ImpulsiveThoughts@2Am

Requests Open!! 19-20ish (Working through Requests and Drafts)

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

GENERAL BLOG INFO:

(Please read!)

-Masterlists

-Blog Rules

-Request Rules

-Mha

-JJK

-Legends of Avantris (LOA)

-Spy x Family

-Nightvale

-Hazbin Hotel

-Helluva Boss

-Gravity Falls

-Call of Duty

* While I write for all of these (among my own ocs and what-not) I tend to hyper-fixate on one and write a lot for that one fandom for a bit.

-I take both nsfw and sfw requests!

-I can only take so many requests at a time, So please don’t rush me, I’m trying my best

-Please be nice! I read all requests and am happy to write for you, but I will block if you are mean or excessively pushy

-I will not answer super personal questions. Don’t send me nudes or talk to me about your/or my genitalia please.

-If you don’t like my work, don’t read it

-I’m happy to write character x reader and character x character. I will now officially write person specific reader stories, by request only!

-I have the right to not write your request.

-Please remember that I am a full time student, I work and have ADHD. I will complete requests when I can, but this is supposed to be fun for me too!

-Pedophilia and Incest will be ignored and you will be blocked.

-Please be nice

-MDNI please, this rule used to be different but as I’ve grown up I’ve realized that I’m no longer comfortable with minors reading my work regardless of the content you’ve access before. I you will probably ignore this, but I am asking nicely!

-I write a lot LGBT+ ships so if that makes you uncomfy don’t read it

-I try to make majority of my work gender neutral, but it won’t always be

-Please feel free to like and comment, but don’t repost or reblog my work on other medias.

-The point of this blog is to have a safe space for me to write, this blog is also a safe space for everyone, so please be kind to others as well!

-No Incest

-No Pedophilia

-Thank you so much and I can’t wait to get your requests!

-Currently working on Masterlists, please be patient with me!

Things to know before you follow:

This isn’t just politics to me, this is my life.

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Heya ! It's me again !

I love your fanfictions so much I couldn't resist requesting another because, mh, your work is literally *chef kiss* delicioso. (Probably the only Spanish word I know)

Anyway, I was wondering if you could maybe write a story where the reader is an angel that lives in hell, not because they've fallen but because they just think that heaven suck. But anyway, Vox doesn't know that but one day the reader becomes sick because they've been out of heaven for too long and they need to go back but Vox can't handle it because, well, he cares about them ! And maybe add some spice too... Ooouuuuh.

I don't really know what else to say so... I'll let the rest up to you ! :3

I'll definitely keep reading your works, you're the best ! :D

Awww thank youuuu!!!

@cosmossupernova Let me start by saying that im extremely sorry that you've waited two years for this. The last two years have been simultaneously the worst and bes years of my life. I've done something pretty close to your ask, sorry if its not perfect. I have a couple parts to it! enjoy part one! I love and appreciate you as a moot, and everyone who reads this. Thanks for always sticking around!

Heaven Fell for Me

Vox x Angel!Reader

(Tws: explicit language, sexual harassment mentioned, sexual harassment implied, workplace abuse implied, sex work, sex work implied, pimping implied, implied fear of drugging/poisoning, vox is an ass but we love him anyway, doesn't exactly follow the ask but pretty close, lmk if i missed any!!) Ch.1

(Content Under the Cut)

The bright stage lights beat down on your skin. You didn’t mind the slight layer of sweat that stuck to your skin, something about the glow it left under the lights made you all the more appealing for the audience. 

Your hips rolled in time to the music, head tipping back as you dropped slowly to your knees. You crawled towards the cheering crowd circling your hips and dipping your shoulders as you moved. 

You were the epitome of sexy. 

You flashed a smile at your captive audience. You danced like a spider, delicate and well-placed movements luring in the crowds' eyes and stealing their attention. Your wings flared out as the music came to a stop. 

The air seemed to rush back into your lungs all at once. You bowed, sending a wink towards a random fan, before walking backstage. 

Cries for an encore rang through the bar.

“Not bad out there tonight. Not bad at all.” Your boss said, his voice low but content. 

“How much do you think we made tonight?” 

“Well, with those moves and that little blue outfit from your admirer? I’d say enough to upgrade the lounge seats.”

“And my cut?” You asked, propping your hands on your hips.

“Speaking of your admirer. He wants to meet you.” He purred, brushing past your question. 

“He, what? Do I have to?” Your eyes widened as your lips pursed in a pout.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sweets. He pays for a nice chunk of that shitty apartment you call home.”

“That doesn’t mean I should have to meet the guy. He’s probably a creep.”

“Yeah well the Creep is keeping my business alive and you are going to meet him, ya hear me?” He chided, his voice rising steadily.

“No. I keep your damn business alive. It’s my dancing that pays for all of this!” You snapped, sweeping your arm out in front of you gesturing towards the entire room.

Your boss chuckled, before stepping towards you. His hand grabbed your wrist tightly. He pulled you close to him, and whispered in your ear.

“You would be no one without me. I gave you this job. I let you keep your damn angelic morals. I’m the one that made sure you weren’t being bought out for the night like all my other girls. I let you do your stupid dances. So let’s make one thing very clear, little girl. I gave you everything, and I can take it all away. You do what I want, when I want. Understood?” His voice sent shivers down your spine, and had bile rising in your throat.

His other hand grabbed at your chin. His fingers pressed into your delicate skin before he jerked your face up to meet his eyes.

“I said, do you understand?” His nostrils flared.

“Y-yes.”you stammered.

“Yes, what?” His growled, baring his sharp, yellowed, saliva slicked teeth at you.

“Yes, Sir.” You breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “Good girl.” He purred. The sound sent ripples of disgust down your nerves. “Now go get changed. I want you wearing something a little more revealing for our esteemed guest.” Biting back the venom on your lips, you nodded stiffly and slipped back downstairs towards the private changing room. Fucker. Dirty fucker. Selling you out like some cheap doll. The blue costume felt sticky from the sweat that lined the inside of the fabric. Good, now you felt as gross on the outside as you did on the inside. Your hands peeled the slick fabric away from your body with a grimace at the grimy mirror of the vanity. You threw on a dress, something between seductive and innocent. A backless dress that highlighted your white wings, but with a deep enough cleavage, and high enough thigh slit that it left little for the imagination. All you had to do now was wait. You scoffed, rushed along to wait forever. *** You stared at your phone. You’d have to text Charlie and let her know you’d be home late. She’d worry. She always did. A smile almost graced your mouth at the fleeting thought. Charlie was always there to take care of you after a hard night. Even when she tried to get you to quit your job, but she didn’t get it. No, you didn’t need a job in hell. No one really did. You liked it though. Liked being seen, adored, dancing on that stage surrounded by the shifty colorful residents of the clubbing district. It all kept the monotonous boredom at bay. The kind of boredom that seeped into your very bones and pulled at the little bit of life you had left in your silly little soul. Charlie was quick to respond with far too many emojis, finally pulling a gentle grin from you. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror. A dark bruise was already forming on your jaw from where your boss grabbed your face earlier. Lovely. Nothing says “keep paying my bills” to your creepy admirer like bruises on your face. Clicking your tongue you snatched up makeup and hastily dabbed it on as a sharp knock rapped on your dressing room door. “Get out here! Taking too damn long!” His voice was crude and gruff. You really hated your boss. You could almost smell his rancid, curling breath through the door…almost. “Relax, I’m coming!” “Not unless that perv pays you to!” He shouted back, banging on the door once again. You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to respond to that ridiculous notion, and opened the door. His hands grabbed your arm and pulled you from the room. He ignored the yelp of pain that spilled from your throat, as his nails dug into your skin, leaving behind angry red half crescents. Fent, most likely named after what killed him, was an ass. There was no nicer word for him. And most nights you disliked him. Some nights you hated him. Tonight was no different. Fent was a terrible boss, though you supposed there could be worse, this was hell after all. Fent was rude, abrasive at best, and would do almost anything for a quick buck. He muttered under his breath, something about being an ungrateful bitch who was wasting his time and his client’s money. Not that he actually cared about keeping his client waiting. Not unless it was costing him a dime. 

He pulled you through the mass of grinding sweaty bodies on the floor. You were thankful that no one tried to cop a feel when Fent was with you. As much as you hated him, he had his uses. No one touched what was “his” without paying a hefty price. Fent dragged you up the stairs to the vip lounges and the private “dance” rooms. Your nose crinkled at the lewd sounds that slipped under the doors. You just prayed that your “secret admirer” didn’t request the glass room. The sleek black heels you wore clicked as you walked towards the last two rooms. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding a breath until it hissed between your teeth as Fent stopped at the second to last door. A solid wood polished until it gleamed under the low lights like a warning.

Thank Satan. The glass room was the last door. Small victories. 

Fent shoved you forward. “Smile,” Fent drawled, “Or I'll staple one on.”

You bit your tongue, holding back the response that sat at the tip of it. One hand worked to smooth your hair while the other straightened your wings. The expression on your face was schooled into something coy and sweet. Just enough to look willing, but not eager.

Fent knocked once before pushing open the heavy door.

The room was dim, the atmosphere cooled by the soft blue lighting. It cast dark shadows over the work leather couches. The center of the room was a small stage and a single pole, all light from below with the same soft blue glow. A humanoid figure lounged on the couch, legs spread slightly, and posture relaxed in a way that suggested power and wealth, over comfort. A faint glow haloed their head in a strange squared off shape. He wasn't what you had expected. With a tentative step you were closer now. In that gentle halo of light around his head you could make out a face. A tv-face. Not the strangest demon you had seen you supposed. He was different. Not the drooling ghoul you had expected. No leering eyes, or large wandering hands. No wicked snarl on his face that told of horrific plans. No. This one just looked expensive. Tall, and dressed in a delectable navy suit that looked like it was tailored by sin itself. His expression was unreadable. No hungry grin, no sleazy lick of the lips. Just calm digitized eyes that passed over with a glance and then focused on Fent. “You may go.” The stranger spoke. His voice; low and even, as though he were bored. Fent stiffened, on hand coming up to hold your waist. As much as you hated the feeling of his hands on you, you knew better than to move out of his grasp. The stranger’s eyes clocked the movement of Fent’s hands.

“She’s on the clock an-” “Leave.” A single and solitary word. There was no anger, no threat. Just a simple expectation uttered in one simple syllable. And Fent, your vile, cigarette-stained, always angry boss hesitated. He swallowed slowly, jaw working like he was chewing tobacco, and then forced a smile and backed out of the room. The door clicked shut leaving you basked in the blue, and tapping your fingers against your side to the mild jazz that played on the overhead speakers. Your palms felt sweaty. No. They felt clammy. The kind of cool sweat that coated your skin before danger. The man stood and walked toward you slowly, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. When he stopped in front of you, he didn’t touch, didn’t leer, just looked. Looked, as though he had all the time in the world. “Your dancing is beautiful. You’re incredibly talented. It's almost like you move to be seen, not to be watched” He said, tipping his tv head just slightly. You were too shocked to reply. This was not the usual compliment you were given. Not the usual line thrown at you. His eyes skimmed you, flicking to the bruise on the edge of your jaw that your make up didn’t quite hide. “Your employer is a parasite,” he murmured contemplatively, “parasites are only useful until they’re not.” He hummed lowly, a conversation to himself without any words. The stranger sidesteps and gestures to the leather couch. “Please, sit. I believe you’ve worked enough for one night,” He said. “I only danced a couple times.” You replied, muscles tensing at his offer to rest. “I will triple the pay you make in one night, if you sit down and have a meal with me. You don’t even have to sit next to me.” Locking your jaw to keep from dropping it open, you stared at him. Was he fucking with you? Relenting to his watchful eyes, you crossed the room and perched on the edge of the couch. He followed, and sat on the opposite side of the couch, on the armrest. His legs were long in his fine navy suit. You smiled politely when his eyes stayed on you. He lifted a hand and snapped once. The door opened and a hot meal was brought in immediately. Straightening your back, you tried to hide your surprise. You didn’t even know your workplace had a kitchen. The food was warm and smelled divine, untouched by the club’s grimy claws. The smell alone made your stomach twist in hunger. How long had it been since you had had a real meal?

He didn’t move towards the food, simply watched and waited, his electronic eyes still on their vibrant blue screen. Hesitantly you reached for the warm roll and the small side cup of what could only be cinnamon butter. You loved cinnamon butter, how did this stranger know that? The stranger made no move to interfere as you brought the bread up to your lips and sunk your teeth into the fluffy light dough. You moaned in delight, catching yourself when you saw a smirk split his digital lips. Heat creeped up your neck and cheeks when he smiled at you. You hadn’t meant to make such a suggestive sound, but the bread was really that good. It briefly occurred to you that he could’ve spiked the meal, and you rushed to put the rest of the bread down. “Do you like dancing? It must be exhilarating to be adored by so many.” He asked

“People usually only watch because they want something from me.” “Oh? And what's that?” He asked innocently, but you were sure that a man of his status knew. You indulged him anyway. “Sex. Money. Fame. A plaything. Everyone wants something.” You said, voice clipped and dripping with disgust.

A slow smirk spread across his face. “I do.” You said quietly under his stare. It wasn’t unnerving, but it was certainly intense. 

One of his eyebrows raised slowly, a contemplating look. 

“Dancing. I do like dancing. I’d like to think I always have.” You murmur, suddenly shy under his gaze. 

You weren’t sure why you felt like you needed to answer his question. You never felt the need to do that for anyone else. “You’d like to think?” “I don’t remember my life on earth.” You said it carefully, it was rare that people made the connection that you were a real angel. Your wings flexed uncomfortably behind you. “Do you miss it?” He asked, his eyes tracing your wings. You swallowed. “Miss what?” “Heaven. Obviously.” Your mouth slipped open with a gasp. 

He chuckled, a wolfish smile splitting his face. “I’m not stupid, Doll. I know exactly what you are.” You froze briefly. Hell was full of all kinds of dangerous people. People who had no problem getting their hands dirty. Demons who would do anything for a cheap fix. But you knew better. None of them were as dangerous as the demon who sat before you now. The kind of person who puppeteered every miniscule detail under their command. The kind of power that only came from being able to take someone’s mind and turn it around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said steadily, and flattened your expression. “Of course you do. Come on, sweetheart. Playing dumb doesn’t look good on you.” He said his eyes twinkled from the way you seemed to curl in a little more. The kind of man who knew just what he was capable of, and relished in it. 

You tugged at the hem of your dress, pulling it over your thigh just a touch more. “If you know so much, why ask?” You snapped back and he snorted. “I just want to hear it from you. I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, but you could hear what he didn’t say. Yet. he wouldn’t hurt you…yet. Avoiding his question you turned to him. “What do you want from me? You’ve paid for the hour. Do you want it or not?” You asked, eager to end this. His eyes narrowed, but the smile stayed. “What do I want? I want something you wouldn’t even begin to know how to give, Doll. But no, it's not sex. Though I highly doubt you’d know how to satisfy a man like me anyway.” A scowl rose to your face. How dare he. Sure, you couldn’t remember your human life, and you never let Fent rent you out for the night, but you sure as hell knew how to please someone. This asshole was too damn cocky for his own good.  Your fists clenched and you stood abruptly.

“I think we’re done here.” You seethed through clenched teeth.

He only smiled. Satan above, you wanted to punch his stupid screen face in. Who cares if he was kind of handsome. He was an ass.

He looked at his clawed hands like checking a manicure as you walked out.

Just as you reached the door, hand on the knob, you heard it.

“Say hi to Charlie for me. Shame that little hotel of hers is failing.” He hummed, his voice even, teasing almost.

The door knob grew warm in your hand. What the fuck did he just say to you? How did he know where you were an angel? How did he know you were staying at the hotel? The blood under your skin boiled. Who did this guy think he was?

“Who the hell are you?” You asked without turning around.

“Ah, finally asking the good stuff. I was wondering how long it would take you. You can call me Vox.”

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Chapter 4 to MTS!!! Yay! im caught up now!! Please consider giving some love to my co-creator @deaddrgnhrte

More Than Strangers (Chapter 4)

Soap x Ghost

(Tws: soap creates adult content, ghost watches adult content, Soap and Gaz have a love-hate relationship, character real names are used, strong language, kyle is a dick but we love him anyway, Soap x Konig, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, mildly public sex, strong language, lmk if i missed any!!)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3

(NSFW Under the Cut)

Ch. 4 Cafe Quickie (SOAP)

Johnny swiped the rag over the counter, and then once more. The cafe was always slow by noon.

Half an hour. Just half an hour until break.

God, Johnny wanted to dig his eyes out of his skull. Why the hell had he thought it was a good idea to stay up last night.

"Tired?" Kyle asked, bumping his shoulder into Johnny's.

"Aye. Fucking done in."

"Stayed up too late wanking off to your dreamy neighbor?" Kyle smirked.

If Kyle wasn't so pretty Johnny would've punched that stupid smile off his face a long time ago.

"Haud yer wheesht."

"English, please." Kyles's cheshire-cat grin split his lips wider.

A real fucking comedian.

"Fuck off." Johnny snipped.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Johnny didn't get a chance to respond. Not when a pretty brunette stepped up to the counter and fluttered her lashes at Kyle. Who only happily leaned over the counter and flashed that stupid straight-toothed smile at her.

The bell over the door chimed. Johnny didn't bother looking over. Not when Kyle had abandoned actually finishing orders in favor of flirting and the online orders tablet had started going off like a ticking time bomb.

Ah, it was going to be one of those days.

And Kyle was still rambling away with little Miss Lashes.

"What can I get started for a beautiful woman like you?" Kyle simpered.

Rolling his eyes, Johnny covered her ridiculously complicated coffee and grinned. He pulled the sharpie off the shelf and scribbled on the cup sleeve.

-Gimme a good wank and a call. ~K

Johnny ran his tongue over his teeth. Suppressing the smile that threatened to spill over his face and ruin his plans.

He walked towards Kyle and passed him the cup and sharpie.

"Christ, just give the lass yer number already." Johnny deadpanned.

Kyle quirked an eyebrow at Johnny. It wasn't exactly typical Johnny behavior to wing-man for Kyle.

The girl giggled as she took her cup. But of course. Who wouldn't when Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome; Kyle Garrick, himself gave you his number.

She paused halfway through walking out of the cafe, and Johnny quickly busied himself with the rag and refilling the cups. Close enough to watch, but far enough to stay out of the splash zone. In case her large two pumps vanilla, two pumps caramel, three shots espresso, splash of whole milk, with an almond milk base, heavier splash of heavy cream. Nonfat whipped cream on the frappe with hazelnut drizzle extra topping, flying in this direction and out of the cup.

"Oi, who the fuck do you think you are?" She snarled, whirling around on Kyle.

Kyle paused, the corner of his mouth pulling up like it always did when he was confused.

Oh, poor poor bastard.

Johnny almost felt bad, but then the online orders tablet dinged again. And any sympathy Johnny had felt, went straight into the trash with the empty cup that had split down the side and spilled down the leg of Johny's pants.

He took a deep steadying breath, and enjoyed the blissful sounds of the coffee bean grinder sounding like it was dying, and Kyle getting reamed out.

His hands moved before his brain truly caught up. Hauling ass through the orders like he was working on commission. He wasn't.

When the orders slowed down enough to give Johnny enough time to take in the mess around him, he caught sight of König. The hulking mass of man that Kyle liked to call "Johnny's Little Problem."

The irony was not lost on Johnny.

König was anything but little. He wasn't exactly a problem. König had just so happened to catch very one-sided feelings in their very web-like situationship. And König also just so happened to want to ask Johnny about their status, every single time they hooked up.

Johnny was the real problem, and he knew it. Never finding the right time to properly break things off with the gentle giant of a man.

But König was good at sex, and Johnny liked sex. Wanted sex. Needed it, even.

Johnny blinked, because the idea hit him like he had hoped coffee would've done to Kyle's face earlier.

The sod had managed to talk the lass down from her rant. It really was those stupid fucking dimples.

But surely, "Prince Charming" could watch the shop for a bit.

Johnny pulled out his phone, thumbing through his contacts.

-Meet me in the bathroom in 5.

König checked his phone with furrowed brows and then looked up at Johnny, pink biting the tip of his nose as he not-so-subtly pointed down at his tablr and mouthed "here?".

Johnny nodded, just once and then slinked by Kyle. Only stopping to ask; "the keycode to the bathroom still the same?"

Kyle glowered at Johnny. Eyes snapping to König and then back to Johnny like he had already connected the dots.

"Yes." He seethed.

"Good...good. I'm going on break. Watch the shop, yeah? Cheers." Johnny flashed Kyle a wicked grin.

"I. Hate. You." Kyle bit out watching Johnny move out from behind the counter and walk to the single-stall restroom.

"Luv ye too!"

Johnny's panting breaths passed over the now smudged mirror leaving the glass fogged, as König's fingers dug into his waist.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Just like that Kö." Johnny mewled barely remembering to keep his voice down.

König grunted in response and muttered something in german that Johnny didn't bother to figure out.

"Bärchen." König groaned, the sound sending heat through Johnny's abdomen.

"Oh Christ." Johnny groaned back.

"Nein. Das ist not my name, Bärchen."

One of König's hands found the back of Johnny's neck. His thumb brushing the edge of Johnny's earlobe as he gently pulled Johnny straight up.

The angle had Johhny hissing in both pain and pleasure.

Oh to be split on a monster cock in the middle of a shift.

A sharp knock rapped on the door.

"Oi. Hurry the hell up." Kyle's voice snapped.

Johnny covered a hand over his mouth muffling the whine that slipped from his lips as König pulled out and walked him towards the door.

His heart beat up his throat.

Maybe König wasn't as sweet as he thought.

König pressed Johnny against the thin wooden door. Johnny's nails dug into the fake polish on the door when König slid back into him and angled his hips to hit Johnny in his favorite little spot.

Johnny was seeing stars and possibly hearing voices.

Through the door Johnny could swear he heard it.

Heard him.

"Sum'fing wrong with your loo? It's all locked up and you've got an out f'order sign on the door?"

Johnny would know that voice from anywhere

Simon.

And then Johnny came.

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Chapter 3 to MTS, sorry yall I was kind of sick all week so I'm a little behind! Go follow my co-creator @deaddrgnhrte

More Than Strangers (Chapter 3)

Soap x Ghost

(Tws: soap creates adult content, ghost watches adult content, ghost is just an anxious little guy, roach is a menace, strong language, lmk if i missed any) Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.4

(Content Under the Cut)

Ch. 3 Bite-Sized Apology (GHOST)

Simon greets the barista behind the counter with a wave, beelining for the to-go pick up counter. His large quad shot macchiato hot and steaming on the counter next to a beefy breakfast bagel.

He takes a long sip, humming in satisfaction as the light roast espresso zings passed his tongue.

"No one does it like you Kyle." Simon lifts up his cup in farewell, "Wish I could stay 'n chat, but they call'd us in forty-five minutes early. Wankers." He hustles out of his usual cafe, keeping a brisk pace as he listens to the video from Soap's late night stream. The idle cheery chat is overlaid on the mental playback of their literal run-in in the hall the other day.

Soap, no, Johnny had been right there. He'd fallen and all Simon had managed to get out was a mix of words patchworked together, not even a real apology, just the idea of one.

Triplin' down wit Simon Riley's not gonna make 'im remember. Fucks sake, 'm just the anti-social bloke from next door. 'ope the food I left 'im made up for his dinner on the floor...

The collective clanging of locker doors opening and closing, accompanied by the guys grumbling derailed Simon's train of thought.

"The other boys 'n I were placing bets on how long it'll be for us to start. Darren was saying fifteen, I'm thinking they'll make us wait ten." Gary sidles yp to Simon as they all filter out of the locker room to their morning meeting with the shop foreman.

"Make it twelve and you've got yourself a bet. Matter of fact, the poor intern'll be sportin' a watery coffee stain, I'll toss in an extra fiver into the pot for the odds on that alone."

"You've got to promise not to help the coffee stain get there. I was robbed last month from that stunt you pulled, 'stretching your arms'." Gary said with a healthy dose of air quotes attached.

"I was, we've gone over this Gary, my arms were sore as all hell, they 'ad me derustin' tha salvaged metal all-"

"All day. Yes, you've mentioned. But you're a goddamn behemoth, you ought to have better spacial awareness."

"I-" Simon started in on defending himself, but he's back in that dingy hallway. Johnny crashing into him, if only he could remember what that scent was. A slight sweetnesd on impact, just enough to leave him tongue tied and utterly useless in conversation.

"Are you lot still squabbling about that coffee thing? It's been a month, let it rest for heaven's sake." Price interjected from his spot by the whiteboard, expo marker in hand. "Now I appreciate everyone being here on time, we're just waiting on the other company's liason, then we can get started."

"Boys, please keep the complaints to a minimum, I'm here same as you. I did scrounge up some doughnuts to snack on in the meantime."

The discontent quashed at the sight of the array of doughnuts, tiding the group over the twelve minutes it took for the liason to come trapsing through the door. Bewildered intern in tow.

Gary let out a barely contained curse at the intern's feeble attempts to hide the stain on their shirt, edges smudgey. Gary slipped two tenners into Simon's hand, side-eyeing Simon and mouthing, "did you plan this too?"

"Maybe." Simon mouthed back with a shrug, then pocketed his winnings. Turning his full attention to the droning from the front of the room.

"I am famished." groaned Kate, grabbing her lunch from the fridge, "I can't believe they pushed back lunch to make up for lost time during the meeting."

"I can." Simon and Gary quip in unison, Gary elbowing Simon in the ribs on his way to grab his lunchbox from his locker.

Simon loses the rest of the conversation, popping his headphones on waiting for his food to finish its rotations while heating. He presses play on the video playback of Soap's stream. Noises from the breakroom leak into Soap's one-sided conversation and Simon turns the volume up.

A moment later Gary's lifting the left side of his headphones off his ear.

"Oi, don't think I'm through with you. I want my money back. I don't know hoe you were behind it, I just know you were."

"'Fraid 'm not in the business of issuin' refunds." Simon chuckles with mirth as he slides into his spot at the table. "Might even get myself a snack after work. My hard earned reward 'n all that."

"Didn't earn jack." Gary says, stabbing last night's leftovers turned lunch with a surly expression.

"Don't hate the player."

"Piss off. You've fuckin' rigged the game." Gary retorts. He pauses, chewing through his thoughts.

"I just can't get past how you got it down to the minute. And hoe you'd known about the stain bein' splotchy."

"Easy. Playin' off you 'n Darren. He always over shoots, 'n you under. The last bit? It's an intern, they come frazzled 'n coffee stained."

Simon takes a gulp of his soft drink, "Aye, it's a travesty truly tha' a babe such as myself cannae even get a text back from the hot bloke next door. He's lucky I 'ah some'ere else tae be, I was gantin' oan 'im fer a test drive. He's a looker I'll give'm tha, but damn is he awkward as shite..."

The belated pouty admission from his favorite streamer makes the fizzy liquid catch in his throat. He splutters, and coughs, pounding on his chest a few times to clear his airway.

"S'cuse me." Simon offers to the gawking Gary and Kate.

"You're a walking and apparently, sitting liability at this point mate." Kate hides a smile behind a bite of her sandwich.

"Serves you right, karma can never be too swift it seems." Gary says, shuffling his chair a bit before standing, tossing his disposables in the trash.

Simon shakes his head packing his tupperware back into his lunchbox.

He crosses the room, "can't get rid o' me that quick Gary." He says as he tucks his belongings back into his locker, fishing out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket.

Stepping outside he lights the fresh cigarette and inhales, the taste bitter on his tongue, nevermind that he picked up the habit two years ago. Right around when he first started watching Soap's streamd and got that apprenticeship.

Simon pulls out his phone and opens it up to the draft he'd typed out under Johnny's saved contact.

-Hope the food was alright. Sorry again for ruining your groceries.

Awkward. Well, he remembers me.

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Chapter 2 to MTS, im a little behind in posting chapters on tumblr, my apologies! Yall should go follow my co-creator and online bestie @deaddrgnhrte

More Than Strangers (Chapter 2)

Soap x Ghost

(Tws: Soap creates adult content, Ghost watches adult content, implied masterbation, explicit language, sexual ideations, sex imagines, possible ooc, non-canon life au, artstudent!soap, tradesman!Ghost, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mentions of transactional sex, awkward meet cute, loser-boy!Simon, Johnny is kind of a jerk, lmk if i missed any)

Ch.1, Ch.3, Ch.4

(NSFW Under the Cut)

Ch. 2 On the Lam(b) (SOAP)

His wrists ached vaguely, and not just from his three back to back streams this week. But from the several groceries he'd been carrying on his walk home.

Johnny had gotten a pretty penny from his most recent stream. He'd finally broken in the new vibrating cock ring that he had finally bit the bullet and bought last week. Of course, most of it had gone to paying rent, new pencils, and groceries for the week. But his mind wasn't on that.

No. Johnny was only thinking of the lamb sitting heavy in his bags. An entire rack. "Thank ye, Ghost." Johnny hummed under his breath. He reached a hand into his pocket, head tipped down to fish out the keys to his flat.

Ghost. Johnny’s top subscriber for the last two months. 

What a freak. 

He really couldn’t believe what people would pay to see Johnny rubbing one out. Especially Ghost. 

Who, had in fact paid more than generously for a private video last night. One hundred and eighty-five pounds to play with himself and moan a username. 

Johnny wasn’t going to complain. 

He probably should’ve been ashamed, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the attention, or the warm meals that often came with it.

His head lifted back up, only to slam into what Johnny could describe as a brick wall of a human. Jerking back, Johnny’s heel caught on the rug in the hall. His body careened backwards, grocery bags flying forwards as Johnny fell flat onto his ass. 

Shite. Shite. Shite. 

“Ach! Watch where ye fecking goin’ yea?” Johnny snapped, glaring at food spilled across the carpet. Perfectly good pre-made meal, ruined. God dammit all. 

He looked up, and froze. Standing before him was Johnny's goliath neighbor. From the flat next to his in the building complex.

Seymour? Or Sean? Something with an "S", Johnny was sure of it.

He was tall, at least six foot. And built like a fucking storage unit. Pale skin flecked with scars.

Shorn blonde hair. Had to be self shaved. No one would let that man walk out of the barbers with a crooked fade.

And piercing golden eyes. The kind that stared down at Johnny like he was chewed gum stuck to a shoe.

As handsome as Johnny's neighbor was, he was weird. Stuck to himself, never smiled, and stood with that distant gaze always plastered on his face.

Johnny probably would've made a move on this man if he wasn't so unnerved. He wasn't mean, just…awkward.

Aye. Awkward was a good word for it.

Awkward in the way he looked blankly at Johnny in the mail room when Johnny said hello. Awkward in the way he kind of half grunted when they both needed the same washing machine in the basement.

"Johnny." The man said.

Double shite. 

Johnny didn't remember this man's name.

"Aye, hello." He nodded, scooping up his runaway food, and throwing them back into their bags with a grimace.

Sebastian? Seth? What was it?

"Didn' mean to run in t'you." His voice was a low rumble.

Johnny didn't want to acknowledge the way his brain had him imagining that voice low in his ear, in a foreign bed.

The blonde bent down and grabbed the rest of Johnny's groceries, handing them back to Johnny with surprisingly gentle hands.

Large hands that Johnny needed to stop staring at.

Christ.

"Don' worry, was just a week's worth of food." Johnny sighed, and mentally kicked himself for being an arsehole.

Certainly no way to get a man in your bed, MacTavish.

Did he want this man in his bed? Johnny didn't quite know himself either. 

Maybe. 

Maybe felt like a good option.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Odd didn't mean Johnny had to be a bellend.

"I'm sorry. I'm being a proper cock. I don' remember yer name. Great with faces, but cannae remember names for the life of me." He muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Simon. My name is Simon. Simon Riley."

Ah. Simon. Right.

“I, uh,” Johnny huffed a short laugh, more at himself than anything. “I swear I’m usually more charming when I’m no’ knockin’ over my dinner.”

His eyes flicked over Simon again before he could stop himself, then away just as fast.

“Gotta say though,” he added, quieter this time, like he hadn’t quite decided to say it out loud, “might start droppin’ my dinner more often if it means runnin’ into ye again.”

He cleared his throat immediately after, like that might erase it. “Oh.” Simon stammered, and Johnny could almost swear he saw the tips of Simon’s ears going pink. 

Johnny opened his mouth to say something else, something a little less sensible, when his phone started ringing in his pocket. 

Fucking impeccable timing. 

He resisted groaning outwardly. 

“Ah, sorry.” Johnny winced and Simon pressed his lips into a thin line before he nodded once. Curt, yet understanding. 

“What do ye want?” Johnny hissed into the phone. 

It had to be his best friend. Kyle always had a knack for calling at the worst times possible. Like a superpower for cockblocking. 

“Mr. MacTavish? This is the liberal arts head director. Have we caught you at a bad time?” The voice on the other end of the line drawled and Johnny stilled.

This really was just not his day. 

“No! No, m’sorry. Thought ye were someone else. What can I do for ye?”

“We had a last minute cancellation for our model. Any interest in coming in right now and filling in? We’ll pay you double.”

“Aye. I’ll be there in…” Johnny pulled his phone back far enough to check the time.

Twenty minutes to the college, maybe thirty with traffic. 

“Be there in twenty. Fifteen if I rush.” Johnny replied, glancing back at Simon, just once.

 He hung up and faced Simon. 

“Got t’go?” Simon asked, was that a twinge of disappointment in his voice? Surely not though. 

He really needed to stop making these things up in his head. 

“Yeah, see ye around, then?”

Simon froze, his mouth opening, and then closing as though he was filtering through his words.“I-I. Uh, I wanted to sorry." The tips of his ears definitely burned pink now. "Uh, no. I mean."

The poor bastard stammered. "I, um. I wanted to apologize…" a beat of silence passed, "properly. I wanted to apologize properly, that is."

Johnny tipped his head to the side, just a fraction. Considering, the strange and yet even more strangely alluring man in front of him. 

And with a swift decisiveness, Johnny pulled a sharpie from his pocket and grabbed Simon’s arm. 

He held the cap between his teeth, his writing a messy scrawl up Simon’s wrist. A number.

“Text me.” And then he was gone.

If you like you should join the discord serverrr we’d love to have yallll. This world needs more fandom based CoD content and fans! Thanks for everything, where would we be without our readers! This fic updated every Sunday evening EST

(INSERT NAME) A CoD-Fandom based server for writing, art, fic/comic reading and much more. A place where all kinds of CoD fans are welcome!!

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

A little thing I’ve been working on with a friend of mine @deaddrgnhrte it’s a long fic that posts weekly on Sunday evenings EST. It’s also up on Ao3

More Than Strangers (Prologue + Chapter 1)

Soap x Ghost

(Tws: Soap creates adult content, Ghost watches adult content, masterbation, explicit language, sexual ideations, sex imagines, possible ooc, non-canon life au, artstudent!soap, tradesman!Ghost, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mentions of various sex toys, use of cockring, lmk if i missed any) Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4 (NSFW Under the Cut)

Prologue (SOAP)

Johnny dragged a hand down his face. Promptly regretting it as his eyes caught his face in the mirror and saw the charcoal streaked across his cheek. Lovely.

How in the hell was he ever going to finish this assignment. Art school surely was going to kill him. If his landlord didn't to it first.

His phone buzzed steadily against his desk. Shite. Was it that time already?

Friday evening.

Johnny packed up his charcoals, and stood. He pressed up onto his heels in a stretch, feeling the muscles of his calves pull taut.

He grabbed his ring light, facing it towards the bed, putting his phone at the center.

Then stripped.

Show Time.

Ch. 1 Above A Whisper (GHOST)

The end of day bell blares through the shop and Simon flips his welding visor up to look at the clock, how'd time slip away so quick? Usually he's chomping at the bit to finally get out of this claustrophobic heat; they never can seem to crank the ac high enough to keep 'em all from sweating bullets while dropping beads like there's no tomorrow.

Simon packs up his tools and heads into the locker room, feeling through his pockets for his pack of smokes.

"Me and the guys are heading out for some drinks as usual, you coming with?" Gary claps a hand on Simon's shoulder motioning to the cacophony of men clambering out of the door, coveralls half-zipped, sleeves hanging limply at their waists, ready for their weekly mecca.

"Nah, not tonight, you have fun for me though." Simon says putting a cig between his lips. Lighting it as they step outside, the ambient April breeze a welcome relief.

"Yeah, yeah. See ya next week." Gary shakes his head and ambles after their coworkers.

"Yes you will." Simon calls back, he takes a long drag of his cigarette, while checking his phone.

Wonder if Suds is taking any special requests today.

Simon takes a swig of his beer, setting it back down before continuing to wash the dishes from his dinner.

Should be just about done, and just in time for-

Simon picks up his phone. The stream lobby music and waiting screen had cut off, replaced by Soap's lithe bare form in front of the camera. Simon chuckles, typing out a quick comment.

"So excited ye went an got undressed without us?" Soap's voice reads out, hands tracing down his sides; faint marks of gray following in their wake. "Ye always join in wit a bit of cheek don't ya Ghost?"

"Well. I figured I'd cut out the 'fluff' as ye called it last stream. An here I was thinking ya liked me for ma personality. There's just no pleasin' ye is there? Soap settles back onto his haunches, skating his left hand down to his thigh, the other splayed behind him for support. The light catches on his flexing muscles as he presses his body into the bed.

-I don't think I'm hard to please. I spell it out for you. Often.

"Money talks Ghost, use ya words." Soap goads, his voice a lilting challenge directed at Simon from just beyond the frame.

The first donation chime of tonight's stream rings out, and the chat speed kicks up a notch as it always does, everyone eager to see if Soap will fulfill Simon's "side-quest".

"That was quick, par for the course, comin' from ye. Donnae break the bank now asking for me ta stroke ma cock a bit. If you'd suggested that'd be how we started things, I'da offered a little discount, for ma top dono of course."

Soap's left hand slides up his inner thigh, tracking a slow, teasing path to his cock. He grasps the hilt of it, giving his dick a few shallow, slow, pumps.

Pausing mid length, "is this all ya want from me Ghost?" Soap asks, thumb rubbing small circles on his shaft.

Simon's eyes catch on the tiny movements, feeling them under his hand. Imagining the subtle weight of Soap leaning into him. His body curling around Soap's, guiding that charcoal-smudged hand through every stroke.

Simon wipes his hands off on his pants, then types a quick message in chat.

-Keep going.

"Ah, ah, that sounds like a demand Ghost. Didn't yer ma ever teach ya better than that when asking for a favor?" He chides, but his hand resumes it's languid back and forth motion.

Soap shifts his weight on the bed, spreading his legs slightly, "here, maybe a better view will convince ya to ask me again, proper this time." He pauses again, this time grazing the head of his cock with the tip of his finger. Spreading the lazy drips of precum as they leak out.

-Play with yourself, like I know you want to.

Soap's thumb hovers over his slit, considering, "that does seem inviting, I'm gonna need ya ta be more specific with whatcha want though, an donnae forget yer manners."

Another chime, followed by a flurry of messages.

-You've been holding back, get loud tonight.

Simon gets into bed, propping himself up; his blood rushing in his ears, in tandem with each second stretching in the silence, the chat in a frenzy.

"I'm going to let yous all decide for me what toy I use tonight, if ye have anything specific in mind, ya know how ta get ma attention."

A poll surfaces under Simon's view, it isn't the full spread of Soap's collection, but a few choice items. Two toys that Simon had seen before on stream, one of them Soap's self proclaimed "favorite", the other a classic jeweled plug. The new item on screen piques his interest, a vibrating cock ring?

A bunch of members plead for another poll, asking Soap to use two toys instead of one.

No way he'll do that, you lot aren't in a position to bargain for shit. Simon's finger hesitates, then taps on the newest addition to the collection. He slips a hand into his underwear, sliding his hand leisurely along his dick.

Soap's timer goes off.

"I've been lookin' forward to tryin' this one for a while now. I havenae taken it out the packaging even."

Simon glides from where he was just barely out of frame, a moment later there's a box bearing the words "Cum Hard" on its side in bold block letters on camera.

"No free endorsements, I run a tight ship 'round here."

-Let us watch you put it on.

Soap returns, taking center focus and settling down on his bed again, cock ring in hand. He hisses out a breath. Working the toy down his length, swearing when he accidentally turns it on trying to get it fully seated.

Simon can hear a faint buzzing coming from the wall behind him.

"Ah, shite. I dinnae realize it'd fit so snug. Cannae exactly test it out in store y'know." Soap chuckles dryly, pressing on the sides of the ring a few times before picking an asynchronous rhythm.

"How's about we get this party started?" Soap flicks open the lid to a bottle of lube, squirting out a bit into his palm dragging up and down the length of his cock.

Simon spits into his hand, stroking his dick in sync with Soap's motions on screen. Leaning his head back against the wall, he increases his speed. Then, he hears it, a grunt from behind the wall echoing in the tiny speakers in his phone. And his breath nearly catches in his throat.

Bollocks.

He'd missed this, touching himself to the sounds of pleasure coming from the cute neighbor next door. He's getting close, the huffs coming from his phone urging him over the brink. Soap is fucking into his own hand, thighs twitching with the effort of keeping himself upright while chasing release. A deep groan comes from the Scot, his load comin in thick spurts painting his stomach and upper body.

The sight alone almost did Simon in, but a whine escapes Soap's lips. His cock twitching with the vibrations of the cock ring, and Soap can't get it off himself quick enough.

Simon hisses and closes his eyes. He's balls-deep inside of Soap, reaching his hand around to work another orgasm from Soap. Soap is crying out Simon's name, clutching at his arm as Soap shudders apart one last time. Simon's release crashes over him, he tightens his grip on his cock as he rushes to grab a tissue from his night stand.

He's alone in his room, again. Soap finally getting his breathing under control enough to start his outro, thanking everyone for their time and donations.

"Stay dirty ya heathens, an goodnight!" Soap signs off, the stream going dark and reverting to his account's homepage.

"G'night to you too, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish." Simon mutters to himself, the collected fatigue of the week pulling him into another sudsy themed dream.

If you liked this please consider following my friend @deaddrgnhrte and joining the CoD server! Just a fun place to hang out, talk about CoD, among many other things! And look out for chapter updates!

(INSERT NAME) A CoD-Fandom based server for writing, art, fic/comic reading and much more. A place where all kinds of CoD fans are welcome!!

[roziemutin]

— LAST BIRTHDAY CAKE :: JOHNPRICE x FEMALEREADER

— all frosting and no one to make a wish on her love. // a girl fucks around visiting a boatman and finds out. —

tags&warnings :: 18+, explicit sexual content, dubcon elements, older man/younger woman, no prep just spit, unprotected p in v, rough sex, consensual sex, unsafe sex, sit, cigarette burns/ self-harm, stranger sex, emotional manipulation, implied suicidal ideation, suicide mention, hurt/no comfort, fucked up love, sex as communication, unreliable narrator, dissociation, too much sea imagery. so slow-progressed. suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation mention, power dynamics, dead dove: do not eat. wordcount :: 5.5k.

The fog blanketed the sea, swallowing the horizon where everything leads to one end. The endlessness of the water blended with the fog and gained an identity, and it was no longer possible to understand where the water began and where the sky ended. Everywhere was the same, the water was the same everywhere. It didn’t matter if it was close or far, cold or warm; the water was the same, the same waves drifted, the same despair echoed in all waters. No matter how far a man travelled, he remained in an exile where it was not clear what he left behind, or how far there is to go. Water is patient to all degree—wherever you flee, the only thing waiting for you under the water is that cold, omnipresent nothing. Neither from nor towards; neither arrest nor movement, for the water was everywhere.

The sea has many voices; many gods, and many voices.

He hardly noticed the fog now; he hadn’t chosen a direction in a long time. The oil splotches left behind by the boat floating on the water resembled the blue patterns of a peafowl, as they spread across the surface like coloured spheres. The light was just enough to make them glimmer in the murk. They danced a filthy sway, but still a joy to look in their strange beauty. A tarnished, indifferent drift.

The gull paced cautiously along the dock, each step like a half-thought-out idea. It didn’t belong here—against the stained wood of the shore, in the empty wash of fog and grit that dulled even its feathers. She watched, almost charmed by the gull’s small movements, the tilt of its head and how it snaps back from the edge when the dock shudders.

A boat cut the fog in the distance, pressing out steady waves that reached the dock in a slow crawl.

The gull hesitated as the wood creaked beneath its feet, and then, startled by a lurching wave, it launched up in a burst of feathers. It fled, and she watched the shadow of the bird on the water’s surface dip, slice, and scatter with the waves converging and then subsiding into stillness again.

The boat, emerged from the fog as if it has always existed there, an indistinct shape pulling itself through the mist. Its hull was worn, the colour of weathered stone, and its edges softened by time and salt. The wake it left behind was nothing more than a pale ripple that faded as quickly as it appeared, just one more thread in the fabric of this forgotten place. It was there when she left but gone as she made back in the morning.

Then the boat came again, carving its way through the fog, its hull indistinguishable from the mist itself. It had become a part of the shore, a fixture in her days, as constant as the cold sweep of the wind. She didn’t question it—because why should she? Like the gull, like the days that came and went with no concern for her, the boat was simply there. But perhaps because it had come again, again and again, until it had settled into her world with the familiarity of things that don’t ask. It had become a quiet thing, a companion without voice, the boat itself had become something she recognized. Perhaps it wasn’t the boat at all, but the space it took, the place it gave her in the silence. She could step into that silence.

.

He sat at the helm, a distant figure by fog. The world was quiet. It suited him; he had no need for it to be otherwise.

He’d forgotten the taste of yearning, the prick of desire. His hands rested idly on the worn wood beside him, the sensation distant, faint, like touch itself had thinned and lost depth over time. Days rose and fell around him, unmeasured and unnoticed, no more real than the moon that waned and waxed above his head. His boat floated through it all, neither here nor there, crossing time like a body moving through sleep.

The sea was his only clock, its motion his only routine. Land might drift into sight now and then, distant and forgettable; he’d let it slip past just as easily, moving along the waves with no intention of stopping.

He wore it all without thought, his life’s worn in the same unthinking way—a coat whose colour had faded into a nondescript brown, a half-spent cigar between his fingers, and a hat pulled low over the faint silver threading through his hair. From here, she could see only the stillness of him—a practiced, effortless quiet that he held like a skill.

He didn’t need to look to know. She was there again. The girl. She stood, her feet making no sound on the weathered boards of the dock. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though approaching an animal that might spook at the slightest noise. He didn’t spook, though. He didn’t even look at her.

“You come here every day,” she said softly, her voice barely cutting through the fog. It wasn’t a question, just a fact. She took another step closer, stopping at the edge of the dock, just a few feet away from his boat. “Are you from the city?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her, on the blank horizon that stretched out in every direction. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks. Maybe months. The silence had become too comfortable, too deep to break for idle conversation. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to.

She didn’t expect him to answer—she had learned that much about him in the time she’d been watching. But there was something compelling about him, something about the way he seemed to drift through life as aimlessly as his boat drifted through the water. Something that only sway the pure. She’d leave the words unspoken, let them stay naïve, unbroken. He’s the perfect stranger.

Then she dared to step in. Her fingers closed around the railing, cold and clammy with the persistent moisture of the sea. The metal was slick with a layer of salt and grime, a smoothness that seemed to pull at her skin, making the grip just slightly harder; though it resisted her touch. Where the paint had once been a uniform white, it was now a patchwork of peeling, flaking layers—worn down to a muted, uneven white in some spots, others streaked with the faint, rusty orange of corrosion. Flecks of old paint clung stubbornly to the rusted edges, and she could feel the rough, jagged texture of the metal beneath it, biting into her palm in places.

The steps on the stairs curled slightly, groaning with a tired creak that echoed in the heavy air. Her heels slid just a little, the texture of the metal shifting beneath her as she pressed on, the rubbery step of the cold creeping through her soles.

The air inside the boat was thick, heavy with the smell of brine and oil, an undercurrent of something dark and faintly charred—like the echo of a long-stubbed cigar. The wood beneath her feet was darkened, smoothed by time and the relentless touch of water; its grain soft, like the slow erosion of something once sharp, now dulled to the texture of habitude.

“I like how quiet it is here,” she said after a long pause. “It’s different from the city.”

He shifted slightly, the wood beneath him creaking, though it was a sound born more of habit than interest. Her words meant little to him. The stillness she admired was the very thing that had settled into his bones like a weight. He felt no need to disturb it.

She turned her head to look at him, studying his profile. His face was weathered, marked by years that seemed to have worn away all expression, leaving only a kind of blank endurance. She found it strangely calming. She liked that he didn’t offer her anything. His age and the silvers in his hair that makes his eyes steeler. It made her want to stay.

Today, she only sat at the edge of the boat, her legs tucked beneath her as she watched the endless expanse of fog and water. It was strange, she thought. How easy it is to fall into his rhythm.

Tomorrow, it wasn’t long before she found herself stepping onto the boat, her bare feet crossing the small, familiar distance without hesitation. She began to move closer, bit by bit, testing the unspoken boundaries that he seemed too indifferent to enforce.

“You don’t mind if I stay, do you?”

Of course, he didn’t respond. She hadn’t expected him to. Maybe he was a foreigner for all she could know. She had begun to like it, the way he never answered. It made her feel like this was exactly what she deserved—this quiet companionship with a man who offered her nothing and took nothing from her. She felt like she had earned it somehow, this place by his side, his strange weather, and being his nothing.

Sometimes on the deck beside him, sometimes further back, her presence a constant, steady hum in the background of him. Talking about nothing in particular— small observations about how the fog changes throughout the day, the weather; sometimes on whatever. Her. Just saying things, seeing what sticks.

I put some sparkle on today. Just a little, right here, see? She touches the inner corner of her eye. He does not turn to look. They never come off though. Even after you wipe them off, they cling to your skin and show up in places you don’t expect. Isn’t that kind of… romantic?..…She taps a finger against her lower lip, just once, considering. Red. Would you look at me differently if I wore it? She nudges his side. They say the most beautiful thing on a woman is a little smudge. Like someone kissed her, and she forgot to fix it... She shifts, stretching her arms above her head, the subject already slipping through her fingers. I like this pair… They make my legs look different. Make me move different. Like I belong somewhere a little more interesting… like the city. She says, perched on the railing of the boat, her legs swinging slightly, toes just barely grazing the air.

… Do you ever wonder about me? Like, just once? Why I keep coming back? What I’m hoping to see?.. Are you always like this? Or just like this with me? Because if it’s just with me… well. That’s interesting… You know, being this quiet is kind of selfish. You don’t share it, keeping everything to yourself. Maybe I should take some of it for myself…

She circles around. She shifts the bucket at the corner to another, just an inch, barely something. Barely anything. Her fingernails absently scrape at the peeling paint of the railing. Every now and then, the tip of her heel just barely nudges his boot. Like an accident. Like not an accident. She hides the ashtray on days, while he isn’t looking. Just to see if he’ll do something about it. She dips her fingers into the sea, then flicks the water off—some droplets land on him. He doesn’t say anything. When he’s leaning against the railing, arms crossed, she leans back too—mirroring his posture deliberately. She tries his cigar when he leaves it down to walk inside to do whatever. Leaves a wet-pink inexperienced circle around it and coughs it even after he makes back and sits back at the same place.

She had been breathing this silence for a long time. Without moving, touching, pushing, pulling, waiting. Silence was no longer a refuge, but something she wanted to escape from. She hated it. She hated how still he was. How quiet. She hated the way his coat hung like it had given up. She hated that she could smell the damp fabric and that nothing changed. Ever.

His hands moved. With a small, habitual movement, he reached for his cigarette. It was such a simple gesture that she couldn't understand how something inside her could resonate so harshly. It was something she had seen many times before. But now, it enraged her.

Just a cigarette.

Some tobacco, some paper.

A small, simple thing, but if he lit it and smoked it, it would put another wall between them. The smoke would rise with the cigarette, a veil that would permeate every corner of the room. It would bring the sea in. She didn't want that smoke for the man to hide behind. If that cigarette burned, everything would go on as it was. If that cigarette burned, nothing would change.

His fingers held the cigarette loosely, but it was there - habitually, unconsciously. She lowered her gaze to his wrists. She saw the veins running just under the skin. The slight wiggle of his fingers.

When she reached out her hand, it was not to take it. Not to pluck, not to flirt. Her fingers brushed his wrist first - leaving a light but faint trace. When her fingernails grazed the cigarette, she didn’t met resistance, but he wouldn't let go either.

She took her index finger, and pressed it against the glowing edge of the cigarette, where the heat licked air and paper met like a little volcano.

The burn was instant. And she did flinch.

The ash broke inward around her skin, a fumy collapse of grey. Her fingers curled ever so slightly. She wanted to see how long she could stand it. She wanted to see if he would stop her. She wanted him to.

Only when her skin had turned the kind of pink that would be sore tomorrow did he move. He just pulled his hand back, so hers out the way. He didn’t look at her. Of course, he didn’t. Not when she stepped closer, not when her knees bumped the edge of his chair, not even when her hair caught a draft and brushed his cheek.

She leaned in, enough to let her breath skate across his jaw. But her voice came out wrong- barbed but soft, and too close to begging. “Does anything move you?”

She moved, squeezed her fingers a little tighter, her nails digging into his skin, his cigar—then pulled quickly. A momentary crunch. A sharp, thin but definite sound. As if something else had broken with the cigarette —something small, but it’s done now. It’s good that it is.

His fingers opened, as if too late. She felt the split pieces of the cigarette in her palm. Small splinters of tobacco smeared her fingers, stuck between the lines of her palm. A few floated down her wrist, falling to the dark wooden floor.

She blinked and exhaled. But it was with a slight jolt. That was when she shoved his shoulder. He barely rocked. Like a docked boat, he was tethered, unbothered and immune. He turned his head slightly, like a thought had brushed past him. Like ignoring her once more. So she pushed again, harder. This time her hand slid down to his chest, where his coat was open and the fabric beneath was thinner. He drew in his breath quickly, a short, haggard gasp escaping his nose. He was not surprised. He was annoyed. And this time, he stood. Not violent, not sudden. It was just presence. He stood like a man who had forgotten how tall he was. She took a breath like she hadn’t expected it to work.

For a moment, they just stared at another. She was beautiful, like weather— sudden, untethered. Unscheduled. Ah. Then she slapped him, on thechest again, open-handed, and he caught her wrist mid-air. His touch was no rough, no kind. Just the touch to stop her. He didn’t want to stop her. But he didn’t help either. She twisted against his hold like she meant to escape, but she got that face that was tilted in a grin that said don’t let me go. And he didn’t.

Anger, question. Expectation.

Her footsteps were hard, the first step forward echoed on the floor - the heel clicked, then the sole scuffed, the polished parquet breathed a slippery breath. They moved. Not away, but to each other. She elbowed his ribs, he caught her hips. She tried to push him off balance, he simply leaned. Not resisting—absorbing. She ducked under his arm, spun behind him, shoved him from the back—but he turned slow and caught her again, this time his hand at her neck.

Her hands were on his shirt. Wrinkling it. Testing it. Him. He let himself be pulled, as if he himself didn’t want to stay where he was.

She brought him closer, her eyes too bright, too full. Her breath was fast. He could smell it—berries and cold and something a little tight like panic. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair sticking to it in damp strands. She looked like a girl who had run barefoot through a field just to collapse at the end.

Her knee bumped his. He didn’t move.

She pressed forward, her hand landing flat on his sternum. He stepped back with the jolt of it.

He didn’t mean to push her, not exactly—but her momentum carried her forward so fast that when he sidestepped and caught her waist, the force spun her. She landed against the cabin’s wooden wall with a dull thud, her palms splaying out beside her, fingers scraping instinctively against the grainy planks. Her shoulder blades pressed flush to the surface, and the cold bit into her thin fabric of a dress. She felt a fine scratch as her cheek brushed against the rough texture of the wood. Very light. Like the line of a fingernail. But there it was. A thin, invisible line of sensation like the faint scratch of a fingernail down the inside of a warm wrist.

She shivered—but didn’t move anyway. Her kneecaps trembled, crawling up her legs as a shudder clawed its way up through them.

A hard blow. A breath cut like a knife. Every part of her trembled.

But he didn’t stop. His presence enveloped her, consuming her, until there was nothing left but the feeling of him—so close, so deep, so impossible to escape. Bois d'Ascèse. A scent like a sigh.

If this was a battle, she wasn't about to lose. She tried to push him away, but he easily met her struggles. His body leaned forward, narrowing her space, covering her with his shadow.

Their legs were tangled. Not artfully and not on purpose. Just…recognitive. Her right foot had landed between his. Her knee brushed the inside of his thigh. When she shifted her weight, his shin grazed hers, rough fabric catching against her bare skin. She didn't pull away. The contact was too shallow to bruise, too deep to ignore. She tilted her head, cheek barely lifting from the wall, hair clinging to the wood and to her lips. Her breath was hot and ragged. With a moment's hesitation, she ran her tongue between her teeth, felt her pale lips grow dry. It was absurd not to- with being pressed against a man his size.

She could feel his pulse but she didn’t say it. Flat against his sternum, just beneath the line of his clavicle, it was subtle and steady. She pressed harder. It jumped.

She smiled. moving, she pulled her hand back, to him, and caught the hem of his shirt near the shoulder, and tugged—to touch more skin beneath. Her knuckles brushed the faint heat of his neck. A muscle twitch. She leaned her face to the side, cheek brushing the wood, and the breath she took was long, as if she’d accepted something. He actively gave her nowhere to go. The wall gave her nowhere to go. It relieved her.

She hesitated if he’ll still stay still,

his hand slid up the back of her thigh, callused fingers dragging fast, angry, until they caught under the hem of her skirt and pushed it up—bunched it high on her waist like he didn’t care if it tore. He didn’t.

She felt his other hand grip the back of her neck—broad palm, full pressure, completing her. His fingers dug into the space just beneath her skull, kept her still.

“Don’t move," he growled. She didn’t. Maybe she was stunned by hearing his voice for the first time. Maybe it was the weight behind her that was the real thing. He was tall, strong and everywhere. Everywhere. He took her in both hands, limiting her movements, casting her like a shadow with his broad shoulders and hard torso. His belt came undone with a snap, not even a pause between metal and leather. She heard it fall open behind her—loose, ugly, promising. She felt the cold and fast of the metal brushing past her ankle as it slid down. The faint weight of leather coiled on the cabin floor behind her, like a predator settling in. Her fingers curled against the dents of the wall.

Crude. Quick. She almost whimpered when he pulled back, just an inch. Then—

He spit in his hand—wet, fast, obscene—and grabbed his cock like he meant to fuck the fury out of himself. She heard it. That slick, guttural sound, right behind her. She didn’t breathe.

Then his hand—wet, fast, hot—slid between her thighs. The speed of it made her jolt. He didn’t ease in. He cupped her whole pussy like he was grabbing a fistful of water, fingers curling up against the fabric of her knickers through the wetness with a sharp glide that left her mouth open against the wall. Her knees buckled. She was wet—soaking, throbbing, fucking ready. His fingers slid the fabric to the side, dragged up her slit, spread her apart, pushed just enough to feel the twitch of her clit against the heel of his palm. His thumb found her with the disinterest of a man confirming something obvious. He circled once, slow, then dragged it down, and she moaned.

“Jesus,” he hissed, and then: “You’re fucking soaked.”

He sounded disgusted. Impressed. Turned on beyond reason. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, cheek against the wood, fingers clawing at the grain. Her knees hit each other and he caught her waist. He held her like he held mooring line—tight and with purpose. With something to do about. Her hipbone dug into his palm. She couldn’t get away if she wanted to. She didn’t want it.

He used his knee to push her legs apart wider, shifting her stance with his thigh between hers, forcing her onto the balls of her feet. It burned. It stretched. It made her legs tremble.

She wanted him to say something. He only lined up. She felt the tip—blunt, thick, heavy with blood—sliding over her slick folds. Once. Twice. Back and forth like he was dragging a knife, waiting to see where it would cut best.

“You wanted this all along, didn’t you?” he asked, voice low, dangerous. His cock brushed the inside of her thigh—hot, heavy, already leaking.

She nodded. Couldn’t speak. She wanted him to split her in two.

So he did.

He lined himself up and thrust inside in one deep, punishing stroke—no pause, no buildup, just cock to the hilt, hot and thick, stretching her open so fast her legs shook under her.

She cried out, loud, shameless.

“Too much?" he snapped, already pulling back. “No!..” she choked. “More...” He grabbed her wrists, pinned them high to the wall, his chest flush to her back, hips slamming forward again—harder. “Keep them there,” he said, finally. She nodded, forehead slick against the wood.

She felt herself open around him, stretch, take. Her pussy clenched instantly, trying to adjust, trying to hold him, trying to not break.

He didn’t give her a second. He pulled back just an inch and drove in again, harder this time. The sound—wet, thick, raw—bounced off the narrow walls like music.

His other hand grabbed her ass, fingers digging into soft flesh, spreading her open further. She could feel everything—the drag of his cock against her insides, the stretch, the slap of his hips against her skin, her clit barely grazing the edge of his grip with his violence and thrusts.

She felt used. She felt owned. She loved it.

His cock drove into her with brutal rhythm—wet, filthy sounds filling the small cabin like a storm. Her cunt clamped down around him with each stroke, pulsing, begging, taking every inch.

He was so deep—she could feel him in her belly, dragging across spots that made her toes curl. Her thighs trembled. Her nipples ached, pressed against the rough wood. Sweat slicked her spine.

“Fucking tight,” he growled, voice low and raw, “..like… you haven’t been fucked in months...”

Each thrust now had weight, velocity, punishment. Not rhythmic. Not careful.

Each one sounded like the word fuck in motion.

Her thighs were slick—his cum, her cum, sweat, spit, friction, all of it mixing into something obscene. Her nipples dragged hard against the fabric of her top with every thrust, her whole body jerking forward, caught between wood and bone.

He groaned—half-anger, half-release. His pace picked up. She was being fucked now, no more teasing, no slow grinding—just him using her body like a tool, like a relief, like something that could take it when nothing else could. She felt it building—tight in her stomach, low in her spine, electric behind her knees. Her clit throbbed, friction giving way to ache, then fire.

“I’m—” He reached around, found her clit again, rubbed it hard. His head was right next to hers, his forehead pressed against her hair.

She broke.

Her whole body clenched, bent, jerked, cried out—pussy fluttering violently around his cock, slick pouring out of her, shaking in his grip as her orgasm ripped through her, shattering in water.

He didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, relentless. Her screams turned breathless, broken. “You fucking come like that again,” he growled, “I’ll fill you right here.” She did.

He groaned—deep, dark, chest rumbling. His cock pulsed. His hips slowed—but the thrusts were deeper, more savage now, like his body was chasing itself.

And when he came—he came inside her, hot, thick, endless. She could feel it filling her, dripping out before he was even done.

He stayed. Buried. Panting. Forehead against her back.

She felt wrecked. Used up. Beautiful.

He pulled out slow. The sound of it—slick, exhausted—echoed in the silence.

She turned her head, eyes still closed, lips parted. He said nothing. His hand touched her wrist again—light, this time. Almost reverent. He pressed his forehead to the back of her head, cold surface pressed against her cheeks, leaving a prickling, moist trail of her breath. She couldn't hide how she was shaking inside. His shadow swallowed her whole. ; The light inside the cabin was blue-grey, the kind that comes before the evening and never quite settles until it fully consumes the day. It spilled through the slats in the shutters, touched the edge of the table, the folds of her skirt, the bruises forming on her thigh.

She was still, on the floor. Knees pulled up, one arm slack across her stomach, the other under her cheek. Her face was flushed, lips parted. Her hair was matted across her forehead, clinging to the sweat drying there.

Her cunt still ached—open, raw, filled. She could feel him inside her even now, not just the weight of his come leaking down her thigh, but the ghost of his grip, the echo of how hard he’d held her when everything broke.

She thought he’d be gone. Even when this was his boat, she hadn’t expected him to stay. Mentally. But when she opened her eyes, she saw him.

He hadn’t dressed. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall opposite her, knee bent, head tilted back. His chest rose and fell slowly. His hands rested on his thighs. One still bore the red crescent of her nails. His cock, soft now, hung heavy against his thigh, still glistening.

He hadn’t wiped himself. He was just there. They… didn’t speak. Not for minutes. The silence was something now. A different kind. Shared.

She sat up slowly. Everything between her legs throbbed—fucked-deep pain, sharp but spreading. Her arms shook as she pushed herself upright. One knee popped. Her hair fell over her eyes. He didn’t move.

She reached for the wall. Her hand grazed the wood, where her cheek had pressed moments before. There was a smudge there. Her skin’s shadow. A little shine of sweat. She stared at it. Then she stared at him. He met her eyes this time. No hardness. No regret. Just him. Present. Still here.

She crawled to him—quiet, slow, her knees rubbing across the floor, her breath shallow. She didn’t climb onto his lap. She didn’t fold herself into him. She just rested her head on his thigh, curled beside him like someone asking nothing.

He didn’t stroke her hair. But his hand moved, eventually, to her shoulder. He didn’t leave.

;;

She found him again the next morning, standing near the dock with the same quiet that had first drawn her to him—except now it wasn’t indifference. It was something heavier. Like he knew she was coming. And he didn’t go away.

She held nothing in her hands. No bag. No coat. Her hair was still damp from the night before. There were bruises on her inner thighs. She hadn’t bothered to hide them.

She stopped beside him, not touching. She leaned against the railing, hair caught by the wind, the ends fluttering like ribbons. Her arms were bare. The air smelled like salt and rust, and something faintly floral—her shampoo, maybe, fading.

She turned her face toward him with a smile, but it looked like she aged a few years overnight. She grabbed the railings with lazy hands, moving her head back to look up at the sky. The sky was as glass as the sea that day. Flat perfect. Kind that hums through your ears and sting your eyes.

“You know,” she said, tilting her head, voice bright, “I had the strangest birthday last year. It was one of those days no one notices. I had this cake—a bright pink one with swirls and little candles. I think I might have made it myself, but who knows? The details are a bit fuzzy...” Her voice was light, almost as if she were recounting a whimsical dream. A girl with a voice that melts like cotton candy in heat. He wondered what she looked like in sun. And he was looking at her this time. Seeing her.

“I remember setting it on the table, all decorated, and then… nothing. Just me and the cake. It was so big, I thought I could celebrate my entire life with it.. I thought I’d feel festive.”

The waves licked the boat gently, slow and patient. “I blew out all my candles. All them in one breath.” She glanced at him, her smile thinner now.

She paused, her expression brightening again. But her voice was rather, monotone. “I decorated it with sprinkles—just lots and lots of sprinkles. And I think I ate half of it by one sit. Maybe even more of it. Just scooped at it..” She chuckled softly, as if the absurdity of it brought her joy.

With a playful sigh, she added, “And if I could have another birthday like that, I’d definitely do it again. Just maybe with a few more… a bigger cake.”

She tapped her nails on the railing. “You ever..?”

The water below was darker now. Still calm. But heavier. Like it knew something. A small silence slipped in. She didn’t fight it. She just let her gaze fall to the water, watching the way the light danced in tiny mirrors on the surface.

She leaned her elbows on the railing, eyes falling toward the water. She muttered, light as a dandelion breath. The boat was a lemon peel afloat. the sea, where liberty stands in place to seek and rule the world— Yell, I wanted my man love, my big man, that low, lonely dove.

“If I jumped… would you come after me?”

21

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

This was one of the prettiest fics I’ve ever read. And there was something so innately human about it.

Beautiful, truly.

[cyberdrream]

desi people in cod x reader fandom rise up. i need some mutuals who understand me :333 (i only know the goat @semenriley but i want moree )

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Im not desi, but im hispanic, and naturally support all my desi cod family! Representation is important!!

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Rahhh!! A quick google search says Price’s bday is this month, so in honor of that, have this fic (in very early advance)!! And my own recent birthday!! Yay getting old!

Happy Fucking Birthday

Price x Gn!Reader

(Tws: unedited, unprotected sex, light finger fucking, light tongue fucking, unspecified holes ☺️, Price wants to be a mean so bad, spanking, Price is js a sad little guy, birthday fucking, explicit language, the team bullies Price, lmk if I missed any!)

(NSFW Under the Cut)

John Price didn’t do birthdays. Actually, he didn’t do many holidays. A good birthday was a solid whiskey, a scotch if he was really getting wild, on the rocks if he was dreaming, and not talking to one goddamned soul all day.

Now that was a birthday he could get behind.

No candles. No fancy, shite-tasting cake. No bloody singing.

Better yet? A nap. Price checked his watch, midday. The team wouldn’t be back from their “excursion” for at least another hour.

Price glanced through the doorway before he pulled the key from his tags and unlocked the bottom left drawer of his desk. He slid out a bottle of cheap whiskey, before pouring himself a couple sips.

Brilliant.

With a slow smile, he pushed his chair back just enough to kick his boots up onto the desk. His hand pulled his hat down just enough to cover his face. Blanketing him in darkness.

He had half a mind to wank one out in this rare silence. Preferably to you, his newest addition to the team. Afterall, you were quite the sight for his old sore eyes. Price could almost imagine you in his makeshift darkness.

He could almost imagine you walking into his office dressed in nothing but a bow. Best damn birthday present he could’ve ever asked for, or imagined.

Just as he reached for his belt buckle he heard it. The all too familiar sound of boots on the tiled floors just down the hall.

A low sigh rushed through his teeth as he blew out in frustration. He didn’t own even a minute to himself.

He didn’t bother moving. Hat over his face as his team waltzed right into his office like it was their own.

“Oi, Cap. Settle a debate for us, yea?” Gaz said.

Price could see it in his head.

Ghost walking in first, silent. Already leaning against the wall by the coat rack. Then Gaz who was followed by Soap. Bickering, of course. And then you. Sweet little you.

“Cap? Ye listening?” Soap interrupted.

Bollocks. They weren’t leaving.

“What.” Price grumbled. He didn’t bother asking. They would rope him into it anyway.

“I bet twenty pounds that you’re in your forties, and Soap over here says he’s betting thirty pounds that you’re in your fifties.” Gaz replied, and Price didn’t have to look to see the smirk on Gaz’s face. Not when he could hear it.

Bloody muppet bastards.

Price took the hat off his face, and sat up in a flurry of movement.

“The hell are you lot on about?! I’m not in my forties. I’m thirty six for god sake.”

Soap barked out a laugh almost immediately.

“Yer fucking with us, right? Thirty six?”

Gaz snorted. “No way. You’ve got at least a decade more than that.”

“Oi.” Price snapped, glaring at Soap and Gaz as he dragged a hand down his beard. “Watch it.”

Ghost, still in his quiet spot by the wall, tilted his head slightly. “That what you tell y’self?”

“Get out.”

There wasn’t much bite behind it, just enough edge to keep them entertained.

Soap leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk like he owned it.

“Out with it then. C’mon, Cap. When’s yer birthday anyway? We wanna do something special for ye.” But Soap crooned the words with a smile that made the hair on the back of Price’s neck raise.

Like hell would he trust any of them with his birthday. He couldn’t even trust them to give him a second of peace and quiet.

Price’s expression flattened, irritation settling back over him like it had never left. His fingers curled against the arm of the chair. His jaw ticking.

“I don’t want anythin’ done,” he said, voice low. “An’ that's final.”

Gaz raised his hands in mock surrender, grin still firmly in place. “Alright, alright. No cake, no singing. We’ll keep it classy.”

“Classy?” Soap scoffed. “Ye couldnae spell classy if ye-”

“Out,” Price cut in, sharper this time. “The whole lot of you.”

There was a hesitant pause.

The kind of peace he’d been wanting all day had settled over the room for just a second.

Ghost pushed off the wall first, silent as always, already halfway to the door. Gaz followed with an amused shrug. Soap lingered. Of course he did. His eyes flicked between Price and the rest of the room like he was debating pushing his luck.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Sergeant.”

Soap grinned, but he backed off, hands raised as he turned toward the door. “Aye. Touchy ol’ man.”

The door shut behind him, and Price sighed into the silence.

The quiet settled around him. Not the same as before.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, once more, tension still coiled tight in his shoulders as his gaze flicked to the side, landing on you.

You hadn’t moved.

Of course you hadn’t. Why would you?

“You plannin’ on followin’ them,” he muttered, voice rough, “or just stand there starin’?

His words weren’t as sharp as they should’ve been.

That was his problem.

Because now that the room was empty, now that it was just you and him.

He was very aware of you.

Of the way you lingered. Of the way you looked at him like you had something on your mind. Like you weren’t quite done.

A muscle in his jaw tensed.

“C’mon. Spit it out.” He snipped, leaning back slightly though his eyes didn’t leave you.

“Happy Birthday.” You said, holding his gaze.

His fingers flexed against the plastic arm of his chair.

“How’d you know?”

“You mentioned it once.” You shrugged. Like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t worth recounting just when he had let something like that slip.

Your hands reached into one of the many pockets of your uniform before pulling out a small brown paper bag. Folder up into a neat square, no bigger than the palm of your hand.

“An’ what is that?” Price asked, arching one brow as he stared you down.

He didn’t want anything. Didn’t even like gifts but it would be a lie to say he wasn't intrigued at the very least.

“Nothing special.” You smirked, walking towards him, and setting it down in front of it.

He reached forward, hand closing over the small package. Unfolding it as the smell of freshly baked sweets danced under his nose.

“S’this a biscuit?”

You didn't bother answering him. He wasn’t surprised.

Price pulled the cookie from its wrapper. A reluctant smile pulled at his face. He bit into the biscuit and resisted a rather inappropriate sound as the chocolate chips melted over his tongue.

Good.

Too good.

And then you gave him that look.

“Dont start.” He warned.

And yet? You did anyway.

Something about his birthday. About doing something small. About not letting it just pass by like any other day. About the team wanting to be a part of his life.

The words blurred together.

“It’s just one day, Sir.” Your voice was softer than he expected. Careful. “You don’t have to hate it this much.”

“No.”

Sharp. Immediate. Final.

It should’ve ended there.

It didn’t.

“We’re not asking for much,” You continued, stepping a little closer. “Just let us do something for you.”

Price’s eyes narrowed.

“I said no.”

You didn’t stop.

He doubted you even knew how.

“You don’t get to just shut people out just because it's easier,” You pressed, planting your hands on his desk. “We want to celebrate you.”

That did it. Pushed his little remaining patience right off the edge.

“Enough.”

The word cut through the room.

Silence dropped between you, heavy and still.

Price leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. His eyes locked on yours, focused, something darker threading through that palpable irritation.

He didn’t like the way you were telling him what to do.

Who exactly had given you the clearance to run your mouth off?

To your superior nonetheless.

“You wanna know what would give me a good birthday?” he asked, voice low and steady.

His eyes dropped just enough to make sure you noticed the way he dragged his gaze back up your body.

Measured. Deliberate, even.

“Then stop tryin’ to make it somethin’ it's not.”

A beat of that terse silence sat, waiting.

His eyes raked over you again, painfully slow before settling back on your face.

“And stop pretendin’ you don't know what I’d rather be doin’.”

Your breath hitched, and it was heaven on his ears.

He had you cornered, and you liked it.

“Y’think it's okay to speak to your superior like that?” He asked, kissing the back of his teeth.

Naughty little thing that you were, why’d you always insist on crossing the line.

“I-” You started before he raised a hand, cutting you off.

Price didn’t bother letting you finish.

The hand he raised stayed up a second longer than necessary, not touching, not yet, just enough to silence you without another word.

“Didn’t ask.” He muttered.

He stood.

His chair scraped against the cold linoleum floor cutting through the quiet like nails on a chalkboard, and suddenly the space between you didn’t feel like enough. Not when he stepped forward, closing in like a predator hunting its prey, forcing you to either hold your ground or give up. You didn’t move.

His gaze flicked over your face like he was searching, weighing. Then slower, lowering this time, like he had all the time in the world.

“You’ve got a nasty little habit,” he said, voice quieter, rough around the edges, “of not listenin’ when you’re told.”

It wasn’t a question. A statement.

His hand dropped, not hard, not gentle either, just enough force on your arm to shift you where he wanted you. Subtle. Controlled.

Like you had lost your say the moment you talked back.

“Pushin’,” he continued, focusing back on you. “Talkin’ back. Thinkin’ y’know better.”

Another step closer. Another step towards you.

“An’ now you’re standin’ here, tellin’ me what I’m doin’ with my own day.”

He paused. The air in the room changed. Tight and heavy, like the room too was holding its breath.

Price’s thumb brushed once, absently, almost like he hadn’t meant to before his hand settled on your waist, firmer now.

He suppressed a grin at the way you shivered under his touch.

“You always this stubborn,” he asked, his voice almost a purr, “or just with me, Love?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes following his lips, as they drooped into that sweet way they always did when he got too close. The look that he’d been day dreaming about for months.

“Thought so.” He chuckled softly.

“So here’s what we're gonna do. Make it up to me for my birthday, an’ such.” Price murmured leaning close enough now you could feel the heat of his breath on your ear. Your hands reached out to steady yourself against him.

“Funny how you listen when it suits you.”

“Its called selective hearing.” You quipped, unable to stop yourself from twisting the knife a little more.

“Ah, so you like tempting me? That’s the mistake.”

“And if I do?” You asked, breathy.

His teeth ground in his jaw. He was going to need a smoke.

He’d lost his damn patience with you and these silly games.

“Skivvies off. Now. Bend over that desk.” Price smirked as he said it, but his smile was anything but sweet.

You blinked at him, lips parting gently. Fuck what he could do with those lips.

“What?” You asked, so cute of you to pretend like you hadn't just heard him.

“Drop the skivvies,” Price said slowly, as though he was talking to someone stupid, “bend over that desk. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

For a second it seemed like you might argue. Price wouldn’t be surprised.

And then you obeyed, with a devilish smile.

Sending a shock to his hardening erection.

Your hands slipping down to your belt, undoing it with a practiced ease, letting the fabric of your pants pool around your ankles.

Leaning forward, you steadied yourself against the top of the desk, on your elbows.

Price was quiet for a long second, before letting out a low whistle.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” He muttered, his hands working his own belt off.

He felt a touch foolish. His face, he was sure, was that ruddy pink color it always got when his thoughts got the best of him. His fingers felt fat and weak as they fumbled their way around his buckle.

Like a teenager during his first time. That’s what this felt like. That distant yet familiar stirring in his gut. When was the last time he’d allowed himself to enjoy himself? The last time he’d allowed himself to have something more than just his hand and some vague memory.

But surely he deserved this? Just this once? It was his birthday afterall.

Price stepped closer to you, letting his pants drop to his knees, hands slipping his boxers down with them.

“Tick tock, I’m getting bored.” You drawled with an exaggerated sigh.

He tongued his cheek, trying not to rise to your bait.

His hand grabbed the base of his cock, giving himself a couple quick strokes. For Christ’s sake he was leaking like a fucking faucet. It had been too fucking long.

You wiggled your ass, playfully almost. It would be cute if he wasn’t thinking so hard about pounding you into his desk.

He was vaguely aware of the calluses of his withering hands on your smooth skin. His old hands flecked with scars sliding over your waist as his length pressed between your thighs.

Fucking lovely. A low groan rumbled up his throat. Giving slow shallow thrusts, his precum swelling enough to drip on your thighs.

Price wasn’t going to fuck you yet. No. He was going to drag this out and enjoy it for as long as you’d let him.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” You snipped, and a wicked smile crossed his face.

“Pretty damn mouthy for someone bent over my desk, yeah?” Price chuckled. Bringing his lands lower, one cupping your ass, and the other skimming down to slip a finger in you.

He could feel you clench down on his fingers and a prayer hissed between his teeth. Your velvety insides were practically begging him to fuck you.

You whined softly, as he finger fucked you from behind, still thrusting into your thighs.

That familiar dull ache in his lower gut pulsed, his muscles tightening. He was close. That just wouldn’t fucking do.

Price pulled back. “Stay still.” He said, voice low and rough.

Dropping to his knees, he pulled his fingers from your core and separated your thighs. Then licked a long warm strip up your center, tongue circling your hole.

“Shit.” He heard you mewl.

He was going to have to fix that mouth of yours.

The tip of his tongue wriggled in, just enough pressure to have you squirming, and trying to shut your thighs on him. He leaned closer, tongue snaking in and out of you, as his hand reached underneath to pleasure you further.

“Fuck…Price.” You moaned, and what a beautiful sound it was.

A sharp clack sounded through the room and you yelped. He had just slapped your ass, hard.

“Sir. You can call me Sir. And watch your mouth.” He corrected.

His cock twitched when you turned to look over your shoulder, eyes watering, as you purred your response.

“Sorry, Sir.”

That pouty look was going to kill him. He needed you speared on his weeping cock. Now.

You were lovely, gripping the edge of his desk as he stood, eager and dripping with excitement for him. So fucking lovely as he lined himself up with your welcoming heat. You pushed your hips back, urging him in.

He slapped your ass a third time, relishing the way your body jerked forward, the way you cried out.

You were going to learn to be patient. To go on his terms. To watch that fucking filthy mouth of yours. This was a punishment afterall.

Several shallow thrusts let him bully the head of his cock into you, stretching you out. He rocked his hips, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood.

You felt so fucking good. John Price was not a heaven bound man, but this was a pretty damn close second.

He could cum from this. There was no doubt that after months of denying himself, years even, that this was enough to have him finishing.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

With one sharp thrust he slammed into you, pelvis against your ass. One hand below your shoulder blades, pinning you down on the desk.

You moaned in response. A deep throaty sound that made his length twitch again.

Hell, he wasn’t going to last long.

Price made quick work of angling his hips to find that sweet little spot in you. That gummy little bump that had you whining and writhing under him.

“Faster, faster!” You shouted, blinded by the pleasure.

He felt the sweat start to pool at his brow and slip down his jaw. Pounding into you, and watching in awe as you rolled your hips against the desk in an urgent need for more friction.

His hand found your leg and pulled it up a little higher, giving him more access to you. What a sweet slutty thing you were. His chest pressed into your back, the sticky feeling of your sweat mixed between your bodies.

What would your team say if they knew? If they knew what a mess you could be reduced to. If they knew how good you looked spread across his desk.

“Oh god!” You cried, clenching down on him as you came undone.

He groaned as he filled you. His spend flushing inside of you, warm hot sticky ropes of his pleasure connecting you to him in his last unrhythmed thrusts.

“Fucking perfect.” He murmured once more, placing chaste kisses down your shoulders and spine.

You laughed, a soft breathy sound.

“Happy Birthday. Want another round?”

He barked a laugh, still trying to get his chest to stop heaving like he’d ran a marathon.

He could get used to this birthday nonsense.

Yall wanna be proud of me for finishing thisss?? Also join the server!!!

(INSERT NAME) A CoD-Fandom based server for writing, art, fic/comic reading and much more. A place where all kinds of CoD fans are welcome!!

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Wow!! Look! Two whole posts in one month!! Must be some kind of record!! 😅

God Fearing Man

Soap x Ghost

(Tws: Inappropriate behavior in a church, Giving oral, Receiving oral, hand jobs, canon x canon, Simon “Ghost” Riley is secretly the instigator, Strong language, explicit content, slight voyuerism?, lmk if I missed any!!)

(NSFW Under the Cut)

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish had always seen himself as a God-Fearing man. A true Christian. A pure Catholic through and through. Church every Sunday through heaven and hell. A rosary that traveled everywhere with him. A prayer always on the tip of his tongue, and years memorizing the bible verses like they were his very own name. Scriptures lining his very soul. Simon knew this about his boyfriend.

Simon “Ghost” Riley had been to church once before today. If you asked him, he’d tell you that God and heaven were the kind of things people who were scared of death believed in to make themselves feel better about eventually rotting and turning into soil.

But he came today. Because Soap had insisted, begged practically. A determined effort to show Simon the “beauty” of faith. Simon wasn’t exactly convinced, but he didn’t have anything better to do, so what the hell. If it meant this much to his boyfriend, he could spare an evening to sit in a church and pretend like he was religious.

Simon’s hand drifted up Johnny’s shoulder and found the back of Johnny’s neck. Simon grazed his thumb up and down his lover’s neck, drawing little circles on the skin under Johnny’s ear.

The muscles in Johnny’s neck were tense. Simon would have to remember to rub those knots out later for Johnny.

“Oi, relax a lil’ bit, yeah?” Simon murmured, his tone low enough for just Johnny to catch.

The tip of Johnny’s ears flushed pink, as he coughed. Nervous? Perhaps it was just where they were. Simon was sure Johnny hadn’t brought past boyfriends to church with him. They probably weren’t always the most socially receptive of places towards the queer community.

He suppressed a grimace. He didn’t like thinking about Johnny having past boyfriends. Call him jealous, he didn’t care. But he didn’t consider himself so. Johnny had had many girlfriends, and Simon wasn’t bothered by those, and didn't care if Johnny told him stories about them. He'd even met some of them, all nice birds. But they were women. He wasn’t comparable to them. But the boyfriends, just the thought had his pulse skipping.

Johnny smacked his hand away and stared ahead as the priest began talking. Simon’s eyes flicked to the side, fighting back a roll. Ah, yes. This is when Simon could zone out. He had gotten skilled at it of course. Narrowing his eyes and staring vaguely in the direction of the speaker. Shoulders relaxed just enough that he appeared interested, attentive even.

Simon wasn’t sure how much more he could take. This particular form of torture might just be the worst one yet. He had already counted the pews, and the lights, and the windows, and the squared ceiling tiles. A little over two hundred. And yet, the service hadn’t ended.

His hand found its way back over to Johnny. Sliding over the rough fabric of Johnny’s best blue jeans. The ones that made his arse look nice. Simon’s hand laid flat over Johnny’s thigh, earning him a furtive glance.

“Si, knock it off” Johnny hissed under his breath.

Johnny pulled Simon’s hand off his lap, and placed it back near Simon.

With a low sigh, Simon looked up at the light fixtures. Thankfully he’d been smart enough not to let Johnny pick one of the spots under lights. He didn’t trust those supposedly safe hundreds of years old chandeliers. And more thankfully the pissy woman who shoved him in the doorway earlier was sitting underneath one.

Simon briefly imagined it falling on her, fighting a chuckle. But a grin slipped on his face nonetheless.

“I don’ ken what yer thinking, but stop it.” Johnny whispered, before he stood, smacking Simon’s side to make him stand as well.

Everyone began singing a song that Simon didn’t recognize. Fucking brilliant. Two of his least favorite things, people and singing.

He felt like a toddler being reigned in.

Simon hated the word petty. More specifically, he hated when other people called him petty. He didn’t think he was petty. Strategic, exacting, maybe a touch vengeful, but petty was a dull ugly word.

Even if it could’ve been a touch true. Simon was getting annoyed that Johnny was reprimanding him. Made him feel like a schoolboy, getting his ear pulled by a teacher.

He tongued his cheek, a brilliant idea struck Simon like God might’ve really existed and thought this service was boring too.

They sat in the back, the last pews, under the dim light of candles. Simon didn’t know that masses could happen at seven in the evening. It wasn’t packed, but it was certainly busy enough that no one would be paying any mind to them, and there was no way that the priest could see them. Not when he could barely read the Bible in front of him.

“You trust me?” He murmured, lips brushing the shell of Johnny’s ear.

Johnny side eyed him. So serious in a church. It was almost threatening, almost.

“Depends.” Johnny settled on the one word answer before he flipped the page in his Bible.

“Don’t make a sound, and I’ll reward you for it later.” Simon said, keeping his voice calm and even.

This was a terrible plan. A fantastically terrible plan.

“And if I make a sound?” Johnny asked; eyes lighting up at the challenge. If there was one thing that Johnny loved more than his faith, it was a challenge.

“Give me neck, yea?”

“Here? Have ye gone mad?” Johnny whispered, snapping his head to the side to stare Simon down.

“Then don’t make noise. We’re in the back. They’re not looking at us.” Simon shrugged, keeping his voice low.

Johnny’s mouth clamped shut, but he nodded and then looked forward, resuming his singing. He had a nice voice, too bad Simon wanted to make him sing in other ways.

The second Johnny was sitting again, Simon’s hands were in his lap, making quick work of his jean’s button and zipper.

Simon liked the way Johnny’s cheeks were burning pink as he lifted his hips just enough to help Simon slip his hand under the waistband of his boxers.

Johnny semi was already rising eagerly to meet Simon’s rough calloused hand.

Simon wrapped his long fingers around Johnny’s cock, and gave it a slow languid couple of strokes before it was steel in his hand.

He heard Johnny take a sharp shuddering breath in. No way in hell was he going to lose to that. Especially not when he knew every way imaginable to have his sweet little Soap spilling over himself in mere minutes.

His thumb slid over Johnny’s tip coaxing a bead of pre cum out. He picked up a steady pace, stroking his lover until Johnny’s thighs were tense like rocks.

“Easy, we’re not done yet.” Simon snickered, a low amused sound in Johnny’s ear, only serving to rile him up more.

Simon kept his pace even, slow. Taking extra care to twist his hand a little when he reached the tip. If he really wanted to get Johnny off quickly he would’ve freed up his other hand to roll Johnny’s ball in his palm. But they didn’t have the space for that, not if they wanted to keep this private.

Johnny bit down on his bottom lip, suppressing a whine. Silly boy, he wasn’t going to make it.

His hips began bucking up gently into Simon’s hand, just enough to give himself a little more friction.

“Si.” Johnny whimpered, barely audible to Simon himself.

Everyone was standing once more to sing. Lovely.

“Yes, Luvie?” Simon smirked, a wolfish thing.

“Please.” Johnny whispered, his voice hitching.

Simon clicked his tongue softly. And Johnny’s eyes widened. He knew what that meant. Knew that Simon wasn’t done having his fun.

“Steady on.” Was all Simon said before he slid off the pew onto his knees. He was thankful for small mercies, like ridiculously long hymns.

He brought his lips to Johnny’s cock, kissing the tip before dragging his tongue over the underside. He slipped his tongue over the head and pressed into the slit. Tasting the salty precum that gathered there. Johnny’s hands found their way into Simon’s short blonde hair and tugged. Johnny tried to subtly rut his hips, like he could convince Simon to go faster, take him in deeper if he pushed. Anything to end his suffering, or perhaps it was the only way he knew how to get that little glimpse of heaven.

Simon took another inch into his mouth, making sure to hollow his cheeks and let his teeth just barely graze over Johnny’s sensitive skin.

He looked up and was met with those gorgeous icy blue eyes staring down at him over rouged cheeks.

Johnny was practically pleading with his eyes. That look was basically begging him to let Johnny finish. And where else but his mouth. Afterall, it was rude to leave a mess in a church.

Moaning, Johnny just barely managed to cover it with a cough as he pulled Simon’s face against his pelvis and finished in Simon’s mouth.

Simon pulled off and licked his lips, getting back into his seat just as the song finished and everyone settled back in.

He looked at his boyfriend, who was tucking himself back into his pants in a panic.

Johnny’s eyes flicked once over to Simon.

“I would say you were pretty noisy.” Simon murmured, buying the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling.

“Fuck you.” Johnny muttered.

“Why? When you can do it for me.” Simon said, undoing his belt with a quiet precision before continuing. “You’ve had plenty a good practice getting on your knees, Luv.”

Johnny flipped Simon off at that.

The priest was talking now, reading a passage and rambling through his interpretation of it. Something about sin. Simon wasn’t really listening as Johnny slipped onto his knees and looked around, eyes darting. Making sure they had no audience.

His dick was already out, giving it a couple of lazy strokes while Johnny repositioned himself, gently replacing Simon’s hands with his own.

Simon skimmed the crowd with his eyes, not a single soul in here was paying attention to them. Good.

Just when Simon was sure Johnny was going to get back up and tell him that it was a terrible idea, Johnny’s other hand began fondling his balls.

Holy fuck.

Was it wrong to think that in a church? Simon supposed it was a little too late to be questioning the morality of his thoughts.

Johnny’s tongue swirled around the head of Simon’s cock, before he dipped his head a little lower. Simon sighed through his nose, as his fingers ran through Johnny’s dark mohawk, tugging in the way he knew Johnny liked.

Simon leaned back and rolled his hips as much as he could without the pew squeaking in protest, slipping his length in and out of Johnny’s warm velvety mouth. Letting Johnny’s tongue drag deliciously over the underside. Fucking mouth of gold.

Bobbing endlessly, Johnny was keeping a nice steady pace. He knew Simon so well. But Johnny should’ve also known that this pace wasn’t going to do it for Simon. Neither was this shallow thrust. Simon tangled his hand in Johnny’s hair and applied just enough pressure to give Johnny a chance to refuse. Instead, Johnny sank deeper over Simon’s rock-hard length.

What a good boy.

He led the pace now, pushing Johnny’s head a little deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of Johnny’s throat like it was meant to be there. Johnny’s eyes watered but he kept his gagging quiet. Johnny looked up at him, and Simon thought he might finish right then and there.

Those pretty blue eyes staring up at him, watery and sparkling under the low candlelight, before taking Simon all the way down his throat until his nose was nestled in Simon’s blonde pubes, and hollowing his cheeks.

Fuck. Just like that.

Simon’s brows furrowed, the only outward sign of his arousal.

Johnny must’ve known Simon was close. His dick was twitching over Johnny’s tongue before he leaned forward and shoved Johnny’s head down harder than he intended. He cleared his throat with a rough cough to cover the noise of Johnny gagging as he flooded Johnny’s mouth with white hot ribbons.

Simon locked eyes with the huffy woman from earlier, her blonde bob shaking as she twisted in her seat to glare at Simon. Her eyes narrowed when she didn’t see soap sitting next to him.

A devilish idea descended upon Simon at that very second. He lifted his hand to his face and tongued his cheek, making a crude gesture before pointing to Johnny’s head in his lap, which she couldn’t see.

Johnny chose that moment to get back into his seat and wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

The woman stared, her mouth dropping open in horror.

And Simon smiled back before kissing Johnny, watching her the whole time.

Maybe church wasn't so bad.

Side note: WE HIT 400 followers!! Crazy since I haven’t been active enough

ALSO JOIN THE COD FANDOM SERVER!!

(INSERT NAME) A CoD-Fandom based server for writing, art, fic/comic reading and much more. A place where all kinds of CoD fans are welcome!!

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Hey hey!

Opening a Cod Discord Server! If you like cod fics, art, or just want to talk to people about it, please consider joining! We are just starting out so it’s small and quiet, but don’t let that deter you! I’ve got a couple friends helping me manage it and I’ll probably drop future fics and sneak peeks in there too!

We’d love to have you and everyone is welcome!

Or feel free to just join and lurk!!

(INSERT NAME) A CoD-Fandom based server for writing, art, fic/comic reading and much more. A place where all kinds of CoD fans are welcome!!

Here is the new link!!

[silverlullabies]

need someone to hold a gun to my head and force me to finish writing this one shot 🫩

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

So fucking valid 💀

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Guys I swear it’s the parasites in me that keep writing these slutty fics…I promise..you’ve gotta believe me..PLEASE BELIEVE ME lol

Adirondack

Soap x Gn!Reader

(Tws: unprotected sex, explicit language, mild finger fucking, Johnny is a horny freak, reader insert is definitely in charge, Mild sub!Johnny, lmk if I missed any!)

(NSFW Under the Cut)

Fog billowed across the highlands in a thick layer of white coating the frosted grass like snow.

Soap sat on his back deck, in the dark green adirondack chairs he had painted to match the trees that surrounded the old log cabin. It had been in his family for generations, but he was the only one who ever really used it anymore.

His Ma and his Da weren’t interested in making the trip anymore, or packing all the food, and chopping all the wood. And Soap’s sister; Fiona, only came up here for the summer holiday with her husband and their bairn.

Soap took a slow deep breath in through his mouth letting the morning chill fill his lungs and burn down his throat and then blew through his nose.

He had missed this. Missed the highlands, the cold that settled over the land as winter neared, the near silent mornings with a coffee in his hand, coffee that didn’t taste like right shite.

The sky was clouded and grey.

It will snow soon.

Soap thought, eyes searching the sky like he could catch the first snowflake. His fingers were reddened from the cold, but he didn’t even think about going in. Not like this. Not when the chill in the air seemed to steal away all his thoughts and calm his too eager mind.

The pitterpatter of footsteps and the soft drag of a blanket alerted him to your presence before you even spoke.

“G’morning,” he said gently to you, as you trotted forward and sat on his lap, curling into him.

You were warm against him, despite only being in his shirt and underwear.

With a “hmph” you nuzzled the side of his neck with your nose, not hiding the way you breathed him in like oxygen.

“What are ye doin’ up so early? Ye not one for rising with the sun,” he said with a gentle chuckle.

“Cold.” You said, as though that was enough of an explanation.

He smirked. “Aye, so ye thought it well to come and sit out here in the cold?”

You hummed a noncommittal response.

The silence between the two of you was comfortable. The only sound, the low hiss of an occasional wind and birds overhead.

You pulled the blanket you brought out with you up to your chin, trying to block the icy air.

He felt the way you shivered and smiled.

“If yer so cold, ye can go in, ye ken?”

You kissed the back of your teeth. A sharp tsking sound like calling him dumb without actually saying it.

He rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around you, one hand finding your thigh and letting his thumb brush over the skin.

You shifted,

“That tickles.” You stated.

With your head tucked against the crook of his neck, you couldn’t see the cheshire-cat grin that split his lips.

“Aye?”

There was a pause, and then his hands wound their way up your leg, cupping your ass, and giving a sharp pinch.

Yelping, you pulled your head from his shoulder and met his gaze, glaring at him.

“What the hell was that?!”

“Just doin’ my job, Mo rùn.”

“Bullshit.”

“I promise. I’m with the FBI.”

You stared at him unimpressed, “The FBI, huh.”

He nodded, his canine’s flashing with the shit eating grin he brandished like a weapon.

“Federal Booty Inspectors.”

The urge to facepalm grew stronger the longer you stared at him and his sharp-toothed smile spread.

“Pretty damn proud of yourself, yeah.”

His face flushed in a way that screamed he was holding back a laugh.

You eyed him sharply, not knowing whether to laugh or cuff him upside the head.

Decisively you planted your hands on his chest, cupping his pecs.

“I work for the FBI too.” You said, keeping your face straight.

“Oh? Ye do?” He quirked an eyebrow, lips pulling at the corner as he tried to look serious.

“Mhmm. I’m an agent of the Federal Boobie Inspectors. We’ve come to investigate reports on some absolutely unreal boobs.”

Soap snorted, his eyes crinkling, his head tossed back.

You squeezed his pecs with a, “Honk, Honk…mhmm. Yup. Nice tits.”

He roared with laughter, his cheeks rouged, his smile impossibly wide.

When he had finally managed to calm himself, he fixed you with a look.

“What.” You said breaking eye contact under his intense stare.

Those icy blue eyes drilled into you, unrelenting before his hands raised to your face and held you gently.

The air around the two of you grew quiet, not tense but full of words bubbling on the ends of your tongues.

His thumb brushed your cheek, and he never looked away.

“Ye ken I love ye, yea?” He murmured, his tone soft breaking that dense quiet.

Your eyes met his.

“I love you too.”

He leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to your lips.

One of his hands came up to cradle the back of your neck, while the other slipped down to your waist. He tipped his chin up, deepening the kiss. His thumb rubbed slow circles on your hip, as you kissed him back.

He could die happy like this, he thought briefly. Well, maybe not die. You’d probably have a heart attack if he dropped dead while you were kissing.

Johnny liked kissing you. Granted he liked doing other things with you as well. But kissing you was definitely up there on the things he liked.

He groaned when your tongue slid into his mouth over his. He really should have had more shame, good thing he didn’t. His hand dropped lower, squeezing a handful of your ass.

Your hands held steadily on his shoulders before finding their way to his hair. Yeah, no. He could die happy like this, even if it risked the chance of you raising him from the dead just to kick his ass.

The sound that rumbled up his throat when you teased his bottom lip between your teeth was far from natural.

“Do that again, Bonnie, and I’ll have ye screaming loud ‘nough for the neighbors to hear.” He mumbled against your lips.

“You don’t have neighbors here.” You said, furrowing your brows at him.

“Aye, I ken what I said.”

Devil that you were, you leaned back in taking his lip between your teeth once more, and tugging so gently. Fuck. You were going to be the death of him. Really.

Cold hands slipped under his shirt and he yelped.

“Christ, are ye trying to kill me?” He shuddered.

You rolled your eyes and kept pulling his shirt up until he relented and tossed it off to the side.

“I’m no’ going anywhere.” Johnny murmured playfully at your rush, pulling you closer to him.

“Mhm” You hummed, but didn’t seem to really notice as you began grinding down on his lap. Evil evil little thing.

He let out a little sound, something between a laugh and gasp.

Johnny was already semi hard. Just enough that the fabric of his joggers were grating on him. The lids of his eyes dropped, taking you in as you rolled your hips over his lap for your own pleasure. Shit, there was nothing he wouldn’t let you do.

Your mouth parted into a soft ‘o’ shape before you brought your lips over the pulse point of his neck. Would you bite him? Was it bad that that’s what he wanted? Maybe he just wanted to bite you. Johnny’s thinking and reasoning were disappearing like smoke through his hands. No more tangible than the very fog that slipped over the deck.

“What happened to being cold?” He said through a moan as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

You ignored him and took the lobe of his ear between your teeth. A goddamn tease.

Johnny’s hands found their way up your thighs, fingers sneaking up higher under the boxers that you were wearing. His bloody boxers.

“Yer tempting me, Bonnie. Might jus’ have to take ye right here.”

“What the hell do you think I've been trying to do, Mactavish. Get your head in the game.” You tsked, and guided his hand into the boxers.

He snorted, but worked his finger into you anyway. Reaching to the second knuckle to hit his favorite place.

A soft groan fell from your lips at the contact.

He loved watching the way your eyes would roll back when he brushed over it. Always so expressive. Johnny was more than sure he could get off just from watching.

You’d probably call him a perv if he said that out loud. The thought made him smile.

Johnny pumped his finger in and out of you a couple of times before adding a second one. Afterall, he’d have to stretch you out right if he planned on fucking you properly. One of your hands held his wrist as he finger fucked you.

“Just like that, Johnny.” You moaned, a rough lovely sound.

You moaned when he angled his hand right. It was more difficult in this position but hardly impossible.

“Aye, that’s it Bonnie.” He cooed, feeling your grip tighten on his hair. Pain prickled at the back of his skull where you pulled on his hair without meaning to. It was heavenly. He was fully erect now.

Your brows furrowed, and your jaw tensed. Good, nice and close. Right where he wanted you to be. Your tongue sneaked out and ran over your lips before gritting your teeth again.

“That’s it, Johnny. Right there.” You inhaled sharply, and Johnny had to plant his feet to stop from shaking. He always got so worked up from you bossing him around. Telling him what to do. Like a sexy teacher.

No, that didn’t sound right. Johnny tried to find the right word for it but he couldn’t really focus on that right now. Not when you were bearing down on his hand and rutting on it.

You were so incredible when you looked this desperate. Though Johnny highly doubted he looked much better right now.

“Ah, ah. Hardly fair to go and finish without me. Mo ghràdh.”

His fingers pulled out leaving you clenching around nothing and uncomfortably empty.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Mactavish.” You groaned, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

“I love ye too.” He quips and the look you give him tells him he should shut up if he values his head.

“Don’ pout, Mo rùn, is no’ a good look on ye, and anyway I’ve got something better for ye.” Johnny smirked.

“Are you really sure it’s better?” You said arching one brow.

“That’s mean, Bonnie.”

A satisfied smirk played on your lips.

“Come on then. Strip and fuck me right.” You said, snarky as anything.

“Oh I will.” Johnny said, wriggling out of his joggers and boxers as fast as he reasonably could with you still on his lap.

He freed his erection. And yes, he meant freed. The poor thing was probably suffocating under all that cloth, just dying to be released.

You shot him another look, almost as if you could hear what he was thinking. He didn’t like when you did that.

“Ye’ve got a nasty tongue. Should fill it with Soap.” He giggled at his own joke and giggled a little more when you glared at him, unimpressed.

He leaned forward catching you in a kiss, and you hummed into it. Johnny stroked himself a couple of times, harder than steel in his hand.

“Ready?” He asked, breaking the kiss, his tone softer now.

“Yes, are you?” You asked in return.

“Been ready.” He said, watching you bite back a smile.

You lifted yourself up just enough to straddle his lap, his tip pressing insistently against your entrance. Sliding down an inch or so you took the head of his cock in.

Johnny let out a whine as you gasped. He never got over this feeling. That sweet feeling of sinking into you like it was the first time all over again.

“Fuck, Mo ghràdh.” He groaned.

Slowly you began rocking your hips, bouncing just enough to keep teasing the tip of Johnny’s cock. Letting it slip in and out.

“Cruel thing.” Johnny grunted, trying to lift his hips a little more, but the position made it easy for you to keep him pinned down.

Your mouth twisted into a please little grin and Johnny was sure now. He’d let himself be tortured if it meant making you smile like that.

You had him wrapped around your finger and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Beg for it.” You laughed, a sweet little revenge for him edging you.

“Ye think I won’? I’m no’ to proud to beg for ye.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say, because the next thing Johnny knew you were taking him in all the way. He was biting the inside of his cheek so hard he could almost taste the coppery tang of blood.

Dropping and lifting yourself, bouncing on him like he was nothing more than a toy, designed for your use. You were truly something else.

His hands found your waist and squeezed.

The sound that spilled from his lips could only be described as a mewl as he began lifting his hips to the new pace you were setting.

Up and down, up and down. You kept that steady pace until the both of you were panting like a couple dogs in heat.

Johnny leaned back in the chair just a touch more. The angle allowed his cock to slam into the spot that had Johnny smiling like a man gone mad. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help it. Watching you fall apart while you rode him was something a man could only dream of. The coil of heat in his abdomen began to twist tighter.

He was going to finish at this rate. He could keep up this pace, watch you, and not finish.

He could feel your walls clenching down on him. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He might die.

Fuck he might actually die. His heart was racing, sweat was slipping down his face from his brow. He was going to finish. He was goi-

“I’m gonna-” He garbled and you only nodded and moaned in response, coming on him with a cry of pleasure.

Johnny was quite sure he died and saw the pearly gates of heaven, or perhaps an open fire in the flames of hell. Didn’t matter much either way. But when he opened his eyes again he saw you. Chest heaving, rugged breaths dragging their way up your throat and that cute little tired smile you always had after he pleased.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this but he certainly didn't mind.

“Another round?” You asked.

“I don’ think I’ve got another in me.” He laughed, but it sounded more like a wheeze.

You really were going to kill him.

I have so many ideas and so little time!!! Curse growing up!

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

It’s here! On Your Own. The final installment to On Your Knees is here. But I think I need to tell yall something first. No matter how it started out. This is not a happy ending, and I’m sorry if that’s yes what you wanted. But I think I always knew I was going to end this story with something like this. If you want feel free to completely ignore this part, and make up your own ending for this. That’s okay too. But this is the ending I needed to write..I’ve been struggling and sometimes the best thing to do for me, is to put that feeling into something else. So thanks for sticking by me, and thanks for waiting the year it took to get this out, even if it’s not what you wanted 🩷

On Your Own

Ex-Wife! Reader x Vox/Vincent Whittman

(Tws: explicit language, alludes to sex, death of major characters, alludes to suicide, pregnancy, dysfunctional family, sad ending, unedited, not beta-ed, lmk if I missed any)

Part 1 Part 2

(Mature Content Under the Cut)

The sting of the cold water cascaded down the tensed muscles of his back. He ground his teeth. His dark hair lay dampened against his forehead.

“Dammnit.” He muttered, pressing his head against the white, water slicked, shower wall.

He took a shuddering breath in and turned the steel knob, letting the last remnants of water trickle onto his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut, counting off his breaths.

Memories of you flashed behind his closed eyelids. Wisps of moments stolen from the past. Soft hitches in your breath. Your eyes fluttering shut. The taste of your skin, sweet with a hint of salt from the sweat that stuck to it. Your lips parted gently as your hand gripped his forearm. The way your breasts rocked back and forth on your chest as he plowed into you.

His heart picked up as visions of you danced in his head.

His eyes shot open, as his hand slammed against the shower wall.

“Fuck!” He shouted. Outside the door he heard something clatter to the ground. He was sure that he must’ve scared the shit out of the cleaning lady.

He shook his head, letting water droplets fly off the ends of his dark locks.

He stepped out of the shower, pulling a soft white towel off a nearby rack, and wrapping it around his waist. His feet padded towards the fogged mirror, his heels sticking slightly to the cooled tile floors. His hand reached in front of him as he wiped away the condensation on the glass. His face was reflected back at him, dark circles rimming the underneath of his green and blue eyes. His lips pulled into a frown, the smile marks around the edges of his mouth only deepened, as his brow furrowed.

He looked like shit. He ran his hand over his face; sighing. Would this godforsaken day ever end?

A soft knock sounded on the bathroom door.

“Mr.Whittman? Are you alright, Sir?” A mousy voice called.

Vox fought off the urge to roll his eyes, as he shuffled towards the door, and twisted the knob. He forced a tight smile on his face before he addressed the younger woman.

“Just fine.. I don’t recall asking you to come into my room?” He smiled, but the threat veiled under his playful tone seemed to land regardless.

“I- I am so sorry Sir. I…I just thought that..” She stammered before trailing off, dipping her head shamefully.

Vox would be lying if he said that the idea of sleeping with his pretty cleaning lady hadn’t crossed his mind. Unfortunately, every time he tried to truly consider the concept, thoughts of you ricocheted through his head like a flash bomb. An uncomfortable guilt always turned his stomach when that thought weaseled its way into his brain on lonely nights.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Just don’t let me catch you in here again, okay?” Vox’s tone softened, the same soothing voice he used to convince customers to sign into their contracts. He was a pro after all, he had gotten rather good at pretending to care about other people’s feelings.

She nodded hastily, her eyes widened but didn’t quite meet his own.

“Why don’t you head out. It's the holidays, go spend them with your family.” Vox murmured, letting his tone lilt into something playful.

“Oh, I really don’t mind, Sir.”

“Really. It’s on me. Plus, I’ll be busy anyway.” Vox insisted, ignoring the growing want to grind his teeth through his jaw.

She flashed him a quick smile before she grabbed her broom and scampered out of his room.

Vox leaned against the bathroom door jam waiting for the telltale sign of her departure; a loud click of the front door locking. He sighed in relief raking his hand through his drying hair. He tipped his head back letting it rest against the solid wooden frame. His eyes flicked to the window where thick fog and a dense pour of rain pressed insistently against the glass.

He hated to admit it, but this was a lot harder than he expected.

How could you possibly expect him to spend all of Thanksgiving with you, Valor, and your new boyfriend. His molars dug into the soft flesh of his inner cheek, at the idea of your new partner.

Scowling, he chewed on the irony. Shitty weather to match his shitty attitude.

“Fucking hell.”

***

“Momma?” Valor prodded gently.

“What?” You snipped, closing your eyes and taking a slow breath when you caught your tone. Your head had been pounding all day, and your body had been sore, but you hadn’t meant to snap at Valor like that.

“Is Dad going to come tonight?”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to pause at the sound of the front door to your apartment opening. Light steps prodded through the hall, the sound of a heavy coat being taken off and hung up near the entrance whispered through the apartment.

“I’m home.” A smooth voice called out.

Valor’s heterochromiatic eyes rolled, as he stood up from the kitchen table and slinked off towards his room.

“Valor, you could at least say hello.” You chided gently.

Your son scoffed before shutting his door. Like father, like son, you thought. Looked just like his father, acted just like his father. What were you going to do with him?

Two strong hands wrapped around your waist pulling you to their owner.

“Not a good day, chér?” His voice murmured against your neck.

You shook your head and turned to face your boyfriend.

His dark brown hair was neatly combed to the sides. His wire rimmed glasses sat on the edge of his nose, like they were always just about to fall off. His dark brown eyes twinkled with mischief in the low light of the kitchen. Alastor.

You turned in his arms, embracing the soft press of his lips to your cheek.

“You are stunning as ever, My Dear.”

Your face warmed at his words, letting him pepper your neck and shoulders with gentle kisses.

“Al?” You said, your voice dipping slightly.

“Hmm?” He hummed into your skin.

“I invited Vox to dinner tonight.”

He paused his ministrations; the softest hitch in his breath.

His dark brown eyes met yours, a cool expression schooled upon his features.

“Is that so?” He asked, but his tone dripped with sharp rhetoric.

“Valor has been asking all week to see him. I-I couldn’t keep him from his father on a holiday.” You plowed through your sentence, desperate to soothe the situation.

His eyes narrowed for just a second, before a tight-lipped grin replaced the frown that sat upon his face just prior. His eyes sparkled under the dim kitchen lighting.

Your mouth parted, readying yourself to speak; to do damage control.

“Ah ah ah, Ma Chér!” Alastor tutted gently.

“No need to speak, Dear. It is perfectly fine if your son would like to see his Father. After all, growing up with separated parents surely must be hard for such a sensitive soul. I guess I’m making a little more food than I previously assumed. Silly me.” Alastor pulled away from the hug he had you wrapped in.

“Oh Al, please don’t be upset with me. I was j-” Alastor pressed a lithe finger to your lips, effectively silencing your protests.

“Who said I was upset? I am simply getting ready to cook. Afterall, I should have plenty of time until the guest arrives, he’s certainly not punctual.” Alastor grinned, briefly checking his watch before he walked towards the fridge.

You watched your boyfriend lean over; bending his tall frame to look into the significantly smaller fridge. You took a slow breath and rubbed the fatigue from your eyes before going to your room to change.

“Chér.” Alastor called out, never turning his head to look at you directly.

“Yes, Alastor?”

“Why don’t you take a bath to ease your nerves.”

A soft smile spread across your lips. That was the first calming thought you had had all day. The idea of the hot water soaking into your skin, and the gentle scent of your favorite soap in the air. The whispering of a delicate melody from an old song playing under the dimmed lights of your bathroom. Yes. That’s exactly what you needed before your ex-husband and your boyfriend met officially.

“That sounds lovely, Al. Thank you, I think I will.” You said, waltzing to your room.

You walked into your room and grabbed at the various pieces of clothing you needed to assemble your outfit. Your hand brushed against one of the silver handles of your white vanity. You paused. There was a small flash of light just to the right of the stool that sat tucked into the hollow space below the vanity. A glint of something shiny; discarded and long forgotten.

Your knees popped as you crouched to get a better look at the unknown object. The sound reminded you of your age, and then of years gone by. Years and years of young vibrance, and foolishly naive determination gone in a moment’s notice.

You felt your heart plummet as you picked up the shiny little object and brought it out into the light.

Your first engagement ring.

The silver band still shined in the light like new. A brief vision of the day you got the little ring swam in your head.

It was Valentine’s Day, and Vox was running late… again.

For a man who consistently preached punctuality to his peers, he never seemed to follow the same ideology. You had been sitting alone for almost an hour at the tiny cafe on the corner of the busiest city street.

Vox had asked you to take an early lunch break, which you agreed to, but only because you had a bit of time before your next class. He had just graduated last year, and you were in your final year of college. Six grueling years of business and math classes to get your master’s degree, but hopefully all worth it in the end.

The toe of your sleek, black heels tapped against the cafe’s linoleum floor. The heels were one of the many expensive gifts Vox lavished you with as of recently.

He’d just gotten a promotion, and his hours seemed to double along with his pay.

You chewed on the soft inner side of your cheek, sneaking a peek at your watch. The second hand ticked away, happily; oblivious to your mounting frustration.

Sighing in defeat you stood and began gathering your things.

“Wait! Wait!” A familiar voice called out behind you.

The entire cafe turned and stared; watching your boyfriend’s antics with curious stares. You felt their eyes drilling into you like carpenter bees, the buzz of their murmuring filled your ears.

“You’re almost an hour late, Vincent.” You muttered, trying to keep your voice low.

He cringed at the use of his real name. You never called him Vincent unless you were mad, or were being very serious. And sometimes, both.

“I know, Doll. I’m sorry.. I was just looking for the right one.”He smiled breathlessly, his coat and tie askew, and his hair windswept.

“Are you okay? How far did you run?” You asked incredulously, holding back a giggle at the way his normally slicked back, neat hair fell in his face.

“Three blocks, not important. I've gotta ask you something, Doll.” He flashed you a wild grin, before dropping onto one knee.

Your eyes widened; heart rate picking up as your breath caught in your throat. No way in hell.

“For the last four years I’ve spent everyday falling more and more in love with you and I’m far from a perfect man. I work late hours, and I’m late to our dates more often than not, but I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. You and I are going to conquer the world. Hell, heaven? You name it. It’s ours. I can feel it now, Sweetheart. So, what do you say? Will you marry me?” Vox stared at you with wide hopeful eyes, and still breathless from running.

“Yes.” You whispered. You blinked your eyes and looked around, realizing you were back in your room, crouched down on your carpeted floor.

Something hot slid down your face, and as you brought a hand up to touch your cheek, you realized you were crying.

Why? Why were you crying? Crying over what? You pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth, feeling the pressure rise in your throat. Had it always been this hard to breathe?

You stood abruptly, letting the blood rush to your head as you shut your eyes tight. The cool metal of the simple silver band dug into the fleshy skin of your palm when you closed your fist around it. Your head spun.

Steadying yourself against the vanity dresser, you look at yourself in the mirror. Your tear streaked face stared back at you blankly. You’d been so tired lately.

“Something the matter, dear?” Alastor’s voice cut through the room like a knife.

You tucked your hand behind your back. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to hide this. Alastor knew that you and Vox were married for years before the divorce. But some little voice in your head nagged at you to keep this to yourself.

“No. Nothing at all. I-I just stubbed my toe, it hurt like a son of a bitch.” You chuckled bitterly, a knot in your stomach formed at the lie.

Alastor clicked his tongue. He had this thing about swearing. He wasn’t fond of them, especially not when you said them. He had told you once it was because he grew up in a more traditional household, swears weren’t used often when he was a child.

But you always figured there was something more to it. Not that he’d ever tell you. He always got antsy when you asked about his childhood. It didn’t matter that the two of you had been dating nearly a year now.

“Be more careful, dear.” Alastor smiled, but something flashed across his face, too fast for you to pin down.

You nodded and scooped up your clothes off your bed, sliding past him to walk into the bathroom.

Alastor had already warmed the bath for you. Of course he had, he was always thoughtful like that. Stepping into the thick steam of the bathroom, a sharp wave of nausea hit. You leaned over the sink and dry heaved, hands shaking.

Panic seized your chest.

It couldn’t be. Chewing your lip you opened the cabinet below the sink and reached towards the back for it.

After several minutes your hands shook and vision spun.

There was no way. This had to be fake.

Two lines stared back at you, blue. Blue like his favorite color. Blue like it was fucking mocking you for what you had done.

You tucked the test away in the back of the cabinet. You’d deal with this later. Later when Vox and Alastor weren’t going to be seated in the same room, and you didn’t have to mentally prepare for that shit show.

Slipping into the hot water of the bath, you sunk low until only your eyes were above the water.

Rationally, you knew it was much too early to tell whose child it was. But you knew. Like a nagging little voice in the back of your head, nudging the answer in front of you. It was his, it had to be.

***

Vox swore as the rain drenched his freshly dried hair. He was going to kill the fucker who parked his corvette last night. The asshole chose the one spot not covered completely by the penthouse garage.

He clicked his tongue and got into the electric blue car. He hated driving in the rain. Rain and double astigmatisms were his own personal hell.

His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. He didn’t have to do this. He could bail, make up some excuse, some meeting that was running late. He’d done it before when you had invited him to meet your new guy.

Vox’s hands had pulled his phone from his pocket, fully intent on canceling just as it pinged and he saw the text from you.

My Love: You’re already 15 minutes late, Vincent. Valor is waiting, so get your ass over here. And don't even think about pulling anything. I can’t deal with your shit today

Wincing at your message, Vox sighed and pocketed his phone once more. Whatever, he missed Valor anyway. He hadn’t gotten to see valor in almost a month. Granted, Vox probably could’ve seen Valor sooner if he had just bit the fucking bullet and agreed to meet with you and your new boyfriend the several times you had offered. Fuck that.

Every inch of traffic, and fog, and rain wrought a slew of imaginative swears from Vox’s mouth. For once, Vox was thankful Valor wasn’t with him. He’d rather not get another yellow notice home from the school that Valor had been picking up on his colorful vocabulary. Not that Vox actually cared all too much, words were just words. But he hated to admit that the look on your face when Vox had dropped Valor off with you that day, Valor handing you that note, had really fucked with him. The expression when you read the reprimand.

Vox shuddered. You always had the ability to do that. Make him feel stupid. Like a little boy being scolded, and having his ears tugged around.

A short snort scraped up his throat at the idea of it. You, trying to pull him around your tiny apartment by his ears. What a stupid thought. Though he doubted that you were above trying.

The drive to your apartment was infuriating, and Vox would be lying if he said he hadn’t had a couple close calls regarding texting as a red light turned green.

Not that he planned on admitting that to you.

He hissed as the rain that seemed to slowly swell right as he got out of his car. His feet took him up the three steps to your apartment, desperate to be out of this stupid fucking rain.

Trudging up the steps, Vox didn’t bother knocking as he walked into your apartment. Half an hour late, not bad.

“Dad!” Valor cheered, shooting out of the kitchen.

“Hey, Bud.” Vox said letting the “hey” draw out as Valor hugged him tight. God, this kid was getting big, his head almost reached Vox’s abdomen.

Valor waved Vox down, and pressed on to his tiptoes. Vox obliged and leaned lower towards his son, as the boy cupped a hand around the side of his mouth, making it rather obvious he was sharing a secret.

“Momma’s new boyfriend is here.” Valor whispered in that way that many eight year olds do, too loud for a secret to stay a secret. Vox almost fought off the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, and Valor crinkled his nose and nodded.

Yeah, Vox didn’t like Momma’s new boyfriend too much either.

***

Valor didn’t like this all that much. When he had asked Mom if Dad would be coming to dinner, he had assumed that Alastor would go away for a while.

Valor didn’t like Alastor. It wasn’t that Alastor was mean, he wasn’t. And Alastor seemed to make his mom happy. But Alastor was pretending to be his new dad, and Valor didn’t need a new dad. He just needed his real dad to come home. Or rather, Valor wanted to move back home with his Dad. In their fancy penthouse, where Valor could see the whole city from the large windows in the living room.

He picked at the skin around his fingernails, he didn’t like the quiet either. This quiet was like the kind that filled the room when he got in trouble and had to wait for the principal to call his parents. It had rained that day. It was raining today too. Valor didn’t like the rain. Valor didn’t like a lot of things right now.

“Baby? Valor.” Mom said, she sighed and he squirmed. He hated when she did that. She gave him that look. It wasn’t Mom’s “I’m angry” look. It was the one she gave him when she thought he wasn’t listening. He listened a lot though. He wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought he was. He was a big kid now. He wasn’t a baby. That’s why he liked Dad. Dad never treated him like a baby. Dad gave him money to “invest”, and let him swear, real swears. Not the ones that made Mom pinch her brows and purse her lips; like dumb, and stupid, and butt. Real big kid swears like the ones he heard on the playground when the middle schoolers were playing on the baseball field.

Which reminded Valor, he should ask his Dad to bring him to play baseball when it was warm.

“Valor.” Mom said again.

Valor looked up at her, and she twisted her lips to the side.

“Always getting lost in that head of yours, huh?”

He didn’t reply, he didn’t think there was a need to. She hadn’t asked him a question. It was rhetorical. Dad had taught him all about the word rhetorical.

“Can you do me a favor, Buddy?”

Valor shrugged.

“Can you go to the bathroom and put out the good soap? The one we use when we have people over, and bring me a rag? There’s still paint on the table from your project yesterday.”

Now it was Valor’s time to sigh. His mom was always making him do dumb things like this. Who even cared if there was paint on the table. Dad wouldn’t care, Valor had seen Dad’s house before. The only times there weren't take-out boxes and dirty clothes everywhere was when Mallory would come over and clean. She was nice, Valor liked Mallory.

Why couldn’t Momma ask Mallory to come over and clean their house for them.

Valor walked to the bathroom. The walls were slick with the steam from Momma’s shower. When Valor was little Momma used to let him draw faces in the mirrors after showers. But Valor was a big kid now. He was too big for Momma to lift him onto the counter anymore, anyway.

He kneeled and opened the cupboard under the sink, grabbing a cloth from the neat stack that lay folded in front, and then he reached further for the fancy bottle of soap his Momma wanted. His hand reached towards the back, fishing around until it bumped something hard and plastic.

With a furrowed brow he grabbed it. He held the plastic stick in his hand. It was white with two blue lines in a little box, and words next to two pictures of the lines.

Pregnant?

Valor knew that pregnant meant something about babies. He’d heard the word in school. One of his classmates mentioned it. They were going to be a sister because their mom was pregnant.

Was Momma going to have a baby?

He tucked it into his hoodie pocket, and reached back into the cupboard for the soap.

Alastor peered into the bathroom.

“Valor. Do you require assistance?” He asked calmly, smiling at Valor.

He shook his head. He didn’t want help from Alastor. Who always smiled like that. Valor did not like Alastor’s smile.

Alastor hummed, before raising a singular brow.

“It is dinner time. Will you be joining us? Afterall, your mother and I went through a lot of work to ensure that your…father would be here.”

“I’m helping Mom.” Valor mumbled, he didn’t know why he felt the need to call his Momma; mom in front of Alastor. Alastor made him feel like a baby.

Valor grabbed the soap, set it out on the counter, and hurried towards the table.

He took the seat next to his Dad.

“Dad, can I sleep over your house after dinner?”

His father turned and looked at him, before looking away just as quickly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Valor.”

Valor tucked his hands in his pocket, fingers brushing up against the plastic of the test he had found.

But Dad didn’t understand. If Momma was going to have another baby, then Valor would have to share his room with the baby, and Valor didn’t want to share his room. Or his parents.

So the baby could have his Momma, at least while they were still little, and Valor would just move in with Dad.

Alastor set plates of hot food along the table, as Momma came in and sat down. She looked over at Dad, and Valor thought she looked kind of sad.

“Vincent.” She said, and he nodded at her, but never looked right at her.

Valor sighed, his parents had always been weird like this.

“Shall we begin, Mon chér?” Alastor smiled, and took Momma’s hand in his own, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Alastor let go of her hand, and served Valor first. Valor didn’t mind Alastor’s cooking. He would never say it, but it was the one thing Alastor did better than Dad.

Then Alastor served Momma. Then himself..

Dad stared Alastor down as he sat.

“Vincent?” Alastor said pleasantly. “Do you need me to serve you as well?”

“No thanks. I didn’t come for the service. Or the show.” Dad said, he sounded annoyed.

Valor could still hear the rain outside. It sounded worse now. Valor looked out the window while Alastor and Dad talked in voices that sounded too polite. Bickering; that’s what Momma always called it.

Valor pushed his plate away and laid his head on the table. Their bickering always gave him a tummy ache, and made him feel shaky. He didn’t know why. The rain poured sideways against the window, the trees shook, and the clouds rumbled in dark grey puffs.

“Valor. Sit up.” Alastor said.

Valor did.

Alastor smirked, and Valor looked back out the window.

“He’s perfectly fine.” Dad snapped, they were both standing now.

“Just because you have no manners, doesn’t mean Valor shouldn’t either, Vincent.” Alastor hissed.

“No manners?!” I’ll show you some fucking mann-” Momma cut Dad off before he could finish his sentence.

“Vincent. Not in front of Valor.” Momma huffed.

“He’s not a baby.” Dad rolled his eyes.

“Um, Momma?” Valor asked, but his parents argued over him, like usual.

“I don’t care how old he is. You don’t need to use that language in front of him.” Momma bit out.

“That kind of language? Oh, get over yourself. When did you become such a fucking prude?”

“Dad?” Valor tried again.

“Not now, Valor.” Momma said and turned back to Dad. “You watch how you speak about me in front of our son!”

Valor couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore, he felt sick. His tummy ached bad now. And his ears sounded fuzzy.

He hated this. He hated Alastor. And he hated that Momma was going to have another baby. But maybe if she had the baby then Valor wouldn’t have to listen to his parents yelling at each other anymore. Maybe then Momma and Alastor could have the new baby and yell at each other, and Valor can go back home. His real home, back with Dad in the penthouse.

“I don’t want another baby!” Valor yelled, and the room got very quiet.

Momma and Alastor sat very still, and Dad looked at Valor.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dad asked.

Valor reached into his pocket, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his hoodie with the other hand. He threw the test on the table.

“That’s a baby test! I know it because it says pregnant, and my friend says that his mom was pregnant when she had a baby!” Valor cried.

Dad stood quickly, and tossed his napkin down on the table. And walked out the door.

“No! Dad! Come back! I want to go home with you Dad! Please, Dad!” Valor screamed, and followed out the door.

“Valor, no!” Momma called, or maybe it was Alastor. It was hard to tell when all Valor could do was run after his Dad.

Outside was slippery and grey. Valor could barely see the street with the way the rain poured down. Like a waterfall from the sky, as Valor stumbled through the rain. He could almost see his dad’s dark hair.

“Dad!” Valor shouted, scrambling down the water slicked steps, and onto the side walk. He could hear the rumble of Dad’s new car. And he kept running until he hit the street and saw Dad.

Rain soaked Valor’s hoodie making it stick to his skin. He blinked rapidly as the droplets clung to his lashes. Everything was a blur of grey and silver. His shoes slipped in the puddles. His hands hit the tar of the street first, and the rest of his body followed.

Valor cried out in pain as a bright light came racing towards him.

— 2 Years Later —

One year ago, you sat in this same seat, staring at the blank white walls of the small church Vincent always liked.

But that time, it was for Valor.

That time, you were barely holding yourself together while staring at a picture of the little boy who called you Momma.

That time, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You couldn’t swallow without feeling sick as strangers stood and said goodbye to your sweet baby boy.

You can still picture Vincent beside you. Silent.

He had never been silent before.

He stared straight ahead. Past the flowers. Past the people. Past the too small casket.

As though, if he didn’t blink, none of it would be real.

He never cried in front of anyone.

But something in him went still that day.

And it never started moving again.

On the anniversary of Valor’s passing, he held your infant daughter too tightly. She was barely a few months old; the child you had given birth to just months after losing your son.

He didn’t speak much that night.

He just stared at the wall.

She looked just like him. She looked like Valor too.

Vincent pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head and muttered an apology.

You’d thought it was because he hadn’t played with her. That he felt guilty for only sitting there in silence.

“I think I'm gonna go home. I’m tired.”

That was all he said to you before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And breathing the same apology.

Three days later you got the call.

And now you stared at his coffin.

Holding your child.

On your own.

You were tired too.

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Not request but I'm here from ur ao3 account and your vox one shots are amazinggggggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!

'I'd do anything' is my favorite!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Awww thanks Nonnie!! This means a lot!! 😭🩷

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

Guyssss…I worked so freaking hard to finish this for todayyy! I was supposed to post last night but forgot, and then today is my partner’s bday so I totally forgot until now! But here have something that’s doing more for my depression than antidepressants!

Ghosted

Bartender! Ghost x Gn!Reader

(Tws: Unprotected Sex, Premature Ejaculation, Ghost lies, Soap is a womanizer, Soap is kind of an ass, Explicit language, Sex, Fingering, Oral, Reader-Insert gets stood up, Ghost is a little pathetic, Ghost is down bad, unedited, no beta we die like all of the task force, lmk if I missed anyyy!!)

(NSFW under the cut!)

The bar had been sketchy at best. A dim single-bulb light that flickered and swung slightly over the sticky wooden table where the finish peeled. The booths were worn and torn with thick gaudy pieces of duct tape stretched haphazardly over the bleak color drained seats. Cheap, dollar store paper hearts adorned every inch of the booze drenched piss yellow walls. Even the damn table had a stupid paper heart bouncing on a weighted spring. This was so dumb. But you still waited. Waited like the fucking idiot you were. You checked your messages one last time, seeing that the message you sent had been read, and ignored. Fuck them.

With a heavy sigh, you stood hip knocking into the sharp corner of the table and sent that stupid heart decoration careening over with a hiss of a curse between your teeth, you walked over to the bar. If you were going to get stood up on Valentine’s day, you were at least going to enjoy yourself.

You sat on one of the bar stools unceremoniously.

“What can I get ya?” A gruff, low voice asked.

Looking up, your words caught in your throat. Holy hell, he looked good.

“You.” The word tumbled off your lips before you could stop yourself.

The pale scar that split his lip stretched as his mouth parted in a wicked grin.

“Are you being cheeky, luv?” He asked, leaning forward on the dark wood of the bar.

Heat crept up your neck, burning your ears.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, eyes looking everywhere but at him. Shit.

You drummed your fingers against the bar top, which was not sticky to your surprise. At least one thing was clean in this place, because apparently not even your mind was.

“So you don’t find me attractive then?” He asked.

Eyes widening, you sputtered.

“What?!” You said entirely too loud and winced, “I didn’t say that you aren't attractive. Because you are. Not that you don’t know that. Shit, I sound crazy.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from his throat like honey slicked hot coals.

The urge to drag him across the bar by the collar of his shirt and kiss him was enough to have you folding your hands in your lap. It had been way too long since you’d gotten laid, you realized with a grimace.

“And what’s someone like you doing in this hell hole all alone?” He asked, one blonde brow raised, a half interested glance thrown in your direction as he moved to clean a glass.

He held the glass up to the light, checking for spots. Your eyes trailed up his exposed arm, tracking the way his muscles shifted under the smooth skin, contemplating what you’d give to take a bite.

—2 Hours Earlier—

Simon knew who you were the second you walked into the bar. His bar. Not that he had really been surprised. Johnny had practically been shoving your picture in his face all week. To say that he’d been skeptical of that stupid dating app Johnny had been using lately was an understatement. Simon was sure that Johnny was going to get catfished. And he had told Johnny that this morning when he’d gotten the text.

09:58

Soap: oi, i’ve got a date tn, told em to meet me at yer pub. let me know if they're catfishin’ me, aye?

Simon had left him on read. He had very little interest in getting roped up into one of Johnny’s nightmare romantic exploits. But then you walked in, and Simon couldn’t explain it.

Maybe it was the way you walked in like you were too good for this dirty little bar. Perhaps it was the way you looked like you were going to kill anyone who dared glance at you. Or probably, and much more likely, it was because you were incredibly fucking hot. Hotter in person, though your pictures were nothing to laugh off. He watched you carefully pick a table. And he knew, because you chose the cleanest one in the whole place. Snuck glances at you as you checked your phone, then swiped your hand across the table and grimaced when your fingers stuck.

So he picked up his phone.

His thumb hovered over the screen for just a moment.

Then he sent it anyway.

20:00

Ghost: ugly. don’t bother.

20:01

Soap: yer a fucking hero, mate. was just about to walk out the door.

Simon wanted to say he felt bad for lying, especially when he watched you fidget and check your phone minute by minute like it would have any change on what he’d done.

But he didn’t.

Not really.

Not when two painfully slow hours had passed. Two hours of pretending like he wasn’t stealing glances at you and thinking of all the ways he could have you folded in his bed. Fuck, he needed to stop. He could not get a hard on at work.

From the corner of his eye he caught you standing and swearing as you knocked over one of the decorations. He grimaced to keep the corner of his mouth from lifting.

You crossed the bar and sat right in front of him on the stool.

“What can I get ya?” He asked, trying hard not to seem like he’d just spent two hours checking you out..Christ he was pathetic.

And you just stared. He fought back an audible swallow. Your eyes hadn’t been this intense in the pictures.

“You.”

Simon almost choked on the very air he was barely breathing.

“Are you being cheeky, luv?” He was fucked. He was so totally fucked.

You tripped over your words, and waved your hands like you could erase the last minute if you tried hard enough.

Bloody hell, you were something else.

He almost felt bad for cheating Johnny out of your sweet awkward bumbling. But then his eyes dropped to your mouth, and his mind went down the gutter with an uncomfortable ease, and his guilt had disappeared like smoke under a fan.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You stammered.

Nah, it was a good thing he saved you from Johnny. He would’ve eaten you alive. Simon didn’t like thinking bad about his friends, but dear god. Johnny couldn’t go steady with one bird for very long. Never quite a settler.

“So you don’t find me attractive then?” Simon asked, just because he knew he was going to love your reaction.

And he did.

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes widened, the ultimate face of shock.

Was it bad to say that he wanted you? That he, a man known for his discipline, wanted you here and now?

You were freaking out. Saying something to him, and yet all he could focus on was what he wanted to do to you. What he wanted you to do to him.

He wondered vaguely what exactly he’d be willing to let you do. He’d never explored much farther than the basics. A lot. Probably.

He really needed to stop thinking about this.

That was the problem, though. He didn’t really want to.

He laughed softly.

Simon tuned back into the conversation realizing that you had stopped talking. Shite. How long had he just been staring like a right creep.

“And what’s someone like you doing in this hell hole all alone?” Fuck, was that a good cover?

He moved his gaze from you.

Simon Riley did not get nervous. And he certainly did not get shaky in his hands when he got nervous. He had to do something with his hands. He grabbed a glass and held it to the light. Good. Very good. He could clean a glass and pretend like he was normal.

Pretend like he flirted all the time, like a normal person.

“I got stood up” You muttered looking away.

“Stood up? Someone like you? I find that a bit hard to believe.” It was official. Simon Riley was a liar. And a bad one at that.

You shrugged, leaning forward on the bar counter, cradling your face in your hands.

“Is what it is, I guess.”

“Yeah, well the bloke was probably a prick anyway. Dodged a real bullet. Trust me.” Simon smirked.

“Trust you? Let me guess, you’re a prick too?” You smiled at him, huffing a laugh.

“Prick doesn’t even begin covering it.” He said back, a smile on his face, despite that being the first truth he’d told all night.

You snorted, and he liked the way your nose crinkled when you laughed.

Simon set the glass off to the side, and leaned over the counter. He was closer now. Could see the way the light played off the color of your eyes. The way your eyelashes fanned against your cheeks when you looked down. To avoid his gaze of course.

He froze briefly. Was it the scars? He knew his face wasn’t exactly pretty, that the scars that marred the lower half of his face were less than attractive.

He’d been considering whether or not to move away when you leaned in a little closer.

You smelled so damn good. Simon really thought he could pop a boner right then and there. Jesus Christ he needed to reign himself in.

“What’s good here?” You asked, and Simon forgot how to answer as his eyes caught on your throat. He could practically feel the skin of your neck between his teeth. He blinked hard and sucked in a sharp breath. Which he realized belatedly that you probably heard if that shit-eating grin on your face was any indication.

“Uh. A pint? Not exactly catering to the royal family by any means.” He said quickly.

“Good enough for me.” You sighed, your eyes tracking him as he poured you a pint. You pulled out your wallet and Simon shook his head.

“No. It's on me.” Simon hoped his smile was friendly enough as he ran a hand through his shorn blonde hair.

“Oh god. Please don’t give me a drink out of pity.” You laughed and Simon already decided that he loved the sound of it.

“It’s not pity.”

“Seriously, let me pay.”

“Pay me with a date?” Simon surprised himself. That was bold. Simon didn’t do bold.

You stared at him for a second, like you were considering.

Then you smiled. A slow, and dangerous thing that had his heart kicking up.

“A date huh? Do you go on dates with all your patrons? Give them all free drinks.”

The corner of Simon’s mouth quirked up. “Only on special occasions, like Valentine’s day.” Simon replied.

You huffed a laugh and ran a hand through your hair. “You’re terrible.”

“I’ve been told.”

“So what would this date look like?”

“First,” he said, voice low. “I close this pub. Then I stop pretending I haven’t been thinking about kissing you since you walked in.”

Simon could hear your breath hitch, but you didn’t pull back. No, you leaned closer.

“Then what?” You asked your voice barely above a whisper and he could’ve died right there.

He didn’t respond, not when he could feel the smile splitting his lips. A real smile. Not a smirk. A real genuine smile out of Simon Riley himself. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“Oi! The bar's closed. Get out.” Simon said sharply, receiving disgruntled whining, and a couple of his already few patrons flipping him the bird. Not that he was bothered by it. His regulars wouldn’t mind.

They trickled out and Simon made quick work of shutting the door and flipping the open sign to closed.

Turning to face you, he met your eyes, holding your gaze for a minute before saying, “Then, I would walk over to you. And kiss you. Unless of course, you had any objections to this?”

You looked around the now empty bar, and Simon was sure you’d say no.

“I don’t see anyone objecting.” The cheshire-cat smile on your face was the final straw.

Simon marched over to your bar stool, boxing you in with one hand on the bar, and the other sliding to cup the back of your neck, as he leaned in.

He watched your eyes flutter close and felt a pull on his lower gut. But he didn’t kiss you like you had expected.

His mouth slid over the pulse point of your throat, feeling your heart rate pick up under his lips.

The murmured hiss of a swear flying under your breath didn’t go unnoticed. Simon breathed a laugh, his breath fanning over your skin. He kissed you there again. Planting slow, soft, open-mouthed kisses up and down your neck like he had a lifetime to remember every inch of skin he touched.

Your hands traveled up the hard planes of his chest and settled on his shoulders, as his tongue flicked the edge of your earlobe.

Fuck. If he could do this forever, he would.

He let his teeth graze your earlobe and pull. Tugging the sensitive skin between his teeth.

Simon was not proud to say that his mind had begun wandering. Wondering, rather, what it would feel like to have your teeth sink into his biceps, or maybe even his shoulders. The very shoulders which you were already grasping at like a life line.

Pulling back slightly, Simon watched your face carefully for just a second, before pressing a gentle kiss to your closed eyes, then the tip of your nose, trailing further until his mouth met yours, eagerly.

A low moan rose in the back of his throat at the feeling of your fingers carding through his short blonde hair. You took his lower lip between your teeth and pulled.

Holy shit. You were trying to kill him. Was that possible? Death by lust? Death by kissing?

Your hands slipped under his shirt and began tugging the hem up. He stepped back just far enough to pull at his collar, the shirt slipping off over his head with ease. Simon was only vaguely aware of the way your hands were exploring his chest without shame.

His hands slipped under your thighs and he scooped you up, loving the feel of your legs wrapping around his waist. This was something he could get used to.

Breathlessly you stopped the kiss. “Is this the part where you kidnap me and reveal that you’re actually an axe murderer?”

Simon snorted as he carried you to the stairs leading up to his apartment, above the bar.

“Axe murderer? No. Ex-military? Yes. But I have no intention of kidnapping you, Darlin’.” Simon chuckled.

“I was gonna bring you upstairs. No sense in stripping down in the bar where anyone can look in the windows.”

You huffed a laugh. “No free shows in this bar, huh?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He reached his apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. Walking the short distance down the hall to his room, his mouth reconnecting with yours. The tip of his tongue brushed over your bottom lip as he pinched the plush of your ass. You opened your mouth to gasp, and he slipped his tongue over yours.

He was opportunistic, if nothing else.

You moaned into his mouth and he felt himself melt into it. He tossed you onto the bed, and crawled over you. Never keeping his mouth off of you for very long. Your hands found his belt and made quick work of it.

“Y’sure now, luv?” He asked, his voice no more than a low rumble. One of the many hazards of all the blood in his head rushing below his waist.

“Yes.” You said reverently.

He was going to Hell. He’d always had an inkling. But he was sure of it now as he let his jeans fall around his ankles, while his thumb found its way into your mouth. A whispered “Fuck” barely spoken over his haze.

This is what he was going to hell for. For lying to Johnny, stealing Johnny’s date. And for wanting to have you more than he had wanted..well. More than anything he’d ever wanted in his life, really.

He should feel. He really should feel that familiar drop in his stomach telling him he did something wrong. But the feeling in his gut was anything but guilt. Not when you were sucking on his finger and slipping your hands into his knickers.

Simon worked your shirt over your head, and then your pants onto the floor. You were on equal footing now. He slotted his hips between your legs, trying to keep his eyes from rolling back at the way your thighs squeezed his waist.

“Y’gonna kill me.” He panted. Like the horny sex-driven dog he was. It was almost laughable to Simon, how quickly you had up-ended his discipline, patience, dignity, self-respect. All the things he’d worked years to mold into himself. And you’d strolled into his bar and undone it, like a cheap ball of yarn.

His brain felt muddled, he couldn’t remember the last time he had done this with someone.

Your hand was sliding up and down his cock, coaxing the semi he’d had the whole night to attention.

“Jus’ like that, Darlin’” He groaned.

He took care to leave hickies around your neck, right where no collar was going to hide it.

Simon pulled your underwear off, and pushed his off as well. Kicking to the floor where they belonged.

You kept a steady pace on him. One hand stroking his length, while the other cupped his balls and gently rolled them in your palm.

Taking charge you rolled the both of you over, confidently moving down Simon’s body with your tongue. Letting your tongue slide as it dragged over the dips and valleys of his muscles, pausing only to bite down at the skin of his inner thigh. He hissed and let his head fall back.

“Gonna kill me like that.” He rasped.

“Can I?” You asked, mouth over his cock.

He resisted the urge to make an absolute arse of himself and respond with “I dun’ know, can you?” and settled instead for nodding.

Your lips stretched over the girth of his length and he bit down, jaw clenching as you sucked on the tip, tongue pressing into his slit.

If there was a heaven, Simon was sure this was as close as he was ever going to get to it.

You took him inch by inch, leaving him to claw at the navy blue sheets of his bed.

His hand found its way into your hair. He kept his palm flat on your head, trying not to hold your head down as you began bobbing.

Your lips caught on the head of his cock every time you hollowed your cheeks as you went up. Simon’s hands were shaking as you brought him closer and closer to that sweet, unforgiving edge.

With a growl he pulled you off his cock and dragged you onto his lap.

“S’too much..c’mere.” He murmured, kissing you again. All teeth and tongue, while his fingers worked their way inside of you. He loved hearing the soft whimpers that spilled from your mouth.

His reward for being so patient tonight. For waiting those two hours and instead of making a move on you earlier. Those heavenly sounds.

Some people liked the idea of kneeling and praying for salvation. Simon much rathered the lewd mewls of pleasure he wrought from your body.

“Fuckin’ divine, luv. But I think, I’d like you ridin’ me more.”

The wicked grin on your face was enough to have a grown man begging. And Simon knew he wasn’t above it either.

“I think I would too.” You laughed, moving to straddle him.

You both moaned as you slid down his cock, letting it fill you. You were tight, and warm, and the feeling of your walls bearing down on him was enough to make him dizzy.

Oh fuck. Oh fucking God.

“I’m-” Simon started, choking out a sound that was hardly human. It had been too fucking long. This couldn’t be happening. This really couldn’t be fucking happening.

Simon wasn’t a man of any particular religious belief, but he knew better than to fuck around with karma. Here it was, his divine punishment.

He pulled out of you seconds before he spilled between the both of you. Coating both of your abdomens in his finish.

His face burned bright red, and his skin felt too hot.

Like a fuckin teenager during their first time. This was nothing short of humiliating. You were quiet. Too quiet, he could feel your stare eating him alive. Shit.

“ ‘m sorry.” Simon muttered, refusing to look you in the face.

“Long time?” You asked carefully, and he wanted to crawl under his bed and die. Yes. That would be better than this.

Actually, now that he thought about it. Stepping on a mine right now would be preferable.

“Uh…yeah. Yes. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I didn’t mean for that to-”

“Seriously. It’s okay. It's been a while for me too. I had fun.” You said, and you sounded so genuine.

Oh God. Simon was never going to fucking live this down.

“Hey. Look at me. Please?” You said gently, hands on both sides of his face.

He swallowed hard.

“I had fun.” You emphasized the last word, and he really couldn’t have felt any worse.

“Why don’t we shower up. Clean off, and then maybe later we can try again?” You asked, nuzzling his neck.

Were you fucking with him?

“Are you being serious?” He asked, hating that he sounded hopeful. Whiny, almost.

You giggled and his face flushed pink again.

“Yes. I’m being serious. But only if you want.”

—Midnight or So—

You were nestled against Simon’s body, one leg thrown over his. Your breathing was deep and even as you slept.

He laid there warm, a little sweaty, and more than satisfied. He lasted a lot longer the second and third round.

And he had made more than sure that you were thoroughly taken care of. Perhaps maybe even a little overstimulated.

But there was something nagging at him. It had been the whole night. He reached towards his nightstand and grabbed his phone. Skimming his typically ignored text threads before he found Johnny’s contact.

00:02am

Ghost: by the way, I lied. you were right, fit as hell. Sorry :/

00:04am

Soap: knew ye were talkin’ shite, ye prick

You stirred under the dim light of his phone.

“Something bad?” You mumbled, your voice heavy and slurred with sleep.

“Nah, nothing important, angel.” He said with a smirk, setting his phone back on the nightstand before rolling on his side to pull you closer to his chest.

[impulsivethoughtsat2am]

COD HC:

I need to preface this:

There was a song I learned way back in like middle school and it was just a fun little song my teacher taught us and we played a game with it.

The lyrics went something like:

My Bonnie is over the ocean

My Bonnie is over the sea

Bring back oh bring back my Bonnie

Bring her back home to me

Bring back

Bring back

Bring back my Bonnie to me

And now I’m just thinking of Johnny and Simon.. dating, separated because one of them is on a mission and the other is home at the little flat they share.. and when Johnny can’t sleep he calls Simon..who doesn’t care what time it is..he will pick up and he will swallow his pride and sing Johnny to sleep

My Johnny is over the ocean

My Johnny is over the sea

Bring back oh bring back my Johnny

Bring him back home to me

Bring back

Bring back

Bring back my Johnny to me