive thus far before you had met him. 
You patted his head, causing him to look back at you. “Nothing to apologize for! Everyone’s just… a little too crazy nowadays.” You mutter, walking over to a dusty pile and finding a tape. There seemed to be thousands of these tapes all around the Factory, some of which you could’ve sworn recording yourself. 
Being a former employee for Playtime Co. is one thing to say, but being an engineer was a different process. You were only involved in the works of designing and constructing, not once had you ever really got hand in hand with actually building things. But you were highly proud of the work you had done and completed alongside your fellow co-workers, looking back on it now… all it had done simply saddened you.
How it seemed to be the way that the toys seemed to be so lifeless, once so full of joy, love and empathy for everyone in this place all together.
You wouldn’t mind turning back the clock and doing good for once more, the right way this time. When everything was said and done, the toys you came across were well justified in their anger for being abandoned–but you weren’t looking to be on the top list of being killed either. Considering how you had gotten lucky apparently by quitting the day before your co-workers had all disappeared.
Getting through this place was no trouble, you remember some good places of this Factory like the back of your hand. Huggy Wuggy, Kissy Missy of whom is his spouse, was rather different to the likes of the tall-blue furred beast. Rather inconceivable in behaviors, Kissy Missy was a perturbed ally, one you didn’t expect. All the toys you met so far, (save for Poppy, and Kissy Missy) had full intentions to kill you from going any further.
This Factory is a whole goddamn amalgamation of mysteries you weren’t sure you wanted to solve anymore. Let alone having any trust in every being you come across now too, how disturbing must this get? You sure as hell weren’t Elliot Ludwig. 
“I simply wish I could be of more help.” DogDay recounted with a mournful tune, breaking you out of your thoughts and consolation. You frown at him, wanting to offer comfort: the words could not come through. He shuffled around to begin looking for things too, but now something had crossed your mind. 
You still couldn’t piece together almost everything between DogDay and Catnap, some things he had said back at the heretic altar had stuck with you. Until now it was dismissable, out of sight and out of mind you supposed. Though you recounted some thoughts that had warmed you in ways you didn’t expect, at first meet he already was of great character–someone you truly wanted to be around.
The repugnant smell that had always seemed to be invading your senses was gone now, this particular area was an untouched one. “DogDay… do you mind if I ask you something?” You spoke, stepping over the rubbish and noting the sound footsteps that echo in your wake. Don’t walk too much, this area may be empty but it didn’t mean that Catnap wasn’t watching. That cat was terrifying to you. Permeating nightmares had run endlessly through your mind, and his gas before when calling back on previous close counters with the obsessed follower of the prototype were far too close. 
Continually he had gone about looking for anything that may be of assistance to you both, still he had spoken in reply, “Angel, I will answer anything. You deserve as such.” DogDay recounted, noting what he had said to you before you fell to the slumbers of sweet, sweet sleep. 
Cool, cool cool… that was dandy and nice of him. You just weren’t sure how to articulate the very question that lays burning in your mouth, for fear of the fact you might be gazed upon with ranicid and covert questioning, like an ornery old bitch. Pointedly you stepped around the rubble, in turn you came across an old set-up, as if there used to be children here. A blanket laying upon the ground and the ravaged pillows, still in condition that you could say that was okay to be recycled for use. Still quite in a-okay position to sit down on, waiting for DogDay to finish scrambling around.
“So,” You began, lacing your fingers together and intertwining them purely out of your nerves spiking in your body as of right now. “What’s… the deal between you and Catnap?” Abruptly, at those words, his very being felt as if he tensed up. You couldn’t read him right now, suddenly incomprehensible to understand. 
“I suppose you should know about it, in order to really understand Catnap.” He motioned, steadily crawling over to where you sat. “Catnap was someone you could get along great with, quiet and not much of a talker, but actions speak louder than words Angel.” 
Then, there was a lapse in his words; DogDay was doing his best to keep himself steady and calm. He certainly couldn’t allow himself to fall apart in front of you, that is not very leader-like of someone such as DogDay.
“Oh, his actions spoke so much more for him than one little word.” He nodded, laying his head upon his crossed arms. DogDay had made himself comfortable as he shifted to a proper position. “But, things happened. Very bad things.” You were albeit surprised he was willingly sharing such information with you, as personal as it would appear. 
Still, you had remained muted, this was something that could conceivably help you in dealing with the nightmare cat later on. “Something had happened to him, something I wasn’t aware of. Angel, he.. wasn’t the same Catnap. He wasn’t my friend anymore.” Now, you could understand this well.
You yourself never had a good trade off within all your relationships, no matter what kind of relationship it was… be it; platonic, romantic, friends even! Humans are odd and sometimes indescribable in nature, but it simply has always been this way. But friends change, sometimes partially and even supernaturally.
In DogDay’s case, it was gruesome and religious. Catnap by no means was someone to act fool with, something you could pick out with merely just from first impressions. In passing, this was no offense whatsoever–personally that cat looked scary as hell.
“All my friends just,” Then, DogDay allowed himself to breathe again once more. “I wouldn’t wish it even on my own worst enemy.”
“The Prototype?” You snorted, shifting your weight from one end to the other as you gave him a benign quizzical look. 
“Angel.”
“I'm messing with you!” 
You waved him off, then put your hands in your lap. It was oddly endearing in how you behaved, the normalcy around here is rare, DogDay would admit. “So it seems, Prototype is his god. I don’t understand every detail, but The Prototype saved him.” He beckoned, recounting the mention of the Prototype from not even two minutes ago. 
“So Catnap began viewing this, Prototype as such?” You finished for him, tilting your head. Your companion nodded, lifting his head to recover proper eye contact with you. 
“Poppy, the rest who are on your side want nothing more to end the terror of the Prototype’s reign. Come to save me Angel, I thank you so much for that.” Honesty was a fickle thing for DogDay since recalling recent events, but had it come to you? The fearless dog didn’t mind. 
“Oh it’s nothing to be thanked for,” You grin at him, ever so slightly. But he’ll take that, “You were in so much pain. That’s a position no innocent person, or toy deserves to be in.”
DogDay had to consider this for a moment, so much consideration had been done lately. Yet, it was all done to simply understand the chaos underlying this factory, no doubt it had caused a lot of trauma (to many in this place) alone. “You're right about that, Angel, I suppose I had gotten too comfortable in all my reckless decadence.” Willfully, he was well aware of his actions as a leader. Some of which he had questioned why he had made them.
Your hand on his ragged-torn furred head had snapped DogDay out of his conscious thoughts, “We all deserve peace, that means you too DogDay.” 
You were right.
It seems there are still many things to be learned.
“You are far too kind to me.” He sighed, leaning into your hand. You never moved your hand away from him. 
“Though we should probably get you cleaned up.” That sentence alone suddenly broke the comfortable atmosphere, still much rather comedic however. 
“Right,” DogDay barked, as if he really was laughing. His whole body shook, it was rather a wave of happiness. Something he had not often felt, it had almost shocked him a little. “I believe they would have some bandages and towels nearby, water too.” Your companion then noted it would most likely be at a medical station somewhere.
You raised a brow at this, causing DogDay to nod with an air of laughter about him as he spoke once more whilst you had hoisted him over your shoulders. “I worked with children quite more often than not, you would be surprised at the amount of things that happen during playtime Angel.”
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daddyslilchickenfingers2 · 1 year ago
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Slutmas Day 2
Morning Wood (Chris)
Request: y/n and Chris are best friends and y/n always sleeps in chris’s room from time to time they cuddle but end up separating in the middle of the night. Not this day, y/n came over and slept with Chris like normal but they never moved from the cuddling position they were in and when they woke up y/n felt chris’s morning wood, he wakes up and apologizes but the only thing on y/n’s mind is to get rid of chris’s morning wood
Warnings: friends to lovers, flirting, cuddling, subby Chris, use of mamas, slight begging, unprotected sex, Chris cumming in Y/n
“Don’t apologize for your morning wood”
Y/n’s pov
It was a Friday evening, meaning I would be heading over to my best friend’s house within a few minutes. Every Friday night, when the triplets are in LA, we have a sleepover at their house, it’s always super fun and this is the first time seeing each other since tour. I grabbed my bag and keys before driving over to their cute little townhouse, pulling into the driveway once I had arrived and letting myself in with my key. I quickly rushed up the stairs and was greeted by some of my favorite people.
Matt was the first to greet me, giving me a bone crushing bear hug, “Oh my god! I missed you so much Y/n/n!” he beamed, resulting in Chris running up the stairs. We pulled away from the hug and I gave Nick a quick hug as we pulled apart upon hearing Chris trip. *Thud* “Ow fucking shit!” he yelled before running up the rest of the stairs, immediately running over to me. I thought Matt’s hug was bone crushing, but Chris’ was 10x harder, apparently he had been struggling without me by his side.
He tackled me onto the couch after screaming like a little girl, “Ahhhh! Y/n, holy fuck I missed you so much! Hug me back tighter bitch!” he exclaimed. “Bub, as much as I missed you, I can’t breathe!” I said slightly coughing, “Chris! You’re going to kill her, let go!” Nick yelled, causing Chris to finally let go, slicking out his tongue at Nick like a child. “Y/n/n you have no idea how annoying this kid is without you there to put him in check” Matt whined, making us all laugh.
We ordered pizza for dinner and stayed up watching movies until around 2am before deciding to go to get to bed, seeing as Matt had dozed off and I was half asleep on Nick. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, gently shaking Matt awake before looking up to see Chris standing in front of me with his had out. “Come on kid, let’s go to sleep” he smiled, everyone said good night to each other before heading off to separate rooms.
Chris and I had a very, very close relationship/bond with each other and both of our love language is physical touch, so I’ve always slept in his room and we cuddle. Well, we’re cuddling when we fall asleep but usually end up rolling away from each other as we sleep. I was wearing some short pajama shorts and a Fresh Love shirt I stole from him while he just wore his boxers and blue plaid pajama pants.
“Have I ever told you that you look really cute when you wear my brand” he joked as we entered his room. “A few times” I rolled my eyes, crawling under his covers waiting for him to lay down. We got situated in our usual cuddling position, me being the little spoon with Chris’ strong arm wrapped around my waist, his hand firmly spread across my stomach, and his head in the crook of my neck.
I placed my hand on top of him as I scooted back, my back side now pressed up against his front side perfectly. “Goodnight nugget” I said softly, already falling asleep, “Goodnight bug” he mumbled into my neck before we drifted off the sleep. Seeing as we were so close, we had special nicknames we affectionately called each other during our moments alone.
•••
When I woke up the next morning, I was pleasantly surprised that we were still cuddling, I guess Chris really missed me since he kept a firm hold on me all night. I felt something poking my ass and was confused at first until I realized it was Chris’ dick and I suddenly felt hot all over. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Chris is a healthy 20 year old male who got morning wood, it’s just never happened where I felt it.
Chris let out a small wine as he woke up, suddenly getting tense when he realized he was hard. “Good morning Chrisy” I mumbled, causing him to quickly apologize. “Shit Y/n/n, I’m so sorry, fuck!” he panicked, trying to roll away and excuse himself to the restroom, but I had other plans. I was oddly turned on and decided to tease him a bit, grabbing his hand to keep him close.
“Don’t apologize for your morning wood” I said, pushing my ass against his hard on. “Let me help you, please? I’ll make you feel so good baby” I asked, turning around and trialing one of my hands down to his bulge while the other came up to cup his jaw. I was gently stroking his cheek with my thumb, I thought it was cute how flustered he was, cheeks painted on a pink hue.
He didn’t give me an answer so I gently squeezed his hard on, watching his mouth drop open as his breath hitched. “Do you like that, Chris? Want me to help you get off?” I teased, moving my hand from his jaw down to his shoulder. I started softly palming his cock as I spoke, “Y-Yes, please help me, I need you so badly mamas” he said, instantly making my panties soaking wet.
“What would you like me to do, handsome?” I teased, removing my hand from his cock. “Use me, make yourself feel good. That’s all I’m good for, right?” he whined, which was extremely hot, I never pegged Chris to be the submissive type in bed. “You’re more than just a useless slut, baby. You do sound really pathetic though” I smirked while discreetly removing my shorts.
Chris let out another frustrated whine, “Just fucking use me!” he begged, eyes going wide when I caught him off guard and flipped him onto his back. I straddled his lap and started grinding down, causing a few whines to pass his lips. “Fuck mamas, you look so hot like this! Please ride me while wearing that shirt, you’ll make me c-cum so much if you do!” he stuttered over his words a bit due to my grinding.
I decided to stop the teasing, pulling down my panties as he took off his pants and boxers, I spit down on Chris’ cock. I watched as his eyes rolled back and the way his cock twitched, before I lined myself up and dropped down on his cock. “Holy fuck, you’re so tight!” he loudly groaned. I had started off slow due to how girthy Chris’ cock was, feeling the slight burn turn into pleasure.
“Filling me up so good baby, I could get used to this” I moaned, speeding up my movements. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- ahh shit!” Chris whimpered, “Does that feel good?” I teased, kissing down his neck, lightly nibbling at the skin. “S-So good mamas, please mark me up like a whore!” “My little slut” I said beneath my breath. I started moving even faster as Chris grabbed my waist and started thrusting his hips up to meet my own.
My lips met his neck, sucking multiple deep purple and red marks into his skin, moving down across his chest. I experimentally licked across his left nipple before moving to the right and lightly sucking. Chris’ grip on my waist tightened and I felt his fingernails piercing my skin, “AHH AHH FUCK! OH F-FUUUUCK YES MAMAS! HOLY SHIT IM GONNA CUM! FUCK PLEASE LET ME CUM!” he nearly screamed out.
“You wanna cum like a slut for me baby? Your brothers can hear you begged like a bitch, you know?” I tightened around him, very close to the edge as well. “HOLY FUCK Y/N! PLEASE LET ME CUM PLEASE! I NEED IT SO BAD MAMAS PLEASE!” Chris actually screamed out this time in a whiny moan. “Yeah? Rub my clit for me, you can cum after me” I whimpered, placing my lips onto his in a sloppy, heated makeout.
“Oh Chris! I’m gonna cum, want you to fill me up- shit!” I moaned, cumming all over his cock. “Thank you! Thank you for letting me cum, thank you mamas! Look so hot wearing my Fresh Love shirt- fuck!” he cried out as he came. The feeling of his warm cum filling me up was enough to make me cum all over again, thighs shaking as I collapsed on top of him. “So good for me Chrisy” I whimpered into his neck as I pulled off his cock, a mixture of our cum dripping out of me onto his softened cock.
“So good to me mamas, let’s go take a shower” Chris soothed, helping me get up and go into the bathroom, telling me to pee while he turns on the shower. We took a fast shower, Chris helping me get dressed afterwards, deciding we should probably go get breakfast. Upon arrival in the kitchen, Matt and Nick started hysterically laughing, “OH MY GOD! KIDS SO PUSSY WHIPPED!” Nick yelled between laughter. Matt following suit with a question, “Is that how you always get him to behave?” he giggled.
“Shut up, I dont wanna hear it Matthew” I groaned at him as Chris and I sat on the couch together. “Oh my god, Y/n made you her bitch! Nick look at his neck” Matt gasped, laughing louder. Chris immediately hid his face in my neck, embarrassed, “At least he gets pussy you loser” I retorted back, running my hand through Chris’ hair. “She’s got you there Matt” Nick shrugged, coming to sit by me and turn on a movie for a well deserved movie day.
All work is subject to copyright
©️ Daddyslilchickenfingers2 2023
Do not steal my work
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tonysbed · 9 months ago
Text
Rumour has it | M.V 1
Max Verstappen x Bestfriend!driver!reader
Summary: Your daughter calls Max dad on a press conference, leaving everyone shocked
a/n: yeah idk what came over me
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You had been eyeing your little girl in Pascales arms the whole 20 minutes the press conference had been going. She had been wriggling and squirming in her lap the whole time, pointing at you or max. Pascale seems to tell her no, which makes her even angrier.
Max was speaking when she started crying “Max, dear sorry to interrupt.” you looked over to pascale “Just let her over here, she’s not gonna stop fussing. I think she’s a lil tired after today” you say calmly over to her.
Pascale nods and sets your little girl down who runs up to you. You set her down on your lap “You tired my love?” She only nods and leans against you, eyeing max next to you.
He smiles gently at her and she starts to giggle, which made him laugh. You look between them “You having fun with maxie now?” The look she gave you startled you. She shook her head.
You raise an eyebrow and she extends her arms towards max. You were about to pick her up and give her over to max when she said into your mic “Daaad”
The whole room went quiet and you exchange a look with Charles, who is on your right. His mouth was open and so was everyone else’s “Sorry, what love?” You ask.
She points at max “Dada” You raise both your eyebrows and finally take a look at max. He’s as pale as a ghost. You chuckle and lift her off your lap into max direction “If that’s your definition for him, sure okay”
You lean back into your chair, being completely blown away by the event. Her arms went around his neck and his right arm around her, while his left hand still gripped onto his mic as if his life depended on it.
The press conference continues for another half hour.At the end, your little girl had fallen asleep in max arms and you weren’t gonna wake her up.
“Let’s get back, I’m tired” You say yawning. Back at the Airbnb you lay down on the couch while max brings her to bed.
He comes back a few minutes later. You had closed your eyes, knowing that he would want to talk about what happened.You weren’t sure if you were ready for that conversation yet.
He sat down next to you “I know your awake” His voice was quiet and gentle. You hum.
“Y/n, look at me, please” You open one eye and look at him sitting next to you. His whole body displayed nervousness and just pure panic. You sat up and took one of his hands “Max it’s alright.”
His eyes find yours “You sure, I mean, I’m not her dad and-“
“Then who is?” You say, making him stop. A short silence fell over the room “Exactly”you whisper.
“That’s you.Not some dick who left. You are her dad”
A little smile went over his face and his body relaxed. Your hand still in his, eyes scanning his face. Before you could say anything else, you felt his lips on yours.
His whole body covered your now “Shit, should’ve done that a long time ago” You chuckle “Don’t you dare curse in front of our daughter, Verstappen” You bop his nose and he smiles into your neck, letting his weight onto you.
“I love you” You smile at his whisper “I love you too”
“Mommy! Daddy!” Your head perks over at the little girl at the end of the couch. Max turns a little, now laying at your side and opening an arm for her.
She lays down on your chest, Max’s arm closing around the both of you. His nose bumping yours and suddenly there is another nose and little giggles in the mix.
Max couldn’t have wished for anything else than his two best girls.
-
Got baby fever after seeing max with p istg
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crheativity · 4 months ago
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Hi! Thank you for doing this event! This is such a cute prompt idea, I love it! Would it be alright if I use it in the future?
And could I request Ruggie at 11:38PM in the Savannaclaw laundry room?
WARNINGS: None! Very cute and wholesome :D COMMENTS: Hello! Thank you so much! I don’t mind at all hehe, these are fun to write :D I hope you enjoy this, sorry it took so long!!
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It had been six hours and twenty-seven minutes since Ruggie Bucchi went AWOL. 
Typically, on a busy day like today, he’d send you a short text explaining that he’d be busy for a while and couldn’t chat. He always messaged you as soon as he could after that, so that you knew he was free again. 
Only this time, he hadn’t texted you back. 
For the first little while, you figured whatever he had been doing was just taking longer than he’d thought. But when four hours had come and gone with no sign from him, you started to get a bit nervous. At five hours, you were checking your phone every couple minutes. At six, you’d put on your jacket and rushed out of Ramshackle. 
The night was cold and eerie as you slowly made your way to the Savannaclaw dorm. You kept your eyes peeled for any sign of Ruggie as you got closer and closer, but there was no sign of him.
Upon arriving at Savannaclaw, you carefully made your way to Ruggie’s room, keeping as silent as possible. You figured that in a dorm full of beastmen, they probably knew you were there anyway, but you still didn’t want to disturb them if you could avoid it. 
You finally stood in front of Ruggie’s room, thinking hard. What if he’d just forgotten to text you, and was currently enjoying some much-needed rest? You hesitated.
Well, if he didn’t want to be disturbed, he should’ve remembered to text me.
You knocked on the door.
Silence.
“Ruggie? It’s me.” You kept your voice low and quiet as you knocked again.
Still nothing.
“I’m coming in.” You paused and waited for a protest. Nothing came, so you opened the door.
Ruggie Bucchi was not in his bed, nor in his room.
He was simply gone. 
You felt your heart start to race. Where in twisted wonderland was he?!
You pulled out your phone, scrolling past the slightly embarrassing amount of texts you’d sent to try and get his attention. He hadn’t sent anything to insinuate what exactly he’d be doing.
You thought back on your conversations earlier that day, trying to figure out where he could possibly be. Ruggie had been complaining about all the work that he had to do for Leona. More specifically, he’d been making fun of Leona for not knowing how to even wash his own clothes. 
Wait. Wash his own clothes…
You turned and hastily made your way to the Savannaclaw Laundry room, racking your brains for anywhere else he could be.
Turns out, thinking of other options was entirely unnecessary. 
Curled up on a pile of freshly dried laundry, Ruggie Bucchi lay fast asleep. His hair drooped messily over his eyes, arms still clutching a half-empty laundry basket. He looked eerily peaceful. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him this relaxed before. You pulled out your phone and snapped a quick photo, before shoving your phone in your back pocket and crouching down beside him, looking through the washing.
You grabbed a clean, lukewarm blanket from the pile and gently draped it over him. He, still asleep, snuggled into it with a cosy smile on his face.
“I love you.” He mumbled. 
You froze, unsure if he was awake or asleep. If he was awake - or at least, half awake - then what he said could’ve been legit, right…? Or maybe it was just him dreaming of someone he loved, like his grandma or something. It didn’t necessarily mean you… did it? You were suddenly very aware of how fast your heart was beating.
You sighed and sat down next to him, adjusting yourself until you were also comfortable. It was late and you were starting to get tired. 
Might as well stay here for the night, you thought. I can give Ruggie an earful tomorrow…
You tossed another blanket over yourself and shifted until you were comfortable. As sleep slowly began to pull you into its warm embrace, you could’ve sworn you felt a calloused but gentle hand take yours.
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♥ Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it! ♥
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thatonegenshinsimp · 1 year ago
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Hi! I really liked your cuddles and cold mornings with a lover posts, would you be interested in doing/could you do a pantalone version of the cold mornings post with him please? :)
Cold Mornings With a Warm Lover Part 2 (Fem!reader NSFW)
Of course! This was so fun to write ASDXCSFSXC. I decided to add Zhongli to this one as well. Anyways, enjoy~
Notes: My wifi was crapping out when I wrote this and it kept deleting the stuff I added in after I first saved it to my drafts :')
Characters: Pantalone, Zhongli
Masterlist
Part 1
Warnings: NSFW, fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!reader, marking, fingering, creampie, squirting, hair pulling, Adeptus!reader (Zhongli), monsterfucking (Zhongli), draconic!Zhongli (horns, tail, claws), knotting (Zhongli), Zhongli has a ridged cock
NSFW content below, Minors DNI! By scrolling further past this point, you have chosen to read the content below of your own accord!
Pantalone
Pantalone had been awake for a good amount of time when you opened your eyes, sitting up slowly beside him in your large shared bed. You braced yourself on your forearms and looked around, before feeling his gaze on your bare body. Your face reddened as you pulled the covers over your body. “Oh, you’re awake.” You whispered, hiding your face in the pillow. He pulled the covers away and looked down at you, watching as you slowly curled in on yourself. “H-hey, it’s freezing!” You hissed, shivering. “Hm, then how about you let me warm you up this morning?” He asked, his hand making its way to your face as he spoke. Your wedding last night was the catalyst for all of this, not that you were complaining. You had enjoyed last night very much, especially what happened once the two of you arrived home from the wedding dinner. You were barely through the bedroom door with him when you were tugging at his clothes, begging to see what was underneath the elegant suit that Pantalone had worn. And of course, who was he to deny you something you wanted?
You were dragged from your thoughts when he gently pressed his lips against yours, watching as you practically melted under his touch. You leaned against him as he pulled you into his lap, letting you straddle his waist. He smoothed his hands up your thighs and your back, before resting one arm over your middle as his other hand came up to gently cradle your jaw. “You looked lovely in that dress last night, but I think you look much better like this.” He said, kissing you again. He trailed kisses down from your lips to your neck, leaning in and biting down on the skin at your collarbone. You gasped softly, reaching up and threading your fingers through his jet black hair. You tugged it lightly when he pulled at the skin gently with his teeth, pulling back to see the purple love bite he gave you. The hand that was holding your face slowly made its way downward as you focused on him, joining his other arm around your waist. He made sure that you were distracted by him before gently nudging your thighs open with his leg, before holding your legs open and pressing the pads of his middle and index fingers against your slit. You gasped at the sudden feeling, grabbing his shoulders as you felt his fingers slowly press into you. “Ngh~ h-hey, what about you? I wanna make you feel good too.” You mumbled, half lidded eyes gazing up at him. He chuckled softly. “Perhaps another time, but this morning is about you, dearest.” He cooed, his hand speeding up as he curled his fingers to hit that spongy bundle of nerves deep inside of you that he knew drove you crazy. You gasped and moaned loudly as he repeatedly pressed his fingertips against that spot, grinding down against his hand. “Needy thing, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you this morning.” He whispered in your ear, watching you shudder from the sickeningly sweet tone of voice he was using. You were so, so close, but whined quietly as he pulled his fingers out just before you came. “Patience, I promise it’ll feel good, dearest.” He soothed, waiting for you to come down a little from the hazy and fuzzed headspace you were in. You panted softly as he tilted your face upwards for you to look at him. “Do you want me to be on top this morning?” He asked, watching as you nodded wordlessly. Pantalone flipped the two of you over and slowly pulled the covers over the two of you as he lifted your hips a little. Your breath hitched as he pressed his tip against your entrance, before slowly sliding into you. You immediately grabbed his shoulders as he slowly pressed into you, gasping at the stretch. “Shh, just relax, dearest, I’ve got you.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close to him, your chest pressed against his. The blush on your face spread to your shoulders and the tips of your ears as he bottomed out, pressing his hips against yours as his spongy tip knocked against your cervix. “A-Ah~ hNn~ m’so full, you’re s’big- fuck!” You moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist. Pantalone gently grabbed at your waist before he slowly started rocking his hips against yours. You whined and moaned quietly as he grunted softly, trying to keep himself under control.
Your face got somehow even redder as he started pulling back his hips and thrusting them against yours, loud squelching noises filling the room along with the noises of your lovemaking. You grinded your hips against his as he kept thrusting, keeping a steady pace as you tried to keep up. You felt his hand against your cheek and leaned into his touch, looking up at him as he smiled softly down at you. His breath hitched and a loud groan bubbled up in his chest as he hit your sweet spot, feeling your gooey cunt squeeze around his cock tightly. “HnNg~ goodness, does that feel good? Do you want me to do that again, pretty thing?” He asked, leaning down and gently pressing kisses against your neck. You nodded, tugging at his hair again as you got closer to your orgasm. The knot in your lower tummy tightened as he angled his hips and started going faster, hitting that spot repeatedly. Your velvety walls squeezed and spasmed around him as he kept you on the edge, going slower when you got too close. He twitched inside of you as you dug your nails into his broad shoulders, small tears welling up in your eyes. “That’s it, just hold out a little longer.” He whispered, before he sped up even more. His pace was getting sloppier as he left open mouthed kisses against your neck. “Nnh~ please, lemme cum, m’so close, please- AhHng~!” He cut you off with a rough thrust that sent you over the edge, gushing around his thick cock. You wailed his name as you dragged your nails down his back, leaving little red lined in their wake as your eyes rolled back a little. Pantalone looked down at you and rolled his hips against yours as he came, fucking you full of his cum. “That’s it, let me take it from here, ok? You did so good for me.” He soothed, watching as you clung onto him. You panted and whined quietly as you came down from your high, slowly calming down. He slowly pulled out and watched as his cum gushed out of you, soiling the sheets below. He then gently pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you once again. “Pantalone?” You asked, your voice still a little shaky. “Yes, what is it, dearest?” He asked. “Could we go take a bath? I’m all sweaty and sticky now.” You asked, hiding your face in his chest. He chuckled at your shyness, before picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom. “Of course, my love.” He said.
Zhongli
It was rare for Zhongli to stay home for the day, let alone take leave, but he assured you that Hu Tao had given him leave for the festival period since he had helped prepare the Funeral Parlor’s decorations (which he insisted weren’t necessary) for the Lantern Rite Festival. You were just glad to see him at home, since he got up so early in the morning and usually returned well after you had fallen asleep at night.
You woke up to a pair of arms around you and looked behind you, laughing softly when your husband gently nuzzled your neck. “Someone’s touchy this morning.” You teased, reaching back and running your fingers through his hair. You felt something wrap around your leg, and pulled back the covers to reveal his long scaly tail. You looked back and noticed his golden horns as well. “Looks like this was a much needed break period. It seems like you needed some rest from work.” You said. “Ah, compared to the things I’ve had to do on the daily before retiring from my place as an Archon, I’d say that my “job” at the Funeral Parlor is more like a vacation.” He said. “And I certainly never got to do these things with you when we were still working like that. I never had a moment alone with you.” He continued. “To talk to me or to fuck me? Be specific.” You rolled over to face him, laughing when he pinned you down against the bed and spoke. “Careful that you wish for, those are dangerous words you’re saying, even if you are an Adeptus.” He said, watching your face flush and your eyes widen. Without warning, he unbuttoned and slipped off your nightshirt, doing the same to his. He leaned in close and looked for that one spot he remembered so very well on your neck, sinking his pointed fangs into your skin when he found it. “Ngh~!” His actions surprised you, it had been a while since he had done this with you, but you found yourself tilting your head to the side as he marked your neck with his teeth. You reached up and gently grabbed his hands, shivering when he pulled away. “Are you cold? Don’t worry, you’ll be warmed up soon enough.” He cooed. Zhongli leaned in and kissed you, watching your eyes go half lidded as a pleasant lustful gaze clouded them. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you this morning.” He whispered, trailing his hand down to slide down your pants. He hooked his thumb under the waistband of your underwear and pulled them both down, before he finished undressing himself. Without wasting a moment, the soft pads of two of his long, thick fingers were pressed against your slit.
“Look at me.” He mumbled. Watching as the haziness faded from your eyes and you nodded. “Hmm?” You looked up at him. “Are you sure you want to do this? I want to make sure you’re comfortable.” He said, watching as you nodded. You gasped when he slowly slid them in, pinning your thighs to the bed with his knees as he curled his fingers and grazed against your sweet spot. You reached up and grabbed his shoulders as he kept moving his fingers, scissoring them to stretch you out. He pinned your legs down with his tail, wrapping it around your ankles to make sure you couldn’t move your legs. “Mnh~ r-right there, please- Ahn~!” You gasped when he curled his fingers to hit your sweet spot again, moving his hand faster as your grip got tighter. You were about to tip over the edge of bliss when he pulled his hand away, chuckling lowly when you whined softly. You gasped when you felt his tip pressed against your entrance, moaning softly as he slowly slid into you. “Nh~ feels s’big, t-too big, it won’t fit~!” You cried out, but he forced you still. “You’re being too noisy.” He muttered, shoving two fingers into your mouth and pressing the soft pads of them against your tongue. “Every time we do this, every single time, it fits. Lie still and take it like the good girl I know you are, and I’ll reward you, ok?” He cooed, watching you push your hips back to fit more of him inside of you as you nodded. He chuckled. “That’s it, slowly now.” He whispered, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. He held your hips steady as he kept pressing himself into you, his grip tightening as you squeezed around him. “Mnh~ ‘li, Ngh~ stay still, please- Ah~!” He pressed the base of his knot against your entrance, lifting his head from your shoulder and pressing soft kisses against your skin. He trailed kisses up from your shoulder to your neck, before sinking his fangs into your skin. “HAh~!” You dragged your nails down his back, gasping and whining. He tensed up slightly when you scratched down his back a little, your sharp nails drawing little red lines on his skin. He stayed still for a bit, letting you adjust as he rocked his hips against yours slowly and gently. “Hn~ look at you, you’re already so pliant under my touch, aren’t you? You’re just waiting for me to ruin you~” his long serpentine tongue licked his lips as he spoke. You nodded, already almost mindless from the way he was now rolling his hips steadily against yours. You slowly reached up and linked your hands with his, breaking his concentration for a moment as he looked at you. It was a way for you to be closer to him, not that he minded. He wrapped his tail around your leg as he went faster, his tip bumping up against your cervix as his ridged shaft grazed against your velvety walls. “Right th-there, please- Hnn~ ‘li, don’t stop- AhnNg~!” You moaned loudly as his tip hit your sweet spot, raising your hips to let him get a better angle. “Such a good girl- fuck- I’m gonna fill you up nicely, gonna stuff you full and breed you~” he whispered, his grip on your hips tightening as he twitched inside of you. His pace was getting sloppy, and he was panting softly as he got closer to his release. He pressed his lips hotly against yours, muffling your cries of pleasure as he went faster. Your hands went from being over his to his shoulders again, squeezing them as the coil in your lower belly tightened. “M-Morax, m’close, m’so close- AHhng~!” He gripped you tighter as he heard you call him that name. He loved it when you did that, you knew he did. Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking as it hit you in waves. He slammed his hips against yours a few more times before his knot swelled inside of you, trapping his thick cum deep in your spasming cunt. He fucked you through it, rolling his hips against yours as you rode out your high with him. After you had come down somewhat from your highs, you pulled away from him as you spoke.
“It seems you needed this break more than me, horny lizard.” You muttered, running your fingers through his hair. “Is that an invitation to go again?” He asked, smirking down at you. You shook your head. “I’d pass out before you’d finish, I’d much rather stay like this for a while, instead.” You pressed your lips against his forehead, smiling softly. “Besides, we both know you like it when I wash your hair.” You replied, shifting to a more comfortable position and pushing him on his back. He fell back against the pillows and chuckled softly as he wrapped his arms around you. After a while of staying still on his lap, he finally pulled out, watching his cum dribble from your spent hole. You whined at the loss of contact, before he picked you up and slowly carried you to the bathroom. He ran the water warm, just the way you liked it, before slowly getting in. You hummed happily as he kissed you, running his hands over your skin. He grabbed the soap from beside the bath and wrapped his tail around your waist to keep you steady as he lathered the soap on your body. He took extra care when he got to your chest and your thighs, retracting his claws to make sure he didn’t accidentally scratch you on the sensitive parts of your body. You sighed deeply as he hummed a tune long since forgotten by time, his deep baritone voice calming you and further bringing you down from the euphoria. He grabbed the shampoo and put it in your hair, starting to move on to his hair when he felt your nails scratching against his scalp. You slowly massaged the shampoo into his hair as he rested his head against your chest. You felt him unwrap his tail from your waist, and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead as he rested his tail on your lap. “Just rest, honey, I’ve got this.” you whispered, knowing how exhausted he was after such a long night. You slowly started washing his tail, lathering his scales with soap before moving on to massage his back. You rolled your palms against the muscles that were potentially sore or strained, making sure to ease the knots in his shoulders and his back. You heard him hum softly, his tail thumping against your lap as a result of your soothing touch. You giggled softly. “You like that?” you asked, watching as he nodded. You gently tapped his large golden horns, as if to tell him to lower his head. He lowered his head to where you could wash his horns, huffing quietly when you told him the two of you had to get out of the bath soon. “Five more minutes.” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around you. “We still have to change the bedsheets, ‘li.” you muttered, causing him to sigh. “Ok.” he mumbled back, slowly getting up out of the bath and grabbing some towels from the linen closet. He returned a few minutes later with some towels, saying that he’d changed the sheets. You smiled, slowly standing with his help as he dried you off and carried you to bed after draining the tub. He then got under the covers with you and rested his head against your chest.
By the time you looked back at him, he was looking up at you with half lidded eyes as his tail wrapped around your leg. “Are you cold, dearest?” you asked, causing him to shake his head. “I just want you close to me.” he mumbled sleepily, leaning up and pressing his lips against yours. He flipped the two of you over to where you were resting your head against his chest, your weight grounding him as his eyelids got heavier with exhaustion. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “I love you.” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against your neck and breathing in your scent as he fell asleep. You smiled softly, closing your eyes as you spoke. “I love you, too.” you whispered, falling asleep in his comforting arms.
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nanamissuit · 11 months ago
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Just wanna ride price that's it, that's all, he deserves it I deserve it
"Rough day?" - John Price
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Pairing: Husband! John Price x Wife! Fem reader
Warnings: P in V no condom, Lingere, Riding, After Care?
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It had been a rough day for him. He had been swamped in paperwork today at work and was just overall stressed so when it was time to go home he couldn’t wait to hit the hay and just pass out on your shared bed.
Or so he thought…
Once he walked inside his house taking off his shoes and you came to the door to greet him he wrapped an arm around you weakly. “Hey Lovie. M'a little tired think I’m gonna take a nap.” “Tough day at work?” “Mhm, care to join me?” That’s exactly when you got a brilliant idea. 
“Oh definitely give me 5 minutes okay?” “Can’t promise I’ll still be awake sweetheart but alright.” He spoke up to you as he pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead and walked up stairs to your bedroom to change into comfortable clothes and lay down. 
And you? You ran off into the bathroom for your nice surprise. You had a nice G-string black thong on and a lacey black bra on you then put a little silky robe over yourself and ran to your bedroom.
“You seem excited to just take a nap Lovie, but are you gonna wear that robe to bed or do you have pajamas underneath it?” Is all you heard from your half-lidded husband who was laying in your shared bed in just his boxers. You didn’t answer and instead just took off your robe and laid under the blankets next to him. “You could say I have pajamas on.” “Hm? Are they new?” He asked you softly as he turned around and wrapped his arms around you noticing how bare you are he moved his hands around. “Hm…What are you wearing sweetheart?”
“See for yourself.” And as soon as you spoke up, he pulled the covers down and saw what covered you. “Holy fuckkk. You trying to kill me, Lovie?” He whispered to you as he pulled you up onto his lap
“Well..No I was just thinking you had a rough day so I could take care of you instead of you putting in all the work I figured you could just relax.” You sat on top of his lap as you took off your bra leaving your top half bare. He looked at you confused but then let you take full control as you pulled down his boxers and took off your panties he gripped your hips.
“What’cha doin sweetheart?” “Shh..Just enjoy it.” He looked at you confused then his eyes rolled into the back of his head when you lifted yourself up then lowered yourself right onto his cock. “Jesus-I don’t think I got the energy baby-” “No no, I’ll do all the work just relax.” You said to him softly as he hugged your waist with his arms and you wrapped your arms around his neck and started slowly rocking back and forth.
He groaned out in pleasure and hugged your waist tighter trying to tell you to go faster and you obliged. “Mm right there-fuckkk-Lovie that's it.” He kept groaning and babbling things to you as you kept riding him and you loved every second of it. Watching all the stress leave his body as pleasure and relaxation took over him.
You lazily kissed him on the lips as he slipped in some tongue. You started to bounce a little and that made him feral. He gripped so hard on your hips you know you’d have bruises tomorrow. But that was a later issue and all you focused on now is making sure your husband was pleased.
“M’gonna..” “Go ahead.” And just on cue he finished inside you lazily as you did the same. “Mm…Thank you for that Lovie.” He looked at you in your post-orgasam phase as you leaned onto his chest and nodded at him.
“You gonna hop off my cock lovie or are you just gonna stay there?” He chuckled to himself and then realized you fell asleep.He lifted you off gently and stroked your hair. He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead and fell asleep with you.
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THISSSS was so much fun to write thank you<3!!! 
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kelru · 3 months ago
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Sweet Nothing
Fluff, cozy
word count: around 1250 (i think!)
you and Ranpo enjoy a simple morning togheter at home!
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Waking up next to Ranpo was always an experience. The early morning light spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls of your shared apartment. You shifted under the blankets, slowly coming to your senses as you felt the familiar warmth beside you. Ranpo, unsurprisingly, was still sound asleep, his head buried under the pillow as if to ward off the sunlight.
He was not a morning person, that much was obvious.
You smiled to yourself, watching his peaceful expression for a moment longer before slipping out of bed. Your feet padded quietly against the wooden floor as you made your way into the kitchen, still half-asleep but determined to start the day.
Living with Ranpo had always been a bit of an adventure. Despite his brilliance, the man had a tendency to be…well, a little lazy. Especially when it came to the more mundane tasks like cooking, cleaning, or waking up before noon. But you didn’t mind. You’d fallen into a rhythm with him, a gentle back-and-forth of taking care of each other in ways that suited you both.
You hummed softly to yourself as you put the kettle on the stove, the quiet sound of water boiling filling the kitchen. While you waited for it to heat, you glanced over at the small, cluttered desk in the corner of the room, which was littered with Ranpo’s various snacks and unfinished puzzle books. He’d probably be hungry when he finally decided to roll out of bed, and you knew better than to wait for him to do something about it.
The toast popped up from the toaster, and just as you were about to butter it, you heard a faint shuffle behind you.
“Smells good…” came a groggy voice from the hallway.
You turned, catching sight of Ranpo standing in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas and rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. But even in his half-asleep state, he wore a lazy, lopsided grin.
“Morning,” you said with a soft laugh, holding out a piece of toast for him.
He shuffled closer, taking the toast from your hand without hesitation and immediately biting into it. “Mmm,” he mumbled, though it was hard to tell if he was actually awake or just moving on autopilot. Ranpo had a special ability to sleepwalk through breakfast, yet still be fully functional when it came to enjoying his favorite foods.
“Tea’s almost ready,” you told him, pouring a cup for yourself as he sat down at the table. He gave a sleepy nod, still munching on the toast with a content expression.
You sat down across from him, watching as he slowly came to life. It was a quiet moment, the kind you’d come to cherish since you started living together. Mornings weren’t always rushed or chaotic; sometimes, they were just filled with simple, peaceful routines like this.
“Are you going to sleep all day again?” you teased, sipping your tea as you watched him stretch lazily.
Ranpo flashed you a cheeky smile, finally seeming more awake. “Probably. I don’t have any cases today, so I might as well take it easy.”
“You always take it easy,” you replied, rolling your eyes with affection. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t help me with some of the chores later.”
He groaned, letting his head fall dramatically onto the table. “Chores? You’re really going to make me work on my day off?”
You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand as you gave him a playful look. “It won’t kill you, you know. Besides, you promised you’d help me reorganize the bookshelves.”
Ranpo lifted his head, peeking up at you with a pout. “But I hate cleaning. And organizing. It’s so boring.”
“You’re the world’s greatest detective,” you reminded him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure you can figure out a way to make it fun.”
He sighed, but you could see the small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fine, fine. But only if you promise to reward me with snacks afterward.”
“Deal,” you said with a grin, knowing full well that he’d probably make you do most of the work anyway. But that was just how things went with Ranpo—he had his way of doing things, and you’d learned to work around it.
After breakfast, the two of you settled into your respective routines. Ranpo sprawled out on the couch, fiddling with one of his puzzle books, while you started tidying up the living room. You couldn’t help but glance over at him from time to time, smiling to yourself at how relaxed he looked.
Living with Ranpo wasn’t always easy, but moments like this made it all worth it. There was a quiet intimacy to it—the way he would lounge around the apartment in his pajamas, completely at ease in your presence. The way he’d steal bites of your food when you weren’t looking, or the way he’d snuggle up to you during movie nights without a second thought.
You were lost in thought when Ranpo suddenly called out from the couch.
“Hey, come here,” he said, his voice playful.
You looked over at him curiously, setting down the dusting cloth as you walked over. “What is it?”
Ranpo patted the empty space beside him. “Come sit with me. You’ve been working too hard.”
You raised an eyebrow, though you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. “Is that your way of saying you’re bored and want attention?”
“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, stretching his arms out as if to invite you into his embrace.
With a soft laugh, you sat down beside him, letting him drape an arm around your shoulders. He pulled you close, resting his chin on top of your head as you both relaxed into the cushions. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, and you found yourself sinking deeper into the moment.
Ranpo sighed contentedly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your arm. “You know,” he said quietly, “I’m pretty lucky to have you around.”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden softness in his voice. “Where did that come from?”
He shrugged, though his grip around you tightened slightly. “I was just thinking. Living with you… it’s nice. It feels right.”
Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head up to look at him. Ranpo wasn’t always the best at expressing his feelings directly, but moments like this—when he let his guard down—were rare and precious.
“I feel the same way,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “Living with you… it makes everything better.”
Ranpo’s expression softened, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with something more genuine. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”
You smiled, your chest warm with affection as you cuddled closer to him. It wasn’t often that Ranpo was this openly affectionate, but when he was, it made your heart race. He had a way of making even the simplest moments feel special, like the two of you were the only ones in the world.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth as the quiet hum of the city filled the background. Ranpo’s fingers continued their lazy tracing on your arm, and you felt yourself drifting into a peaceful daze.
“I guess we’ll have to postpone those chores,” you mumbled, your voice drowsy.
Ranpo chuckled softly, his breath warm against your hair. “I don’t mind. This is way better.”
You couldn’t argue with that. The apartment could wait. For now, all that mattered was the quiet, gentle moment between you and Ranpo—just the two of you, living together in your own little world.
As you closed your eyes, you felt Ranpo’s lips brush lightly against your temple. “Love you,” he whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.
Your heart fluttered, and you smiled against his chest. “Love you too.”
In the peaceful comfort of your shared home, you knew that no matter what the day brought, you and Ranpo would always have these quiet moments to fall back on—moments filled with lazy mornings, sweet nothings, and the kind of love that made even the simplest days feel like something extraordinary.
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spinningwebsandtales · 1 year ago
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Imagine Gojo Convincing You To Sneak Out Of The Dorms
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Gojo Satoru X FemReader
Rating: G
Warnings: Breaking the rules with Gojo, fluff
Word Count: 1.2k
Part 2: here
(A/N:) I don’t know about y’all but I am LOVING the new season of Jujutsu Kaisen! I read the manga and keep up with all the chapters coming out but this was what I was most excited to see come to life. The arc that delves into the past is my top favorite and I love seeing student Gojo. So be prepared for some more Gojo fics and I even have a couple Toji fics lined up as well. If Gojo didn’t exist in the JJK universe I think I’d be a Toji fangirl through and through. Anyway I had to write this and sorry for my absence here lately hopefully that’ll make up for it! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess
You should have been asleep hours ago, but for some reason all you could do was lay in bed and look at the ceiling. The alarm clock at your bedside glowing in the darkness, reminding you of every minute that went by that you needed to get some sleep. Your frustrations grew when the time turned one in the morning and still sleep evaded you. You finally set up, the blankets bunching at your waist before reaching for the lamp at your bedside. You couldn’t even turn the switch when tapping came from your dorm window. You jumped, squeaking in surprise. With a trembling hand you turned on the lamp to spy a head of silvery white hair behind the glass. Gojo waved wildly, grinning like the cat that got the cream as he spotted you, wide awake. His ever present sunglasses reflecting the lamplight when you got up and walked to the window. He backed up giving you enough room to open it and peek your head out.
“What are you doing,” you seethed as you wanted to shout but had to stick with whispering angrily. “You scared me half to death!”
“Can’t sleep,” he asked while moving his body back and forth. It reminded you of rice moving in the wind. You snorted at the thought, as Gojo was slim and tall like rice. He cocked his head but you waved his curiosity away.
“No and now I really won’t be able to with my adrenaline going crazy thanks to you.”
“Let’s sneak out.”
Of course you should have known not to expect an apology from Gojo Satoru. You believed that he would burst into flames if he said ‘I’m sorry’. It wasn’t the powerful sorcerer in training’s style. But you found yourself drawn to him anyway as deep down despite his cocky attitude and devil may care attitude he was a good person. He would make a great teacher if he didn’t get kicked out from his incessant shenanigans first. You couldn’t believe the principal hadn’t gotten rid of him yet. Though you were sure it’s because Satoru was from the Gojo clan with a sprinkle of their teacher protecting him.
“No,” you answered your patience running short. “I’m sick of getting in trouble because of you.”
“We’ll be extra careful,” Gojo replied. “Those other times were just flukes.”
“And I’m sure leaving me alone to take the brunt of the blame was just a fluke too,” you retorted. “I’m not taking the fall for you anymore Satoru Gojo.”
You were about to shut the window in his face when he snagged the frame with his hand. His blue eyes staring straight through you as his sunglasses had slipped down his nose. You sucked in a breath as he grinned.
“We both know you ratted me out every time,” Gojo replied. You tried to pull the window close but his grip was firm and wouldn’t budge.
“I still got in trouble,” you said. There was no reason in lying to him as Gojo knew everything that happened in the school. And you weren’t ashamed at throwing him under the bus. It helped take your punishment down a notch. So if it helped you out and got the reason behind your bad behavior punished further, so be it. Gojo would do the same thing in the situation, if he actually cared about getting into trouble.
“C’mon,” he purred, “let’s go to the beach. You can’t sleep anyway.”
The beach did sound fun and despite yourself you felt your willpower beginning to flounder at every word and every glance in those heavenly blue eyes.
“Why don’t you go bother Geto,” you groaned. He chuckled before giving you a quick peck on the cheek. It stunned you but you didn’t let Gojo see how much the affection effected you. Climbing out of the window you stood beside your partner in crime within seconds. Your lamp still glowing on your bedside and the window ajar, you gently closed it back but not latching it. If you couldn’t get back into your room and you would have to bunk with Satoru and he wouldn’t let you sleep at all if you ever grew tired.
The city was asleep as you both rarely came across another person on the sidewalk you traversed. The ones you did run into turned out to be drunk office workers on their way home from drinking with their coworkers. Gojo would make fun of their stumbling gates as they passed by, which had you giggling into your hand. The air had a chill and you shivered at the icy breeze that passed through your night clothes. Despite acting like he didn’t care majority of the time about others unless ordered to, Gojo stepped closer every time pulling you into his side. His body though tall and lanky was well built and you blushed at the feeling of his toned form pressed against you. You only shoved him away after you warmed up and couldn’t take your burning cheeks anymore.
When you began to hear the waves lapping at the sandy shore did you take off running. Gojo quickly caught up and you both raced to the water. Of course he won and you wound up having to catch your breath halfway there. He teased you kicking at the water while all you could do was glare in his direction, which only made the young sorcerer laugh harder at your plight. Before you could finish regaining your strength, Gojo dashed across the sand again scooping you up and then running back to the water. You were sure he was going to throw you into the salty waves, but surprisingly he set you down gently in the sand. The lights of ships in the distance filled the night and the dock lights illuminated the golden sand. You breathed in deeply, filling your senses with fresh air. Though you knew if the principle found out you both had snuck out...again... you would be in horrible trouble you were glad you both snuck out. Your body wouldn’t allow you to sleep anyway and the atmosphere that surrounded the beach always soothed you no matter what. 
Gojo was quiet for the longest time letting you soak in the calming surroundings in peace. When you sighed and your shoulders drooped, he silently took your hand. You glanced up at the young man that was just a little older than you, his blue eyes glancing down at you. An unfamiliar light glimmered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to question it. You were about to say something when an enraged voice called from the docks. Both your names echoed across the water and your blood froze. Foiled again and it didn’t take long for Gojo to revert back to normal Gojo, except this time when he took off running you were in tow. Your feet churned up sand and you could barely keep up, but as the adrenaline surged you found yourself laughing in amusement. Gojo laughed with you as you both ran to make your escape. The thought of going back never crossed your mind as you lost yourself enjoying the escape that Gojo talked you into. You gripped his hand tighter and willed yourself to run faster, keeping up with his longer legs while the teachers tried their best to keep up. You were glad that you weren’t able to sleep as you would have missed this with him.
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fanfoolishness · 6 months ago
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Growing Pains
This one came to me as a combination of prompts from @thecoffeelorian (who sent Tech and Crosshair + Cadet as a prompt!) and @summer-of-bad-batch, whose week 1 prompt was water gun fight. Somehow my brain mashed them together and here we are!
Crosshair has trouble sleeping, but Tech has an idea for a distraction. Cadet Batch, brothers being brothers, pure fluff. ~1700 words.
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Tap tap tap.
Tap.
Tap tap.
Crosshair growled, rolling over in his bunk and kicking his legs out from under his blanket.  “Tech,” he warned.
There was no answer. Crosshair lay on his back, scowling up at the ceiling.  He reached down and rubbed his shins, wincing.  They throbbed and ached. 
More growing pains. He was so sick of them.  Nala Se said they were normal, that pain medication wouldn’t help. Crosshair wished he could just grow up already and be done with them.
He lifted his hand, nibbling at the dry skin around his fingernails, biting at it until he tasted blood.  He frowned, balling his hand into a fist and jerking it away.
Tap tap.
“Will you stop tinkering and go to sleep?” Crosshair hissed.  
“Hm?” Tech asked from across the room, where he was working on a half-scuttled battle droid under the light of a single glow lamp.
What he was doing with it, Crosshair had no idea, but the nagging tapping wasn’t helping him get to sleep any faster.  Especially not with the way his shins pulsed and ached.
“Put that thing away and go to sleep,” Crosshair snapped. “Haven’t you noticed it’s been lights out for hours?”
“You can usually sleep through my projects,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles. He got up, padding over to Crosshair and peering closely at him. Despite the late hour Tech looked as alert as ever, though his brownish hair was rumpled and dark grease smudged his cheeks.  “Why are you still awake?”
Crosshair sat up with a scowl.  “Because you’re annoying.”
Tech raised his eyebrows at him, unperturbed. “I’m no more annoying than I usually am.”
Crosshair sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.  “My legs hurt,” he confessed.  
“Oh. Growing pains.  They’re no fun.”  Tech paused, looking closely at him.  He reached out and grabbed Crosshair’s hand, examining his fingers.  “You should stop biting those, you know.”
“Shut up.”  He yanked his hand away.  “I know.  I just -- I start and it’s hard to stop sometimes.  Especially if something else is bugging me.”
Tech sat down beside him, sitting with him back to back.  Crosshair felt some of his tension fade, and he leaned into his brother, closing his eyes.  He was so tired.
But his legs twinged, as painful as ever.
“So why aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked Tech, trying to keep his mind off his legs.
“I’m trying to figure out how to reprogram this droid,” Tech said.  “Make it fight for us instead.  I know it’s a training droid, so it won’t really be fighting at all, but it’s good practice.  Maybe it’s something I could do on the battlefield, once we get our shot.”  
“Huh,” said Crosshair, impressed.  “That would be good.”  He was quiet for a minute, thinking.  “Don’t you get tired staying up, though?  You could do this stuff during the day.”
Tech fiddled with his goggles.  “I could.  But we have other training then.  I want to learn as much as I possibly can, but since we grow so quickly, that translates into less time.”  He shrugged.  “And I don’t really get tired when I’m focused.  It’s as if I go into my own little world.”
Crosshair stifled a snort.  That was an understatement.  “I’ve noticed,” he said, but considered.  He thought he knew what Tech meant.  “Like when I’m planning a really hard shot?  Everything else goes away.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Crosshair wished he had that kind of focus now.  His legs ached with another horrible set of pulses, and he rubbed at them with both hands, swearing under his breath.
“It’s particularly bad tonight, isn’t it?” 
“Yeah,” Crosshair admitted.
“You know what helps me?” Tech asked.  “Distraction.  I may have just the thing.”  He trotted back to his tangles of wires and tools.  Crosshair watched him, wondering if they’d wake up Wrecker and Hunter.  But Hunter had buried his head under his pillow, and Wrecker could sleep through anything.
“If you want me to tear apart droids with you, thanks but no thanks,” said Crosshair. He was okay with basic datapad work, but hopeless at the intricate stuff Tech managed to do without breaking a sweat.  “They don’t make any sense to me.”
“You could learn if you wanted. You’re very bright.  Not at my level, but still —“
“Tech.”
Tech finished rummaging in his pile of projects and came back to Crosshair, pressing something into his hands.  “Here.”
Crosshair looked down at what appeared to be a small white blaster, but with a curious tank attached to it.  He lifted it and heard it slosh.  “What is it?”
“A water blaster,” said Tech. “They won’t let us have real blasters to practice with in here, of course, but I thought I’d try making something like this for practice.”  He held up a little board of shiny white material with a black target drawn on it.  “Where do you want this?”
Crosshair grinned.  “Across the room. Give me a challenge.”
“You might find it’s more of one that you think,” said Tech. “You’ll have to account for gravity, and the minimal propulsive capabilities of this water blaster compared to the real thing.”
“Hm. I’ll be the judge of that,” said Crosshair, experimentally squirting Tech with the blaster between the eyes.  Water dripped down his nose and splattered on his goggles.
“Very funny,” Tech said, mopping his forehead and lenses with his sleeve.  He flashed Crosshair one of his little half-smiles.  “All right, let me find a spot to stick this.”
“Try over here,” Hunter groaned. “Since you two are keeping me awake anyway.”  He tapped the top of his bunk.  “I think… it’ll take Crosshair four tries before he gets a bullseye.”
“Four?” Crosshair asked, offended, as Tech affixed the target above Hunter’s bunk, across the room.  He took aim with the blaster, lining up his shot, figuring that the water would take a parabolic motion at that distance.  He fired slightly higher than the target —
And the water splashed harmlessly onto the floor a good meter away.  
Crosshair stared at the dry target, infuriated.  “You didn’t tell me this thing had no power!”
“Well, look at it,” Tech chuckled. “Do you see a power source? I just put it together with some spare casing material and a simple plunger. It’s significantly limited.  That’s why I had it set aside, I’m sure I could design something much more effective if I had the time.”  Tech sat down again amongst his wires, resuming his fiddling.
Hunter yawned, sitting up and running a hand through his shaggy hair.  “Maybe four was too generous. Maybe I should make it five tries.”
Crosshair glowered.
“What are you all blabbering about?” Wrecker mumbled. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”
“Crosshair’s trying out a new weapon,” Hunter said.  Which was the wrong thing to say around Wrecker.
“What!” Wrecker cried in excitement.  He tried to get out of his bunk, but was so tangled in his blankets that he rolled onto the floor with a thump.  From there he propped himself up on his elbows, all hint of sleepiness forgotten.  “New weapon? Where’d you get it? How’d you sneak it in? What’s it do? Can’t believe you were holding out on me —“
“It’s Tech’s. It’s just a water blaster, and not a very good one,” Crosshair said, taking aim, adjusting based on the disappointing performance of his last shot.  He experimented by slightly covering the barrel of the pistol with his fingernail, narrowing the opening, and shot a jet of water out the end. It sailed across the room, falling short of the target again but hitting Hunter square in the face.
He grinned.  That would do nicely.
“Oh that does it, Crosshair,” Hunter grumbled, wiping his face off.  “Tech! You got any more of these things?”
“Yes, I made enough for all of us,” Tech said mildly.  “Though as I said before, the design could be better…” He searched through his piles of debris and pulled out three more blasters, tossing one each to Hunter and Wrecker before whirling and squirting them both in the face with his own.
“Oh, it’s on!” Wrecker roared, rolling out of his blankets and squirting Tech three times, then training his blaster on Crosshair.
“Oh no you don’t —“
The battle was pitched and bloody.  Crosshair leapt from his bunk to take cover behind the crate that held their dirty laundry, sending out jets of water that spritzed his brothers dead in the face every time.  Wrecker charged him, wearing a blanket as armor, water from his blaster flying everywhere.  Hunter circled around on the outskirts of the fray, catching Tech from behind, but Tech pulled out a secret fifth water blaster and squirted both Hunter and Crosshair at once. 
They howled with battle cries, erupting into a mad scuffle in the center of the room, water splashing into the air, limbs a tangled frenzy.  
“I’m gonna get you!”
“I’d like to see you try!”
“You’re all dead!”
“We’ll see who has the upper hand now!”
At last the battle came to a close.  By the time they flopped onto their backs panting with exhaustion, Wrecker had a (self-inflicted) bloody nose, Hunter’s head was drenched, Tech’s goggles were halfway across the room and Crosshair had stolen all five of the blasters for himself.  
“We should do this every night,” Wrecker snorted, pinching his nose shut.
Hunter laughed, elbowing him.  “Well, it was pretty fun.”
“It was certainly a good distraction.”
Crosshair took aim with one of his blasters at the target over Hunter’s bunk.  The spray drenched the bullseye perfectly.  “There.  Three,” he said in triumph, sticking his tongue out at Hunter.
“Haha, nice one, Cross!”
“Ahhh, I knew you had it in you.  I only said four to piss you off.”
“Not that that is difficult.”
“Hey, that’s -- okay, that’s true.”
Crosshair lay on his back near his brothers, still catching his breath, his eyelids getting heavy.  He put his hands under his head and stretched out on the floor.  With the blankets Wrecker had managed to hurl around the room beneath him, he was pretty comfortable.  
Comfortable enough to stay here, just a little longer.  He yawned and his eyes fell closed.  
He drifted off to sleep, and his legs didn’t hurt at all.
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starrayblogs · 1 year ago
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Not So Rock-Hearted || Floyd (Trolls) x Reader
a/n: hey again! c: likes and reblogs are appreciated, so have a fun read! also i'm open to asks about this story, like stuff about the reader, floyd, etc :D feel free to send an ask!
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✩ previous chapter
iii. Put Us Together
You woke up in Poppy’s pod to two empty beds. You also wake up to two cheery voices chatting it up outside the pod. You groan, rub your eyes, and get up from the bed. You recognize Viva’s hair by the silhouette outside and make your way to the door, which abruptly opens before you can even get close.
“Good morning!” Viva greets you, spinning you by your hands a few times.
“Veev…” You yawn once she stops. You smile gently, greeting her back. “Morning, did I sleep in?”
“Actually, no! You woke up just in time, because me and Poppy just have some stuff to do, and I was just about to inform you that we’ll be away for the morning.” Viva explains with a wide grin.
“Oh? Where to? Maybe I can bring you guys there.” You offer, rolling your shoulders. 
“Nah, we got it! We’ll be back before lunch, so feel free to make yourself at home!” Viva hugs you before pulling away, waving bye along with Poppy. “Byeee!”
You watch them drag each other away, and you're too half-awake to even process anything properly, so you don’t care enough to think about it. You step outside the pod, walking on the grassy plain. When you feel yourself becoming hungry, you place your hand on your stomach and notice something missing. Your guitar. You keep patting yourself rapidly, thinking of where you could’ve left it.
‘Must’ve left it Branch’s,’ you think. ‘I’ll pick it up and maybe get another bowl of menudo.’ You wrap your hair around a branch and swing yourself gradually to the bottom. You unexpectedly land right in front of Floyd.
“Oh.” You say, raising your brows in pleasant surprise. “Hey, Cotton Candy.” 
“Is that my nickname now?” He slightly tilts his head with a smile, crossing his arms.
“Well, you look like one, you know.” You shrug your shoulders with a smirk. “Your hair’s shaped like if it were on a cone.”
He laughs softly. Can his voice even match the sweet you just compared him to? His mouth opens to reply, but your rumbling stomach cuts him off. “Did you just wake up?” He asks, unfurling his arms.
“Ah, yeah…” You awkwardly clear your throat and ruffle your hair a bit. “I was just about to go back to Branch’s bunker.” You explain.
“Oh, I just came from there. Do you want me to come with you?” He motions behind him, his head nudging back in the direction he came from.
“I wouldn’t mind. I need to pick up my guitar anyway, I think I left it there.” You scratch behind your head as you start to follow Floyd, who is beginning to lead the way back to the bunker.
“Ah, I noticed you did.” Floyd looks at you briefly. “I kept it safely after you left, don’t worry.”
There’s an invisible weight that you don’t even notice lifting from your shoulders. Your smile softens as you place a hand on your chest, relieved. “Thanks, Floyd. I kinda felt my heart drop earlier when I didn’t feel my guitar strap.”
He hums, leading you up to the rock again. “Is it important to you?” He looks at you again for a moment before he slides the rug. 
“It was a gift.” You say softly, jumping down the hole. You watch Floyd follow in and place back the rug. “Uhm… I, uh, It means a lot to me. So, I make sure to keep it with me at all times.”
“I guess the party distracted you?” Floyd chuckles, pulling on the lever and having the platform slide down.
You laugh before covering it up with a cough. Floyd looks at you with surprised eyes, which you play off with a quick chuckle. “Ha, yeah… You guys really gave a show last night.” You praise the performance he and his brothers gave.
He chuckles, smiling so softly that his eyes close at that moment. “Thank you.” He says as soon as the platform reaches the ground. “I can say the same about you. Your voice was amazing last night, I was blown away.” He compliments you. Your eyes widen and blink a few times, watching him walk off the platform and further into the bunker.
You don’t notice your cheeks heating up a bit, but you can feel the giddy smile on your face一which you quickly wipe away with a nervous laugh. “You too!” You return the compliment, getting off the platform. “I’ve never heard a voice as gentle as yours, it was beautiful.” You say.
You see him lock up as he picks up a bowl from the counter. You fear you said something wrong, but he turns his neck to look at you with a soft laugh. “Come on, eat something.” He motions with his head for you to come to him.
You walk up to him and get handed a bowl of hot menudo. “Thanks.” You say quietly, grabbing the spoon.
“I’ll get your guitar. Be right back.” You watch him walk away for a bit before you look down at your bowl, eating the menudo quietly with a small smile.
He comes back after a minute, carefully holding your guitar. You quickly swallow the food in your mouth and set the bowl on the counter, rushing to get your guitar back. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much, Cotton Candy.” You say with relief, wearing your guitar again and adjusting the strap so it’s behind you.
When you look up after adjusting your strap, he’s looking at you with a smile.  “You're welcome.” He says softly.
His voice pulls at something inside you again, making you clutch the strap as your eyes take him in. He really is like cotton candy. He’s soft in all ways possible, from the way he looks at you to that gentle smile. You break eye contact when you feel like your lips curve too much, coughing into your fist.
“Yeah, yes… A-anyway, where are your brothers?” You bring back your relaxed, cool smirk. 
“Oh, they told me they’re helping Poppy and Viva prepare lunch,” Floyd said. “Actually, Bruce told me that I should go to you.” He motions a hand to you briefly, and you blink.
“Me? He said to go to me?” You repeat, raising a brow and tilting your head.
“Yeah, he said that I should stay behind and make sure your morning goes smoothly... Then you kind of dropped in front of me.” He chuckles when he looks back at you.
You laugh a bit when you remember what happened this morning. “Ah, sorry if I surprised you.”
“I don’t mind.” He reassures you with a smile, which you briefly return. “Did you enjoy the menudo?”
“Ugh, yes. Your brother has got to drop that recipe.” Your knees bend a bit as you rock your hands in a pleading motion to exaggerate your point. He laughs.
“I don’t think even he knows. His wife made it.”
“You mean that tall vacaytioner?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“How do they even make that work?” You squint your eyes in a confused manner, your hands coming up.
Floyd’s eyes widen, and his smile turns into a line. “I don’t… know?” He replies slowly. You two stare at each other, confused, for a bit before breaking out into a laugh.
“Oh, there you two are.” You break into a coughing fit and quickly turn away from the source, collecting yourself.
“Ah, Branch, you guys are back.” Floyd welcomes his brother naturally after he relaxes from his laugh. You turn around to wave once you’ve calmed down too, bringing back your cool, hard rock vibe.
“Uh, yeah! Poppy’s looking for you two. She wants to give a tour around the village before lunch.” Branch scratches behind his ear before motioning for you two to get on the platform.
“Sounds great.” Floyd says, stepping away first. He looks behind to make eye contact with you. “What do you think?”
You hum. “I guess I wouldn’t mind. I didn’t stick around this place long enough.” You shrug, walking up to him and making your way together to Branch.
"Well, get ready for a walk.” Branch comments, pulling the lever again to lift the three of you.
When you leave the bunker, everyone’s waiting outside by the rug. You wave at them, watching Branch walk to Poppy, who whispers something in his ear. You tilt your head, but Viva rushes up to you and grabs your hands.
“Sooo, how was your morning?” She asks with a grin.
“Oh, it was…” You glance at Floyd, but you quickly bring your eyes back to Viva. “It was great. I had a great morning.” You notice him look at you after you reply to Viva, and your head turns to him to give him a cheeky smirk. “Cotton Candy kept me company.” You comment before looking back at your friend.
“Cotton Candy?” She tilts her head. You nudge your head in Floyd’s direction, and Viva follows before she lets out a gasp. “Ohhh.” She turns to you with a wide grin, giggling to herself. “I seeeee.” She leans close to your face with a sly smile.
“Yeah, you could say I had a sweet morning too.” You emphasize ‘sweet’ as a pun to distract yourself from how warm your cheeks feel.
✩ next chapter
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nameuserlee · 4 months ago
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“The heartless are the most faithful.”
Another part of Sylus’ lines compilation, all from interacting with him at the café. He is the gift that keeps on giving. Part 4 (links back to part 3, and so forth.)
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“People who don't overthink things tend to sleep well. I'll think about you more when I can't sleep.” (I might be missing a few words here, I only got the first half of the line.)
“Having more plants in the bedroom isn't always good. You don’t need to keep bringing some back for me. They don’t produce oxygen when I'm awake.”
“You got me. I do have something in my hand that will pique your interest, sweetie. Have you decided what you’ll trade for it?”
“Is this a ticklish spot? I’m checking so you don’t accuse me of sneaking up on you later.”
“I found your weak spot. Heh, I won’t go easy on you now.” (Choose “Don’t do it!") “Good. I’ll take my time finding all your sensitive spots when I make my move.” (Choose "Nope.")
“How do we compare neck lengths? With a ruler?”(I’m sorry but LMAO.)
“You want to leave your scent here [on my neck]? You’ll have to work for it.”
“Are you planning to tie a red ribbon around my neck as if I’m your present?”
“(Y/N), keep it up. I like feeling your breath on my skin.”
“Your lips almost brushed against mine. It was hot.”
“I often place my hand here [on my heart] as well. It makes me feel alive.”
“(Y/N), does rummaging through my belongings provide a joyful experience? Your tail’s standing up straight, kitten. We should get a mirror so you can see for yourself.”
“At the fashion show, I saw a dress with the night sky stitched over a river. I ordered one for you. It'll be sent once the measurements are correct.”
“The scenery on page 37 of the travel magazine you were looking at a few days ago is nice. When we’re free, let’s clear our minds. Should we make that place our travel destination?”
“Do you want a distraction? Night fishing might work. If you spend one whole night fishing, you might get things like drift bottles, tattered hats, or plastic dinosaurs. They’re just jokes that fate throws at you.”
“When you feel like night fishing next time, head straight for that shop by the sea. Should I have someone get the yacht ready? We can set sail tonight.”
“Why am I inviting you to go fishing? No reason in particular. If I must give one… I’ve never a kitten catch a fish before. I’m very curious.”
“You already have Luke and Kieran acting like they’re your henchmen?”
“Anyone who has crossed me isn't active for long. Do you think you’ll be any different?”
“Those people's tracking skills are laughably bad. I lost them by just taking a random turn.”
“Do you see those 'little sparrows' keeping watch outside the window? Let’s make a bet. Guess how many will remain after a gunshot.”
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He's a menace, what can I say. A cheeky, thoughtul, playful, and secretly sweet menace. I'm still cackling about that ruler line, btw. Let me go get one actually, hold still-
I think this'll be the last part for a while, I'm trying to raise his affinity level now. I've already exhausted basically all of the interesting lines I came across. Hope these were fun for you as much as they were for me :)
edit: he then proceeded to spew like five more new lines at me what a TREAT. might be able to squeeze one more compilation after all.
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