wereallydobevibing

[wereallydobevibing]

@vnknowcrow literally this!!! that’s exactly what it is.

people don’t feel attracted to SA victims bc they view them as “dirty” and “damaged goods” and they know it’s a shitty perspective but they try to spin the narrative and make people who WILL love those people look like the bad guys.

“it’s weird to be sexually attracted to simon riley considering his history of being SA’d.”

“because of his backstory i can only see him as a brother or father figure, simon riley simps are weird”

literally you guys are the one’s saying you can’t bring yourselves to be attracted to someone because they were SA’d. y’all are the ones treating someone differently bc they were SA’d and for some reason you don’t think they can be romantically/sexually intimate.

YA’LL. ARE. THE WEIRD ONES.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #john mactavish #john price #kyle garrick #soap #gaz #x reader #konig #horangi #phillip graves

[wereallydobevibing]

Too Young | John Price x Reader

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write your ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: Age Gap

“Welcome home, Captain.”

As he falls back in his seat, his gaze lifts to meet yours - his little muse behind a marble counter, his favorite bartender at his favorite bar. 

“That’s John to you, sweetheart,” He says, and he watches with satisfaction as you wordlessly pour out his usual drink without even having to ask what he was having.

You were a young girl, early twenties, working towards your bachelors at the nearest university, but before that, you’d gone to trade school. You were a hard worker; doing hair in the morning, attending classes in the noon, closing the bar at night, studying any minute that was free. 

I’ll breathe when I have everything I want, you told him one night, when he noticed how your shoulders seemed to be heavy with the weight of your profusion of responsibilities. He wished he could help you carry some of them, or at least blow some air into those lungs that seemed to collapse whenever finals came around. 

John admired you – sweet, smart, and focused. He would’ve liked to have you on his Taskforce if that’d been that path that you chose, but, for the sake of flirting, perhaps bartending was the better option. 

He’ll miss you when you graduate and go off to start a new chapter in your life. 

You set the drink down on the counter, pushing it forwards and leaning your weight on your elbows. It was a slow night, but you figured now that John Price was here to pay you his company, time would tick faster than you wanted it to. 

The first hour and a half of his visit is a basic conversation – how was deployment, how does it feel to be home, how long before his next call in? He talks a little about his team – you’ve heard about “Soap” and “Ghost” and “Gaz” many times before, Price only ever allows you to know them by their callsigns, though, for privacy's sake, and only tells you very minor details. But after one or two glasses, Price allows himself to be free of his professional nature. His 141 men know 

“How come you never bring your boys around here, Captain?” 

“John,” You’re leaning so closely, he’s able to flick your nose as he corrects you. Not too hard, but very much playful. “And if I brought my boys around here, they’d never leave. Soap might steal my favorite girl.”

“Your favorite girl is too busy to be stolen, John,” You remind him, and you don’t say I’m too busy trying to give myself to you.  

Closing time comes all too quickly, as you figured it would. On a Monday night, there are generally very few customers, and you’re able to start your side work at exactly eleven o’clock. John sticks around as you clean up and count the register, offering his company. Being that he was such a regular, he even knows where to find the broom and shortens your to-do list by sweeping the floor. 

This is your favorite part, when you lock up the door and begin your walk home with Captain John Price at your side, allowing you to hook your arm through his. Like a gentleman, he’s always happy to walk you home. 

“No boyfriend, yet, [Y/N]?” He says, lighting a cigar, “No one to tell me off for walking so close to their girl?”

You giggle, “No boyfriend. If I did, though, I don’t think you’d be one to be worried about it. Unless it was that guy you mentioned earlier – Soap? Maybe you could introduce us?”

“He’s too much fun, I think,” John sniggered.

“Are you saying I’m too serious?”

“Serious enough, fun enough. Soap is too much fun.”

 “Aww,” You feign a pout, “You don’t want me to like him, do you?”

As you finally approach your apartment door, John lightly shoves you toward it. He pulls the cigar away from his lips, leaning against the wall with a smirk. 

“You can have that one if you want, love,” he says, “Don’t come bothering me when you’re with him, though. Can’t have both.”

“No, I couldn’t,” You agree, you gesture to your apartment, “You won’t let me let you in.”

He hums, watching you unlock and push open the door. You lift your eyes to gaze up at him through your lashes, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. 

“Come have a glass with me, John, I can bartend for you here, too.”

The back of his hand reached out, stroking the subtle skin of your cheek. He would love to come inside and know the structure of your home, and the decorations that would be a complimentary extension of your personality. When it came to you, he was Pandora and you were his box. 

You were a beautiful girl, and the thought of having your company outside of your work hours was enticing. He wanted to know you like the back of his own hand, he wanted to see what was inside this box, but John knew better than to cross this line – that line being your doorway. 

Oh, how he wished he was at least ten years younger. 

“You know I can only go so far with you, love,” He says, taking another draw from his cigar. “Your doormat is the limit.”

It’s not the first time you heard that, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As mentioned earlier, you were an ambitious girl; you were often berated in your early childhood by your mother for trying to get away with the same stuff over and over and over again until you finally learned the secret to getting away with your innocent little crimes successfully.

As you said once before, you’ll breathe when you have everything you ever wanted. 

Blaze

0 notes

#john price x reader #john price #simon riley #kyle garrick #john mactavish #soap #ghost #x reader #call of duty #cod #modern warfare

[wereallydobevibing]

Quit | Simon Riley x Reader (NSFW)

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write you’re ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: NSFW, breeding kink, mentions of family trauma.

Sprawled out, barely dressed, you’re sleeping figure is calm and soundless. Ghost is sat next to you, the tv was just loud enough that the room wasn’t totally silent, and the man finds himself caressing your stomach and staring at your rested face.

You twitch, but don’t awake.

Ghost thinks about his family, the one he’d lost so many years ago. He remembers when he was just a boy, seeing his mother walk around with a swollen belly and getting ready to welcome his little brother into the family. He’d been just old enough to understand what “pregnant” meant, and he was fascinated. For just a second, the cruel image of him bringing you home to meet his mother flashes in his mind. It would never happen, he tries not to imagine it – makes it hurt more.

As he looked away at the television and down at your sleeping form, he looks at your belly. Still flat – empty. He’d secretly been working to change that for the last two weeks that he’d been home. He’d taken you every night: in the kitchen or the shower, before bed or as you were waking up, how and where didn’t matter as long as it was you.

The idea of a swollen, waddling you made his his little friend twitch. You needing him to cater to your every need was not a bad thing in his eyes. He often dreamed of a simple, domesticated lifestyle. Of him sitting quietly on the couch while you danced about the house, organizing your pretty decorations in the background. He never thought he’d be ready for something like that, but now, as he lay beside you, he knew he’d been ready for as long as he’d had you and was only now realizing it.

You’d be a beautiful mother, he thought, a good one, too.

He himself was not an easy man to be with, but you handled it so well. You were gentle, and kind – patient – and you gave him hope that he could be better than his own father. Working in a field that promised nothing but blood, guts and terror was much easier knowing he had a beautiful woman at home waiting to give him good love. Sometimes he thinks this was God’s way of smiling down on him, by sending you.

Simon sighs, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face as he feels the heat building up again. All you had to do was breath, he just couldn’t get enough. He was just so goddamn lovestruck all the time.

He moves, slowly, to cage your smaller body beneath his massive one. Simon’s tongue swipes your neck and begins sucking at your skin.

The quietest whimper escapes your throat as you awake, opening your eyes to find your husband mounting you for the third time tonight, and possibly the hundredth time in only two weeks. It’s a good thing you were blessed with stamina.

“What is going on with you?” You ask sleepily, he was just so horny lately.

“I love you,” Is all he can say, he doesn’t know how else to put into words the way that you make him feel.

Your shirt had already risen up above your stomach in your sleep, but now Simon full on pulls it off. No bra, no shorts or panties, you were completely bare and his fingers are quick to admire your nipples.

“Simon, I work in the morning,” You say, back arching as his other hand finds that spot between your legs.

You bite your lip.

“Quit.” He says. It’s not like you’re in the military, you work a regular civilian job. Just don’t go back. Stay home.

“Simon–“

“Quit.”

You’ll have to in about nine months time, anyway.

and scene🤪

#cod #call of duty #modern warfare #simon riley x reader #simon riley #john price #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #kyle garrick #taskforce 141 #x reader #NSFW #ahh🤪

[wereallydobevibing]

DNA | Konig x Reader (NSFW)

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write you’re ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: Breading kink, stuff that sluts like🤪

König always knew he was a selfish lover, selfish and greedy. Like a moth to a flame, he needed to have you even if diving into the flame meant a certain, painful death.

But there was no pain here, only bliss. Every touch you tickled him with and every word you spoke shook his bones like lightning to a tree. Every whimper, every cry. You were both moths and flames in your own rights as you gave in to his every demand happily – you loved it just as much as he did, you both knew so.

In a quiet room, in a large, happy home somewhere in Austria, his first night home from deployment began with you letting the towel slip from your body as soon as you set your eyes on him. Watching you do so was like a scene from a movie as the hot steam from your very recent shower rolled out of the bathroom from behind you.

He purred, “Needy girl,” as if he wasn’t twice as bad.

Hypocrite, you think as you throw your naked body at him and allow him to carry you to the bed – king sized, because your husband is a large man and any other size left his feet hanging off the edge. Nobody likes that.

Two months was too long for both of you. Usually each deployment lasted maybe a month, but two? The mission was big, and you knew you were blessed to have a man so worthy of such critical work, but it was hard to always be grateful.

Moths and flames, remember?

You’re the most vocal you’ve ever been, crying and whining, grabbing. You’re begging for his hands to be everywhere, to feed into your starvation, because you’re a loyal woman and if König isn’t touching you, no one is. It didn’t help that your love language was touch, and that you had been deprived of it for two months. Eight weeks. Sixty days.

König, on the other hand, is moving with a purpose other than just touching you. He wants himself to be a part of you forever, no matter where he goes or where you go, there will always be a piece of him imbedded in your skin. He wants his name carved into your bones. He needs his own flesh and blood to claim your womb. Marital papers weren’t enough anymore, he decided you’d give him a child. Or two, maybe three? He could afford it. And even though you’d stay at home, he’d give you a nanny if you wanted it. It didn’t matter as long as your bodies were permanently merged just like your souls through your marital vows.

Again, selfish and greedy, but the perfect lover, nonetheless.

“Scheiße, du fühlst dich so gut,” he gutters, driving into you, eyes stuck on that spot between both your legs where you were connected.

He looks up, then leans down to collect your tears of pleasure on his tongue.

“I’m going to fuck a baby into you,” He says against your lips, “You’ll never be lonely again.”

“Mmm - yes,” You sob, “Please.”

You’re a good girl, [Y/N]. You’re his girl. So understand that he just can’t let you go another day without his DNA irreversibly stained into your body.

and scene🤪

#konig #konig x reader #nsfw #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #john price #simon riley #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #kyle garrick #x reader

[wereallydobevibing]

Oh, to Find Love in Russia | Konig x Reader

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write your own ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: Mentions of injury, specifically written for my delulu girlies💕

The ice, cold air of a wintery Russia rushed through your body like death through Pompeii. With your lips an ungodly shade of purple and your fingers feeling so stupidly numb, you follow the public map displayed on the side of the nearest building to meet a short term comrade in a common tourist area.

It took you some time, having never been to Russia before, but you eventually find yourself walking alongside a very large man who names himself König. He leads you away from the tourist path and into a market area where you both enter a less than busy bar. You agree you’ll talk here, where it was warm and your shivering didn’t hinder your ability to speak.

The next two hours was a conversation of confirming your roles here and the goals that were set to be accomplished – you both were sent to gain intel, but König’s main focus was to serve as your armor, and gaining intel was especially assigned to you, dear reader.

You were not a special forces operator because you were big and strong, or because you had a particular set of skills pertaining to combat at all. Your task-force had elected you to become one of it’s soldiers because you were a holder of intelligence – you were the brain, and everyone else was the body.

Your skills lied in your ability to speak and understand a multitude of languages. Your looks and personality made you attractive to others both romantically or otherwise – people couldn’t help but make themselves known to you. You were good at making them feel so special that it hurt too much to not spill all their flavors into your cup.

Blackbird, they called you; a symbol of beauty and intelligence. You were your team’s little warbler – whatever they needed to know, you were sent to find out, and you always came back chirping your sweet song of intel.

König was quite taken by you from the very start – he’d never met a woman in his field that carried herself with such grace. Overtime, many women in special forces became much like their male colleagues; rough around the edges, heavily drinking and/or smoking, cursing like wounded sailors.

You? You were so clean. Not a single profanity fell from your glossed lips, your voice was smoother than the finest of silk velvets. Your eyes are still warm with the hope of a better world and twinkled with the gentle promise of eternal youth.

Granted, you were still rather fresh in age being in your early 20s. Still, you were special.

As you both got familiar with each other over the next few hours, König grew firmer in his belief that the radiance of your skin was actually your golden soul shining through your pores.

The safe house you’d both been given had been put together at the last minute. A fact that was clear by how it was a small cabin with only a couch in the living room and one bed in the bedroom, certainly not prepared for two. The kitchen was stocked with little snacks and such, but if either of you ever got the taste for a real meal, you’d have to eat out or go grocery shopping.

König was quick to offer you the only room, as you were a lady deserving of privacy.

Over the course of two weeks, you took turns cooking and choosing restaurants. But by week three, you’d become so focused on your task of manipulating a Captain in the Russian anti-group that you’d end up spending every free moment of your day at the desk, documenting the day’s occurrences and future strategies. König became responsible for making sure you both ate – it seemed that if he didn’t feed you, you’d simply forget to do it yourself and starve.

Week four was when the storm arrived, the great finale that signaled the nearing end of every mission – Blackbird had collected everything she needed and was ready to fly on home and feed her findings to her kin. Things were wrapping up and, naturally, that meant shit was going down.

The final day would end with König wounded – he fought well, your knight in shining armor. Of course he won, but he was losing blood from his abdomen and you knew he was in pain.

The jet that was assigned to pick you both up would not arrive until morning. Your due date was not until two days from now, but you’d finished early. Until then, you used what you had to stop the bleeding and make him comfortable.

You leave him on the bed that you’d been sleeping in for the last five weeks, flat on his back. If not for the pain of his stab wound, he might’ve enjoyed drowning in the lingering, feminine scent of shampoo and perfume stuck to the sheets and pillows you burrowed yourself in at night.

You bandage him with delicate fingers – such a stark difference compared to the medics back at the KorTac base. They were always so rough, like hornets pricking and prodding at his body.

He doesn’t notice how your focus was divided between his wound and his bare chest. Your impulsive thoughts, if you gave in to them, would’ve had you resting the palms of your hands flat on his muscles and grazing your fingertips over the ridges.

You tried to be respectful, the man was in pain – but you just couldn’t help your nature as it demanded to behold the glorious sculpture settled before you. Thousands of years ago, König might’ve been the model for ancient Greek statues. He was beautiful.

König sits up on the mattress when you finish, which now is stained with speckles of blood, clenching his jaw as he did. Your hands come up on his bare chest and you stop him.

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, “You have to rest, König, you’re hurt.”

“This is your bed, schatz,” König grunted, “I will go to the couch.”

Now that the mission is over, you suddenly feel a wave of guilt come crashing down onto you. You’d been so busy thinking about what you needed to do, how you were going to get your hands on the information you’d been sent out to receive that you didn’t ever stop to think about König’s comfort. And here he was, spending every single day of the last five weeks watching your back, making sure you ate, and that you were comfortable. All he did was think about you.

As you stare at him, your heart begins pulsing erratically. Your face grows warm with the sudden realization that this big, brutal, soldier of a man was such a gentleman. He’d been so kind and considerate, looking over your shoulder for you like he was born to do it and not just because it was his job.

Your hands raise to cradle his masked face. You think about how this six-foot-ten beast had been sleeping on that tiny, poor excuse for a couch for nearly two months for the sake of your comfortability, and how he would do it even now when he was in pain.

Without a second thought, you go in and kiss him through the fabric of his mask – a little peck of admiration for his chivalry, a humble praise for being a rare man.

König stares at you when you pull back, he’s stunned. All these weeks of very subtly flirting with you … he thought you’d never notice, or even reciprocate his interest. König figured that you both would separate at the end of this story like Orpheus and Eurydice, he’d be damned to never know you again and you’d forget him as soon as he was gone.

With your hands still holding either side if his jaw, you tell him, “Lay down, König. Here.”

He brings up a large hand to meet one of yours, using the other to hold himself upright and stroking your wrist affectionately with his thumb, “You will not sleep on the couch, schatz.”

“No,” You agreed. “We will both stay here, on the bed, and that way if you need anything, I’m right here to help you.”

Still not believing what’s happening, he tries again to rise from the bed, only for you to guide him back down until his head rested on one of the pillows.

You ask, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

König, beneath his mask, feels his lips curling upward as he laughs breathlessly.

He grins, “Okay?”

It was perfect.

#cod #call of duty #modern warfare #konig #kortac #konig x reader #simon riley #john price #john mactavish #kyle garrick #x reader

[wereallydobevibing]

Oh, the Privilege of Growing Old | Simon Riley x Reader

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write you’re ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: None that I can think of, let me know if I missed any, though.

His eyes peel open under the beam of sunlight, which peaked menacingly through the window – Simon’s neck hurts, a crippling pain that came back every few days just to remind him that his youth was long behind him. He didn’t mind the reminder much, it was pesky and painful, but it was a humbling reminder that he’d made it much further than he ever believed he would.

Despite the pain, he cranes his neck to the opposite side of the bed. These days, you often awoke long after him. Simon had always been an awful sleeper, that part of him never left even after retirement; but when you were younger, you often stressed being awake before him; a competition you never won.

With a tilt of his head, there you were – you in all your glory, sleeping soundlessly right beside him. He reckoned it was all the beauty sleep you got that kept you aging well. At the rippling age of seventy-three you had few wrinkles, excluding the smile lines around your eyes that would especially be exaggerated when you beamed up at him, even if you no longer recognized him.

At least, you didn’t recognize him as who he was now.

“[Y/N],” He later called out to you from the kitchen, “Breakfast is ready.”

“I can’t eat right now,” you cried, running around the bedroom with a million things craddled in your hands; hairsprays, makeup. “My husband will be home soon, I need to do my hair!”

Over the many years of you being together, Simon never considered that your day to day activities revolved around him even while he was on deployment. Alzheimer’s would quickly reveal your hidden truth for him, though. At first, he found it endearing how you would unknowingly reenact your younger days, bustling about the house and stressing over decorations and “I need to go buy a new dress for when I get Simon from the airport!”.

No matter what day you thought it was, Simon would relive that day with you, watching you fret over the smallest details; “Oh, this is so cute, but Simon doesn’t like orange!”

He would spend everyday listening to you talk about himself – your smart, strong, loving husband who’d done so many incredible things while serving his country. Your Simon who’d given you three sons and everything else you ever wanted. Simon Riley, who you were so proud of even if he thought lowly of himself. You were just so in love with him.

Overtime, he began to feel his heart ache. He never thought before that maybe you’d spent every minute of every day trying to decipher something as little as whether Simon preferred you in a pale, light shade of purple or a blush, baby pink. He never cared as long as you were still here when he came home. But it seemed that making sure the house was comfortable and that you were dolled up and pretty for him was essential to life for you.

It made him regret back in your twenties, when he’d left you for six months in fear that if he died, you’d be left with the responsibility of cutting all his strings for him. It had broken your heart, and for a time you believed he’d left you for another woman and covered it up with such an excuse, the easiest excuse. He hadn’t ever known another woman after you – he just didn’t want you to live out the rest of your life kneeling over his grave if he died.

He finally gave in and brought you back home when he ran into you in the city, still wearing the wedding ring. When he asked why you would still wear the damn thing, you said, “I took my vows, Simon. I’ll keep them.”

The thought of leaving you never crossed his mind again, even if it was to save you your heartache. Clearly, it would ache whether he was dead or alive when he left you. It took time to fully regain your trust and restore your broken heart, and he didn’t blame you.

You became his motivator, then – the reason to always make it home, if only to protect your mental well-being. The idea of you writhing in pain, sleeping in a cold, empty bed, is what kept him alive all these years, and he swore by it. He would never want that for you.

“[Y/N],” Simon says, now entering the bedroom, watching you lay out all your cosmetics and self-care products.

“Not now,” you huff impatiently, “Simon’s gonna be waiting for me at the airport.”

Simon’s gazing down on you warmly, “Simon will want you to eat, love.”

“Do you even know him enough to say that?” You scowl, “Don’t touch me, he’ll kill you.”

He wants to laugh, but there’s in itch in his brain that reminds him not to. It seemed you were quite . . . fanatical when it came to him. After almost forty years of marriage, you gave him reason every day to love you more, and more, and mor–

“Believe me, love, I know him well,” Simon sets the plate down on your vanity, the one he built for you many years ago. “Eat. You get restless when you’re hungry.”

Simon leans over to kiss the top of your head, and he laughs when you swat him away, angry, saying, “Watch! Just watch when he gets home, you’re done!”

With the empty threat of total destruction hanging over his head, he collapses himself back on the bed and flickers on the TV, a small smile playing at his lips as he watches you out the corner of his eyes.

This lifetime had not been enough time with you. But deep down in his soul, Simon knew he’d find you again in the next.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #john price #john mactavish #kyle garrick

[wereallydobevibing]

“it’s weird to be sexually attracted to simon riley considering his history of being SA’d.”

“because of his backstory i can only see him as a brother or father figure, simon riley simps are weird”

literally you guys are the one’s saying you can’t bring yourselves to be attracted to someone because they were SA’d. y’all are the ones treating someone differently bc they were SA’d and for some reason you don’t think they can be romantically/sexually intimate.

YA’LL. ARE. THE WEIRD ONES.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #x reader #cod #modern warfare

[wereallydobevibing]

Yandere!Tim/Masky x Compliant!Reader

It took some time to teach you, but you now play the role he’s brought you here to fill.

Warning: mentions of violence, sexual themes, slight Stockholm syndrome

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Like, almost two years, I’m pretty sure. Please tell me what you think and if this should maybe become a fanfic?

The masked man shuts the bedroom door behind him. He sighs silently and twists the lock, then turns to face you — pretty little [Name]; his sweet girl.

You sit, curled up against the headboard of his bed. Your pink crewneck sweater, extra large, falling to the very tip of your thighs as your fingers play nervously with the cuffs of your sleeves.

You’re staring back at him, eyes shining with anxiety when you murmur, “Masky?”

He almost laughs. Tim dares not to call you pathetic, as he too often falls victim to his own alternate personality. But watching you somehow shrink your own skin at the mere thought of the demon being who stands before you is rather comical.

“No,” He says, simply. “It’s Tim, baby.”

Tim is just as bad. But a certain weight is lifted from your shoulders knowing good behavior might tame him, and he’ll be good to you so long as you’re cooperative.

“Well?” He urges.

You know what you’re supposed to do.

You stand from the bed, bare feet meeting the old, wooden floors, and meet him near the door. Your affection is equivalent to cooperation, and also buys his kindness.

With gentle hands, you rest your palms on his chest — a physicality he likes, and he meets you halfway. Tim nips and sucks at your lips, drowning in your flavor.

His cock twitches in his pants, unbeknownst to sweet, innocent you.

It took many months to get you here; almost a year’s worth of strict, unrewarded trainings and bloody beatings to mold you. But, finally, you’d fallen into step. Right where he wanted, marching to the rhythm of his drums.

You’re a good girl, [Name]. The best he’s ever had.

#creepypasta #tim #masky #x reader #nsfw #yandere #stockholm syndrome #hoodie #brian #ticci toby #proxy #slenderman #romantic horror #smut

[wereallydobevibing]

I recently decided to reread the Outsiders and was cruelly reminded of how in love I am with all of them.

Please enjoy what might be a long episode of me obssessively writting for my favorite greasy, long-haired boys.

Warnings: None, a lil fluffy tho.

It felt like fire and ice — your skin, frozen to lengths as far and deep as Antartica, against the bare warmth of him.

Pony's hands wrapped around yours, and he breathed hot air into your palms to bring your temperature up along with the occasional sweet kiss to your lips to keep your lips from numbing up from the wind.

These cold Tulsa nights were inevitable, but you and Pony didn't pay it too much mind. It was fun, you enjoyed the whimsical feeling of a typical love story being your own just as much as he did. While your older sisters called it "puppy love", you knew what you had with Pony was much sweeter, too warm to be limited to something so small and as temperary as a puppy.

"You don't gotta stay out," Pony murmurs. "S'too cold."

"I'm perfectly warm, Pony," You promise, barely lying through your teeth as they helplessly chatter. "Tell me again, that poem, about that guy who started seeing the sky turn purple after his wife died."

Pony's lips stretch into a humored smile, "Your tears ain't gonna make you no warmer. You cry every time."

Your eyes lift to look at him, "I wanna hear it."

Truth be told, you'd asked him to recite it so often that you had each and every word etched into your very bones. But you liked the sound of his voice, the way he somehow recited each line not so that the rhymes were not emohasized but so that the story was understood the way it was supposed to be. You liked the warmth of his tone even if the poem itself was cold.

Pony hums, still cradling your numbed fingers in his palms.

"The farmer looks from the ground, to a sky of blue, pink and orange–"

#the outsiders #ponyboy #sodapop #darry #darrel #curtis #dallas winston #dally #johnny cade #two-bit #steve randle #x reader

[wereallydobevibing]

me watching jacob imprint on ratatouille like:

#twilight #edward #carlisle #jasper #emmett #rosalie #alice #cullen #hale #jacob black #sam uley #paul lahote #embry call #seth clearwater #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #werewolves #vampires #volturi

[wereallydobevibing]

I believe this only works if you live in Arizona (correct me if I’m wrong) but please spread so people can email the senator to stop this

[wereallydobevibing]

Crushed Kings and Broken Things

Pairing: Dark!Draco Malfoy X Kind!Reader

Warnings: Obsessive Themes, Slight Sub/Dom Theme, Dark Shit

It started when you were young — the descendants of filthy rich family trees. Purebloods, the kind that, even at the ages of five and six, were forced into fancy fits and were reprimanded if your backs were not straight as you walked.

You were young when you first met, you and Draco. The boy of topic had already been pinched and teaked into his father's image — standoffish, cocky, demanding. You, on the otherhand, had been morphed into that of a more gentle nature, soft spoken and patient as much as you was pretty.

And from just that one meeting, Draco liked you.

He liked the way you listened when he talked, when you smiled ever so politely and kindly disagreed with his points. Being the little shit that he was, Draco would scoff at you and cross his arms — end the discussion where it was just to start a new one. Why not talk if you would listen?

Sure, he supposed Pansy, or his two goons, or any other kid he felt like talking to would listen, but really, they never were truly listening. They zoned him out and obediently agreed with whatever he said, careful not to make an enemy of the Malfoys. Careful not to end up in the path of sure destruction — because a Malfoy's wrath ensured just that.

But not you — not our sweet, precious [Name]. You listened, really listened, and when you spoke, you did so with meaning. With your own thoughts, your own personal views and with your own feelings.

Granted, you were soft. Hufflepuff soft, Draco might say, but there was also a twinge of cleverness — you, unlike so many others, had your own mind. A sign of a leader, so he had his hopes that when the time came, he'd see you again one day in the Slytherin common room, assuming he'd be there, too.

"Those were the [Last Names]?" Draco asked his father as soon as the two families departed.

"Yes," Lucius mumbles, obviously irked by whatever conversation that'd taken course with your father.

"Are they friends?" Draco demanded, "Will we see them again?"

The Malfoy man stops to stare at his son, his only son, with a look so grim that it was strange that Lucius also seemed to be so ... pleased? How it was possible to be so riddled with both emotions was beyond Draco. But that wasn't his concern.

Lucius's lips suddently twitched — too quick to be his signerature smirk but too visible to not be.

"Yes."

And he did see you again, a year later on the Hogwart's express wearing a pretty black dress appropriate for an eleven year old and a fluffy white cat craddled in your nimble arms. Draco'd almost forgotten about you by the time he saw you again, almost.

But he could recognize those loose curls anywhere, those soft eyes that garunteed warmth even if one were undeserving of such a kind welcoming. It was only natural that you would be coddled by the older students, older Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls fussing over how beautiful your hair was or how cute you were. They hoped you would be housed with them — but Draco needed you to be housed with him.

Doubtful, sure that you'd be placed into a more righteous house and he'd grow to despise you, the Malfoy boy turns away to order Crabbe and Goyle around as he tends to do. But not before turning back to catch your eyes.

The next time he sees you is when it's your turn to be sorted. You're popular already, so the hall falls absolutely silent, older girls from other houses chanting their house name as if it'll coax the sorting hat to give you to them.

It annoys Draco to no end, because he's secretly doing the same with his fingers crossed under the Slytherin table. His knee is bouncing, his teeth snaging his bottom lip and he's glaring at the hat so intently that it could've burned up and shrivled into nothing but ashes and dust right then and there.

He craves your genuinity — the good conversation you have to offer, your not-too-quick-to-judge judgement. He wants as much of it as he can have to himself and young Draco can only promise that to himself if you are a Slytherin too.

Whatever magic he was using must've been working, because you're now bounding over to the Slytherin table where the other girls are more than happy to add another pretty girl to their mix and young Draco's heart is soaring.

Draco has you right where he wants you.

Salazar Slytherin gave him the key to get closer to you.

He's a spoiled boy, but one thing his father never failed to thoroughly teach him is that when he wants something, when he even remotely likes something, no matter the cost, make it his.

#harry potter #draco malfoy #ron #ronald #weasley #fred #george #cedric diggory #gryffindor #hufflepuff #slytherin #ravenclaw #hermione granger #tom riddle #sirius black #neville longbottom #severus snape #seamus finnigan #remus lupin #marauders #magic #hogwarts #x reader #short fic #???should i make this a short series??? #please let me know??

[wereallydobevibing]

[wereallydobevibing]

[wereallydobevibing]

[wereallydobevibing]

Hey everyone,

I really hate to be THAT person, but I really need help right now and this is my best bet at getting out of a really bad situation that I'm in.

Two years ago I left my mom to live with my dad because I was having some very tough mother/daughter issues with my mom. I left to live with my dad and now things are much worse and I really can't take it anymore.

The emotional and mental beatings are too much for me, but I only just graduated high school which means picking up and leaving isn't much of an option for me. I work as much as I can, even with covid, and despite all that struggle I'm still (barely) managing to pay for my doctor appointments and phone bills. started a gofundme so I can get out of this nasty situation and anything helps, even just a reblog.

It anyone is interested in even just taking a look at my gofundme, the link is here.

I honestly cannot stress how much absolutely anything could help me. Even a few uplifting words. I need some positivity in my life right now and encouragement that I will get out of this and that doesn't stop at money, and thank you to anyone who's read this far even though this is not a fic or any sort of entertainment.

#gofundme #please help #i'm afraid of what might happen to me if i dont get out of here

[wereallydobevibing]

Do y'all remember that time in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone where Harry asks Dumbledore what he sees in the Mirror of Erised? And Dumbledore said he sees himself holding a giant pair of socks but Harry thinks he might be lying?

I was rereading the book and I was like, hold up...didn't it turn out at some point that Dumbledore and Voldemort were, like, a thing?

Does anyone else think that maybe Dumbledore saw himself with Voldemort but didn't say that bc he knew that's not really a good thing?

Or am I trippin???

#harry potter #draco malfoy #dumbledore #hogwarts #weasely #ron #ronald #percy #fred #george #bill #charley #hermione granger #potter