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stsgluver · 9 months

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synopsis. your husband still ignores the side effects of his cursed technique just so he can get a glimpse of you.

wc. 1.2k

gojo satoru was born with six eyes — a special cursed technique that allowed for an extremely precise manipulation of cursed energy, down to an atomic level. it also blessed him with a beautiful pair of ocean blue eyes that were practically glowing. you’d never seen eyes so pretty.

the drawback to this gift? the skull-splitting migraines that came with the excessive information constantly being processed by his darting eyes.

as a child, the pain was manageable. gojo didn’t have much of a hold on the technique so his weaker state meant that the migraines were subdued as less information was being absorbed. however, as he grew older and more powerful, he would find himself bed ridden for at least twenty four hours if he did not take some sort of measure to protect his eyes.

his go to method was the sunglasses, almost 100% tinted — no other person would be able to clearly see out of them, if they could see anything at all. his sight, on the other hand, so impressive that he could distinguish people and the objects around them through the levels of cursed energy radiated.

still, accidents happened. whether it be him breaking his glasses, or forgetting them as young children do, he quickly learned the drawbacks to his technique. no normal medicine could relieve the pain and no sorcerer was strong enough to either.

gojo satoru met you at fifteen years old on his first day at tokyo jujutsu high. you wore a uniform similar to shoko's but your skirt was closer to the floor than it was to your thigh. your hair was longer than most female sorcerers and tied into a plait that hung against your back. in all honesty, you appeared quite plain to him. nothing particularly stood out. not even your cursed energy was particularly strong.

but you were gorgeous. completely and utterly gorgeous. his glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he analysed you from afar and it wasn't till a slap on the shoulder from geto that he snapped out of it.

within six months of knowing one another, the two of you were dating. you picked up on his habit to forgo his glasses around you pretty quickly and you definitely didn't miss the increasing amount of discomfort that would cause him.

"why do you do that?" you asked him one time.

the two of you were on a date in the park. a picnic blanket had been laid out and satoru had bought basically every single pastry and sweet at the bakery next to the park. you'd barely managed to make it through half till the both of you had given up and opted for cloud watching, giggling as he joked that one cloud in particularly looked very similar to nanami's 'emo' haircut.

satoru turned to his side to look at you questioningly, his head resting on his hand, "do what?"

"take off your glasses," you gestured to the folded pair of black glasses by his head. "i don't have to be a doctor to realise that you're in a lot of pain right now." the longer you lay there, the less satoru was actually looking up at the sky, instead just listening to you as you pointed out shapes and animals.

you knew the toll six eyes could take on his body.

he kept his eyes screwed shut when he wasn't looking at you to ease the the pain from the intense light that was too overpowering for his splitting headache. he winced when a kid screamed too loudly or ran too close and his fingers would push against the sides of his head frustratedly. as if he thought hard enough, the pain would just go away.

his lips tilted up into a lopsided grin, "but i see you."

you twisted so that your body was parallel to his. there was a faint blush on your cheeks now but you didn't look away from his eyes. how could you? "you always see me."

"not with those stupid glasses," satoru frowned, and you think it was the most serious you had seen him since you met. "seeing you and seeing your energy are two very different things."

"you're hurting yourself," you pointed out, placing one of your hands onto his cheek to gently stroke your thumb against his skin. his shoulders relaxed slightly and he leant into your touch like it was magic. like you were some drug that numbed the pain, replacing it with a special serotonin only you could give him.

"worth it." satoru kissed your palm.

that was his only response. worth it. and he stuck to it even a decade later.

"old habits die hard, i guess," satoru tried to laugh at his poorly made joke, but only a few shakey breaths came out. you'd been home thirty minutes and he'd already been sick twice. he'd curled himself up in your shared bed not long after the second time and that was where he was when you began scolding him for his carelessness.

"you are twenty eight," you rant exasperatedly, juxtaposing your voice that is no louder than a gentle whisper, "you have three first years to be looking after right now, but no, someone wanted to go out for dinner and someone didn't want to wear their glasses, and someone-"

satoru's much larger hand squeezed yours, "don't be cruel. i do this for you, my love." his blindfold was now on (you had made him put it on as soon as you had gotten home) but you know him well enough to know he was staring up at you with those lovesick eyes that made you weak at the knees.

"i just worry," your tone eased. you had no issue looking after your husband, you never had. it wasn't his fault that he got the migraines per se. yes, he could definitely be doing more to mitigate the severity, but he was stubborn. that had never changed. "i've seen you fight special grades. i hate seeing a stupid headache hurt you so much."

"lay with me."

"you're sweaty and sick." you scrunched up your nose, eyes flicking to the en suite you'd just cleaned and back to the cold flannel on his forehead as his body temperature fluctuated.

he shook his head, placing his index finger over his lips. "shhh, i'm passed that stage. pretty please? i need you."

gojo satoru was irresponsible at the best of times. he'd been raised to believe he was invincible and had been spoiled to always get what he had wanted. there was no telling him what to do when he'd already decided an hour ago exactly what he wanted to do.

but there was something about being needed by gojo satoru. you could never say no to him. so whether it be due to his own decision to stare into the eyes of his wife during a romantic night out, or an extensive fight against a cursed spirit, you would always be there to clean up and make sure he was wrapped up in bed all cosy.

and you would always lift up the covers and climb in once there was no more that you could do but simply act as a pillow for your husband as he tried to sleep off the throbbing pain.

a/n. um so my previous post on this topic blew up and i’m so so grateful so i thought i’d expand a little on this hc for anyone that was interested. rambled a bit towards the end but i hope you still like it!! love you lots xxx

#— toru!!#gojo drabbles #satoru #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojo headcannons #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo jjk #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru drabbles

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pucksandpower · 3 months

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Lessons in Anatomy

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: studying can be hard … good thing your boyfriend is more than happy to let you get some hands-on experience

You let out a heavy sigh as you flip through the anatomy textbook in front of you. As a first year medical student, you’ve been spending most late nights recently trying to memorize every muscle, nerve, and blood vessel in the human body.

Lately you’ve been completely absorbed in learning about the upper limbs — the shoulders, arms, hands and fingers — and it’s all starting to blend together.

Closing the textbook, you stand up and stretch your arms above your head, feeling the pull in your deltoids and biceps. You’ve read so much about the muscles, it might help to actually palpate and feel where they are on your own body.

You lift your right arm out to the side until it’s parallel with the floor, palm facing down. Gently, you place your left hand on your right deltoid and feel the round contour of the muscle. You trace your fingertips along the borders, visualizing how the muscle attaches on the humerus bone.

“What are you doing?”

You jump at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice behind you. Lost in thought, you didn’t hear him come home.

“Oh, I’m just, uh, palpating my deltoid muscle,” you say sheepishly as you drop your arm back to your side. “Trying to get a feel for where the muscles actually are.”

Charles grins, his bright green eyes twinkling with amusement at finding you in such an odd pose. “My talented girlfriend, always studying so hard,” he says.

You can’t help but smile back at him. The two of you met in school years ago, long before Charles became an F1 driver and your life became a whirlwind of travel, media attention, and hardly getting to see each other when coupled with your own studies. Moments like this — relaxed, easy, normal — have become few and far between.

Charles walks over to you and surprises you by taking your hand and placing it onto his upper arm.

“Here, feel mine instead so you don’t have to contort yourself,” he offers. “I’ll be your anatomy model.”

You laugh lightly and begin palpating the hard, defined muscles of his arm through his thin t-shirt. You locate the boundaries of his deltoid, impressed by the athletic development.

“Very nice delts,” you say teasingly.

“Why thank you, I work out sometimes,” Charles replies with a cheeky wink.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. His playful arrogance is one of the things you love most about him.

Slowly, you map out the contours of his shoulder, mentally labeling the muscles — supraspinatus, infraspinatus, teres minor. Charles watches your focused expression with affection.

“How’s it going so far?” He asks. “Am I a good model?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmur absently, engrossed in your exploration.

You move down his arm, wrapping your hands gently around his biceps. You note the two distinct heads of the muscle.

“Can you flex for me?” You ask professionally.

Charles obliges, flexing his bicep and causing it to bulge up under your hands.

“Excellent, thank you,” you say, impressed by the muscle definition. Your fingers drift down his arm to his forearm, tracing the brachioradialis.

You are hyperaware of Charles’ eyes following your every movement. There’s an intimacy to having your hands on him like this that makes your heart beat faster. You try to remain focused, but with him standing so close, his warmth radiating onto you, it’s difficult to think clinically.

When you take his hand in yours, turning it palm up to examine the tendons along his wrist and fingers, you’re struck by its elegant beauty.

His hands may spend most days encased in racing gloves, but they still hold such graceful strength and capability. You find yourself tenderly tracing along the lines of his palm, the indentation at the base of each finger.

You look up to see Charles watching you, his expression soft and affectionate. Impulsively, you lift his hand to your lips and place a kiss along his knuckles. His eyes widen slightly in surprise before he smiles.

“I don’t think that’s part of the medical curriculum,” he says, his voice low.

You grin. “Just conducting some independent research.”

Charles lifts his other hand to lightly trace his fingertips along your jawline, leaving a trail of tingles along your skin.

“Well in that case, I think you need to continue your in-depth examination,” he murmurs.

Your pulse quickens as his fingers trail down your neck and along your collarbone. Gently, he turns you around so your back is to him and sweeps your hair over one shoulder. You shiver pleasantly at the feeling of his hands gliding along the slopes of your shoulders.

“It’s important to know the trapezius muscle,” he says close to your ear. His fingers skim down from the base of your neck, tracing the borders of the trapezius down toward your shoulder blades. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation.

“Mmm yes, very important,” you breathe.

His hands span across your upper back, gently kneading into the muscle. You let out an appreciative sigh, the tension you’ve been carrying in your back dissolving under his touch.

Charles places a kiss to the curve of your neck as his hands work their way down your spine, counting each vertebrae.

“The vertebral column is quite elegant, don’t you think?” He murmurs against your skin. You hum in agreement, eyes still closed.

When his hands come to rest just above your waist, your breath catches in anticipation. His touch is driving you crazy but you don’t want him to stop.

Slowly, he slides his hands around your waist to your stomach, splaying his fingers possessively across your abdomen. He pulls your back against his chest until no space remains between you.

“How am I doing as your study partner?” He asks, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“Mmm, top of the class,” you reply a little breathlessly.

He grins against your skin. “Maybe we should move this study session somewhere more comfortable.”

You turn around to face him, draping your arms lazily around his neck. “I’ll have to clear my schedule. My boyfriend’s this really busy, important Formula 1 driver, you know.”

Charles smiles, leaning in close until his nose brushes yours. “I think he can make time for you.”

He closes the remaining distance, bringing his mouth to yours in a kiss that curls your toes. You melt into him, all thoughts of anatomy and studying dissolving from your mind.

In this moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. The chaos of life fades away and you’re reminded why you endure the challenges of his demanding career.

Because at the end of the day, you have this — your love, steadfast and true. The rest of the world falls away and you’re home.

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steddiehyperfixation · 6 months

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don't you forget about me (steddie fic)

saw this post and was inspired to write something angsty <3

The first thing Eddie is aware of when he wakes up, before he even opens his eyes, is the dull, aching pain throbbing through pretty much his entire body. The second thing he’s aware of is that someone is holding his hand.

“Eddie?” The hand in his tightens its grip as Eddie begins to stir; the voice it presumably belongs to sounds immeasurably relieved, yet only vaguely familiar.

Eddie groans. His eyelids flutter, blinking awake, and he groggily rolls his head to the side to get a look at whoever had spoken.

The voice sighs again, “Oh thank god-”

“Harrington?” Eddie’s eyes fly open wide now as they land on the mystery man sitting beside him on the edge of the bed - a man he most definitely is not close enough with to be holding his hand, and a bed that is most definitely not his own. He snatches his hand away. “What the hell are you doing? Where am I?”

“Ed-” Another man’s voice, this one just as relieved and infinitely more familiar. It fills Eddie with relief too as he looks to his other side to find his uncle Wayne rising from a nearby chair to come up next to him.

“Wayne, what-?” His surroundings are becoming more clear. “What happened? Why am I in a hospital? And why the fuck is King Steve at my bedside?” Eddie tries to sit up only to gasp and wince in pain as the dull ache in his sides sharpens to near agony at the movement.

“Take it easy, son.” Wayne’s hand lands on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down onto the pillows. “You were hurt real bad.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Eddie grumbles out. He sucks in a deep, intentional breath and exhales slowly, the pain beginning to dull again now that he’s settled. His questions are still largely unanswered, though. Blank mind reaching desperately for any logical piece to this bizarre puzzle, he turns an accusing glare to Harrington. “Did you land me in here? Is that why you’re here, some sort of weird guilt thing?”

Harrington’s looking at him like a kicked puppy. “What? No, I-” he falters, takes a shaky breath and swallows painfully like he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember what? Will someone just tell me what happened?” Eddie’s confusion is rising more and more into agitation with every second he remains without an explanation.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Harrington asks quietly.

“I was driving home from school, just found out I wasn’t gonna graduate again.” Eddie frowns as he thinks back, still trying to put pieces together. “Did I crash my car? Is that it? I was emotional and not paying attention and got into an accident?”

Yet again, he receives no answers.

“Eddie, what month is it?” Wayne asks instead, his tone dangerously measured and serious. “What year?”

“May…” Eddie says warily, “1985.”

His words hold a weight he doesn’t understand, landing heavy on the others in the room and thickening the air. It sends a chill of dread down his spine, the way his answer etches concern deep into the lines of Wayne’s face, the way Steve Harrington seems to take it like a blow to the chest.

Harrington exhales sharply as if he’s been punched, standing abruptly and taking a few stumbling steps back. Wayne says, “It’s April of ‘86, Ed.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “No. No, it can’t be.”

“I’m gonna go tell the nurse you’re awake,” Harrington mumbles, his voice strained and his eyes glassy with barely held-back tears.

“I’ll go,” Wayne offers, pushing himself away from Eddie’s bed. He gives Harrington a meaningful look, though what that meaning is, Eddie can’t decipher.

Harrington turns his devastated gaze to the older man. “But, Wayne, he doesn’t-”

“I know, kid.” Wayne gives a sad smile and places a sympathetic hand on Harrington’s shoulder as he passes by. “Just talk to him.”

Eddie is thrown off by this familiarity between them. Since when were those two close? He feels like he’s entered some sort of parallel universe where everything is just ever so slightly wrong. It leaves an itch beneath his skin, uncomfortable and out of place, like he no longer quite fits in his own body, in his own life. He’s lost 11 months, apparently, and this world is no longer his; he doesn’t know where he fits into it anymore.

Wayne leaves the room, and Eddie wants to protest: Don’t leave me here with this guy I don’t know in this time I don’t know, please, you’re the only thing that feels safe and familiar! Anxiety is crawling through him like a thousand tiny bugs in his veins. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to run. Anything to shake this feeling loose. But he’s confined to this bed, trapped both by his pain and by all these machines he’s hooked up to, and he sure as shit isn’t going to have a breakdown in front of Steve goddamn Harrington.

Instead, Eddie resigns himself to this situation and casts a sideways glance at Harrington who very much looks like he’s also trying not to have a breakdown. “I’m freaking out, man,” Eddie says finally, hating how shaky and pathetic his voice sounds. “I swear to god, Harrington, if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on…”

Harrington worries his lip between his teeth as he hesitates. “It’s a lot to explain.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie scoffs out a humorless laugh. “I’m missing nearly an entire year, of course it’s a lot to fill in. Unless I’ve been here this whole time?”

“No.” Harrington shakes his head. “No, you’ve only been here about a week. I- I don’t know why you’re missing so much time, the whole Vecna thing only started like a week before that-”

“Vecna?” Eddie interrupts to question. “What does any of this have to do with the D&D campaign I was planning? And, also, how the fuck do you know about that?”

Harrington closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath, like having this conversation is the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. “I’m not talking about D&D, Ed. Vecna was a real-life monster from a real-life alternate dimension we called the Upside-Down. The kids only called him Vecna because we didn’t know who he was at the time and he, like, cursed people before he killed them, but he was actually Henry Creel, which is a whole other fucked up story.”

“Okay…” Eddie doesn’t know who ‘the kids’ are and he’s skeptical of the way Harrington talks so factually about monsters and dimensions and curses existing in the real world, but he does remember his uncle telling him stories about the demonic tragedy of the Creel family, which is the only thing that makes any of this even halfway believable. It still doesn’t explain how Eddie wound up in the hospital with his entire body feeling like it’d been run through a blender, though, or why the former king of Hawkin’s High was hovering over his sickbed. He gestures for Harrington to continue.

“I never wanted you to get involved in all this Upside-Down shit,” Harrington’s voice breaks. He steps closer to Eddie’s bed again, and he looks so so sad as he stares down at him that it makes Eddie’s own heart ache, just a little bit. Harrington’s hand twitches at his side as if he means to reach out for Eddie but then thinks better of it, running the hand through his hair instead as he continues, “I tried to keep you from it for so long, I really did, but then Vecna killed Chrissy in your trailer and the whole town blamed you and you were just a part of things then, there was no getting around it. You helped us fight him - Vecna. You kept his army of bats off our ass while we weakened his body and El weakened his mind. If it weren’t for you we never would’ve defeated him and we certainly wouldn’t have all made it out alive.” Harrington’s gaze softens, as does his voice, his next words almost a whisper, “You were a hero, Eddie.”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Eddie says, like that’s the least plausible part of Harrington’s story. And, really, it is. He can wrap his mind around a lot of things: a murder in his trailer - sure, Forest Hills always was a shady place; the whole town accusing him of being a killer - yeah, of course, that tracks; even an evil wizard from another dimension with an army of bats - fine, okay, why the hell not. But Eddie Munson is no hero, and he’s definitely not any sort of fighter either.

“No, you never did think so, did you?” Harrington mutters with a sad sort of fondness and the barest trace of a wistful smile. “But it’s true. Dustin was in danger and you didn’t even think twice. You ran right into the fray without a second thought, sacrificed yourself so that the rest of us might survive. Those bats nearly killed you, b-” he breaks, choking on whatever word he was going to say. His eyes swim with yet more unshed tears. “I almost thought they had killed you, you know. I thought you were dead when I carried you out of the Upside-Down,” he admits shakily, choked up and barely managed, “and even when I brought you here and you were stable, I was still so scared you wouldn’t wake up…”

Eddie doesn’t know how to react to any of that information or to such a display of emotion. His own hands twitch now with the urge to reach out and comfort him, but he too denies that instinct. He tries for humor instead, something lighter, cracking a grin and teasing, “Aw, Stevie, I didn’t know you cared.”

Harrington makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Oh, Ed, you have no idea.”

“We were friends then, weren’t we?” Eddie guesses now, carefully. It’s rapidly becoming the only possible explanation for the guy’s behavior around him. “Before all the Vecna stuff?”

“Yeah,” Harrington manages, forcing a small, sad smile as his eyes finally overflow and streak his cheeks with tears. “Yeah, we were good friends.”

Wayne reenters the room then with a nurse in tow, and Steve quickly turns away and rubs his hands over his face. He needs to pull himself together; he can’t break down right now, not yet, not here.

He listens, distantly, as the nurse asks Eddie a bunch of questions and then tells the rest of them that she needs to take him in for some tests to determine the cause and prognosis of Eddie’s amnesia. He watches, numbly, as she wheels Eddie’s entire bed out of the room.

Steve can barely hear, barely see, his emotion clouding his eyes and roaring in his ears. He stares blankly through the open doorway and struggles to swallow down the ever-rising lump in his throat.

Wayne’s voice rumbles from somewhere beside him, but he can’t quite make out the words. “What?”

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Wayne says, the sound reaching Steve’s ears a little clearer now. “I asked if you were alright.”

Steve shakes his head. His voice comes out coarse and raw, “‘Course I’m not alright.”

“Right, ‘course you’re not,” Wayne echoes. He follows Steve’s mournful gaze to the door Eddie had disappeared through. “What did you tell him?”

“Told him he was a hero,” Steve croaks, “...and that we were good friends.”

“Ah…” Steve’s vision is so blurred behind a thick layer of tears he can’t see the sympathetic frown on the old man’s face, but he knows it’s there. “At least he’s alive, kid,” Wayne tries to be comforting. “You can always start over.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t- I don’t want to start over, I just want-” Steve chokes back a sob. He just wants Eddie.

It’s a horrible thought, but Steve almost thinks that this just might be worse than if Eddie really had died… Because how is Steve supposed to handle the fact that his boyfriend of 9 months no longer knows him? How is he supposed to cope now that the love of his life looks right at him and no longer sees him?

He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his palms into his eyelids, inhaling a shaky breath and exhaling an even shakier sigh. Steve whispers, “It feels like I’m losing him all over again.”

(part two is here!)

#i have plans to fix it don't worry. eventually. maybe #i'm really really bad at writing longer multi-part fics but i've got a lot of ideas spinning around my head for this one so #hopefully i will continue it if any of y'all are interested in more of this #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ficlet #fanfic #mine #1k #dyfamsteddiefic #<- tag to follow for this story

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amaranthineghost · 5 months

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| EVERY GODDAMN INCH OF YOUR SKIN IS MINE ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando norris x reader

ꕥ summary: he can't stand her, but he can't keep his eyes off her

ꕥ authors note: I tried to make their thoughts parallel? if that makes sense. whenever it's focused on lando, it says his feelings or thoughts, and then to the reader, it's repeated in a way. so if it's repetitive, it's purposeful. also this was so like awkward to write ?? how do people do this all the time? and I would've gotten this out sooner but black friday shifts kicked my ass sooooo. gonna focus on requests after this :3 (last half unrevised because I wanted to get this out so I might edit some errors)

ꕥ warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol, etc.

HE COULDN'T STAND HER. from her mere existence to the tiniest detail of her. from the way she carried herself to the freckled skin of her body. the way she wore her hair, the dip in her skin just above her thighs. the curvature of her spine. her god-awful voice that came out of her pink, pouty lips. her half-lidded, tired eyes that had the color of pools of honey when they basked in the light.

he fucking hated it.

the way her hips swayed more than usual and her hands delicately grasped the handrail as she sauntered down the steps to the party. she wasn't apart of it before and she wouldn't be now. he would make sure of it. eventually.

his eyes burned into her even, pale skin. he fucking hated how she acted so oblivious. the way her body wore the blue, striped brandy melville shorts. how they rode up her figure and clung to her in seemingly all the right places. the tiny piece of cloth, that he would barely consider a shirt, exposing the valley of her back when it was naturally arched just slightly.

the way her dark eyes scanned the crowd, occasionally catching a streak of light. the way her lips barely parted. her lashes fluttering as she blinked painfully slow as he watched her. he could've swore she was in slow motion.

she looked out of place. he couldn't stand it. he couldn't stand the eyes on her, glancing over their shoulders. but he was one of those pairs of eyes.

and so were his friends who surrounded him, but he paid no attention to them. his eyes were on her. they had been ever since he caught that first glimpse of her.

he always swore he couldn't stand her, he repeated it more times than his friends could count. he swore he hated her, but his friends saw the way he looked at her.

he always cursed them, muttering that he looked at her with disgust, contempt, hatred. and sure, they saw that.

but there was always something hidden in the glint of his eyes that they couldn't even identify. though they'd never mention it to him.

they'd never question when he would tune out the world to keep his eyes on her. the first time it happened, they'd teased him relentlessly, but got brushed off by him. they wouldn't tease him anymore. not in his presence anyways. more behind closed doors and in light-hearted manner about his silly infatuation.

and not only did they know there was always something more, but they knew how to push the right buttons to prove it. and the way to do it was simply by conversing with the girl, or speaking about her in his vicinity.

he'd always bark back at their remarks about her. telling them to quit, or get lost. because only he was allowed to say such things.

and when they'd raise their hands in drunken defense, laughing it off as they held a beer bottle in their hands, he scoffed at their behavior.

she wasn't his. he reminded them unfailingly, even though he acted like it.

but just because she didn't belong to him, it didn't mean anyone else could have her. he made sure of it. he always did.

she laughed breathlessly, a red flush to her face as she kept the corners of her lips upturned. she was rather engaged in the conversation before her with the tall gentleman she knew as george russell. though she knew he had a girlfriend, so the interaction was nothing more than catching up with one another.

they'd known each other for years, being introduced to the other by their mutual relationship, carmen.

even though she reiterated numerous times that the brit was nothing, but a brother to her, she knew a certain someone would always make a deal out of it.

the interaction between the two lasted no more than a few minutes when george had tapped his finger on her shoulder and lazily pointed behind her, "you've got a secret admirer," he'd joke, shaking his head with a smile before taking a sip of his alcoholic beverage. his curled hair lightly bounced as he did so.

she twisted her upper body. her eyes flickered between faces and bodies to find him, searching relentlessly.

there he was.

with his drink in his hand, his eyes bore into hers so uncomfortablely, she felt chills down her spine. he swore he could see the goosebumps rising on her skin from where he sat, and he would be lying if he said he didn't feel his pants get tighter.

she despised him.

she hated how he'd always find her in a room and never lose her. he'd scare off any guy that even came within ten feet of her, but wouldn't even come as close himself.

she hated the way his eyes were so green, like fresh cut grass, or like the leaves of evergreen trees in winter. the way the light hit them and how his pupils turned to pins, revealing the gold ring of his eye.

she hated his damn skin. the perfect evenness of his tanned flesh. the way his veins were so perfect, like he had lightning from the sky in his very hands. and how they branched up his arms, stopping just as they got to his bicep.

though as much as she loathed when he would intimidate potential hotties who tried to win her over, part of her would be thankful for all the times his eyes were on her. especially with unwanted presences. she had that to thank him for.

a blurred hand waved in front of her face, breaking the contact between her and norris. she breathed a sigh of relief when she once again looked at george.

"and you're telling me you guys hate each other?" he scoffed and shook his head, "bullshit."

he muttered the last thing under his breath, striding away, which prompted her to look back at the green-eyed brit. biting her bottom lip, her eyes travelled down his arms and lightning struck veins. she noticed the dark, silver rings on his fingers and she would be lying if she said her stomach didn't have butterflies.

his jaw clenched as she practically eye-fucked him, god she made it difficult. rolling his tongue over the inside of his cheek, he raised his glass to his mouth. a smirk pulled on the corner of his lips at the thought of her getting turned on merely by his arms alone.

his hand tightened around the object, so harshly it could've shattered. he watched a guy strut his way to his girl.

what? what was he saying, she isn't his. he rubbed his eyes, assuring himself it was the alcohol talking for him.

by the time he focused his vision upon her again, the scumbag he didn't even know had reached her.

to him, it was one thing if he knew them, it was another when he didn't and that's what made him angry. he could trust another driver to back off.

he bit his tongue painfully between his teeth, he could've drawn blood. he was debating on what to do. normally, he would stand from afar, but this wasn't a normal circumstance. he was fed up of the line of guys that pushed and scrambled to even get a chance to say a word to her.

his glass slammed down on the table, the cool alcohol splashing up and back down onto the table and some on his hand. it made the people around him flinch, and his friends raised brows. he wouldn't see, they knew where his eyes belonged. and probably his heart too.

he huffed a dramatic sigh. he pushed himself from the elevated table, the cushioned stool he sat on scraped painfully loud against the wooden floors. but he didn't care. he wanted her. he wanted her away from any guys, at least.

so when he stood up so abruptly, shoving past his friends who threw whistles his direction as he charged to her. he ignored the sounds of their cheers, tuning them out as usual as he tunnel-visioned on her. he swore he saw red.

it took all of three seconds for him to manifest behind her, he towered over her petite frame. but instead of his gaze being on the back of her head, he glared at the guy before her.

the guy noticed lando before she did, but she knew when his arm spread around her back, his forearm folding across the skin of her collarbones. she felt his fingers graze the base of her neck and he played with the gold necklace she had clasped. chills falling down each vertebrae of her spine as his chest pressed against her back.

lando looked like he could kill. he would, and he might.

with a harsh shove to the shoulder, lando told the guy, "back off."

the guy raised his hands in defense, drunkenly muttering a slur of words inaudible to their ears. lando nodded his head to the side, signaling him to get out and the guy stumbled away.

watching lando's behavior and demeanor, other guys in the vicinity took the intiative to scurry away. they didn't want a fight. he did though.

she felt the flush of anger rise in her body as she watched all the guys in the general proximity to her and lando flee. potential and non-potential hotties alike. her tongue rolled across her cheek, and she sighed heavily.

she grasped at the wrist that held her to him. it was warm, contrast to the cold dangling of bracelets and few charms that decorated it. the frigid feeling of his jewelry sent shivers through her arm and down her body, residing in her stomach, more than she would care to admit.

she peeled his arm off her. the warmth that was spread across her chest left when his tanned skin did. but her heart remained fuzzy. why?

she faced him. an obviously unpleasant expression written all over her face. but she still held his wrist in her hand.

"what the hell was that, lando?" she looked up at him through her lashes, but venom flecked through her eyes. he studied the creases in her skin while she furrowed her brows at him, he knew the look. he knew it too well. he would be lying if he said his stomach didn't do a flip.

"what was what?" he muttered in a way that made her think he had a few too many drinks. that he was acting on the alcohol, but really, he was staring at her. he wouldn't admit it though. never.

"what's wrong with you, norris?" she exclaimed to him. her hands lifted, taking his arm up with her as they slapped back down to her thighs, "im not doing this with you. you always do this."

she dropped his wrist and turned around to storm off back upstairs but his hand caught her wrist this time. he pulled her back, her shoulder colliding with the bare of his chest, due to his white shirt that had a few too many buttons undone.

"do what?" his demeanor changed when he clenched his jaw. her strong energy that came at him weakened as she watched the muscles on his cheek. she pursed her lips, her tongue gliding against her teeth.

she glanced around uncomfortablely, noticing the gather of gazes from different groups they'd collected with his shenanigans. she shifted in her stance.

he noticed this. he knew the shift of her behavior when she didn't like something. he knew her like the back of his hand. he hated it, but loved it at the same time.

he'd understood the thought of this conversation being heard by those who surrounded them, it was like there was no escape. but he would create one.

with his hand still grasping her, he dragged her through the crowd. he had shoulder-checked practically everyone he pushed through to get back to the stairs. she nearly lost him in the crowd due to the height of some of the party-goers.

but when they'd reach the stairs, she thought that the pull-along would abruptly end—she was wrong.

she knew how to walk up stairs. she thought it was stupid of him to keep leading her through her own house. he didn't even know where her room was.

except he did. so when he barged into her room, pulling her in front of him to shut and lock the door behind him, she confronted him.

"what is your problem?" she spoke so outwardly now and her voice barely echoed off the walls. she nearly flinched when he took just a few steps to reach the position in which she stood.

"you. you are my fuckin' problem." he spoke lowly, but god, she felt herself turn to putty as he kept striding towards her until her back pressed the cold wall.

she looked up at him and gulped, staying silent, which prompted him to continue speaking.

"you are my problem because you can't stop talking to every single goddamn guy in the world," his head leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching. she felt like she was getting scolded, maybe she was. maybe she kind of liked it.

but she wouldn't dare admit it.

"and parading around in these-" his finger hooked the waistband of her shorts, pulling them away from her body and then releasing it to slap back onto her skin, "-slutty little shorts doesn't fucking help."

"fuck you, norris." she spat back, their forehead touching and noses grazing. but she didn't anticipate the hand that settled on her neck. the pretty lightning of veins that became more prominent.

she felt his fingers pressured the sides of her neck, her heart rate increasing dramatically. she felt like jelly in his hands, molded into shape.

he scoffed, 'tsk'ing at her words as he shook his head with a smirk. a smirk from him was never good.

he looked into her eyes, a lustful glint revealed with the streak of light, "maybe I'll just have to fuck the attitude out of you."

he watched the way her pupils dilated, the already dark of her eye becoming black as the words left his mouth. she felt a feeling of desperacy between her thighs.

he knew he had power over her. he didn't know he had this much. and just to prove it, he slid his finger up her neck, near her jaw for a pulse. a fast one.

he chuckled lowly, it sounded evil.

he looked in her eyes as his hand slide up the length of her neck, resting just as her jaw as his thumb caressed along the line. his forehead pressed against her.

a phantom feeling of his lips grazing hers, but not closing the space. not yet. not without.

"is it okay?." he asked simply. and she nodded against him.

but it wasn't good enough. maybe for others it would be, but not him. he needed to hear it. confirmation.

"words." was all he said, but she got the memo, rolling her eyes slightly, but nonetheless.

" 's okay-"

it was all he needed. he closed the gap of their lips within milliseconds. the suddenness of the warm flesh against her lips incited a small gasp, which split her lips just enough for him to intrude her mouth with his tongue.

she didn't fight with him. she knew he would win. he always does. even if the odds were never in his favor, he'd play the right cards.

but she was desperate. desperate for the taste of his faded spearmint gum and booze from his mouth in hers. it might've been an odd combination of flavor for anyone else, but to her, it made sense. to her, it was what she's been searching for.

their lips molded together. they were made for no one else but each other, at least that's what it felt like.

lando's other hand traveled down the exposed skin of her side, feeling the rising goosebumps. she felt him smirk against her lips and with the hand tangled in his curly hair, she tugged lightly. she felt the vibrations of his groans in response to her actions.

but it didn't stop his hand that traveled down her waist, and then hips, and then her thigh. she felt the smooth of his palms and fingertips as they parted her legs slightly, coming to rest on the inner most part of her thigh.

she felt her heart thump in her chest, the rising excitement in her body and the want to be touched by him. only him. she hadn't realized how much she could have wanted this to happen until now.

how often she'd find herself on the bed, that laid barely ten feet away, under plush covers with her skin covered in sweat, baby hairs that never grew out sticking to her forehead. how often she'd find herself saying his name rather than anyone else as she had her hands between her thighs, the hand she pictured to be his. like his hand is about to be.

his hand creeping up her skin, teetering on the edge of her laced panties under her striped shorts. he dipped his fingers around the hem before pulling away, teasing the idea of giving into what she had fantasized. but he wouldn't know she got off to the thought of him.

and she wouldn't know he did too, letting her name slip past his lips one too many times while he satisfied himself with her in mind. one too many times too loud too.

their lips split from each other, their heavy breaths only heard by the two of them, and they could still hear the bass of the music that raved downstairs.

her head found his shoulder, pressing herself into the white linen button-up that unfortunately covered his torso. the hand in his hair remained, tugging at his curls every time he did something she liked. her other arm snaked around the back of his neck for support.

he smirked. he hadn't done much yet, and he wanted to keep messing with her mind.

though, lando wanted to give her some satisfaction, so he ran his finger along her clothed core, shaking his head at the strangled moan that slipped past her lips.

pressing the side of his face to hers, she felt his breath pan across her ear, " 'm going to need you to be quiet for me, love. can you do that?"

butterflies in her stomach, her head shook desperately, but once again, it wasn't enough for lando.

"words, darling," his lips met the skin below her ear, his hand slipping beyond the cloth barrier. he felt the heat that radiated from between her thighs, ghostly touching her.

"f-fuck," she groaned, clenching the hair between her fingers, "yes."

"good girl," he smirked against her skin, she felt it but she was too desperate to say anything to prolong what she needed from him.

two of his fingers ran across her cunt painfully slow, feeling how wet she was for him. it was an ego boost to have her like putty in his hand.

her thighs clenched together at the contact, a strained groan caught in her throat as she bit her lip. she knew she was desperate, but she didn't expect herself to melt like this for him.

he lifted her leg apart from the other, supporting it with his hand on the backside of her knee.

lando teased her a bit more, enjoying the struggling sounds that managed to escape her sporadically. eventually, he slipped his fingers all the way into her cunt, feeling his knuckles press her skin. with his thumb, he teased her clit, practically sending her over the edge

he felt her walls clench around him as he remained unmoving for a few seconds for her to collect herself, only to be ruined again as he thrusted his fingers slowly. she struggled to keep it to herself, her eyes were screwed shut and her lip could've bled from how hard she bit it.

but when he picked up the pace, she was gone. she couldn't keep quiet, letting out her moans into his white button tee, which somewhat muffled them.

his pace remained steady, and he could tell she was reaching her point after a while when her moans upped an octave and her clenching around him.

it felt like heaven, a feeling she could've never achieved with her own two hands, she hadn't. but he did.

he slowed his fingers as she came down, pulling out of her cunt and panties. she raised her head and looked at him as sweat coated her forehead, causing those same baby hairs to stick to her skin.

they stared each other in the eyes as he raised his hands, covered in her slick, his mouth. he stuck open his tongue, running his fingers across it and licking them before smirking at her face.

"you taste sweet, darling," he pushed strands of hair behind her ear with his other hand.

he picked her up, his hands under her thighs supporting her weight while he walked a few steps to her messy, unmade bed. he threw her gently, the springs of her bed squeaking quietly against the shift of weight.

she laid, propped on her elbows as lando pressed his knees into the bed. his hands sunk the bed below him as he practically crawled on top of her. it prompted her to lay fully on her back, her hair sprawled on the piled blanket behind her.

one of his hands came to rest at the side of her head. pushing into the bed, he pulled himself closer to her as he dipped his head into the crevice of her neck, biting lightly on her skin.

she'd let out little winces at the feeling, her hands finding the buttons of his shirt, though it seemed half were already undone. but when she spread his shirt to the side, she ran her fingers down his chest, through his light abs that twitched under her cold fingertips. she smiled softly at the happy-trail on his stomach, tracing down it and along to his v-line. he groaned against her neck.

she fetched his belt around her fingers, working the clasp desperately to get it undone. she needed him and he knew that. which is why he is letting her do the work to get to him.

when she'd finally undo it, she pulled it from the loops, tossing it aside on her carpeted floor. she focused back on his dark jeans, fumbling with getting the button undone.

he noticed this, and only because he wanted it as badly as she did, he disconnected his lips from her flesh, momentarily standing off the bed to slip from his jeans, and pulling off the unbuttoned shirt from his body. they laid on the floor to get cold.

and now, to him, she was too clothed. he needed to see her skin, her curves. he wanted her. he wouldn't lie, not at this point.

so he'd crawl back across her, his bare skin appealing to her. his hands landed on her hips as he lifted them in the air. his fingers curled around the elastic of her shorts and panties as he dragged them down leisurely, like he had all the time in the world. like time had stopped and they were the only ones moving.

he'd let the cloth get to her ankles before letting her finish the work, advancing back up her body to rid the tiny top he barely deemed appropriate for anyone other than him to see.

he pulled it over her head, her arms spread above her head as the cold air greeted her chest. he wasn't surprised she didn't have anything under the top, he didn't expect her to in her own house.

he exhaled shakily at the sight of her chest. she was perfect to him. he admired her features from above. the curves of her body that dipped in the right places, the goosebumps scattered on her skin, her hard nipples from the cold air.

he pulled her to towards him by her hips, her wet cunt colliding with the tent that had built in his tent. their groans synced as they grinded against each other, the other thing stopping them was the cloth of his boxers. her clit was sensitive against the rough cotton and she whimpered softly.

he felt the cold sensation of her slick dampen his underwear, practically throbbing to feel her, to have her. low groans escaped his lips, his fingertips digging into her bare hips, turning her skin white.

he, unadmittedly, was desperate for her. he could've torn the cloth of his boxers, but he didn't care. he had money for more but he didn't have this moment forever. he wished he did.

dripping with precum, he stroked himself a few times, looking at her, he could've gotten himself off just to the visual of her.

he moved back over her body, lining himself when she pripped herself on her elbows, "no condom?"

he shook his head, mumbling as he pushed her shoulders back down, " 's fine, I'll buy you plan b, jus' need you," he admitted it. he really did.

she wouldn't lie when she said she needed him too. she had for a while. he seemed to be the answer to most of her problems.

he'd slowly push the tip in, watching her expression closely as she winced. he dipped back to her neck, kissing the skin and leaving more small marks she knew she would curse him for in the morning. but it helped.

it'd also help when she'd dig her fingernails into the even skin of his back, now ruined by red scratches he would stare at for hours after. he would've proudly displayed them if he could.

he shushed her in her ear, slowing pushing himself further into her. he let out of a low moan against her neck. he stayed like that for ten seconds, relishing in the capsulating feeling of taking her.

when he'd move, his thrusts started slow and even, he was cautious. the skin of his hips pressed into the back of her thighs every time he'd push himself all the way in, forcing her to take all of him.

and when her small cries turned to whimpers and moans, letting out strings of curses and his name, every so often, he'd take it as a sign to start thrusting quicker.

moans got louder and the sound of their skin contacting filled the room. he'd force her to quiet down with his hand on her mouth, muffing her unfortunately so pretty moans against it. her head fell back with her chest arching against his.

"eyes on me, pretty girl," he'd manage through heavy breaths, looking into her dark and very dilated eyes. his forehead came to rest against hers and watched her face. her mouth was open, he could feel it against his hand. her skin was flushed and red, skin sweating, making her hair stick to her face. he couldn't be more turned on.

he knew she was close, he was too. like earlier, she clenched around him, her mouths loudening under his hand, increasing in pitch.

she knew he was close by the uneven pace and his thrusts, his eyes becoming half-lidded and his lips glued to her skin

with his free hand, he rubbed circles on her clit, which seemed to set her over the edge as he watched her eyes almost roll back, feeling her walls clench around him.

"fuck," he groaned as he came with her. it was hard not to when he had waiting for this for a long time. too long.

his thrusts slowed greatly as their highs rode away. he felt onto the space or the bed beside her, panting heavily as they laid side by side.

the reality that they'd just fucked set it. they were supposed to hate each other, everyone knew that. but everyone also knew the tension between the two was more than just one feeling of hatred.

he'd disprove his hatred when he'd clean her up gently, with a damp, microfiber towel he'd stolen from the bathroom. he'd pick out a new shirt for her that covered her significantly better than her previous one. he'd dress her, wash her up and put her in bed.

he'd already gotten dressed against when he'd tuck the blanket by her side, he went to walk away, but the sound of her tired voice called to him, "lando, can you stay?"

her voice was sleepy, her eyes were glazed as she laid on her side, but her back was to him. he stopped in his tracks and turned back around. his belt was in his hand, but he'd dropped it immediately. disgarding his shirt and jeans, he dragged his feet against the carpet to the other side of the bed.

when he'd slip into bed, before he could even pull the covers back atop him, she had her arms around him, her face against his chest, and her leg around his waist.

his eyes softened and the warmth of having her against him wasn't so bad. he actually loved it. he would admit that.

he went to bed with a smile on his face and his girl.

the light had shown through the window, the lacy curtains, spilling onto his face. he grimaced at the light, groaning as he sat up in the bed.

they had separated during the night, but her legs remained across his stomach, he ran his hand across her leg, caressing it.

he yawned, taking in the nice, early morning when the door to her room had opened. he'd see his friends looking curiously around the room, seemingly looking for him.

when they'd see him, they silently cheer and giggle. they were definitely going to use this against him. about how right they were.

he chucked a pillow at them, which prompting them to fler before he causes harm. the door shut quietly and he laid back down with his hands under his head.

a smile crossed his face as he felt her against him again.

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thegnomelord · 7 months

Text

Lending a Hand

CW:NSFW @bluegiragi Monster tf141au go give her some love!, Werewolf Soap!, Harpy Gaz!, Mage reader!, Dom top Male reader, sub bottom Gaz and Soap, gratuitous depictions of sex, heat/rut, Dom/sub, anulingus, knotting, dirty talk (attempts at it anyway), Poly!TF141,

3k word long af fic because I overwrote again :/ asks are always welcome lol.

Price and Ghost had left you three to entertain yourselves while they went on a mission, and like every thing in Soap's life, his rut come in swinging out of nowhere. One moment he's playing some old racing game, sitting on the floor while you and Gaz sit on the harpys' bed, and the next — his nose is twitching and he swears he can taste your scents on his tongue, the heavenly combination of Gaz's spicy sweet cologne and your own harsher smell making heat burn in every cell of his body.

He feels Gaz's leg brush against his back and it makes every strand of hair on his body puff up, a low sound like rumbling thunder ringing in his ears and an overwhelming need to scent you two clawing at his brain. The controller falls from his hands when he turns to nuzzle his face into Gaz's leg, huffing in his scent like a man possessed, his mind already imagining all the times they've fucked and how fucking good Kyle had felt wrapped around his knot like a proper mate. His cock grows hard in his pants and his skin flushes when he realizes the low rumbling sound is coming from him; a mating growl that neither of you can answer.

"Soap, you alright there?" He moans hearing your voice, the sudden sensation of your hand on his shoulder and your heavy scent — corrupted by magic and smelling of overwhelming dominance as if you're a part of the nature running in his blood — has his tail curling up without prompting and back arching with a high pitched whine, clawed hands grasping at both of your legs now.

"Donnoe mates... feeling hoht all of a'udden." Soap slurrs, sight and mind going hazy, mind buzzing with heat. His cock is hardening in his pants, and there's a slickness between his thighs when he rubs them together.

"Shit, think the git's going into rut." Kyle says under his breath, his feathers ruffling up when he reaches out to feel the heat of Johnny's forehead. Soap moans at the skin contact only for it to turn into a growl when he realizes he can't scent you both at once. His body feels like it wants to rip itself in half to hold both of you, to cover both you and Gaz in his scent and fuck, but with only one body he does the next best thing and pivots on his knees to shove his face where the scent is the strongest — your crotch.

"Fuck- MacTavish!" You hiss, immediately trying to shove him. He clings to you like a fly to shit, whining incomprehensible words and chest stinging from rejection. His body shakes and shifts, not the sudden transformation you're used to seeing on the battlefield but a minute gradual change parallel to his need. Clawed hands grip your legs, his clothes straining at the seams when he pants against your crotch, tail curled up in an desperate attempt to gain his mates' attention; to show how strong and good and ready he is.

"Shit, sorry lad." Kyle gives an awkward cough. "Help me with him yeah? My arse won't be able to handle him like this." He says and doesn't even have enough decency to look embarrassed about his words, reaching out to tug on Soap's hair like he knows Johnny likes, Kyle's attempts to tug him away only making him burry his face into your groin even more.

"You sure, won't I be taking advantage of him?" You go to ask if this would be too much, if you'd be crossing a line when Soap's like this — blissed out and barely himself — even if you feel your cock harden from his nuzzling.

"Yeah... you're fine— he'd had bit you by now if he was against it." Gaz says with a small awkward giggle all first time lovers make, not at all realizing it's not the best thing to say when you have a half transformed werewolf shoving his face into your dick. "We trust you mate." He admits; even if you've been on the team a few months, even if your past isn't all that reputable — they trust you. Both of them.

Soap's not paying attention to what's being said, how could he when he can smell you and feel your cock through your pants, and fuck he wants it needs it in him now. He mouths at your cock, uncaring and unaware of his fangs painfully scraping and digging into your skin through your clothes. All he wants is to taste that cock, his body growing bigger and clothes ripping at the seams as his mind conjured up thoughts of fucking and being fucked.

His insides clench pitifully around nothing and he needs a cock to push deep inside him and stretch him wide until he's knotted and round with pups. His knot feels hard and cold and he needs to feel tight heat of a mate around his knot that he can breed full of his cum. He needs... he needs—

"Fine! Fine!" You give in with a hiss when Johnny's teeth dig into your pants in an attempt to get to your cock. You tug him up by the hair your grip harsher and firmer than Kyle's, everything about you feeling so overwhelmingly dominant he doesn't even try to fight, only trying to get closer to you.

You have to brace yourself when he bears down on you, teeth going to mark up your throat the moment he can push his face into your neck. You groan when he bites down on your neck with sharp teeth and Gaz croons softly, pushing himself close to you both, his large wings twitching excitedly when Soap answers with a low whiny growl of his own. His attention pivots and now he's trying to scent and mark the harpy until you shift just a bit and his head ricochets back to your neck, teeth creating a warzone on both of your necks.

"Alright, Gaz, on the bed." You order and yank Soap's head back when he bites too close to your jugular. Gaz moves to follow your order and you have to hold Soap by the hips to keep him from lunging at Kyle because his mate is going away and he can't have that!

"Wait." Your harsh and rough voice falls on deaf ears as Soap continues to shift and get bigger, his shirt tearing off his body and the button of his pants popping open. The sudden release of his cock has Soap whining low and loud and rocking his hips into the air as if already mating and his tail smacking against your leg as a sign for you to just fuck him already. "What the fuck did I just say?" You growl and grab his clothed dick in a harsh grip.

"So- fock- ry, sorry!" Soap manages, his hips still doing small thrusts in an attempt to grind his slick backside against your crotch despite your chastising.

"Well aren't you bossy." Gaz teases and watches you two with a hungry dark look in his eyes, already naked and reclining on the bed, his back tensing as he forces his wings to retract into his body. God knows a rutting Soap doesn't have enough brain space not to crush his wings while fucking him.

Your eyes meet Gaz's. "How about he preps you?" Your question has Johnny's canine tongue lolling out of his maw automatically as if Gaz needs more convincing.

"Jesus, fuck yeah," Gaz breathes out, not even needing to be told what position to take. He flops on his stomach, laying his head on a pillow and pushes his knees beneath him to raise his arse into the air and spread his thighs wide open, vulnerable hole and hard cock almost shamelessly on display.

"God, look at you Gazzy, so eager to get your ass eaten out?" You coo, enjoying the view as much as Soap is. "Or are you imagining how pretty you'll look stuck on this big knot?" You ask, catching his eyes as you pull down Soap's boxers down just enough for his dick to poke out, already hard and wet and leaking pre like a faucet.

"How about it boy? Can you use that mouth of yours for something useful this once?" You tease Soap with your words, keeping him from lunging at Gaz. Your rough words and even rougher hold on him has Johnny nodding his head as fast as he can, unintelligent words rolling from his mouth.

"Get on with it you bloody git." Kyle demands with a blush, arching his back.

"You heard him, be good and stretch him out for your knot properly...or else." The slight edge of danger in your tone has Soap paying attention even when your words go in one ear and out the other and he dives face first into Gaz's backside the moment you let go of him. Soap wastes no time and immediately slobbers all over Kyle's skin, drawing surprised squawks from the other man as his tongue licks from his balls up to his arse and back again. It doesn't take long for Soap to concentrate on his hole, even less for Soap to bully his tongue inside Gaz flooding his hole with slobber and stretching him wide open.

"Oh fock, oh shit..." Kyle burrows his head into the pillow, trying and failing to hide his harsh moans and small chirps and sharp 'ah, ah, ah's with every twist and turn of Soap's wide and longue tongue. He doesn't care when Soap grip his thighs so hard that bruises bloom immediately, not when Soap buries his face deeper into his arse that Soap's nose is flush with his tail bone and his canine tongue abuses his prostate.

"Such eager lads." You chuckle and settle behind Soap, pulling what remains of his pants down his thighs and off him. He growls at you, before your presence registers in his mind and his tail is curling up and as soon as the pants are down he's spreading his thighs and arching his back and wiggling his arse like a trained whore. He's leaking like a tap on both ends, his cock rock hard and knot half engorged and slick staining his skin from hole to mid thigh.

"Already wet for me Johnny? And here I thought you're supposed to fuck bitches—" You grab his tail and tug it up making Gaz scream a loud-"Fuck!"- when Johnny jumps and his tongue pushes as far as it can go. "—not be one."

Soap's shaking and his dick's leaking from the rough treatment of his tail, but the appendage wags even as you manhandle it. "Shit, mate, don't stop talking." Gaz moans into the pillow, claws and talons desperately clinging to the bedding with every thrust and twist of Soap's tongue. It's like your words are a drug that push both of them deeper and deeper into lust, Soap's brain long since melted into his dick.

"Yeah? You like how good Johnny's eating you Gaz?" You ask, your fingers grasping and playing with Soap's ample ass. "Does he taste good Johnny? Just think how tight he's going to be around you, you'll stretch him good huh?" Soap can do nothing but whine at the absolute filth leaving your lips, each word urging and commanding him to shove his tongue deeper, to cover every inch of his spongy walls in spit, of bashing his prostate with his tongue until Gaz's moaning and squawking like a bitch in heat.

"Good boy," Your fingers trace against Soap's hole and fuck he's so wet for you that you don't even need to get lube, holding his tail by the base you hook and push your thumb into his waiting hole and Soap howls as his body clenches down so hard you'd think he was aiming to break bones.

"Biased much mate?" Gaz croaks and chuckles between his moans, his hips moving into Soap's face in a desperate attempt to cum, stray loose feathers disappearing between the sheets.

"Good boys." You correct yourself, pulling your thumb out despite Soap's desperate whines and pushing two fingers into him at once, setting a harsh and quick pace that has both of them whining and moaning and growling.

Your fingers are thick and calloused from years of magic use and they stretch Soap out so good he can't help but moan into Kyle's hole, barely able to pant with spit running down his lips. His rut made his prostate so big your large fingers find it as soon as you're knuckles deep and you're quick to rub and press on it with all the finesse of a tank. You keep firm hold of him by his tail and Soap cums as soon as you push three fingers down on his prostate, white ropes of cum shooting into the sheets and pulling Gaz into his own orgasm.

"Good lads, you did good." The pride in your voice has their hearts beating just a little quicker, reaching over you tug Johnny's head away from Kyle's ass with a lewd and depraved 'squelch' 'shlich' ringing through as Johnny rolls his tongue into his mouth. Shit, Gaz looks so wrecked already, wet sounds echoing through the room every time his hole clenches around nothing. Johnny's so big now, at least a foot taller than you now, but he submits so prettily to you...

Pulling your fingers out of Johnny earns you a rumbling growl, his cock not even having softened hips grinding back on yours. "Hush now." You order with your mouth close to his pointy ear, "Don't worry Johnny, you'll be nice and full of cock in no time."

Kyle shifts and gains your attention. "Kyle, you okay? Need to tap out?" You ask, pushing your absolutely drenched fingers into Soap's mouth to quiet his whining, you don't mind his teeth nicking your fingers and Johnny's so lustdrunk to care about who's slick he's tasting only that it makes his cock that much harder.

"That- nah." Kyle breathes, completely boneless but still managing to perk his arse up a bit. "Come on, just wanna feel 'im, please."

"You heard him Johnny." Pulling your fingers out of his mouth you guide Johnny to mount Gaz, one hand firmly on his tail and the other wrapped around the tip of his cock so all he can do is uselessly hump Gaz without penetrating him. Johnny doesn't even notice you teasing the both of them when you rub his tip against Gaz's hole every time his hips pull back, only to angle his cock up the second Johnny tries to thrust into Kyle.

"Focking git!" Gaz whines, and you don't need to see him beneath Soap's broad and large frame to know he's glaring at you. "Get on with it or I swear I'll string everything you own up in the trees." His threat would be a lot scarier if his voice wasn't weak and whiny from your teasing.

"Spoilsport." You tease back, blindly angling Johnny's cock tip against his hole, easing your grip and letting Soap slide his cock into Gaz in an agonizingly slow pace until only his knot remained outside of Gaz with your calloused hand clutching it. "Feels good?" You receive moans and low growls in response, Soap's mind so consumed by the heavenly heat around his cock he can do nothing but pant and thrust his hips forward. "Okay, okay, be good now." You laugh and let go of his cock.

The second his proverbial collar is taken off Soap wastes no time and begins fucking Gaz in earnest, biting down hard on his shoulder, hips and tail a blur of movement and all of his lupine strength going into jackhammering his cock as deep as fast into Gaz as he physically can. The bed 'thump, thump, thump's against the wall wall with every violent thrust, drowned out by Kyle's moans and whines and shouts Johnny manages to pull each time his balls slap against Gaz's. You can even see the way his knot stretches Gaz's ass, his hole greedily clenching around the bulb as it grows bigger and bigger with every hip shattering thrust that leaves Gaz grasping at clawing at whatever he can reach.

You don't even have time to finish undressing before Johnny's shoving his cock deep inside and cumming with a deep growl, his teeth firmly latched onto Gaz's flesh and knot keeping them tied together.

Kyle groans when Soap collapses on top of him, arms wrapped firmly around him and pinning him down to the bed as every bit of strength leaves the werewolf. "That was fast." You chuckle, going to turn them to their sides so Soap isn't crushing Gaz. You notice Gaz is still hard like a rock, a little bulge in his stomach where Johnny's cock and cum fill his insides. Even after cumming twice Soap still tries to fuck in his delirium but manages only small little shuffles of his hips that only succeed in making his seed slosh around inside Gaz.

"Insatiable monsters." You tease, one hand tracing the belly bulge and lifting Soap's leg up on your shoulder with the other, his thighs even slicker now than before.

"Man... shu'it." Gaz slurs, watching you stroke your cock a few times with hooded eyes, Soap's head buried in his shoulder and teeth creating more marks on his skin. Soap turns cuddly after a good rut, at least until it starts all over again. "Fuck, you gonna...?"

"Yep." You say, sliding closer. It's an odd position to take and your back is going to complain later, but it's more than worth it when you finally get to slide inside Johnny's soaking wet arse, pulling low groans from both of them as it makes Johnny's cock slide a bit deeper. "Shit, you're so tight Johnny."

Gaz can feel the cock inside him twitch from your praise and the vibrations of a purr through his skin as Soap tries to thrust his hips back into yours despite the knot and Soap's arms not willing to let him separate from Gaz. You begin with a slow pace and every rock of your hips has the knot inside Kyle pushing and pulling on his poor oversensitive insides, Soap's cum sloshing inside him. He already feels so full and like there's fire in his veins, but this slow and deep pace you set has his head tilting down and body fully relaxing and letting himself just feel.

Despite being mentally checked out for a while, a little bit of Soap's lucidity comes back now that he's knotted; Everything he can smell everything he can feel everything he is zeroes down on his groin, on the heavenly heat wrapped around his knot and your unhurried but strong thrusts. That's what he needs right now— to forget what it feels like to be empty and feel a hard cock spearing his insides and bullying his prostate and leaving him drooling on Gaz's skin.

You manage to push them into cuming again before your own climax reaches you and you cum deep in Soap, who in response bites down on Gaz's shoulder again. You try to pull away but Soap growls and whines, he doesn't want to feel empty again when you'd filled him so fucking good, he wants you to stay like this, keep him nice and full with your cum.

Gaz blindly grabs at you, vocalizing what Soap can't. "Stay." He manages to slur, looking like he's ready to fall asleep any second with Johnny already snoozing the moment you stop moving.

Despite the stickiness you're no doubt going to wake up with, you sigh and settle down behind Soap, throwing a hand around his massive frame and not even noticing when exhaustion claims you.

...

"Well would'ou look at that, really tuckered themselves out." Price's voice rings somewhere at the edge of your subconsciousness, though it's hard to tell when exhaustion has you so firmly by the throat you can barely open your eyes.

"Could have turned their mics off." It takes you a moment to recognize Ghost's voice somewhere near you, your body almost not your own as it nuzzles into the warm back in front of you.

This time a chuckle comes, "Don't say it as if you didn't like it." There's a teasing lilt to his voice, but your attention is stolen away when Soap moves and only now you realize that not only are you still inside him, but he's far from satisfied.

You don't even think he's awake yet his hips start moving again, pulling sounds from both you and Gaz because fuck your dick's so oversensitive you think it might fall off.

"Howa 'bout we leave them to it hmm? Looks like he's got his hands full." Price's referring to you, and you hear his snort when Soap whines and thrusts his hips back into yours again with enough force you swear you hear something creak.

God help you...and your pelvis.

#centerpieces of the hoard #x reader #cod mw2 #top reader #male reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #monster 141 au #polyTF141 #sub john soap mactavish #sub gaz #top male reader #this got way too long but im too lazy to shorten it #mage reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x male reader #soap x male reader #Here's to hoping I didn't make this too OOC

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indieyuugure · 4 months

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Indie Comics Master Post

Rise of the Parallel

A crossover fan-fiction graphic novel starring the 8 ninja turtles from TMNT 2012 and Rise of the TMNT.

Follow their multi-dimensional adventure as the turtles once again take on the Krang. The fate of the world rests on the boys’ shoulders while they fight to take down the Krangs’ plots of world domination, can they take the pressure? No one said being a hero was easy, but they’re not alone!

Pre-Order Printed Copy

Get your hands on the first ever printed edition Rise of the Parallel by Indie Y. This two-volume set, with over 360 full color pages, includes all 15 chapters plus never-before-seen bonus content!

The Mutation Situation

A fan fiction graphic novel taking place during the second season of TMNT 2012

During a late-night run in with The Foot Clan, the turtles get injected with a mysterious mutagenic chemical made by the one and only Baxter Stockman, that has the unexpected effect of turning them into humans. At first, everything seems like a dream come true, being able to walk the streets in broad daylight, doing everything they’ve never been able to do before. That is until Donnie begins falling extremely ill from the chemical that changed them into their human forms. The boys must race against the clock to save their brother before it’s too late, but with their new vulnerability, The Shredder won’t make that an easy task.

Get access to latest episode of The Mutation Situation a week early on Locals at indiey.locals.com

More comics to come…

Updates are Every Saturday! Please enjoy! :]

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #comics #rise of the parallel #the mutation situation #tmnt 2012 #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #ninja turtles #tmnt fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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ireneaesthetic · 25 days

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Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

"i can show you" scene • episode 1

the first wille’s smile of the season and simon is the one and only reason for it to happen *act surprised*.

he has no rush but takes his time to enjoy simon’s presence, looking from afar first and then approaching him. just having him there is enough to make him This happy.

the casual gestures of fixing the jacket or bumping into the shoulder make me melt - just typical boyfriends things and we absolutely praise them in this house!

wille's flirtatious mood in this whole sequence is the best thing that could've happened to me - to simon too! the "i can show you", the whispering, the head's nod. he's still my fav loser but oh how much he has learned and stepped up the game.

also, i genuinely think not showing them holding hands here with a wider shot is a crime.

such a perfect parallel of the fish scene and they're probably reminded of that too: this time it's wilhelm's bedroom and a foreign place for simon, so he's the curious one - looking around and taking the space in - while wille simply waits for him.

simon's "mysigt" to describe the room, just like wilhelm did. it is another special moment for both of them.

this. this. this!!! claim a s3 moment as your own - this is mine.

to me it is the most seductive and romantic one they've ever shared hands down. it comes straight out of a fanfic.

the tension, the longing, the chemistry, the flirting. there's so much to unpack here: wille's breath is literally vibrating and simon's presence is so intense, he builds up the tension and keeps wilhelm waiting for his next move in the most endearing way - wille is also leaning into his hand at the end. there's no talking, they're barely touching but still filling the room with all the passion and attraction they feel for one another - this is actually insanely scripted and portrayed.

no thoughts head empty just simon's tongue and his hands through wille's hair (he's obsessed, excuse him!).

and it kinda seems like simon is getting pulled closer by the waist or he's pushing himself closer - either way it's hot soo

simon's little leg lift and him pinning wille down on the bed by the wrist right before the cut - they're comfortable and open and so playful with each other. wilhelm's hand that caresses simon's back is very much important too.

simon caressing wille's cheek (he has to return the favor ig) and wilhelm leaning up again when they interrupt the kiss.

these brief moments are the cutest. i love how they stay so close and can't stop tracing each other's features.

the nose rub. the mirrored smiles. they've missed and wanted this for so long and they're taking the most of it.

this whole scene is so passionate and they're both so touchy bc they were clearly waiting for this to happen - during a meeting at the palace might not be the greatest scenario, but the thrill that comes with it is definitely something.

i like the role play throughout the scene sm: wille initiates the first kiss, simon is the one taking the lead next and then it all comes back to wille rolling them over and taking initiative. the neck action is a serious thing for him and idk where his hand would've ended up if they hadn't been interrupted - and we do! love! all of it!

they're laughing over the fact that they were not caring about anything at all but spending quality time with each other. and they deserve it so freaking much.

look at them!!! this is not a subtle look bc they simply do not care anymore. i adore them your honor.

#we're back baby #young royals #young royals analysis #yr s3 #i can show you scene #wilhelm x simon #wilmon

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slitsfordan · 29 days

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DanandPhilCrafts + Fucked Up Queer Devotion + Christian Homophobia: An Essay

We’ve all been talking about the willingness of Dan and Phil to perform the ritual, we’ve all been talking about the intimacy of carving out your lover’s heart, but I have not heard anyone talk about the fucked up side of Dan and Phil’s (fictional) relationship with each other, and with Him, so here goes.

On the craft channel, Dan and Phil act overwhelmingly positive, like satanic children’s show hosts, but this is clearly a farce. We see them drop their smiles quite a few times during the crafting- most notably in Glitter Faces when Dan’s craft turns out wrong, and when Phil cuts Dan’s hand. “Don’t cry, craft” is directed towards the audience, but it seems Dan and Phil are following their own advice. Cults, after all, prey on vulnerable people. While they do seem scared of doing the ritual, and their involvement with Him, they are, however, definitely willing. In

The blood on Dan after he kills Phil is interesting; The handprint on his shirt isn’t a sign of a struggle, but rather Phil just grabbing his shirt- that’s pretty intimate, honestly. The blood on his face could’ve been caused by a bunch of things: blood splatter he wiped at? wiping at his face (eyes?) with a bloody hand? or Phil holding his face? (I like the third option) The blood on his nose might totally have been accidental, and just a thing that happened, but it could also be an allusion to the cat whiskers, in the spirit of bringing things back to the beginning and whatnot.

After the ritual is complete, there’s the obvious tarot symbolism. @freckliedan has a great post about this, but I’ve got more to add, so bear with me. Yes, Dan and Phil are framed as the lovers, but that’s not all. While the sexual deviance associated with the devil card has clear connections to queerness, it’s main association is usually unhealthy relationships and dependence. From this, and the obvious devotion displayed in the video, the craft versions of Dan and Phil are implied to be unhealthily dependent on each other, and devoted to the point of obsession. While the relationship certainly isn’t abusive, this obsession just isn’t healthy.

Furthering the unhealthy relationship idea is when Phil calls Dan “Sampson”. In the Bible or whatever (I’m not Christian sue me) Sampson topples these pillars, killing both himself and his enemies, which has a clear parallel to Dan’s stacked ingredients falling over, but the use of “folly” is interesting, and suggests a further connection. Sampson had married a prostitute, and she sold him out, basically, leading to his enslavement and later death. In this story, this is the clearest and most obvious act of folly by Sampson: marrying someone who he shouldn’t have, someone who it was taboo for him to be with. Connected to Dan and Phil, it suggests that their relationship is dangerous due to the social taboo, but it’s also implied that Phil will betray Dan. Perhaps we’ll see that in a 5th crafts installment, or perhaps it’s simply a commentary on being in a relationship with someone considered unacceptable.

Speaking of unhealthy relationships, that’s sure what they’ve got with Him! Leading up to the ritual, Dan and Phil are shown to be scared of Him, even though they call Him their friend. Dan’s head shake when Phil says “crafting has improved my life in numerous ways” is very telling. At the end, Dan’s shoulders tense at His first footstep, however, when He actually touches Dan, he doesn’t seem scared at all- forgive me for this next point, but from the way he kinda leans into the touch and tilts his head back, it seems more like he’s going for “turned on” rather than “scared”.

“Okay, cool” you say, “but what does it mean?” Well, Dan and Phil’s relationship in this series is not just about homoerotic undertones- this is an allegory for toxic queer sexual relationships. Why would they make something about toxic relationships when they’re in a healthy relationship? With the toxicity, and the power imbalances, and the satanism, Dan and Phil’s (fictional) relationship is a representation of Christian fears of queerness, and the supposed immoral/corrupting/anti-Christian effects of being in a queer relationship. The fear Dan and Phil show throughout the series is representative of internalized homophobia. They’re scared to align themselves with Him because it means accepting their own queerness. Dan shows more fear than Phil throughout the series (like after his glitter face turns out to be a pentacle) which parallels his real world internalized homophobia that he’s experienced. By holding hands with the devil (or baphomet?) standing behind them, Dan and Phil have embodied every conservative fear about queerness, but have come out on top. Through their YouTube channel, we get to do the same.

#in conclusion:#if DanandPhilCrafts is about anything #it’s about how it’s okay to be gay #lol #thanks for reading if you made it this far :)#I would love to hear other people’s thoughts on this!#dnp #dan and phil #phan #amazingphil #daniel howell #danandphilcrafts #dan and phil crafts #phandom analysis

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hotteoki · 1 year

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playing with skz’s hair

warnings : one or two swear words

©️ hotteoki | do not repost

chan (방찬)

you were both on your shared bed, him sitting up facing away from you, focusing on his laptop; you laying down, head resting on your pillows beside him, phone in hand and looking up to stare mindlessly at his back every now and then, contemplating if you should ask what you were about to ask. “hey channie?” you reached up to poked his side. he hummed in question, eyes not straying away from the screen.

“can i tie your hair up?” chan laughed, caught off guard, “what?” he emphasised his point by turning his body slightly to look down oddly at you. you sat up, scooting forward until you parallel to him. placing your chin on his shoulder, you shook his arm gently, “please? i’m bored.” he pretended to think for a few minutes, “alright, but you’re not allowed to take any pictures.”

you nodded happily, stretching over to snatch a hair tie from your bed side table and realigning your body until you can see his face properly without blocking his view. staring at his concentration expression for a few seconds, you wondered how you were going to pull this off.

finally deciding on a look, you placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, his blush motivating you to get to work. bunching up a section of the hair laid on top of his forehead, you collected them to a smaller section right behind it to ensure his hair would stand after you’ve tied it, instead of flopping back down. lowering your hands and grinning to yourself at your handiwork, you tried to sneak in your phone to take a picture of the adorable state chan was in right now.

“i said no,” he gave a pointed look. “but you look so funny right now! i want this as my wallpaper so i can look at it every day,” you put on the sweetest smile you could muster. chan’s melted heart had practical evaporated by then. the thought of him being the reason of smiling down at your phone each time you pick it up. sighing, he posed until he heard the snap shutter. the things he’d do for you.

minho (민호)

you were both watching howl’s moving castle on the tv in your shared bedroom. you were sat with your back against the headboard, minho in between your legs, head leaning back to rest against your chest. dori slept peacefully on his lap, letting out contented purrs from minho’s soft strokes.

it was an absent-minded action at first. you had picked up a small piece of his hair, rubbing it in between your fingers and making it stand up straight. you hadn’t even noticed until fifteen minutes later or so, when you reached to fiddle with his hair again.

holding in your giggles, you repeated the movement several times around his head, doing it as slowly as possible so minho wouldn’t notice. by the time the movie had finished and dori had padded away with an attitude over no petting being received, minho’s hair made him look like a hedgehog. you resisted the urge to coo at him, he looked so cute!

his steady breathing confirmed your suspicions of him being asleep. using this amazing opportunity, you reached your arms around his body until your phone, currently in selfie mode, showed your giddy smile and his calm, sleeping face. you had forgotten your phone wasn’t in silent mode; you hadn’t want to miss important work messages while you were matching the movie.

the loud shutter went off and minho stirred awake. “did you just take a picture of me?” he turned his head to stare at you accusingly, eyes blinking away the sleep. “maybe,” you grinned. his tired state could barely process the entire thing. minho nudged for you to lay down properly on the bed.

after you did so, he twisted his body fully until his entire body weight was flopped on top of you. “they better be good photos,” he mumbled, too exhausted to argue with you. it didn’t matter though, because when he picks up your phone tomorrow and sees that very picture as your wallpaper, a reaction will be pulled out of him.

…

“yah! what is this picture!” you knew him too well.

changbin (창빈)

changbin’s natural curls were one of the sole reasons why you’re living. he looked heavenly with his black shirt and matching shorts, sitting on a nearby bench, scrolling on his phone, exhausted from his long workout, which led you to walking up from behind him, leaning down to wrap your arms around his torso.

this wasn't an unusual thing for you to do, so changbin responded as he normally does: take one of your hands and press a chaste kiss to the back of it. you eyed his phone as he scrolled through tiktok, coming across an edit of stray kids mistreating skzoo (hint for an upcoming work in progress 👀). an idea sprung in your mind out of nowhere, and you waited for the right moment to act on it.

after holding and drawing circles to your palm for a while, he kissed the back of your hand again and relaxed his grip, a subtle way of saying 'you can go if you want'. you carefully slid your hands up to his hair, carding through his curls. another regular action. nothing out of the ordinary so far.

it was until you bunched a section of his hair, tying it firmly with your spare hair ties from your wrist on the left side of his head, that he let out a laugh, switching his phone off, “babe, what are you doing?” “one second,” you pursed your lips in focus. “alright, alright, sorry,” changbin chuckled, patiently waiting.

you repeated this on his right side, creating two pigtails at the very top of his head. you tried to resist a snort, failing and catching changbin’s attention. “what?” he demanded, turning around. “you look just like dwaekki!” you laughed, hugging his body again in cuteness agression. he only shook his head, returning to his phone with a smirk on his face.

hyunjin (현진)

you watched as your boyfriend and the rest of the group practice the choreography of god’s menu. the way he moved was so captivating and that made it extremely hard for you to look away. you smiled brightly as hyunjin made his way towards you, slumping on the floor next to you. soon, he manoeuvred his body until he could comfortably lay his head in your lap, which was what he did.

after using almost every app on your phone, you grew bored. seeing as hyunjin was here, you busied yourself by braiding little sections of his smooth hair. “what are you doing?” he asked in between laughs, confused as to why you were tugging on his hair. “making you pretty,” you responded simply, leaning down to kiss the pout on his lips when you said that.

“what’s wrong?” you teased, now working on a second braid. hyunjin huffed, “my girlfriend doesn’t think i’m pretty anymore.” “you know that’s not what i meant,” you chastised fondly, booping his nose as he scrunched it up, “i’m making you even more prettier than you already are, if that’s even possible.” you added the last bit just in case he began whining about him not being pretty enough.

he seemed satisfied with that answer, and left you to play with his hair. “done!” you cheerfully tapped his forehead, pleased with your work. hyunjin sat up, checking the mirror wall you were leaning against. he covered his hands with his mouth dramatically, gasping. he tackled you to the floor, kissing your face all over, “you made me the prettiest in the world! i didn’t even think that was possible!” oh, hyunjin.

jisung (지성)

jisung was minding his own business, going on his phone, leaning back comfortably against his gaming chair. you had been sitting in your spot on the couch for over half an hour, bored out of your mind. deciding to do something about it, you stood up and walked over to him, perching yourself comfortably on his lap, one leg of either side of him hanging off the gaming chair he was sitting on.

he nearly dropped his phone from the shock, confused as to why you had decided to randomly cling onto him. it wasn’t absolutely unusual, but you normally would spring into conversation as soon as possible. jisung didn’t say anything, if you want to speak, you would. although he had the cutest intentions, he was wrong. you weren’t particularly sad about anything, you were just up to no good.

you had bought a packet of tiny colourful butterfly clips, being inspired by hyunjin’s selfies on twitter. pulling them out of your pocket, you began your work, clipping away jisung’s soft hair. “jagiya, what are you doing?” he asked, laughing. he didn’t really expect a response, it was more of a rhetorical question, and this was proven right through your simple hum in reply.

“done! you look so cute, ji!” you squished his cheeks lightly, kissing him hastily. jisung’s head was littered with bursts of colour, making him look a bit like a mythical creature. he giggled with you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your shoulder. rest assured a polaroid was taken and slipped into your phone case.

felix (용복)

if he ever said anything about hating his hair being tied up, it’s a huge fucking lie. felix was having way too much fun in his live with seungmin and jeongin, it was hard to take the little pigtails seriously. you decided you needed an actual, real life picture of his hairstyle, and continuously bugged him about it.

“please! you looked so adorable!” you chased after him around the dorm, colourful hair bands wrapped around your wrist, only slightly cutting your blood circulation. “no!” felix screamed in reply, his cute, heavy australian accent only making you more eager to accomplish your mission.

“oh for the love of- yongbok just get your hair tied up and get it over with! you two are giving me a headache!” minho yelled, causing you and felix to skid to a stop. you both smiled sheepishly, and felix turned around, dragging his feet back to you. you grinned, pointing at him to take a seat on one of the stools next to the kitchen island.

standing behind him and bending over slightly to kiss his fake pout, you easily recreated his iconic look. almost immediately, felix began swinging his head side by side, flapping the loose pigtails around and giggling. “sit still!” you commanded mid laughing, holding up your phone to take a selfie. he obliged, giving a derpy smile in the photo. “send that to the group chat!” “minho!”

seungmin (승민)

“no.” “but why-” “no.” “but you’d-” “no!” you slumped back in your spot on the couch. poking seungmin’s shoulder consistently, you forced him to pause the netflix show and sighing exasperatedly, turning his head to your awaiting eyes. “please! i’ll buy you anything you want from the convenience store,” you plastered on your best smile.

“no,” seungmin made sure to drag the word out, he was determined to not give in to your pleas of hairspraying his pink bangs and making them curl up, standing and sticking together. “you never know until you try,” you shrugged your shoulders playfully, still poking his shoulder. he grabbed your face with both hands, letting out a sound that was a mixture of a growl and laugh, secretly melting at your judgemental stare. “on second thoughts, maybe i don’t want to be near you.”

seungmin pretended to push you away, rolling his eyes, “fine, but this will never happen again.” he almost gave himself away when he saw the gleam in your eyes; you were so fucking adorable. after several ‘are you done yet?’ and ‘this is such a compromising position’, you were finished. leaning back to look at your work, you bursted out laughing, “you just look like jyp himself!”

seungmin held back a series of remarks, his face flushed with embarrassment, “i hate you.” you calmed down slightly, still giggling, “and i love you too.” placing your hands on either side of his face, you kissed him as forgiveness. he sighed, accepting his fate and kissed you back.

jeongin (정인)

you had finally managed to convince jeongin to take a nap and rest his eyes after gaming on his phone for over 5 hours consecutively. it was meant to be a day off for all the members as a reward for a successful comeback. however, jeongin went a little stir-crazy with the free time.

knowing he would execute any stupid ideas that came into his mind when unsupervised, a perfect example being him drinking 25 cans of energy drinks live, you had made sure to keep an eye on him the whole day, which was how you noticed that he was clearly exhausted, but refused to sleep from the intensity of his game.

letting him finish off the final round, you had told jeongin to switch his phone off and take a nap, and he had happily agreed with no protests given his tired state. taking a seat next to him on the couch and allowing his feet to rest on your lap so he could lay horizontally in a comfortable position. realising his growing hair was tickling his forehead and causing him to stir awake every now and then, you pulled your spare hair band from your wrist and tied his bangs together.

his sleeping form breathed steadily and that's when you knew jeongin had fallen into deep slumber. silently gushing at his precious form, you retrieved his phone from his loose grip, snapping a picture and sending it to the bubble community. almost immediately, the chat went wild. smiling to yourself, you reached over to intertwine your hands with jeongin's large ones, cherishing this moment.

#skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #han x reader #minho x reader #lee know x reader #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader #yongbok x reader #lee felix #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #stray kids x you

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2kmps · 9 months

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katsuki likes how it feels to put lotion on your skin after a shower.

notes; 0.4k, aged up! + husband!bakugou, a bit suggestive

bakugou didn't like the way lotion felt on his hands, but loved how it felt to smooth it across your skin after a fresh shower. you would emerge from the bathroom carrying the bottle pump hooked against the webbing in your fingers, wrapped cozy and warm in a bathrobe while wispy grey tendrils of steam floated up into the air and dissipated.

you always meant to apply it while watching a show with him, a leisurely part of your self-care immersed in an amicable, easy silence while scarcely hearing the hum of voices from the television. his interest in the screen never lasted long, not when you'd hike the hemline of your robe up the apex of your thighs, squeeze some of the sweet-smelling cream into your hands and spread it along the length of your legs.

he'd have to remember not to clench his jaw, that he still needed to swallow and take breaths when the burn became too much in his chest. your skin glistened and glowed under the dim light overhead; he could already feel how soft you'd feel later.

"want me to get your back?" he sounded a little too eager, especially since he was already sneaking a finger behind your collar, teasing you with some light tugs. "you ain't gonna be able to reach."

of course, he was right and you obliged him by untying the front, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders and pool in your waist.

he liked to squirt it directly on your back, making your body bend away as you hissed, but eased into him again as his large, rough hands caressed your skin.

the glide was effortless, the smell nostalgic to a time when you were first dating and he had mentioned it "wasn't bad". he couldn't imagine you wearing anything else now.

you became more malleable against his palms, leaning into the power of his hands while he kneaded your shoulders, gliding down between them to press indents with his thumbs, moving lower still parallel to your spine as though memorizing the natural concave all the way to your ass.

"your shitty coworkers are always fuckin' up my work," his voice rumbled behind your ear, making you wither and shudder. "no matter how many times I get out the knots, you come home all tensed up again."

bakugou's hands roamed along to your stomach, still slick as they traveled higher to your chest and his lips left a lasting, hot trail from your ear to your neck.

you suddenly felt bare as he yanked the robe off of your body and threw it across the room.

"it's getting in the way."

divider; @/anlian-aishang

repost from my deleted blog: cardeneiv

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

hello! i saw u were hoping for more eddie requests (or less marauders requests, was what you were getting at i think) n i was wondering if u had any thoughts on summer with eds? maybe night swimming…making out on a towel in the back of his van…lots to consider…

p.s. — ive yet to request anything from you, so this is my first chance to say how much i love your work! 🩷

Okay okay, you guys are wearing me down about writing summer blurbs. Twist my arm! Thanks for requesting love ;)

cw: pg-13 smut, mention of not eating

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 858 words

Eddie’s hair has dried frizzy, which doesn’t give you a lot of hope for yours. His skin is still sun-warm, and you shiver for reasons that are multiplying by the minute, pressing close as he mouths over the dip where your neck meets your shoulder. You’re not sure exactly how you’d ended up in Eddie’s lap. You’d climbed in the back of his van to get a towel, and somehow that towel had ended up spread beneath the both of you, scratching lightly at your bare shins as the sun slips below the horizon and your boyfriend brutalizes your neck. He bites down just this side of too hard, making you gasp.

“Eddie,” you plead, fingers winding in his hair. “We can’t do this here.”

He releases the skin of your neck with a lewd suctioning sound, moving to that place under your ear that gets you melty like a popsicle in July. His hands grip your ass, squeezing indulgently as you squirm in his lap. “Says who?”

“Says—” He kisses that favored spot and your head falls to the side to accommodate him, an embarrassingly needy sound escaping you. “—says, I don’t know—the cops.”

Eddie’s laugh is so raucous he has to pull away. You’re not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. His hands slide to your hips, grounding you as he looks at you with eyes wide and incredulous. “The cops?” he asks.

You swallow, nodding. You have this horrible vision of Jim Hopper himself getting a call about the suspicious van parked by the lake, coming over and shining a flashlight into the open back doors to find you both naked and in the middle of things.

Eddie laughs some more, shoulders shaking with it, and you can’t help but snicker a little too just because he is. “Baby, the cops don’t give a shit about what we’re up to. I’m sure they have better things to do.”

You shoot him a look, because you both know damn well that when Hawkins isn’t being threatened by monsters from a parallel universe, it’s completely dead around here.

“Let’s go back to your place,” you urge. “This towel’s all wet anyway, and I wanna shower.”

Eddie makes himself at home in the juncture of your neck again, kissing lazily. “S’not enough room in my shower for both of us,” he complains.

“We can pick this back up after, I know—shit, Eds—” Without warning, his hand slips up to palm your tit, pushing aside the scant covering of your swimsuit. You try to sound reasonable. “I know I taste like lake water.”

“Mhm. It’s hot.”

“It’s gross.”

“You’re gross.” He pauses, lips lifting momentarily from your shoulder. “Okay, wrong comeback. I’m distracted. It’s not gross, baby.” His grip tightens on you a second before he licks up the side of your neck, holding you in place when you squeal and try to get away. “Mm, yummy lake water.”

“You’re disgusting,” you laugh, leaning back and setting your hands on his shoulders so he can’t try it again.

“Aw, come on.” A thick finger slips under the elastic of your bikini bottoms, tracing a line around your hip as his other hand squeezes your boob lightly. Eddie grins at your tiny inhale. “Have a little fun.”

“Eddie,” you say warningly.

“Yes?” Another finger joins the first, your swimsuit stretching to accommodate them.

“I want to go home.” You imbue your voice with as much firmness as you can. When Eddie pouts, you go for the kill. “I’m getting really hungry.”

Immediately, the wickedness leaves his expression, replaced by a sweet concern. “Yeah?” The elastic of your swimsuit snaps back into place, and you jolt. Eddie flattens his palm over the spot, rubbing apologetically. “I forgot, you barely had anything for lunch. You wanna drive through somewhere?”

“No, I can make it until we get home,” you say softly, backpedaling a bit in the face of his caring. “I’m not dying, just a little hungry.”

Eddie’s mouth pulls to one side. “You sure, sweet thing? It’s a bit of a drive back. We could grab McDonalds.” Your eyes widen, and his grin makes a return, this time crooked and dorky. “Yeah?”

“That sounds amazing,” you admit. “Do you think they’ll give me a hashbrown even though it’s not breakfast yet?”

“I’ll make sure they do.” He eases you off his lap, reaching over to close the back doors. You start looking around for your flip-flops. “I think they’re serving breakfast all day now anyways.”

“Ugh, awesome.” You imagine the greasy taste, and your mouth floods with saliva. Shit, you actually are pretty hungry. Eddie climbs into the front seat, reaching for your elbow to help you over the console behind him. The material of the seatbelt feels warm and rough against your skin. “Just to be clear,” you say, “I didn’t mean that I wasn’t having a good time. We still should have a re-do later, after food and showers.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, turning the keys in the ignition so the van rumbles to life underneath you. “No need for a re-do, baby. We’re just having an intermission.”

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hottestvirgin · 1 month

Text

warnings. dilf!heeseung, sub!reader, smut, fluff, cute moments, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, unprotected sex, slight degrading, dirty talk, creampie, very dirty, yuuuhh

becoming heeseung’s daughter’s official babysitter was the best decision you’ve made in a while. not only were you getting paid $65 an hour to watch a guy’s child and to live there, but you were babysitting a well behaved little girl.

this came with its perks, and that was seeing her attractive father everyday. you met heeseung through a friend who worked for his family’s company. when she heard word of him needing a babysitter for his two year old, she immediately called you. after a small interview and background check, you became his babysitter.

that was one year ago. so now you were watching over a little three year old everyday, keeping her fed and entertaining while heeseung worked overtime for the company he’s soon to obtain. being closer to him, he’s more vocal about his struggles with being a father with his career.

“i don’t, y’know, wanna be distant from her,” he pauses to meet your eyes, flashing a genuine smile while rubbing your shoulder, “that’s why i appreciate you so much.”

your heart thrums at his words. they always do. and you couldn’t help the overwhelming feelings for heeseung. this tension between you two have been blossoming for a few months now. he just finds it so endearing how sweet and caring you are to both him and his daughter. he even considered raising your pay.

“$100!?” you gasped, a little too loudly. you quickly glance over at his sleeping daughter, hoping you didn’t wake her. when she didn’t move an inch, you look back at heeseung.

“is it too low?” the man asked, “i can double it.” he was desperate. so desperate to show you his appreciation. so desperate to ensure that you would never, ever leave.

“my current pay is enough, sir. don’t worry.” you smiled at him and he swore you were the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever landed on.

he pursed his lips, “you’re always so formal. you can call me heeseung,” he chuckled, “loosen up a bit.”

the softness of his voice lightened your mood that day, causing his name to be able to slip past your plush lips with ease now.

“heeseung, you got her the wrong applesauce,” you told him with a small laugh, watching him drop the last grocery bag on the kitchen counter. “she likes strawberry instead of cinnamon, remember?”

your words sent a weird feeling in heeseung’s stomach. you remembered everything about his daughter and he couldn’t even remember her favorite applesauce flavor. seeing you take on the role he failed to take made him proud and embarrassed.

“shit. you’re right. i’ll go get it then.” he’s stopped by the firm grip on his wrist, turning on his heels and meeting your comforting gaze.

“don’t worry about it. she’ll eat it.” you told him. and later that night he overheard you telling his daughter that the cinnamon applesauce was a special gift from him and how he loved her very much. she had eaten every single bite.

the first time he saw you cry was probably the scariest moment in his life. what had happened? did his daughter do something to you? did she hurt your feelings? were you gonna leave him?

“hey, hey, what’s wrong?” heeseung was quick to comfort you in parallel with how you’re always quick to comfort him. he rubbed your back and you sniffled, wiping the tears that streamed down your face.

“she called me mommy,” you told him, “i just.. don’t know how to react to that.”

oh.

when you told him that you didn’t know why you bursted out crying, he hesitated for a bit. he knew that this would happen because of how young she is. but he didn’t know it would make you ball out crying.

“if she thinks of you as a mommy then that means you’re doing a good job.” heeseung told you, his fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing your hand. there was something about his aura that night that made you feel safe and warm.

and what really made your heart swell was when he told you that you would be the perfect mother. this feeling was different. it made you.. aroused. in a way. but it was wrong, right? you can’t feel this way towards him.

as the long spring days passed, the tension grew. starting from giving each other as much personal space as possible to being very affectionate and open with each other which seemed like overnight.

“i just put her to bed.” you announce, standing in heeseung’s doorway with your arms crossed. he looks up from his laptop, inviting you to sit on his bed. “i’m getting used to it. but it just feels so weird sometimes. i’ve never seen myself as a mother.”

heeseung’s facial expression softens when you speak, reaching to graze his fingers over your arm. “but you would. i’ve been watching you and you’re better at parenting than me.” he laughs his words off but your stomach churns in arousal when he admits that he does, in fact, watch you.

“you’re an amazing dad.” you reassure. “you think so?” heeseung tsks, closing his laptop to give you his attention. nodding, you continue, “you’re sweet, loving, funny, generous..” you pause when he interrupts with a sudden laugh.

“yeah? tell me more.” the man sits up against his headboard, loving the compliments.

“hardworking, dependable.. i could go on. you’re everything i’d want in a man.” you didn’t expect to fully admit your appreciation for the man but you didn’t expect to admit that. seeing his reaction to your words made your heart flutter.

heeseung didn’t know why but the tension between you two grew intensely. he stares into your eyes lovingly, in a daze. like he was getting high just from hearing your pretty voice.

“so you want me to be your man?” heeseung repeats, and your face quickly heats in embarrassment at what you just said. fuck. what if he finds you weird? would he fire you?

“i-i mean.. i’d like a man like you.”

“mm.. so you like me.” heeseung concludes, and you cover your face in embarrassment. “well, i like you too,” he tells you, “and you’re everything i’d want in a woman.”

there’s a hint of teasing in his words but you knew they were genuine when you found heeseung in between your legs, splitting you open on his cock right then and there. filling your cunt deliciously, it’s so good. and heeseung has never been this turned on in his life, rutting into you desperately.

you can feel him deep in your stomach. and his slender fingers graze over your abdomen, his desires sending more adrenaline through his veins. he pushes your thighs against your chest, folding you in half and thrusting stupidly into you. “i’ll fuck a baby in you, i promise.” he grunts, squeezing your thighs.

you’re all fuzzy and drunk on his cock, only being able to moan and whimper pathetically as he pulls his hips down harder and harder, each time pushing your body into the mattress which produces loud squeaks and would guarantee wake his daughter up. but he doesn’t stop.

“you’d be such a pretty mama, baby.” heeseung cooes, and it sends shivers down your spine. he’s serious because he’s fucking you into the mattress with all his strength, caging and trapping you between his arms.

“d..don’t stop.” you beg, breathless. he’s not planning on it, and it only thrives him to angle his hips to where his swollen tip abuses that soft spot inside of you. this sends you to another realm, your grunts turning into silent moans.

heeseung can see it now. how you’d be walking around his house with a swollen belly. how pretty you’d look with all the weight gain, swollen tits, so fragile and gorgeous. just for him. he could already see you with his baby in your arms. fuck. it turns him on so much. everything about you does.

“oh my god. s’ good.” you moan, gripping onto the back of your own thighs. “yeah? i’m right here, baby, feel that?” he grazes over your stomach again, pushing down to feel the print of his cock in your flesh, “gonna fill this pussy full of my babies.. gonna make you my wife so you’ll never leave me like she did.”

fuck. he was pushing you over the edge and your fingers were slipping. you were so close to losing your mind. clenching around him, he groans while putting more aggression to his thrusts to ensure that he’s balls deep inside you. fuckfuckfuck. he was so close, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you. every drag of his cock sent a shiver down your spine.

he nuzzles his sweaty face into your neck, taking in your sweet, motherly scent. you were driving him fucking crazy. and he didn’t stop his thrusts for a minute. he wraps an arm around the back of your neck, pulling you into his chest while his other hand pushes your thigh further against your chest.

“ah fuuuk.. m’ gonna cum.” heeseung hips stutter, voice shivery as he whimpers and fills your womb full with his thick load, riding out his orgasm while you cum hard around him, creaming his shaft. he’s still rocking against you to make sure he fucks every drop of his cum as deep as he can in you. when he pulls out, fat globs of his cum seep out of your aching hole.

you have no regrets, no source of shame, nothing. this was the man you wanted to be the father of your first child. this was the man who’s baby you wanted to carry. so a few weeks later, you show him a positive pregnancy test.

#smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #kpop smut #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #heeseung smut #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung hard hours #hottestvirginanswers

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 1 year

Text

Trust (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Summary: You and Ghost have been captured for questioning. Loyal to a fault, you'll do anything to avoid seeing his face before he's ready to show you.

AN: I'm not immune to military propaganda. Nor am I immune to the babygirlification. In a slump writing wise so I gave this a go. I might try one with Soap next but no promises since it'll probably end up on the never-ending pile of unfinished fics.

Content warnings: Descriptions of torture, injuries as a result of torture, moments of vulnerability (aka 141 care for each other).

Reader uses they/them pronouns and is part of 141. Fic can be read as platonic or romantic.

Masterlist // AO3

A palm smacked across your cheek; the sting brought you back to consciousness. Screwing your eyes up, you tried to settle them in your skull so that you could take in your surroundings. Your hands and legs tied to a chair was what you noticed first. A fold-out table was a few feet out of reach in front of you.

Then, beyond that, a sliver of light in the roof – a hole, not a light bulb – dropped onto a body, bound like yourself and twenty feet away. The carved mask hiding the face was illuminated.

Your body wrenched against your restraints, “Hey!”

Another slap silenced you. You looked up at the offender you had somehow looked over. A lackey. No one you recognised from any intel or manilla folder or briefing, so you surveyed their appearance for just how much this soldier was trusted with.

Single gun on one hip.

KA-BAR on the other.

Kevlar vest that was more slack on the right shoulder.

More weapons that you had, now that your arsenal had been torn from you.

With the clanging of metal, a rectangle of light broke into the room. Room felt like the wrong word. This was too empty, echoey to be a mere room. A silhouette appeared in that light then vanished as the door closed behind them. Footsteps, slow and steady, approaching you, and the lackey left your side.

Ronin Foster bent at the waist to meet your unwilling gaze. He looked almost identical to the photo you’d been given in your briefing about him. One difference was clear: the burn mark running parallel to the left side of his chin. You couldn’t fathom where or how he’d gotten that injury, nor did you have a lot of time to look at it before Foster turned silently and unrolled a sleeve of weapons onto the table.

You caught Ghost’s eyes, the whites stark against the shadows and black paint. He didn’t avoid your gaze. He held it, and even when Foster stepped in the way, you felt that conflicted comfort you had grown to know in the presence of your Lieutenant and his masks.

The rest of the 141 were possibly being held elsewhere. Or they could’ve made it out. But it would take days to reconvene and organise a rescue mission.

This was your new home.

Your training did not desert you as your captor removed his gloves, tugging at the fingers to free them. One reached behind him and withdrew from his belt a gun.

Following the arc of his arm’s swing, his body wrenched around. A slash of agony struck your forehead against the butt of his gun. Your ears rung around the hollow of your skull like the bells of Notre Dame. The room wobbled as you righted your head. You couldn’t make out the details in Ghost’s mask anymore, not as Foster pulled off the skull plate and tossed it aside. Its clattering on the ground punctuated the air. Your gaze wavered against the dizzying disorientation as Ghost writhed to get away. But Foster was still unrolling the balaclava off his face. The second you saw a hint of Ghost’s chin, your eyes snapped shut.

Boots strode across the concrete. Suddenly your chin was grabbed up, no doubt facing your captor. Ghost’s gruff grunts boomed across the gap between you as he struggled against his restraints – that’s what you presumed, your eyes still closed.

But Foster was ignoring that side of the room blatantly, his grip crushing your cheekbones like he could wrench it off and throw it alongside Ghost’s mask. You narrowed your breaths to control yourself. While you couldn’t see, you couldn’t predict what could happen. But your defiance refused to let this awful man dictate when you saw Ghost’s face for the first time.

“Who told you about this place?” Foster asked quietly.

Nothing was heard from Ghost now, besides his breathing. You tried to match yours to his, pressing your lips together, your nostrils flaring against the throbbing pain.

Sharp pain splintered through your big toe, up your right foot. Your body fought the restraints and channelled your masked yelps into the bindings. Slowly, your chest puffed out all the air before sucking some back in.

“You’ve got at least nine more chances to tell me,” and Foster tapped his weapon – presumably the butt of his gun - against the rest of your toes. “Now tell me, how did you find this place?”

Between internal screams, you prayed that Ghost wouldn’t give up, and that his presence would give you the strength to do the same.

-----------------------------------------------

“Gambit, you still with me?”

You let out a hum, since it was all that your throat would allow. A sigh emitted from your Lieutenant. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or remorse. Sure, Ghost cared for you. You were on his team; it was in his job description to give the bare minimum amount of shits about you. However you could only hope that he gave as many as you did him. Or maybe now you hoped he didn’t, so that the mental barrier holding back the intel didn’t break so soon – or at all.

Your eyebrows raised and scrunched to stretch your face, but your eyes remained shut. Ghost hadn’t said a word about his mask being replaced and you doubted that Foster been kind enough to replace it between sessions.

The sound of the door opening reached you again; you could tell by the pattern of the foot fall that it was Foster. So, you cracked a joke in your head, that you were privileged that a terrorist with a notoriously busy schedule had made way for you and Ghost.

The laughter in your head was cut off when a fist yanked at the roots of your hair, forcing you to face the ceiling. Your eyes winced but still did not-

“Open.”

You waited for Foster’s response to your inaction.

A gloved hand suddenly grappled with your jaw, which was as clenched as your eyelids.

“Your mouth. Open it.”

Eventually, Foster managed to get it open long enough to pour something in. You choked on the first splash but began glugging it down once you realised that it was water and that Foster wasn’t pinching your nose. This wasn’t waterboarding. This was survival – extending your torture to reap its potential benefits. Thus you didn’t savour any of it nor save any to spit back in Foster’s face. Your torturer threw your head aside, strain twinging up your neck. A few seconds later, you could hear similar sounds – Ghost’s turn. That other benefit of not having to see whatever Foster was doing to Ghost. Unfortunately, your shoulders could not reach high enough to shield your ears.

A scrape from the table told you Foster had brought back his tools. Last time he was here, he’d tried to use them on Ghost. However since you weren’t opening your eyes, the effect was not as intended. As a reflex, you attempted to dissociate. One might think the injuries and blood loss might make it easier to fade away from your body. But no, the pain grounded you in your body. So it only made things worse when you found your jaw getting wrenched at again.

“Let them go!” boomed Ghost, causing your heart to ripple against your ribs. Him showing an ounce of care scared you more than Foster did. It meant something worse than before was coming and you were both getting close to breaking.

A bang shattered against your ear drums; the darkness before your eyelids grew a tad bit brighter. Your neck was sharply encircled by Foster’s arm, and your chin struggled against the crook of his elbow. Airway trapped, you were immobilised and drowning on dry land. The grip on you tightened, squeezing your eyes out of their sockets but still you held strong. If this was the last thing you did, you would not betray your friend.

The shouting began, all blended together, overwhelming your fractured mind. It grew and grew into a crescendo of bellows that shrilled with its urgency. Your mind bubbled at the edges a

Then it stopped. A snap. Foster’s weight dropped onto you. Something metal clattered onto the floor. Wet dribbled down your neck.

Thunderous absence of noise surrounded you, your weak attempts to suck in a deep breath barely a prickle in it. You hunched under Foster’s weight. There was no energy left to make a pitiful attempt to dissuade him. You were so encompassed by it that you failed to notice the approaching footsteps right up until you felt the air punctuated into your cheek by this new person’s presence.

A hand wiped at your forehead, lifting gently as it went.

“Gambit, you with me?”

You let out a sigh crossed with a laugh, “Gaz?”

Gaz replied with a chuff of relief, “Let’s get you home.”

The weight on your shoulders was yanked aside; your wrists felt an inch of relief as the plastic bindings were severed. There was din all around again: radio chatter, mumbled remarks about the location, and echoes around the concrete.

You tried raising your head to see “Ghost?”

“I’m here,” and his voice was oh so close now, “I’m here. You’re ok.”

Then you felt the binds on your wrists slacken completely. Your body tipped forwards and your head knocked into someone else’s.

“Gotcha.”

Ghost’s.

“You can open your eyes.”

Your grimy, sweat-stained skin rubbed harshly against his as he instructed you to open your eyes. Your whimper could not be contained as you shook your head:

“No. I don’t want to.”

“You need to open your eyes, Gambit.”

“Your face,” Your arm wavered, preventing you from emphasising your point, “I can’t.” And your body slouched further into him. True darkness took over the edges of your eyelids. The last thing you recalled was being caught by three hands and someone saying your name – not your callsign, but your name.

-----------------------------------------------

Your feet were in bandages, bones reset, though amputation was not out of the questions just yet. Turns out three days with sprains, breaks, and no toenails were not beneficial to you. It was a good thing that you had been carried to the helicopter and not made to walk

Stiff with lack of use, you deduced, and you didn’t try to wiggle them as you opened up your eyes. The bulbs above your bed burnt your sight; you winced away from them. Curtains surrounded your bed. They protected you from the shame you might’ve felt had anyone seen the state you were in. With a sigh, you willed yourself to sink into the mattress a little deeper and return to slumber.

However a set of approaching footsteps caught your ears. Then a gloved hand peeled back one of the curtains to reveal Ghost, his other arm still in a sling that was stark white against his normal gear and the basic black balaclava that was back where it belonged.

“Gambit,” he said, hesitating in the gap between the curtains before drawing them.

You went to say his alias, but you were halted by a sudden coughing fit. Your throat had decided now was a good time to curl up into sandpaper. At your side, Ghost held the cup to your lips. Your weak hands tried to take over holding it; Ghost’s firm ones curled around yours steady. His gloves were worn and rough like the calloused skin beneath, warm against your feeble fingers.

Once the coughing fit had abated, Ghost sat back in the chair adjacent to your bed whilst not quite making eye contact with you. Normally, he had no issues staring you down. Perhaps he had been worried about you.

Sniffing behind his mask, Ghost said, “You did good not giving up that intel.”

A compliment. He must have been really worried about you.

“As did you, sir.”

His eyes wavered towards the passing clogs beneath the dividing curtain as a medic passed by your section. Remaining rigid, he adjusted the inside of his hoodie pocket before speaking again.

“You should’ve opened your eyes. It might’ve helped you with Foster.”

“He’d’ve seen how I reacted to you. Gauged better how to get us to give up.”

How to get me to give up, you thought.

You continued quickly, “It’s better that he just had you. You’re better at controlling yourself than me.”

Ghost was silent for a while, and you were too. It was only a tad uncomfortable; you chalked it up to your injuries, your elbows being the only thing that really felt relief in this hospital bed. Perhaps that was what compelled you to explain him your reasoning further.

“I didn’t want to see you if you didn’t want me to.”

“You’ve seen my face before.”

“Hardly.” That was true for the most part. All you’d allowed yourself to see was one hell of a chin when Ghost lifted his mask up to eat or drink something in a mess hall. You concluded, “Showing your face is your call, Ghost. Not Foster’s or mine or anyone’s.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. Then Ghost grabbed the neck and peeled his mask up in one smooth motion, his chin on his chest. A shock of dirty blond hair – an inch of it pure white at the roots – was flattened against his scalp, until Ghost’s fingers combed through it twice. It matched his dainty eyelashes.

He looked back up at last. Your sight was stuck mainly on his eyes, still surrounded by their superhero mask painted onto his skin where the holes in his mask had been. Then you started making concentric circles around his face. Scars cut from the corners of his lips through his cheeks. Little ones dotted about his prominent nose, eyebrows, forehead, lips. A few bruises highlighted where Foster had gotten him.

You realised that you were staring with your lips parted and eyes wide so that you could commit his face to memory. But you couldn’t help yourself either.

In short, your suspicions were confirmed: he was goddamn gorgeous.

He was just about to hide it away again, his matching skeleton gloves going to pull down his balaclava when you sat up quickly.

“Wait.”

Stilling, Ghost waited for you to speak again.

Your outstretched hand closed into a loose fist, “Just… Can I touch you?”

His reply was staggered with a blink, “Yes.” And he leant forwards with his elbows on his knees.

It struck you then why he was so unlike himself: he wasn’t here as Ghost.

The backs of your knuckles clumsily made contact with his right cheek, dragging down his jaw. Simon closed his eyes. His head tilted a fraction against your touch. Tears sprung free and tracked down your cheeks, contradicted by your smile that was brimming with the delight of being trusted.

“You’re right,” Simon mused when he opened his eyes, “Good thing you kept your eyes closed.”

“Yeah,” You sniffled. “But at least now I can tell Soap you’re not ugly.”

Scoffing, Simon tugged his balaclava back over his face and adjusted it to fit properly, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“How wrong he was,” you almost giggled with glee.

Even as the laughter ceased, your smile remained. And you could tell by the small crinkles at his eyes that Simon was too.

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AN: In my head, Ghost has Marie Antoinette syndrome, but before he had sandy blond hair.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x you #cod mwii fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii #cod mwii x reader #r: gn #wc: >2.5k #my writing

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