#i guess you could see this as a call out then lmfao
Note
ninakate or any wlw nina ship w/ good luck babe by chappell roan,,,,
oh god. ok youre so right that this works with any wlw nina ship, but im gonna go through the lyrics and describe some toxic ass ninakate scenario that comes to mind LMFAOOOO SORRY I LIKE TOXIC YURI
ok so in an AU of my AU where ninakate happens, it all starts after nina is stabbed by jeff. they make her heal in the proxy cabin cuz theyre worried jeff will break into ninas apartment and finish the job(he has no interest in doing that tho). tim/brian/toby/jack are busy with zalgoid issues, SO kate sorta...keeps watch on nina while she heals. cuz of that, nina starts latching onto kate. between kate cleaning the stab wound, bringing her water, wrapping her up in gauze, nina crying into kates arms unprompted, asking kate to sleep in the same bed with her cuz she cant sleep, nina asking kate quiet questions for hours while the radio hums and rain pours outside... they share an awkward, "meaningless" kiss. nina blamed it on emotions running high. kate didnt know what to blame
(this section is HEAVILY inspired by still a friend by the back seat lovers, the entire song is very my-au ninakate)
SOOOOO i wanna go from THAT SONG into good luck babe by chappell roan...
"you can say that we are nothing" after the kiss, nina would probably be like 'we should go to sleep' and the next morning laugh about it and tease kate and be like "thats so funny, i never kissed a girl like that before. was that your first kiss? oh my god kate are you serious?! we should probably keep that between us, huh? its okay, it wont happen again!" and kates just nodding along while her brain is going 100mph. but kates perceptive as hell and she'd easily see all the little changes that happen afterwards. nina's gaze falling, her hands lingering, little comments she makes. and it'd make kate feel kinda stupid.
"guess im the fool, with her arms out like an angel through the car sunroof" toby ends up 'inheriting' an old rusty red pickup truck from tim. i doubt it would have a sun roof, but i could see toby and nat up front, while nina and kate are in the back (like, the BACK bed of the truck). nina would be giggling, tilting her head back and her hair is flying like crazy and her arms are out and kate cannoooot get that damn kiss out of her head, especially when nina looks like that.
im thinking maybe it happens again. the group was hanging out, but nat and toby went off somewhere else, leaving nina and kate together. and kate offers to walk nina home, but ninas like 'what if i spend the night instead?' and kates immediately like Oh jesus christ okay. and they talk . and chat. and banter. and nina would bring up that stupid kiss and say something about 'i wouldnt mind doing that again. i mean, as friends.' and kates head is spinning.
and despite all of this, nina is still in a bad headspace. before, during, and after her relationship with jeff, she has HORRIBLY low self esteem and a need for attention/validation, and she will seek it out anywhere. she'd blame it on a million and one things "oh its just for fun, oh i was just drunk, oh its not that serious, he was cute, i got his number!". especially when trying to heal her bruised ego after the whole jeff thing (alongside a few huge arguments with toby calling her out on her BS). and kate listens, and even though she's really blunt and straightforward, she doesnt feel mean. not like toby or nat or jack. so even when kates like "that doesnt make sense" "that seems stupid though" "why would you do that" ninas just laughing and being like "it just felt right in the moment! im having fun, kate!". she thinks kate just doesnt get it, on account of never being in a relationship, but kate knows whats going on. she knows why nina is the way that she is, but all she has to say is . GOODLUCK LMFAO. shes not here to control or convince or plead with anybody, and def not nina. and i think that would kinda irk nina a little. she'd kiss kate, then a couple nights later talk about a guy she met at a bar, and kate just side eyes her and is like 'have fun' and nina wishes there was more
ok whether their kisses turn into anything else, i think theyd both continually agree to keep it a secret from everyone else. it would just be a huge mess that neither of them want to address, especially kate dealing with toby. but i think once kate starts getting a little affection and whatnot that she's never received (she's been in the chaser mode for over half her life, mind you), it would feel incredibly suffocating but also incredibly freeing. like she feels like something new has opened up to her, something that she got locked out of years ago. and nina has the key, unfortunately
ok this is where the song and story falls apart a little cuz ninas not getting married to anyone. i guess this could be a hypothetical where she goes back to jeff for a moment in time, but.. ehh.... dunno how i feel about that. and i dont think the 'i told you so' fits kate cuz she just kinda lets nina do whatever. asks questions and is like ??? and maybe has a bit of an attitude when saying 'good luck with that', but she never tells her what to do
i know "the feeling" is more about being into girls and how you cant hide from it, but i dont think the whole lesbianism thing would be their issue. in a ninakate interpretation of the song, i think 'the feeling' is either ninas issues with romance and self worth, kates ache to be with someone despite thinking she has no right to it, ninas guilt for leading kate on, and of course their literal romantic feelings...
anyway. anyway. um. cries. i just i really. i really im just. im fond of lesbians alright.
#asks#ninakate#creeped#sort of. its an au of creeped where ninakate is a thing. LMFAOOOO#ill leave the tags at that cuz im really embarrassed by this
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HEARTBREAK SYNDROME.
episode five :: 99 PROBLEMS.
꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ pairing ︴max verstappen x ex!y/n
꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ genre ︴social media au / irl snippets
꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ summary ﹔comeback: download has started.
fc – wonyoung jang (28)
꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ warnings ﹕none.
☆ IMESSAGE with ; BOARD OF DIRECTORS.
y/n: not to freak you guys out but i knew all along
my baby lando: FYM YOU KNEW ???
babygirl alex: y/n 😁 i swear to god
honey badger: wait
honey badger: what do you mean you knew
chili!: ????
chal eclair: ^^^^
girlfriend kika: babe
girlfriend kika: i need u to explain before pierre loses his shit bc he’s bubbling rn 🙏🏻🤍
y/n: okay hold on y’all listen
wifey lily: 👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻
y/n: i always had this sneaking suspicion that some bullshit was going but every time i’d ask him about nothing would come of it
y/n: so i was like maybe i’m the problem 😀
y/n: then i found lipstick in our bathroom and i was like yo ??? tf is this and max said it was his sister’s
y/n: so i was like oh calm
y/n: bc victoria would come over sometimes
y/n: then i found out he cheated the first time
princess george: fIRST TIME????
angel carmen: WHAT DO YOU MEAN FIRST TIME
chili!: HE CHEATED MORE THAN ONCE???
chal eclair: hOLD ON YALL IM TRYNA UNDERSTAND
y/n: yes 😭
y/n: caught him on a call with her being all lovey and shit and we got in a fight bc of it
y/n: and i let it slide bc i thought he would learn + he cried his eyes out
alabono: how is HE gonna cry for cheating 😟
honey badger: WAIT
my baby lando: fuck was he crying for ???
chal eclair: he cried ??
babygirl alex: literally what
honey badger: WAIT YALL
honey badger: Y/N YOU LET THAT SLIDE ???
y/n: I USED TO LOVE HIM OKAY.
chili!: i just sighed so hard man
y/n: hold on there’s more
PIERRE GASLYYYY: MORE ??
PIERRE GASLYYYY: y/n…
my baby lando: bae what is this…
chal eclair: what else did he do then damn
y/n: the bitch was in my bed
babygirl alex: WOAHHHHHHHH
angel carmen: now hold on, hOLD ON NOW.
girlfriend kika: i screamed
honey badger: ouuuuu it’s gonna get violent rq
y/n: i found them cuddled up, clearly post fuck, in my bed, listening to my music and guess what
chili!: BRO 😭
chal eclair: WHAT OH MY GOD
my baby lando: ¿¿¿
y/n: HER KID WALKS IN BEHIND ME EATING MYYYYYYY ICE CREAM
y/n: IN MYYYYY HOUSE
princess george: see this is where i personally would’ve swung at everyone
PIERRE GASLYYYY: LISTENING TO YOUR MUSIC???????
wifey lily: NAHHHHHH MAN
angel carmen: i’m not even kidding
angel carmen: i’m deadass speechless
y/n: i need all of u to come to my house immediately
y/n: there’s so much more i need to tell y’all
chili!: Y/N.
chili!: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERES MORE.
y/n: ….
chal eclair: answer the question bae 🤍
y/n: well
my baby lando: oh my god
y/n
♡ liked by lilymhe, landonorris, and 11,340,293 more.
y/n i could see right through it
1,302,293 comments.
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➜ pierregasly HELLO ¿¿
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➜ pierregasly you’re MY gf ???
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➜ y/n can confirm 😁
➜ pierregasly ????????????????
y/n added to their story!
#f1#f1 fanfiction#f1 smau#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#carlos sainz x reader#charles leclerc x reader#lando norris x reader#pierre gasly x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#daniel ricciardo x reader#george russell x reader#max verstappen x reader
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Twenty-Five Going on Forty-Seven
Dbf!Jake Seresin x fem!reader
12k words (.....yes. 12k. i-)
summary: Flirting with the guy who fixed your car turns out to lead to much, much more when you find out he's actually not just some random guy, but your new neighbour and father's new best friend, Jake Seresin.
a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. this is entirely based on my new fixation on dbf!jake. i have so many thots. so many that they led to a 12k oneshot lmfao. anyway, as always, a list of things to watch out for:
pet names used in an unholy way, safe sex (i fucking managed to finally give them a condom whooooohoooo), oral sex for the both of them (yes i also wrote a blowjob. this is unbelievable i know), dom!jake, some praise kink, a smidge of strength kink at the end. a lot of begging. as always. mention of shower sex. mostly vanilla. jake fucks in missionary because he wants to be nice for his first time with her. if there's ever a sequel i swear to god he will be the most unholy fucker ever
top gun masterlist
The first time Jake meets you isn't the first time he's supposed to meet you. He's supposed to come by for dinner that evening, to finally get to know the daughter your parents have told him so much about. And it's not his fault that he meets you seven hours earlier that day. Not really.
Because the pictures your parents had kept showing him were all old. Mostly childhood photographs, some from your graduation, but none recent enough to connect the dots.
So it's really not his fault that he doesn't recognise you when he sees you standing there on the side of the road, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder, the hood of your car all the way up. With how wildly you're gesturing, Jake guesses that you're not particularly close to fixing whatever problem you have.
You're wary when he pulls up behind you and opens his door. It's rarely a good sign when random men prey on very obviously helpless and distressed young women. But Jake doesn't even get closer at first, just stands there in the opened car door and asks if you need any help. For a little moment, you debate whether it's worth the risk. Then your father's voice rings out from your phone and you decide that there's not much this guy could do to you in broad daylight on a well used street with your father on the phone.
So you tell him the truth. Yes, you most definitely have a problem. The way he makes sure it's okay for him to come over and take a look calms you even more. He's considerate and careful and maybe you're actually lucky and he's just a guy who genuinely wants to help.
He steps out from the door and walks up to you and honestly, for a moment there you're startled. He has to be in his forties, but damn, he's attractive. Suddenly you're glad you picked your sundress over your sweatpants this morning.
You let him lean over your car and take a closer look.
"If he can't help, I'll just come pick you up and we'll call a tow truck", your father says after you've filled him in on what's happening. Honestly, you'd really rather not have to call a tow truck though, because that's just going to cost you a bunch of money again, which isn't particularly the way you want to spend it.
Also, this guy leaning over your car - and you're not even denying that you're very much eyeing him up - seems like he actually knows what he's doing there.
He takes a minute or two before he comes up again. He's smiling, which you take as a good sign. He opens his mouth and you hear what he's saying - but because you have no clue what it is that he's trying to tell you, you just nod along. You're not a mechanic, you don't know the goddamn terminology. Something something battery, something something fuel pump, whatever. You take the time to notice his accent instead.
The good news is he thinks he can fix whatever he's found, but you'll still have to get it checked out later on.
He walks back to his own car, rummages around and comes back with a toolbox and an unopened water bottle.
"It might take a while", he tells you as he offers you the bottle. "Feel free to turn on my radio."
You take the waterbottle and bite down on your lip to keep from grinning. He's sweet. Goddamn. Because you've deemed the whole thing safe, you tell your father goodbye and hang up - you honestly just want a bit of privacy to stare at this hunk of a man who's bending over the hood of your car again and offering you a very... good look at his backside.
It's summer. He's wearing a wife pleaser, which is reasonable in these temperatures, but the sight of his forearms working almost makes you feel like he knows what he's doing by wearing it. Does he have a wife to please, though? He's old enough to have kids - your age, maybe a few years younger. He's about as old as your dad. If he has a wife, maybe he's wearing it for her. Maybe she likes the way his biceps flexes just like you do.
You squint at his hands as you uncap the water bottle and take a sip. There's no ring as far as you can see. Would it be entirely unreasonable to assume he's... single?
It's been a minute, maybe, when you decide it's probably awkward for you to stand there and watch him, so you go with his suggestion and lean into his car, palms bracing against the seat to reach for the radio.
You turn it on, switch through a few channels until you find one you like and turn the volume up. Because it's probably just as awkward if you stay in his car - if not bordering on creepy - you step around the opened door and settle yourself against the hood. Your thighs stick to the warmed metal, but that's something you're willing to deal with.
Your eyes cling to him as he works. You don't know what the hell he's doing, you just hope he knows and you're not left with an even worse problem after. But he doesn't seem like that type of guy. And since he's seemingly unmarried... You don't stop yourself from staring.
Fuck, maybe he has a girlfriend, not everyone gets married at thirty. Not everyone wears their wedding ring either. But a girl can dream, right? And you're dreaming, for just a few minutes. You allow yourself to dream.
He looks so good. He looks so fucking good.
Sandy-blond hair, cut short, but not too short, broad, broad, broad shoulders... those arms, that back.
When he straightenes and looks at you, greasy fingers and a triumphant grin on his lips, you also have to admit that he's got chiseled fucking features. You swallow hard and do your best to pretend you haven't been ogling him.
"All done", he says. You raise your eyebrows.
"Really? That quickly?"
He grins and takes a step back, offering you to take a look yourself. You bite back a smile and push off the hood of his car - your hips are swaying as you walk, yeah, but as far as you're aware, he's single and just fixed your car for you, for free, in less than fifteen minutes.
Also, he's hot.
"Looks no different to me", you admit. He lets out a chuckle.
"Try it", he says, reaches for the hood and pulls it down as you slip into the driver's seat. You look up to him through the windshield before you turn the key in the ignition and-
The car starts.
The fucking car starts.
He's actually managed it.
You turn the key back and shake your head in disbelief. If he hadn't accidentally stumbled upon you, you'd probably have had to call the tow truck by now. Instead, you reach for the glove compartment and grab your purse.
"How-", you start as you climb out of the car seat again, shutting the door behind you. "How the hell?"
He chuckles.
"Actually, don't tell me", you interrupt yourself, throwing your hands up. "I don't even want to know. Here."
You reach into your purse and pull out disinfection wipes, offering them to him. He takes one with a smile and a drawled thanks and cleans off the grease on his hands before folding it up and letting it disappear into his pocket.
"So you're my knight in shining armour today", you say, biting down on your lip. Fuck it. You're gonna find out here and now whether or not he's single. "Otherwise I'm sure the tow truck would've cost me a hundred bucks - at least."
"Yeah, probably", he agrees, his eyes dropping to your mouth for just a second.
"Well, then", you smile, as coyly as you can manage. "How can I thank you?"
And just as you hoped, he stills, taking you in - maybe for the first time, you're not sure. His eyes rake down your body, your cleavage, your waist, your legs. His lips tug into a grin, but when he looks back up at you, he's serious.
"No worries", he tells you. "I'm not the tow truck."
He's not pushing you. Actually, he's doing the opposite, and you're not a fan. Maybe he isn't single after all. Maybe he does have a girlfriend. Or a wife. Or maybe he's not interested. Maybe... but you can give it a try, right? Just one try.
"I can't just drive off", you argue, blinking up at him a little more, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Fuck, are you really doing this? Your breath catches for a moment. But then again, if he isn't single, you're just gonna get into your car and never see him again. So who cares? "How about I give you my number?"
Your heartbeat quickens as he looks at you and straightens up. He's still grinning. You can't quite figure him out.
"I'm forty-seven, darling", he chuckles. You try your hardest to ignore how that pet name sounds, all sweet and intimate and god, you'd do a lot to have him say it again.
"So?", you ask and raise an eyebrow. "Does that mean you don't have a phone?"
Jake shakes his head with a chuckle, but you keep looking up at him so seductively, keep smiling so flirtatiously that he can't help himself. You're wearing such a pretty dress, such a dainty necklace around your throat. And you're serious about this.
He's had younger women flirt with him, yes, but usually five, ten years younger at most - and even that's been a while, because he isn't going to bars every night anymore.
You're really young. You're too young. You're, what, twenty-six? You can't be much older.
But you're stunning. Gorgeous eyes, kissable lips, glossy and plush and for just a moment, Jake loses himself in the images his mind seems to produce immediately when he looks at you - has been, from the second he'd spotted you through his windshield.
He's old enough to know better. But he still reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone.
...
The first time Jake officially meets you is seven hours later when he knocks on your parents' door and takes a step back to wait for it to open.
"That's gotta be Jake, someone get the door!", your mother's voice calls out, and it takes a few seconds until he hears soft footsteps coming down the hallway.
Then the door cracks open.
And there stands-
You.
You're smiling widely for the entirety of two seconds. Then your face falls.
Jake feels like the rug is pulled out from under his feet. He tumbles deep down a dark, dark hole as he stares at your pretty eyes, all shocked and wide, mouth open.
"You", you let out, almost breathless.
"You", Jake echoes, in quite the same tone.
Within seconds, you're stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind you and holding out your hand in front of you, as if to keep him a safe distance away.
You're quick, almost stumbling over your own words as you come to conclusions and try to grasp all their consequences. Jake has a hard time even listening to you. He's frozen in his spot, barely comprehending the entire situation.
The young woman that had so unashamedly flirted with him this morning - that he had most definitely flirted back with - is his neighbour's daughter. His friend's daughter.
So he's fucking frozen in spot, yes.
He's frozen even as you're ushering him into the house with a smile on your lips that's just a bit too wide. He's frozen as he sits down at the dinner table and frozen as your mother offers him a beer. He's frozen as he settles on the couch after and as your father turns on a football game. He's frozen as you scoff at the tv and disappear up the stairs.
Your father asks him what's wrong, but there's no way Jake can tell him.
Even without your lecture on the porch, there would've been no way he would have admitted that he's got your number saved in his phone, "Twenty-five" with a winky face emoji behind it.
So he says he hasn't been all that well - maybe getting the flu or something.
Which is bullshit. He doesn't get sick. He's been sick two, maybe three times in all his life.
But he does think he'll be sick when you take your last step down the stairs half an hour later, in pajamas that barely cover anything - satin or something, he's too focused not focusing on your bare skin to notice anything except your bare skin, really. You just traipse over to the kitchen on tiptoes, eyes glued to your phone, hushed voices reaching his ears when you talk to your mother before you reappear in the living room.
"I'm going to bed", you announce, phone clutched tightly in your hands. "It's been a long day."
Jake can't hear your father's answer. He can't hear the commentator or the cheers from the tv. He can't hear anything, not when you're standing there in the doorway, when he's concentrating so fucking hard on not looking at you.
He fails miserably.
His eyes rake down your body so scorchingly hot that they burn holes into your skin. You have to swallow hard at his expression.
You're not tired at all, actually. Yes, it's been a long day, but if anything, you're buzzing with adrenaline. Which is worse. Because the entire dinner long, you've just had to sit there and stare at him and not do anything about it.
So you're aching to finally hide away in your room, to crawl into bed and contemplate what the fuck is happening. And, just maybe, to dip your fingers into your pajama shorts and think about his shoulders, his arms, his jawline...
Jake manages to grunt some kind of 'goodnight' before you flee - but he doesn't manage to drag his eyes back up from your stomach, all exposed and on display for him. And he doesn't manage to hide it from you.
...
He sees you often over the following weeks. He's been over at your parents' house almost every day for the past six months anyway, and that doesn't change just because you've come back home. Your father still invites him for football games, your mother still talks him into coming over for lunch or for dinner or both and whenever they're outside tinkering on something, he's being called to help.
And - because of course, it's your house as well - you're there, too.
All around him, all the time.
At first, it's innocent. You walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water and smile and say hello. You sit on the couch on a call with a friend and wave at him through the window. You come back from a walk with the dog and ask how he's doing before you disappear inside.
But then there come moments... Moments in which you lie down on a sun lounger in a skimpy bikini while he's painting the fence with your father, sunglasses high on your nose, a book in your hands, rubbing sunscreen into your skin and biting your lip when he can't help but look at you. Moments in which you brush up against him in the kitchen with a giggled 'Sorry', your mother's back turned to you as she grabs milk from the fridge, his fists clenching at his sides, his coffee cup held decently in front of his crotch. Moments in which you sit next to him on the couch and have to lean over him with a lengthy apology, your father just disappearing into the bathroom, your palm high enough on his thigh to stagger into the inappropriate.
The only time he's safe is at work. And even then, you're on his mind constantly.
Those pretty dresses you wear all the time, low-cut in the front and so short they hardly reach past your mid-thighs, in all colours of the rainbow. Those skimpy tops with the flowers on them and jeans-shorts or skirts he's more than once noticed are actually skorts.
He shouldn't be attracted to you. It's so wrong on so many levels. You're too young, much too young, twenty-two years younger than him. And - worse - he's best friends with your father.
He can't be attracted to his best friend's daughter. He simply can't.
It's wrong. It's so, so wrong.
But he can't help himself. He can't help himself when you brush up against him, when you touch him, when you look like that right in front of him.
He doesn't know how he survives those first weeks. He doesn't feel like he's alive, really. Every waking thought is of you - of you and of how wrong it is that he can't stop thinking about you. That he keeps imagining what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, to-
No.
No, he can't.
Even though you're making it practically impossible for him.
And it's not like you really know what you're doing either. But ever since the car incident that very first day back home, you've been picturing those arms, those shoulders - and after the first time you caught sight of him working shirtless on some project in the backyard with your father, those fucking abs. All glistening, sweaty skin, that v-line, that happy trail...
It's not your fault he's starring in all of your late night fantasies now. It's his. It's his because he shouldn't be allowed to look that fucking good, to smell and sound and feel that good, when you can't have him. Because of course you can't.
He's twenty-two years older than you. He's your dad's new best friend.
You can't.
You can't flirt with him like you want to, you can't have him, because it would be wrong. But you also can't not.
You don't mean to taunt him, not at first. At first, it's just instincts. Talk to him, get his attention. But the more you're around him... the less you can control yourself.
You want to then. You want to graze your fingers across his thigh when your father isn't looking, you want to suck the straw of your drink into your mouth while you blink up at him, you want to accidentally drop your spoon and bend over in front of him. You want to because you know he wants you to.
Even though he doesn't say it, even though he forces himself to turn away when you walk by him, you see the way he looks at you. You catch him staring, you catch him eyeing you up and down. You notice the tick in his jaw and the way his fists clench at his sides. You watch his knuckles turn white as he grabs the neck of his beer bottle and takes a deep sip.
You know he's most definitely attracted to you.
Because even if you imagine half of those things - there's still the car incident. There's still your number saved in his phone. There's still 'darling' on your mind. Mostly the way he's repeated it since then, two or three times maybe, each one inspiring more sinful bedtime scenarios.
You can't.
He can't.
And yet neither of you doesn't.
...
Your parents are away when it happens. Your dad has to go on a trip for work and he takes your mother with him, surprises her with an extra weekend of romance just for the two of them. They're gone by Wednesday morning and won't be back until Sunday afternoon and even though you're twenty-five and have experience living on your own, they've asked Jake to check in on you, just to make sure you're okay.
The first time he 'checks in on you' is involuntary. He's just come back from work, it's Wednesday, 3pm, and he's sitting down on his back porch with a beer when he spots you.
He really doesn't mean to. He hadn't even known you were there.
But the fence between your house and his isn't high and so it's only natural that his eyes flick over to your garden once.
And then twice.
Because you're climbing out of the pool in the tiniest black bikini Jake has ever seen in his life, looking like some angelic, biblic, ancient goddess - your hair in a messy bun, droplets of water running down your bare skin, muscles working as you pull yourself up the little ladder and put both feet against solid, dry ground, leaving wet footprints with every step you take until you grab your towel, sling it around your shoulders and-
Look right at him.
Your lips tug into a flirty grin. You wave at him, your hand lingering in the air a second too long before you wrap the towel tightly around yourself and tread towards the fence. Jake can't do anything but watch you go and swallow hard.
The other option would probably be to drag you into his arms and ravage you until your throat is sore from screaming his name.
So he just sits there and stares at you instead.
"Hey there", you greet as soon as you're close enough to the fence that he can't look past your belly button anymore.
"Hey", Jake says and for whatever reason, his voice sounds raspy even to himself. Your grin only deepens.
"Do you have plans for dinner yet?", you ask. You bat your lashes at him innocently as you dry off your arms. "I was going to order take out."
So that's why three hours later, Jake rings your doorbell, in a black button up he spent twenty minutes picking out. The last time he'd spent that long in front of the closet, he'd been about fifteen years younger and about to go on an actual date. This isn't an actual date. This is anything but a date, because he's only supposed to check in on his best friend's daughter. He's supposed to look after you. Keep you safe.
But you open the door in an oversized, washed out band tee and smile so stunningly that he forgets what he's supposed to do in about half a second.
There's a moment of silence as Jake stares at you. He knows that damn band tee.
"Is that... mine?", he asks in disbelief as he waits for the sight to sink in, which it does not do. His mind blanks completely. It's not just that it's oversized and that you look like you're drowning in it, which already has him imagining the way he could flatten his palms against your stomach and feel for you in that heap of fabric. It's also that he knows this fucking shirt because he's been wearing it for the past ten years.
You look down like you're just realising what you have on, not like you'd almost had a heart attack when you'd seen it in the laundry basket, squealing so loudly that your mother had come in to check on you. Jake had worn that shirt the same day and apparently forgotten to put it back on when he'd gone home, so your mother had put it in the laundry.
She hadn't realised that you'd stolen it for yourself before she could wash it. She probably hadn't paid it that much attention.
You had though. And tonight had felt like the perfect occasion to wear it.
"I found it in the laundry", you say truthfully, looking up at him with big eyes. "Dad said it wasn't his so I just took it. Maybe a mix up. Do you want it back?"
Your fingers reach for the hem of the shirt down by your thighs, tugging mindlessly up just a tiny bit. Jake almost stumbles over his own words with how quick he is in denying you.
"No, no, keep it", he reassures. "Keep it."
You let go of the shirt as your grin widens.
"Okay then", you say softly, turn around and leave the door open so Jake can get in. You stroll into the kitchen, crack open the fridge and grab the freshly made iced tea while Jake closes the door behind him and puts away his shoes.
It could have easily been awkward. Honestly, Jake isn't sure that it's not. But it doesn't feel like that. It just feels... heavy. Drowsy. As though you're moving in slow motion, looking at him over your shoulder with a sultry grin. And in his shirt as well. His fucking shirt, it's unbelievable.
You're smiling at him over Chinese take out food with the radio playing softly in the background and the dim kitchen light on and it could have been almost normal, almost nothing, almost just a friendly dinner with his best friend's daughter.
But it isn't.
It isn't because you're leaning over the table and stealing a spring roll from him, grinning at him when he starts to protest. It isn't because you're pushing him back down onto his chair when he wants to get up and help you clear the table, leaning most definitely too close to him to grab his plate and bending most definitely too far down to put it into the dishwasher. It isn't because you're opening a bottle of whiskey, pouring him one and only then asking if he's going to stay and watch a movie with you.
You've already poured him the drink.
Not that he'd been planning to say no.
You're not close to him on the couch, not really. You're a respectful distance away as you put your own drink onto the table in front of you and grab the remote. You're still a respectful distance away as you scroll through a bunch of movies and ask him if he's got any preferences - besides football, of course.
But when you decide on a movie, on one of those rom-coms he'd never watch willingly, you're draping your legs over his and brushing your hair away from your face and he has to swallow hard.
His hands drop to your bare skin almost instinctively. He can't keep them off of you, not when you're this close to him, not when you're offering so prettily. It's like he has to touch you, has to brush his thumbs across your ankles.
This could all be normal. This could all be usual.
Jake doesn't bother paying attention to the movie. It's not like he could possibly pay attention to it, not when his fingers are running up and down your soft skin. So he doesn't really mind that he misses their first kiss, even as you look up from the drink you're refilling with a gasp and wide eyes to watch.
Jake just watches the way your hair frames your face, those droplets of iced tea on your lips before you wipe them off. He's sure he could taste them if he tried to.
You lean back into the couch then and stretch and your shirt - Jake's shirt - rides so far up that he catches sight of your underwear. Fuck.
He has to grab onto you hard so that he doesn't launch himself right on top of you. His mouth is dry all of a sudden, so dry that he has to swallow. You blink up at him as you feel his hands clench around your ankles, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep from grinning.
He needs a few seconds to even look up at you. It's like his eyes are glued to that expanse of bare skin at your hip, clinging to the thought of you in your underwear right before him. You're always wearing shorts. You're always wearing shorts. You're always fucking wearing shorts.
Shit.
He shouldn't. He can't.
But his hands brush up your calves and he does look back at you then, which really isn't better, because your lip is still caught between your teeth and your expression is so sinful that he has to bite down on his own tongue.
"Jake", you breathe, all soft and quiet and that's it. That's his breaking point.
You can't just say his fucking name like that, not in his shirt, not while presenting him such a good look at your underwear, and expect him to be okay.
"Fuck", he mutters, then he's on you.
It's an uncomfortable position. You're half turned to him, half away, your legs are still thrown over his lap, which means he can't really push close to you, but his lips are against yours, so firmly, so passionately that you can't care, not right then.
Your eyes fall shut and you kiss him back with the same fervor, the same heat, the same fucking desperation to finally feel him. You part you lips almost too eagerly, too quickly, just so he can stroke his tongue along yours. His hands dig into your thighs, grabbing you tightly, and your arms cross behind his neck to drag him down to you - just that your legs are really in the way now and you have to try and pry one from his lap so that he doesn't crush it, which isn't all that comfortable and takes a while too long to still be sexy. You hardly mind. Jake doesn't either, only pulls his knees up to the couch to climb on top of you.
The whole thing is complicated and annoying and decidedly too time consuming, but his lips are on yours and he's pressing against you, catching himself with a palm against the couch cushions and lowering you to lie down, every single touch frenzied and hurried and hot. Heady and heavy and horny.
You're dragging your hands through his hair, tugging, pulling, scratching your nails across his scalp. He's grabbing your hips with his free hand, grasping your thighs, tangling his fingers in your shirt and digging them into your skin.
You're grinding against him. Not softly, not carefully, not secretly. You're wrapping your legs around him and grinding against him, almost without realising it - you need to be close, you need to be closer. You need to move. You need to feel him.
At the first moan you let out, Jake stills. When you breathily add his name, he pulls back entirely.
It's cold and empty without him, cold and empty and confusing as he settles back on his ankles, panting and wide-eyed. Your arms and legs drop to the couch as you try to catch your breath.
"No", Jake mutters. "We can't."
You push yourself up onto your palms, chest still heaving as you look up at him. Your cheeks feel so hot that you're sure they're embarrassingly red by now and your mind is still hazy with what just happened -
Jake had kissed you. He'd kissed you and you'd kissed him back.
And now he isn't kissing you anymore and you're absolutely not alright with that. You need him to kiss you again. You need to dig your hands into his hair and feel him knead your thighs again. You need to find out what it's like to rake your nails along his arms and scratch down his back.
"Jake", you breathe, staring at him all wide-eyed as he shakes his head and inches even further away from you. He seems like he's in a trance. You repeat his name more forcefully and reach out for him - but he only shakes his head again and runs a hand down his face.
You still for the entirety of two seconds. Then you sit up, inches closer to him than necessary, and toy with the hem of your shirt. You've got a hunch that giving and taking the sight of your underwear will only help your case here.
"Why not?", you ask as you watch his eyes drop down, just like you'd wanted. His breath catches.
"You're twenty-five", he begins, his voice a bit too rough to sound unaffected. "And I'm friends with your father."
You take a long look at him.
"Would you if you weren't friends with my father?"
You bite down on your lip and blink up at him as prettily as you can manage. You're quite sure you know the answer. Especially with that car incident... With your number saved in his phone. With that smug grin you still see in your fantasies.
He hadn't been too concerned with your age back then.
"I am friends with your father", Jake says, all the while struggling to drag his eyes back up your body.
"But if you weren't", you go on, not ready just yet to leave this be - because you know that if you back down now, you'll never get a chance again. Not like this. Not with him. "If you weren't friends with my father. Would you?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw. You hold your breath - one, two, three seconds. Then he's on you yet again and this time, this time with no end in sight. Not as he pushes you back down onto the couch and sets both his palms down next to your head. Not as you wrap your legs around his waist and work the buttons of his shirt, fingers moving so frantically that you slip up more than once - not that you care.
You're kissing Jake. After what has felt like an eternity of teasing and quietly flirting, you're finally kissing him, touching him, feeling him. On top of you, all around you.
Yes, he fucking would. You were right.
His shirt finally unbuttons and you can hardly push it out of the way quickly enough to run your hands down his chest - exploring his collarbones, his abs, that fucking happy trail that has been driving you insane ever since you saw it for the first time. Your fingers brush bare skin, warm, hot, bare skin, before they catch on his waistband. He grinds his hips onto yours as you draw your fingertips along his belt and swallows the moan you so pathetically let out.
You're just about to get to work on opening his belt buckle when he shifts his weight onto one hand and grasps your wrist with the other, pulling an inch away from you as he does so, lips parting in sticky intoxication.
"Jake", you mewl, but when you blink open your eyes he's already shaking his head softly and- grinning. Grinning that smug grin that you've been dreaming of. The one you haven't seen since the very first time you met him. Not with your dad around or directed at anyone else, no. The grin that takes your breath away right then, and you can't even tell why.
It's confident and cocky and cheeky and so, so very, very sexy. Fuck.
You stare at him with wide eyes and parted lips, too caught up in taking him in to notice how he's bringing both your hands up over your head.
"If we're doing this, I'm doing it right, darling", he mutters, all low and rough and the pet name has you clamping your thighs even harder around him. "And only if you want me to."
You can't nod quickly enough.
"I need you to tell me, baby", he grins, exposing those pearly whites that you'd very much like to feel biting into your neck or something. "I need you to say yes."
"Yes, Jake", you push past your lips, breathless and panting and desperate. Desperate for him. "Please."
His chuckle reverberates in your own chest. He runs his hand down your side and rubs a soft circle against the bare skin of your hip, catching on the flimsy fabric of your underwear.
"Already begging for me", he mutters with a grin, his fingers hooking into your waistband. Your hips buck up into his and a moan drops from your lips and Jake just keeps on grinning. Keeps on running his thumbs along your hip bones. "That easily."
You can't even deny it, deny him. You need him to touch you and you need him to do it now.
"You're lucky I want to taste you, because I'm sure it'd be fun to tease you", he chuckles, holds you down against the couch as he sits back on his ankles, keeping your legs spread and the dark spot on your underwear right on display for him. "I could keep you here all night."
You're not sure what excites you more - the promise of all night or the tasting you part. Either way, you bury your hands into your own hair and tug hard to keep yourself from sitting up, pushing him onto his back and riding him into oblivion. He wouldn't let you anyway, you're guessing.
Jake runs his free hand down the inside of your thigh and you really have to concentrate on not moving then. Every touch, every brush and every stroke sends shivers down your spine and pools in your core, heating up each inch of your skin.
When he reaches your underwear once more, he hooks his second thumb into it as well and tugs. Your jaw clenches. God, you've gotta keep still, you've just gotta wait-
He looks up then and raises his eyebrows.
"Please, Jake", you breathe, before he can even say anything. His eyes drop again and he pulls your underwear down, down, down, pushing your knees together to slide them off your legs and you're holding your breath, holding your breath in this intoxicating mess of a moment as he parts your thighs again and leans in. Leans closer.
Leans... not close enough.
Instead, he grabs the hem of your shirt.
"As much as I like that you're wearing my shirt", he mutters, already pushing it up and exposing your stomach to him, "I want to see you."
You let out a pathetic little moan, loosen your hands from your hair and pull his shirt over your head instead, dropping it down onto the floor without looking or bothering where it lands. You're not really bothered about anything besides getting Jake's mouth on you right now.
You're dripping already, dripping down your own thighs as he takes you in - all naked, all bare in front of him, soft skin and smooth curves, chest rising and falling with your heavy breath, eyes half-closed, lips parted and kiss-swollen.
It's wrong. He shouldn't. But he's already gone too far and now, now, with all of you for him to see, to touch, to feel, he can't go back. He can't ever go back.
He wants to burn this image into his memory forever.
"Jake", you whisper, voice just as soft and silky as the rest of you and he snaps out of his trance, runs his fingertips over your stomach, studies you as your breath catches. He leans down again, but his eyes are fixed on you still, focused even as he presses a kiss to your hipbone, then to the inside of your thigh. His teeth graze your skin and his fingers brush against the underside of your boobs.
Fuck.
You bite down on your lip.
Jake thinks he might be in heaven as he palms at your breasts, swiping his thumbs across your nipples and watching your expression change ever so slightly. He breathes against your wetness and his eyes flicker down to finally look at you, dripping for him. His fingers still for just a moment.
If he does this, there's no going back. He's crossing a line that he can never uncross.
But in all honesty - he's already long crossed that line.
So he flattens his tongue against you and tastes you. And you throw you head back and let out a moan that's so filthy that he can't even be bothered to care about what fucking lines he's crossing anymore. He just buries his face in your wetness and basks in the way your eyes roll back into your head.
Your hands dig into his hair all by themselves, tug and pull and push him closer, further into you. You taste heavenly. You are in heaven. You're in heaven with Jake between your legs, brushing his tongue through your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth and groaning into you. He's running his fingers over your breasts, palming and grasping at them, circling and tracing.
That's when the movie stops.
You hadn't even realised it was still on, to be honest, but now, in the silence, your moans echo three times as loud. Jake bathes in the sounds you're letting out. You're absolutely gorgeous like that, teeth tugging at your bottom lip, cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering closed before you blink them open again to look at him, to watch him as he lays between your thighs.
You're soaking in the way he swipes his tongue against you, the way he palms at your skin. With every touch and every brush, you can feel the knot tightening. Can feel the tension in your limbs growing. Can feel the way your legs are starting to clamp tighter, tighter and tighter around Jake's head.
He's so good at this. He's so fucking good at this.
Your grip on his hair tightens so much that you're sure you have to be hurting him, but he doesn't show the slightest hint of wanting to tell you off for it. No, quite the opposite: he pushes further into you and groans his approval.
Which is about the last thing you can take.
Your legs cramp, your hands drag at his hair, your back arches, your head hits the armrest of the couch and Jake guides you through your high, eyes set on you, focused and fixed on you, watching every single reaction you have to him, drinking in the sight of you, drinking in your moans. You're pushing back against him, panting and clawing at him, lips parted and eyes shut tightly as you take in a shaky breath and sink slowly back against the couch.
The air is heavy. Heavy with your emotions, heavy with your orgasm, heavy with your moans.
Jake pulls back slowly, softly, draws his hands down to your stomach to rub circles onto your skin - significantly warmer now than before. You're still breathing heavily, legs unhooking from around his head only reluctantly. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded if he'd just decided to stay down there for the next three to five business days. But you also don't mind as he pushes himself up and presses a kiss to your lips, because he tastes like you and you get to hook your arms around his neck and pull him even further down onto you.
With his half-bare chest pushed against yours, his tongue runs along your lips and you open willingly up to him. More than just willingly. Because with him on top of you, his lips sticky and syrupy on yours, not wanting or not able to part from yours, there's already anticipation running in your veins, wetness pooling in your core again, the urge to wrap your legs around him and grind against him growing and growing with every second that he's kissing you.
You draw your hands down his throat, push his shirt out of the way and brush your palms down his bare torso, all hard abs against your fingertips. He's in such good fucking shape you could truly be running your hands up and down a washboard right now. It feels unfair that he's more than twenty years older than you and somehow fitter.
Your fingers catch on his waistband then.
"Jake", you whine softly against him. "Please, I need you."
He groans, drops his head down to your neck and for a second, you just hear him breathe - all hot and heavy before his lips graze your skin.
"Fuck, you can't say that, darling", he mutters. "You don't know what you do to me."
His belt buckle feels cold against your fingertips, so cold against your sticky, sweaty skin.
"Show me", you whine, beg, plead. He's not teasing you, not taking his time, he's not waiting or edging or anything, and still- Still, you're so fucking desperate. He's finally got you here, finally, and as much as you're sure you'd enjoy his teasing... You just need him to fuck you. Now.
Jake chuckles breathily as he raises his head to look down at you. There's that grin again. That fucking grin.
Then he plants that grin onto your lips and you moan softly, hooking your fingers into his belt and pulling hard. You've just started loosening it successfully when he sits back onto his ankles, leaves you cold and lonely and fully naked on the couch. You mewl.
"Jake-", you let out, but he's already standing up, climbing off of the couch and you're sitting up as if in trance, just to follow him, whatever it is that he has in mind.
He slips off his shoes before he starts to work his belt and then lets that fall to the ground too. You reach for him instinctively, drawing your fingertips along his thighs as he pops the button of his jeans and pulls down his zipper, but when he hooks his thumbs beneath his waistband and tugs down, something snaps inside of you.
"Wait", you whisper. "Let me."
You reach out for him and graze your fingers along his waistband, taking a breath as your eyes flutter up at him. He swallows hard, lets his arms drop to his sides and nods heavily. God, he looks so fucking attractive. His hair all messy, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed solely on you. You make sure to work quickly, almost frenzied, hurriedly pulling down his jeans and taking his briefs right with them. You won't spend unnecessary time on unimportant things.
Your breath catches, palms stilling against his thighs.
Fuck.
Jake's hand twitches, then clenches into a fist. But he stays right where he is, doesn't move an inch. Everything in him screams at him to run his fingers through your hair and guide you closer to him - but he doesn't. He won't. Not tonight, not right now. Right now, he wants to give you every out he can. Just in case you want to take it.
You don't. Of course not.
Not when you can see just how much he's holding himself back.
So instead you lean down and kitten-lick his tip. His hand flexes, again, and even though he lets out a deep groan that will surely echo in your head for the next two weeks, he stays still.
You just wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and take him into your mouth.
He has to close his eyes and tilt his head up to keep from bucking into you. Damn, it hasn't even been that long since he got blown. And he didn't react like a teenager then. But something about your warm, wet mouth, something about the way your dainty fingers reach around him, something about how you eagerly take him so far that he hits the back of your throat, something about that soft little gagging noise you make just before you pull off of him to breathe in deeply-
Fuck, you're making this really hard for him.
"Jake", you mutter, your hand still working him. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, looks down at you sitting there on the couch, completely naked, eyes all wide and cheeks flushed and so fucking stunning. His fingers brush along your forehead, tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear.
"Jake", you repeat, a little more breathlessly this time. "Don't hold back for me. I won't break."
His jaw clenches again, but you just blink up at him, the weight of your words heavy between you. His eyes roam your face for any sign of uncertainty - then he nods. He'd like to disagree, though. He's more than afraid he'll break you.
You're so young, so sweet, so fragile.
Just not innocent. And you feel like you have to remind him of that - of your more than obvious flirting, of your sultry grins and half-naked hints, of your number sitting so unashamedly in his contacts.
So you lean in again, pull your free hand from his thigh and grab his wrist instead, dragging it away from your cheek and planting it on the back of your head as you wrap your lips around him. He takes a shallow breath and your hand drops back down to his thigh. There's one, two seconds in which your eyes just flutter closed and your nails dig into his skin-
Then, finally, fucking finally! Jake tangles his fingers into your hair and pushes you into him. You loosen your hand from around him and put it against his other thigh, allowing him to pull you closer and closer. You breathe deeply through your nose as Jake groans above you - and it takes everything in you not to grin. Instead, you just let him guide you, blink open your eyes to look at him and try to ignore the arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs. He looks so fucking good, it should truly be forbidden, because now you have to press your legs together and steady your palms against him.
Jake feels about the same. His breathing is heavy, his grip on your hair firm, and his eyes are set on you - on how he disappears inside your mouth, again and again, your spit coating him, your throat tight. He can't help but push you down, one time, two times, and pull you back, three times, four times, then push you down and pull you back again. And again. And again. He can hardly concentrate on how good you're making him feel when you're looking that fucking sinful.
Shit.
Before he can come right then and there in your mouth, he tugs you off fully, his jaw clenching involuntarily at the soft whine you let slip. But you can barely be truly bothered when he leans down and presses his lips to yours instead. You're not bothered about anything, really - about anything but his tongue against yours as you cross your arms behind his neck and draw him in, your hands dragging into his hair, your mouth moving desperately against his, sloppily, silently begging him for more.
Jake steadies his palms against the back rest and pulls away heavily, breathing hard as you open your eyes again to look at him - half-lidded, all languid and slow. He swallows hard.
"Do you-", he starts, his voice low and rough and you nod, letting your arms drop from around him to point at the side table.
Have a condom, he'd wanted to ask. In any other situation, he'd have one himself, but something about bringing condoms for a check in on his best friends daughter would have felt incredibly wrong.
"In my makeup bag", you say, your voice thin and breathy as he stretches and reaches for the lavender coloured pouch, unzipping it and looking for the condoms between all the brushes and lipglosses. He can barely pull one out before your fingers close around it, before you've carefully torn it open. He drops your makeup bag back onto the side table right as you straighten up to press a kiss to his lips - almost innocent, almost, if it weren't for the taste of him on your tongue. Then you press a kiss onto his collarbone. Then one right onto his abs. Then one just above that happy trail that has been driving you fucking insane. And then, then, you run your tongue over his tip again before you roll the condom onto him.
Which means it's his turn.
And he doesn't hesitate.
He's not rough in the way he pushes you onto your back on the couch, no, he's smooth with it, hands running along your skin as he cages you in, as he rests his arms next to your head - but he's firm nonetheless. He takes control easily, moving you how and where he wants to, claiming your mouth, pressing his lips to yours. You let him. More even, you relish in giving in to him, in giving him control, in letting go, in trusting him. You bathe in his kisses, in his touches, in his soft grunts as he guides himself into you.
"Jake", you whine against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair, eyes falling shut. The stretch is delicious, heavenly. He fills you slowly, dragging his lips down your throat as you tilt your head back and let out a filthy moan. Your legs wrap around him, pull him closer. His teeth graze your neck, drawing a moan from you as he settles. He gives you a moment to adjust.
A moment too long.
Way too long.
Even with his lips on your skin, with your nails dragging down his neck, digging into his shoulders, even with him inside of you, you need more. You need him to move. Right fucking now.
"Jake", you mewl, your eyes fluttering open. He raises his head to look at you and- Fuck, good lord. You've messed up his hair and his pupils are wide and his cheeks are red and he looks fucking heavenly. So heavenly that your breath catches. You forget what you wanted to say for a moment. Then his thumb brushes your cheek and you remember.
"Move", you breathe, digging your fingers into his skin and wrapping your legs around him tightly. You need him to move. But his lips tug up in that grin again and, as quickly as you can, you add- "Please, Jake."
His grin widens as he looks down at you, all pretty and desperate, clenching around him, lips parting in a silent moan. It would be so easy to tease you, so easy to make you beg and plead for him... And you'd look so gorgeous doing it. You're already so eager to please him.
But not tonight. Not right now. Right now, he just needs to make you feel good. So he leans down, presses a kiss to your lips and moves. Finally.
You open up to him eagerly, letting him run his tongue along yours, moaning into him as he thrusts into you. Deep and languid, hitting all the right spots like no one has before. Fuck, fuck, fuck-
You're really doing this. He's really doing this. You claw at his back, scratch down his skin, sure to leave bruises as he pulls his head up to look at you, to watch the way you arch up into him. Your skin glistens with sweat, your lips part to let out a breathy mewl and the coil in your stomach tightens, tightens, tightens.
Jake shifts his weight onto one arm, frees a hand to brush his fingers through your hair, tugging, tilting your head back, exposing your throat to him. You moan at the ceiling as he drops a filthy kiss onto your collarbone before he lets go of your hair again, trailing his hand down your side instead - and his hand is so fucking big, so big as he draws it down your body, brushing his fingertips over your boob, sweeping over your hip, grasping your thigh. You pull him down onto you, crash your lips back onto his hard. You need to feel him, you need to kiss him, you need to hold him right now. You need him. You need this.
He smoothes his fingers down your skin until they catch on your clit.
"Jake", you moan into his mouth, pathetic even to your own ears. He only grins into the kiss and circles your clit as he thrusts into you, again and again and again, your legs clenching harder and harder and harder around him before he pulls away, pulls even further away even though you chase after his lips, his eyes roaming your face as you squeeze yours shut tightly.
"Look at me, darling", he drawls, his voice low and raspy, his fingers rough against your clit. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."
You let out some kind of deranged moan at his crude wording, opening your eyes and blinking up at him because there's no fucking way you can deny him. Not when he calls you darling like that. Not when he thrusts inside you just right. Not when the view of him, messy hair and grinning and all, has you clenching around him this hard.
You're close. So close.
"Atta girl", he mutters, and that does it for you.
Your legs cramp and your lips part again to let out a gorgeous little moan that Jake swallows up immediately, slotting his mouth over yours and drinking up the way you clench around him. It takes everything in him not to come too. You're so fucking pretty and you're clenching so fucking perfectly around him, but he needs to make you feel good first, he needs to make you come first, he needs...
"Jake", you mewl, face scrunched up, back arched, as he guides you through your second high of the night. "Fuck, fuck."
He's grinning when you come down. You grab his hand and pull it away from your clit. It's too much right now, too much. It takes a second for you to even realise that he's stopped moving entirely, too focused on watching you, on drinking up the sight of you, tousled hair and red cheeks and parted lips and all. You look like an angel, so fucking heavenly that he can't believe his eyes, not really.
"Jake", you mutter, slurring his name so prettily and pulling him in for another kiss, your arms loose around his neck, your fingers lazily brushing through his hair. "Come for me?"
It's barely more than a breath, barely more than a whisper onto his lips, but he hears it, oh, he hears it. He lets out a groan as he draws away again, his eyes roaming your face. You're unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.
You're asking him to come for you. Begging him to come for you.
And there's no grin in sight, no smug smile, no hint of trying to take control of him - it's not a command, not even close, you're actually, genuinely pleading, your eyes half-lidded and barely focusing, just needing him to feel good now, too.
You're really fucking unbelievable.
He can't remember ever having a woman ask him to come.
He kisses you so hard you become dizzy, pressing his lips onto yours and tangling a hand into your hair. He pushes impossibly closer, thrusts back into you and pulls another string of moans from you, bordering on incomprehensible, hardly more than breaths, mewls that he swallows before they can flee into the empty air of the living room.
His own breathing comes in pants, his muscles clenching and tensing and he's there quicker than he thought he'd be. He's close, really close, and that's when you decide to dig your teeth into his lip and tug and fuck, he's there, alright. He's done then. He spills inside you with a groan, pulling back right as you flash him a dazed grin, eyes fluttering open to take him in.
Your throat feels way too dry all of a sudden.
You don't think you'll get this image out of your head ever again, this image of him coming undone on top of you. It's burning itself into your memory while you watch, never to be forgotten.
Because hell no, you won't forget this.
"Fuck", Jake groans, his voice all rough and hoarse and he leans down to press a kiss to your lips again, slow this time, almost soft. He brushes a thumb down your cheek, lightly cups your jaw and pulls you even closer, your skin warm beneath his fingers.
You tighten your arms around his neck a bit, keeping him firmly there, firmly on top of you, firmly inside of you. But he makes no move to leave, anyway. Just runs his tongue tenderly along yours, unhurried and gentle, and holds you close. You don't know for how long. He could've kept you there for eternity and you wouldn't have minded. How could you mind, basking in the afterglow like this, with his skin sticking to yours, his fingers grazing your cheek, his lips brushing against yours? No, really, you could've stayed there for the rest of forever.
But he pulls back after a while, of course, and pulls out, too. You let out some kind of disappointed mewl, but that's about everything you can do before he gently grasps your wrists and pulls your arms from around him, smiling in a way you can't even begin to complain.
"Lets get you cleaned up, darling", he says softly, carefully helping you sit up, his hands everywhere but nowhere nearly long enough.
You sigh dramatically, blinking your eyes open to look at him, even as you let him pull you up. Your legs feel like pudding. You feel like pudding.
"If we have to", you give in, smiling as Jake grins and shakes his head at you.
"We have to", he chuckles, hauls you up into his arms and waits for you to hold onto him before he carries you into the bathroom - seemingly fucking without any problem whatsoever, as if you weigh nothing at all to him.
You bite down on your lip and rest your forehead against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut to not have to look at him while you contemplate his strength. He should not be this fucking strong. He should not be allowed to be this fucking strong.
"Careful", Jake says, his voice low, as he sets you gently down on the toilet seat. You flinch away from the ice-cold seat against your thighs, fingernails digging into his shoulders for one, two, three seconds before you relax and settle down.
Jake lets go of you just as softly, steadying you until he's sure you won't just fall right off the toilet. He turns and you look up, his back right there to stare at, a smile tugging at your lips again - goddamn, he looks way too good, holy shit. You barely hear the garbage can open and close as he throws away the used condom, then rummages through the drawers until he finds a washcloth that he can soak in luke warm water.
He turns with a smile, grabs your chin tenderly and presses a kiss to your lips, just one, all sweet and languid, so unlike the rest of his kisses. You hardly notice that he's cleaning you off as he kneels down in front of you, simply because you're so entranced by him. God, but he really looks like he's fucking glowing, you hate him for having this effect on you.
He wraps his arms around you again - did he put the washcloth away? fuck, did you miss that? - and you cuddle close, almost (but just almost) letting out a pleased sigh. Fuck, he's so broad and so strong and so comfortable...
He sets you down on the couch and smiles.
"Wait here for me, darling", he mutters, bending down to pick up your shirt (his shirt, really) and slide it carefully over your head once again. You hug yourself close and settle deep into the couch as Jake disappears. His steps echo through the house.
Then there's silence.
Absolute silence.
You rest your head against the headrest and close your eyes, your fingertips absentmindedly drawing circles against your heated skin.
And in this quiet emptiness... the reality of the situation finally sinks in.
For the first time.
Because you just slept with Jake Seresin.
Jake Seresin. Your neighbour Jake Seresin. Your dad's best friend Jake Seresin. Twenty-two years older than you Jake Seresin.
Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit.
This actually happened. This actually fucking happened. You slept with Jake Seresin. And somehow... somehow- Somehow you can't feel guilty. You can't feel bad or ashamed. Not like you should. And you definitely should. Because this is Jake Seresin, not some random frat guy. This is forty-seven year old, your dad's best friend Jake Seresin.
But you can't feel bad.
You really do try, for the entirety of a minute or two, while somewhere in the back of the house, a door is opened and closed again. But you still can't feel bad. So you don't.
Jake comes back with a water bottle and his briefs back on, which you can't help but feel disappointed at. He sits down on the couch next to you and hands you the bottle.
"Drink", he nods, so you uncap it carefully and take a sip. It's charming, really, how the first time you'd met him with your car broken down, he'd also handed you a water bottle. A grin tugs at your lips involuntarily. It's just coincidence, you know that, but there's something incredibly sweet about the way he's seemingly always made sure to keep you hydrated. There's something sweet about him, simple as that, with how softly he's cleaned you off and settled you down on the couch after.
You put the bottle down on the table and turn to him.
He looks almost normal again, almost like before. He's still nearly naked though (which you certainly aren't complaining about), and his hair still looks like he's just walked straight out of a hurricane. He raises his eyebrows at you as you take him in.
"We should probably talk about this", you say, your voice cracking halfway through. You're not sure you want to talk about it. And with the way Jake's face falls... yeah, he doesn't seem to, either. But he still straightens up and brings some more distance between the both of you.
Maybe that's smart, actually. Maybe. But then again, you've already done everything you could to try and feel bad, so instead of doing the reasonable (you're already way past the reasonable anyway) and pushing further away from Jake too, you stretch out a leg and drape it over his lap again.
A muscle in his jaw ticks and he grasps your ankle almost immediately, as if there's no other choice but to touch you even while he's trying to keep his distance.
"But", you grin, scooching a little closer as an idea forms in your mind, "You know, I still have to shower. Chlorine is so bad for the skin unless you wash it off. And I did spend quite a while in the pool today."
...
It's Monday afternoon and even hotter than the weeks before. You're sitting outside, sunbathing in the fifteenth layer of sunscreen of the day, with sunglasses on that hardly seem to do anything and wearing nothing but a bikini because god, you're fucking melting. It hasn't been this hot the entire year.
The only really good thing about the scorching heat is that Jake, for lack of swimming pools in his garden, is doing sets in yours. You're incredibly glad for your sunglasses, because even though your mother is sitting right next to you, burying her nose in another of the novels she'd checked out from the library two weeks earlier, you can ogle Jake without worrying that she'll catch you.
And goddamn, you're ogling, alright.
It's not like you haven't stared at him enough. Over the past five days, you've barely been doing anything else. Well, except for those times you'd had your eyes closed and his lips on yours, of course. But still, you don't really feel like you could ever possibly get enough of staring at him.
And right now, right now, with the way he climbs out of the pool, arms tensing and flexing, water dropping down his skin, his hands running through his soaking wet hair...
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You bite down on your lip and press your thighs together. God, if you aren't careful, you'll have to disappear into the house and shower early, because you're sure you could not pass the dark spot on your bikini bottoms off as sweat.
Jake turns away to grab his towel and starts to dry off and you're already mulling over how you'll phrase the message you'll send him (something along the lines of 'tell my parents you need to use the bathroom' with a shower selfie attached? You've already sent him way worse things while he'd been at work) when your mother suddenly gasps.
Three heads turn to her simultaneously.
"Jake!", she chokes, her book sinking down into her lap. Jake raises his eyebrows at her, just as clueless as you are. She parts her lips and then clamps her mouth shut again, apparently lost for words. "Your back."
It hits you like a tidal wave.
Oh, shit. Oh, holy fucking shit.
You should've noticed earlier. Much earlier. You should've- God, he'd known, too, hadn't he? But you'd been the one to stare at his back long enough that you should've noticed. Yesterday. You should've noticed the long, red lines running down his skin. Your long, red lines running down his skin. Fuck, fuck-
"Oh, that-"
Jake stumbles over his own words for the first time ever since you've met him. His eyes find yours, for just a moment or two, and you can see the panic in them. It's the second fucking day your parents are back. The second fucking day. And you're already messing up, you're already-
"I knew it", your mother grins, clapping her hands together and letting out a laugh that startles you so hard you flinch. "I knew you were a womanizer after all! I mean, looking like that, there's no other way-"
"Honey!", your father gasps, and she giggles and throws her hands up. But he's grinning too and you know him well enough to say he isn't really mad that she's complimenting Jake.
"Sorry, sorry, just saying." She chuckles to herself and grabs her book again, her voice dropping to a mumble. "I can't believe it though, we go away for five days and suddenly he's hooking up with someone! I think we need to stop inviting him over so often if we want him to find somebody."
Your father laughs and gets up to offer Jake a beer.
"You didn't happen to see who he brought home, did you?", your mother asks, her voice almost too casual to really be casual as she turns her head to look at you with raised eyebrows.
You choke on your breath.
"Um-", you start, but your father already rolls his eyes and saves you without meaning to.
"You're not nosy at all", he chides, resting his beer bottle against her foot. She tugs it away and shakes her head at him.
"Just curious", she grins. "Just curious."
Yeah. Just curious. You pray to god that just curious won't one day expose the little secret you've got going on with Jake. Next time, you'll really have to be more careful with your nails.
#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin smut#dbf!jake seresin#dbf!jake seresin smut#x reader#dbf!jake seresin x reader#top gun#top gun x reader#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin smut
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it girl | sanzu h.
synopsis. you find sanzu after a fight at a party and end up introducing yourself and helping him patch up. turns out sanzu isn't as extroverted when it comes to speaking to girls, rindou finds out.
contains. smut, first time (sanzu's a virgin), nervous sanzu, bold reader, mentions of violence, busted lips, bruised knuckles, kantou!manji era, nude/explicit photos, oral (m), sanzu gets head for the first time, koko rindou and sanzu are best friends idc.
author's note. sanzu's so pretty but i just know that boy has never felt the touch of a woman, hence why i wrote this lmfao. call it a power move or whatever 🙄 (i wanna see more submissive sanzu honestly). fanart credits: caravaggist
“My head is fucking killing me,” Sanzu said with a pained groan. He began coughing until he started laughing, running purely on adrenaline. “I beat that fucker’s ass, didja see that?!”
“Shut up, stop being so loud.” Sanzu winced when Rindou smacked him upside the head. He looked down at his busted, bruised knuckles and cursed. “We’re so fucking dead.”
“Told you not to drink that much,” Koko sniped, gesturing with his chin over at Sanzu. “Got us into a goddamn fight.”
“Not my fault you guys are such wimps.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Koko doubled over to catch his breath, slumping against a car.
“Are you guys okay?” you called out, steadily approaching the three boys.
Your heart nearly stopped when they all turned to meet your eyes, but there was one you couldn’t take your eyes off of the most. He had green eyes and crazy pink hair tied up into a ponytail. You’d been eyeing him for the majority of the party, just small glances over at whichever end he was loudly talking at. The entire time you had been taking extra shots for courage to approach him but pussied out each time. When you were upstairs, there was loud shouting, chanting, and the sound of things breaking as a group of boys managed to get into a fight. You didn’t see the full thing, only coming down the stairs the exact moment you saw the three of them run outside, tearing down the street and around the block in record time. A quick scan of the party, you saw the pink haired guy was no longer there, so your feet went running before you could even think of what you were doing.
He was much prettier up close, an ethereal kind of beauty you rarely ever see. Not many people can rock long pink hair but he manages to make it work well.
You ran out, taking off after them. It was a miracle you found them, having guessed which direction they must’ve took off in.
“Who are you?” Kokonoi asked, looking strangely at you.
“I was at the party,” you gestured down the street, “and saw everything. Are you guys okay?” you repeated, walking a little closer to the group.
Kokonoi’s hostility dropped down a few notches and he nodded. Rindou shrugged and rolled his neck, trying to ease away the stiffness residing in his bones. Sanzu, on the other hand, just stared at you dumbfoundedly. He didn’t say a word, just stared at you with half wide eyes that only widened when you met his gaze. You held eye contact for a few seconds before looking down at his knuckles. Out of the three, Sanzu was probably the most roughed up, having done the most the entire fight and caught the most strays. His lip was busted and his knuckles were bruised.
“Oh that looks really bad. One second,” you said, pulling out a tissue from your pocket “Can I?” you asked, looking into his eyes. He doesn’t say yes or no, and Rindou isn’t even sure he’s breathing anymore. He doesn’t stop you as you hold his bruised hand and lift it up to your face for examination.
You placed the tissue onto his knuckles. “I’m sorry that happened by the way. I don’t know how it started but I’m sure you guys didn’t deserve it.”
Kokonoi snorted and Rindou elbows him roughly. “Eh it’s whatever. Bottom line is we won, so.”
“You guys shouldn’t be fighting like that though. Especially in public. The police got called and are probably on their way here.”
“Wait seriously?!” Kokonoi whipped his head up at you and you nodded. He cursed under his breath. “We better get going again. Don’t wanna have to get bailed out again.”
Again?
“True that,” Rindou agreed, dusting off his pants. His head was pounding and he might probably have a concussion, but all that didn’t matter to him. He just needed to get out of here. “Call Ran, he’ll come pick us up.”
“He’s gonna fucking kill us,” Kokonoi replied.
“Better him than Mikey.”
“But—”
You tuned out the rest of their conversation and continued dabbing Sanzu’s knuckles, who still hadn’t said a single word since you approached. You blinked up at him and removed the bag from his hand.
“Your lip is bleeding,” you announced, and he almost flinched away when your thumb rose to his lip. “Does it hurt?” He shook his head. “Can I put this on your lip?” You shook the tissue in your hand.
He nodded slowly and your smile nearly sent him straight to heaven. You pulled a water bottle from your purse and wet the tissue, pressing it on his lip and held onto his chin, tipping his head upright so you could see what you were doing better. Granted the tissue probably weren’t helping at all, but you had to work with what you had.
“This looks really painful,” you murmured, fixated on the damages done to his face. He has these two pairs of twin scars on both sides of his mouth that you think are so cute. Without thinking, you let your thumb trace the diamond outline gently. You pull the tissue away from his lip and pocket it. “Does your lip hurt?”
Sanzu shook his head and you smiled. “That’s good.”
Rindou looked over at Sanzu weirdly, wondering why the loudest person in the group was suddenly so quiet. He didn’t have time to explore that train of thought deeper because Kokonoi spoke up.
“Rin, Sanzu. Ran’s on his way now. Let’s go.” He pocketed his phone and turned to you. “Thanks for the warning about the cops by the way. Really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem.”
A black car pulled up to the curb and the window rolled down. “You three are so fucking dead,” Ran said exasperatedly.
“As long as Mikey doesn’t find out we’re goo—” Kokonoi’s relief came crumbling down as his biggest fear came to light. The passenger seat window rolled down and Mikey’s face came into view. He didn’t look mad, honestly he didn’t look like anything. Just emotionless, but that was enough to scare the absolute shit out of Koko. “Boss, we can explain—”
“Get in the car.”
Kokonoi swallowed but obliged, his feet dragging behind him as he walked around the car to get in.
You looked back over at Sanzu who’s eyes hadn't left yours. “Guess this is goodbye. I’m (Name) by the way. What’s yours?”
Whatever reaction anyone was expecting, it wasn’t for Sanzu to completely stammer over his words, forgetting who he was, or how to form a literate sentence. “Me name? Who is—I—what, huh?”
Rindou looked at him like he grew two heads, even Mikey raised a confused brow. You pressed your lips together in a thin line to stop yourself from laughing and Sanzu’s ears burnt with humiliation. Frankly he was mortified with those being the first words he’s said to you ever. Rindou thankfully saved him from more embarrassment by grabbing the back of his collar hard.
“His name is Sanzu by the way,” he told you before dragging him towards the car, kicking him into the backseat. The door slammed shut and you watched as Rindou entered the front next to his brother and then the car pulled off, recklessly rounding the corner.
You stayed there for a minute, blinking, then smiled giddily down at the floor before making your way back to your friends inside.
~*~
“Yeah they’ve definitely got a concussion,” the nurse said, snapping her gloves off. She stepped away from the three boys at the table and handed them each plastic cups of water. “Make sure you drink plenty of water and get plenty of rest.”
“Thanks doc.” Mikey wrote her a check and she nodded, thanking him before exiting the room. He looked at the three in them in disappointment. They each had an annoying habit of crashing random parties going on in the street and getting shit faced, then turning up to work and events hungover or too exhausted. Now they have hit the final nail in the coffin by getting in a physical altercation with strangers and the police are probably looking for their asses right now.
“I have nothing to say to you three. You heard the woman, get plenty of rest,” he scolded before leaving the room.
“Who wants to bet the medical bills are coming out of our paycheck?” Rindou asked, sliding off the table. He rubbed his head exhaustedly and yawned.
“I might just have a heart attack if I see that,” Kokonoi responded, shuddering.
“That girl…” Sanzu muttered under his breath, scratching his chin.
“What?”
“That girl,” he repeated louder as if he just came to a sudden realisation, “was a fucking angel!”
“Oh. Welcome back to earth Mr. Who me is name I what?” Rindou mocked, amusement written all over his face as Sanzu rolled his eyes.
Kokonoi laughed loudly. “Oh yeah! What the fuck was that all about?”
“Shut up,” Sanzu grumbled and closed his eyes, blocking their mockery out. He tried to picture your face again behind his closed lids but the concussion was slowly getting worse and your face was starting to fade from his memory. “I need to find this girl and redeem myself. What’s her name?” he said snipply, snapping his fingers at the two boys for them to hurry up.
“Stop being a weirdo. You probably blew your chances anyway,” Rindou stated.
“Nah uh! It wasn’t that bad!”
“Who me is name I what?” Kokonoi repeated and Sanzu groaned loudly.
“Keep making fun of me whatever! But when I find her and make her my future wife I don’t want to hear shit from any of you.”
“Wow,” Kokonoi fake gasped. “You can tell your future kids the story of how you met!”
“Future wife huh?” Rindou chuckled. “So we’re just skipping past girlfriend?”
“Gotta aim big.”
Kokonoi shook his head. “That girl wants nothing to do with you.”
“Yeah? Well why did she patch me up and not you two fucking idiots then? HUH?” Sanzu gestured to his busted lip. The two boys had nothing else to say and just rolled their eyes, muttering whatever under their breath. “Exactly, shut the fuck up.”
Sanzu traced his scars with his finger. He could still feel the gentle trail of your finger on his skin and closed his eyes once more, picturing you in front of him, staring up at him with such care in your eyes as you genuinely found yourself worried at his injuries. He looked down at his knuckles, still bruised, and pictured your hand in his. He regretted not saying more to you earlier, regretted not actually having a conversation with you and telling him his injuries looked worse than they actually felt.
Sanzu stood up and Rindou called out to him. “Oi. Where the hell are you going? We’re heading back to mines.”
“I’m going back to that party to redeem myself.”
“It’s been like an hour and it’s almost three am. She’s long gone. Let it go.”
Sanzu shook his head, condescendingly clicking his tongue in a way that ground Rindou’s gears. “Don’t be jealous Rin.”
“Jealous of?”
“I got a girl that wants me for me, not my dick.”
“That’s something only a virgin would say,” Kokonoi inputs, laughing when Sanzu instantly closes his mouth. “No way, are you actually a virgin?”
“No I’m not!”
“Yes you are!”
“I’m not!”
“Who’d you lose it to?”
Sanzu scoffs. “Like anyone remembers that,”
“Okay playboy.” Rindou laughs. “I remember mine.”
“So do I,” Kokonoi high fives Rindou. The two of them look at Sanzu. “Well? What’s her name?”
“I was high. Don’t remember,” Sanzu shrugs. Rindou looks over at Koko who both equally look unimpressed. “ANYWAY! It doesn’t matter because I’m going to find that girl and redeem myself tonight.”
Kakucho enters the room. “Find what girl?”
“Redeem yourself for what?” Kokonoi asks.
Rindou laughs even louder. “Redeem himself for “Oh friend who I am what?””
Sanzu’s ears burn when Koko joins in the laughter. “Alright so just forget my question. Cool,” Kakucho rolls his eyes.
“Sanzu got us into a fight tonight and some girl helped him with his busted lip and now he thinks he’s in love.”
“I don’t think—”
“We know,” Kokonoi interrupts.
Sanzu shoots him a glare. “If you’d let me finish,” he says snarkily. “I don’t think I'm in love. I know I am.”
“In love with a girl you don’t even know the name of?” Kakucho asks hesitantly. He should be used to this by now honestly, it's not the first time Sanzu got hyper fixated over something, except in this case it's someone. In actuality, he should be worried for this girl, knowing how obsessive Sanzu gets at times. Picturing the boy in a relationship was something Kakucho just could not do no matter how hard he tries.
“I’ll find her name. You forget who I am and what I do in this goddamn organisation?”
“Aside from dragging us to useless parties and getting us involved in unnecessary fights?” Rindou asked.
“You had fun tonight, stop acting like you hated it that bad,” Sanzu complained.
“What did this girl look like?” Kakucho asks.
Sanzu describes your appearance from your height all the way down to your eye colour, recounting to his friends every single detail he managed to observe about you the entire time he spent staring at you. They all looked at him with concern. Sanzu noticed their glare and shrugged. “What?”
“Surprised you didn’t count every single lash of hers honestly,” Kokonoi rubbed his forehead exhaustedly when his head pounded again. “This headache is killing me. Gonna head home.”
They all said goodbye and waited for him to leave the room.
“I think I know the girl,” Kakucho said, recounting the horrifying moment of Sanzu describing you in as much detail as possible.
“WHAT?!” Sanzu exclaimed far too loudly for his head and Rindou’s to handle, a sharp pain shooting their heads. “Ah fuck,” he groaned, rubbing his head.
“Are you serious?” Rindou asked, looking at Kakucho who nodded.
“Yeah. Someone like that lives on my floor. I see her leaving every morning.”
“To Kakucho’s we go!” Sanzu grinned, grabbing the younger boy's hand and dragging him outside. Rindou reluctantly follows behind them, wanting to see where this situation was heading.
Kakucho ended up being right, and when they entered the lobby of his apartment, they saw you collecting your mail. Sanzu’s feet felt frozen to the floor as he just stared at your side profile. He almost had a stroke when you turned to face in his direction, and he swore you were looking directly at him when you broke out into a smile, waving your hand.
“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while,” you said and Sanzu was confused. It’s only been a few hours, hasn’t it?
You were walking and he stood up a little straight when it looked like you were heading towards his direction, only for his heart to do a complete 360 when you hugged Kakucho instead. It wasn’t an affectionate hug, both your hands barely lingered on each other’s body, just an awkward side hug that lasted barely 2 seconds.
“Yeah, you know. I’ve been busy with work and stuff.”
“Ah cool cool. I’ve been collecting your mail though.” You handed him his mail. He thanked you and held them under his arm.
You looked at two boys next to them and then gasped. “Oh its you!” You pointed between Sanzu and Rindou, who only nodded, asking how you’ve been. Sanzu was frozen again as you and Rindou gave each other basic small talk, only breaking out of his stupor when Rindou elbowed him hard in the stomach.
You bit down a laugh when you saw Sanzu clutch onto his stomach in pain. “Oh my god, are you alright?” Sanzu could hear the laugh in your voice, but didn’t feel offended the slightest.
“I’m good, yeah. Just distracted.”
“Oh. Am I boring you?”
He was too scared of the fact you thought that about him to notice the playful hint in your voice. “No! Not at all. I just have a concussion that's all.”
“No way. Does it hurt? Are you okay?” You hesitantly lift your hand up and press it on his forehead which is burning up. “You need to get some sleep right now.”
“It’s too late to drive right now.” Kakucho says. “You two can just sleep at mine.”
“Only if I get your bed,” Sanzu adds.
“Fuck that. Sleep on the couch.”
“But I’m concussed.”
“And who’s goddamn fault is that?”
Sanzu rolled his eyes. Kakucho sighed. “Fine. You can get the bed.”
“Let’s fucking go,” Sanzu grinned and started heading towards the elevator. The other two boys followed them and Kakucho looked behind at you.
“You coming?”
Sanzu pressed the button and turned to look at you and Kakucho as you shook your head. “No, I'm heading back out.”
“Right now?” Kakucho says and looks at his watch, “It’s almost 4 am?”
“I know,” you sigh exhaustedly. “My friend, well kinda friend, I guess wants me to come to his house. Just got his text a few minutes ago.”
“At this hour?” Kaku says sceptically.
“So a booty call?” Rindou says and gets elbowed by Kakucho, telling him to mind his business.
You laugh. “I guess if that's what you want to call it. I don’t sleep with him, he just uses me to impress his friends it feels like.” Your eyes slide over to Sanzu who has a scowl on his face and looks away almost immediately after you make eye contact. “I don’t wanna do it but he scares me so I feel like I have to.”
“What’s his name?” Kakucho asks.
“Why? You gonna hurt him?” you ask back. Though you and Kakucho are only neighbours at best, you’re well aware of what he does and his reputation around town. The Brawler is his nickname, or was, back when he was in Tenjiku. But you didn’t know what his role or job entailed, all you knew he was in some shady shit and you wanted no part of it.
“Depends if I know the guy or not.”
You roll your eyes. “His name is Osanai.”
“Wait a minute,” Rindou says, “Is he tall? Smokes all the time, blonde hair? Kinda tan?”
“Yeah…” you say slowly, sceptically, “how’d you know?”
“We’ve actually been kinda looking for that guy. Mikey wanted to see him, didn't he?” Rindou asks Kakucho who shrugs and points over to Sanzu who’s been awfully quiet the entire time. “Didn’t he?” Rindou asks Sanzu again.
“Oh. Yes he has.” He looks up and meets your gaze one more time before looking away.
“Where’s he at?” Rindou asks, approaching you.
“I dunno probably his house?”
“Okay but where genius.”
You give him Osanai’s address and he starts heading outside. “Wait! Don’t kill him or something.”
“Why do you care what we do? Doesn’t he scare you?”
“I mean yes but that doesnt mean I want him dead…”
Kakucho sighs. “Sanzu wait here with (y/n), me and Rindou will sort this out.”
Sanzu instantly looks at Kakucho. “Wait—”
“Just do it,” Rindou snickers before the two of them leave. Sanzu watches them go with a betrayed look on his face, already thinking of 101 different ways to kill Rindou once he got back home. You look up at Sanzu and smile at him.
“So…you can go home if you want. I don't need a babysitter.”
“No it's fine I'll uh wait here.”
“We can go back to mine?” you ask a little hopeful.
Sanzu opens his mouth to speak but the words can't seem to come out. He resorts to nodding and you smile, taking his hand in yours and walking up to your apartment.
~*~
Three hours in and you’ve been binging shitty movies together, laughing at the bad plot and horribly written characters. When you first saw Sanzu at the party, he was outgoing and the life of the room honestly. Maybe your opinion is a bit biased because you were focused on nothing but him, but he had this energy that attracted you to him. Now, in front of you, he’s nothing like he was a few hours ago, he seems shy and reserved, keeping to himself but he’s still funny and cracks a few jokes that make you cackle every now and then.
“Wait you got a little, i’ll get it for you,” you say, cupping his chin and turning his face to you. He watches you with wide eyes as your thumb comes up to his lip and wipes some tomato sauce off. you make continuous eye contact with him as you bring your thumb to your mouth and lick the sauce off the tip. Then, you almost give the guy a heart attack when you go back in with your wet thumb and wipe the remnants of the sauce on the corner of his mouth.
His pizza flops in his hand and something else rises in his pants as you pull back, sitting reasonably closer than you did before, resting your head on his shoulder, continuing to watch the movie. It’s hard for him to even focus on the TV with you sitting this close to him right now. He can smell your shampoo, your perfume, can feel your body heat warming him up and he’s actually going to pass out if you continue clinging to his arm like that. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat a little, hoping his boner goes down and praying you don’t see it.
Just to be on the safe side, he nonchalantly grabs a couch cushion and places it on his lap, claiming he's cold. You don’t buy it one bit but only smirk at the hidden implications. You let out a fake yawn and shift even closer to him, bringing your feet onto the couch, shifting into a lying position.
You look up at Sanzu and smile slightly. “Is this okay with you?” you ask, batting your eyes at him.
“Y-yea. It's fine. cool.” He swallows thickly and turns to look back at the TV.
The cushion gets in the way and you click your tongue, sitting upright and almost bashing him in the jaw with your head. You toss the cushion away and Sanzu's about to protest before you lay back down, your head only inches away from his crotch. His erection was going down slowly but now it might as well sprung back up.
“Oh wait a second,” you said, sitting upright and Sanzu almost panicked when you pointed down at his crotch. “You okay?”
“I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it's fine,” you laugh. “These things are uncontrollable, I know.” Sanzu sighs in relief. “Do you need any help?” you ask and he blinks at you.
“What?”
“Nevermind,” you clear your throat. “That was a dumb question.”
“No wait!” he says abruptly, making you jump. “I mean, yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“Really?” you perk up a little.
“Yeah I guess.”
You move to sit next to him, your head only inches away from his. “This is gonna sound a bit creepy but,” your eyes drop to his lips, “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” you say absentmindedly, distracted as you ran your finger over his scars. “Thought you were so pretty.”
“Pretty…?”
“Yeah, you’re really pretty Sanzu.”
He bites his lip, fighting the urge to look away from your intense eyes in the dark. You’re leaning in closer and his eyes close and then he feels your lips pressing against his. It starts off with short pecks that linger a little too long before you're actively moving your lips against his. Your hand cups his face and you pull him closer, sucking on his lips and entering your tongue into his mouth. He moans softly when your fingers find their way to his hair, scratching gently at his scalp.
You pull away and plaster kisses to his neck, gently pushing him down onto the couch, your body basically straddling him as you kiss down his throat.
His body feels hot and he can't focus anywhere but your lips going down his body. Your fingers grab the seam of his shirt and your lips tickle against his skin as you mutter, “Take this off.”
He obediently does as he’s told and lifts his arms up as you help him remove the shirt. You toss it on the other couch and sit upright to examine his chest. His abs were faint but visibly and you bit your lip, running your finger along his chest.
He stares up at you as you look distracted at the sight of his bare chest. You make eye contact and smirk a little before lifting your shirt up and over your head. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in your bra. You go back down and kiss down his stomach, fingers moving to unzip his jeans and pull them down.
“Wait wait wait!” You freeze and look up at the boy in front of you, tilting your head in confusion. He swallows thickly. “I haven't…done this before.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”
“Shocking, I know.”
“Oh. It really is. I thought girls would be all over a guy like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I said before, you’re really pretty Sanzu.” He instantly looks away and you laugh. “You’re shyer than I expected Sanzu. At the party you were really loud and stuff, I didn't expect this. It’s cute.”
“I’m not shy.”
“You said less than 100 words to me tonight and we’ve been hanging out for almost four hours.”
“...”
You laugh and sit upright, leaning back in to kiss him. “Do you still want me to…” Your fingers trail down his body, rubbing the outline of his cock in his briefs.
“If you want to.”
“I obviously do, that's why I'm asking you.”
“Sure then.”
You give him one last kiss before settling back between his lips. His cock has never felt more sensitive than in this moment when your fingers wrap around his cock, pulling it free from his boxers. It stands tall against your face and you lick the tip, not ceasing eye contact. He feels obligated to watch you suck his cock and desperately wants to look away because he knows he will bust in less than ten seconds if you keep staring at him like that.
You take him in your mouth and he moans so loudly, the sound soft and heavenly. You smile around him and begin to suction your cheeks as you take him lower. Your tongue swirled around his shaft every time you bobbed. He was throbbing inside you, your heavy eye contact and warm mouth making him grow harder.
He finally broke the eye contact to throw his head back, a long groan of “fuccccckkkkkkk,” leaving his mouth as he placed his hand on your head, bobbing you up and down. You moaned when his hips bucked up into you.
You pull off his cock and jerk him off, his words dying in his throat when he feels your tongue lick his balls, sucking gently on them.
He sits up and holds the back of your head, his fingers digging into your scalp as he pants heavily. Your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on pleasuring him, putting your mouth back onto his cock and taking him deeper than you did before, your fingers gently massaging his balls.
“I’m gonna—fuck, i’m coming,” he groans and without warning holds the back of your head, pressing you down and came inside your throat.
Honestly you were shocked he lasted this long. Your body felt so warm and hot hearing his pretty moans, and the sight of him with his mouth open, head thrown back was something you’d never forget. His grip on your head ceased and you pulled off his cock, eyes teary and watery and mouth full of cum.
“Oh shit,” he mutters, watching you take a minute before swallowing. His dick twitches again. Without thinking, his thumb comes up to the corner of your lip and wipes a stray drop of cum. Before he can remove his thumb, your head turns and you suck the tip of it. “You’re actually trying to kill me, aren’t you,” he groans and you giggle around his thumb.
“Are you a virgin too if you’d never gotten head before?”
He nods shamefully and you can’t help but kiss him again. “Want me to take it?” you ask, forehead resting against his.
He blinks at you before not-so-subtly dropping his eyes down to your cleavage. “yeah.”
You grin and push him back down onto his back, slipping off the couch. He watches you strip down naked, your bra and panties are tossed to the opposite couch. Thanks to the help of the tv, your body is still a shadow but the outline of your body makes him instantly hard again. You climb back on top of him.
His hands migrate to your hips, and with absolutely zero confidence with what he’s doing, his hand slides towards your clit and you gasp when his thumb snakes its way to your folds. “You’re really wet.”
You squirm, slightly embarrassed but bite your lip, amusement in your voice as you say, “Yeah…that’s supposed to happen.”
“I know that,” he grumbles, still rubbing your clit in circles, wetting his fingers with your arousal. “I’m not an idiot.”
He pulls his hand away and you grab his wrist, guiding his finger into his mouth, watching him suck your juices off his fingers. “God that’s hot,” you pull his fingers out and lean back down to kiss him.
“I'm going to get condoms,” you say against his lips before pulling away. He nods and watches you head down the hallway when his phone buzzes.
rindou: we found osanai so we’re heading back right now
sanzu: hell no just go home
rindou: ???? walk home then tf
sanzu: don't think that's an issue honestly think i might be sleeping over if you know what i mean ;)
rindou: what? you’re getting laid? YEAH RIGHT
sanzu: IM NOT LYING
rindou: i never once ever in my entire life found you funny but you’re telling some good jokes right now
sanzu: 1) im always funny, 2) im serious. i would send you proof but then you’d see my dick and thats gross
rindou: would rather bleach my eyeballs honestly. you could barely look this girl in the eye and you really expect me to believe you’re fucking her?
“I’m back!” you call out making sanzu jump. “What’re you doing on your phone?” you ask, snatching it from his hands and reading the messages.
It’s a miracle it’s dark right now because Sanzu doesn’t know what he’ll do if you saw him blushing from embarrassment right now.
“He’s fucking rude. Why doesn’t he believe you?” you huff, handing him his phone back before your face lights up. “Wanna show him?”
“Show him what…” He hopes you’re not heading in the direction you’re so obviously going.
“You know what I mean, c’mere.” You sit back against the couch and pull up the camera app on his phone. You hold the phone out in front of you, “Stick your tongue out.”
He does so and you stick yours out also, just barely grazing his as you snap a bunch of pictures. You take a couple more in different poses, putting your lips in a kissy face and kissing his cheek, his lips and resting your forehead against his as you smile at the camera.
You sit upright and scroll through the photos, smiling at each of them. “Send these to me after yeah.” You toss the phone behind you and rip open the condom. You reach behind you and slip it easily down his shaft before aligning it with your pussy. “Ready?”
“Yeah…” The tip nudges your clit before slipping inside, warm heat instantly engulfing the tip of his cock and his mouth falls open, panting breathily as you continue sinking downwards, watching the pleasured look on your face as your pussy squelches trying to accommodate his entire length.
“Oh fuck,” you whimper, fixing your hands onto his chest for support. You bounce experimentally, ripping another moan from your throat it sinks you a little lower.
“Shit, shit—wait,” He digs his nails into the fat of your ass cushioned against his thighs.
“Sanzu,” you moan, collapsing down onto his chest, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He can hear your breathy pants beside his ear, sending shivers down his spine.
“You feel so fucking good,” He huffs against your ear and you sit upright, pushing your arms behind you to his knees and start swiveling your hips in circles that turn to full on bouncing on his cock.
His eyes are focused on your tits that swing in motion with your movements and he can’t help but lift you up and down on his cock. “Fuck,” He gropes and squeezes your cheeks as you whimper, clenching around his cock with every bounce.
“Touch me please,” you whimper, looking down at him, grabbing one of his hands and bringing them up to your tits. He squeezes it and runs his thumb along your nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through your body, giving you more motivation to continue bouncing.
“Wait, slow down— oh fuck.” His body was tense, and you were sure he was leaving fingernail shaped dent marks on your hip with how tight his grip was. His cock felt so good, having a slight tilt to it that hit that spot no other guy had been able to reach. You couldn’t stop bouncing, his words falling on deaf ears.
“Wait wait wait stop,” he gasped, his grip getting tighter, bringing you to a stop. Wasting no time, you lean back down and begin kissing along his jaw as he catches his breath, impatiently wiggling your hips just to feel something. “I just came,” he admitted.
You froze and shot up, looking down at him. “For real?” he nodded, wiping a shameful hand over his face. “That's so cute,” you giggle and kiss him.
You lifted yourself up and off his cock and laid down on top of him. “Did you like it?” you ask, tracing your finger along his chest.
“Yeah, it felt so good.”
“Yay,” you smiled bashfully.
“You didn’t finish though.”
“Eh it's not a big deal. I wanted to make you feel good.”
“Still though…” he mutters, pouting at the fact he didn’t make you feel as good as he felt.
His phone buzzed and he sat upright to grab it.
rindou: having fun loverboy??? u busy humping her pillow to text me back? asshole
Sanzu scoffs and you lean your head against his shoulder and read the messages. “Send him the photos.”
He turns to look at you, your lips almost brushing against his in the process. “You sure? You’re kinda naked in them.”
“I don't really care. It’s just a boob. You can crop it out if you’re that worried.”
“Okay…” He crops your chest out of the photo and stares down at the photos once more. He's never deleting these. He sends three different photos to Rindou, not even bothering to caption them and turns his phone off, waiting for his response.
“Oh wait! Gimme your phone!” You hold your hand out as he hands it to you.
“What’re you doing?”
“Adding my number,” you hum and add your number to his contacts, adding a heart after his name. You’re never usually this forward, but you knew you wanted Sanzu from the moment you saw him, and you weren’t going to let him slip away. “Call me when you get home. okay?” Your forehead brushes against his and your eyes dart down to his lips, fighting the urge to kiss them.
“Okay.”
You give into temptation and kiss him slowly. Your thumbs traced along his jawline as you hum, almost lazily enticing your tongue with his. His hands ran teasingly along your body, cupping your ass and pulling you back on top of him.
The doorbell rang and you sat upright, cursing under your breath. “I’ll get it.” You press one more kiss to his lips and slip off the couch to re-dress. Your shirt was backwards and your pants were inside out, but you didn’t care as you answered the door with a cheery, “yes?”
Kakucho rubbed his forehead with a world heavy sigh and you instantly felt all colour drain from your face. He was with Rindou and probably saw the photos. “How can I help you Kaku?”
“Just…just tell Sanzu to come on, let’s go.”
Sanzu appears behind you,redressed, and gives you a hug goodbye, his arms lingering around your form for much longer than Kakucho considered friendly. You pull away and whisper in his ear for him to call you when he gets home. He nods and you plant another kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Sanzu is about to deepen the kiss before Kakucho grabs him by the back of his shirt and tugs him out of your apartment.
#sanzu x reader#sanzu haruchiyo x reader#tokyorev x reader#tokrev x reader#tokrev#sanzu smut#tokyorev smut
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Warning people in the Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss fandom of the shameless art thief @horrorlover1 (funnily enough they tried changing their URL because they got called out, I assume they don't realize that old URL @'s still take people to your updated URL 🙄) - They've been reposting people's art with the excuse of "Oh, well, I don't know where they came from, I just find them on Google UwU Credit to the artist tho lol" and when told directly where somebody's art came from, their response was to delete the replies, block the person, restrict replies on ALL their posts, and btw, STILL did not actually credit the OG artist.
So, safe to say, it's abundantly clear that this human trashpile doesn't actually give a shit about the original artists of these works. I'll be tagging all the OG artists I can find and link to the stolen posts so that y'all can report this person (I will also @ some of the well-known fandom artists who might not've been hit yet so that they know to block this person and report them if they are able. Also, I don't have Twitter, so if somebody could let the Twitter-exclusive users know of this to also report this person, that would be dope. (Maybe post in the replies if you're going to do that though, so that people can see if it's already been done and the artists don't get spammed about it.))
This art belongs to @marukmpos (Twitter link)
This art belongs to @bluestripedrenulian (dA link)
This art belongs to rinna_hel
This art belongs to Tunyeta
This art belongs to @mellemoondraws (Twitter link)
This art and this art belongs to @gensubart (dA link)
This art belongs to thatboni and @notherpuppet (Twitter link)
This art belongs to TheOGFazFilms
This art belongs to Cessy_Janea
This art belongs to cocodar
This art belongs to Sooelliee and Alkar_tar_art (whose profile SPECIFICALLY says not to repost their art btw)
This art belongs to Thea Yildirim
This art belongs to @pleasantlypony (Twitter link)
This art belongs to Serped3ra
This art belongs to @frenchiefie / @frenchiefieart (Twitter link)
This art belongs to ArtyDemon
This art belongs to SuamyArt
This art belongs to @sadelionne (Twitter link)
And some Hazbin/Helluva artists I'm tagging mostly just warning to block this person so their art also doesn't get stolen/reposted: @kandavers @smilezandmics @greykolla-art @triona-tribblescore @alymccart @noramiamere @adyophene @diabloku @applepartysins @captainsaltypear @scruplepossum (Again, I'm not in the fandom, so I don't really know who all should be tagged and I don't want to make this post crazily long, but yeah, I guess if anybody else in the fandom knows of who might wanna be given a heads up, they'd know better than me lol)
I'm not in the HH/HB fandoms, I was just shootin' the shit with a friend yesterday (the one who initially commented about crediting artists on their posts) and they mentioned this situation to me, and since art thieves like this are massive fucking shitbags that just wanna get clout off of other people's work, figured I should at least credit some ACTUAL artists. Even as an outsider I know that stealing/reposting is a MASSIVE problem in that fandom, and the art fans have got to stop letting people get away with it. Don't like/reblog from assholes like this, support the ACTUAL artists, dude. Stop letting these leeches get away with stealing from legitimate content creators.
If anybody recognizes any of the other stolen art that I might not've found the OG artists for, please let them know so that they can also report their stolen artworks.
Moral of the story: It's not that fucking hard to find the original artists of things online. Don't be a shitty art thief like @horrorlover1 and at LEAST give PROPER credit if you're going to repost something. :/
Edit: Just editing to add that I find it kinda funny how they claim I made this post to try and boost myself when I said multiple times that I'm not even in the Hazbin/Helluva fandom, lmfao. Like, who tf you think I'm boosting myself to??? I don't even make content for this fandom. Also they changed their url to @thecatgirl-luvmyrocky but the original @ link still works, too.
Editing to add their apology, but I am still keeping the post up so that people can decide for themselves if they want to block or not.
Stop reposting things with no credit, and if any artists reach out to you about taking down their posts or anything like that, then listen to them. Artists deserve respect, they deserved to be RECOGNIZED for their hard work, and not giving credit is a HUGE slap in the face to them. Do better.
#Hazbin Hotel#Helluva Boss#Vivziepop#Anyways new AMV coming out today or tomorrow#Another random spur-of-the-moment one because my ADHD brain is a menace to society
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title: Y/N and her boys [sneak peek]
pairing : Upper classman/popular kid!Gojo Satoru x F!reader, Exchange student!Eren Jaeger x F!reader, MMA Fighter/Celebrity!Ryomen Sukuna x F!reader, Childhood Bestfriend!Aki Hayakawa x F!reader, Varsity football player!Itoshi Rin x F!reader (use of she/her pronouns)
Genre: Alternate Universe-University setting, romance, fluff, angst (if you squint), slice of life, drama, all cliche romance genres unite! (Based on the Manhwa, Bunny and her Boys)
Summary: Y/N’s denied the existence of pretty boys and god forbid she’d ever end up dating one yet with one horrid break-up, she decides that relationships aren’t just meant for someone stupid like her but the problem is — five of them suddenly appear and god, why does it seem like they can’t get enough of her?
General warning for the story: mild sexual content, cliche tropes (help), mahito is his own warning, minor character death, mentions of depression, a lot of second-hand embarrassment from y/n's part (shes not a cool girl, SHE IS A BUBBLING MESS AND THATS OK <33), insecurities, bullying, and mentions of cheating
Notes: english isn't my first language! (dont judge me) this multi-chaptered story will probably be 20-30 chapters (idk) in ao3. you can totally tell this story is rooted from self-indulgence LMFAO. Im not sure if i should cross post it but im leaning towards ao3 more either ways, can't wait to release this on friday!
also can u guess who she ends up with :P rb’s are appreciated yay FULL VERSION IS RIGHT HERE!
SNEAK PEAK
“Maybe…Maybe we should break up.”
There's another round of silence between you two, and you know that you can’t exactly take it back anymore since you had said it loud and clear, “Woah, woah, I told you I wasn’t with Misa.” his voice turns louder, and the background noises are good as gone as if he had left the noisy place, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you-”
“I said,” you try to control the stammering of your voice, trying to avoid the stares of the people who cast odd glances, “We’re done. I don’t want to see or hear from you again.” and before he could let another excuse out of his mouth, you end the call. It is only now that you notice how your legs have been quivering and your mouth has gone dry, seemingly like a pup who had just been born and trying to walk. You lose your footing and sit down on the dirty pavement.
No tears were shed at that very moment, probably because you were only stupefied, and it was written clearly on your face that this wouldn’t be something you’d recover anytime soon. Heck, you couldn’t even grasp the idea entirely that someone you’ve been friends with for years and, eventually, a lover would do that to you.
Was it as easy as a snap of a finger?
“Miss? Miss?” someone calls out, but it only bounces back to him like an echo in a cave. You remain still, eyes blinking rapidly while the rest of your face is slack. Everyone around you continued to move, but you remained there like a decorated statue.
“Miss? Christ, you’re about to be–” the husky voice also stops, and it’s only now that you look up to find a man. He seems stocky but, simultaneously, smaller, as if he didn’t want to come off as intimidating when he maintained eye-to-eye contact.
He is incongruous with everyone who walks by since he desperately tries to hide his features with a baseball cap and a dark face mark. The only thing you can see are strands of his bleached hair, his eyes that resemble the sunshine that peeked through the glasses of whiskey, and the swirls of ink becoming visible underneath his coat when he stretches out his arm.
If this were any other day, you’d run in the opposite direction because he looked like an unscrupulous loan shark, but your body remains in a state of unknown fatigue that you just wanted to stay still.
You watch as his face softens, the lines on his forehead somewhat disappearing when he watches the color bleed from your face. “...Alright…” he stops, squinting as he crouches to your level. His thick thighs encompass the rough expanse of his straight jeans, and you wondered if he had been an athlete or something. Aside from his built, his presence was rather invigorating, “oh…” he continues, “Sorry, you-uh…” The confidence he had to throw you off is gone like the evening dust as he motions his index finger up and down his face.
At that moment, you feel something wet running down your cheek. It seemed like the waterworks were late.
You didn’t want to be a pity party in front of anyone, and you’d expect there to be only bystanders, not ‘good samaritans’.
You sniffled, violently wiping the tears away as you felt your ribs were too tight when you took one long breath, “I’m fine…” you respond monotonously.
Who were you even fooling?
“Right…” you carefully watch him take out a handkerchief, “Fine, sitting on a dirty pavement near my car doesn’t make you look fine, Miss.” he prodded.
“Well, what do you care, anyways?” you tried to keep your voice from cracking, but the stranger showed no qualms of anxiety or fear, nor did he seem mad at your snappy attitude. The blue handkerchief is laid on his palm, waiting for you to take it, yet you exhibit no signs of accepting his kindness. Instead of forcing you through like the usual status quo, he returns it to his pockets.
The odd man.
“Well, for one, I don’t want to run your feet over since I’m parked over here,” he thumbs towards the black jeep that’s parked in front of you, “And my mom didn’t raise me to leave a girl sitting alone, crying her eyes out…”
“Well, did your mom tell you to mind your own business, as well?” your body remains heavy and distant from the stranger, not minding if it came off as rude, but you’ve always been wary of them, especially the ones who claimed to be nice. You wouldn’t be swayed even if you were in a vulnerable place.
He sucks in a deep breath, quite surprised that you had the energy to exchange a vehement response to him. Weren’t you just about to bawl your eyes out?
“Well, you honestly looked like you deserve some niceness after whatever happened.” he conceded, remaining suspiciously friendly, “Piece of advice, though, if it’s a guy, he’s not worth it.”
“I-what makes you think it’s a guy?” there it goes again, the unknown tightening of your throat and the way the gummy lids on your eyes would heat up as if a pipe of water was about to burst and flood the segways any moment.
“It’s always an asshole who doesn’t seem to know how to treat a woman right.” he lamely explains, and slowly but hesitantly, as if he was waiting for you to move away, he places one hand on top of your hand.
Unlike a while ago, you weren’t as hostile, but you were confused about why the stranger suddenly did this and didn’t seem to tilt away like you usually would, “So go home tonight, Miss. Cry it out and wake up tomorrow for yourself. You’ll be fine.”
You don’t even see his entire face, but the way he gently caresses your hair as if you were a long-time friend had your lips quivering, and without even realizing it, your torso bends forward. You bury your face in your arms, finding solace in your makeshift fetal position.
The stranger says nothing more; honestly, you didn’t even mind. His newfound presence is comforting.
#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#gojo x reader#sukuna x reader#aot x reader#eren x reader#blue lock x reader#rin itoshi x reader#csm imagines#aki hayakawa x reader#aot imagines#guess who the guy is lmfao#📝📝.y/n and her boys
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🪷 anon here
requesting a bsd Fukuzawa x fem!Reader married hcs🥹🥹
Sfw and Nsfw if it's fine with you🫶🫶
⟢ 𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ft. fukuzawa
・sypnosis. how did you get together with him? and what's life after marriage?
・notes. gasp emoji a bsd post from me?!?! also hihhihi bro!!! more than willing to make sfw/nsfw hcs!!! honestly it's lowkey hard for me to do sfw hcs by themselves LMFAO, anyways
・warnings. nsfw toward the end, nickname daddy/sir used, breeding kink
𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀, what he is like in marriage?
・oddly peaceful, honestly thinking about his title annd stuff he'd be busy and stuff, and wouldn't be all that available, to your (and my) surprise, he's always there when you need it the most. probably would try his best to keep you away from his job though, it doesn't sound all that pleasing. only few people probably know about you too, like ranpo and just maybee yosano, just maybe.
・this man treats you like absolute royalty, anything, and everything about you is his favorite, most of the time is willing to try out whatever you find interest in, doesn't really like pda btw, much prefers to keep most things romantic in private, just between both of you. would probably adopt a cat with you if you want, but if you don't, that's alright too, anything you're okay with, he is too, most of the time at least. likes to feed stray animals near your shared house honestly, love all of them and probably gives some names based off what breed they are.
・oh but if you do happen to also work at the agency, he won't show much affection, because pda is not really his thing, never has been, prefers those little moments between you and him only, to be only with you and him, why does he have to share lol. plus is scared if any enemies had realized you were his weakness, being his spouse and all, that wouldn't be good at all, so he prefers to keep your relationship on the low, for your sake.
・but he does give affectionate glances, every once in a while, after all you are still his, and he's yours. next question: does he mention anything about kids? no lmao, you probably have to ask about the topic if you want him to think about it, just think. but another reason he would bring it up, is if like some lost kid just happen to be there, right beside the overly crowded place, tear stained face, every now and then glancing to the left or right, and parents probably abandoned the poor child. and you both decide to take the kid in, for a bit, 'till she finds a home, or if he tries to ask at least once about kids, but don't depend on it, even if he's good with the kid, he doesn't really bring it up. but honestly, maybe you both could adopt the little girl instead of bringing her to the adoption center, honestly, it'd be months after taking her in, that was when you both thought when should we be putting her in for adoption, or will we? you've both grown fond of her, even so by giving her a name, that you both decided on, well might as well just become her parents, officially, right?
・overall topnotch cutie as a husband, #keepbeingbbg
𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀, what if he did want a kid tho haha thatd be crazy...... (yes he does)
・daddy kink, like his appearance and demeanor screams it. like he can be all vanilla and stuff, that's his usual stuff, but if you ask him to be rough, bro will go down on you. not into bdsm, he doesn't wanna hurt you at all, but if you want it.... okay....
・breeding kink, too i guess. he likes slow and sensual way more though, seeing you with his seed all up in there he just feels like ":D". that's it, but he just wants to kiss you gently, and praise your beautiful skin and everything, loves everything like that. only goes rough without your kind of request if he's been pretty stressed that though. that's where the breeding kink goes hard, like absolutey, call him sir or daddy and he'll give you as many kids as you want :)
・medium-ish sex drive though, becomes high if stressed, is what i'm thinking, probably pretty big too, girthy asf too probably. can go for ages, and ages, and ages, and ages. probably the time to lick all his cum out your hole, sometimes wants you to masturbate in front of him
・probably while he's fucking you, rough or vanilla he's gonna start asking about what the kid's name should be, also would whisper immaculate amount of praise, like almost too much, but it balances out with how good he treats your body, and the marks upon your neck and collarbone afterwards. honestly doesn't care that much for other stuff during sex, finds the moments between you both alone is more attractive than anything else. loves making you happy more than anything. praise galore btw did i mention that yet, also loves kissing you everywhere
・also likes it when you cockwarm him while he does work, and he whispers into your ear about how he's almost done, the pile of work says otherwise though. super affectionate while watching you lowkey squirm on his cock. probably caresses his hand over your belly bulge from time to time
・super vanilla, or absolute fucking rough, no in between, that's it have a good night
#bsd x y/n#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bsd imagines#bsd scenarios#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs#bsd fluff#bsd smut#bungo stray dogs x reader#fukuzawa x reader#yukichi fukuzawa x reader#fukuzawa smut#bsd fukuzawa
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Hi!
I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!
I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!
I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.
I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!
'Til it Hurts
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?
Word Count: 12.5k
Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...
A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.
It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.
God, you’d never have friends like that again.
Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.
They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.
Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.
Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.
At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.
A city now filled with killers.
“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”
The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.
Not good.
Shit. Karver, where did you go!?
Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.
If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.
You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.
But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.
Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.
This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.
“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”
Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.
So that was where you came in.
God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.
Mostly because of situations like this.
“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”
Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.
None of this was going to plan.
You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.
Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.
The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.
3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…
Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.
A man, then.
“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”
You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.
With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.
Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.
“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.
A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.
“You’ll never get it out of me-”
“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”
“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”
There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.
You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?
Have they seen murder?
But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.
You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.
“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.
Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.
Your mark has been met.
The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.
“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.
You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.
The Reaper.
Oh, what would they think of you now?
You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.
In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.
Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.
—
The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.
“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.
Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.
“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.
Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”
Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.
“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”
“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”
“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”
“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”
“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”
An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.
Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.
Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.
“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.
“Hm,” their command affirms.
Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.
Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–
“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”
The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.
Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.
“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.
Brows furrow.
Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.
“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.
“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.
Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.
An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.
Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”
“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.
“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.
Price grunts under his breath.
“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.
Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?
“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”
Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.
Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.
Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.
“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.
“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.
“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.
Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.
“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.
“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”
“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”
“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”
“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”
The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.
But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.
“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”
A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.
“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.
The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.
“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”
“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”
Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.
“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”
“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.
Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.
You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.
Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.
Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.
The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.
Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.
“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”
“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.
Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.
“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”
It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.
Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.
The room is more silent than Ghost is.
“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”
The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.
“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.
“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”
The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”
Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.
He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.
But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.
Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.
Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.
You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.
He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.
His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.
“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”
Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.
‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.
Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.
—
You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.
Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”
In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.
Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.
Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.
The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.
And Ghost.
Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.
But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.
Mutt was the worst of them.
Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?
The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.
You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.
What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?
Your ears twitch.
“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”
“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.
“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”
“Sir!”
After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.
Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.
Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.
You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.
Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.
Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.
—
It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.
Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.
There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.
Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.
But there were ups to this constant downward slope.
It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.
“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.
Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.
You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”
Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.
The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.
You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.
Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.
“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”
Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.
Your eyebrows furrow.
He was never mean to me.
There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…
You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.
Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.
No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.
You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.
A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.
Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!
“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”
By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.
“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”
But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.
You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.
“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.
You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.
A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.
If I had known…you frown.
Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.
“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”
The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.
Like blood lining the street.
You force yourself to run faster.
—
You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.
Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.
The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.
But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.
Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?
Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.
But you didn’t look away.
“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.
Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.
“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.
Your Captain scurries after.
“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.
At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.
But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.
You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.
The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.
The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.
‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.
And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.
You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?
“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”
Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.
“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”
You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.
“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.
Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.
“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.
“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”
“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.
‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’
Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?
Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.
“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.
“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.
‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’
You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.
The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.
And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.
—
When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.
Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.
I need new intel. Badly.
About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.
On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.
Your cheeks heat.
He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?
As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.
Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.
Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.
Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?
Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.
What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?
The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.
Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.
A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?
When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.
“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”
“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”
Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?
“Now that’s dark.”
“Never said it wasn’t.”
Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.
There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.
They had died a long time ago.
“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.
Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.
Stop that.
“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”
“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”
“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.
“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”
“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.
What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?
The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.
He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.
She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.
But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.
Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.
Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.
When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.
His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.
“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.
He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.
You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.
What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.
But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.
“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.
“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”
Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”
He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.
“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”
“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.
“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”
“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”
“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.
“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.
He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.
Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.
Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.
At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.
Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.
You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.
Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.
You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.
Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.
“Well, where are we–”
“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.
Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.
Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.
Boxed in.
Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.
One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.
You don’t bother watching him drop.
Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.
But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.
Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.
You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.
“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.
Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.
Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!
“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”
“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”
“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”
“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.
Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.
A wide grin is stuck on you.
Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.
Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…
“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”
He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.
Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.
A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?
“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.
Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.
Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.
“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”
Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.
Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.
Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.
How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.
All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.
“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.
“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?
His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.
There were few people worthy of that.
You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.
You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.
Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.
You’d never had sex before.
And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.
He sighs heavily and follows in silence.
—
When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.
They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.
You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.
You could forget about it. You should.
But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.
If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.
Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!
You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.
Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.
But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.
It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.
But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…
“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”
Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.
Why did they do this to you?
TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here
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(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost fanfiction#cod x you#cod mw22#cod smut#cod x reader#cod#mw2 fanfic#mw2 2022#mw2#mw2 x reader#call of duty mwii#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mw2#call of duty x you#ghost mw2#captain johnathan price#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#kate laswell#simon riley#ghost x you#ghost cod#cod fanfic#x reader smut#x fem!reader#x female reader
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tw - sa mention, noncon mention, dark content discussed briefly but not explicitly
hi okay sorry for the unfathomable amount of bullshit clogging the tags the past few days. i keep seeing it labelled as gilfhub drama which is pissing me off as i haven’t said anything at all, i’ve stayed quiet throughout unless you follow me and read my posts. while i haven’t outwardly inserted myself into the situation im the one being witch hunted ig, i’m making one last statement which sounds way too serious for this corny and unserious situation.
anyway, i'm mostly making this for my own benefit, because i would feel more at peace after posting this lmfao. first of all, I’m being called a pedophile which is a fucking insanely serious claim to make with no concrete evidence! i’ve never written underage characters. if you’ve mistaken my ddlg content as pedophillia i beg you to get your brain checked! your skull must be so thick it couldn’t be caved in with a baseball bat. other than that i mainly write about LEGAL age gaps due to my own age.
i’m being called a rapist and a paedophile and all sorts of shit. im a victim of sa, it’s happened both at the hands of someone i trusted and at the hands of those i didn’t know well. some of my writing is to cope with this, none of my fics have ever romanticised rape and made it seem like something flowery and cute and fun? i don’t know who pulled that out of their ass but my fics that involve this sort of content are usually about toxic codependent relationships, it’s quite literally about trauma bonding.
this moves me onto my next point - people say this content belongs on ao3 and ao3 only. i don’t know if you’re 11 and new to the internet, to re fandom in fact, as dead dove has been a consistent theme within re fics since forever. since i was a kid i saw fics like that and even as a fucking 10 year old i managed to scroll and mind my business. tumblr has always had dead dove, when it rebranded and the guidelines changed they messed up their tagging system. this means that even if you tag tw incest it’ll remove your fic from the TAGS not from tumblr itself but from the tags as a whole. however, if you tag tw noncon your fic will stay up, it’s glitchy and dumb and shouldn’t be seen as a reliable source on why dead dove isn’t allowed on tumblr. that’s never been the case ever.
people who write dead dove don’t have to be victims and they don’t have to be mentally ill, they are also normal people with jobs who pay taxes and have normal fucking lives. because it’s simply fiction. people who read/watch american psycho are not murderers or rapists. people who watch any form slasher horror are not murderers. people who enjoy resident fucking evil and like wesker don’t fucking believe in eugenics. i could go on and on and on and on about so many different examples in extremely popular franchises.
as aforementioned, tumblr’s tagging system fucking sucks, so to combat this i give a warning even AFTER i explicitly tag my fics correctly that says ‘tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.’ for some reason I didn’t specify remove from the TAGS not from TUMBLR because tumblr doesn’t care 😭 that was totally my mistake for not checking if that disclaimer made sense but i guess i hoped the following sentence (‘as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags’) made it clear that i was simply speaking about tags. not tumblr removing my content.
if you are genuinely adults on this app, you should know that on the internet sometimes you will see things you don’t like! because it’s the internet and everyone is on here with their own opinions and their own tastes. it is YOUR responsibility to cater to your own needs by blocking content you don’t enjoy. so what another dark content blog pops up? as soon as you see a content warning you don’t like, BLOCK THE AUTHOR? or ignore it! scrolling is very simple. it’s insanely easy to mind your fucking business.
i'm kind of tired of the endless harassment both in the tags and in my inbox! if you are genuinely doing this in the name of victims and in their best interest just know you’re harming other victims in the process 😭 i am not easily triggered but the shit in my inbox is really gross and i got called a racial slur like… is fictional content that’s easy to block so deep to the point where you have to stoop that low? everyone copes how they cope, it’s not wrong and it never will be, psychologists recommend dark content as an outlet, you can literally google this. therapy is not a fix, it can’t fix mental illness. sometimes it doesn’t help. in my case counselling made everything worse. the ‘get help, get therapy’ comment comes from a place of privilege, not all of us have the money, the support system it takes to get therapy. some of us have had experiences where therapists discriminate against us. in my case that has happened, im a woc in britain they don’t care about us not about our psychical or mental health LMFAO.
im sure im missing a lot of what i originally wanted to say here, but overall i honestly wanted to clear my name of the pedo allegations lmfao because i’ve never written anything like that about underage characters or readers. anyway if any of you have a brain you can block dark content creators in a few easy steps! sorry again for yapping in such a formless, inarticulate way but i'm kind of exhausted by all the stupidity 😭
overall, dark content creators shouldn’t be allocated a little hovel in the corner of the internet in which they should privately discuss matters. we’re allowed to post it freely because CONTENT WARNINGS EXIST. dead dove will always be a thing and always has been. just because i post my content doesn’t mean it’s open for harassment and death threats and rape threats or anything? you can be an adult and get on with your day! and if you really need an outlet go talk to friends with the same opinions as you! i see ooc leon fluff all the time everyday and i don’t give a shit, i move on because leon isn’t real.
i pride myself on characterisation and if you have so obsessively read my fics to point out and circle random words in red that don’t correlate like we’re in a fucking crime show, then you would know that half the time i actually flesh out his character, i hate posting smut alone. i simply like exploring topics that are dark both to cope with my own problems and because i think they’re interesting to write about. however, as soon as something is mildly dark and sexual you guys cry mischaracterisation. leon also isn’t lighting candles and throwing rose petals but I don’t fucking judge what people write because if I don’t like I don’t read!
i promise, posting screenshots of my fics untagged with no warning is more harmful as you’re showing it to people who didn’t ask to fucking see it. i promise that harassing me will do nothing for you, you’re literally just sending vile shit to a real person who has struggled with the things she writes about LMFAO sorry again for yapping. i genuinely want to move on and post my regular shit but this has consumed the entire leon tag and i feel like im partly responsible. if you did get through this thank you! it’s mainly just ramblings and not read over so excuse me once again
#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy imagine#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut#tw sa mention#tw discourse
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Hcs for Ellie dating someone with small boobs
N/A (Ignore if you want LMFAO): I think everyone is on board that Ellie is a boob girl, and I totally agree, but whenever I see a post about it, the writer never exactly clarifies what size they are giving the reader, but it is almost always obvious that it is targeted toward girls with a bigger chest. Some writers will even put something like ‘Ellie loves all sizes’ but will continue to only write details for bigger boobs. Which is totally fine. If big boobs are all you know how to write, then continue to do so. I still read them, and I enjoy doing so but sometimes it just feels a little invalidating..?
I would also like to say that this isn't targeted at anyone, and this isn't meant to hate or call anyone out this is just something I've noticed as someone with a smaller chest.
Anyway, this is for the girls whose boobs don’t exactly drop or fall when they take their bra off.
WC: 900+
CW: Talks of NSFW at the bottom (separated from the rest of my hcs), I guess thats it?, established relationship.
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Loves when you wear oversized shirts. Small boobs + oversized shirt = more room for Ellie's head to sneak her way into your shirt and listen to your heart beat. For the longest time, she would swear that this was the only way she could fall asleep but then summer came and it got too hot to do that anymore :(
Got right back to it though when the weather started cooling down
Ellie loves kissing the tops of your boobs when you wear a low cut shirt. If you don't wear low cut shirts often, she will give extra kisses in hopes that it will show how much she loves you and your body. If you wear them often, then you’ll be getting chest kisses just as much.
You often tap her nose and say "Boop,” so one day when your nipples were poking through your shirt, she tapped one of them and said “Boop.” You both stared at each other in confusion until you broke and started giggling. You did the same thing to her because her nipples were also poking through her shirt
Loves hugging you. Because both of your guys boobs are small, you guys can get really really close to each other during hugs. Like nose touching close, every limb of your body is touching her, and if your noses weren't in the way, your guys would be able to give each other butterfly kisses. (When you flutter your eyelashes against someone else, in this case, ellies eyelashes.)
Hugs every day, all day. She's so clingy, she needs to be touching you in some way or “she will die.” (her words)
If you’re feeling really insecure about the size of your boobs, Ellie will try her best to comfort you. Shes a bit awkward and will often bring up how she has small boobs too and doesnt feel bad about them and sometimes that just makes you feel worse but it's the thought that counts. :’)
If you’re the type to wear tiny tops because your chest allows you to do so, Ellie would just have total heart eyes. She thinks you're so perfect and loves taking you out because she knows you’ll get all dressed up for her.
Nsfw:
On the topic of tiny tops (if you wear them), Ellie likes them because of easy access. It's so easy to just drag the fabric down or up, and bam, your chest is right there on display for her.
The first time Ellie saw you without your top on, her pupils would just expand. She would kiss all over your boobs. Below, on top, right on, everywhere. She's so in love its embarrassing :')
On the rare occasion that you guys are away from each other, she’ll ask for a picture because “she needs to see them,” and you’ll make a joke something along the lines of ‘there's nothing to see’ and she will get so pouty because she's so needy, and you think this is an appropriate time to make jokes.
You're sitting on Ellie's lap and riding her strap, you guys are face to face. If Ellie's hands are bigger than your chest, then I would imagine she would have her hands on your upper back or your side, right next to where your boobs are, because she likes to watch how they bounce. Even if it's not a lot, she still gets mesmerized.
Ellie's phone background is a photo of you, holding the camera completely topless with Ellie behind you. Her head rests on your shoulder, and each of her hands is covering your boobs, acting like a bra.
If you don't wear bras: Before you and Ellie were dating and you guys were just friends, she would try so hard not to stare. She would try focus so so hard on something else, but it was so difficult for her to look away when your nipples were just right there. Later, when she got home, she would touch herself because she practically already knew what your boobs looked like, and Ellie has a very active imagination.
Loves playing with your nipples. Before, during, after sex loves playing with them and loves hearing the little reactions you give her
Pinches your nipples during sex and can get pretty rough with it too
After sex, when you two are just lying in bed, she will lay her head on your shoulder, put her palm over one of your boobs and just keep it there
Ellie loves sucking on your chest and your nipples. When it leaves a mark its just an added bonus.
She thinks its so hot when its just the two of you home alone and you're walking around in just a tank top proudly showing off the hickeys she gave you last night (and this morning)
#tiny writes#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams x you#tiny writes ellie williams#tiny writes tlou#tiny writes fluff#tiny writes smut#tiny writes ellie williams fluff#tiny writes ellie williams smut
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The Pillars and their Wolf Ranking
Warning: Alpha / Beta / Omega type shit. I… yeah. No m!preg or slick tho lmfao just a causal… post hmm
A/N: this is fully meant to be a crack head canon post. The idea came to me while I was delirious at 4am… honestly I should have taken it as a bad omen but here we are. Fun fact I used to strictly write A/B/O fics for a very different fandom LMFAO 🫣
I genuinely could not take this seriously the whole mother fucking time so PAH-LEASE don’t come for me for the cringe… or maybe you like this idk I don’t judge
Tomioka Giyu
Alpha
Against his will tbh, he was hoping to be a beta
He’s more withdrawn and “timid” for lack of better words
A particular someone was enraged when Giyu turned out to be an alpha and not him
His only plus is he doesn’t have to deal with omega heats… the idea makes him a bit uncomfortable
Kocho Shinobu
Beta
She’s relieved, though she wouldn’t have minded being an alpha
Had she gotten the title of omega nobody would have ever heard from her ever again
Mama ain’t raise no bitch… cause mama didn’t raise her but anyways… she’d sooner jump off a cliff head first into a rocky ravine  before letting some alpha mate her
She can go about her life as normal
Rengoku Kyojuro
Alpha
He’s not ashamed of it, he rather likes the role
He loves to take care of people, he can command without coming off like a douche bag and people are more than happy to oblige
Plus he wants a big family so being an alpha makes it easier for him I guess
Omegas in heat do have to stay away from him though… he can’t help it… the issue being they practically throw themselves at him
Uzui Tengen
Alpha with three mated wives looking for a fourth
You’re on something if you don’t think this man is an alpha in every sense
Alpha Tengen is horny so don’t be shocked that he already has like five kids with more on the way LMFAO
That being said, Hina, Makio and Suma are obviously omegas
He’s a charmer, so along side Rengoku, people like to go to him for help and such
Kanroji Mitsuri
Alpha female
You thought I was gonna say omega, didn’t you?
Naw my girl is too damn strong (albeit emotional) to be classed as omega
Hell she was pretty shocked by it, so was everyone else. She’s so emotional they for sure thought she’d be an omega. Then again her appetite…
Luckily though the man she had her eyes on happens to be an omega
Iguro Obanai
Omega who genuinely would have offed himself if Mitsuri didn’t turn out to be an alpha
I don’t care what anyone says I totally see this man being an omega and completely and utterly embarrassed because of it
His only saving grace was Mitsuri being an alpha and tbh he finds it so unbelievably hot
While he is an omega he definitely isn’t a shrimpy little bitch and can fully handle himself
When it comes to Mitsuri though he’ll absolutely let her baby the fuck out of him and call him cute
Shinazugawa Sanemi
Omega bitch boy LMFAO
Stfu rn cause baby girl is 100% an omega and I have proof… sorta
My proof being that Gyomei said Sanemi was shy in the little “what the pillars think of each other” thingy
He’s the one that’s enraged about Giyu being an alpha, not even Obanai is that mad lmfao
Tbh it was too cliche to say he’s an alpha and honestly he just doesn’t feel like one to me
Himejima Gyomei
Beta surprisingly
He’s a gentle soul so it makes more sense that he’s a beta and not an alpha
He’s a beta that people still look towards for advice and protection
Similar to Shinobu, he’s chill with this cause he can go about living his life and not having to worry about ruts or heat lmfao
He’s not an overly horny man so…
#kny#this is a crack post#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer imagines#demon slayer fanfic#demon slayer headcanons#hashira#xxsabitoxx’s work!#demon slayer fluff#uzui tengen#shinazugawa sanemi#kimetsu no yaiba smut#tomioka giyuu#iguro obanai#rengoku kyojuro#kny smut#kanroji mitsuri#kocho shinobu#gyomei himejima#kny drabble#kny crack
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if ur comfy doing like reader types id love to see any of the hazbin men with a metalhead!reader, im talkkng piercings, tattoos, ripped clothes, black makeup the whoke thing. but having reader be like under 5'6 but look TERRIFYING lmfao, i think a few of the men would be into that just not sure who
dearest anon, i was about to call it a quits tonight since i've written so much today... but then i got your ask and i HAD to write it! this is my first reader request, so i hope it pleases you! <3 thank you!
tags: alastor x reader, female reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, choking.
With a suitcase in hand, you looked up at the vast Hotel in front of you and sighed. So this was the place Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb had told you about. It was worth a shot, you thought. Charlie, already knowing about your arrival from Angel, met you at the door, excited.
“Oh, I’m so happy you’re here!” she squealed, pulling you into a hug. Hugs weren’t your thing; you awkwardly patted Charlie on the back until she released. Once she did, she looked you up and down and smiled. “You look totally badass, by the way! I love your piercings! And your tattoos!”
You shifted your weight foot to foot and smiled awkwardly. You always thought it was funny that the tattoos and piercings remained the same when you descended to Hell. You guessed your Bible thumping grandmother had been right.
Your throat constricted at the thought of your grandmother, because with thoughts of her came thoughts of your loving grandfather who had ascended to Heaven. This was why you were giving the Hotel a shot; for the chance of seeing your grandfather again.
“Thanks, Charlie,” you said with a small smile. Charlie squealed again and pulled you inside the Hotel. Angel was busy with Val, so he wasn’t there. She introduced you to Vaggie, Husk, and Nifty before showing you to your room. Once you were alone, you dropped your suitcase and let out a big sigh.
“Oh, by the way!” Charlie said through the closed door. “We’re going to have a dinner party for your arrival! Everything should be ready by five. See you then!”
You listened as Charlie walked away from the door then rubbed your eyes, smudging your already smudged eyeliner. You sat down on the edge of the bed and let out a long, slow breath. Dinner at five. You could do that. You could totally do that.
“Jesus fuck,” you said to yourself, putting your hands over your face. After composing yourself, you glanced over at the clock and saw it was 3:45 PM. You shrugged, deciding to start getting ready. You could use a shower, you thought.
You showered, brushed your teeth, and did your hair before walking back into the bedroom for your suitcase. You didn’t really know what was appropriate for a dinner party, so you settled on your favorite black mini dress, ripped tights, and black boots. You got dressed slowly, appreciating how the fabric felt on your skin. Once dressed, you went back to the bathroom and did your makeup. You decided on a black smokey eye with winged eyeliner. You rubbed some eyeliner on your waterline as well; you felt like it really brought out your eyes.
You were completely dressed and looked back over at the clock. 4:47 PM. You nodded to yourself, hyping yourself up, and exited your room.
You headed down the stairs and took a right to the dining room, which you found was surprisingly empty given the time, except for one demon man who sat at the table, drinking tea. He was dressed to the nines, smiling, and humming to himself with closed eyes. Sensing your presence, he opened his eyes and looked you up and down, just as Charlie did, but you didn’t feel nearly as comfortable - at first, that was; when he was done looking at you, you looked at him, and couldn’t help but think he was handsome in an old-timey kind of way.
“And what, my dear, are you?” he asked. You laughed despite yourself at the ‘what’ in his sentence. You supposed you two were polar opposites.
You told him your name. “Nice to meet you,” you added quickly, trying to remember the manners your grandfather taught you.
“The pleasure is mine,” the demon said, standing up. He walked over to you and held out his slender hand. He practically towered over you. “My name is Alastor.”
You shook his hand. “Alastor,” you repeated. His eyebrows raised, and yours furrowed. “What?” you asked.
“I like the way you say my name,” Alastor said.
“Oh,” was all you managed to say. Grandpa didn’t teach you how to respond to a remark like that. Alastor stepped to the side, holding his arm out.
“Shall we sit?” he asked. You nodded. He pulled a chair out for you, and despite his tea being on the other side of the table, he sat directly next to you. He crossed his legs and rested his head in his hand, looking at you again.
“So, um, where is Charlie?” you asked. Alastor’s smile widened.
“She’s always late,” Alastor replied. You nodded in response. Alastor continued, “How long have you been in Hell?”
“Does anyone know the answer to that question?” you laughed. “The days blend into each other down here.”
“Fair point, darling,” Alastor said. The way he called you darling made something twitch between your legs. Embarrassed, like Alastor knew what you just felt, you crossed your legs and cleared your throat. “Why have you come to this fine Hotel?”
“I want to get to Heaven,” you said slowly, unsure. Was that a trick question? It sounded like a trick question. Alastor only nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer.
“How tall are you without the boots?” Alastor asked. You laughed. What kind of question was that?
“Like five-three?” you guessed, still laughing. Alastor’s eyes twinkled at the sound of your laughter, making you blush.
“Little thing, you are,” he said, amused. “The boots, though I would personally never wear them, are nice.”
“Thanks,” you replied, giggling.
“Are the tights ripped on purpose?” he asked, tilting his head to the right. You were fully belly laughing now.
“Yes, they are,” you replied, wiping tears from your eyes. “Do you have any more questions for me, Alastor?”
“Will you go upstairs with me?” he asked bluntly, yet seductively. You stopped laughing, still smiling, and blushed.
“What about dinner?” you asked.
“Always late, the lot of them,” Alastor said, looking at his wrist.
“Then let’s go,” you replied, heat flooding your core. Alastor stood first, pulling your chair out for you. You stood and followed him out of the dining room. He led you up the stairs and to his suite.
“Did the piercings hurt?” he asked as he closed the door once you were in the room.
“Not terribly, why?” you asked with a raised eyebrow and a wicked smile.
“If you like pain, darling, just say the word. It is my pleasure to satisfy.”
You started taking off your boots and Alastor watched you. Flat foot on the ground, Alastor really towered over you now. He walked towards you and ran a finger down your cheek. You held onto his wrist and kissed the palm of his hand. His other hand trailed down your chest and cupped your breast. You weren’t wearing a bra; your nipples immediately hardened, and, to his pleasure, Alastor felt it.
“Naughty girl,” he purred, going in for a kiss. The kiss was deep and short, Alastor pulling back first. “You have a piercing on your tongue?” You nodded and he bit his lip. “Dangerous, dangerous girl.”
You placed your arms on his shoulder, wrapping your hands behind his neck, and went in for another kiss. Alastor swirled his tongue around your piercing. The two of you continued to kiss deeply. Alastor pulled your dress down slightly, exposing your breasts. You rubbed your hand along the groin of his pants, feeling him harden beneath you. You started kissing his neck as he rubbed your breasts and pinched your nipples. With the pinch, you rolled your head back, exposing your neck, which he greedily began kissing and sucking on.
Alastor started leading you to the bed. You kept walking backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, and you sat down. Alastor took off his jacket and shirt and looked down at you, smiling. You smiled back, and unbuttoned his pants for him. He took them and his boxers off, tossing them to the side. You raised your arms for him and he slid your dress off over your head, leaving you in your ripped tights. You crawled backwards until your back was against the head of the bed. You went to take off your tights when Alastor stopped you.
“What’s another tear?” he purred, and you spread your legs. Alastor’s fingers hooked underneath a tear on the inner thigh, and he ripped them completely off. You giggled as Alastor positioned himself over you, erection throbbing and searching for your wet cunt. You took his cock in your hand and guided it to your hole. Alastor groaned as he slid into you. You were shocked by his size at first, but within seconds you were craving more.
After a couple of minutes of missionary and mutual moaning, you grabbed the back of Alastor’s hair and pulled him closer to you. “I want you to choke me,” you demanded. Alastor was deep inside of you, pounding you. He nodded and you released his hair. Alastor placed his hands over the bottom of your throat and squeezed. You placed your hands on his wrists and nodded. He tightened his grip. “Harder,” you moaned. Alastor deepened his stroke and kept his hands around your neck. You were in ecstasy, and you rolled your eyes back in pleasure. Alastor squeezed tighter and you moaned.
Alastor released one hand from your neck and put his fingers on your clit. He circled the throbbing bundle of nerves and your back arched. With his other hand, Alastor grabbed your hair and pulled you closer to him. He pulled his cock out and focused on rubbing your clit. When you were on the edge, he stopped. He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them.
Alastor then repositioned the two of you so that you were on top. You slowly descended on his cock and began moving your hips back and forth. Alastor held on to your ass, slapping it once as you rode him. You started bouncing on his cock and came close to orgasming again, when Alastor repositioned once more so that you were below him, legs bent so that your feet were by your ears, and with his hands around your throat.
“You cum when I say so, darling,” Alastor said. You nodded as he put his cock back into your cunt, pounding deep into you. You closed your eyes, and Alastor squeezed tighter. You opened your eyes and he said, “Look at me.”
You nodded and kept eye contact as Alastor fucked you. His breathing became more erratic and you knew he was close, and so were you. You watched as antlers began to form on Alastor’s head - long, large antlers.
“Cum for me,” he breathed your name, “cum for me, darling.”
You did as he said, your body shaking with the orgasm. Alastor came as well, filling you up and practically roaring with pleasure. His eyes darkened as he fucked you through his orgasm, and you kept cumming.
“Fuck, Alastor,” you moaned loudly. “Fuck!”
Alastor kissed you ravenously. As the kiss became more gentle, so did his strokes, until he stopped and pulled out of you. Alastor laid down beside you, and the two of you breathed heavily. Once your breathing had calmed, Alastor rolled back over and kissed you.
“Next time,” Alastor said with a smile, “you’re leaving those boots on.”
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Okay guys, I'm back and.. I needed a short break after what happened in the MWIII campaign. Words can't express how shocked I was when I reached the end of the campaign and.. it left me in confusion, denial, depression and anger.
I'm putting a "read more" below because, if there are people who still haven't played MWIII, I'll keep ya guys safe.
Our theories before were constantly revolving that who's gonna die and what worse is going to happen.. it first pointed towards the fate of Price or Gaz. But, turns out we were jinxed. JINXED.
The campaign was.. okay but at the same time I felt it was small. Quite rushed. I did have a light of concern over their release date when MWII was currently trending. I was reading others reviews of how they felt about the game and yes, I agree with the same. But I wanna talk about Soap's fate this time..
Soap, who JUST started his journey, like, the one who only appeared in MWII and hoped we would see him more develop in the further games to be just.. killed off? When were they moments away from achieving victory?
So only because it's called MW3 ✌🏻 and you wanted to give us all a nostalgic experience you'll.. give them the original plot treatment? Both Soaps in the Modern Warfare universes.. died under the hands of Vladimir Makarov but in different circumstances.
This is where I got a bit angry at Price because, why didn't you kill Makarov instead of taking him in custody in Verdansk?! That guy is a walking grim reaper, and if Price took that action before, not just Soap but MANY more lives would have been saved. Soap was a man who was ready to take immediate action but always got backed off because of being bound to orders.
The end scene when they took out his ashes.. it broke me. Like, how unexpected this can be? Well, though I know Makarov already gave a warning that he was going to kill him off in the heli scene, but.. it's just not it? Like, honestly, I was hopeful Soap would survive.. it's disappointing for me, as someone who loves him so much, like anything.
So ScarSoap's now an angsty ship? Because let it be for both universes — OG and Reboot, Scarlet's going to be left behind? Welp, I'm more sad now, lol.
Otherwise, the expectations I had for the campaign were somehow, not met to the fullest but let's talk about the good things.
Price killing off Shepherd. YES, THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. I freaking knew that he was going to die and my prediction called itself right. But, now that Price killed a 4-star General, he's gonna go rogue. You mean, batshit, crazy and unhinged Price on the move?!
Julian Kostov. The man. Bro, like, when he was featured in the reveal trailer, I was just hoping that he'd play the role of Makarov well and guess what? He did! I absolutely loved how he portrayed the man and he looked intimidating and twisted like a true psychopath. Truly, he could compete with the OG!Makarov and it's proven! Hats off to the actor, really <3
Price DOESN'T die. Neither in my beliefs, Farah and Alex. A relief. A pure relief, for real. The trailers showed him passing out but glad he's good in one piece. But, did that happen for the cost of killing Soap? :')
Graves and Shepherd betray each other in the conference, LMFAO! Who knew they were going to turn their backs on each other. Graves really had nothing to do with this, he was just a man following orders.. the problem lies with Shepherd, and always has.
Now, these guys said we're gonna release the "full campaign" on November 10. You mean.. the early access didn't show much of the story? So there's hope? OR NOT? Sigh, I don't want to think about it.. I just don't. I've been delulu, haha
Anyways, these are my thoughts for Modern Warfare III! What do you feel about it, let me know in the comments!
#mw3 spoilers#cod#call of duty#cod mw#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw23#call of duty modern warfare 2023#call of duty modern warfare iii#call of duty modern warfare 3
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DAY 11: Wind Me Down — degradation w/sub!spencer reid
KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist
summary: You've been feeling stressed out at work as you and your team battle tirelessly to solve a case. When you get back to your hotel room after a long day on the job, you turn to Spencer to help you unwind.
pairing: sub!s2!spencer reid x dom!fem!reader
warnings/mentions: vaginal sex, unprotected piv sex (y'all know what i'm going to say.), praise, degradation (obv), use of my love before smut and miss during, reader calls spencer "baby," "honey," and "angel," hair pulling, choking
wc: 1.6k
a/n: SORRY this was so cut off, i literally am falling asleep as i'm writing this LMFAO but i hope y'all enjoy my half-awake writing anyways <3
tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1
You were walking into the hotel room that you and Spencer were sharing for your ongoing case, shutting the door annoyedly behind you.
You and the team had been on a case in New York for the last two weeks now, and it was safe to say that you were already sick of it. Sick of the lack of progress, sick of the officers you were working with, sick of the pressure that was coming down on you and your team. Sick of it all.
It was 2 A.M., and you had just gotten back to the room after a date with the case, being the last one to leave. You tried to open the door as to not wake your boyfriend, who you assumed to be asleep, shutting it with little noise.
But it didn't matter, because a face met yours the second you walked into the room.
Spencer was sitting on one of the beds in the room, a book in his lap. His glasses sat on his face flawlessly as he looked up at you with a smile. "Hey, you," he said.
"Hey," you said in a bit of a confused tone, looking him up and down. You set your work bag down and crossed your arms as you asked, "What are you still doing up?"
"I can't sleep without you," he told you with a shrug, like the phrase was common knowledge. "So I just chose to read until you got back."
You smiled at him and shook your head, walking over to him. "And how many books did you get through?" you asked.
"Two. And a half, I guess, if you count this one," Spencer smiled, holding the book up for you to see. Spencer then moved it away from him, opening his arms up for you. "Come here. You look tired."
You quickly fell into his arms as he pulled you into his lap, your legs on either side of him. Spencer ran his fingers through your hair with one hand, rubbing your back with the other.
"You need to stop working so hard, my love. You're going to burn yourself out," Spencer said in a bit of a worried voice. You sighed, burying your face into his shoulder.
"I know, it's just—" you began. But Spencer cut you off.
"You want to solve this case. I know. I do, too," he said, taking the words out of your mouth. "But you need to think about yourself, too. Just—Promise me you'll take a break at some point."
You nodded. As much as you didn't like to admit it, he wasn't wrong.
"I will. I promise," you said.
Spencer pulled back to smile at you, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. "Good," he grinned as he went on with rubbing your back. "Do you want to rest now? Or do you want to stay up for a bit?"
"Actually..." you said, trailing off with a smile across your face. Your hands went down to the hem of Spencer's joggers, tugging them before you even had time to think it through. "I had a little something in mind."
Spencer's face went pink immediately as he took note of what you were getting at, and he looked up at you. "O- Oh, really? And what would that be?" he asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be.
"You know how stressed I've been," you said lowly, beginning to press a few kisses to Spencer's neck, causing him to whine out above you. "I was thinking you could help me with that. Relieve me a little, you know?"
"Y- Yeah, I know," the genius stuttered out, pulling you closer to his body by your hips. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do."
"There's my good boy," you cooed with a smirk across your face. You didn't hold back from leaning in, crashing your lips onto Spencer's. His answer came in the form of his tongue, which quickly moved into your mouth.
You didn't waste time, pulling the white tee Spencer was wearing up and over his head. You ran your hands over his chest before attaching your lips to his again, moaning at the way his tongue felt as it moved with yours.
Sometimes, it was better to take things slow. Others, going fast just made it better.
And this was one of those times.
Spencer helped you to unbutton your work slacks, then pulled his joggers, and boxers, down and out of the way. The view you were met with was one of his long cock, that seemed to already be aching for you.
You smirked down at him, taking his dick into your hands as you shook your head. Spencer let out a small whine at the feeling, squirming a little under you.
"Already this hard, huh? It's been, what, five minutes?" you teased him, chuckling at the messy view of the man under you.
"I- I'm sorry," he said in a voice that was nearly begging you not to tease him about it. "You just have that effect on me, miss."
"Oh, believe me, I know, baby," you cooed, moving your hand up and down on him slowly. Spencer's eyes closed as you did. "I know how much of a slut you are for me. Aren't you?"
Spencer gave you a nod without looking back at you, holding back a groan as he said, "Y- Yes, miss, I am."
You moved up to your knees for a second to pull your slacks down fully before moving the tip of his dick to your cunt. You couldn't help but moan out at the feeling, your need being easily on display for Spencer as he saw how wet you already were.
"Y/N, what are you, fuck, what are you doing?" he asked in a confused voice, as several seconds had passed with him not yet being inside of you.
"Watch your language, honey," you said, pulling his hair a bit as a means of bringing him close to you. Spencer let out a small whimper, but didn't say another word. "I wanna hear you beg, baby, like the slut you are. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."
Spencer's whines only grew more broken at your mean tone, but he was quick to comply, squeezing your hips as he said, "Please, miss. Please let me inside of you. I- I've been so good."
"Oh, have you, angel?" you teased him a little more, moving your hand down to cup his chin. You dragged him even closer. "I'm going to need more than that."
All the while, the head of his cock was still on your cunt, and as you moved his dick around even more, Spencer let out an annoyed sigh. "I just—Please, miss. I want to feel you so bad. I- I've been craving you all day."
"And what else?" you asked.
"I want to be your toy. I- I know you like that," Spencer whined. "Please, just—Don't leave me like this. I can't handle it," he huffed.
Feeling bad for the poor boy, you kissed his cheek, before whispering, "You won't have to, my good boy. That's just what I wanted to hear."
You lowered yourself onto his cock, letting out a low mewl at the feeling. God, was he big. Spencer's hands were on your hips again as you rode him, the both of your moans filling the room.
"You like that, huh?" you asked. You moved your hand up to settle on Spencer's neck, squeezing down. Spencer's glasses fogged up with his need as you did so, nodding eagerly.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Please, harder," he whispered.
You obliged him, squeezing down harder on his neck; Not enough to harm him, but enough so that he would surely feel it. Spencer's face was all the approval you needed to keep going.
"Look at how needy you are. How much of a slut you're being," you degraded him in a rough tone of voice, shaking your head. If there was any place to get out the anger you had built up over the last two weeks, this was the one.
You grabbed Spencer's face to turn it towards a mirror that laid above the dresser in the room. The view was pornographic, you on top of Spencer as you rode him, his lips wide open as a series of moans fell from it. "You see that, baby?"
Spencer shyly gave you a nod, looking down. "Y- Yes, I see it, miss."
"Yeah? And what do you look like?" you asked.
"A- A whore, miss," Spencer admitted, his cheeks flaring up in a blush at his own words. He turned his head away to look at you, gazing up at you with needy eyes. "B- But I'm your whore, miss."
You pressed kisses to his neck, your look one of approval. "Fuck, yeah, you are," you moaned.
Your high danced dangerously close a short while later, and Spencer, picking up on this, lowered a hand down to rub your clit to help you along. You buried your face into his neck, leaving hickeys on him wherever you could.
"Fuck, baby," you moaned out. "That feels so good. Keep going, just like that," you were saying without even thinking about it, your brain far too clouded with desire.
The room smelled like sex as you both came at the same time, Spencer filling you with him cum like he'd done so many times before. You lay limp on his shoulder as you came down from your peak, eyes closed.
"God, I love you," you told him breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Spencer chuckled at your words, settling his hands onto your waist.
"I love you, too, Y/N."
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#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds smut#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fic#spencer reid imagine#kinktober#kinktober 2023
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Welcome to me watching the Paris special, this time with commentary! I watched the special and wrote down everything here as I watched it and forgot to post it cause I'm a dumbass. Also, this is long asf, in fact, it's so long that I had to make a Part 2.
Okay here goes!
Ah, the Gabriel version of the theme. This really took me by surprise. It's fire tho.
Straight into the action, I like it.
Max and Markov aren't different people in this?
That's some entrance from Shady and Claw, really ups the stakes. Makes you wonder why Nino tried to fight them with a nerf gun.
Ubiquity is so pretty.
I might be the only one who liked the Gabe scene we got.
Feeling some nostalgia for the candy cane cosplay ngl.
And we get a good scene with Adrien and Plagg. I liked the advice Plagg gave about how not all destruction is bad. Neat.
Some Alya and Marinette. Marinette is going through some tough times and is in need of support, and Tikki takes this opportunity to escape from her and steal macaroons. No hate tho, you do you Tikki.
Though she does react to the people of Paris cheering for Ladybug. That was sweet.
Alya turns into Ubiquity, and then we get... Betterfly.
Betterfly? Seriously? Coulda just gone with Hesperia.
"I'm not sure there's anything to hope for from Ladybug." My poor baby!
Love the look of absolute confusion on Alya's face.
Hesperia's confusion about his evil counterpart is really funny ngl.
SHADYBUG
"There, you can have your boyfriend back~" love the delivery on that line lmao.
But also, CLAW NOIR
Not her just stealing his belt immediately.
Marinette hates Adrien Agreste. This truly is the reverse world.
But also, I love Claw Noir pretending to be his own fan to impress Shadybug.
Claw Noir sure does love using that Cataclysm.
For someone who just woke up to see her friend gone and a hole in the wall, Alya collected herself pretty damn quick. I would be freaking the fuck out in her position. Just another reason she's the best.
RIP Alya's phone. Gabe really did a number on you.
Shadybug makes a butterfly tracker, proving that she ain't no Gabe.
Hesperia is befuddled by our world, Part 2.
It's always gotta be the Eiffel Tower, doesn't it.
Claw Noir's pulling a Chat Blanc?? Hello??
Hesperia (I'm not gonna call him Betterfly) is apparently a gentleman. It's almost disturbing after 5 seasons of Gabe being the worst piece of shit to grace our screens.
I guess no matter the universe and moral alignment, it's Gabriel's fate to get beaten up by teenagers.
Not Tikki loredumping about parallel universes right now lmao
Times like this remind me that Tikki is, for all intents and purposes, a god.
"You'd die before I could ever explain all this to you," is actually a pretty valid (and disturbingly hilarious) justification for not having bothered to bring any of this up before.
The Supreme is someone I'd like to learn more about. I've narrowed the suspects down to either Fu or Su-Han. Watch it be Lila instead if we ever get that info.
I feel like the info about the timers is something we should have gotten way, way earlier. Like, a few seasons ago.
Ladybug's triumphant entrance!
"Whatever, pest." Queen.
I love Claw Noir's staff.
Shadybug took no prisoners at all.
CHAT NOIR
Destruction vibes, and right after that incident too.
Claw Noir is unhinged.
Claw Noir just fucking cataclysmed himself??? Guess Adrien is always gonna be self-destructive in every universe huh?
Welp, looks like Chat Noir is officially re-traumatized.
I want y'all to remember that this boy went through the whole special with a cataclysm wound on his person and did not falter once. Mad respect.
Chat Noir got tossed. Chat Blanc call back number 2.
Obsessed with the way Bryce Papenbrook pronounces "cockroach."
Finally, a villain who actually gets rid of the Lucky Charm. Hawkie, take notes.
"Who the cat are you?"
So Shadybug can create whatever Lucky Charm she wants, huh?
Someone's been listening to the fandom.
Not the time freezing lmfao
I don't like that Gabe is turning Adrien into an angel, even if this is a good version. Anyway, Chat Blanc call back 3.
"Kitty catty" "Later loser!" I love her.
Of course, not all bugs can fly.
He moved out of the way.
I fucking love Claw Noir so much you guys, he's so funny.
Well, he tried. Shadybug's just better than him ig.
Hesperia stores his butterfly in his cane. So it's just our Gabe that tries to keep multiple butterflies, I guess.
I think they should kiss.
So they're doing this in hopes that The Supreme spares them? Interesting, and pretty sad.
They're so scared of the Akuma lmfao
If I was Alya, I'd have given myself away by now. Actually, I wouldn't have had the presence of mind to even hide.
Guess the counterparts are from some dystopian world ruled by The Supreme. It tracks with the look we got at it in the opening.
"In order to get something I wanted." We saw the Peacock Miraculous in the opening too, and also Emilie died. So I guess Adrien is a Sentimonster in the other reality too. Damn it.
I guess this Gabe realized his mistake instead of descending into madness like ours.
She just broke Marinette's box like it was nothing. So much for that.
Claw Noir lounges around playing with dolls and mocks Shadybug for being lazy while she does all the work and he lazes around. Have I mentioned yet that I love him?
Also I am glad they stayed true to Adrien's character and had him play with dolls.
The whole part about Chat Noir... be still my Ladynoir heart.
Love how they incorporated the webisodes into this. About time those had relevance.
Shadybug really "hates" Claw Noir.
Marinette's having doubts, my poor baby girl.
Shadybug and Claw Noir have power, but not their strength. That's a really good line.
She's reading the diary and crying... baby.
This is such a touching scene. I don't say that lightly, but it really is.
SHE FOUND THE WISH
Marinette really wrote down every single world ending secret in this one poorly protected diary huh.
She literally took him down in 2 seconds. Bruh.
IDENTITY REVEAL! THIS IS NOT A DRILL, I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL
Shadybug managed to achieve in 2 seconds what Marinette and Adrien have not achieved after 5 seasons of Love Square drama which I admittedly enjoy but that's not the point.
Those strange... marks? Cracks? Scars?
Blots off... I'm dying y'all.
Reverse Love Square? Hello??? HELLO???
She literally just beat his ass, tied him up and took his Miraculous and this is his reaction once he realizes who she is.
He's down so bad.
They should have played Careless Whisper here.
CUTIE PIE, MY SON
The Supreme is such a fucking asshole, he gagged the Kwamis.
Emonette wants our Marinette's life? She doesn't know the half of what she's getting into.
The Supreme got to the wish somehow? What the fuck?
"Reality is The Supreme." I don't know who this guy is, but he is DELULU.
This shot... masterfully done. My poor baby girl.
These kids are not okay. My poor sweet babies.
Daggers out. Seriously, stop it, you two.
He's trying to comfort her. They're just... I'm in pain. I'm so sad for them y'all.
Gabe in his prototype Monarch outfit.
Good thing (for him at least) he had the Ox, or else this would be his second cataclysm of the day.
Ladybug and Chat Noir are back in action, baby.
I'm sorry, I would not be able to say Betterfly unironically without bursting into laughter.
AFTER 5 SEASONS, WE FINALLY GET TO SEE CHAT NOIR'S NIGHT VISION AGAIN
Not that they needed it lmao
Alya coming in clutch with the recording. Queen.
LADYNOIR LADYNOIR LADYNOIR
It's so so so nice to see Ladynoir on screen again after Season 5 killed it.
Hit the word limit, so continued here.
#MLB#Miraculous Ladybug#Adrien Agreste#Marinette Dupain Cheng#Gabriel Agreste#Alya Cesaire#Ladybug#Shadybug#Chat Noir#Cat Noir#Claw Noir#Toxinelle#Griffe Noire#Ubiquity#Hesperia#Monarch#Hawkmoth#Betterfly#Miraculous World#ML Paris Special#My meta#ML Spoilers#ML Paris Spoilers#Shadyclaw#Ladynoir#Adrienette#Meta
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