Soap is walking in the grocery store when out pops a small boy who takes one look at the Scot and is screaming. Loud high pitched kid scream. Johnny is panicking. Who? What? Why? And then the kid starts running circles around him. Spouting little kid gibberish and the soldier is frozen in place hands slightly out as if expecting an actual attack. Some kind of small child conjuring magic maybe bc the kid hasn’t stopped running around him. And then amidst his panic you peak your head around the corner to see what has your son all excited. And you laugh. Johnny is terrified and this pretty lady is laughing at him. “Hey bub relax” soft voice calling to the kid who immediately stills. “But. And. He” your son is out of breath from running “hair. Big. Hair hair hair” Johnny is still frozen in place trying to decipher what language the kid is speaking and you pull the cart around the corner and towards them. Reaching out your hand, your son runs to hold it still stammering out something that Johnny is sure are words but he’s not sure what. And the look on the grown man’s face could make you laugh he’s so confused. “Take a breath and tell him what you want to say.” And then a comically large breath comes from your son. “I like your hair mister.” And now Johnny is blushing when you take off your son’s hat to show him the flattened Mohawk that he has. “Ahhhhh.” Johnny had no clue the screams from your son were good ones. “Lil lad s’got good taste I see eh?” And now your son is giggling at his accent. And he’s trying to spike his own hair up with his hands. You lean a little closer to the stranger to explain some kids at school made fun of it. Say no more. Now he’s bending down to be eye level with the small kid and giving him the fuck them speech (he only swore once before correcting himself). And he adds “bet you could even convince your dad to rock one with ya”. And the quick causal “don’t have a dad” comes out from your son and ohhh man Johnny is in heaven bc you do now kid let me talk to your mom real quick.

STEEL SINGS LIKE PRETTY THINGS.

it’s finally hereee. i think i’m more excited for this than you lot 🌚 oh well. and why are there no fics with this man?? he’s so fine! enjoy, loves <3

CHAPTER ONE — OBSIDIAN.

“i miss the north.” you grumble, eyeing the scum of flea bottom as you wade through them atop your silver, a fast-growing direpup at your hoof and heel. elenei, one eye of reddish-purple and the other almost as light as the silver-blond fur that dusts her muzzle. as for the rest of her, black as pitch, save for the white streak down her neck’s right side; similar to the platinum strand that grows from your own head of noir.

“aye, so do i.” says your father, riding a little ways in front. “but you’ll learn a lot from this place, and it’ll be good for you to see some more of the world.”

you roll your eyes and flick a dark curl from your brow. “i wish you never brought me with you.” and your wolf whines as if to agree.

ned sighs, shoulders slumping wearily. you and your sisters haven’t been giving him the easiest of times. “i know, love. i just thought you’d rather be here with me than with your step-mother.”

stuck in winterfell with catelyn. that would be worse than this; but at least you’d have robb and rickon and the godswood.

“besides, arya would’ve spat feathers had you stayed behind.” he adds, and jory cassel chuckles at your flank.

you smirk, then tug gently on your mount’s reins when your father starts to slow.

“are you sure this is the place for a lady, m’lord?” jory asks him, scanning the narrow street. “in fact, you shouldn’t be here either. there are eyes everywhere, milord, and you never know who’s watching.”

“let them look.” ned tells him, stepping down from his saddle. you who was riding side-saddle simply slide from your horse, then pet her braided mane — white like the hills at home. “good girl, mag.”

“elenei, come.” you beckon your pup and she follows you into the blacksmith’s forge, the next location on your father’s list of places his predecessor last visited.

the workshop hasn’t a door, only a thick wall of steam, and the smell of malted steel and sweat fills your nostrils. you blink, eyes watering. it’s like the royal saunas in here.

“lord hand.” greets who you presume to be the owner of this rather fine establishment. not the word most would use, but it’s rather fascinating to you. “i wasn’t expecting you, not that it’s a bother.”

beyond him, where the ringing of steel sings beneath a cross-peen hammer, you spot a young man. no older than you, but quite the bit bigger. you take a step forward whilst your father asks the forge keeper of jon arryn, and a pair of blue eyes look up from their smith work.

a very striking blue. not like the sky or the sea, but far more beautiful than that. his arms glisten against the flame he works over — shredded, rippling muscles swollen beneath the skin that stretches over them. you can see each tendon flexing, his strength not stopping at the wrist. his hands look too old for him, blistered and covered in patches of black. probably where dust and grime has caked to the residues of quenching oil.

“he came to see the boy.” you hear who you now figure must be the younger man’s master say.

“i want to see the boy, too.” your father replies.

you won’t be disappointed. you muse, still admiring him.

“as you wish, my lord. gendry!”

those pretty eyes tear from you at the call of his name and he steps away from his station, hands behind his back when he joins you. he glances at you again, then lowers his head.

Simon with bit of belly fat, gone were the days of his hard abs and tight skin stretched around,,you got a new cooking book so ofcourse you gotta feed your old man hot and nice, and ofcourse he eats the last crumb of everything you make, and ofcourse his soft roundness makes you crazy in head,, because now riding over his thick cock you could dig your nails in his plumpy skin... it's so hard to roll your hip around and he's thrusting you onto him, your inner thighs cushioned perfectly on his belly —

the cod x cyberpunk brainrot is so fucking real.

cw: stalking, kidnapping, abuse of authority, forced marriage, unedited with an abrupt ending

The first time Graves used “all y’all” in front of the Brits, they had to physically restrain themselves from shaking him like a ragdoll.

...

“Now, all y’all just calm down a minute--”

A beat of silence.

Price blinked. Soap tilted his head like a confused retriever. Gaz mouthed ‘all y’all?’ like it was a slur.

“Beg your fuckin’ pardon?” Soap asked.

...

Graves, undeterred:

“Y’all’d’ve done better if you’d waited for backup.”

Gaz made a noise like a computer shutting down.

“I’m sorry... y’all would’ve what?”

Graves: “Would’ve done better.”

Price, flat: “That’s not what you said.”

“I was fixin’ to explain!”

“Fixing what now?”

...

While reviewing blueprints:

“Might coulda added another entry point here.”

Soap stood up. “This is an act o' terrorism."

Supportive girlfriend 🤭💕 [Sensitive boyfriend 👀💓]

Something New

A Free Use City Universe Fic

Deer Hybrid x fem!reader— drugs, sex toys, sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, aphrodisiac potion, fingering, aftercare

You had found yourself into quite the sticky situation. Having sex with your sexual drug dealer was possibly a new all time low for you. You would’ve said you have officially hit rock bottom but knowing you… there was probably a bit more to fall.

Living in Free Use City has been the dream you always thought it was going to be. No, in fact, it was even better. The sex was endless and you’ve never felt more desired and needed in your entire life.

But the problem with having constant sex is just that. You’re having constant sex and it can get… boring. You were bored with normal sex. You did it everywhere you could. In front of others, with others, watching others, and you did every little dirty and depraved thing you could think of. You tried the roughest of toys and the riskiest most mind blowing positions.

No matter what you did you couldn’t stop the creeping sensation of boredom from clawing its way through your body like a tentacle monster sliding their entire length inside you till they made you their human sex kebab. Literally.

You needed more but you didn’t have a clue what. Even the regular drugs at the clubs you frequent were beginning to bore you. The high always the same, the impact on sex hitting you in the exact same way.

Now tonight you find yourself back into your usual habit. Drink, dance, take drugs, and find someone to fuck. Tonight your club of choice is a favorite of yours, The Hunter’s Harvest, the most popular night club in Free Use City.

The world around you is a blur as you go through the motions. Somehow finding yourself riding an admittedly sexy ass Orc in the back of the club. When suddenly a familiar Naga comes slithering up to you two. Out of all the drug dealers that supply to the club his venom had to be the best. But tonight it just wasn’t working for you.

Call your senators right now, yes even your democratic senators. It passed the house with four (4) democrats voting with republicans.

Not to be a huge sap or anything but when the last chapter of Visions of V first released and I read “What makes me human will keep my heart safe” it felt like I’d just been hit by a train. V’s “heart” is the book of poems from his childhood, and Vergil gives it to Nero for safekeeping, meaning his son is what makes him human.

He evolved

matching with simon on a dating app and seeing him quite literally fumble a baddie cuz he has a chat personality of a stale bread that you almost didn’t want to meet up with him but c’mon look at him. so anyway, who needs a chat personality when he’s like that in person?

(he’s big and beautiful and filling. curling his fingers just right; pressing the flat of his tongue on your slit; fucking deep. slow. each thrust a punching one that makes your eyes roll back. his kisses searing. he is an electrifying force, and you are drunk off him—

but also the dry humour, the way each sarcastic joke lands perfectly with that rumbled voice that drawls out his words. the sincerity in whatever he says. then, the snort, the puffed chuckle, that bellowed guffaw.

thank god you chanced the meet-up.)

Laswell has a niece, a pretty young university student who's majoring in journalism. She has this big project coming up, something where she has to put together a meaty, compelling story. Strings are pulled, so on and so forth, and Laswell invites her niece to visit the base to speak to some of the soldiers, see what she can come up with.

Price is against it. He doesn't need some kid running around, especially one he doesn't even have any control over. But then she comes in, escorted by Kyle, with a tape recorder in one hand, a notebook in the other and a camera slung around her neck.

And, well, maybe he can talk for a little bit.

Ghost thinks the whole thing is absurd, but he still has eyes, so he leers silently while she chats up the others. Soap invites her to watch him build a bomb within her first five minutes on base. Kyle acts normal, effortlessly charming even, but Price doesn't let him talk long enough to get any real game going.

By the end of the day, she has dozens of photos of them all, some posed and some candid, and a good few hours of recorded interviews with them all. She also has her pick of any of them, though she may not quite know it yet.

They can discuss it more when she comes back to get more information for that project of hers. They just want her to be thorough is all.

ghost x soap bunnies!!!

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.