#it was at this moment that things begin to unravel and the rest of their journey throughout this ep and the next is cemented | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wandasfifthwife · 3 days

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patience is a virtue₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺

—wandanat x fem/afab!reader

༺ tw || SMUT MDNI, dom/sub dynamic, dom!wandanat & sub!reader, top!wandanat & bottom!reader, strap (r receiving | w giving), grinding, praise kink?, some impact play (one spanking lmao), overstim, packing (w), giving head (w’s strap | r giving), reader’s described to be shy, not proofread

༺ a/n || I’ve never personally been in a dom/sub relationship, so if I get things wrong that’s why! If you’re getting into one— don’t use this as a guide/reference

— masterlist ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ 2.6kwords₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺ next part —

It was dark in the room, a light blue light peeking in keeping it every so often from the curtains being blown around by the AC. You were wide awake, having squirming around for maybe twenty minutes. Neither of them had work, and neither did you. It was a Saturday, a holiday weekend. None of you had work today or tomorrow for that matter.

Wanda was incredibly quiet, the position she’s in extremely similar to the one she had fallen asleep in. Natasha’s the opposite; breathing heavily into the bed with one limb touching you or Wanda at all times. Meaning, most nights you slept behind Natasha, her back facing you so you’re not getting forcefully wrapped. Her embrace is lovely, but not when it’s making your temperature rise over 90° degrees.

She’s still somehow found herself curling around you, her leg resting above yours; the second you’ve begun to pull your leg free, she’s pushing off the bed. She’s obviously half asleep, but her eyes brows are furrowed, concern laced in her expression.

“Why’re you up so early, Kit? It’s like 6:30.”

You check and she’s right, the clock reading 6:27. She’s waiting, eyes heavy but still trying to stay open. You’re not sure why. Too much time goes by, her arms pulling you down into her hold.

“Go back to sleep.”

“But I’m not tired—“

She shushes you, “sleep. It’s too early.”

You try to knock her arms away, growing fidgety when her fingers inch closer to where you’re ticklish. It turns into a bit of a brawl, unfortunately with Natasha winning despite being half awake.

“Why’re you guys up,” Wanda asks, exhaustion seeping into her tone, “if you’re going to be loud, take it into the living room.”

You begin to feel bad, understanding that she had gotten back late last night. Natasha had set a bath after your little event yesterday morning. The only time you saw her was when she had come to say her goodbyes and when she crawled into bed.

You don’t remember much of the day, having fallen asleep an hour after your warm bath. The excessive sleep might be why you were up so early on your own.

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine, just keep it down.”

Natasha ends up staying awake, sitting dazed in the living room. Her hair, usually set in a braid when she sleeps, was unraveled; the wavy hair framing her face also fell into yours from where your head rested on her shoulder.

“I still don’t forgive you for this,” you emphasize your words, sliding your finger down your neck to press on the darkened mark.

“Good.”

You laugh when she noses at your neck, pressing a light kiss to the opposite side of where the mark lay. You can’t help but to shiver, the feeling of her lips and the cold affecting you.

“Aww, are you cold?”

“No,” you mumble, but accept her tighter hold with greed, fingers gripping into her sleep shirt. It was then that your stomach decided to break the moment, embarrassing you.

“We could grab breakfast while Wanda finished sleeping in. There’s a restaurant Wanda and I like just down the road.”

“Oh, sure, I’d love to.”

It was even colder outside, the lack of sun causing the cold to manifest its self everywhere. You had Natash’s coat wrapped around you, given to you by her since she fretted over your less than warm coat.

The wind blew, making you shiver and push faster to keep up with Natasha. Her ability to exude warmth even in 50° weather amazes you. She holds the door for you, slipping a hand by your waist once you’ve entered. The gesture making you nervous, focusing entirely too much on her hand’s placement and not the menu in front of you.

It was cute inside, the menu written in chalk behind the counter. Small plans lined the counters and walls, creating a honey vibe. All of these details went unnoticed to you until Natasha’s fingers pinch at your skin.

“What’s got you so spacey, hm?”

“Sorry,” you turn your gaze away, the puffy fabric of her coat ruffling with your movement.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Oh look! We’re next to order.”

Natasha glances forward, “there’s two more people.”

“Oh oops, I haven’t decided what I want yet.”

She lets it go, moving in front when your time to order comes. You pull at her shirt after, feeling the need to get the guilt off your chest after seeing her pay for your food.

“You don’t have to keep paying for me, I really am thankful but I have my own job for a reason.”

She’s putting her wallet back in her pocket, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “and there’s also a reason why I’m here with you. Let me care for you.”

“I know,” you lead on, “but this is money you’ve worked hard for. It’s not free like everything else.”

“Am I going around kissing everyone on the street?”

“What? No.”

“Exactly.”

You huff, a smile on your face when though you wish it weren’t there. In response to her buying, you offer to bring it back. She denied at first before letting you help seeing as it brought a smile to your face.

Wanda was in a similar state to how Natasha looked when you came back, eyes half lidded when you both enter. She smiles at the sight, “you two are cute, did you go to that breakfast place?”

“We did, I got something for you to.”

She places it front of her before walking by towards the shower, leaving you with Wanda. She gestures for you, showing you the screen on her phone. An event at a nearby art center, where they were displaying an exhibition.

“I can buy tickets if you’d like to go, I remember you mentioning art school when we first met.”

It was crazy that you first met them just over a week ago when the moments you had with them lately felt like you’ve known them forever. They walked with you back to your house, stopping by momentarily for you to pick up a few things seeing as you’ve all decided you’ll be staying the weekend.

The event wasn’t until later, around dinner time. When the sun had begun to set you three left from their apartment seeing as it was closer to three museum. Wanda’s shadow stands above you, grabbing your attention.

“At the museum there’ll be some ground rules, alright?”

You glance up from putting your shoes on, “okay.”

“Look at me. Don’t run off without at least one of us beside you—there’ll be a lot of people.”

You nod and she continues, “and I know you’re good for us, but if we ask you to move somewhere, I advise you it’s best to listen and not talk back.”

You welcome the kiss from her after, leaning towards her when she pulls away. Her thumb rubs your cheek, “later, if you’re good.”

Her words are a faint whisper, eliciting a response from you. She smiles at your compliance, calling out to Natasha.

It wasn’t difficult to stay close to them, the large crowds making you anxious. The exhibit was beautiful, the paintings and art pieces a contrast from the cream colored walls. Some were simple, paintings showing a lovely landscape. Some were abstract, multiple colors and shades painting a vibrant picture. Wanda preferred to read the manuscript beside each painting, taking her time throughout the exhibit. Natasha was more intrigued by your conversations, learning about each painting through audible description.

There was a section you hadn’t visited, the one on the third level. It was the one you were most looking forward to, the main room you were looking forward to. With how slow Wanda was navigating the room next to the exhibit, you were being driven up the wall. You wonder if she knew. The speed she had feeling like it was slowing down as you got to the end of the room. That’s when you’ve begun to grow impatient. You tried to be appreciative, but you were burnt out and your back was beginning to ache from standing so straight. Wanda had been keeping a hand on your back throughout the night, tapping when she felt you’ve started to slouch again. A faint whine reaches her ear. The expression on your face tired but guilty once she’s looks over at you.

“Hmm?”

“Can we move faster?”

“No, lm having a nice time looking around this room.”

“Then can Natasha and I go together?”

“To that one,” she asks, pointing across the hall to the room you’ve been eyeing the past twenty minutes, “that’s what we came for, kitten. Wait until I’ve finished so we can all go together.”

“No,” you whine, but it’s cut short immediately.

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.”

“Then cut that out now.”

You stop whining, but your impatience still makes its appearance in other ways. You try to distract yourself by talking with Natasha, pulling on Wanda’s arm to make her move faster once she’s reached the last artwork in the room. Each work she reads off the plaque felt like it’s being read in 0.25 speed, not a single word went unread. Your nails were pushing into Natasha’s arm, plastering a smile on your face when Wanda looks back at you. There’s a knowing look on her face; the pained look on Natasha’s face and your tense body language says everything.

“I’m ready to move on,” she finally says.

You and Natasha both sigh in relief for different reasons. Wanda laughs, patting your back as she walks down the hallway.

Your nails unhook themselves from Natasha’s arm, feeling guilty at the nail prints.

“Sorry,” you mumble, rubbing at the marks, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine,” she brings a finger to rub at where you’ve attempted to hide her mark, the faint touch making you shiver.

It seems nice at first, getting to the exhibit you’ve been waiting for. You have had a lovely time, but everything faded away after Wanda had praised you. Her words were spoken close to your ear, words laced with lust, stating how she’s going to reward you. This time you were squirming for something else, impatience burning inside you along with something else. Curiosity.

The second their apartment door was opened, Wanda was on you. She had you up against the wall, the one directly across from the front door. A hand was holding your thigh, hooking it around her waist, allowing her to push further into you. You find it was all intentional when she grinds her hips against yours, pulling a gasp from you when you realize.

“Wands—“

She cuts you off with a slap your thigh, “try again.”

“Mommy,” you say and she nods, willing you to continue, “is that—?”

Her smile is an answer, cold fingers slide under your shirt, circling around to squeeze your ass. You keen, body sliding against hers.

“Get on your knees,” she breathes, pulling away from you.

The sight of looking up at her is pulling the air from your lungs. She’s silently demanding you keep your eyes on her with how tight she’s holding your chin.

“Pat my thigh twice if you need to stop, alright?”

“Yes mommy.”

She moans, making quick work of undoing the belt wrapped around her waist with one hand, her other leaning over you. Her belt falls to the floor, the clanging noise making you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling of her tapping the tip against your bottom lip brings a blush to your cheeks.

“Open your lips, kitten.”

You do, the feeling of her pushing in has your head hitting the wall behind you. She’s enjoying the sight of you, eyebrows tied together, hands shyly hovering over her thighs. She keeps a hand on her waist, pushing and starting a rhythm that has you moaning. You’re a mess under her, head resting against the wall, jaw relaxed to take her comfortably. Your sounds are muffled around her length, choked and gasping.

She’s deciding it’s enough when tears spill from your eyes. Your chin glistens, lips swollen from her ministrations and it’s all driving her crazy. She’s helping you off the floor, dusting your knees off before carrying you to the bedroom. You’re in a koala hold, legs wrapped around her waist.

“Feel how wet you made it,” she sweet talks, pulling your bottom half off the bed, “it’s all because of you.”

You whine, gripping onto her wrists that lie beside your head. She pecks your lips, “please tell me you’ll say whenever you feel in pain, or uncomfortable, or if you need to stop?”

“I will,” you breathe, “I promise.”

She lines up before pushing her hips forward, eyes growing cloudy at the sounds you make as she bottoms out. You wince when it pushes up, her size stretching you out still.

She runs a finger around where you meet, “you’re so tight around me.”

Her hips jerk unexpectedly, pressing against a spot that makes you see white. You’re whining, begging her to move with a push of your legs around her waist.

Your moans echos throughout the room, loud and airy. Natasha’s been in the shower long than usual, fingers moving in circles around her clit at your pretty sounds. Unbeknownst to her Wanda’s doing the same for you, a thumb rubbing against your bud until you feel you’re about to blackout.

“Mommy—please can I?”

“Yes,” it’s a simple response but it’s all you’re needing to hear, a choked whimper bubbling out from your throat as you’ve been brought to the edge.

Wanda flips you over, not giving you a moment and pressing your face into the mattress with the force of each thrust. You couldn’t help but to cry out into the sheets, the pleasure she brought on overwhelming you.

“Mommy!”

“Mm, you’re taking it so well. I’m so proud, you want to make me proud, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you gasp, reaching a hand to grip at the sheets above your head, pushing back against her. The pleasure from your orgasm before increases each time her tip presses deeper into you.

“Please, please—I’m going to again.”

“Beg.”

“Mommy, please let me come. I’ve been good.”

Natasha comes to sit by the edge, a towel thrown tied across her body. She’s thankful for leaving when she did, it was the perfect time to watch you come a second time, body writing from the pleasure overwhelming your body.

Natasha brushes the tears from your eyes, hoping to distract you from Wanda pulling out.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Hold me?”

She complies, not caring about the thin shine on your body despite having just finishing a shower. It was only a “shower” anyways.

She’s holding you until Wanda’s finished throwing on a large shirt, clothes from before thrown into the hamper. Natasha passes you over so she can do the same, leaving to step inside their closet.

“Shh, you did so good.”

She runs a hand down your arm, smiling at the goosebumps forming from her touch. You’re out of breath, forehead leaning against her cold chest to fight the heat wrapped around your body.

“Would you like to take a shower, a bath?”

“A showers fine,” you respond, voice raspy.

You both actually ended up taking a shower because your legs shook when you tried to stand. Wanda was concerned you’d slip, especially seeing how your hips swayed. She spares you any teasing, carefully walking you into the bathroom.

“People are going to know you two mess with me,” you speak up from your place in the bathtub, watching Wanda brush her hair in front of the mirror.

“They might. Is this something you’re worried about?”

“Yeah,” you circle the water around your finger, “I love it, I’m just shy showing it to others.”

“And that’s alright. Not everyone will get it as good as you do, you don’t have to be shy.”

“Oh. Okay well that’s—“

— masterlist ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊taglist below₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺ next part —

@simpforlizzie @maggieromanov @angelbeingatitspurest @cerberus-spectre @olicity-boo @huggingkoalas @wandasbunnyy @babykingslayer @marigoldenblooms @godhatesgoodgirls @evmaximoff @tobiaslut @lzzysfreak @caporaI-nino @mommysfavouritegirl @gemz5 @dorabledewdroop @foxherder @madamevirgo @natashaswife4125 @peaceitsnaee @radcherryblossompainter @sagesayshi @andersonsprincess @wandanat01

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wulfhalls · 1 year

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#rewatching the chester tribute concert because well its tradition and i love hurting myself #some of the worst moments for me personally even after 5 years:#mike fighting for his life trying to get thru roads unravelled especially the last section #mike harmonising with the clip of chester during new divide knowing itll be the last time #the entirety of numb with the fucking empty mic stand #mike fighting for his life trying to get thru the beginning of leave out all the rest #mike introducing/playing looking for an answer. IS THERE SUNSHINE WHERE U ARE THE WAY THERE WAS WHEN U WHERE HERE #i am in fact not fine!#also listened thru the whole post traumatic album for the first time since it dropped again and like. painpainpainpainnnnnnn #on a lighter note mgk was not horrible on papercut which is surprising to me every time i watch it #oli on crawling was muwah idc what anyone says he did fantastic TO ME #taka crushing somewhere i belong!!!! my best friend taka!!!!!#but this whole thing just showing how good chester truly was cause no one came even close at all #ANYWAYS. just had to type that out lol #linkin park

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soaps-mohawk · 2 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Summary: You have a long weekend that ends rather unexpectedly. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, suggestive content, language, some brief violence at the end.

A/N: I'm in a bit of a crisis so you're getting a bonus chapter this week. It's a beefy one and I wrote like 90% of it yesterday, just had the brain sludge by the time I was close to finishing and decided to rest before I finished and edited. Things are starting to get a big suggestive here, so as a reminder, this fic will have NSFW content in later chapters so please do not interact with it if you are under 18. I'd hate to have to block you.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“How are you settling in?”

“Fine.” You shrug.

“Any instinct to nest at all?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“That’s fine.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down. “It’s only been just over a week. Have you started kneeling for Captain Price yet?”

You shake your head again. “No.”

Dr. Keller tilts her head. “Why not?”

You shrug again. “He hasn’t brought it up.”

“Is that something you’d like to start doing?”

Her question catches you off guard again. You’re not used to being asked what you want, afterall you’re an omega. That’s not important. You’re here to serve. To do as you’re told. You remember watching your mother kneel for your father while he watched TV, her dazed, glazed over eyes staring at nothing as he almost seemed to hypnotize her into the shell of a perfect omega. It was your first taste of truly how much power alphas could hold over omegas. One hand on the back of your neck and it’s over.

“I...I don’t know.” You say, picking at your sleeve.

“You’re allowed to want things too.” Dr. Keller leans forward just slightly, giving you a smile. “I highly doubt Captain Price will make much of a fuss if you ask for something you need. He cares about you. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here alone.” She tilts her head at you, watching you pick at your sleeve. “Is there anything you want or maybe need that you haven’t asked for?”

Softer blankets. A fluffier pillow. Different body wash and shampoo. New clothes. A picture or a poster or something to make your room seem less clinical. Your instincts to finally start kicking in. Price to want you as much as he’s supposed to. Ghost to like you. To go back in time and let Soap kiss you.

To go back in time and never present as an omega.

“No.” You finally answer, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

Dr. Keller stares at you for a long moment. You avoid her gaze, picking at the seam of your sleeve. “I know you’re going to get tired of me saying this, but it’s important that you understand that this is a safe space for you. Everything that we discuss, everything that you say in here stays between you and me. Doctor-patient confidentiality is something I firmly believe in, even when it comes to alpha/omega relationships. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say quietly, still avoiding her gaze.

She continues to stare at you for a moment before she leans back on the couch again, shuffling some papers around. “The two betas, Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish. How are you getting along with them?” She continues with her questions.

“Fine.” You lean back in your chair, hoping it might swallow you whole. “They’re easiest to get along with.”

Dr. Keller nods. “Good. I’m a strong advocate for organic pack bonding. Helps avoid any dynamic struggles or false instincts down the line. How are you sleeping?”

“Fine I guess.” You shrug. “I nap a lot.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Omegas need a lot of sleep and I can imagine adjusting to a new schedule has been rough.” Dr. Keller moves the papers to the couch next to her, looking up at you. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

You hesitate, pulling at the seam of your sleeve. It’s beginning to unravel a bit from your nervous picking. You’ll have to fix it. Dr. Keller is right, though. You could just ask for a new one. Price had told you they had a budget for your needs, plus they do get paid well. Anything you needed, they would gladly get for you.

You just have to ask.

It’s the asking that you’re not sure you can do. It feels strange to ask anything of your new pack. They’re supposed to be the ones needing things from you. If Soap had wanted to kiss you, he could have. Instead he left it up to you. He let you decide. You wonder if Price’s hesitation to move forward has been because he’s waiting on you.

They’re all waiting on you, except maybe Ghost. They’re waiting on you to make the first moves, on you to set the pieces on the board. What is the first move? How do you set the pieces? Did you even need to? Would they fall into place organically if you just left them alone? Or would the tension continue to build up, would you continue to affect them until it became too much and the pressure causes everything to blow?

“I’m affecting them.” You say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Dr. Keller tilts her head as she stares at you. “What do you mean?”

“They’re soldiers. They’re good soldiers with years and years of training, that’s why they're here. But...but I’m changing that. I asked Price if I could go with them and watch them run a training course cause I read in a book that I should get to know them and the things they like and so I was just curious what they do during the day when I’m not with them. He let me watch and he told me their top speeds running the training course but...none of them met those times with me there.”

You take a deep breath, the words pouring out of you easily now. You feel as if you’re not even thinking of them, not even measuring them or using caution as you normally would in any conversation. They’re slipping out from somewhere deep inside and now that you’ve opened that dam, you can’t stop it.

“Price made them run through it five times and they still couldn’t match their top speeds. He said it was a good thing that they figured that out, that they need to know how I’m affecting them and how to adjust to me. And every time they ran through it, I couldn’t stop thinking about...”

You take another breath, the air catching in your lungs. Your fingers are shaking, your body sinking deeper and deeper into the chair, almost as if you’re trying to get it to swallow you whole. As if the chair might wrap its arms around you and pull you into its softness and keep you there until you can’t breathe and it suffocates you.

“What if it was me? What if they were having to rescue me? I know that’s a risk, a low one, but it’s still a risk. The CIA and Kate warned me that I could become a target if the wrong person found out about me. That’s why I can’t know anything about what they do because that puts me at more of a risk, and I could be a threat to them and the entire world if something got out that wasn’t supposed to.”

You’re breathing heavily as the words finally come to a stop. Dr. Keller’s eyes are shining with sympathy as she stares at you. This is the most you’ve ever opened up to her, the most words you feel you’ve ever spoken to her in the two times now that you’ve met.

It feels good. It feels really good to voice your thoughts and your fears to someone on the outside, someone you can trust won’t tell anyone. You couldn’t voice these fears to your pack. They’re used to this kind of thing. They live with the knowledge they could die at any point, that any mission might be their last. How many lives have they seen lost, how many close calls have they had? You’ve seen scars already on arms, hands, faces. How many others are hidden where you can’t see?

How many scars do they have inside, too?

“I want you to know that your fears are very valid.” Dr. Keller says, her voice soft. “Being involved in the military comes with a lot of risks, and then you get to places like this and those risks only get greater and greater. I can’t promise you that something like that won’t ever happen, because we have no way of knowing. The risk is not zero for a reason.”

Dr. Keller stands from the couch, moving to the chair next to you. The calming beta scent washes over you, and you know you have to be stinking up the room. She turns the chair slightly to face you, leaning forward onto her knees. You can see the imprints on the sides of her nose from where she’d been wearing glasses earlier.

“That risk is also only low for a reason. Your identity has been well hidden, just like those of your pack’s. You’re on a well protected and secure military base. This place is a black square on Google Maps. I know, I tried looking it up when I found out where I was being assigned.” She reaches out, squeezing your arm gently. “And I highly doubt your pack would ever let anything happen to you. Packs are highly protective over their omegas. Even bad alphas can’t fight that instinct when their pack is threatened. Your pack would quite literally go to war for you.”

She is right, you know she is. Yet that fear continues to wiggle at the back of your mind. You know they’d never let anything happen to you, but they’re going to start leaving soon. What if something happens while they’re not here? Who will help you then? The other soldiers? The betas that stare and the alphas that catcall you?

“I guess you’re right.” You say, continuing to pick at your sleeve. At this rate, by the time your heat starts, you’ll have unraveled the whole sweatshirt.

The buzz of your phone on your nightstand pulls you from your half asleep state. Your book is on the floor, having dropped from your hands and slid off your bed as you drifted off. Your lamp is still on, casting a warm glow around your room. You prefer the softer light compared to the fluorescent overhead, as most omegas do. There’s something too clinical and sterile about fluorescents.

You grab your phone, pushing yourself up onto your elbow as you try to blink the sleepiness away. It’s not terribly late, but you’ve been feeling the exhaustion all day since your conversation with Dr. Keller.

“Be ready by 0500 tomorrow. Wear something meant for the outdoors.”

It’s a text from Price, your brow furrowing as you read it over. Five in the morning on a Saturday? That’s the earliest you’ve had to get up since your arrival on base. And wear something meant for the outdoors? You can only imagine what he has planned for the day you had been planning on spending sleeping.

You make a quiet noise of indignation as you text back in confirmation, setting an alarm so you can be ready by 5 am. Not up by 5 am, ready by 5 am. You have half a mind to call him, or to text back asking why he feels you need to be up before the sun. You know that’s the normal time they begin their mornings during the week, usually when you hear them up and moving around, getting ready to go work out. That’s usually when you roll over and go back to sleep for another hour and a half before your own alarm gets you up for breakfast.

You pout a little as you set your phone back on your nightstand, reaching down to grab your book and set it next to your phone. You lay back down on your bed, turning off your lamp and bathing the room in darkness. Well, it’s not totally dark. The light from the lamp outside shines in your window, casting cold shadows across the walls and floor. You’ve never been a fan of total darkness. You’d grown used to having some light in the room at The Institute. One of your roommates had insisted on having a nightlight, and there were many nights you were grateful for it as you laid awake at the mercy of your racing mind.

A nightlight.

You add it to the mental list of things you want, but you’ll never feel brave enough to ask for.

Your alarm rings too early in the morning, your hand lifting to silence it quickly. 4:30 am doesn’t feel like a real time as you rise in darkness, hand fumbling for the switch to your lamp. You glare into the dimly lit room, trying to blink the sleepiness from your eyes. How desperately you want to curl back up under the blankets and sleep until someone knocks on the door to check on you because you’ve slept so long into the day.

You don’t doubt Price will knock in about 30 minutes to get you up. He’ll be disappointed if you ignore him, you think. He wouldn’t punish you if you went against his wishes, would he?

You don’t know that.

You haven’t even thought to push that boundary, nor have you discussed it. You don’t want to. You’re a good omega.

You’re a good omega.

You repeat it over and over as you get yourself ready, splashing cold water on your face to wake yourself up. You silently thank Kate as you pull on a pair of cargo pants and hiking boots, assuming that’s what Price means by “something meant for the outdoors.” Had she bought the items in anticipation of something like this happening? You are on a military base. You should have expected you’d be pulled into something like this eventually.

You’re debating on a jacket by the time the knock comes, right at 5 am. You wonder how long Price has been standing in the hallway, or if he’s perfected arriving right on the dot after years of expected punctuality. You decide on the jacket after checking the weather, slipping it on as you open the door. He hadn’t mentioned needing anything, not that you own any sort of supplies for the outdoors anyway.

He doesn’t say anything as you open the door, instead motioning with his head to follow. You quietly close your door, expecting the others to be waiting for you, but their doors are all closed and they’re nowhere to be seen. You feel slightly nervous as you follow Price out into the cold morning air, glad you decided on the jacket as your breath steams from your lips.

Price is dressed in his usual boots and cargo pants with a cargo jacket and a beanie instead of a bucket hat. There’s two packs leaning against the side of the building, Price grabbing one and approaching you.

“What are we doing?” You ask quietly as he helps you put on the backpack, buckling it across your chest.

“Going for a hike.” He says, putting on the other backpack.

“Why?” You ask as he turns on a flashlight, handing it to you before turning on another one for himself.

“I’ll explain when we get there.” He says simply, motioning for you to follow him.

You hesitate for half a moment. A hike in the dark? The base is surrounded by forest, but you sometimes forget due to the sprawling nature of the buildings, and your usual ventures outside the barracks being to either the mess or the medical center, all of which were central on the base.

Why does he feel the need to hike in the dark? Surely it’s more dangerous, especially for someone not quite so physically inclined like you. If he wanted to go on a hike, why hadn’t he just said that to begin with? Maybe he would have, had you asked why last night instead of just immediately agreeing.

Going into the woods alone in the dark with an alpha you barely know.

Anxiety twists in your stomach for a moment before you force your feet forward, walking fast to catch up to him. He leads you down one of the roads on base, your boots crunching as the ground changes from asphalt to gravel. Your anxiety doesn’t lessen any as the trees loom high above you in the darkness, the forest like a black void before you.

Your brain thinks up all the land predators that might exist in England. Do they have bears? You’ve seen Brave, but that’s in Scotland. What about big cats like cougars or mountain lions? Are there racoons in England?

You’re on a military base, you think. Surely they have means to keep out large predators that might be dangerous.

Your pack won’t let anything happen to you.

Dr. Keller’s words float through your mind as you follow Price through the underbrush and into the trees. You’re not following any path, at least that you can see, though your experiences in the outdoors have been very limited since you left home. Your dad liked to camp and hike, and often you and your siblings were subjected to his weekend and holiday trips into the wilderness.

You missed them in the early days at the Institute. You missed a lot of things back then.

“What’s eating you back there?” Price asks as you weave through trees and underbrush.

“There’s nothing...dangerous out here...is there, sir?” You ask, narrowly avoiding taking a branch to the face. “Bears or mountain lions?”

Price chuckles. “The worst thing you might find is a stray badger or a snake that got through the fence somehow.”

“Oh.” You say, shining the flashlight around you. “That’s good.”

Price stops, turning to face you. “You’re fretting.”

“Well, we’re in the woods in the dark at an ungodly hour and you won’t tell me why, sir.” You pout.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, staring down at you with a hard look in his eyes.

You stare up at him, your grip tightening on the flashlight in your hand. “Should I trust you?”

He straightens up a bit, the corner of his lips twitching. “That’s something you have to decide.” He turns back around, starting to walk again. “All I can do is my best to try and prove myself to you. In the end, you’re the one that decides if I’m trustworthy or not.”

You’ve never thought of it that way. He could do everything in his power to get you to trust him, but in the end it is your decision. He hasn’t proven you wrong yet, but then again...it’s only been a week. You’ve known him for a week and you’re following him through the woods alone in the dark.

Your brothers would have a fit if they saw you right now.

“Do you trust me?” You find yourself asking as you continue to trek through the woods, narrowly avoiding hurting yourself on various occasions.

“You haven’t given me reason not to.” He answers, turning his head slightly to look at you over his shoulder. “I’d prefer it stayed that way.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, sir. I hardly think I’m much of a threat on any term. Well, at least I don’t think I am. Ghost seems to disagree.”

Price lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Simon...Simon is a unique case. He’s good at his job, but that makes it hard for him to succeed in other areas. I’m sure Johnny has told you how much Simon couldn’t stand him at first. Now look at them.” He chuckles warmly, almost fondly. “He only sees you as a threat in your nature.”

You frown, glancing up at the sky. It’s beginning to turn grey with dusk, the trees seeming to come alive around you in the dim light. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

“You’re an omega. To bond with an omega, there is a degree of vulnerability required by the alpha. Being around omegas requires an openness that can be frightening if you’re not used to it.” He explains. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Simon isn’t the most open man.”

You snort quietly. “Hadn’t noticed, sir.”

Price chuckles at your answer. “You’re threatening to him, because you’re a challenge. Give him time. This entire situation is an adjustment for all of us, just as I’m sure it is for you too.”

You don’t know how to respond to that statement. It is an adjustment. Joining any pack was, but a pack like this...a pack that has you tramping through the woods at 6 am for a reason you don’t even know yet is a major adjustment.

Price stops after the sun has come up, taking a moment next to an outcropping of rocks. He clips your flashlight to your bag before unzipping it, passing you a bottle of water. You take it gladly, your mouth feeling dry after walking for so long.

“How much further?” You ask as he drinks his own water.

“Quite a ways.” He answers.

“Can I know why we’re doing this yet?” You ask as he zips your water back into your backpack.

“Not yet.” He says, continuing onward.

You let out an exasperated sigh, but follow him anyway. You don’t have much of a choice.

Your legs are beginning to get tired, and you’re starting to feel a bit hungry. You’re not sure if you should say anything, or if he’d even stop. You assume he’s packed food, or at least you hope so. You’re going to get grumpy if you’re traversing all over the forest for hours with nothing to eat.

Price slows his pace a bit as you approach what you think is a clearing. You can see a break in the trees ahead, the sun coming through brighter here. You’re sore and tired, your phone telling you you’ve been walking for just over two hours.

How big is this base?

You break through the treeline, finding a small clearing with what looks like a fire watch tower in the middle of it. It’s not what you were expecting, the many scenarios of why you had been dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour and forced to hike through the woods you’ve been thinking up the last two hours, did not end quite like this. You stare up at the tower, your head tilting back to take it in.

“Not scared of heights, are you?” Price asks, standing beside you.

“Maybe.” You answer, eyeing the staircase winding around it to get to the top.

“Come on.” He says, nudging you forward gently. “Up the stairs.”

The last thing you want to do after walking for two hours is climb a never ending staircase, but you don’t think you have much of a choice. Perhaps you can finally sit once you get to the top, and maybe you’ll even get to eat.

Price follows behind you as you take the steps, climbing slowly. Your legs are screaming, your feet aching in your boots. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’re bleeding a little, or if you wind up with blisters. You’re breathing heavily by the time you get to the top, sweat beading on your brow. Price doesn’t even seem winded behind you, and you’re sure he could have jogged up the steps if he wanted to.

The top of the tower is mostly empty except for a small table and two chairs. There’s no windows, the tower open between the railing and the roof. Price sets his bag on the table, unzipping it. You sink into one of the chairs, letting your bag drop to the floor.

“Can I know why we’re here now?” You ask him.

“Drink some water and take a breath first.” He says, pulling a couple packets out of his bag. MRE’s.

You dig your bottle out of your bag, taking note of the other contents inside. A few snack bars, a couple MRE’s of your own, another unopened bottle of water, and a book. There’s things in the other pockets but you don’t bother looking, guzzling down more water.

You stand from your chair, your legs almost buckling in protest as Price gets the MRE’s cooking. You lean against the railing, looking down over the forest that stretches out as far as you can see below.

“Can I know now?” You ask, knowing there has to be a good reason for him to bring you out here.

“A training exercise.” He says finally.

“A training exercise?” You frown, turning to look at him over your shoulder. It wasn’t a training exercise for you, was it?

“Sometimes when we get a specific target on a mission, the only thing we have to go off of is a general location and a scent.” He explains. “We have to be able to track that scent effectively, sometimes for miles. We run training exercises out here to test their ability to track scents to hunt down a target.”

You stare at the sprawling woods, beginning to understand. “So, they’re hunting a scent that will lead them here?”

Price chuckles lowly, his hands coming to rest on the railing on either side of you. Your stomach flutters as he leans in close, his scent strong in your nose as his breath fans your ear. “Technically, they’re hunting you.”

Your knuckles go white as they grip the railing, your blood pulsing in your veins. You’re well aware that some alphas like to hunt their omegas. There’s some primal urge deep within your brains to chase and be chased. You’re well aware of how it usually ends, the thought making your stomach clench.

“You gave me the idea.” Price says, the warmth of his body radiating through your jacket. “When you asked to watch them train, I saw how you affected them, I thought...maybe you can be useful for their training afterall.”

“Do they...do they know it’s me?” You ask as he steps back from you. You fight the urge to whine at the loss of proximity.

“They do now.” He says with a smirk. “They’ve already started, so if they can follow your scent successfully, then they’ll be here in about an hour.” He says, looking at his watch.

You frown a little. “But...we walked for two hours.”

He smiles a little, pointing to a break in the trees below you hadn’t noticed until now. “That trailhead is a 20 minute hike back to base.”

Your frown deepens. “But-”

“We weren’t walking in a straight line.” He explains. “We doubled back and recrossed the trail several times to try and confuse them, just as someone running from them would do.” He passes you one of the MRE’s. “That’s what I want you to do, if it ever comes to it. You don’t fight unless you have no other choice. You always try to run first.”

“Yes, sir.” You say, sitting down again. You don’t think you’d do much damage fighting anyway, but you don’t tell him that.

You open the package, peeking at the contents. Some sort of potato hash, you think, but you don’t really care. You’re so hungry you’ll gladly eat the mystery re-hydrated food. Price sinks into the other chair with a quiet sigh, digging into the food. It’s quiet out in the woods, the only other sound besides the two of you the sounds of birds.

You’ve always loved the woods, the quiet serenity of such isolation. You could imagine Price living in a log cabin miles from civilization, with animals and his own garden, happily living in quiet peace away from the stresses of life and war. You blame the fluttering in your stomach on the lingering thoughts of a chase, of a hunt. The thought of running, trying to evade soldiers who train to hunt others by their scents has goosebumps forming on your skin.

They’re not from the cold either.

The sun has disappeared behind clouds, the grey weather of England quickly becoming normal to you. You haven’t seen the sun much since you landed in London two weeks ago, and you’re sure you’re not going to see much of it for quite a long while.

“What’s got you all twitchy over there?” Price asks, breaking the silence.

You turn to look at him, your mouth open a bit in surprise. “How can you tell?”

“I’ve been trained to notice small details, sweetheart.” He says, grinning at you. “Your fingers always get fidgety first. Like you’re looking for something to do with them. Usually they disappear beneath your sleeves, or you start picking at your clothes. Your scent changes too. Subtly, but still noticeable.”

Oh god. You wince a little bit. He can still smell you, even outdoors in an open area.

“Your eyes start to move, looking all over the place, like you’re searching for something, or trying not to stare at one place too long.” He continues, making you want to sink deeper and deeper into the chair until you disappear. Of course he can read you like a book. They all probably can. “Your breathing always picks up, fast enough it’s noticeable if you’re paying attention. It’s easy to set you off too, sweet little thing.”

Warmth floods your face at his words and his stare, the back of your neck prickling. You meet his gaze across the table, the look in his eyes making you feel like you want to crawl under the table and hide. You hate that he can read you so easily. You won’t be able to hide anything from him.

He probably knows you already have.

You continue to hold his gaze, not backing down despite the intense tickling at the back of your neck. Touch alphas like a challenge, you repeat it over and over in your head.

Don’t back down.

A quiet growl rumbles through his chest, a shiver shooting down your spine so violently it nearly steals your breath. You fight the urge to bear your throat to him in submission, your head tilting back just slightly as your eyes squeeze closed. You’re panting, warmth pooling in your stomach as he chuckles lowly. He’s won, he knows it. You were never going to win. Nature was set against you. Your nature is to submit to him.

“Innocent little thing, aren’t ya?” He says, pulling a cigar from one of his pockets.

You know he smokes, you know they all do. You’ve smelled it on them many times, and it was to be expected. Your father hadn’t started until after he joined the Marines. Your mother hated it. “Dirty habit.” She always whispered as she smelled his uniform and the laundry he brought home from deployment.

He could have had worse ones, you always thought.

You can’t help but watch his lips curl around the cigar, the scent of tobacco permeating the air. His eyes are still on you, your own lips tingling a bit. You think back to how close you had been with Soap, inches from having your first real kiss. You regret it a bit now, not letting him kiss you. He wouldn’t have known he was your first, except perhaps by your awkwardness.

You wonder how many times they’ve all been kissed. You wonder how many times they've kissed each other. You wonder how many barrack bunnies Price has been with, how many other omegas he’s been with. You can’t imagine Ghost being one for barrack bunnies, but then your mind sinks somewhere deeper. Ghost in his mask with an omega bent over the side of his bed, his hand wrapped around the back of their neck...

Another shiver runs down your spine, your lower body beginning to pulse in time with your heart.

“What’s going through that head of yours?” Price asks, still staring at you.

“Soap almost kissed me a couple days ago.” You admit, not trusting yourself not to admit to the other things you’re thinking about.

Price’s brows lift in surprise. “Did you not want him to?”

Want. There’s that word again. You keep hearing it, but you’re not entirely sure what it means anymore. He’s asking to be sure that Soap didn’t force you into anything, even though you can’t imagine the beta doing such a thing. Betas usually weren’t aggressive without good reason, not like alphas.

“Well...no, that’s not it...” You say, your face burning as you begin to regret your choice of topic. “I...I haven’t kissed anyone before...well, not like a real kiss. At The Institute, there was this omega, she was...progressive. Nothing they tried could break her of that and she got into the heads of a few other omegas. One of my bunkmates decided she didn’t want an alpha to be her first kiss, so...I volunteered.”

Price continues to stare at you, a dark look in his eyes. You know some alphas like to watch omegas together. You’ve seen it in movies, things your brothers would put on when they were babysitting, things that would have gotten them hit over the head if your father found out.

“Is that so?” He finally says, flicking some of the ash from the end of his cigar. “Not even a real kiss before you presented?”

You shake your head. “No. I was...the weird kid in school. Most people considered it social suicide to be around me.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I bet quite a few of them are kicking themselves now.”

“Why didn’t you want Soap to kiss you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. He’s still wondering if he needs to have a long chat with the young Sergeant, or perhaps take other action.

“Well...it wasn’t so much that I didn’t want it.” You say. “I just...thought you might be upset...if you weren’t my first...” You swallow nervously at his stare. “Since you’re pack alpha...you have the right to claim-”

“I wouldn’t care.” He cuts you off, almost as if he’s uncomfortable with the idea of him having all the rights to claim you. As if he was uncomfortable with the idea of holding a claim over someone else. “If you want your first kiss to be with one of the others, then you shouldn’t keep yourself from what you want.”

His words echo Dr. Keller’s. It confuses you, their willingness to allow you to want. You’re an omega, you don’t get to want. You get told what to do, what to wear. You get told what to want. You don’t make decisions, you sit and be a good omega for your alpha.

“I don’t know what I want.” You say quietly.

“Think about it.” He says, stubbing out his cigar. “I won’t be upset. Makes me feel a little better, in truth. Makes me feel less like an old creep trying to steal your innocence.”

You try not to smile at his words. “I mean...you are, in a way.”

He tsks at you but his eyes are playful as he checks his watch. “You’re trouble. We’ve got a few minutes before the hour is up. Let’s see if they can beat it.”

You stare out at the treeline, taking deep gulps of the cool air to try and calm yourself as you wait for the others to arrive. You’re still tingling a bit from your conversation with Price, that slight tickle still crawling across the back of your neck. You want him to hold you there, feel his calloused skin against yours, feel the strength of his fingers as they press into your skin. You want him to take all the turmoil away, the fear and the insecurity and the confusion.

You want to kneel for him.

You’re saved from your thoughts as a familiar figure breaks through the treeline, big and hulking and wearing a skull on his face. You’ve never seen him in this mask before, only ever seeing him in his balaclava. It’s a haunting image, only his eyes visible as he looks up at the top of the tower. Soap and Gaz appear behind him, the three of them making for the staircase.

Their boots echo on the steps as they race to the top, Soap the first one to appear with a wide grin.

“Aye, we found the target!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you into the air and spinning.

You yelp, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hang on for dear life. He smells like musk and sweat, and you can’t help but wonder if they ran here. He sets you back on your feet, your legs aching in protest after sitting for too long. The soreness of your morning hike has caught up to you, and you’ll be feeling it for a few days.

“Not bad.” Price says, looking at his watch. “For the first time with a new scent.” He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get back and you can have the rest of the day off.”

You let out a whine in protest as Price grabs your backpack, gaining the attention of the four men. “You mean we have to walk back too?”

“It’s not even a kilometer.” Gaz says with a grin.

You pout. “I don’t know how far that is! I already had to walk for two hours this morning. My legs hurt.”

“You didn’t stretch before you started?” Soap asks.

“No! I didn’t know we’d be hiking halfway across the country when I was told to get up at 5 am!” You continue to pout.

“Come on, you’ll survive.” Price says, clipping your backpack across your chest again. “You can sleep for the rest of the day.”

You definitely have blisters, the sides of your feet burning as you walk down the stairs. You’re going to take a very long shower when you get back to base, and then crawl into bed and sleep until someone inevitably knocks because they’re worried about you. You’re still pouting, not having even thought about how you were going to get back to base.

Soap stops at the bottom of the steps, turning to glance at you behind him as he bends down slightly. “Hop on, hen.”

It takes you a moment to conceptualize what he’s doing before you break out in a grin, putting your hands on his shoulders to hoist yourself onto his back. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he carries you piggy-back style.

“I’ve lifted weights heavier than you, bonny.” He says, not seeming to struggle at all with carrying you.

“Well, omegas are supposed to be small.” You say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Aye, like a wee bairn.” Soap laughs.

He carries you all the way back to base, barely even breathing heavily by the time you break the treeline. The rocking motion of being carried, along with your exhaustion, has lulled you into a daze, your head leaning against his as you desperately fight sleep.

You’re jostled awake as Soap gently bounces you on his back. “We’re back, hen.”

You grumble sleepily, holding onto him tighter. “Comfy.”

“You’ll be comfier in bed, love.” Gaz says, stroking your hair.

“Carry me.” You murmur, both of them freezing.

“You sure about that, hen?” Soap asks. “You wan’t tae let us in your space?”

“Mmm...yeah.” You murmur, nuzzling Soap’s shoulder.

You miss the silent conversation between them in your half asleep state, the way Gaz’s hand hesitates on the knob, their slow, cautious steps into your space. It was a big deal, infringing upon an omega’s space. It’s sacred. One could only enter with permission, or if it was an emergency. Infringing on that space without permission could be detrimental.

Soap gently lowers you onto your bed, helping you curl up on your side. Gaz unties your boots, setting them on the floor next to the bed before pulling off your socks. He lets out a quiet hiss as he spots your raw and blistered feet.

“That’s going to hurt later.” He whispers. “No wonder she didn’t want to walk back.”

“Didnae say nothing either.” Soap says, his fingers trailing your cheek.

“Stubborn little omega.”

Gaz’s words are the last you hear before you’re lost to sleep, your brain forcing you to give in to your exhaustion finally.

It’s knocking at the door that wakes you. You’re not sure what time it is, or what planet you’re on. Your eyes are crusty with sleep, your pillow damp from drooling. You’re in your bed in the barracks, tucked under a blanket. You vaguely remember giving Gaz and Soap permission to enter before you were out again.

It’s still daylight, judging by the light around the edges of your curtains. Or maybe you had slept through the day and it was morning. You can’t tell, feeling a bit like you were hit by a bus and jumped dimensions.

“C’mon lass, ye got tae eat at least one meal today.” Soap’s voice calls through the door.

You let out a groan, pushing yourself up to sit. You haven’t even changed or showered, but your shoes have been removed. You flex your toes, wincing at the sharp pain from them. You pull the blanket off, staring down at your bandaged feet. They must be as blistered and raw as they had felt in your shoes. You don’t want to get up. You’re going to be sore and probably walking with a limp.

You know what they’re going to think.

The stares you’ll get.

Soon it will be for that reason, though, you think. Why not let them think it now? Then maybe by then they’ll be used to it and it’ll be much less mortifying for you.

You get up, padding barefoot to the door. You open it, rubbing at your eyes. “What time is it?” Your voice sounds rough with sleep, your tongue feeling heavy.

“Almost 1800 hours.” He answers. “Price let ye sleep. He and Gaz already ate. Had something tae take care of.”

You let out a quiet groan as you rub your eyes. You slept all day, past lunch and nearly past dinner. You likely would have kept sleeping, had they let you, but then you’d be up at an ungodly hour having to scrounge for food in the rec room.

“Get some shoes on.” Soap says. “We’ll get food in ye, then ye can sleep more.”

You let out a quiet grumble but do as he says, grabbing your most comfortable pair of shoes before following him out of the barracks. You let your hand slip into his, the base less populated on the weekend. The mess is still busy, though, most of those that stay keeping their schedules even over the weekend.

Soap helps you make your tray before finding Ghost sitting at a table. You deposit your tray across from them before going to grab something to drink. You look over the options, your sleep-drunk brain trying to decide on what you need.

“I recommend coffee.” A voice says behind you.

You spin around, looking up at a familiar face. Your stomach twists nervously, the back of your neck prickling. It’s the soldier that had been staring at you your second day on base, the one Ghost had scared off with his glare.

“You look like you need it.” He says, giving what you assume is supposed to be a friendly smile, except to you it looks like the grin of a hungry wolf in a storybook, and you’re the injured rabbit about to be devoured. You flinch just slightly as he holds out a hand. “I’m Corporal McKinney.”

You don’t want to take his hand, you don’t want to touch him at all. Catcalling you could handle, the stares and the whistles were nothing. None of them have been so brave as to approach you before now, and you’re starting to realize you prefer it that way.

An overwhelming scent suddenly washes over you, the prickling at the back of your neck intensifying. It’s rich and deep, the scent of leather and gunpowder lacing the ozone-like tang of anger, of danger.

“Can I help you, Corporal?” The deep voice rumbles behind you, the warmth close enough all you’d have to do was lean back slightly and you’d be touching him.

The soldier’s eyes lift from you to Ghost behind you, the wicked gleam to them fading as he stares down the giant alpha. “No, sir.” The soldier swallows thickly. “Just thought I’d introduce myself to the new omega on base. Figured we’d be seeing a lot of her around.”

“She’s no concern of yours.” Ghost says, a dangerous rumble vibrating at the edge of his voice. “You were given the briefing.”

He hesitates and you know he’s measuring the risk of staying, of saying something else. It’s not just the threat of a dangerous alpha, but also of his superior. “Of course, sir.” He finally says, eyeing you once more before he turns on his heel, leaving the mess.

“What do you want?”

You turn on your heel, staring up at Ghost. You’re shaking a little, staring up at him wide-eyed. You no longer feel the haze of sleep, wide awake and alert. Ghost is staring down at you, his scent far less prominent than it had been before.

“To drink.” He motions to the selection, waiting on you to answer.

You stare at the options, your brain trying hard to snap back into the present, to comprehend what you’re looking at. You’re on edge, on high alert after that confrontation.

“W-Water please.” You manage to stutter out,

“Go sit back down. I’ll get it.” He says, turning his back to you.

You scurry back to the table, still trembling as you take your seat again. You’re getting stares, likely from the change in your scent. It’s alerting every alpha and beta in close proximity, their instincts reacting to the scent of fear, of an threatened omega.

“Ye alright, hen?” Soap asks, giving you a worried look. The scent of beta washes over you, Soap projecting his scent to try and cover yours and calm you all at once.

You nod, trying to swallow the panic before you alert the entire mess to your current emotional state. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Ghost returns with a glass of water, setting it in front of you before taking his seat again.

“Thank you.” You murmur, taking a long drink of it. It’s ice cold, the sensation shocking you back into reality a bit.

You’re still trembling slightly as you eat, the back of your neck still prickling. You glance around the quickly emptying mess, eyes following every person that walks too close to the table. You know you’re safe. Soap and Ghost would make quick work of anyone who tried anything.

Ghost did make quick work of the alpha that had approached you.

You’re still in a bit of disbelief that Ghost had come to your aid. You remember the anger burning in his scent, the rumble at the edge of his voice. An alpha poised for a fight. Of course, you were being cornered by another alpha. You don’t doubt Soap could have easily won that fight if he had to, but an alpha had the natural advantage in a fight against other alphas. If it had been a beta cornering you, would he have still come to your aid? Or would he have watched and let Soap handle it?

You're drawn from your thoughts as Soap’s phone rings, and he dismisses himself from the table to answer it. You wonder who it might be. Family maybe? Price? You wish you had someone that would call you regularly. You will, once they start leaving you.

You’re left alone with Ghost, your eyes trying to look anywhere but at him. He takes your tray once you’re done, going to dump it before motioning for you to follow. You’re still a bit shaken, though you’ve managed to get your trembling under control, as well as your scent.

He leads you back towards the barracks, your pace faster to keep up with him. Your feet hurt, but you’re eager to get back to the familiar safety of the barracks.

You stop as a whistle sounds through the air, Ghost’s steps faltering as well.

“Gonna go spread your legs for that freak, bunny?” A voice calls out across the courtyard. “I’m sure I could offer you a better time. At least you’ll be able to see my face.”

The smell of ozone washes over you again, burning straight to some primal part of your brain. You’re not sure if it’s the exhaustion, or the emotions still reeling from your confrontation in the mess, but you turn on your heel, stalking over to the group of soldiers. You’re trembling again, but not out of fear. The anger has gone straight to your instincts, burning hot through your veins.

The soldiers laugh as you approach, the one that had spoken grinning vilely at you. “Gonna take me up on my offer, omega?” The sound of your title from his lips nearly makes you shudder in disgust. It’s wrong, it sounds wrong being said in such a way. “I’d love to bend you over and stare at that sweet ass all night-”

It’s not until your hand is throbbing that you register what happened. The soldier stumbles back a step, hand moving to his face. Your hand is balled in a fist, knuckles throbbing from the punch you delivered to his face. The next few moments seem to move in slow motion, your body pushed backwards as a hulking form comes to stand in front of you. The scent of ozone is still burning hot in your nose, anger pulsing through your body. Your ears are ringing, your hands refusing to unball from the fists they’ve closed into. You’re breathing heavily, eyes training on a small speck of mud on the back of Ghost’s jacket.

“-You even so much as look in her direction again, I’ll rip your intestines out, tie them to the back of a humvee and drag you all the way to London, understood?” The dangerous rumble is back at the edge of his voice, his own hands balled into fists.

“Loud and clear, sir.” The soldier spits out, massaging his face from your punch.

A rough hand closes around your arm, making you stumble as you’re half dragged towards the barracks. You’re breathing heavily, breaths coming in gasps as the flood of emotions through you grows to almost be too much. You’re led down the hall towards the rec room, Ghost pushing you inside.

“Sit.” He snaps, pointing at the couch.

You scramble to sit where he pointed, your brain beginning to move in autopilot as you cradle your throbbing hand to your chest. It’s still curled in a fist, the adrenaline pumping through you preventing you from uncurling your fingers. You try to steady your breathing as Ghost digs around in the fridge for a moment. You flinch as the door slams closed, Ghost dropping an ice pack on the coffee table before he takes a seat next to you on the couch.

He grabs your hand, pulling it towards him rather roughly. He forces your fingers to uncurl, his own rough fingers digging into your hand, poking and prodding. He moves your fingers, bending your wrist and moving your arm. “It’s not broken.” He says, grabbing the ice pack and slapping it across your knuckles. “Luckily.”

You’re still trembling, your hand lifting subconsciously to hold the ice pack in place. You feel dazed, not unlike you had earlier when you’d been pulled from sleep, only this time you can feel the emotions still pulsing through you. The remnants of anger, the disgust, the fear both from attacking an alpha, and the reprimanding you’re sure you’re due for doing such a thing.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” You murmur, feeling far away, outside of your body looking in.

“Probably not.” Ghost says.

You turn slightly to look at him, pupils dilated as you simultaneously appear to see him and look straight through him. “Price is gonna find out.”

Ghost nods again, the burn of ozone gone from his scent. “He’ll believe you, though. Anything you tell him, he’s going to believe you over what anyone else says.”

You stare at him, the skull mask from earlier gone, leaving him just in his balaclava. His eyelashes are blonde, you think as you take him in, trying to ground yourself. His skin looks soft, but that could just be the omega screaming at you. You expect him to get up, to leave you alone until you find the will to move, or one of the others finds you. Yet, he stays where he is, eyes focused across the room as you sit there.

“You’re a purebred alpha.” You say, breaking the silence with the thought that had come to mind earlier. You need to keep talking, to keep your mind steady while you relax.

“How did you figure it out?” He asks, not denying it.

“Your scent.” You say, recalling earlier in the mess, the way his scent had permeated your entire body. You hadn’t just sensed it, you had felt it. His emotions, his anger, the hint of desperation for the Corporal to make the smart decision and walk away. “It’s different from other alphas. Price smells good and I’d like to roll around in his scent, but yours hits some deep primal part of my brain.” You say, turning slowly to face him. “Makes sense you’d end up in a position like this. You’re supposed to be like, an apex human.” You laugh quietly. “Just a couple of purebreds. What are the odds?”

“Very high.” He answers.

You laugh again. “Yeah, I know. Both of my parents were purebreds, and my grandparents. Both of them came from a long line of purebreds.” Your brows pinch into a frown. “I didn’t see it in your file, though.”

“I don’t want it to be.” He explains.

“Makes sense.” You say. “If I’d had that choice I’d have it left out too. As soon as someone sees it, that’s how they measure your worth. It’s not about you anymore, it’s your status they want.” You lift the ice, moving your fingers. Your hand is sore, your knuckles starting to swell a bit.

“It’ll bruise.” He says, staring down at your hand.

“‘Spose it could have been worse.” You say, grimacing at the ache pulsing all the way to your shoulder.

“Yeah,” He scoffs. “You could have broken your arm with a punch like that.”

“‘S not my fault the CIA didn’t teach me much.” You murmur. “They mostly made me run.” You remember the hours and hours you spend running circles around the gym. So many circles, over and over again.

Get involved in their hobbies. Your brain flicks through that section of the book, an idea beginning to form in your head. You’d considered it a few days ago, when you first read that chapter. Ghost speaks in violence and warfare, fighting and defending. How do you bond with the apex of humankind?

“Teach me to fight.”

His eyes shift slowly until he’s looking at you. You wish you could see the rest of his face, read his expression. His eyes don't give you much to go off of, something he'd likely perfected over the years.

“Or, at least defend myself.” You continue, fighting the urge to shrink back under his gaze. “I know, Price already told me to run first, but what if that's not an option? Am I gonna throw a shitty punch and hope it works? Aim between the legs and hope I'm faster than they can block? I promise I won't go around trying to fight asshole alphas.”

He continues to stare at you, his eyes locked on yours. Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach twisting nervously but there's no challenge in his gaze, not even a playful one like you'd initiated with Price. He's simply staring.

You wonder what he's looking for, what he's thinking. Will he laugh at you for asking? Tell you to ask someone else? Get Price to do it since he’s actually your alpha?

“Fine.” He grunts, breaking eye contact first as he pushes himself to stand. “We start Monday. Early.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him leave the rec room. You may have just found your way into Ghost’s heart, or at least a way to get him to tolerate your presence.

Monday. Early.

You’ll be ready.

Taglist Part 1:

@bobaprint, @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10

#call of duty fic #call of duty #cod fic #john price x reader #captain price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics #omegaverse #x reader

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star-sim · 3 months

Text

his "oh" moment ☆ enha hyungs

☆ non-idol! enhypen hyungs x fem! reader ☆ summary: the exact moment that your enha boy realized he loved you. ☆ genre: fluff, down bad boys, very domestic and intimate, can be interpreted as either pre-relationship or established relationship, wtv u want :) ☆ warning(s)? no, theyre all just so atrociously down bad ☆ word count: 1.3k total

heeseung just came back from a little run to the convenience store for snacks. when he asked you if you wanted to come with him, you only smiled and said that you'd stay in his apartment to watch the boiling pot of ramyeon that you were preparing.

it was 3am when he ventured out into the cold, night air, pulling his hood over his ears. as the bag filled with all of your favorite drinks crinkled under his fingertips, heeseung slipped his housekey into the keyhole, sniffling softly from the cold.

as he cracked the door open, he was met with warm, orange light, warm air, and the smell of his favorite ramyeon.

"i'm back!" he shouted from the door, slipping his shoes off. you didn't hear him, so he just made his way into the kitchen.

the sight he saw before him was enough to make heeseung's heart skip a beat.

there you were, humming quietly to yourself as you graced his kitchen. lost in your own world, almost like the only thing that matter to you in that moment was the small pot of hot ramyeon, the same one that you always made when you were with him because you knew that he loved it. the way his kitchen lights shone down on you made you glow, almost like you were a saint to be venerated.

the sound of heeseung's breath getting caught in his throat caught your attention.

you turned over your shoulder, and the moment that you eyes met his, you expression melted into a smile— the one where your lips lifted so that he could see your teeth, your eyes forming thin crescents as your nose crinkled— the smile that heeseung swore he saw in his dreams.

"welcome back, hee," your voice greeted him.

as those words tumbled from your lips, heeseung's eyes widened into saucers as his heart dropped to his stomach.

he wouldn't mind hearing you say that to him everyday for the rest of his life. the thought of him coming home to you everyday, seeing your pretty, smiley face as you said his name, made heeseung light-headed, his face becoming the same color as the red broth of your ramyeon.

shit.

jay didn't think what he just said was really that funny.

it was a small, off-hand comment that he made, a mere remark that was miniscule in the grand scheme of things.

but the way that you keeled over yourself, your eyes squeezed shut yet tears spilled out of them, gripping onto the table as you laughed, told him otherwise. you struggled to form words, constantly cutting yourself off with laughter, wheezing so hard jay was worried that you'd stop breathing.

the sound of your laugh was like music to his ears. jay couldn't help the small, dumb grin that began to bleed onto his face; it started with his chest filling with warmth, rising up his neck, to his ears, and finally his lips. one corner of his lip raised slowly, before the other one did. his lips wobbled, watching you as you wiped a tear from your eye, until he couldn't hold it back anymore, and the smile that he tried so hard to swallow back unraveled across his features.

"st-stop!" you cried as laughter erupted from your chest, throwing your head back. you cheeks were beginning to hurt, but jay's words kept reverberating in your head. "i-i'm gonna pee myself!"

that's when jay laughed.

"shut up," he said, but no matter what he did to push the sound of your laughter to the back of his head, there was nothing he could do.

his cheeks were already too red, his heart already pounding in his chest like a drum, this memory already cemented into his head.

and plus, he already made up his mind: he could get used to hearing your laugh everyday.

or even better, he wouldn't mind being the reason for your laughter.

jake had no idea how his brother did it, how his brother managed to have a kid and not snap into a million pieces.

but as you held his infant nephew, cooing at his small hands and chubby cheeks, jake felt his entire world pummel to his feet.

"hi baby!" you cooed to the child, your knees folded below you as you helped jake babysit his nephew. when the baby babbled back, soft and sweet giggles fell from your lips, you laid on your back, holding the baby over you.

you gently rocked the baby in the air, relishing in the way that it let out small and high-pitched giggles.

jake watched. the way your touch was so gentle, pulling the child to your chest as you cuddled with him. your tenderness was so... soft. so soft that it made jake's brows furrow together, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, in order to hide the look of pure stupid that was threatening to seep through his expression.

you were so warm, so kind, so affectionate, that it made jake feel all mushy inside, like he was going to evaporate.

he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep the palpitations in his chest at bay, trying to keep the ache in his heart from consuming him whole.

"i didn't know you were so good with kids," he said to you, kneeling beside your figure that embraced his baby nephew. his tone was half-teasing, but jake knew better. there was a war raging on in him, and frankly, he wasn't going to win.

the more he watched you, the more everything became clear to him.

maybe he wouldn't mind having kids, if it's with you.

sunghoon had a strict sleep schedule, one that he would do anything to protect.

as his phone illuminated his bedroom, the blue light gleaming so bright that someone could go blind, and as that godforsaken ringtone shook sunghoon awake, he thought that he was going to punch someone.

but the moment his half-asleep eyes traced the letters of your name, his finger darted to answer your call, no questions asked.

"hello?" he rubbed his tired eyes, yawning, yet with no intention of going back to sleep. after all, it was you.

"hooooon," your voice slurred on the other line. he could hear loud music in the background.

"are you drunk?" he asked, worried. his brows crashed together, concern bubbling in his chest. "where are you?"

you laughed, the sweet sound almost making sunghoon feel at ease. "at the cluuubbb."

"shit," sunghoon muttered under his breath.

"don't worry about me!" you reassured him. "not drunk.... hehe!"

sunghoon was already grabbing his coat and keys, slamming his front door.

it was only when you snuggled up against him in the backseat of his car, pushing your cheeks into the crook of his neck and clutching his arm, that everything came crashing down on sunghoon's shoulders.

it was a quiet realization, like the small light that had always been glimmering inside him suddenly flickered on. it was no surprise to him: a silent and hushed wave of fulfillment crashing onto the seashore that was his heart, before fizzling out into white seafoam.

his eyes traced your features under the dim light, taking in the faint scent of your perfume.

you muttered his name, reaching out for him, and all he could do was feel his heart throb for a few pulses, before sucking in a sharp breath and letting a curve form on his lips.

"i'm here," he said quietly into your ear. "i'm always here."

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anantaru · 6 months

Text

DAY 14 —YANDERE CORRUPTION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — dan heng, jing yuan

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, yan! hsr characters, possessive & jealous, hints of voyeurism in jing yuan's part, cowgirl, jing yuan and dan heng kinda crazy in this one idk

𖧡 — DAN HENG

dan heng simply cannot get one minute without worrying himself sick about you— not when he was utterly frightened due to a possibility, which he was certain would happen one day, of you getting hurt in one way or the other— but you cannot blame him then, right? when your boyfriend does what he believes was the best outcome for the both of you, meaning to protect you at all times.

now, be it with him remaining next to you whenever you're tackling an appointment or idly go somewhere, whilst he will make sure to shower you with enough love and pleasure as well, which would slowly reveal his second concern and reason for his uneasiness— the thought that you'd leave him one day.

like a virus in disguise, the bothersome thought was pestering him from the cold mornings up to the silent nights— even when he's got you bouncing on his lap with practiced ease, with his rough palms scattered across your jiggling flesh to rub you over his shaft and thrust his raw cock against the spongy parts.

one might assume that the last thing someone would dwell on in a setting such as this one, was an engraved panic hidden beneath ones heart— but again, sadly, dan heng cannot help himself but continuously pester his psyche of an imagination in his mind, which was driving him into madness and guided him to a path full of unhealthy behaviors.

he presses his fingers against you harder now, the bristling tension that intertwined your moving frames rose rapidly as you whine out before sinking down on him once more, his deep thrusts in tune with your hips rolling over his shaft, the lust evident in your gaze as you look down on his flexed stomach, each rill and curve of his muscles embedded with sweat and glowing hotly as you swallow down the budding saliva in your mouth at the sight.

his arms curl tightly around your waist as you gasp at how impossibly close he had gotten to you suddenly, making it a whole lot more difficult to move yourself on him in facileness, your head clouded in a euphoric paradise that had you short of breath, especially the feeling of your walls squishing around his shaft so tight was overwhelming but didn't stop you from recognizing that something has been wrong.

"..dan heng?" your words slip out as a soft whine against his cheek as you find him in a trance, glazed eyes half-lidded with his forehead resting on your shoulder, "y-yeah?" he removes his palms from your waist to raise your hips up, only leaving the tip in and beckoning you to lean a bit forward, so it wouldn't be uncomfortable to neither of you— and he even smiles, hazily and a little frozen, giving the impression away that it was unnatural.

before you were able to respond though, he had already thrown another question at you, "you wouldn't leave me, right?" he says with a hum of your name reaching you next, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass and making it bounce under his touch. "w-what? never!" you hold yourself on his broad shoulders as his tip brushes delicately over the beginning of your insides, only teasing for now, and you knew that dan heng wouldn't move, not before you'd answer him.

his crystalline eyes serve more as a warning, his dark hair strands framing his face so heavenly that you'd never assume that dan heng would have any problems regarding being too jealous or possessive of you— yet, the moment you respond, he glazes his warm tongue over the pulsing marks on your throat, together with slamming you back on his cock and making you take him all at once.

ugh, can you be any more perfect? you just know exactly how to make him unravel and break him free from any doubt playing on repeat in his mind— with those smooth, wet movements of your hands gyrating over his hips, his breathing becoming ragged, needy, and a familiar rush of warmth touches the depths of your stomach as an orgasm finally washes over the both of you.

it's certain, dan heng was just imagining things again, and there really was no one left walking on this planet who would threaten his relationship in any shape or form— bluntly put, at least not anymore, because your boyfriend dan heng made sure to place early preparations on such things, always one step at a time, getting rid of any threats he might encounter in his life.

𖧡 — JING YUAN

without a single shred of doubt, you can easily discern that you were one of jing yuan's priorities, if not the most important one— you can tell by the lingering touch of gratifying proximity along your entire body when he lies himself back on top of you, sinking his hips between your thighs as they tremble around him.

he tends to observe your beauty from afar as well, coos to himself when he calls you lovely the second he catches a smile linger over your lips, or when you come home after a long day and immediately jump into the hot bathtub to take a shower— ugh, you're so delicious when you're all bare and exposed, without realizing he was there to watch it all happen in real time, taking relish by how easy you were to adore.

between seas, galaxies and the moon, the general was truly lucky, and he wouldn't want to live a day without you, nor would he let you live your life without him being in the picture— because without adornment, he was obsessed with you and if you were to see into his thoughts, you'd see nothing but your face.

now, he's easing your hips forward to make you bounce back and forth the mattress before returning to shift his weight onto one his forearms so he can press himself real snug and tight inside— your pulsing walls loading with vibrations as he grunts strongly, his dripping dick thickening and throbbing at every thrust before he adds a couple shallow hits into you, smirking ever so handsomely against your parted lips.

you felt pliant under him, fucked-out and shaky as his broad body covers and blankets you— and he kisses you then, eagerly swallows up the intoxicating, little mewls that fell from the tip of your tongue as he carries on to greedily stuff you full, his cock dripping with pre and touching up your intimate skin, his length stroking against your velvety walls in a way that constricts your stomach and has you wincing from the pressure of both his cock fully sheated in you and his large body practically luring the breath from your lungs.

it’s filthy, this entire situation was, but you find utter bliss in his cock rolling into your flexing walls— and for some reason, it felt like the general knew your body better than you did, knew you for much longer, even though you had personally just met him only tonight.

yet, with how he was fucking you, leisurely rotating his hips just the right way so he nudges against those twitching pleasure spots to leave you hanging on a rope— almost like he studied you for months on end but oh, this cannot be true!

and you quickly remove yourself from such pestering thoughts that only served as a troublesome emotion, you certainly do not require this right now— rather do you lastly come to a conclusion you believe was right, being that the ever so well respected general just had to be perfect for you.

#hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x reader #dan heng smut #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #kinktober #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng smut #hsr jing yuan smut #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #dan heng x you #jing yuan x you

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angelbarelywrites · 24 days

Text

♡ mine | tommy hewitt x reader

♡ fandoms; texas chainsaw massacre remake/ the beginning

♡ characters; thomas hewitt

♡ reader; AFAB body description, second person POV

♡ cw; graphic sexual content, implied voyeurism, breeding kink, light daddy kink (just calling him daddy? wasn’t sure what to tag that )

♡notes; i feel the need to apologize for this one lmao. i didn’t intend for this to see the light of day but i felt we needed more smut around here and this was already sittin in my personal folder

i don’t know that I’ve ever posted detailed smut anywhere before? so lmk how i did, i still haven’t even asked to get my friend to beta read so I’m sure There’s Issues.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

“Oh fuck, baby,” You sighed softly, letting your head roll to the side as you ground on Thomas’ thigh - the mountain of a man pushing his leg up with a huff. Luda-Mae, Monty, and Hoyt had taken a rare trip to their cousins’ place upstate, and left Thomas and yourself in a…sticky situation.

It had already become a war of attrition with you living there, each of you testing the other’s boundaries as you tried desperately not to cross the line. Thomas was allegedly a good, Bible-following boy- and you a shy little virgin . But god, something about Thomas just made you crazy. You needed him- and you’d gotten so shameless that you’d let him do just about anything to you.

That’s what landed you there, trying to entice Thomas and only ending up a squeaky mess as you rode his thigh. He was steadfast for a man years pent up- seeming to find great pleasure in making you unravel without cracking himself. Of course, you had no idea of the hours he spent fucking into his own hand as he imagined you around him, stealing your panties from the laundry bin and palming himself to the sight of you splayed out sunbathing in the yard. Even now you seemed too hazy to notice his cock straining against his trousers, or his fingers dug into the couch to prevent himself from touching your body. The way he trembled as he felt you making a mess on him, the only thing between your slick cunt and his leg your already soaked lacy panties…

His laser focus was broken by something entirely unexpected. You whimpered and hid your face against his chest, mumbling “Daddy- please—“

He wasn’t sure if it was the phrase,the tone, or both that finally broke his resolve- but either way he pinned you against the floral sofa forcefully, snarling like an animal.

“T-tommy- what- I’m sorry—?” You squeaked, seeming utterly confused. Did you even know what you’d said to him?

He growled and quickly signed ‘Again’. You blinked, perplexed look quickly replaced with embarrassment. You whined and tried to hide your face but he snarled again and made you look at him. ‘Again. Now.’

“…daddy. Please. Please I need you. Please—“ You begged, panting weakly as you writhed uncomfortably and unsated.

He rutted against you quickly, moving and kissing your neck sloppily. “Mine,” He rasped quietly, a rare sound even for his partner “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Oh my god Tommy- please- I need you to give it to me- I wanna feel you inside-“

He made quick work of his belt, pushing your dress up carelessly and making just as quick a job out of ripping your undies clean apart.

You yelped but replaced the complaint with a blissed out, shuddering whine as he finally rubbed against your bare pussy. “Oh fuck…please- put it in-“

He grunted and pushed your legs back, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours as you felt his weight pressed against you. Even in this moment, he tried his damndest to be gentle, looking your face over for the slightest bit of fear or apprehension. “Tommy, please. Fuck me.” You whimpered out softly.

He pushed in carefully , having to stop only halfway in as you squeezed around him. He was huge, long and girthy and a painful stretch even with you relaxed. He gave a grunt and nuzzled you, hips twitching as he reached between you. Clumsily, roughly, he found your clit and slowly rubbed, purring in approval as you mewled out his name.

He was able to jerk his hips and finally bottomed out with a low groan, face buried in your neck. He held still, taking a ragged breath to try to regain control- but you didn’t want control. You needed him to lose it completely.

“Daddy, please. I want you to fuck a baby into me,” You murmured, letting a desperate whine leak into your voice. It was a bit of a long shot- but he was so possessive. Why wouldn’t he want to breed you?

Thomas’ eyes darkened at the thought and he gave a low noise you could barely classify as he pulled nearly all the way out and snapped his hips, setting a brutal pace.

“Oh god-“ You yelped, bracing yourself on his huge arms as he pounded into you, the entire couch creaking and slamming into the wall at the force. You lost any coherence you had as he again teased your clit, mind blank. You got exactly what you wanted, and it was too much in the best way possible.

You came first- you didn’t know if it was because of his stamina or because even in a frenzy he still needed you to feel just as good. You were almost crying as he continued, overwhelmed and overstimulated - and wrapping your legs around his waist to make sure he didn’t stop for a moment. “Baby please- inside- I want you to finish inside-“ You mewled out in your haze- but damn if you didn’t mean it.

That was all it took, unsurprisingly, for him to thrust one last time and fill you with a snarl. He peppered your face in soft kisses, giving a heaving sigh as he relaxed. You tried to move but he growled, keeping himself firmly inside of you. You blushed a bit as you saw his intense expression “You ah…you really liked when I asked you to knock me up, huh?”

He nodded, huffing at you.

“…you know we have all night to try again, yeah?”

He grunted and finally relented, pulling out and smirking at the sight of his seed dripping down your thighs.

“Tommy baby? I love you.” You sighed sleepily

He looked up quickly and seemed shocked. Man of few words that he ways- and never having dreamed he’d need to learn the sign, he took your hand and pressed it against his chest. Right above the heart. In your mind, there was no better way he could have said it; he loved you too.

#slashers #thomas hewitt #slashers x reader #slashers x you #tcm #thomas hewitt x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw the beginning #tcm 2006 #tcm 2003 #tommy hewitt #thomas brown hewitt #leatherface #cw daddy kink #cw smut #cw voyeurism #cw breeding

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cambion-companion · 8 months

Note

Here’s ya girl who has gone completely feral over astarion. He’s the babiest baby. Okay, here’s the prompt. My characterisation could be a bit (or a lot lol) off bc I haven’t played the game Y E T so feel free to change the things that seem OOC.

Established relationship, but the beginnings of it, on a mission to find a way for astarion to be in the sun again. Reader has given astarion time to work on his sexual trauma so they haven’t been having sex for some time. Reader is 100% ok w that. But they have a big argument over something (not related to sex) and astarion doesn’t know how to resolve the situation other than reverting back to his seductive artifice and using sex as a way to ensure his safety (in this case, emotional safety). Reader figures it out because they (or she) are not dumb. They reassure astarion and he lets himself be vulnerable but also, it turns out that astarion wants that sexual intimacy. But reader decides this will be all about astarion and making him feel good and loved. Body worship, astarion’s praise kink, just everything focused on astarion’s pleasure in a way he has never experienced and that makes him completely unravel once he comes. Not a subby reader, tho. You know me, I don’t do subby.

If this is too long of a prompt, just the sexy part will be ok. Thank you so much, i have such astarion brainrot DDDD:

I Want to Live

word count: 1700

gn!reader x Astarion | Baldur's Gate 3 fanfic | 18+ only

"I don't think we should use the tadpoles for anything, Astarion." You put your hands on your hips, glaring at the sulky Elf in front of you.

This tense conversation between the two of you had gone on far longer than you'd have liked. Astarion seemed insistent on using whatever advantage the Illithids had unintentionally given your party. Despite not yet knowing the implications of doing so.

Astarion's silver hair glinted in the firelight that warmed your back, his eyes shone like droplets of blood. "You might as well leave me alone, spoilsport." He waved an imperious hand in your direction, sneering at you in the way he knew would hurt you most. "Since you insist on being boring and unimaginative."

You ground your teeth. "I'm trying to keep us safe."

"And a fine job you're doing, my sweet." His lilting voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you ask Arabella how her parents are doing?" He paused, then feigned surprise. "Oh wait..."

Your eyes widened as a jolt of genuine pain lanced through your heart at his callous words. Astarion was aiming to do damage and, like always, he knew how to push your buttons.

Magic sparked at the end of your fingertips as you fought to control your rage. It was the lack of verbal response that alerted Astarion to the fact he might have pushed a little too far with you. His face almost looked regretful for a moment, or perhaps it was a trick of the firelight casting shadows across his features. You didn't gain much insight because of the tears blurring your vision as you quickly turned away and strode as far away from the vampire spawn as you could.

Shadowheart, who always seemed to overhear everything, cast a worried glance your direction before leveling a glare on Astarion who still watched after you with a blank look.

You sat yourself upon your bedroll before the campfire and listened to Volo squeakily tune his lute. Wyll and Gale were over by their tents chatting and Lae'zel sat on a boulder by the river sharpening her sword.

You had thought Astarion would understand and perhaps even agree with you, and the rest of the camp for that matter, that the parasites should not be utilized to gain control of other beings. It was convenient and downright useful, yes...but not worth an unknown cost.

You had thought...since that night when the two of you had become intimate...that he'd maybe come to care for you. But that jab about Arabella's parents, who you'd failed to save, only confirmed that the vampire did not have your best interests at heart.

Sighing, you moved your bedroll away from its usual place beside Astarion's and arranged it next to where Karlach slept. You could feel multiple pairs of eyes watching you move about but you didn't much care at the moment.

Karlach gave you a curious and concerned look as she came over and got comfortable for the night. "Are you alright? I could hear you and Astarion going at it...and not in the fun way."

You grunted and moved your body to the side so you could scrape out a rock that had been digging into your back. "It's fine. He's just an ass." You said these words loud enough for him to hear.

Karlach shrugged and nodded as if this were common knowledge. She gave you a jolting pat on the back before getting comfortable in her own bedroll.

As the breathing patterns of your companions slowly deepened in slumber, you could not find any rest. You tossed and turned as best you could in such primitive sleeping arrangements. You missed your bed back in Baldur's Gate above the taproom of the Shadowcat Claw, the familiar bustle of voices and a mug of ale in your belly lulling you to sleep. Out in this wilderness, with the thought of your argument with Astarion tugging at your thoughts...you had to get up.

As quietly as you could, you slid out of your bedroll and got to your feet. A quick observation of your companions told you they were all in a deep sleep. All except Lae'zel who sat on the boulder still, keeping silent watch. She nodded at you curtly as you passed and didn't ask any questions, for which you were grateful.

You crept through the foliage down to the place in the forest by the river where you and Astarion had had your midnight tryst. You could still feel his moonlight hair running through your fingers, his fangs on your neck as you arched it just for him. The trust...you thought you had at least earned a little bit of his trust.

"I thought I'd find you here." His voice was velvet, it shivered straight through your defenses to your heart.

"I wanted to be alone, Astarion." You tried to keep your own voice cool and collected, but you ached to hold him in your arms again.

Astarion had followed you from the campsite into the woods. He'd been fully aware of your restlessness, of course he had. He entered your line of sight now, looking very much like a cat stalking its prey. His ruby eyes were dark and trained on your face. "Come now, you're far too obvious for all this bluster. Do you not want to feel me again?" He gave you a crooked smile, showing his teeth. "A second taste, perhaps?"

You felt the hollowness of his words and saw the carefully arranged expression he wore like a mask. Beneath the facade you could make out the telltale twitch of a facial muscle, the tenseness of his eyes, indicating anxiety.

You sighed. "I thought we were passed these games."

"Games?" Astarion's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "Games are all part of the fun, my dear. So good at getting the blood pumping."

You folded your arms. "I want an apology."

This tripped him up. For a moment the facade slipped, and he seemed genuinely taken aback. "Apologize?" Then he was back to his usual bluster. "Me? Apologize for what?"

"For having a go at me today. Bringing up Arabella's parents when you know how upset I am about it." Astarion made a noise as if to speak but you cut across him. "That was cruel, Astarion, and I deserve better from you."

"I didn't..." Astarion sighs heavily, his eyes glancing down to the ground then back at your face. "I apologize." The words seemed to pain him in some way. "I wanted to get a rise out of you, that's all. Now let's forget about that and have some fun."

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, saying nothing, simply watching his face lit in the silver moonlight. His unconvincing grin slowly slipped off his face, a troubled frown replacing it. The two of you looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, you spoke.

"You're testing how much I care for you, aren't you?" Your voice was soft, almost inaudible over the rippling stream.

Astarion seemed momentarily taken aback, he seemed to consider taking shelter once more behind his mask of pompous indifference. But then his shoulder's slumped slightly, the fists at his sides loosened. That was all the answer you needed.

You stepped forward and placed your hands around his, tugging him closer. He did not resist, his footfalls light as ever as he drew near. Close enough to feel his breath warm your lips.

"I care about you, Astarion." Your voice was still soft amidst the rustling leaves and sparkling water. "I discourage you from using the tadpole's powers because I couldn't bear to see your will overtaken by yet another monster."

Astarion was silent for a long time, his scarlet eyes turned silver as a moonbeam fell across his pallid face. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. "What if it's too late for me? To be anything other than a monster? My only choice is which one." He laughs forcefully, bitterness twisting his mouth.

"I won't let that happen." You encircled him tenderly in a hug, pulling him to rest flush against your body. "We're in this...together."

"Together." The word was echoed back to you, his voice framing the syllables as if it were a foreign tongue.

You turned your face into him and kissed his neck softly, feeling his body tense in your arms and then slowly relax. You kept your lips against his skin, over where Cazador had sunk his fangs all those centuries ago.

Astarion's hands slowly slid up your hips to rest against your lower back as he held you close. Your lips caressed his neck, throat and trailed up to his jaw until you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you." You murmured.

You felt him tense again, not pushing you away, but his hands tightened on your back. "I..." Astarion hesitated. "I'm not quite ready to say those words back to you, my dear."

"I know." You felt no anger, no hurt. You accepted him however he wished to come to you, grateful for this rare moment of vulnerability beneath the stars.

You pushed him back gently until his back made contact with the base of a large sycamore tree. A huff of air left his lungs, quickly claimed by your mouth as you kissed him hungrily this time. Your hands made quick work of his clothing and Astarion became eager to help the process along.

"Vixen." He murmured and you laughed against his lips, your tongues teasing each other.

"You're beautiful, Astarion." You held his face in your hands and kissed his mouth lightly, not allowing him to turn away even as the compliment made his eyes search yours for hints of disingenuity. "I want nothing from you in return." You said firmly, reading his emotional turmoil through your shared Illithid connection. "This is just for you." You kissed his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. "To keep."

Astarion's head fell back to rest against the tree trunk as you continued lavishing affection upon him. He moaned your name softly to the night sky as you slowly sunk to your knees before him, the dirt and rocks digging unheeded against your knees. His fingers twisted in your hair and guided you to where he wanted you most.

"Good, my love." You praised him, your words causing his body to shake with increasing pleasure. "Show me."

The night was long and full of bliss. A genuine exchange of pleasure, without the previous facades and plays at affection. You felt the change as surely as he did, and when the others awoke in the morning it was to find your bedroll pulled back right next to where Astarion lay curled against you.

"You owe me five gold, Shadowheart." Gale mumbled.

#baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #gale bg3 #shadowheart #bg3 fic #bg3 astarion x reader #astarion x tav #karlach #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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roseykat · 3 months

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TITLE: Play Right

SUMMARY: The aftermath of the events that occurred at Hyunjin's apartment begins to unravel and sprout into things that are unsuspecting of Hyunjin and Jisung. While Jisung is under the disturbance of a text message he sent to Chan from your phone, he decides to turn to his friends to spill the beans.

TAGS: porn with plot, solo male masturbation, ruined orgasm, swearing, handjobs, soft moments, depictions of sexual intercourse, kissing, cum eating, orgasms, mainly m x m themes, alcohol is consumed (but nobody is drunk)

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSWF SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

PART 1 + PART 2 - MASTERLIST

🏷️LIST: @chillichillicrabcrab23 @broken-glowsticks @ihatemen55 @boi-bi-ahaha @galamxy @weareapackofstrays @anglerfishiey @elizalabs3 @fr34k4c1dr41n @stayconnecteed @imnotjjini0325 @twinklix @meilix @livsposts @dawn-iscozy @princejisung @groovygroovyhyunjin @valibals @oiikaro @/itsthatbri @leftkittenface @/20minsat180degrees (if you want to be removed from the taglist going forward with this series, lmk!)

A/N: listened to Cigarettes out the window by TV Girl when I wrote most of this.

DISCLAIMER: before you read, this is a series so things are building up. There is a plot, so whilst this isn’t reader x member heavy based as the rest of the parts so far, that doesn’t mean to say that it won’t be in the future. Reader and Chan will get their time, don't worry, just want things to develop. This piece is more Jisung and Hyunjin focused iykwim x

“The weather forecast for the upcoming week is predicted to be hotter than usual-“

“Ngh- fuck, right there...”

“-with temperatures expected to rise above thirty degrees. Weather Watch is also alerting citizens-“

“S-So good, baby…Y/N…”

“-in the city to prepare for the possibility of yet another monsoon-“

“Gonna…cum, gonna cum so hard for you…just like that…”

“-other regions of the outer city should also expect showers and hot temperatures-“

“Fuck’s sake!”

With an angry groan and grumble, Hyunjin’s right hand stills over his slick, hard cock. His other hand yanks a pillow from his side and pelts it straight at his door to slam it right shut. Pathetic white strings of cum shot from his dark pink tip and land on his abdomen, some as far as his shirt that he had pulled up to his chest to avoid staining it.

It’s been impossible for him to jerk off while the six o’clock weather is playing in the background from his lounge. The talk of monsoons and hot weather threatens the disappearance of the mental images he has of you in his brain, used as vital motivation to get himself off - a recurring activity that has been happening for the past two weeks.

Summer doesn’t make it any better either. His body is sticky, sweat beading over his forehead from the disgusting, muggy heat that rivals the air con blowing throughout his apartment. Then the rain that lashes harshly at his windows is enough to drown out his own moans. It was a useless feat, just as useless as his own ruined orgasm that now put him in a bad mood. He had to satisfy his needs somehow.

Instead of turning to porn, Hyunjin had something even better; you. The vivid images of his cock plunging fluidly into your wet pussy. The erotic sounds he extracted out of you with each thrust, that is when you weren’t choking on Jisung’s dick. He just wishes he could’ve seen your face when he made you cum.

Hyunjin sighs and presses his head back into the pillow. Before he gets to think about jumping in the shower, his phone rings from the nightstand. He picks up the device to see a very flattering drunk photo of Changbin appear on his screen.

Hyunjin answers, “hey.”

“Hyunjin, what are you doing right now?” Changbin asks.

“Watching the news,” he sniffs, he might as well have been watching the news.

“Boring. Did you not see the group chat messages?”

“No, not yet. Why is something wrong?”

“No, nothings wrong. Minho booked a table for hot pot and barbecue tonight. Figured you weren’t doing anything important so we’re all meeting up in half an hour,” Changbin explains.

Barbecue and hot pot sounded nice. Surely it’ll be a method to dry out Hyunjin’s damp mood a little bit. That and a cold shower to freshen up.

“Okay, yeah sounds good. Can you text me the details then?”

As Hyunjin hung up and decided to start getting ready, it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen his friends in a couple of weeks, with a strong reference to you and Jisung. You had both been active in the group chat so he didn’t necessarily feel awkward about seeing the guy he had a threesome with. As for you, he really doesn’t know.

You’re sweeter and easy to be around. Something about that just turns the entire situation on its head. Not that Jisung isn’t sweet or easy to be around in Hyunjin’s opinion, with you it’s different. Although, as he’s been mulling over the past couple of weeks, he’s discovered a few things about himself and Jisung.

Dressing according to the weather, Hyunjin takes his umbrella with him on his way out in the hopes the rain won’t continue when he leaves the restaurant later on. After receiving the address from Changbin, thankfully just one subway stop away, Hyunjin heads off into the downfall and arrives fifteen minutes later.

He was wrong to assume that he wasn’t going to feel awkward around Jisung, and now as he spots him at the table, engaging in a riveting conversation with Jeongin, all he feels is awkwardness. He waves out to him from down the way, ushering him to come over, lulling Hyunjin out of his own mind for a minute.

“Hyunjin!” Jeongin called out cheerily, patting a spot beside him to come and sit.

“Already started drinking Innie?” Hyunjin slings his arm around his younger friend's shoulder.

“I couldn’t wait, sorry,” he responds and pours Hyunjin a shot of his soju. “Long day.”

“Did you eat before?”

“Not since lunch,” he replies.

Hyunjin shakes his head and warns, “Innie, you know it’s bad to drink on an empty stomach, right?”

Jeongin shrugs, “like I said, long day.”

Hyunjin picks up his shot glass, downing it in one go before setting the glass back down on the surface again. As he does, his eyes meet Jisung’s who stares intently at him from across the table. He shoots a cheeky wink at Hyunjin, forcing a deep red blush to emerge through his cheeks.

Hyunjin knew what that meant.

Suddenly his mind races back to that night at his apartment; making out with Jisung, remembering suddenly the thought of what sort of tricks that mouth of his possesses, watching you suck him dry. He wasn’t going to be forgetting it any time soon, not when it fuels his jack off sessions at home.

After the few lingering moments where the pair were still locking eyes, more of their friends started to show up. Seungmin was accompanied by his new girlfriend, glued to his hip who greeted everyone shyly. Hyunjin hadn’t actually properly met her, let alone talked to her yet, but she seemed nice. Once they had taken a seat on their cushions, Changbin rolled in with Felix and Minho in tow who was stuffing his keys into the pocket of his pants.

“You guys are here early,” he says with surprise.

“You were the one who organised it,” Jisung pointed out.

“That I did,” Minho nods, sitting down with everyone else.

Felix groans as he flops next to Changbin, “I’m hungry, it's not even funny.”

As everyone settled down, trays of fresh veggies, assortments of meat, and other items were brought to their table for them to cook. Minho decided to get started on grilling while Seungmin opted to bring the hot pot on the table to a boil. The smell of the food made Hyunjin almost forget why he was slightly nervous about going out in the first place.

He got back to talking with Jeongin, asking him how work has been treating him, what he’s been up to since they last saw each other, and even planned a time to hang out in the future.

“What about you, Jisung?” Jeongin asks with a mouthful of bossam. “Haven’t seen you in ages. Been up to anything interesting these days?”

Jisung finishes slurping up some of the rice noodles Felix had cooked for him from the hot pot, “here and there. Mainly just working now.”

“Ah,” Jeongin nods in understanding. “You always work so much. No wonder why it’s hard for you to hang out with us sometimes.”

That’s when it hits Jisung, causing him to pause and realise that something isn’t right. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realise it when it’s right there in plain sight.

“Where is Y/N and Chan?” He questions.

“Mm! Gonna…gonna cum all over your cock, wanna cum for you so bad,” you strain out. “Makes me feel so fucking good.”

Chan looks up at you, a deranged and desperate expression paints his face as you ride his dick, “don’t stop riding me then. Need to see that pretty pussy cum all over me.”

Minho flips over pieces of meat on the grill, “Chan is out of the city with his family at the moment. They flew in a few days ago.”

“You’re creaming so much around me baby,” Chan growls, nails digging painfully into the skin over your hips. “This pussy is all mine.”

“And Y/N’s still at work,” Minho continues, plating some of the veggies he had been charring on the side too.

Moans erupt from your chest, projecting out into Chan’s lounge, “C-Channie, so good, make me cum, please-“

Jisung nods. It’s not suspicious at all to him that neither of you are here. The two people to an unwanted jigsaw puzzle that he had been piecing together just so happened to be ‘missing.’ Of course, none of the other guys truly knew why. At least he doesn’t think.

Maybe you two really are in separate locations - not that he believes it. The one thing he knows for absolute sure to be the cold, hard truth, is that you and Chan are most definitely seeing each other casually - fucking behind everyone’s backs. Then again, so did he and Hyunjin in some sense.

Nonetheless, for the past couple of weeks, Jisung was storing that message he received on your phone from Chan in the back of his mind. It affirms a glimmer of a suspicion that Jisung held about Chan previously; that he was seeing someone.

“Well, that just confirms everything then,” Jisung mutters under his breath, concluding his answer there and then in his mind.

“Confirms what?” Minho questions, his hawk grade hearing picking up on his undertone.

“Nothing, just a theory that I have,” he says smartly. “I was just thinking about it and...”

“And what?” Minho presses.

“And whether I should be sharing it or not,” he replies, unsure of his own answer.

“Well you have to now since you brought it up,” Felix exclaims.

“It’s nothing,” Jisung brushes it off, making everyone at the table wonder what the hell he’s on about.

“Nah, it has to be something,” Seungmin shakes his head and begins wondering what it is. “If it wasn’t important, he’d just say it. But he’s not.”

Is it even Jisung’s place to tell everyone? No. Should he still do it? No. But that’s what friends do. They talk and speculate about who they think are the perfect matches in the group or who out of everyone would marry if they had no other option. Topics as such.

In this case, it’s whether you and Chan are sleeping together or not, which Jisung already has the answer to. Whether he decides to tell the truth would just be speculation to the others since they never saw what Jisung did. They can decide to believe it or not.

However, does he trust his friends with the truth and to not say anything? Without a shadow of a doubt. So with that sliver of comfort in his mind that makes him think he’s not doing the wrong thing, Jisung chooses to divulge.

“Y/N and Chan are fucking.”

Everyone’s heads at the table fixes onto Jisung. Not a single mouth moved out of surprise as the silence threads its way around. It makes him feel terribly awkward.

This is news to everyone, particularly to the person sitting opposite him; Hyunjin. Someone who, upon hearing what just came out of Jisung’s mouth, didn’t believe it for a second - did not want to believe it.

“You’re lying,” Seungmin accuses immediately from the other end of the table.

“That’s your theory?” Changbin questions. “That Chan and Y/N are together?”

“Not together, together,” Jisung makes haste to correct him. “I just have reason to believe that they’re seeing each other casually is all.”

“I don’t believe you,” Seungmin responds, letting his strong opinion be known. “What is that reason anyway?”

“I swear on everyone I know, I saw a text message proving it on her phone,” Jisung mentions before his blood starts running cold. He almost gave away more than he should’ve.

Without context of the night in question, none of them know. Not even Hyunjin, who was a third party to it all, didn’t exactly know. He can only guess if what Jisung is referring to is the dirty text message that was sent off of your phone to Chan during the game of truth or dad. Then again, it’s not a thought that he even remotely considers when his mind has been stuck on the fact that you and Chan are potentially hooking up.

“What the hell are you going through her phone for?” Felix asks defensively.

“Yeah, that’s not okay,” Jeongin adds.

“N-No! I wasn’t going through her phone, I just…saw them, by accident,” he responds out of desperation.

He doesn’t want to disclose that night to his friends. Sure they’re all mates and share everything with each other, but that’s just Jisung. Hyunjin keeps aspects of his life relatively private and Jisung is sure that you wouldn’t appreciate him going around telling everyone what happened. But at that thought, he starts second guessing himself and what he just did. If he thinks you wouldn’t be okay with him sharing information about that night, how is it any different from him saying the same thing about you and Chan?

It doesn’t take long for Jisung to feel regret and guilt for ever bringing it up.

“Even if they are, who cares? Good for them, and if they start going out - even better. Y/N’s a massive upgrade from that chick he was seeing before,” Minho explains.

“That’s probably why they’re messing around,” Felix theorises.

“I still don’t reckon they are,” Seungmin puts in his opinion again.

“Why?” Felix asks.

“I just don’t see it,” he shrugs. “Chan seems like the type of person who wouldn’t sleep around because he only wants to be with someone that he really, really likes.”

Those words do not sit well with Hyunjin.

“And Chan told you that himself, did he?” Minho snickers. “If that’s your reasoning, then it sounds like they’re already going out.”

Hyunjin and Jisung’s eyes immediately lock onto each other in horror.

“I don’t know if you heard the word ‘seems’ in my sentence, implying that I’m only guessing but okay,” Seungmin bites back, earning him a finger flick to his arm by Jeongin for talking back like that to their older friend.

“Ten bucks that they are,” Minho says on a different topic. “Ten bucks that they aren’t,” Seungmin counters.

“A-Are you saying that none of you believe me?” Jisung whines.

“We’re saying that we don’t have enough evidence – any of us, not just you since you bought up the topic,” Minho replies.

“What about tonight? Neither of them are here, where do you think they might be?” Jisung attempts to raise a good point, but Changbin spots the obvious loopholes.

“We already told you. Chan isn’t even in the city since he’s spending time with his family, and Y/N’s still at work,” he answers. “And we know that because Chan messaged the group chat to tell us that he wasn’t going to be coming to dinner and we know Y/N doesn’t finish until six thirty.”

“They could be lying,” Jeongin conspires.

“That’s only for tonight though. I know he’s been acting shady lately so I reckon he is,” Felix announces.

“Hyunjin?” Changbin pokes him in the arm, trying to prod an answer out of him.

He responds quietly but honestly, “I-I don’t think they are.”

“That settles it then,” Minho begins instigating once more. “Two of you bet that they aren’t and the rest of us bet that they are.”

“We are not betting on our friends right now,” Jisung tries to calm the masses.

“Mm! How about losers have to pay for a day of food when we go to Jeju?” Jeongin suggests.

The majority of the table begins to erupt in agreement, making it impossible for Jisung to rewrite something he just initiated. Everyone immediately starts talking details about what food they would request if they won the bet, then would eventually return to the topic of you and Chan.

Hyunjin didn’t really want to hear another word of it. Instead, he pours himself another shot of Jeongin’s soju in the hopes his thoughts about the situation start to melt. Until he gets to that stage, it’s easy for him to wallow in his feelings. A selfish part of him wants whatever connection there is between you and Chan to falter to the point of no return. Then the other half scolds his mind for wishing such a misfortune on his friend.

But nobody knew. Nobody knew that Hyunjin had feelings for you nor did he want anyone to know. He’d rather die than tell someone he likes them for fear that they won’t like him the way he does. It’s almost like he’s saving himself from the pain and hopes that it’ll pass. However, there was also ‘instigator number two’ sitting across from him who had been making regular appearances in his brain since that night. Hyunjin doesn’t know what it means, if it even means anything for that matter.

So by the end of the dinner, everyone had their bets placed.

The whole lot of them lingered outside the restaurant after some filling meals as some of the others waited for their rides back home. All aside from Felix and Jeongin who decided to go bar hopping for more drinks. Changbin and Seungmin were laughing away at something they were discussing while Minho was chatting to his friend's new girlfriend. Hyunjin on the other hand stood away from them, up against the wall of the building as he scrolls aimlessly on his phone.

“Hey,” says Jisung, emerging from the restaurant.

Hyunjin turns to his friend, realising it’s the first time they’ve directly spoken to each other in a while, “hi.”

“You know it feels like I haven’t seen you since-“

“That’s because you haven’t, Jisung,” he cuts him off sharply, having already foreseen what Jisung was about to say after the word ‘since.’

He smiles sheepishly, “right. So, what are your plans now?”

Hyunjin doesn’t think and shrugs, “gonna go home, paint, watch TV or something.”

“Cool. I’m coming with you.”

Hyunjin didn’t have any say in the matter. Jisung was going to follow him home like his own shadow whether he liked it or not. It dismissed Hyunjin from grovelling in his feelings and mind after hearing the situation between you and Chan. One half of his heart yearned to cry while the other wanted to punch Chan in the ribs. He doesn’t know. He’s conflicted. But they are aspects that remain undetected to Jisung as they sat next to each other quietly on the subway back to his home.

The pair walked under Hyunjin’s umbrella for a few hundred metres until they were under the shelter of the apartment complex. He doesn’t mind accommodating people at his place since he spends the majority of his time in voluntary solitude. It allows him to fully recuperate from social settings in order to go out again. This time, with less company, it’s still equally welcoming. So after Hyunjin unlocks his front door for both of them enter, take off their shoes, and store them neatly.

“Ah~” Jisung sighs with relief, stretching out his arms and stands right underneath a device mounted to the top of the wall. “Air con!”

“Don’t you have one? I thought you did,” Hyunjin mistakenly thought.

“It broke,” he mumbles, revelling in the cold artificial breeze. “Been waiting three weeks for it to be fixed.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything after that. He lets Jisung do whatever he wants while he heads into his room to change from his clothes to a black tank top and a pair of shorts. In his spare room that he’s been slowly transitioning to an art space, he goes in and collects some of his unfinished art, paints, and brushes. After, he returns to the lounge, he sets everything down on the coffee table and pulls up some floor cushions for him and Jisung to sit on.

“Oh, tangerines,” he suddenly remembers as his eyes clock onto the silver fruit bowl on his kitchen counter while Jisung takes his jacket off and hangs it up.

“Tangerines? In summer?” Jisung asks as he goes to sit down.

Hyunjin places the bowl of the fruit between him and his friend as he lowers down too, “why not? I got them fresh from the market the other day.”

“I can only eat them in the winter.”

“Alright then,” Hyunjin shrugs and starts peeling one for himself as Jisung reaches for the remote and turns on the TV.

For a while, they sit together. Hyunjin switches between picking up his paintbrush and pieces of fruit whereas Jisung’s eyes are glued to some hot drama playing across the screen. It’s nice to just be in the same room with someone and to not have a full on conversation that ends up being draining on their social batteries. Both of them are the perfect introverts for thriving in those types of environments. A peaceful comfort.

Time seems to pass in their space as Jisung nears the end of the episode and Hyunjin is rounding off one area of his painting. By that time, Hyunjin had eaten five tangerines then opted to bring some more. He offered to Jisung if he wanted something else to eat or drink, but the man was so hooked on this drama that he didn't even hear Hyunjin ask.

He found it…slightly…endearing. Just a bit. But then he went back to his work and all was forgotten until Jisung finally started speaking again.

“Hyunjin,” he starts in a low voice, still staring at the screen.

“Hmm?”

“Are we gonna talk about the other night?” Jisung mentions.

His hand freezes over his canvas, a small dollop of paint drips from the end of his brush and onto his work. Hyunjin wasn’t exactly expecting to hear that question, yet at the same time, he should’ve seen it coming.

“W-What about it?” He responds awkwardly.

Jisung leans back, both of his hands propping him up from behind as he looks up to the ceiling, “the fact that we kissed, well… made out mainly.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, unsure of what to actually ask him here. “Do you…regret it?”

“No! No way!” Jisung exclaims rather quickly before he calms down. “No, I don’t. In fact…it was…actually really good.”

In the back of Hyunjin’s mind, he can almost predict what’s about to happen. Jisung wouldn’t have brought up the subject unless it was really affecting him - unless he was dying to get it off his chest. Otherwise he would’ve let it simmer down, but taking into account that it had been two weeks and he wants to unpack everything, there was clearly something irking him in a way that only Hyunjin seems to understand.

“You looked…good that night,” he adds then corrects himself. “You do look good.”

Hyunjin peers up from his work. What’s he supposed to say to that? Is he supposed to divulge the fact that he thinks the same of Jisung? He doesn’t even know entirely what he feels, having just accepted that he slept with his two friends and sort of went on with life.

“What did you follow me back to my apartment for?” Hyunjin gets straight to the point.

His friend sits back up and looks him dead in the eye, “let’s just say I didn’t follow you back to eat some fruit and watch TV.”

“Then what?” Hyunjin urges impatiently even though his and Jisung’s faces slowly draw towards each other.

Jisung’s eyes drop down to Hyunjin’s lips, and says in a quiet voice, “because I wanted to kiss you again.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know when, but it happened. One second he had his gaze set on Jisung’s soft expression and the next his eyes were closed, allowing his brain to focus on what’s physically happening. Their lips meet for the second time since the first, this time a little slower and tender.

As the TV plays in the background, all the two of them can hear is the sound of their mouths moving - breaking apart for a couple of moments even though their noses still touch, tilting their heads in different directions to see what’s the better angle.

The sweet, citrine aftertaste of tangerine lingers in Hyunjin’s mouth, a pleasure to savour when Jisung is able to explore it with his tongue. In Hyunjin’s left hand, the paintbrush slips from his grip, its tip smearing more paint onto his work. But there is a great distance between him and being bothered about it. He worries more about the reaction, that after minutes of kissing, stirs in his pants when Jisung’s hand finds its way onto his lap, barely caressing his thigh. His cock has started filling out.

He doesn’t notice it until slowly yet surely, Jisung’s hand inches closer to the ever growing, obvious bulge in his friend's shorts. The second he makes contact with Hyunjin’s clothed dick, a moan shoots through from his mouth and into Jisung’s. He pulls away for a second, staring at his lips.

“You really are a good kisser,” Jisung breathes.

“Jisung…” Hyunjin struggles, his forehead comes to rest against Jisung’s as he stares down at his hand. It palms slowly, agonisingly slow.

“You’re so hard for-“

He cups Jisung’s mouth before he can complete the rest of his sentence, “shut up, I know,” he cuts him off bitterly.

A chuckle reverberates through his hand as Jisung takes it away but decides to continue holding it, “let me help you then.”

It’s not difficult for him to read the room. He knows what Hyunjin wants and how obvious it is that he needs it. His cock silently screams for touch, to be relieved. So at the perfect moment, Jisung reaches into Hyunjin’s shorts and past his boxes.

A quiet hiss issues from his mouth when the entire length of his dick is free from restriction. His cock is beautiful. Jisung never managed to get a good look at it since it was either in your mouth or drilling your pussy from behind.

Jisung licks his way into Hyunjin’s mouth, his tongue dancing across his plush bottom lip before he breaks away for a moment. Excitement surges through him now that he finally gets to feel what he’s been wanting to since that night two weeks ago. He stares down at Hyunjin’s cock, pre-cum beads at the tip, some had already leaked down his length.

For Jisung to have him so aroused, so desperate for touch, proves the effect his friend has on him that he suspected was present. Hyunjin had an inkling of it when you all slept together, but nothing other than that. A pang of realisation maybe, that his friend was attractive and alluring in a sense, and it was obvious that Jisung felt the same.

He takes a soft hold of the top of Hyunjin’s cock, the pad of his index finger swiping over his tip and pulling away. He watches the thick string of glimmering pre-cum connect him and Hyunjin, forcing a wave of embarrassment to come crushing over him. It wasn’t embarrassing to Jisung. It was hot. So fucking hot.

Seeing the impact of his own actions on Hyunjin’s body gave him a sense of power so to speak. It made him want to see more as he started tugging gently at his dick. He trusted that Hyunjin’s pre-cum would act almost as a lube, and sure enough with more strokes, his cock was sticky with it. Nothing but slick sounds and tiny, barely there whimpers from Hyunjin’s mouth fill his lounge, drowning out the next episode of the drama that was still playing.

“Mm…it…mmm.”

“Don’t be shy Hyunjinnie,” Jisung prompts him to become more vocal, to express what he’s feeling however he wants. “We’re friends, since when have you ever been quiet around me?”

Hyunjin replies breathlessly, “friends…d-don’t get each other off.”

“Hey, you haven’t gotten me off yet,” Jisung reminds him.

Yet.

In his mind that starts to slip through his fingers like sand, Hyunjin was no longer able to tell if that was an empty possibility or a very real chance of it happening. For the time being, he chooses to focus on pleasure. The satisfaction of having something wrapped around his cock to relieve him, and the divine pressure that begins to store at the base of his cock from Jisung’s long strokes.

“Feel good?” He asks.

The question alone is enough to make Hyunjin lower his head and close his eyes, too shy to meet Jisung’s ardent gaze. Instead, he gives an affirming nod.

“Good,” Jisung mumbles quietly, then finds Hyunjin’s lips once more with his own to kiss him.

God he can’t stop kissing him.

The way they melt into each other is almost like they’ve done this a hundred times prior. Jisung tugs and strokes Hyunjin’s length so attentively, greedily drawing out every single reaction he can possibly get. The hushed moans that transmit from his mouth as Jisung’s tongue moves lazily to explore. Very abruptly however, Hyunjin breaks away from the kiss.

“G-Gonna make me cum,” he swallows hard.

Jisung’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head just hearing that. To him, those words are not only a specific type of praise or reward, but it’s coupled with the way that Hyunjin sounds right in his ear. His tense, high pitched whimpers become more frequent and stressed as Jisung has been building him up to the height of his orgasm.

“Cum for me then,” Jisung whispers to him.

Suddenly, the air snags inside Hyunjin’s throat. His head drops and all the attention gravitates towards his cock, shivering as he starts to orgasm.

“Ngh - ‘sung…cumming,” he strains out, breathing deeply but staggered.

Jisung catches his seed in the cupped palm of his hand as he manages to stroke the tip of his length at the same time. He looked so beautiful when his mind and body writhe under his touch. Hyunjin’s moans complete the satisfaction Jisung feels to have unravelled his best friend like that. To see ribbons of his white warm cum in hand makes him struggle against the unhinged part of his brain that needs to taste it for himself. He can’t help it when the base of his palm reaches his mouth-

But it doesn’t stop Hyunjin’s face from twisting and screwing into an expression of revolt.

“Jisung,” he says with a tone of warning.

He hastily tucks himself back into his clothes, springs up from the coffee table and heads to the kitchen to grab a paper towel. After soaking it a little bit in some warm water from under the tap, he returns to Jisung and cleans his hand. Hyunjin didn’t want to make a note of the fact that most of Jisung’s palm was covered in cum and when he returned, it was almost like it was never there. Still, he did him the decency of helping clean him up.

“Maybe wash your hand too,” he suggests with a concerned look still clouding his face.

“Don’t look so offended, Hyunjin,” Jisung chuckles airly. “You taste good.”

“Shut up, please,” is all he can come back with, then looks up to not only see that cocky, arrogant grin of Jisung’s but to also notice that there’s still a trace of his cum smeared a little bit on his bottom lip. Hyunjin reaches towards his friend’s face, thumbing the excess away.

“Don’t waste anything,” Jisung scolds him.

“Alright,” he rolls his eyes, done with the mortifying humiliation and stands up again to return to the kitchen with the dirty paper towel to chuck it away.

“Wait, come back! Kiss me one more time and I swear I’ll stop embarrassing you!” he calls out to him.

Hyunjin stops listening to Jisung and all the whiny complaints he propels from the coffee table. Instead, something else suddenly occupies his attention. The one thing that threatens to unbalance his mood once more.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin says. “Is it true? About Y/N and Chan?”

“Huh?” He answers, “Oh, yeah. It is.”

Hyunjin’s gaze falls to the floor. That answers that then.

Jisung then continues, “I didn’t want to mention how I saw the message though. If I did, it might’ve put you and Y/N in the spotlight about that night we had when you probably didn’t want to. Plus, they’re like jackals. They would’ve torn you to shreds just to get an answer.”

Hyunjin nods, appreciative of his friend's move, “thanks. But should you have told them about Y/N and Chan anyway?”

Jisung did realise at one stage that he told their friends about you and Chan, but didn’t apply that same energy towards bringing up himself, you, and Hyunjin. There wasn’t that much of a difference when he looks at it now since he’s also messed around with you both, similar to the way Chan is currently messing around with you.

But Jisung knows for a fact that he didn’t bring it up because he wanted to save his own skin or divert any suspicion or attention away from himself. It was just so scandalous to find out that the two least suspecting people on his radar of who in the group would be fucking, is you and Chan.

“They said they weren’t going to say anything,” Jisung responds. “I trust them that much, not that I should be making a big deal about it, but I want to go see Chan. I know that they’re not, but I want to make sure that they aren’t actually dating, otherwise-“

“We’d have to tell him,” says Hyunjin.

“Exactly,” Jisung agrees. “Again, I don’t think that’s the case. Chan said so himself that he’s done with dating and relationships, and I trust that wholeheartedly too.”

Hyunjin gives a nod and decides to hold out onto hope. Hope that you’re not seeing him and that it’s just something that turns out to be a stupid rumour. In the meantime, he needs to figure out his feelings.

Too tired to make the commute back to his own place, Jisung ended up staying the night at Hyunjin’s. He could’ve well and truly slept on the couch but for what it was worth, he was invited to sleep in Hyunjin’s bed. It’s not like they’ve never slept next to each other. But for some reason, it means something a bit more. Something hazy that exists in a twilight zone that Hyunjin only hopes clears up so he can decipher what he feels towards Jisung.

The thought floats around in his mind before he drifts off, sleeping comfortably, only to wake up the next morning tangled in each other’s arms.

Neither of them were bothered about it.

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #han jisung smut #bang chan smut #felix smut #hyunjin smut #i.n smut #changbin smut #hyunjin x jisung

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taintandviolent · 1 year

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In the end of the night, I can feel your warmth. (Kyle Spencer x Reader)

summary: zombies eat brains... not pussies. WRONG. they actually eat them really well. 2.9K words!

warnings: 18+ below the cut!! smut (female receiveing), heavy heavy cunnilingus, s*xual guiding/coaching, praise (male receiving), carnal instincts, unga bunga brain Frankenkyle because it’s a serious problem I have, uhhhhhhh.

tags: @darlingjimmy @petersevans @kaiju-superstar @redwoodghost @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag @iluwmycats @kai-slut @kaissweetlamb @twinkiemaximoff @evanpetersfansblog @spill-the-t @eventually27 @stucktothetwo @kai-andersons-blog @kai-anderson-whore @evansb1tch @viharmonscorner @yesdevineruler @anonymous0316 @enchanting-evan @fuckedbykai @nova-kayne67

ao3 link here! Full link below the cut!! Thank you to @redwoodghost and @kaiju-superstar for yet AGAIN beta-reading and sending me to the clouds.

“Mmmph….”

Three days earlier.

After a series of life altering events, you’d finally thrown your hands up and run away from home. The destination? Miss Robichaux’s School for Gifted Young Women, located in the mysterious city of New Orleans. As you rode the bus, one backpack stuffed with clothes and jewellery clutched tightly to your chest like a child, vibrant images of vampires, witches and voodoo danced in your dreams.

You saw yourself as a plain Jane who had been a little too influenced by the occult at a young age. A typical girl who had grown up on Stevie Nicks and tarot cards, you had never considered yourself particularly remarkable, though you’d always had a knack for making things happen a little too easily. Teachers and parents had always described you as an influential young woman — a deceptive umbrella term that hardly scratched the surface. You weren’t writing persuasive essays or excelling in Speech and Debate, you were sticking your fingers into someone’s mind like playdoh and rewiring it to do exactly what you wanted.

It was that deceptive umbrella term that brought you to Louisiana to begin with; you’d felt unheard, unseen, and misunderstood. You were struggling and nobody had the capacity to unravel your problems.

Cordelia, who was easily one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, welcomed you into her office. The interview was brief but compassionate. She’d asked you to explain what brought you to her home, what you felt your “powers” were, and reached to touch the top of your hand when you struggled with that word. She lingered, staring deeply at your fingers. After a moment, she inhaled and spoke again.

“Nothing is silly here. You’re safe. Everything you’ve thought was make-believe or… or childish isn’t. The world runs on magic.”

Cordelia had called one of the other girls into her office and given you an encouraging nod. The girl, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, had jet black hair, and large glasses. She looked deeply frightened and you almost felt bad when you made her crawl on the floor like a crab before standing up and clapping excitedly. It took very little effort for you, Cordelia noted and wrote something on a piece of paper in your file.

Whatever you’d done, you’d done it correctly. Shortly after that, a girl named Zoe showed you to your new room. She was sweet, kind — the sort of woman that you thought would listen to every side of every story before making any judgements. She used to be a student witch here, she explained as you two walked, but she'd risen in the ranks and become so busy with being the Council — something very important, a hierarchy of witches — that she didn’t have time for the things she used to focus on.

Zoe opened the tall door, letting you step in first. Well-lit by the large and ornately trimmed windows, the room was white, matching the scheme of the rest of the mansion. Sparsely decorated, there were the necessities in terms of furniture and nothing else. There were two beds at opposite sides of the room… and a blonde boy sat cross-legged on the one closest to the door. His expression was blank, but his brows were laced together, conveying some sort of unknown sadness.

“This is Kyle. He…” she trailed off, her voice sounding unsteady. “He died. Madison and I, we… we put him back together and brought him back.”

You snapped your head to face her, jaw hanging slack in disbelief. “Put him back together? Like Frankenstein?”

Zoe nodded, and reached out to stroke his fluffy blonde curls. While he remained stoic, you noticed the tiniest flinch in his cheek muscles. The way she looked at him… you crossed your arms over your chest uncomfortably. There was history here. “He’s not the same. He tries though.”

She straightened out her frown, visibly trying to move on from the memories.

“This used to be my room. But…” She dropped her hand to her side. He flinched more visibly. “It’s yours now.”

Zoe had told you that all Kyle needed was macaroni, kid’s shows on YouTube, and he wouldn’t bother you. For the first night, you conceded with those recommendations because his outbursts overwhelmed you.

On the second night, you woke up to the sound of rustling. Kyle sat upright in his bed, sheets draped over his lap, staring towards the window. You sat up in bed, pulling the sheets up to your chest. He turned to look at you and shrunk away from your gaze, ashamed. He quickly returned to a lying position, like a child who had gotten yelled at. The apprehension you possessed on the first night had morphed into wonderment. A reanimated boy, who despite being pieced together still had some semblance of sentience and emotion. It may have been cliche to analyze it through a Shelley-esque eye… but with sentience, came love. And with love, agony was sure to follow. You’d always been particularly enraptured with the idea of a monster needing love, trying desperately to understand it.

A line from Frankenstein came to mind as you watched him staring straight up at the ceiling, hoping you wouldn’t notice he wasn’t asleep. “I have a love in me the likes of which can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

So… what if you satisfied the first? Perhaps all he needed was some tenderness, some attentiveness.

“Kyle?”

No response. You swung your legs out from underneath the covers, planting your bare feet on the wooden floors. In only your nightgown, the chill of the air bit at your exposed limbs, prompting you to slip your arms into the lacy, green sleeves of your robe.

“Kyle? You wanna look at the moon?”

This time, he turned his head on the pillow to look at you. You began moving carefully towards him.

“You want to? The moon?” You asked again, making a circle shape with your hands and then unrolling them to point towards the window. He nodded, showing understanding. Clumsily, he threw the covers off him and got to his feet.

You took one step. He followed, ambling heavily behind you until you both stood close enough to the window to feel the chill that permeated the glass. He sighed heavily, the sound resonating in his broad chest. It was the first time you’d heard any sort of happy sound from him. His knuckles brushed against yours, but despite the quivering in your abdomen, you didn’t reach out to hold his hand. You wanted to, though. Very, very much.

On the third night, you woke up to the sounds.

“Mmmmmph! Mmm…arrr…. Mmmm…. ow.”

You rubbed your eyes, rousing yourself. Instead of being in his own bed, like he usually was, Kyle sat at the foot of yours, his legs pulled to his chest. “What? What’s wrong?”

He grunted again, scooting closer to you on the bed. Although the room was dark, the small night light in the corner illuminated just enough of his face to show the pained expression, the stress in his dark eyes.

“Kyle? What’s the matter? Try…” You whispered. “Are you hurt?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. “Hmmmph… I’m……”

“You’re what? What is it?”

He struggled to speak, but what did come out sounded distinctly like your own name.

Kyle’s head dropped heavily to his chest, shamefully looking down at his erection as it tented his boxers. He lifted his eyes, staring at you from underneath his heavy brow and fluffy locks. Both hands clenched into fists, he pressed down into his groin, moaning.

Oh…. Oh fuck, you thought. Oh my fucking god, he’s got a boner.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of… it’s normal. O-kay.”

Poor thing. He doesn’t know what to do…. He’s asking for help. He looked into your eyes with the most soulful, desperate pleading you’d ever seen. No man, even more together than him, had ever asked you for help like this. There was something underneath, another stain on his heart. You could feel it when your eyes locked for a second too long — but that wasn’t important. It didn’t change what you were about to do.

You fingered the ruched elastic of his boxers, scooping it towards you. The taut skin of his stomach was warm, and the heat increased as you neared the bush of hair. Kyle groaned and cloddishly bucked his hips to force your hand farther down. The searing hot tip slipped against the back of your hand, leaving a streak of precum on your skin.

“P……l…eaaasse…..” His chest was heaving up and down, forcing excited little breaths out of his open mouth.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and gripped his cock gently. It twitched against your hand and you felt another hot, viscid ribbon coat your knuckles. Oh fuck. He jerked his hips again as you began stroking, smearing his wetness along the shaft. He slackened the muscles in his neck, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

“Good? Does that feel better?”

His head moved on you, up and down, so you assumed it did. You decided to test it by going a little faster, and squeezing his cock a little harder. Instead of the guttural, almost pained groans he’d given you before, the most pathetic little whimper left his throat. You lifted your gaze to the ceiling, rolling your eyes back. He was putty in your grip, begging for you with every muscle in his body. And that… drove you insane.

Carefully, quietly… you reached to your legs, gathering the edge of your nightgown into your palm, pulling it up your thigh until you had enough room to reach your own arousal. Wasting no time, you circled your clit slowly, slipping a finger inside between rotations.

“AAAAAGUHHH!”

You clapped your hand over Kyle’s mouth, eyes widening like saucers in the dark. You whispered louder than you ever had in your entire life. “Shhh! Kyle! Shhh!” He breathed hard out his nose. “I can’t help you if you’re loud… they’ll hear you.”

Underneath your fingers, Kyle’s plush lips parted just enough for you to notice. You froze. He looked down as far as his ocular anatomy allowed and his pupils dilated, the blackness consuming the already deep brown. His tongue swept across the underside of your fingers before forcing itself between them. He gripped your hand tightly at the wrist and yanked it down in a startling display of his inhuman strength.

“Wuh…. Want.”

You jerked your head back, confused. “What?”

He brought your hand back up, and like a child claiming that a toy was his, Kyle licked your pointer and index finger from the base to the tip of them. He swallowed.

“Waant….”

Holy shit. You realised. You realised what it was he wanted…. The hand you’d used to cover his mouth was that hand that you’d previously been fingering yourself with, the fingers that were coated in your own wetness. He wanted… that.

Nervously, you pulled your hand from his boxers, the elastic snapping against his tummy. You nodded once and inhaled a deep breath through your nose, a feeble attempt at pacifying the bundle of live wires you called your nerves. Kyle’s eyes never left yours, watching you intently as you planted your hands on either side of your body as leverage to push yourself back towards the head of the bed. You laid back on the pillow, knees touching and obscuring Kyle.

When you opened them, your breath rushed out from your lungs. He was so pretty, the way the moonlight illuminated his curls like an angel’s halo, outlining his broad form. His plaid shirt hung open, teasing at the body beneath. And then, of course, there was the erection. The fabric of his boxers were pulled tight.

You tilted your head down, pressing your chin against your chest. Your eyes were misty, doe-like, and you almost stuck your fingers in his mind to tell him to come to you. But he did it on his own accord and your heart gave an adoring flutter. Coming forward onto his hands, Kyle crawled on the bed to you, and you welcomed him in between your thighs. He lowered himself down onto his stomach.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, Kyle…”

Kyle opened his mouth on your pussy, lapping at it hungrily. The smoothness of his teeth grazed your clit, and the heat of your arousal was unimaginable, burning deep within your core. You’d been eaten out, but not eaten out. Not like this. Zombies ate brains, not pussies.

And yet… you were being devoured within an inch of your life. Every clench brought out more cum, and Kyle was there to drink it up, flicking his tongue from your entrance to your clit repeatedly, until your vision went blurry with twinkling stars. Every time his tongue returned to its starting position, he always lingered and sometimes slipped in, delving into something he wanted more of. He was tasting you over and over again. Your mouth opened, at first giving nothing but the sound of your breath. His lips closed around your clit, his tongue driving up into your entrance, and a high pitched whine clawed its way out of your throat.

And just like that, the pleasure was gone. Kyle pulled away, panicked.

“Bad?!”

You shook your head quickly, panting. “No, no…. Good. Very good, Kyle.”

His worried expression softened slightly, but he still looked unsure and scared to keep going. The sound you’d made… all he knew told him it was that he’d done something wrong and he’d hurt you.

“B….buh….. bad…… sssssound…..”

“Nonononono. Very… very good. I made that sound because it feels good. You’re doing a good job.”

He huffed out a breath, the warmth of it washing over you. You writhed, the backs of your thighs rubbing against his bare shoulders. Bent at the elbows, Kyle wrapped his forearms around your legs, wide hands twitching ever so slightly as they caressed you. There was something overwhelmingly erotic in the way he fearfully looked up at you from between your legs. You drew your bottom lip in, biting down as hard as you could to stifle the moan that threatened.

“Please,” you whined. “You’re doing so good, Kyle. It feels so good. You like it, right?”

He nodded, dropping his gaze to look at your cunt, a puddle forming on sheets below. His jaw hung slack as he went back in, his lips enveloping you fully. His tongue was hot and you were sensitive, writhing in his grip. You weren’t aware that you were writhing away from him until his fingers came to life, digging deep into the soft flesh of your thighs.

You arched your back as you came on his tongue, taking fistfuls of the sheets and tightening until you felt the fibres squeak against each other. Kyle growled into your cunt, pulling you closer into him. His tongue flattening against you, feeling the pulsating clenches as they happened.

Kyle straightened up to his knees, stiffly pulling his boxers down over the curve of his ass. His stiff cock sprung free, the swollen head, red and leaking. He seemed to know what he wanted to do, but didn’t know where to start. You scooted down, pressing your legs further open. Kyle shuffled forward on the bed, the springs creaking underneath you.

“It’s okay, Kyle… it’s okay.” Keeping your eyes on him, you took hold of his cock again and gently guided it towards your wet slit. “I’ll make you feel better.”

He allowed himself to be guided, following your direction. His squishy tip slipped in, compressed by your tight walls. The sound that Kyle made — something between a choking breath and a groan — was the only warning you got that a switch had flipped. He knew exactly what to do.

Kyle sunk his length into you, taking only a moment to revel in the feeling of your warm, wet insides. He quickly found his rhythm, bucking in and out with steady intention as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, mouth hanging slack. His pelvis slapped against yours, knocking against your clit each time your bodies met. The visual drove you insane, sending streaks of hot arousal right to your core.

“Gggoooooodddd….” He groaned. “G-good.”

He picked up speed, and you desperately tried to maintain coherency, nodding. Your nails dug into his back, holding on as tight as you could. “Guh-HOHm- my god. Good, yes. G-good, baby.”

Kyle’s large hands snaked their way to your shoulders, encasing them in a steely grip. He pulled himself into you, harder and harder until you felt an unfamiliar ache in your insides, where he could go no farther. You came for a second time with a high-pitched whimper and Kyle kept his pace, grunting. Your wetness splashed against your thighs as he thrust into you, and when you lifted your hips up slightly, Kyle’s fingers curled in, clamping down on your shoulders with a crushing strength. You held back your cries of pain, grinding your hips against his as he pumped into you. Just hold on… let him finish….

Finally, he released his hold on you, collapsing onto your chest with a heavy breath. Once the vigorous movement had subsided, your sweat-soaked bodies were no longer immune to the lithe, chilly fingers of temperature. Still, you were warm underneath him.

So, so warm.

Kyle fell asleep with his cock inside you. And for the first time in three nights, he didn’t wake up once.

#Kyle Spencer #Kyle Spencer x reader #kyle spencer x y/n #AHS Coven #Kyle Spencer imagine #American Horror Story #Frankenkyle #myfics #ahs smut #american horror story coven #frankenkyle x reader #kyle spencer smut #kyle spencer x you #AHS fanfiction #Kyle Spencer x yn

1K notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 2 months

Text

3. heather purple

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you do wear a top and jeans tho. minor worrying/nervousness. no use of y/n. an: i love them i love them i love them

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nervous energy pulsates through you.

It first manifested as a rattle, an annoyance when your eyes opened this morning. Now, it had grown into moving things half an inch and constant tapping—on surfaces, on you, on walls. All restless, practically relentless—vibrating and thrumming.

Then, your teeth began lazily, grazing over your lower lip, eyes flicking to the clock—fingers adjusting your laptop on the counter for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.

With a catch of your thumb, your phone illuminates, another nervous-tic, another thing you've been doing for the last so many moments.

Even if you know he’s on his way, having told you as much.

Normally, you would find it easy to calm yourself through pacing, the flexing of your fingers, and deep, soothing breaths. But not this time.

This time, it lingers. A persistent knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel and instead attempts to bathe in giddiness—a sensation you’d never imagined, never mind expected.

Suddenly, with another fluttering jolt, you wish you could backtrack the messages you had sent. The ones that had invited him—jovially, before seriously.

Because despite spending several minutes leaning on your cool, kitchen counter, with a glass of water pressed to your neck, warmth is still radiating from your skin.

The thinnest layer of sweat still remains on the base of your spine, sticking; the same as it is around your head—no matter how often you dab it away.

Admittedly, it’s all self-inflicted. Caused by the fact you had tried on a thousand things within the last half an hour. All of the failures were discarded, shoved (all unceremoniously), at the bottom of your closet, the door shoved shut in frustration.

Nothing had felt right. Nothing had looked right.

A mess of worries and overthinking churning in your head, all caused by your friend's echoing voice as you stared at yourself in the mirror:

Do you think he’ll size up your new office and then size you up? Do you think this is a date? Do you think he’s expecting to see your bedroom? Because if you count the coffee, this is the third, which means—

At the time, it had been easy to laugh. Play it down—continue to wash your dishes and clean around the sink.

But, it’s when the goodbyes had been exchanged; when there were no more cups or plates to clean, and you found yourself alone with nothing but the sounds of suds swirling down the drain. That's when your mind began to wander. To weave patterns of concerns, begin concocting.

Do you think…Do you think?

Do you think?

Deep down, you know it doesn't matter. Less so as your hand brushes over your face, heavy sigh exhaled, because he'd be here soon.

In your home.

Frankie would be able to see the poor state of your “remodel” or “flip” or whatever term it is for when you buy a rundown thing and try and make it liveable. He'd be able to see exactly why you'd looked lost in the hardware store he works, because look at your home. The place where you rest, sleep and work.

You could come and see it for yourself, wouldn’t need to keep guessing what I’m dreaming up. Yeah? You sure? Well, it would be easier than me trying to explain the issues I’m faced with because until an hour ago I didn’t know what a wrench was called. What did you use to call it? Tightening-tighty. Fitting name. I thought so too—until your latest “helpful” video ruined it. At least you’re learning now how selfish I am. You are, but I’ll forgive you because you have a nice smile. Is the smile enough to upgrade me from DMs to a phone number? Oh, you are pushing it. Well, to keep on pushing and this is presumptuous, but I can come round tomorrow. After I’ve finished up at work. Luca is back with his mom. Yeah? Send me your address and I’ll be there, rainy. I’ll send you my number too, so you can call when you leave.

And you had.

Then, tomorrow had become today, and you’d found yourself trying to flood the worries from your half-a-job redecorating with cleaning.

Some of it alleviated by decluttering half-empty boxes from around the base of pale walls, but part of it added more issues to your plate because suddenly you wished you had more plants. More colour.

More anything.

Because it’s bare, a barren of nothing. There are marks on the floor not lifted from scrubbing and cracks in the wall that need filling.

Disappointment lands on your shoulders, weighed down with pinched regret—because you realise (once again, having lived in blissful ignorance) that there is so much to do.

Swallowing, you glance around, scents of wood polish and floor spray swirling. You glare at the many holes filled in by the previous owners. The ones not painted over just yet.

Because you hadn’t decided on a shade—no colour scheme having jumped out.

The place is all just pale, off-white or faded magnolia.

"Fuck."

The urge to crawl into a ball rises, a sickening feeling swirling.

Somehow, if the state of your home doesn’t scare him away, a small part of you knows it can find comfort that maybe your humour is enough to keep him around.

A thought that should relax you, but instead makes your stomach twist more. Because you're not actually sure you're that funny. A realisation that forces your palms to become tacky, the thinnest layer of sweat trying to appear there, as well as everywhere else.

Because you like him.

The knowledge of it pricking at you, making you bite the skin from your lip and pick at your nails; it makes you wiggle your toes inside your socks on the wooden floor and fight a smile at something funny he’d said last night.

And then you hear it.

Wheels. Tyres crunch gravel as a black pick-up pulls up outside your home. One you remember from outside the store, from parking several blocks down from yours.

He’s here.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s fucking here—

The thought rotating, spinning—like a whirlpool drenching you in more sweat and making your head dizzy all at once.

You can’t move, can’t unstick yourself from the floorboard you’re on. Watching. Transfixed. Both feeling joy that he has come (as he said he would) and filled with horror because it’s happening, it’s all fucking happening.

With each step he takes up your drive, you want to bolt from your place and hide in your bedroom. Pretend you’re not home. Pretend something came up.

But you can’t lie.

Guilt swallowing that immediate thought. Watching him get closer and closer, until his knuckles wrap on the door, the noise filling your barely-filled home.

Fuck.

You manage to move then. All quiet steps. Delicate in how you cross the room that’s become a poor attempt at a living room.

Wrapping your palm around the handle, you’re surprised at its sudden heaviness—all cold, so cool against your skin it almost makes you hiss. Almost slipping when you turn it, palm so slick with nervousness as your arm tries to vibrate in its socket.

Opening the door, you disguise it. Layer all your worries and unravelling under a mask. Smothering and burying it in a smile—practically instantaneously. As though it’s the easiest thing to do around him.

But then, it is.

Because even if the rest of your body is having some reaction to the idea he could be stepping inside, you find yourself unable to help but grin. Not able to help lighting up like fairy lights hanging in the darkest night.

And, in the milliseconds of the two of you standing there, you actually begin to feel better.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply, grin growing, forcing your cheeks to hurt in a matter of beats.

And you know you should move, let him in. But, what does it mean if you do? That voice, the one growing louder, who speaks nothing but worse cases and negativity, begins to increase in pitch. Smothering the sound of birds and someone cutting their grass several houses down.

Because is he here to measure up, to give recommendations—or will he kiss you again like he did against your car? Will his mouth move to other places, hands busying themselves, peeling? Will he be disappointed by what lies underneath your comfortable t-shirt and—

“You gonna invite me in?”

Pausing, you lower your gaze to the floor, leaning against the door for a moment. Eyes catching spots of purple on his jeans, finding yourself staring, glancing at how they resemble petals scattered in a careless dance.

You know it likely was accidental, a mere mishap, but it looks pretty, intentional. Even if it's likely tarnished an overworn, maybe slightly beloved pair of jeans.

He says your name, forcing your head up. Speaking it all soft—so full of care and intention—it almost makes you swoon and crack. Almost makes you widen the door to let him inside.

“I’m embarrassed. It’s… it’s not even—“

“Hey, hey, look at me.” And you do, like nothing could be simpler. “I know you haven’t long moved in—and, you wouldn’t be askin’ for an opinion if it looked the best it ever could. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, let me in b… Rainy, please.”

You don’t miss it.

Even if you pretend you do.

It circling, playing. Imagination fuelled up and running the show now.

A thing which drowns the worries, holds its head under water as your brain begins to wonder what him calling you baby could sound like, be like.

Slowly, you lift your head from the door and step to the side to let him in.

Thankful you do, because you catch the scent of the hardware store—one you found you’ve actually really, really missed.

As though picking up on the thousand hints at how on edge you are, Frankie asks to see the dresser.

Makes a comment about needing to see if the paint covered, if butterscotch orange looked as good on wood as it did on walls.

You don’t argue, instead leading the way. Take him past your sofa and armchair right into the kitchen. As you do, he shares his day, weaves in bits on Harry—how he’s nothing but a torment, even if he says it with a grin.

“He asked about you.”

Thankful for the pot boiling, you pour him a cup of coffee, placing it down before clutching your own. Admiring the way he’s squatted down next to the dresser—fingers sliding over the edges.

“And, what did you tell him?”

Shrugging, Frankie looks over his shoulder—a smile there, evident, easily present. “Said I would ask when I saw you tonight—but, that I assumed you were good from how much you made me laugh last night.”

Heat burns your ears, almost making them match the temperature of your palms from being around the mug.

You think, search, and feel desperate for something to say, all aiming to fill the emptiness when you begin explaining what you’ve already done to your 'cheap find'.

Doing so with as many technical terms as you remember from videos—how you’d restored it, sanded it, etc, etc.

It’s only when he looks over his shoulder again, do you realise how not-weird this is. How it doesn’t feel wrong—relaxing at the realisation, the room and house following suit.

Resting the cup to your chest, you clear your throat, “You know, you’re the first person outside of my best friend that’s been here.”

Brows raising, lost under his hat and curls, his smile slides up further into one cheek. “That makes me special, right?”

“Oh, I think you know you’re special, Morales. I’ve read the comments under your videos.”

A bark of laughter leaves him, head shaking, attention turning back to the dresser as he runs his hand over the top.

“You’ve done good.”

Instantly, you grin. Folding your arms, remaining leaning against the side of the kitchen counter as you almost let a ‘yeah?’ escape, that you instead trade for: “You sound surprised.”

“You did imply you were hopeless.”

Shrugging, you watch him stand tall, fingers itching under the front of his hat as he leans against the wall.

“I am still hopeless.”

Shaking his head, he does nothing but grin—gifting you one full of warmth and sunshine. “I think you’ve just not had someone to show you, that’s all.”

“That going to be you?”

His tongue slides into his cheek, giving a half-shrug as he moves closer, pausing at the side of your kitchen counter. “If you want.”

“You don’t mind that I might have Pinterest boards?”

Chewing his cheek, he smirks as broad and as wide as his shoulders—as though it is difficult to contain. “You definitely have them. Wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t?”

Heat warms your cheek, and remains there—burning and pulsing as you avert your eyes briefly. “Maybe I have them.”

His laugh escapes quickly, almost loudly, booming and echoing like before. And you want him to do it again, needing to, as soon as it dies down to flood from him and land against the walls again.

But, instead, you take a large mouthful, placing the mug down. "Shall I show you my dream?"

Heading to show him the spare room, the one that you’re hoping to make into an office, his work boots sound out, echoing around the stripped-back hallway and bare flooring.

There's a comfortable quiet you don’t wish to allow to shift when you head down the hallway, beginning to explain. Hands moving, gesturing, sporadically glancing over your shoulder as he follows—finding his eyes don’t fall to the open boxes, but remain firmly on you.

It isn’t until you step inside the open doorway and he pauses at the do you (on command) continue talking. Slowly pointing to where you think you’d want things. Listing, nose-scrunching as you say how nice it would be to have floor-to-ceiling shelving, an armchair—a desk with space for work. A plant here, maybe one there.

How you want to move from your kitchen counter to in here for work—maybe put up a piece of art here, some nice curtains there. A real desk chair that’ll support your back.

You only stop when you look back and find him resting his forearm on the doorway, not looking anywhere around the room, just at you.

And it makes you pause. Mesmerised, by the way he rolls the pads of his fingers against his thumb, his forearm flexing and how the end of his t-shirt has slightly risen due to his leans. It undoes you, making you forget what room you're even standing in as your brain melts and you become rendered completely, fucking useless.

The spell doesn’t break until his arm drops, fingers push his hat up, eyes warming as he takes the space in. “You want to work near the window?”

Nodding, you move to the side, allowing him space, watching him as he takes his eyes off you, moves into the room and stares around. He sweeps his gaze, brows furrowing occasionally before he stops close to the window.

Sliding the pencil from the top of his ear, he pulls a pad of paper from his pocket. Jotting things down, sketching—eyes zig-zagging across the wall as he tries to mark whatever his thought is down. Mouth moving, occasionally hearing him working out numbers, before the sound is muffled by a scratch of the pencil.

You’re in awe. Just observing. Making no sense of what it is he’s drawing. Least of all what he’s thinking. But gosh, is he handsome when he does it.

More so, when that soft smile creeps back over his face at you watching him, and you worry (briefly) whether you’ve said it out loud.

“You’d have a nice view if your desk was here.”

“Got a nice one right now.”

Snorting, Frankie rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into his cheek. “How much do you hate yourself for saying that?”

“Only a smidge,” you say, finger and thumb close together.

Holding his stare, you find the softness of his smile has spread to his eyes, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little more than a smidge," you amend, your own smile mirroring his.

His laughter fills the room once again, and you can't help but join in. The two of you standing there, and all you want to do is pinch yourself. Not sure how this could be real; how he could be, how all of this could be. How the grin on your face is really there and he’s really here—

“I’m thinking,” he begins. Voice clearing, eyes looking around. “We could build you a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves here like you want—maybe add some cupboards. Could be a nice backdrop if you’re sitting there. Can have it pre-built, or I can help you measure it, build it? Probably need—“

You should be listening. Maybe even making notes.

Not flicking your eyes to his lips, watching the way his face furrows or his lip curls in between listing things.

“How?"

"How, what?"

Swallowing, you exhale. "Did you get so good at that?”

His lips slide into his cheek. “At what?”

Tilting your head, you purse your lip, drop your arm from his shoulder, gesturing, finding the words. “I just watched you like—measure, with your head. I think I heard your brain... calculating?”

He pauses, mouth remaining open, a twinkle shimmering in his eye as he scratches at the curls hanging under his hat. “Oh, I… um. I used to fly. I was in the U.S. Army. Delta Force—guess I got good at measuring, doing calculations in my head, had to, you know?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that… that why you don't like to sit still either?”

Rolling his lips, he tucks the back behind his ear, nodding, a sheepish smile adorning his face.

“Well,” you say, “You’re good at it.”

Swallowing, he licks his lips, gaze not leaving you. “You not wanting to ask anything?”

“Should I?”

Shrugging, he licks his lip. Dragging it along slowly. “Some would.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not some, am I?”

He considers it, your answer. Turns it over.

But his response isn’t verbal; it’s a gentle tug on the belt loop on your jeans, pulling you close. Out of instinct, your arm drapes over his shoulder. Silently thankful for the outfit choice, for choosing a nice top and jeans. Especially as you stand staring at him, eyes taking him in as he does the same.

Your heart pounds loudly in this definitive pause. A chance provided to cast your eyes away, to ask him what else he's thinking.

But that’s not what you want—not what you need.

Not as you close the small gap. Not as you watch his stare, all heavy and scorching, and how it drops to your lips, following a similar path you had taken on his face only a second prior.

Kiss me, you think.

But you realise as his lips slide into one cheek, dimple deepening, that the words had flowed out instead. Stretched out, laid a red carpet from yours to his.

And it’s inescapable, the pull you feel when your mouth marries itself to his, when your palm remains flush with his cheek, being greeted by the tickling of the wiry hairs on his jaw.

When he licks into your mouth, you’re gone—thrown off course and falling freely, all willingly, not wanting to ever land and not at all in fear of the descent as you grip him for stability. Neither of you stop when his hat falls from atop his head, landing with a crack on the floor.

Because it might be odd to have missed a mouth before, but you have.

Suddenly feeling all is right now it’s back against yours, where you write a story against his lips and taste the words he wishes to say in return. The room is empty, quiet—no backdrop this time compared to the street before—and so you can’t mask your whimpers, and you can’t mistake the sound of him groaning when you move him back so his back meets the walls.

Distantly aware of his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close, mouth chasing yours as you begin to grin, begin to feel him mirroring it.

And then he stops.

Pulls back.

A look on his face that’s unreadable and scrunched.

“I…”

Shame fires inside of you, like a key in an ignition, roaring itself to life. “I’m so sorry, Frankie—I thought, I mean—“

His hand comes around your wrist, stopping you, halting you in your desired path to move from him. “Stop, baby. Please.”

Baby.

It's there again. But this time, fully spoken, not held back.

“I just… I just want to do this right, is all. I’m… fuck, I’m here to help you. Meant to be a professional. Don’t… I don’t want you to think I tricked you into letting me in so I could… you know.”

Heat rises, billowing out across your cheek and neck. “I don’t… I don’t think that.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “No.”

His chest fills before he lets out a loud exhale, thumb slowly drawing a circle on your wrist. “Good. ‘Cause…” he shakes his head as he bites his lower lip. “I want to take you out for dinner.” Index joining his thumb, both doing a pattern, as he whispers your name, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I want to treat you right. I… I don’t want to have come from work and—you know?”

Nodding you move a little closer, palm sliding over his cheek. “I know.”

He grins, sliding his palm down flush with yours, before he loops his fingers in between yours. “Good.”

“Good,” you whisper.

Tightening your hold on his, almost swinging it.

“Think you should kiss me again, though.”

Laughing, his eyes crinkle, dimple appearing briefly—but then he does.

Thank you for helping me move and assess the stability of my dresser.

No problem, glad to be of help.

I had a really nice time with you, Frankie.

How much did it pain you that you couldn’t work that into tease?

I’m wounded, bleeding out as we speak.

You need me to come back? Hold your hand.

Not sure that’s all I’d want you to do if you came back.

Not sure I’d keep my word about doing this right if I did either.

Because I’m an incredible kisser?

Because I didn’t want to leave you at all.

Wish you hadn’t, honestly.

Don’t tell me this, I’ll get back in my truck and come back.

Oh, the dreadfulness if you did.

Did you just use the word dreadfulness?

I did, and I stand by it.

What you doing on Friday at 7pm?

What do you want me to be doing on Friday at 7pm?

I want you to be sat opposite me at a place in town, candle in the middle.

Guess I can move things around to play footsie.

I’m eternally grateful.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy

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cozymaples · 5 months

Text

right place, right time. (gator tillman x reader)

warnings: afab!reader, oral!f receiving, public sex, brief mention of drunk driving, protective!gator

tags: @prettyboyeddiemunson

gator tillman who knows you're a handful, always getting yourself into trouble (or so he says). gator who knows that as your boyfriend, it's his duty, and god-given right to protect and serve. he's wary on the 'serve' part, unless, of course, it's for you. gator who's the first to show up at the scene of your little fender bender, some drunk asshole rear-ending you in his porsche at 3 in the morning. gator who spits on his shoes, after assuring him that 'daddy's money won't get him out of this one.' gator who scares him off so badly, the poor asshole is trembling as he raises his hands in defeat, driving himself off to god knows where.

"you can't just let him drive off-!" you protest, walking up to gator as you stressfully run your fingers through your hair, gesturing wildly. "hey," he scolds, "easy now, sweet thing. i can do as i please; you forget that?" he chews on a piece of gum, raising his eyebrows. you roll your eyes with defeat. "hey." he repeats, now stepping towards you. he closes any space that had been between the two of you, your back against his police truck, courtesy of minnesota p.d. you look up at him, silently thankful for the fact that he'd showed up. your car had really suffered little damage, luckily a few scratches and a crunched bumper. "thank you." you say, finally. he nods in silence for a moment, looking around to see if anyone's around.

they're not.

suddenly crashing his lips to yours, his palms find their way to your ass, kneading at the flesh as you moan into his mouth. "not gonna let some fuckin' prick hurt my girl. fuckin' asshole." he nearly snarls, his tongue licking into your mouth. the only source of light you have is a dim streetlight, causing you to begin protesting hurriedly. "gator, what if someone sees us?!" you sigh out a moan once more, feeling his knee knock between your thighs, granting you some friction against your clit. "they won't." he mumbles against your lips, large palms sliding to your hips, gently guiding you to ride his thigh. "and even if they do, who's gonna stop the law, sugar?"

his words always made your head dizzy with lust, forgetting any sanity you'd had before he showed up. you couldn't help that you'd fallen in love with such an asshole, but he was your asshole. and sure, you didn't want to be a damsel in distress all the time, but you've started to succumb to it; the idea of someone taking care of you-a knight in shining armor..with a lime green vape. the way he yelled at anyone who wronged you, scaring them with his authority made your clit throb. and, as if he knows, he's already on his knees between your legs. his hands rip your panties, and you gasp as you hear the fabric tear. "jesus, gator! would you fuckin'-"

"shhh." he soothes, sucking harsh hickies into your thighs under your skirt. "i'll buy you a new pair. always do." you know it's true, so you let him continue-(not like you wouldn't have anyway). your hands reach for his head, resting on the back of it as his mouth presses kisses to your pussy, raking his nails gently down the back of your thighs. the extra stimulation causes your knees to buckle, gasping out a moan as he steadies you. "there she is." he says, and you can hear the smug grin on his face. his mouth returns to your pussy, lapping at your clit mean and slow. you can hear his mouth, the sounds of his tongue working against your clit as he makes out with your pussy. he makes sure to work his tongue everywhere, between your folds, against your clit. he licks gentle stripes against your pussy every time he parts from your clit, and you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching. "don't stop-" you beg, pleading as he chuckles into you. he doesn't stop, listening to you as your fists clench. you push his head further into your pussy, unraveling for him as his name spills from your mouth repeatedly. "that's it, honey. say my name." he coos, finally rising to his feet.

you're shaking as you come down from your orgasm, gazing up at him, lovestruck. "i don't think i can walk-" you confess, and he scoops you off your feet, into his arms. "c'mon, then we'll call a tow for your car. i know a guy." he says. "you're comin' home with me."

#gator tillman x reader smut #gator tillman imagine #gator tillman fluff #gator tillman smut #gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x reader imagine #gator tillman oneshot #gator tillman x reader oneshot #joe keery #steve harrington x reader smut #maple writes gator!#steve harrington x reader

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soaps-mohawk · 2 months

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 6: One Step Closer

Summary: You're all trying to adjust to the changes happening between you and the members of your pack.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, some Price x Gaz

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, suggestive content, handjobs, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this one and might come back when I feel better and do some changes, but for now, it's fine. Mostly just a filler chapter more than anything. Some sweet moments, some maybe steamy...Building up for some more exciting things coming in the next parts. Also I just wanted to clear something up, pretty much everyone in this universe is at least a little bisexual. That will make sense once you read the chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(Gif found on Google)

He curses the click of the door as it opens, making sure to go slowly so it doesn’t squeak as it’s prone to when it rains. His lips turn up in a smile as he catches a glimpse at the sight on the couch, no more than half a moment before Price’s honed senses cause him to wake at the change in atmosphere.

He blinks tired eyes at Gaz, head lifting from where it had drooped to his chest in his sleep. He adjusts his hold on you, still asleep and unaware in the safety of your alpha’s arms.

“Sleeping in your office again, sir?” Gaz says quietly, stepping closer to the couch.

Price grunts quietly, shifting his hold on you so he can lift a hand to rub at his eyes. His voice is thick and gravelly with sleep as he answers. “Didn’t mean to.”

Gaz hums, running a hand through Price’s hair as the air between them changes from Captain and Sergeant to alpha and beta. “Should get you both to bed.”

“You take her.” Price murmurs. “She’ll forgive you easier for invading her space.”

Gaz knows he’s right. He’d already been invited in once. His scent in your space would be less jarring than Price’s. Price carefully unravels your arms from around his neck, letting Gaz slip his arms under you to lift you off his lap. You stir slightly at the movement, letting out a quiet grumble.

“Shh pretty girl.” Gaz shushes you, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Just taking you to bed.”

Price follows behind him as he carries you through the halls to your room. You’re asleep by the time he reaches your door, Price opening it for him. Gaz slips in, carrying you to your bed. He makes sure you’re comfortable, tucking the blanket around you before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

He spares one last glance at you fast asleep before he closes the door, turning to Price. “Your turn.”

“You gonna carry me too?” Price asks, a playful glint shining in his eyes despite the obvious exhaustion.

Gaz huffs out a laugh. “You wish.” He puts a hand on his back, guiding Price down to his door, closest to the entry to the barracks.

He follows the alpha into his space, meticulously clean and tidy as usual. They both blink against the harsh overhead light, Gaz leaning against the door as Price begins emptying his pockets, getting settled in his space.

“She knelt for me tonight.” Price says as he sits at his desk to unlace his boots.

“She’s making headway.” Gaz replies, surprised that you asked to kneel so soon. He knows how meaningful kneeling is to both alpha and omega, how intense it can be, how much trust there is involved.

Price hums, standing to remove his pants. “I fear Laswell was right. She’s turning out to be a good fit.”

“She’s already got Simon worked up.” Gaz smiles, moving to the dresser to fish out clean sleep clothes. “I fear she may be taking a page out of Johnny’s book.”

“Well, if it gets him to stop torturing himself, then I can’t say I’ll complain.” Price says, pulling his shirt over his head. “You know how he is.”

“I know.” Gaz says, holding out the clean shirt and sweatpants. “Can’t say I blame him entirely. Not after what he’s been through.”

Price slips on the clean clothes, stepping closer to Gaz. “He’ll warm up to our girl eventually.”

“‘Our girl?’” Gaz’s eyebrows lift as Price steps in even closer, their noses brushing. “That’s quite the jump.”

“She’s been our girl from the start. As soon as those papers were finalized, there was no sending her back.” Price says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gaz’s lips. “I wouldn’t put her through that. Not after everything.”

Gaz pulls back, Staring at Price’s face. “You know something.”

“I wouldn’t say I know anything, but I have my suspicions.” He moves past Gaz, turning off the overhead light. “I know we all do.”

“You think she’ll tell us?”

“I think she will, with time. I don’t want to push her into too much too soon.” He pats Gaz on the ass. “Come on, in bed.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Gaz smirks, Price giving him a look as the beta pulls down the covers, crawling into the bed.

Price groans internally, trying to calm the twitch in his pants at the mental picture of you, those big puppy eyes shining playfully as you saluted him. The small spark of excitement every time you call him “sir.” How easily you relaxed for him while you knelt, giving over complete trust and control to him for an hour.

He crawls under the covers, tossing an arm over Gaz, trying to block out all the mental images flashing through his head.

“Forget something in your pocket, sir?” Gaz says, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Shut it, Garrick.”

You’re jarred awake by the sound of movement in the hallway. You let out a quiet noise of indignation, letting your eyes close again. It’s too early, around the time the boys leave to go workout. You’ve been graciously given a couple days off to rest and recover, likely Price’s recommendation. You knew if it were up to Ghost, he’d force you to work through the pain. You’re glad for the break, though, and you would be even if you weren’t horribly sore.

Your head is still spinning a bit from last night. You’re not quite sure how you made it to bed, but the faint scent of clean linen and the sea gives you an idea. You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a groan. You knelt for Price last night. You opened yourself up to that vulnerability, and he had graciously guided and supported you through it. He didn’t scruff you, even though he could have, nor was there any demand for control in his grasp, he could have easily taken it.

He’d been a good alpha, helping you relax and destress. You feel lighter for the first time in weeks, since you found out where you were going and who your new pack was going to be. You feel lighter than you have in your entire time on this base, though that could just be the endorphins still flowing a bit from kneeling for your alpha.

It’ll be easier to come down from it once you’re bonded, you know that. Once there’s that connection between you, and you’re around him all the time. You’ll be moving into his room, or at least you’ll spend most of your time in there. You’ll sleep in his bed with him. You wonder if he’s a cuddler, or if he prefers personal space. Would Gaz join you sometimes? You can practically feel the warmth of being sandwiched between them, battle hardened hands trailing along your bare body because you’ll be naked and well bonded with both of them.

You bury your burning face in your pillow letting out a muffled, quiet scream at the thoughts your mind is conjuring. You feel hot, warmth pooling in your stomach. There’s no going back to sleep now, you know that.

You get up, rushing to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face and erase the thoughts in your head. It’s entirely natural, having these thoughts. You will get to that place, very soon, with Price. The others could pursue that sort of relationship with you as well, if they wanted to. It will likely happen naturally with Gaz, given his bond with Price, and after your kiss with Soap...

You’re not sure if it would happen with Ghost, or if he would allow it. You can’t help but think about yesterday, how easily he had overpowered you with just his scent. You had been scared, as it was your nature to be when an alpha was posing a direct threat to you, but the way he had looked hovering over you, the feeling of him pressed against you when he’d pinned you to the floor. How easily he got you into that position. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of him pinning you down like that, or better, pinning you against Soap, his hand on the back of your neck.

You splash cold water on your face, holding your breath until your lower body stops pulsing in time with your heart. You let out a quiet curse, focusing on getting ready for the day before grabbing your book and heading for the rec room to try and calm yourself.

“You’re up early, love.”

You jump at the voice, lowering your book as you look up from your spot stretched out on the couch. Gaz is standing there, skin dewy with sweat. They must have just returned from their morning workout, heading in to shower and get ready for the day. Gaz must have noticed your scent and followed it.

“Couldn’t get back to sleep.” You explain as he moves closer to the couch. “Gaz!” You shriek as he crawls over you, dropping his body on top of yours. “You’re all sweaty!”

“You can shower later.” He says, resting his face against your chest, his elbows pressed into the cushions so he’s not completely squishing you with his weight.

“You should be showering now.” You say, trying not to breathe in too much of his scent. It’s heavily tainted with the scent of sweat and musk.

“Then we can shower together.” He murmurs, nuzzling his face further into your chest.

Your face warms, your heart rate picking up at his teasing. The thought of being enclosed in the shower with him, such a small space, packed in together. Skin to skin, bare before each other. You might implode beneath him, warmth beginning to travel down your spine after your thoughts earlier.

“Relax.” He murmurs with a grin, obviously picking up the quickening of your heart rate and the change in your scent. “I’m teasing.”

He’s just as bad as Soap, but not quite as blatant with it. While Soap would tease at any open opportunity, Gaz tended to choose his moments wisely, slipping some teasing remark in when you least expected it.

Gaz goes quiet as he lays there, his breathing steady. You mark your page before reaching up to set the book on the arm of the couch. You can’t help yourself as you run your fingers through his short cropped, damp curls, gently scratching at his scalp. He makes a quiet noise, his body getting heavier.

“Gaz?” You murmur, earning a grunt in response. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Can’t help it.” He murmurs. “So comfy.”

Your cheeks warm as he nuzzles into your chest, letting out a content sigh. You fight the urge to release one of your own, feeling warm and content even pressed against the lumpy cushions of the couch. How easy it is to find comfort even in the most uncomfortable places.

It doesn’t have to be uncomfortable.

Your heart rate kicks up again, hand stilling where it had been scratching Gaz’s scalp. You’re allowed to want. You asked yesterday and nothing bad happened.

“Gaz?” You murmur, trying to fight the nervous twisting of your stomach. “Would you...if I wanted something, would you get it for me, even if it’s stupid?”

Gaz shifts on top of you, knees pressing into the couch as he pushes himself higher so you’re face to face. One of his legs is between yours, holding him up so he doesn’t squish you under his weight.

He stares down at you, blinking the haze of sleep from his dark eyes. “Babygirl, I’d take over the world for you if that’s what you wanted.”

Your lips part in surprise at his answer. You’re not entirely sure he’s allowed to say something like that, even as a joke. The sentiment of it is not lost on you, and you find tears prickling the backs of your eyes.

His arms shift beneath you, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what you want.”

You stare up into those big, sweet, dark eyes. Gaz radiates a kindness and calmness like you haven’t felt in a long time. Not that the others aren’t kind, even in Ghost and his aggressiveness, you’ve felt the protective drive within him. It wasn’t based on any claim or sense of ownership, even a sense of duty couldn’t bring forward that kind of reaction. But Gaz...there’s just something so soft and gentle despite the danger he could pose.

“Kiss me.” You blurt out, realizing you’ve been staring for far too long.

Gaz stares down at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Just that? Here I thought you were gonna say something impossible like world domination.”

“Well, if you’re offering...” You shrug.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Probably shouldn’t be making those jokes.” He leans down closer. “Though, if you asked nicely...”

You let out a quiet sound as his lips press against yours. They’re just as soft as they look, pressing against yours so gently and softly. Your arms lift to his shoulders, curling into the fabric of his shirt. He coaxes your lips to move with his, copying his movements as he tilts his head slightly.

Warmth blooms beneath your skin as he kisses you, your head spinning. His scent invades your nose, seeping into your very being. You want to curl up in it, let it surround you like a warm blanket. You catch the whiff of something deeper, the scent of damp earth. Price. You have a sudden urge to pull his shirt collar to the side, to stare at the mark that decorates his scent gland at the base of his throat, a mirror of the one you’ll carry in a few short weeks.

“Ye didnae tell me ye were startin’ a cuddle pile!”

An excited voice causes you both to separate, Gaz barely managing to lift himself up enough so that you don’t get squished when Soap practically jumps on his back.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Gaz grunts. “Tryna squish our poor omega?”

The weight above you shifts before Soap’s head appears over Gaz’s shoulder, a wide grin on his face. “Mornin’ hen!”

“For someone so small, you weigh a ton.” Gaz says with a strain to his voice as sweat breaks out across his forehead from keeping his weight and Soap's off of you.

“I'm no that small.” Soap says, an offended tone to his voice as he goes limp on top of Gaz.

You can't help but giggle at their antics, especially as Gaz pushes himself up to a kneeling position, nearly sending Soap rolling to the floor. Your face is warm from your giggling as they both stand, playfully pushing each other.

“Alright, enough you two.” Price's voice cuts through their playful arguing, amusement shining in his eyes as he leans on the doorframe. “Almost time for breakfast.”

“Come on.” Gaz says, taking your hands and helping you up. “Let's get some pancakes in you before you turn into one.”

“You should try courting her.” Kyle says, scrolling through his phone as he lounges on John's bed. “Like old-fashioned courting.”

“What are you on about?” John grumbles, drying his face with a towel.

“Our little omega. You should try courting her.” Kyle repeats, looking over his phone at John.

John tosses his towel into his hamper before approaching the bed. Kyle lets his eyes rake over his form, his strong arms and soft stomach, thick, strong thighs and the prominent bulge at the front of his briefs.

“It would be worth a try.” Kyle continues, letting John pull the phone from his hands. “Omegas love that shit.”

“And what prompted this thought?” John asks, laying down on his side next to Kyle, pulling the younger man closer.

“She's getting all worked up by us now.” He says, biting back a groan as John trails a hand over his side. “She's kissed Soap and I so far. Got all worked up when I teased her about showering together this morning.” His hand trails through John's short hair as John licks at his throat. “I think she'd enjoy a little attention from her alpha.”

“What do you have in mind?” John murmurs before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of Kyle's throat.

Kyle shrugs, letting out a gasp as John bites at his throat. “Take her out for dinner? Buy her some things for her room? Give in to those alpha cravings a bit.”

John lets out a low growl, pinning Kyle on the bed beneath him. Kyle's lips lift in a smirk, fingers lifting to run through John's beard. His thumb drags across John's lower lip, gaze soft as he stares up at the alpha.

“You won't ruin anything by doing it. There's only so much time until her heat. If I were an alpha, I'd want her to be as comfortable as possible before then. Makes the shift into bonded pack life much easier.” Kyle says.

John leans down until their noses brush, groaning softly as Kyle digs his fingers into his shoulders. He knows Kyle is right. He should make an effort with you, at least try to ensure you're as comfortable around him as possible before he claims you. Most alphas wouldn't have waited for the first heat, wouldn't have even waited a week before claiming, before taking their omega to bed. He doesn't want to be like those alphas. He doesn't want to force you into more than you already have been, more than you will be.

He wants things to happen as naturally as possible, but that doesn't mean he can't try.

Kyle leans up, closing the distance between them and kissing him. He presses his beta back into the mattress, nipping harshly at his lips. Their tongues tangle together, tasting like peppermint toothpaste and something distinctly alpha and beta.

John presses his body closer to Kyle's groaning as his half hard cock drags against Kyle's. Kyle moans into his mouth as John begins grinding against him. Their bodies move together, a familiar dance they've both memorized the steps to.

John groans as Kyle's fingers trail down his back, blunt nails biting into the skin. Breathy moans slip from kiss-bruised plump lips as John kisses down Kyle's throat. Calloused fingers slip under the waistband of John's briefs, teasing the soft supple skin beneath. John grinds down against him harder, dragging his leaking cock against Kyle's twitching one.

“Fuck, Cap.” Kyle groans, bucking up against his alpha. “Lemme feel you.”

John wraps his arms around Kyle, flipping them over so he's on top. Kyle makes quick work of his boxers, tugging John's briefs down roughly. He groans, licking his lips at the sight of his alpha's leaking cock.

“Like what you see, pup?” John asks, lips lifting in a smirk.

“Fuck yes.” Kyle breathes, settling himself on John's thighs.

He leans down, wrapping a hand around both his and John's cocks. John groans as Kyle begins stroking them both, his cock twitching as more precum slips from his tip. He's close, the pent up frustrations from the last couple days along with the tantalizing scent of omega driving him to near insanity.

He feels like he might pop a knot as Kyle picks up the pace, one hand braced against his chest, his hips rocking in short thrusts. His head falls back as his orgasm slams into him, hit cum spurting across his stomach. Kyle groans loudly, frantically pumping his own cock as he reaches his peak, spurting his spend across his alpha's stomach too.

“Made quite the mess, Sergeant.” John says, trailing his fingers through the mix of cum on his stomach.

“Would you like me to clean it up, sir?” Kyle smirks, opening his mouth to allow John's fingers to push in.

His tongue swirls around his thick fingers, lapping them clean. Kyle shifts on top of him, bending down and trailing his tongue across John's stomach, licking up their mess.

“Good boy.” John hums, gently cradling the back of Kyle's neck.

The sky is dark as you make your way from your room. Gaz and Price are nowhere to be found, your cheeks warming at the thought of where they could be and what they could be up to. You take a breath to steady yourself, and your scent, before you head into the rec room. Soap and Ghost are there, Soap on the opposite end of the couch as usual, and Ghost in the chair next to the couch that faces the door.

He sees you first, his shoulders squaring just a bit. Soap turns to the doorway, a typical grin splitting his face when he sees you. It’s been a while since you’ve seen anyone be happy to see you, and you can’t deny that Soap’s joy is a bit contagious. He’s like an excited puppy. You can imagine if he had a tail, it would be wagging non-stop.

“Come tae join us, hen?” He asks, holding out a hand.

Ghost’s eyes are sharp as they stare at you, the silent warning not lost. You’re infringing on their space, infringing on his protective circle around his beta. You’re pushing a boundary and that could be dangerous.

It could be.

You move forward, taking Soap’s hand, letting him tug you down next to him on the couch. You ignore the eyes burning into you, boring holes into your skin as you settle in as close to Soap as you can. You almost smile in victory as Soap drapes his arm across the back of the couch, your attention turning to whatever is playing on the TV.

Ghost and Soap continue their conversation, Soap's fingers brushing your arm every so often. You can feel every time Ghost's burning gaze turns to you, every time he glowers at you for being so close to his beta. You can't help but wonder what's going through his mind, what he's thinking, what he's imagining.

You'll pay for this later.

You can only imagine how he'll punish you in your training for boldly breaching such an obvious boundary.

Soap doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps he simply doesn't care. It's not like you're not allowed to be close to Soap. As a member of your new pack, he had every right to pursue a bond with you if he wanted, regardless of how Ghost felt. Even though they're bonded, Soap is still his own person.

It's almost ironic.

You're starting to feel the exhaustion of your early morning as the night drags on, your head getting heavier and heavier. Ghost's need to glower at you has lessened a bit, his eyes only on you whenever you shift or move. Your head has drooped onto Soap's shoulder, an idea forming in your mind. You're sure it's the exhaustion making you so bold, or perhaps your new belief that the only way you'll even stand a chance at getting through to Ghost is to push those boundaries and stand up to him.

You lift your head, shifting your body until you're laying on the couch, resting your head on Soap's thigh. You watch Ghost's hands curl into fists where they rest on his lap, his eyes burning through your head as you make yourself comfortable. Soap's hand sinks into your hair, massaging your scalp as you lay there, your lips curling into a content smile.

You know it has to be eating at him just a little. A content beta and a preening omega, an image of what he could have if he simply got over whatever is keeping him from accepting you.

“Tired, lass?” Soap's gentle voice pulls you from your thoughts. Your mind had started to doze a bit, trailing off with your thoughts.

You make a quiet noise in agreement, nuzzling against his thigh.

“Let's get ye tae bed.” He says, squeezing your arm.

You're not expecting Ghost to follow as Soap leads you from the rec room, your fingers entwined with his. Even in your tired state you can feel the icy stare at your back, the looming presence of the alpha behind you as Soap walks you to your door.

“Night, hen.” Soap murmurs softly.

You're sure it's the exhaustion making you delirious as you stand on your toes, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. Soap hums against your lips, bending down to follow you as you go to pull away. You ignore the tickling at the back of your neck as he presses another kiss to your lips, your hand reaching for your doorknob and the security of your room.

“Night, Soap.” You murmur, slipping into your room before Ghost makes a rash decision.

You're going to regret it later, but you certainly don't at this moment.

The fabric isn’t as soft as it used to be. It’s been worn too much, washed too many times. You’ve stitched the ripped seam back together, a bit sloppy but you can hardly tell thanks to the luck of finding thread the same color as the sweatshirt. You hold it in your hands, staring at the frayed edges, the loose strings. Well loved, some might call it. Garbage, others might think.

“Finally fixing the holes?”

The voice cutting through the silence makes you jump, your head whipping around to the door. Price is standing there, leaning against the doorframe.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He says.

“It’s alright, sir.” You say, calming your racing heart. You hadn’t even heard him approach. “I thought you were all at training.”

“I had a call I had to take.” He says, entering the room now that you’ve calmed. “Was heading back out when I caught a whiff of your scent.” He lowers himself onto the couch with a quiet groan, staring softly at you.

“I know it’s stupid, holding onto it when I could just ask for a new one.” You say, staring down at the sweatshirt in your hands.

“But it’s more than just a sweatshirt.” He says, tone soft and understanding.

You sink your teeth into your lip, fingers curling into the fabric in your hands. “One of the omegas at the institute gave it to me.” You say, holding the sweatshirt to your chest. “We were the same age so we were grouped together a lot and we got really close. She gave it to me when we reached selection age, since we both knew we were likely to get chosen fast and she wanted to give me something to remember her by. It’s a good thing she did too, because she did get chosen almost immediately.” You let out a quiet laugh, blinking back tears. “I’ve held on to it ever since. It doesn't even smell like her anymore. Hasn’t for a long time.”

Price is quiet for a few moments, his eyes on your face. You can’t look at him, your gaze on the sweatshirt in your lap. “You loved her.” He finally says, his tone not accusing or even disgusted.

It’s understanding. Knowing.

You take a shaky breath, hands closing into nervous fists around the sweatshirt. “Institutes try everything they can to prevent omegas from bonding with each other. Makes it too hard to separate us once we come of age. Alphas don’t want a distressed, unhappy omega, they’re expecting an eager, willing addition to their pack. It’s hard though, when you spend literal years together experiencing the same thing to not form bonds with each other.”

Price huffs quietly. “My grandfather used to tell me about the traditional pack boom after World War 2. When militaries across the world began to forbid bonding and pack formation within ranks. They were spending more time and money on preventing it from happening than anything else. It didn’t take them long to realize it was easier to allow the organic bonds to form. It made soldiers stronger, gave them purpose. It’s easier to look away than to fight what nature intends sometimes.” He smiles at you, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. “We are the last people that will judge you for it.”

You know that. You've known that from the start. The way their scents mingle, their bonds. They're a bonded pack for a reason.

“She never knew. Or, I never told her. I don't know where she ended up or where she is now.” You shrug, letting out a sardonic huff. “It's a lonely existence sometimes, being an omega.”

“I can only imagine.” Price says, giving you a sad smile.

“I suppose I should just get rid of it.” You say, staring at the sweatshirt. “No use holding onto something that could have never been.”

Price squeezes your shoulder gently. “Wait here.”

He gets up, leaving you alone in the rec room. You wait patiently for him to return, growing a bit nervous. What was he doing? Was he telling someone about your confession? Was he going to send you back because of it? You know your worries are unwarranted, but you can't stop them.

He returns a few moments later, a sweatshirt in his hands. “Here.” He says, holding it out to you. “They're standard issue, but I've never been one for sweatshirts. It's just been sitting in my closet.”

You take the sweatshirt, soft and new in your hands. It hardly smells like him, only the light residual scent from being in his room. “Thank you, sir.” You say, rubbing the fabric against your cheek.

He nods at your old sweatshirt. “This way you can save that one, and start picking this one apart.”

Your face warms at his cheeky comment, your head turning down bashfully. “It means a lot, sir. Really.”

“You'll get better use of it than I did.” He glances at his watch. “I best be getting back to the boys. We'll be back before dinner.”

“Wait-” You get up before he can leave, slowly approaching him with the sweatshirt in hand. Your face is burning as he stares down at you, eyebrows raised in waiting. “Will you...scent it?” You hold the sweatshirt out to him.

He looks surprised for a moment before he takes the fabric, rubbing his face and neck against it. He coats the sweatshirt in his scent, the smell of trees and petrichor filling your nose as you watch him. The back of your neck begins to prickle, the desire to roll in his scent getting stronger.

“Thank you, sir.” You say as he hands the sweatshirt back to you. “I'd...I'd also like to kneel again tonight, if that's alright.”

He smiles softly down at you. “Of course. I'll come and get you when I'm ready.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your head before he takes his leave.

You pull on Price's sweatshirt, burying your nose in his scent for a moment. A smile pulls at your lips as you grab your old sweatshirt, making for your room.

You can't wait for tonight.

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #cod #cod fic #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics

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rileysluvr · 8 months

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könig smutty smut!! i just wanted to write something without any plot or dialogue cause that shit is so draining sometimes.

Your arms around his neck release from their tight hold as he sets you down on the cool table so gently, a faint whine leaving your lips when they have to abandon his warm ones. Legs still wrapped around his waist from the way he was carrying you, pulling and locking him in close against you, at the very edge of the table. Hands running up the expanse of his abdomen and chest, a gleaming look in your upward-pointing eyes that beg him for what he had already vowed to you. He shakes off his jacket, letting it drop to the floor with his eyes heavily fixated on yours the entire time.

You had taken his helmet along with the hood and tossed it somewhere across the room the second he kicked the door shut behind him, so eager to see and feel him after far too long of going without. He made a promise to himself to take his time with you, even despite your pretty pleas. Equally as desperate, but he’s always been the fawning, steadfast romantic type.

His hands are at the waistband of your pants in an instant and you pull him into a feverish kiss by the collar of his shirt, causing his fingers to fumble greatly at the task. He manages eventually and as he’s standing between your legs, he takes your shoulders and pushes them back until you hit the table. You gasp at the cold material hitting the skin of your back that’s exposed due to your shirt hiking up a bit, and again when he pulls it up even further, until the very hem of it is sitting just above your tits. Entire waist exposed as well as your bra, and he’s gawking at the sight of you.

He leans over you to kiss all up and down your skin, hot breath fanning and tickling every part of you as he works his way down. He kisses behind your ear and his teeth graze the most sensitive parts of your jugular, even nipping and biting ever so slightly in some areas. His mouth is sloppy as it travels your abdomen, so rushed to consume every inch of your being but also with the want to take it slow, savor every last bit. You’re arching your back with the contact, sweet moans getting caught in your throat. He knows this was only supposed to be a quickie, but he can’t help himself.

He tugs on your pants and you help by wiggling out of them, panties going with and joining his jacket on the floor, and the chilly air really hits you this time. He sinks to his knees in front of you, sadly out of your sight, and you giggle as the tickling sensation gets dangerously close to your core. He slips his hands under your knees and pulls you even further towards him, lifting them to be hanging over his broad shoulders.

He’s placing kisses all up and down the inner part of your bare thighs, restraining himself from diving straight in and just barely succeeding. He wants to see you unravel before the real thing even begins, and you see it on his face, all innocent and puppy-like that hides a certain smugness he wore so well in times like this. You toss and turn, but he keeps you still.

The stubble on his face as he inches closer has your hands moving to meet the back of his big head, lazy and soft laughter filling the air along with his groans from a sight so pretty in front of him. He thinks he’ll actually die if he goes a second longer without shoving his tongue in your pussy, so he does just that. He licks a thick and hot stripe up your soaked clit and you jump in your place suddenly, surprised gasp quickly turning to pleasured, exhausted moans when he continues his endeavor in similar fashion.

You’re both so tired, but your desires couldn’t wait until after a night’s rest and refreshment, let alone to find a room better than the private medical examination station. He’ll do the heavy lifting as long as you give him what he needs, which is for you to come on his mouth at least twice before he helps himself. He knows he won’t last the moment he eases himself inside you, and he was raised a gentleman.

He laps at and kisses your pussy like a starved man, huge hands gripping your outer thighs and subconsciously increasing their strength the longer he has his face buried in your cunt. You taste sweet and somehow get sweeter each time he gets the opportunity to taste you. You’re a treat for his performance at work that day, and he’s sure he’d be long gone in the grave by now if it weren’t for the motivation. He makes sure to return the debt he thinks he owes with diligence.

His nose nudges against your clit with his feverish devouring, pulling jolts and moans after gasps from your throat. He more grinds his face on your pussy than anything, he’s just so desperate for it. Messy head has always been his favorite, whoever the receiving party may be, and he can’t help but find equal amounts of pleasure from both. The rawness of it all puts him in an entirely different headspace, all thanks to you, where he can actually hunt down his high with whimpers flowing freely from his lips and not feel abnormal for it.

His cock is excruciatingly hard and twitchy in his pants and he fears he’s going to knock out before he even gets the chance to feel your tight cunt wrapped around it. Each of your moans comes with one of his own, and the way you tense up and reach for more when you finish has him utterly smitten. He’d go as far to describe it as better than heaven, your cum on his tastebuds and the shaky sigh you breathe out as you come down from a headache-inducing high.

He doesn’t stop, though. He gives you a few seconds to catch your breath but he doesn't relent, and it’s at this point where you can no longer tell if he’s doing this for you or for himself. You jump and pull away from over-sensitivity before it soon turns to that source of euphoria you knew all too well, and you’re instantly chasing the very thing you were seconds away from labeling as too, too much.

He brings his hand up below his chin to slowly push his cold middle finger in your hot cunt, it’s thick and calloused and has both of you whining out for different reasons. You, because he’s just so damn big all around and knows exactly how you like it; Him, because the way your wet heat envelops his frozen bones so perfectly, so tightly, has his brain going entirely blank on him. That’ll be his cock soon, if you allow it. And when he thinks you’re ready for him to add another, he does just that.

His ring finger joins the other in sliding in and out of you at an excruciatingly soft pace as his mouth continues its sweet assault on your clit. He curls his fingers just right, pulling all the best noises from you like it was on command. Your abdomen gets tighter and your moans get more depraved by the second, every sense overwhelmed with how good he is. The thought of taking his cock afterwards when merely his fingers have you struggling to breathe is a presented challenge, though you were never known to be a quitter.

His tongue is rough and thick, and he’s learned over the course of your relationship on how to properly use it. Such an eager one he is, you managed to take him from a secluded boy who would barely blurt a full sentence during his off-time, to a man on his knees who wanted nothing more than to learn how to put his mouth to good use. And in little time, have you. He quickly discovered you have a thing for his voice and accent, and he would rather take the blast of a double-barreled shotgun to the naked chest than deprive you of what you enjoyed. Rare words turned to sentences and sentences turned to run-on ones of both praise and begging; he’ll go whichever way you want him to. You practically fucking own him at this point, you’ve turned him into an addict for great things.

Your fingers that are locked into his hair urgently tug and pull him in closer, like he’s just a little plaything you use to get off; it’s exactly how he wants you to treat him. Grind your pussy on his face and nose and mouth, let him use the things he kept hidden from the rest of the world to grant you pleasure. His tongue torturing your clit so sweetly sends his name and slurring swears rolling off yours like they were all you knew. His free hand caressing your thigh that’s hung over his shoulder is in stark contrast to how the immense pressure that has built up in your lower belly and all around your head.

It doesn’t take you long to spiral into your second orgasm with how sensitive you are from your last, a deadly grip on his short hair ripping a guttural whimper from his throat against your pussy. He fucking loves the pain you inflict on him, and he loves shoving his face in your cunt until he’s unable to breathe.

Your moans are shaky as you come on his tongue and fingers once more, back arching off the metal table and head pounding with the pressure being released from your belly and now all shooting off to your skull. Your eyes weren’t able to pry themselves open for one second as he ate you out, and you’re sure tears of joy would trickle to your ears if you did.

He wants to continue. He really, really wants to keep going. His tongue fights to delve itself back where it belongs on your pussy, but you stop him with a few words and a call of his name, strong hands holding his head back mere centimeters from what he wants. And he gives in so fucking easily; he could overpower you in a second and pull twice as many orgasms from you in that same amount of time, wring you impossibly dry until there’s no way you’d be making it to bed on your own. But he also sees that shiny glint in your happy, drunk eyes when you sit up a bit to see him, and your sugary begging for his cock in that dulcet voice of yours he treasures so much, is all he needs to obey.

He gently shifts your legs off his shoulders and he stands with a dizzy head, and yours as well with the cold air hitting you at once, causing a shiver to travel down your spine and trembling legs. You whine greatly with the loss of his fingers, but he assures you that you won’t have to mourn for long. Taking a moment to admire your body in front of him, both of you catching your breaths with heaving chests. Your slick and cum covers the stubble on his jaw everywhere, absolutely doused.

He’s entranced, he’s hypnotized, he’s downright madly in love with you. He’s a perfect sight, himself; there’s nothing better than seeing him all excited and weak in the knees from pleasing only you.

You sit up on your elbows and open your eyes to see his drenched jaw falling slack, sticking his flattened tongue out shyly to make contact with the pads of his long fingers that are entirely soaked in your release. He moans unabashedly at the taste; he could never get tired of it, and you watch on with hazy eyes and a slightly agape mouth of your own. It could very well be the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen.

His eyes open and a string of spit follows as he pulls his fingers from his mouth. He then offers you his fingers, and you nod like a desperate, madwoman without ethics. He chuckles in adoration, and follows through with what you want.

The tips of his fingers graze your bottom lip, big digits easing their way past your teeth to find your tongue. He presses down on it once they do, and you feel as though your mind will cave in with how gentle he’s being on you. You wrap a hand around his wrist, cutely unable to even connect your fingers, and you force his fingers farther into your mouth.

He groans with how your hot mouth encases them and the way he can feel the vibrations of your moans as you slide your tongue and suck, efficiently cleaning him. Choice words pass his lips in that syrupy drawl of his as you tease him; just the right amount of degradation to go with his abundance of worship that has you smiling around his knuckles.

My dirty girl.

He leans down and kisses you feverishly, both of you moaning into the embrace with the bulge of his dick in his pants digging right into your overworked nerves. You taste the remnants of your cum on his lips again, the pleasure he had just given you, and he can’t help but bring his big hands up to palm and grope at your breasts through your bra.

Christ, his hands are so fucking big, and the arms leading to them, oh, so strong and masculine. It’s nothing near a rare find in a PMC such as KorTac, or any military-related base for that matter, yet he manages to wear it a hundred-times better than any other man you’ve worked with.

He’s panting when he finally pulls away and so are you, cheeks flushed and expressions flustered like nervous, spotlighted idiots with enough shots in them to smile without care. You lean back and take a deep breath, ready for whatever he’ll give.

He untucks his shirt from his belted waist, eyes never ending their admiration for your body and pleasure-drunken expression. You twist your neck to feel the cool metal against your heated face and hum when it actually works in soothing your fever, and he utterly swoons at the view. A small laugh leaves his lungs, the faintest grin on his lips as he works to unbuckle his belt with big and unsteady hands. The clanging of the metal buckle rings in your foggy ears, telling you what you can’t see, and making you smile impossibly harder.

It eventually hangs loosely, and next should be the pants, but your simple lying there and giggles have him distracted so easily. He pauses his efforts to lean down towards you and between your legs, planting a palm on the table beside your head to properly kiss you without crushing you. He just can’t keep his lips from yours.

His other hand comes to cup your jaw and caress your cheek with his thumb, and he’s sure this is the gentlest his hands have ever been in his entire life. It’s a passionate kiss, not rushed and feverish, but slow and sweet. He pulls away just an inch or two to look you in the eyes—you really must be the most beautiful woman on Earth—and you return the gaze with a big grin and quirked neck, before he’s pulling all the way up to his former, standing straight position.

He can’t be bothered to take off his shirt or pants the rest of the way. He pulls his hard cock from his boxers and sighs as the cool air surrounds it, veins and all so prominent and agitated. You don’t even have to see it for a lump to form in your throat, and shivers to run across your every limp with the heat he exudes and every noise he makes. He fists his cock a few times, smearing his pre down his shaft as if the extra slick was even necessary, and you could burst out in jealous tears right now, you want it so bad. Brain foggy beyond recognition; you settle for the short giggles high up in your throat.

He’s seriously got you drunk under him. Meaning, you wiggle your hips until he can no longer stand having his cock out and touching your skin but not sinking deep inside your needy cunt he spent all that time on his knees working for.

His leaky and swollen tip stalls at your entrance, teasing you ninety-percent unintentionally as he tries to gain his footing, test the waters on if you’ll be able to take him all, if you’re feeling alright. He never wants to hurt you; he prioritizes your comfort above all, and he’ll get right back on his knees this instant if you give him even the slightest nod that you need him to. He’ll put his mouth to work for hours before he even thinks about himself, and even then he’s not opposed to calling it a day afterwards and allowing you to sleep, satisfied and splayed out on his chest like his personal weighted blanket.

He pushes the velvety head of his cock in, and you’re already choking on your own breath, swallowing saliva. Fucking Christ, he’s so big. But you refuse to refuse him. He shushes you when you gasp and wince, and he coos to you a countless number of reassurances when you whine back; he’s so sweet on you that it’s actually tooth-rotting, sugar-high inducing.

He whines helplessly at how tight you are, squeezing and strangling his cock so fucking good it’s terribly overwhelming. Every inch of him is immense, almost too much, but you’ve learned that your body will naturally compensate for him each time. You know he’ll always take care of you; he’s fighting not to snap his hips forward, but he’s never not been a strong soldier.

He bottoms out painfully slowly and you feel unutterably stretched and full, speechless aside from a broken moan slipping from your agape mouth. He, too, groans out lustily under his breath, eyes scanning over your body and expression while yours remain closed in bliss. He wants to stay like this forever, but the explanation to the medical examiners when they come in for work the next morning would be an awkward one.

He takes a deep breath before he’s pulling out so gently, so soft and caring—conscious of his size—and repeating all the same actions over again until you’ve gotten used to him again.

The burn of the stretch has you reeling for more with the way he twitches inside you, the majority of your body gone numb but still feeling that tingling in your belly with every whine of his. Your pleasure is his and vice versa, and you need him to feel so good, so bad, after everything he’s done for you.

He’s grabbing the back of your legs again, but this time to raise them straight up and up until they’re flat against his front, toes pointed to the ceiling. You’re just so malleable like this; you always will be, for him. He cranes his neck to kiss your ankle, leaning to cover as much area as possible before turning to do the same to your other. Another fit of giggles erupts and bubbles in your throat, and you writhe under him.

A smile curls your lips and stays as he fucks you, he just feels so perfect. You’re perfect together; nothing beats how the two of you mold together so marvelously, fucking or cuddling or on the field. When you’re surrounded by dozens of soldiers you’ve never given a second thought about because your mind is so consumed by one man. He’s impossible to ignore when he’s practically burning holes in the back of your head with his eyes as you work—watching you commit the utmost violent acts to practice dummies like you were the cutest, most harmless creature on Earth as he guides you through the steps.

You’d surely be in trouble if anyone were to find out about your relationship with the Colonel. The man is too high in the chain to be discharged or suspended, too unruly and much of a valuable asset to be punished in any way. The trouble would lie within your peers, and how they would react. Anything demeaning or over the top and König would be sure to give them a far more tremendous problem of their own, though the thought terrifies you nonetheless.

But you can’t possibly think about all that, any possibility of being compromised in such a position, or an effort to conceal his or your noises right now when he’s planted so deep in your guts and fucking you so nicely.

He bites down on the knuckles of his fist to hopefully muffle some of his noises but it barely works, his other arm still wrapped around your legs pressed to his front. It’s a wonder he hasn’t made his already bruised knuckles bleed, then again, he’s only just started. You’re too faded with your previous highs and the sex to notice the way his brows are knitted together and his eyes have turned a bit glassy.

Mixes of whimpers, swears in some English and mostly German, and the various pet names he has for you leave his lungs all breathy and rapid from how good you’re making him feel, just by laying there all pretty. He tends to forget his English when he’s all fucked out, and you find it to be the most precious thing. He’s gonna come any moment, so fucking soon, he just knows it, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never wanted anything more in your lifetime.

You’re arching your back slightly from the cool metal for him and it feels impossibly good on his cock and being. He blinks a few to clear his vision and notices that all familiar bump in your belly, the one that disappears and reappears with every thrust. Every bottled up groan in his throat was pushed out at the sight. The hand he wasn’t biting fell from your leg to feel it up, heavy and rough skin contrasting your smooth exterior like a painting of love and war. He presses down on the bulge and his moan breaks into something of a cry when his fingertips dig into the pudge of your belly, pulling a more giggly moan from you. With his hips rutting into yours at a more frantic rate to chase that peak that’s been tormenting him for days, he’s still unendingly tenderhearted with how he handles your body.

Both his hands are forced to abandon their stations as he brings his arms to hug around your legs so tightly. Your ankles by his head, and the angle at which he looks down at you puffing up his cheeks a bit. He helplessly babbles and pleads to the sex filled room like a needy whore, a side of him only you ever got to see, and he’s so glad for the fact.

His vision is zeroed in on you, you’re the only thing he wants to see as he fucks his cum deep inside you. And he does just that, soon allowing his orgasm to wash over him like a fucking tsunami, and you shudder at the feeling of his thick cum pouring out and painting where there isn’t even enough space for it to be alongside his cock. Sloppy thrusts follow after they stutter and halt while fully buried for a second to come hard in your cunt, emptying that pent up release from his cock with a cracked moan.

His cock stills inside you, both of your chests heaving like you had ran consecutive marathons for the past week rather than being forced apart due to work. You feel full, and high, and happy. He’s warm and satisfied; it’s his best look, truly. He really knows how to take care of you, and he thanks you for treating him so lovingly. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It’s all so good. It’s too fucking amazing, and is every single time.

It’s two, mutually-proclaimed perfect people, despite whatever number of self-proclaimed flaws may exist, fucking until they see galaxies with each other at the center of all of them. In fact, it’s so good that you both completely forgot your routine of keeping things quiet during these, you’d say and he agrees, well-earned endeavors. The entire concept of passersby hearing and, what only nightmares could be made of, questioning what was going on between their Colonel and fellow Sergeant, behind the closed door of the private medical examination room. It’s all dismissed, in the name of pleasure.

As if the way you’ll be stumbling out of the room, held up and leaning on his shoulder to try to find strength in your legs again despite having no injury, wouldn’t be enough of a giveaway.

#cod mw2 #könig #könig x reader #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig smut

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Brat

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader)

(Part of the Consequences series)

Rating: E (18+) Word count: 4.6k Tags: Brat Tamer! Ghost, Semi-public sex, Closet sex, Vaginal fingering, Orgasm delay, Size kink, Slight degradation, Dirty talk, Manhandling, This started off as a mere drabble and then...

Summary:

It doesn’t take much to get a rise out of him, but he doesn’t let it show. The mask keeps his face hidden except for his eyes- calculating, cold. You’re the only one who can see the subtle indicators of his annoyance. His finger tapping on his weapon, the shift in his stance as he widens his legs to look bigger, the low, subtle warning bite in his voice that speaks of consequences.

He doesn’t treat you any differently than the rest of the team, he leaves it to Price to keep things in line. You don’t dare go so far as to disobey orders, knowing you might lose it all if you did. But you do find other ways. You gently bump his knee with yours during debriefs, you get close enough to not be subtle, you pretend not to hear him when he speaks to you on base, you ‘borrow’ his gear when he’s not looking. You’re careful, never letting the others pick up on your efforts lest they begin to unravel the strange relationship you’ve developed with the lieutenant.

You tease him over comms in the way only you can, nudging him with the sound of your voice.

“Pissing rain out here.” You mutter from a soggy rooftop during one mission, scope fixed on the darkened rendezvous point several blocks south. “It’s cold.”

Ghost doesn’t respond on the other end of the channel- the one only you two use. He’s careful, he knows someone might switch over out of pure boredom or curiosity and might overhear your conversation. More than that he knows that tone in your voice, refuses to give you the rise you want when you’re asking after mischief.

You smile to yourself, feeling the rain slick off your jacket and the damp cling to your skin.

“ ‘m pretty wet.” You comment, and you hear Ghost breathe forcefully through his nose at the suggestiveness in your tone. “Might need someone to come warm me up.”

Ghost hums, and the sound is pleased, inclined towards the suggestion. Even so, his tone is even as he replies, ensuring you’re on task “Stay frosty, corporal.”

“Pun intended?” You intone dryly, to no response.

You let a few minutes lapse, switch over to the other channel just to make sure you haven’t missed any intel, but there’s only silence.

At last you try again, eyes not leaving your scope but voice purring as you murmur to the super soldier on the other end of the channel.

“You could use your fingers maybe, “ You go on. “Maybe keep me on your lap…share some body heat.”

“Focus.” Ghost growls at you, but you can hear how his breath has tightened in his chest, how he’s fighting back the thoughts you're offering him. You know he's giving you a warning, and it's true that you should be paying attention to the stakeout, but the tone of his voice has delicious anticipation rippling up your spine.

"You're not cold, LT?" You ask innocently. "Think I could find a way to keep you warm if you're inside me."

Ghost chokes.

"Cut it out." He snaps, and you really should keep quiet, should stop this teasing where it stands, but you can't. There's something so gleefully satisfying at Ghost's annoyance, his simmering irritation tinted with desire. You know there will be consequences later but you don't care, just want to hear Ghost's voice over the crackle of the radio- dark, demanding.

"Is that a 'no' then?" You ask, and you're shivering- from the rain, from the cold, from the amusement and knowledge there's going to be hell to pay once you're both back at base. "To me cock-warming you on missions?"

The other end of the comms goes silent.

You wait a few moments, silently listening to the hiss of rain on the tin rooftops around you. Yet when Ghost doesn't respond your brow furrows, and you at last wonder if maybe you've pushed too far.

"Ghost?" You ask after a full minute passes, and there's static on the other end.

You don't end up getting a response, because suddenly there's someone in your scope and you switch over to the main channel to tell Price, and soon there's gunfire that drowns that static to silence.

----

He's silent during the debrief.

That's not unusual it itself. Ghost is a man of few words, speaking only when he has something valuable to offer. The mission went smoothly, your target is captured and the team didn't encounter a single scratch. By all means it’s a terrific success. Ghost should be proud.

Which is why you shiver when you catch his eyes as you're all dismissed, the anger there chilling and unmistakable.

You realize your mistake too late in pushing him, and you follow Gaz out of the briefing room and down a back hallway as if he can somehow protect you from the consequences you're about to reap. You chat amicably, crack a few jokes about your improving aim, and for a few moments you feel the dread begin to shrink from your shoulders.

"Gaz." A voice deadpans, and you don't turn, don't let the apprehension show on your face at the graveled, British clip of Ghost's voice behind you, at the sound of his footsteps before he's dwarfing you from behind, staring over your head at the smaller man beside him. "Price asked for you."

You don't know if it's a lie or not, but the tone in which Ghost speaks leaves absolutely no room for questioning. It's an order without saying it, and you swallow thickly as Gaz nods at the lieutenant before vanishing and leaving you alone.

Alone with him.

If your hands are shaking you don't notice, too distracted by your fluttering heartbeat and the unmistakable presence of him, so close he's pressed right up against your back. Despite yourself, despite feeling the irritation radiate off of him like a cold, black shadow, you look up over your shoulder with a sly, nervous smile.

"Good mission, huh LT?"

Then you see his eyes- furious, dark, hungry

You don't get another breath before he's got you, a thick veiny arm wrapping around your front and all but hauling you up against him, a skull gloved hand muffling the yelp that tears from your throat. All at once you're forced to keep up with his gigantic strides as he maneuvers you both further down the hallway, into the tiny supply closet that's barely big enough to fit both you and his hulking frame.

Bastard. You think. He knew this was here.

You're barely inside, his heavy boot kicking the door shut, before he's got you pinned against it. The air leaves your body as Ghost presses the full length of his body into your back, your hands twisted behind you and your face smushed against the flaking paint of the metal door. When you wheeze the soldier behind you leans further against you until there’s nowhere else left to go.

“Still cold?” He asks, and his tone would be almost casual if it weren’t for the pure menace dripping from it- like blooming red ink you’ve seen so many times before.

You don’t answer, can’t with how you’re still trying to catch your breath, dizzy and nervous but aroused despite it all.

“Nothing to say?” He asks, and his mouth is right next to your ear, you can feel his warm breath curling over your still damp skin. “You were quite the chatterbox earlier.”

You brace your head against the door, chest rising and falling and you smile- grin to yourself with your next words.

“Thought you hated it when I talked.”

Ghost growls, and the vibration of it has your skin crawling, the shiver starting low in your belly as it works its way up to your throat where it escapes as an unsteady exhale.

“Hands up.”

You blink, unsure for a moment- except then Ghost’s grip has vanished from your wrists and he’s planting one of your hands next to your head on the metal frame of the door in front of you.

“I said-“ He murmurs in your ear, and his voice is like charcoal, glistening and chalky against your fingertips. “Hands. Up.”

You comply, hands still shaking- from anticipation, from nervousness you aren’t sure. They brace against the door in front of you, allow you just enough leverage to push up and give you some space to breathe.

“Obedient now, are we?” Ghost asks, and you inhale sharply, biting back the urge to be smart, to conjure a witty reply.

You hear Ghost shift behind you, hear him reach down suddenly there’s a hand splayed across your stomach reaching for your belt. For a moment your hands lift off the door and Ghost almost snarls at you, pressing you forward so that his hand is trapped between you and the door.

“You’re going to keep those hands up, love.” He tells you on no uncertain terms. “And you’re not going to make a single sound as I make you cum all over my fingers.”

You swallow.

Then, despite your better judgement, you hazard a glance back at him to find his eyes in the pitch darkness of the closet, see the glint there like a wraith watching you from the shadows.

“Yes sir.”

You think you see something flash across his gaze- irritation, amusement, you aren’t sure, but then Ghost’s hand is cupping you through the fabric of your panties and you had to concentrate on not letting the whine in your throat pour past your lips.

“Brat.” He hisses, and the gloved pads of his fingers find your clit, puts down enough pressure to make you jerk against him. Then he’s circling it with his thumb, and instantaneously there’s pleasure carving like fractal lightning through your nerves, blossoming ever outward from your center.

You’re shuddering, and Ghost notices the tremble in your legs, kicks your knees apart and slides a massive thigh between them to help keep you steady. The motion makes you jolt forwards, lean on your hands and brace your forehead against the door with a quivering exhale.

Ghost’s touch is unforgiving, harsh and unrepentant as his other hand digs into the meat of your thigh, as the heat of his breath curls across your cheek.

“Red?” He asks you, and his voice is suddenly soft, his inquiry gentle as he uses your safe word. Yet you merely shake your head, bite the inside you’re your cheek and roll your hips onto his hand insistently, earning you a satisfied hum.

“Nearly dripping wet for me, love.” Ghost murmurs, and he’s right, you can feel the dampness clinging to your panties as he presses down on the fabric, curls his fingers against it. “You get off on being a pain in my ass?”

You don’t give him the pleasure of hearing the whimper in your throat at his voice, jagged like the serrated edge of a knife as he purrs at you. Yet then he circles your clit like that, expertly rolling the bud beneath his fingers and you have to bite your lip hard to keep quiet lest anyone that passes by outside hears how Ghost is slowly, methodically snaring you apart at the seams. Your leg jerks automatically, caged in by his broad knees on either side, and he huffs.

“Filthy thing.” He mumbles, and you can imagine his eyes as they peer down at you in the dimness, feasting on the quick rise and fall of your chest as you come undone under his touch.

You’re wet enough now that his fingers are slipping across you, slickened by the moisture that seeps through your underwear. If you had been cold before your skin is almost poker hot right now, leeching off the warmth of the man behind you as he floods your veins with searing pleasure.

Even so you manage to be quiet, manage to keep all the whining, keening, needy noises within you contained. Ghost seems to be taking it as a personal challenge that you’re so silent except for your restrained, heavy breathing muffled by the sound of his slickened, gloved hand against you.

He’s drawing you up and closer to your climax. You can feel it like a specter as the edges of your senses, feel it whisper across you as you chase it. Yet it slips through your fingers like a phantom, intangible and not enough, not nearly enough. When you grind your hips forward against him Ghost’s hand darts away and you stifle a whine at the loss of contact. You force yourself to still, to be pliant and obedient under his hands and the shame of it bites at you but you’re too consumed by the pleasure, the need to finish.

So, you breathe, breathe and clutch at the door and try not to jerk against him and not make a sound but even then Ghost seems content to just slip his fingers through your clothed folds, touching but never really giving, not providing you with enough fuel to turn that spark into a flame.

“Ghost.” You choke, unable to stand it. “Let me cum- I need-“

“You need to keep quiet, love.” He replies smoothly. “Unless you want someone to hear.”

You don’t. You really, really don’t. You know he’s saying it just to mock you but the threat is very real, the potential that someone might finally catch onto this tryst between the two of you and put it to an end before it has the potential to reach it’s climactic, dizzying conclusion, whatever that may be.

“Easy.” He murmurs as your heart rate picks up, your breathing quickens at the thought, and he’s ever attuned to your body, knows exactly which strings to pull to render you a trembling, needy mess under him. He breathes in your moans like they’re his oxygen supply, listens to the quake of your body like the ground shifting under his feet. “Relax.”

You can’t. You’re strung too tight, like the string on a crossbow before it snaps. You want to finish, need to let the band snap before it flays your mind alive.

When Ghost’s hand vanishes you nearly sob, shoulders rising with a shuddering breath- but not before Ghost is suddenly bracing you forward, scooting your pants and gear down over the swell of your ass and exposing your already chilled skin to the freezing air. You gasp, loud, and the sharp, quick “Fuck-!” that tears from your throat is suddenly muffled by the fabric of his glove as Ghost splays his hand across your face.

“Quiet, corporal.” He mumbles, and his own voice is strained, wound tight in his chest. Even so you shake your head, dislodging his hand just enough to babble mindlessly at him, your voice a sharp whisper in the darkness.

“Ghost. Simon-“ You plead, resorting to using his name in an effort to bargain with him. “Need you inside- please, please-“ but your voice is swallowed by the meat of his palm as you’re suddenly hauled backwards, and Ghost’s hand is tracing through your folds to circle your entrance.

“Too risky.” He hisses back at you, and you know, you know, but you want him anyways, want to feel him fill you and keep you warm from the inside out. You want to let him carve you to pieces and link them back together, take what he wants from you and leave the shell of you to echo his name ceaselessly to the thundering sky above.

“Besides-“ He goes on, and his voice is silky now, dripping with a little bit of sadistic pleasure from seeing you begging, almost on the verge of tears. “You don’t deserve my cock, not after the shit you pulled earlier.”

You want to plead with him, try to reason, but your entire body goes rigid and you groan into his hand as two of his fingers- gloved, thick- sink mercifully into you. Ghost wastes no time in setting a punishing pace, curling and flexing his digits inside of you, pushing them further and further until you almost can’t take them. Your walls flutter helplessly as he scissors your cunt open, drags the slick between your folds and letting it squelch under his palm.

It’s almost too much. You’re not nearly as prepped as you should be to take the width of two of his fingers at once, but you know it’s nothing compared to the girth of his cock that you had been so desperately begging for. The stretch fills you, leaves that emptiness in you waning so fast it gives you whiplash.

He has you pressed up against his front, one massive arm stretched across your chest so his hand covers your mouth and his elbow carves into your ribcage. You try, struggle to keep your hands on the door, but the lack of an anchor leaves you defenseless against his motions. Instead, you’re forced to let him handle you as he pleases, your legs weak as you claw desperately for an ounce of gravity against the onslaught that is Ghost.

“Look so fuckin pretty like this.” He grunts against you. “Wet, needy, begging for my cock but not getting it.”

You whine into his glove, skin feverish despite the chilled air and limbs trembling as his fingers pump mercilessly into you. Your breath comes in quick, stifled little gasps, unable to drink in the air you need before the stretch of his fingers robs you of it once more.

“Bet you like this.” Ghost murmurs, and the lilt of his accented voice scrapes hard against the shell of your ear. “Like winding me up just to see what you’ll get.”

You won’t deny it, it’s true. You can’t explain it. It’s an urge you need to itch, a desire you need to quell, to see him like this, to feel him like this, angry and desiring and powerful enough to tip you to the brink with hardly any effort.

And when this is the reward? It’s worth it.

“Fuckin pretty girl.” He bites when you moan openly into his hand, and the sound despite the fact that its muffled but you don’t care, can’t care when he has you like this, has your slick dripping down his wrist and coating his gloves and your eyes rolling back at the ceaseless push and pull of his wide fingers inside you. “Never know when to keep quiet.”

It’s a little mean of him, considering how he’s laying you open like this, has you pinned against him so that your reactions have nowhere to go but up your throat and past your lips. Yet that only manages to stoke that desire brighter inside you, warming you until you’re practically burning to the touch, scorching him even through the fabric of his gloves.

“Maybe I should leave you like this, considering the brat you’ve been.”

Whatever pleasure had muddled your brain only a heartbeat ago sucks violently into silence, and your entire form goes ramrod still against him as his fingers still inside you.

You’re breathing hard, and you can hear your heartbeat thrum in your ears like the sound of a war drum as you fight the urge to scream into his hand at the loss of your building orgasm, to claw at his arm and rock down on his fingers your bloody self if you have to.

Desperately, despairingly, you shake your head against the width of his hand, and your voice is muffled as you try to plead with him, beg him to let you cum.

Your hands flex against the door, and you feel Ghost’s head tilt as he watches the motion, takes note of your obedient little gesture in following his earlier command. You’re sure he can feel the throb of your heart against the thick, veiny arm pressed to your chest, and for a moment it feels louder than any sound you’ve made so far, echoing like the thunder that roils in the sky above.

With every passing second that Simon considers leaving you like this- on the cusp of your orgasm you feel it settle lower into your nerves, simmer down to a cooling emptiness. You want to sob with how close you are, and it briefly feels like too much, your senses raw and chaffed as you desperately cling onto the remnants of your growing climax. You whimper, and the sound has Ghost’s attention snapping back to you all at once, his eyes taking in your half-lidded, desperate gaze.

“Something to say?” He asks, and you want to scream at his tone, unbothered, unfazed despite the fact that he’s knuckle deep in your cunt. When his hand moves from your mouth you tamp down on that rage, force yourself to loose the shuddering exhale from your chest as you crane your neck to look at him.

“Sorry.” You manage, voice hoarse, and damn if don’t hate your voice like this- open, needy, repentant. That shame of it smarts against your skin but it’s not nearly as terrifying as the thought of him leaving you like this. “I’m sorry, Simon, so please-“

Ghost curses, and the sound is like a flash of lightning in your thoughts as you dare to use his name, his real name, to beg him to let you cum.

You catch a cry in your throat as he surges back into you all at once, plunging his fingers into the tight clutch of your heat and gripping your form tighter against him, all but hauling you up into his arms. It takes everything in you to not sob with relief, and even then there’s a gasp that’s just a modicum too loud for the tiny space you’re both enclosed in.

“Filthy, pretty brat.” He hisses, pumping his fingers into you with just the right force and angle to leave you breathless. “I fucking spoil you too much, that’s why you’re like this.” His words are harsh but his tone has an undercurrent of tenderness to it reserved just for you and you preen when he calls you that, ‘pretty’.

You don’t respond to his words, true as they are, you can’t. You’re chasing that high that’s blooming low across you now, feeling it tighten and coil inside you and you’re moaning despite yourself. Ghost’s hand clamps over you mouth a moment too late, the sound cut off as it spills past the door into the hallway where you pray nobody is.

“You’re lucky you’re cute with all those pretty noises you make, love.” He grunts in your ear and it takes most of your strength to not collapse into him. “Going to get us caught with how much of a slut you are.”

You don’t care, don’t care if you get caught. You know you should, know that you have to focus just as he warned you during the mission but the only thing that drives your attention is the way you’re coming apart on his fingers, your hips jolting and rolling as you try to chase down your orgasm even as his muscles ripple and flex to contain you.

You think you might be crying his name from behind his gloves, but you can’t tell. There’s constellations blooming behind your eyelids and you’re gasping for air you don’t have. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on your skin now, and you know you’ll have to spend some time in the rain to make it look like just that instead of the result of Ghost completely and utterly devastating you.

Then, Ghost adds a third finger and it takes every single fiber of restraint in you to not shout at the stretch, burning and filling and delicious all at once. It’s too much but you welcome it anyways, submit to him in the way you should have to start with, let him handle your body with such ease and expertise that you’re just another weapon in his hands.

The wet, filthy squelch of his fingers inside you is loud, too loud, and you know if someone comes down this back hallway you’re both ruined, far more than you already are.

“I can feel you.” Ghost murmurs into your hair, his masked lips bumping against your head. “You’re close aren’t you?”

You nod desperately, too blissed out to do much more than that. His fingers are spreading you open with such ease it’s like he’s flaying you alive, and you’re forced to just take it, take whatever he’s giving you even if it renders you devotedly, hopelessly in love with him.

“Then be a good girl and cum for me, corporal.” He rasps just as his thumb presses down on your clit and you jerk against him hard as the need inside you abruptly boils over. You sink down onto his hand, legs clamping down and keeping him there. Ghost grunts as he briefly bears your weight when you do, as you tighten and spasm against him as the blinding waves of your orgasm at last crash over you. You can’t contain your voice so you open your mouth a bite the material of his glove between your teeth, trying to find any way to prevent your voice from tearing free of your chest.

Ghost grunts as he holds you, as you bite down on his hand, as your walls spasm and flex around his fingers buried deep inside you. The chill in your bones is gone, and in its place is a fever pitch as you feel that coil inside you snap and scatter outwards like fireworks. One of your hands leaves the wall to clutch onto the fabric of Ghost’s sleeve across your chest as he finger fucks you straight through it, refusing to let you come down gracefully and instead dragging your climax out long and hard.

“That’s it.” He growls as he keeps you upright, his thigh wedged between you legs to help you maintain your balance. “Good girl.”

You think you might be suffocating, your breath stolen from you as you try and ground yourself against the ceaseless tide of pleasure that wracks your body. Toes curling, hands flexing, you sag at last back into your lieutenant as it at last begins to fade, as the aftershocks dance and flicker through you. You jerk once, twice against him as the spike of pleasure laces through you, leaving thin slices of red blossoming against the back of your senses.

At last, you still, legs shaking, hands trembling, chest rising and falling much to rapidly for you to step out of this stupid closet and pretend like your superior didn’t just pin you to the door and finger fuck you within an inch of your bloody life. You’re breathing hard, and Ghost pulls his hand away as you drink in air like its water, dousing your parched throat and washing over your chaffed nerves.

“Fuck.” You manage after several long heartbeats. To your surprise Ghost chuckles in your ear, the sound like distant broiling clouds that flicker with lightning.

“That’s all?” He asks wryly, and you dig your fingers further into his arm that’s still clasped across your chest. “Looks like I finally have you, speechless, love.”

You want to come up with a retort, snap a reply but you’re too frayed, too fucking satisfied to bother. Instead, you let your head loll back against him, against this hulking tank of a man who could kill you, but chooses to indulge you, let you carve a place for yourself inside his cold, dead heart.

You smile, cheeks flushed, skin warm and eyes sparking with the mischief you know he secretly adores.

“Mission accomplished, sir.”

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